A poor player that struts and Frets his hour upon the stage And then is heard no more It’s a tale told by an idiot Full of sound and fury Signifying nothing Life’s but a walking shadow Tomorrow, and tomorrow Tomorrow, and tomorrow Do not muse at me My most worthy friends I have a strange infirmity Which is nothing to those That know me Come, love and health to all; Give me some wine: fill full To all, and all to all