Текст песни The Tragedie Of Macbeth: Actus Quintus, Scena Quinta

To tomorrow, to tomorrow, and to tomorrow

Creepes in this petty pace from day to day,

To the last Syllable of Recorded time:

And all our yesterdays, haue lighted Fooles

The way to dusty death. Out, out breefe Candle,
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Life's but a walking Shadow, a poore Player.

That struts and frets his houre vpon the Stage,

And then is heard no more. It is a Tale

Told by an Ideot, full of sound and fury

Signifying nothing.