Page 2173 - Shakespeare - Vol. 3
P. 2173
The queen, my lord, is dead.
MACBETH
She should have died hereafter.
There would have been a time for such a word −
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, [20]
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
Enter a Messenger.
Thou com’st to use thy tongue: thy story quickly!
MESSENGER
Gracious my lord, [30]
I should report that which I say I saw,
But know not how to do’t.
MACBETH
Well, say, sir.
MESSENGER
As I did stand my watch upon the hill
I looked toward Birnan and anon methought
The wood began to move.
MACBETH
Liar and slave!
MESSENGER
