To-morrow

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To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,

Creeps.in.this.petty.pace.from.day.to.day,

To the last  s y l l a b l e  of recorded time;

And all our yesterdays have lighted fools

The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!

Life's but a  w a l k i n g   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 i d i o t, full of sound and fury,

Signifying  

n  o    t     h    i      n       g

W. Shakespeare, Macbeth Act 5, scene 5, 19–28

[quem quiser, que traduza... Amarilis não quer. Ao menos hoje não. Quem sabe um dia... To-morrrow]

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