SEYTON: 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,
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.
*
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,
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.
SEYTON: A Rainha, senhor, está morta.
MACBETH: Podia ser mais tarde;
Teria dado ao luto o seu lugar ̶
Amanhã, amanhã, amanhã,
Rasteja comezinho o dia a dia,
‘Té à última sílaba do tempo,
E os nossos ontens todos conduziram
O tolo ao pó da morte. Vela, apaga-te,
A vida é sombra andante, um pobre ator
Que se dá ares e penas pelo palco,
E logo sai de cena. É um conto
Contado por um tolo, som e fúria
Que nada quer dizer.

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