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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 would have died later anyway. That news was bound to come someday. Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow. The days creep slowly along until the end of time. And every day that’s already happened has taken fools that much closer to their deaths. Out, out, brief candle. Life is nothing more than an illusion. It’s like a poor actor who struts and worries for his hour on the stage and then is never heard from again. Life is a story told by an idiot, full of noise and emotional disturbance but devoid of meaning.
Enter a MESSENGER
A MESSENGER enters.

     Thou comest to use
Thy tongue; thy story quickly.
You’ve come to tell me something. Tell me quickly.


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MESSENGER
     Gracious my lord,
I should report that which I say I saw,
But know not how to do ’t.
MESSENGER
My gracious lord, I should tell you what I saw, but I don’t know how to say it.

MACBETH
     Well, say, sir.
MACBETH
Just say it.



MESSENGER
As I did stand my watch upon the hill,
I looked toward Birnam, and anon methought
The wood began to move.
MESSENGER
As I was standing watch on the hill, I looked toward Birnam, and I thought I saw the forest begin to move.

MACBETH
     Liar and slave!
MACBETH
Liar and slave!

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MESSENGER
Let me endure your wrath, if ’t be not so.
Within this three mile may you see it coming;
I say, a moving grove.
MESSENGER
Punish me if it’s not true. Three miles from here you can see it coming, a moving forest.

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