And then MacBeth, at the death of his beloved, questions everything. Everything bar divinity. He cannot see the future, HE CANNOT SEE TOMORROW. Where he is to die. And then, the excommunication, not English, but Roman maybe? A secret Catholic? Toll the bell, snuff the candle and close the book. Signifying nothing. To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, 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! Lifes 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.
Posted on: Mon, 17 Nov 2014 01:32:15 +0000
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