To-morrow, and to-morrow , and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty from day tp day,
To 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, its a tale
Told by and idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
Justinaaa Is Tired!!
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