[Verse]
A poor player that struts and frets, his hour
Upon the stage and then is heard no more
It's a tale told by an idiot
Full of sound and fury
Signifying nothing
Life's but a walking shadow
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, tomorrow, and tomorrow

[Chorus]
Do not muse at me, my most worthy friends
I have a strange infirmity, which is nothing to those that know me
Come, love and health to all
Give me some wine; fill full
To all, and all to all

[Instrumental]