You will recall I posted his 73rd sonnet here a few weeks ago ("That time of year thou may'st in me behold..."

Here is another one of my favorites, the famous Macbeth soliloquy. His world is crumbling about him, his castle is beseiged by his enemies, and he has just received the news his mad wife, the only person he loves, has just committed suicide.

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 (Act 5, Scene 5, lines 17-28)