He Killed. He became King. He Killed some more.

And then he came home and slept like a baby.
Middle Dude as Macbeth.

  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!  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 taleTold by an idiot, full of sound and fury,  Signifying nothing.Macbeth Act V, Scene V