One shouldn’t get too fancy about the meaning of this play by Shakespeare. It is not a subtle philosophical meditation on human existence. It is, instead, a rather simple and brutal drama based on the idea that human existence is a preposterous puppet play, that pomp and glory are strictly theatrical phenomena, and that sex is the only thing that matters.
The tragedy of the play is cheap melodrama, the philosophy is dime-store nihilism — but the poetry . . . the sublime poetry of the play is pure eroticism. It creates its friction, it achieves its climax . . . and it echoes forever through the ages.