All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in is time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms.
And then the whining school-boy, with
His satchel, and shining morning face
Creeping like snail unwillingly to school.
And then the lover sighing
Like fumace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow.
Then the soldier, full of strange oaths,
and bearded like a pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and
quick in quarrel. Seeking the
bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth.
And then the justice, in fair round belly
with good capon lin’d, with eyes severe,
and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part,
The sixth age
Shifts into the lean and slipper’d
pantaloon, with spectacles on
nose and pouch on side,
His youthful
hose well sav’d, a world too wide For his
shrunk shank; and his manly voice
Turning again towards childish treble, pipes & whistles in his sound.
Last scene of all
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
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