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[ti:All the World's a Stage by William Shakespeare] |
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All the world's a stage, |
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And all the men and women merely players; |
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They have their exits and their entrances, |
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And one man in his time plays many parts, |
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His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant, |
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Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms. |
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Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel |
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And shining morning face, creeping like snail |
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Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, |
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Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad |
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Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier, |
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Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard, |
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Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel, |
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Seeking the bubble reputation |
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Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice, |
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In fair round belly with good capon lined, |
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With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, |
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Full of wise saws and modern instances; |
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And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts |
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Into the lean and slippered pantaloon, |
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With spectacles on nose and pouch on side; |
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His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide |
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For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice, |
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Turning again toward childish treble, pipes |
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And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, |
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That ends this strange eventful history, |
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Is second childishness and mere oblivion, |
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Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything. |
