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