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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 his 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 schoolboy,with his satchel And shining morning face,creeping like snail Unwillingly to school.And then the lover, Sighing like furnace,with a woeful ballad Full of strange oaths,And bearded like the pard, Made to his mistress' eyebrow.Then a soldier Seeing the buble reputation Jealous in honor sudden and quick quarrel Even in the cannon's mouth.And the justice, In fair round belly with good capon lined 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 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 his whistles in his sound.Last scene of all, That ends this strange eventful history, Is second childishness mere oblivion Sans teeth,Sans eyes,sans taste, sans everything.
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