From “As You Like It”
All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women in it are merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time may play many parts,
His acts being,—“Seven Ages.”
At first the infant, mewing and puking in the nurse’s arms;
Then the whining schoolboy,
With his satchel and shining morning face,
Creeping like snail, unwillingly to school.
Then the soldier, full of strange oaths
And bearded like a pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble, reputation,
Even in the cannon’s mouth.
Then the lover, sighing like a furnace,
With a woeful ballad made to his mistress’ eyebrow.
And then the justice, in fair round belly,
And good capon lined,
With eyes to see, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances.
And so he plays his part.
The sixth age, slips into the lean and slippers pantalon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose well filled, a world too wide
For his shrunk shanks,
And his big, manly voice, turning again to childish treble,
Pipes and whistles in his sounds.
Last scene of all that ends this strange eventful history
is second childishness and mere oblivion, sans eyes,
sans teeth, sans taste, sans everything.
* * *