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 big manly voice Turning again towards childish treble, pipes And 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. As You Like It, Act. II., Sc. VII.
Again:
Do you set down your name in the scroll of youth, that are written down old with all the characters of age? Have you not a moist eye? a dry hand? a yellow cheek? a white beard? a decreasing leg? an increasing belly? Is not your voice broken? your wind short? your chin double? your wit single? and every part of you blasted with antiquity; and will you yet call yourself young?
Henry IV—2d, Act I., Sc. II.
The satirical rogue says here, that old men have grey beards; that their faces are wrinkled; their eyes purging thick amber and plum-tree gum; and that they have a plentiful lack of wit, together with most weak hams.
Hamlet, Act II., Sc. II.
A good leg will fall; a straight back will stoop; a black beard will turn white; a curled pate will grow bald; a fair face will wither; a full eye will wax hollow. * * *
Henry V., Act V., Sc. II.
Were I hard-favour’d, foul, or wrinkled-old, Ill-natur’d, crooked, churlish, harsh in voice, O’er worn, despised, rheumatic, and cold, Thick-sighted, barren, lean, and lacking juice, Then might thou pause. * * * Venus and Adonis.
Let them die, that age and sullens have; * * * both become the grave. Richard II., Act II., Sc. I.