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 his nurse's arms.
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,