“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;
Then the
whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like
a snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like a
furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then the
soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like a pard,
Jealous in
honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even
in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with
good capon lin’d,
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 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
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,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every
thing."
-William Shakespeare, from As You Like It
