The Seven Ages of Man
All the world’s a stage
And all the men and women merely players
They have their exists 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
Made to his mistress eyebrow Then a soldier
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the 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 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 slipper’s
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 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
William Shakespeare
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