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 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

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 everything