'All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Muling and puking in the nurse's arms.
And then the whining school boy, with his stachel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woefull 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'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well saved, a world to 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,
As You Like It
