As You Like It, Act II, Scene VII [All the
world’s a stage]
Jaques to Duke
Senior
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 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
honor, 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 slippered pantaloon,
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.
