All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely
;
They have their
and their
;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being
ages. At first the infant,
and
in the nurse's arms;
And then the
school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the
,
Sighing like
, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a
,
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
,
In fair round belly with good
lin'd,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise
and modern
;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd
,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful
, well sav'd, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish
, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this
history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion;
Sans
, sans
, sans taste, sans everything.