All the world's a stage,
and all the men and women merely players.
They have their exits and entrances,
and one man in his time plays many parts
His acts begin seven ages.At first the infant.
mewling and puking in the nurses arms.
Then the whining school boy with his satchel
and shining morning face, creeping like a snail
unwillingly to school. And then the lover.
Sighing like a furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress's eyebrow. Then a soldier,
full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, 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 slippery Pantaloon
with spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
his youthful hose, well shaved, a world too wide
for 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 the second childishness and mere oblivion.
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
**This is the real version. ( If you don't know what i am talking about, refer to my poem "7 ages of women.") I also don't blame you if you don't understand what it says. But i put this one on line to show you the original version, and my version. Thanx**
