As You Like It

Isis Town and Country - - Opinion - By WIL­LIAM SHAKE­SPEARE

Act II, Scene 7 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.

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