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. At first, the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms. Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel And shining morning face and then the lover, Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad. Then a soldier, Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard, Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the canon's mouth. And then the justice, In fair round belly with good capon lined, Full of wise saws and modern instances. 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 so wide.