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All The World's A Stage

>> Monday, January 21, 2008

by William Shakespeare

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 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 honour, 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 lin'd,
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 slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side,
His youthful hose well sav'd, a world too wide,
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again towards 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.

Gary Oldman agrees too. :)

I know it's an old ad, but I encountered the poem by Shakespeare this morning and remembered Nokia's ad again.

The world's a stage. We act for an audience. They react to how well we act out a scene. Our entrance cue are the cramps and term called "labor" from our mother. The curtain falls down on our death. We prepare our own props and costumes, do our make-up appropriate and modulate our voices for each scene. Plot after plot, conflict after conflict, each having a purpose and a higher meaning to our own stage.

Which play are you in? Who do you play for?


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