All the World's a Stage
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.
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.
Todo el mundo es un escenario
Todo el mundo es un escenario,
Y todos los hombres y mujeres meros actores:
Tienen sus salidas y entradas;
Y un hombre en su vida interpreta muchos roles,
Siendo sus actos en siete edades. Al principio el infante,
Que llora en brazos de la nodriza.
Luego el quejoso escolar con su cartera
Y su brillante cara matutina, arrastrándose
De mala gana a la escuela, con paso de caracol.
Después, el amante, suspirando como una fragua
Con una triste balada
Compuesta para la ceja de su amada.
Luego soldado, lleno de extrañas bravuconadas,
Bigotudo como el leopardo,
Celoso del honor, súbito y pronto en la lucha,
Buscando la efímera reputación
Hasta en la boca del cañón. Más tarde, juez
De redondo y prominente abdomen
De mirada severa y barba cortada formal,
Lleno de sesudos dichos y modernas citas:
Y así desempeña su papel, En la sexta edad
Cambia al flaco y suelto pantalón,
Calzado de chinelas,
Con anteojos en la nariz y el saco al costado,
Y con juveniles calcetines, bien conservados
Flotando en anchos pliegues sobre sus encogidas piernas;
Y su voz varonil vuelve otra vez al infantil agudo resopla
Y silba en su sonido.
La última escena de todas,
Que termina esta extraña y nutrida historia,
Es la segunda infancia, el mero olvido
Sin dientes, sin ojos, sin palabras, sin nada.
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