Act ii. Sc. 7.
If ladies be but young and fair,
They have the gift to know it.
Act ii. Sc. 7.
I must have liberty
Withal, as large a charter as the wind,
To blow on whom I please.
Act ii. Sc. 7.
The why is plain as way to parish church.
Act ii. Sc. 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
* * * * *
And 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,
* * * * *
Full of wise saws and modern instances,
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon.
* * * * *
Last scene of all,
That ends this strange, eventful history,
Is second childishness, and mere oblivion.
Act ii. Sc. 7.
Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind
As man's ingratitude.
Act iii.
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