All the world's a stage _ William Shakespeare ( from As You Like It 2/7) All the world's a stage, And all the men and women mer...

All the world's a stage

All the world's a stage_ William Shakespeare (from As You Like It 2/7)
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.
And then the whining school-boy, 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 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 slipper'd 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.

(Bold characters are mine)
Life is compared to a play of seven stages. It goes on to seven stages: infant, school-boy, lover, soldier, justice, pantaloon, and second childhood, "sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything". -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Les Ombres
Ne me prend pas mal d’être franche avec toi cette saison
(D’ailleurs je le suis toujours ; tous heurs !)
Mais la sagesse et la richesse de mon âme réclame Raison.
J’avais souvent rêvé durant mon 2eme stage de vie
Que quand les feuilles tombent en automne à moitié
Les êtres humains aussi perdent leurs fruits d’été.
Ce rêve activé en pleine lune d’été a Rabat d’or
Est achevée dans un soir sombre d’octobre.
Ne me prend pas mal pour avoir jugé d’être libre
Comme un moineau : tout terrains, tout cieux ;
J’étais enfermé dans cette cage maudite à vire
Et l’espoir glisse dans mon cœur et j’implore dieu
Que l’hiver prochain sera enrichi avec des gouttes
De joie sans que les larmes amères me torde ainsi.
(lundi 06/11/2006 @ 14:30)



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