Something Shakespeare Forgot

…Just sticking this here…  ;)


All the world's a stage,

And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one woman in her time plays many parts,
Her acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
And then the shy school-girl, with her sandwich
And solemn morning face, creeping like a snail
Determinedly to school. And then the lover,
Turning like tornado, with an arrow aimed from
Every suspicious eye on her. Then a mother,
Full of desperate needs and calloused to the bone,
Fierce in love, deep and quiet in long fear,
Seeking the bubble home and haven
Even in abusers' arms. And then the matron,
In fair round hips with stained apron hung,
With eyes like storms and hair of silver wire,
Full of wise recipes and hopeful patience;
And so she plays her part. The sixth age shifts
Into the frail and housecoat'd doyenne,
With spectacles on strings and knitting on hand,
Her youthful dress, well saved, a world too busty
For her shrunk shoulders; and her high proud voice,
Turning again toward childish whispers, pipes
And creaks in her 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.

About puredoxyk

Word addict, kungfu/taiji nut, and life-partner to polyphasic sleep. Rabid fan of as many hobbies as the world will let me pry into its piddly fourth dimension (it helps to have knocked out the wall).
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