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. As, 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.