Look And See...

[packajos000]

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[Redbeck]

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Good morrow Packajos000 thank thee for another post from such subjective ferment, on occasion firmament. As ever thou art the alchemist that diverts my mind into tangential thoughts, indeed thy upper image of seven outlined men and true has caused me to dwell on the fact that we still reside in this tumultuous broth of a year designated to commemorate 400 years since the death of William Shakespeare.
Yours in truth and justice, Redbeck

‘All the world's a stage’ (and no doubt that be equally true Packajos000 my dear chap for theories, new ideas, codes, decoded words to numbers and a multitude of other ripening to burst considerations) is the telling phrase that begins a monologue from William Shakespeare's As You Like It, spoken by the most melancholy Jaques in Act II Scene VII.

Jaques’ speech compareth the world to a stage in a theatre and life to a play upon it. It then classifies the seven stages of a man's life, occasionally referred to as the seven ages of man: infant, schoolboy, lover, soldier, justice, Pantalone and old age, facing imminent death. T’is one of the Bard's most frequently quoted passages.

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 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 a 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.