All of Grill's a Stage

All of grill’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 prep,Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.And then the whining lower, with his satchelAnd shining morning face, creeping like snailUnwillingly to school. And then the upper,Sighing like furnace, with a woeful balladMade to his 333’s eyebrow. Then a senior,Full of strange oaths and bearded like Chappy,Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in Harkness,Seeking the bubble diversionEven in CCO’s mouth. And then the graduate,In fair white dresses or good capon lined,With eyes bright and cigar of formal cut,Full of wise saws and modern instances;And so he plays his part. The sixth age shiftsInto the fat and cocky collegiate,With Raybans on nose and pouch on side,His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wideFor his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,Turning again toward preplike treble, pipesAnd bottles in his bag. Last scene of all,That ends this strange Exonian history,Is second childishness and mere reunion,Sans rules, sans deans, sans youth, sans everything.