The Seven Ages of Wise
Parliament's a stage,
And all the Politicians merely players!
They have their exits and entrances,
And Wise doth in his time play many parts,
His acts being seven changes.
First the Runner,
With spiked shoe he spurns the cinder track,
And just for once runs straight.
The next the Student,
Burning the midnight oil with Adam Smith
For Cobden Medals.
Next the youthful member,
With shining morning face, creeping between
Two seasoned leaders into place and power
Before his whiskers grow.
The next the bravo.
Jealous of greater men, he cries, "Ha, Ha!
Beware Bernardo's dagger!" -- and would strike
His friend i' th' back.
Then come a sudden change.
Once more a child, he comes with quick-turned coat,
New friends, new doctrines, and new principles,
Lets Friedman loose, and wrecks the Government.
Then leads the horny-handed sons of toil
By many a specious promise to their doom
In Arbitration Courts.
Last scene of all,
That ends this strange, disastrous history.
He aims at Judgeships and Commissionerships,
But, failing, passes on to mere oblivion.
Sans place, sans power, sans pay, sans everything.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Related quotes
All the World's a Stage
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 schoolboy, 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 honor, 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 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.
poem by William Shakespeare
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Jaques: 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.
line from As You Like It, Act II, Scene 7 by William Shakespeare (1599)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Minitel after William Shakespeare Jacques Seven Ages of Man
All their world's a page,
and all the players minitel-mad players,
they have their résumés, their pseudonyms,
each actor for a time plays many parts,
his acts taking seven stages. At first equipment,
fresh ordered from the Poste, in welcome arms.
And then the neophyte with his instructions
and wide-eyed eager face, tapping the code
so willingly to screen. And then the practice,
with SUITE, ENVOI, RETOUR and REPETITION
colliding in his brain with mistress' eyebrow,
the fantasies and fictions of the game.
Then the user, sudden and quick to answer;
seeking ever new experience
even in deception's mouth. And then the addict
dialling sans respite 3-6-1-5.
With weary eyes ere telephones are cut,
full of wise ways and easy answerings.
And so he plays his part. The sixth stage shifts
into the bored and blasé demi-loon,
with carnet for his prose, spare telephone at side,
his coins once saved a-waste, the world too wide
for his shrunk purse, and his high manly hopes
turned against his longings, imagination
canting, all at sea. Last stage of all
that ends this strange eventful history
is deconnection and mere oblivion,
sans phone, sans sous, sans job, sans everything.
(1 June 1987)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Online As You Like It after William Shakespeare Jacques Seven Ages of Man
All their world's a page,
and all the players Internet addicted,
they have their resumés, their pseudonyms,
each actor for a time plays many parts,
his acts taking seven stages. At first computer,
with WINDOWS bugs well hid in viral links.
And then the neophyte's instruction manual,
and wide-eyed eager face, googling some site
so willingly to screen. Then follows practice,
with MAIL, TRASH, SPAM and FORWARD, shortcuts everywhere,
colliding in his brain with mistress' eyebrow,
the fantasies and fictions of the game
tied to an IP number's trace race chase.
Then the user, sudden and quick to answer;
seeking ever new experience
even in deception's mouth. And then the addict
rejoicing in his bandwidth always on,
weary eyed a-seeking Second Life,
or You Tube, Facebook, Meetic dating quest,
full of wise ways and easy answerings,
heedless of phishing, firewall disrepair,
and so he plays his part. The sixth stage shifts
into the bored and blasé demi-loon,
with carnet for his prose, and instant message rote,
whose self assessments leave what friends remain
at sea when he some siren seeks to trap,
attention span a-waste, webworld too wide
for his shrunk purse, and his high manly hopes
betrayed by longings, dreams and discontent,
discretion all awry.
Last stage of all that ends this strange eventful history
is deconnection and mere oblivion,
where online search can't google happiness,
CONTROL ALT SUP still failing to reboot,
sans screen, sans time, sans reason, rhyme, sans everything.
(22 February 2009)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Satan and God
Sans sound, silence is not there.
Sans darkness, light is not there
Sans man, woman has no value.
Sans Satan, the God has no role.
24.12.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Eyes Without A Face
I'm all out of hope. One more bad break could bring a fall.
When I'm far from home don't call me on the phone to tell me you're alone
It's easy to deceive. It's easy to tease. But hard to get release.
(Les yeux sans visage) Eyes without a face.
(Les yeux sans visage) Eyes without a face.
(Les yeux sans visage) Eyes without a face.
Got no human grace your eyes without a face.
I spend so much time believing all the lies to keep the dream alive.
Now it makes me sad. It makes me mad at truth for lovin' what was you.
(Les yeux sans visage) Eyes without a face.
(Les yeux sans visage) Eyes without a face.
(Les yeux sans visage) Your eyes without a face.
Got no human grace your eyes without a face.
(Les yeux sans visage) Eyes without a face.
(Les yeux sans visage) Eyes without a face.
(Les yeux sans visage) Your eyes without a face.
Got no human grace your eyes without a face.
Such a human waste your eyes without a face.
And now it's getting worse. Yeah.
song performed by by Scooter from Encore (Live & Direct)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet- Things Change In Life
The more we climb, the more we leave behind;
To gain virtues, we must give up vices;
Each stage, we must maintain our peace of mind;
Good deeds, more temptations sure entices.
The more we climb, the fear of fall is more;
So, reinforce yourself at every stage;
Effort is more to open heavier door;
Sometimes, life's challenges, we must engage.
Sans sacrifice, great feats can't be achieved;
Sans risks and challenges, we can't do things;
Sans analgesics, pain can't be relieved;
Sans struggle, Life not much advancement brings.
The state of mind must change from woe to joy;
We ought to change some day to man from boy.
poem by John Celes
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Rencontre
Passant mêle à ta vie l'orgueil et la bonté
Surmonte l'ennemi et bois à sa santé
Honore ton outil sans le laisser inerte
Brise-le par amour au moment de ta perte
Et méprise ceci Jouir sans en pleurer
La vigne sans ivresse et le champ sans ivraie
poem by Guillaume Apollinaire
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No Longer Celia But Aliena
anatomize Selena Celia
Celestina bright
forsaken
abandoned
for the sake of power
the star
who never really shone
unless touchstoned
in fools armours wit
the star amourouse
the star mort
sans life
sans closeness
sans beautitude
'No longer Celia but Aliena'
xenos living across the vast sky
Quotation taken from William Shakespeare 'As you like it'
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Eyes Without A Face
Im all out of hope
One more bad dream could bring a fall
When Im far from home
Dont call me on the phone
To tell me youre alone
Its easy to deceive
Its easy to tease
But hard to get release
Les yeux sans visage eyes without a face
Les yeux sans visage eyes without a face
Les yeux sans visage eyes without a face
Got no human grace your eyes without a face.
I spend so much time
Believing all the lies
To keep the dream alive
Now it makes me sad
It makes me mad at truth
For loving what was you
Les yeux sans visage eyes without a face
Les yeux sans visage eyes without a face
Les yeux sans visage eyes without a face
Got no human grace your eyes without a face.
When you hear the music you make a dip
Into someone elses pocket then make a slip.
Steal a car and go to las vegas oh, the gigolo pool.
Hanging out by the state line,
Turning holy water into wine
Drinkin it down
Im on a bus on a psychedelic trip
Reading murder books tryin to stay hip.
Im thinkin of you youre out there so
Say your prayers.
Say your prayers.
Say your prayers.
Now I close my eyes
And I wonder why
I dont despise
Now all I can do
Is love what was once
So alive and new
But its gone from your eyes
Id better realise
Les yeux sans visage eyes without a face
Les yeux sans visage eyes without a face
Les yeux sans visage eyes without a face
Got no human grace your eyes without a face.
Such a human waste your eyes without a face
And now its getting worse.
song performed by by Billy Idol
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Unusual Cradle Of Fun
'school is fun', seemed
weird coming out of a
4th grader.
ask why and you'll have
it crisp, 'i have friends
and teachers are game'.
she reaches 8 grade and
fights over petty issues
then her friends come up
and provide her, with tissues.
think, this is cool?
but now thats the end
friends leave school
and she is left alone
they changed her class
they altered her interest
the one who cut classes
, now sat in those rooms
sans friends, sans fun
sans company, sans everything
from fun and learn,
it changed to bore and learn
inspiration is worth nothing
family gave her something,
probably the last hope to survive,
to learn and adjust;
now fun was only family;
'school is not fun', now seemed
weird coming out of a 10th grader.
poem by Taanya Khanna
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Only Leaves!
Will there be fruits without flowers?
Will there be flowers without leaves?
But in my garden only leaves grow
Without flowers and fruits ever!
Selfish growth will mar healthy society!
It will be like westward rush for gold
Where everyone fights with gun to kill
One another along with joy and fun ever!
Competition sans cooperation kills joy!
Animal lust cannot sustain divine love
Making joy bloom as flowers in garden
To make joy rule life forever in bliss!
Life sans good company as desert sans oasis is
Stock piling of wealth sans none to share joy!
poem by Ramesh T A
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Real freedom
Franchise freedom sans political freedom,
Political freedom sans societal freedom,
Societal freedom sans economic freedom.
Economic freedom sans marital freedom,
Marital freedom sans sexual freedom
Is no freedom you grant women.
24.01.2002, Pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Pigalle II - 0050 - Current French Version
Oui, je suis
chaque nuit
sous la pluie
sans ami,
sans abri
sans sous - si!
Qui sourit
contredit
cœur, esprit,
de la vie,
se détruit
se salit.
Viens chéri!
Viens ici!
Allons-y?
Qui jouit?
Vers minuit
ça suffit!
Si on suit
vers délit
c'est au lit
vers aussi,
vite on vit
des soucis.
Pauvre fille,
vivre ainsi
à Paris
si pourri:
mais, tant pis,
sans repenti
c'est reparti!
(25 October 2006)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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L'amour maternel
Fait d'héroïsme et de clémence,
Présent toujours au moindre appel,
Qui de nous peut dire où commence,
Où finit l'amour maternel ?
Il n'attend pas qu'on le mérite,
Il plane en deuil sur les ingrats ;
Lorsque le père déshérite,
La mère laisse ouverts ses bras ;
Son crédule dévoûment reste
Quand les plus vrais nous ont menti,
Si téméraire et si modeste
Qu'il s'ignore et n'est pas senti.
Pour nous suivre il monte ou s'abîme,
A nos revers toujours égal,
Ou si profond ou si sublime
Que, sans maître, il est sans rival :
Est-il de retraite plus douce
Qu'un sein de mère, et quel abri
Recueille avec moins de secousse
Un coeur fragile endolori ?
Quel est l'ami qui sans colère
Se voit pour d'autres négligé ?
Qu'on méconnaît sans lui déplaire,
Si bon qu'il n'en soit affligé ?
Quel ami dans un précipice
Nous joint sans espoir de retour,
Et ne sent quelque sacrifice
Où la mère ne sent qu'amour ?
Lequel n'espère un avantage
Des échanges de l'amitié ?
Que de fois la mère partage
Et ne garde pas sa moitié !
Ô mère, unique Danaïde
Dont le zèle soit sans déclin,
Et qui, sans maudire le vide,
Y penche un grand coeur toujours plein !
poem by Rene Francois Armand Prudhomme
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see beauty in strength
giant of creation stands still
sans hunters sans fear
haiku by Dorothy Holmes (04 August 2008)
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Man is not whole, sans woman
Body sans soul is a corpse.
Soul sans body is ether.
Man is the corpse.
Woman is the soul.
Both together make life.
The corpse deteriorates.
But the ether exists.
Sans woman, man decays;
Sans man, woman stays.
Woman qua volunteer to Gandhiji,
woman qua adopted daughter to A.B. Vajpoyee,
woman qua daughter to Pandit Nshru
lent to respective men the soul.
26.12.2000, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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On the world stage
I never knew as a boy
What can be termed a decoy?
What can be called happiness and joy?
It was just innocent stage to enjoy
As the time moved on
Many changes took place and gone
There was further expansion
Life had joy with beautiful extension
No one to stop and enough of space
Life was meant to be an open race
No restriction for scaling the ladder
I was only claimant and bidder
What makes you to keep head high?
Life is to be guided by principles sans lies
Never to deceive and never to betray
Only on scene permanently to stay
This may help in long run
As struggle is on in hot sun
"Come what may" approach may enlighten way
The story of success can't far away
Life with honor and name
There remains nothing to be blamed
No guilty conscious to feel shame
God only knows where from such feelings came
Only those people can look high
Who have the strong wings to fly?
High ideals and goals to try
No room to shed the tears and cry
So I am here on the world stage
Where it is proved with passing of an age
Individual may have his own identity
But can never be without the blessings from almighty
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Sweet Memories
Mesmerizing glimpse of sweet reminiscence
With you sting heart and nonsense
All life and happiness,
And left alone in life race.
And, swaggering you with other one,
Propgate envy in this soul one,
And you grinning at another,
Grimaced me and left alone further.
And with discarded heart and feeling,
See way and kept on waiting;
With tears and woe,
O Almighty! This doesn't happen even to foe.
And your memories left me,
Sans Joy, Sans Happiness, Sans Yummy.
poem by Indrajeet Mishra
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Suffocated
Millie Allstruck suffocated
Her daughter. Millie held
The cushion down. Saw her
Daughter’s arms flap like
Some bird in a trap. Millie
Held her breath for as long
As she could, until the arms
Stopped flapping, until her
Bird was dead. She stood
There holding the cushion
In place waiting for sounds,
Any motion. Millie removed
The cushion, stood gaping,
Holding the cushion, breathing
In deep. Her daughter lay there
Staring into space, a sense of
Peace on her three year old face.
Millie had pushed out the cancer,
Put out the fire. She had her
Daughter back sans pains, sans
The creeping disease, sans
The long nights. She put down
The cushion, placed her daughter’s
Arms across her small chest, closed
The eyes, brushed the hair, thin
And fair. Millie Allstruck stood
And watched and saw sunlight
Touch her daughter’s head as if
The finger of God had touched
And took away. Better to have
Loved and lost than not loved at all,
Millie heard her mother once say.
poem by Terry Collett
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