Weekly Interlinear Poem




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Robert Jackson

This is the poem for the week of November 3.
A new interlinear poem is available each Monday.


All the world's a stage

-William Shakespeare's As You Like It


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;
mewling=crying softly
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
Sighing like furnace - furnaces gobbled up air, causing them to "breathe" heavily
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
pard=leopard
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
jealous in honor=touchy
Seeking the bubble reputation
bubble="a person deceived by an empty project," therefore, meaningless
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lin'd,
capon lin'd=a fatty chicken lining the stomach
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
saws=sayings
modern instances=references to modern legal cases

And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
pantaloon=old wealthy suitor, stock character in Italian comedies
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
pouch=purse (worn at the side)
His youthful hose, well sav'd, a world too wide
youthful hose=stocking saved from his youth
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
shank=the part of the human leg between the knee and the ankle
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
in his sound=in his vocalization
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
sans=without (French)




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;
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 lin'd,
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 sav'd, 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.