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All the screen’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their
exits and their entrances, and one person in their time plays many parts, their act
being seven ages.
At first the infant mewling in the test tube’s neck. . .
Then the whining School Child, with cassette and shining morning face creeping like a snail
unwillingly to databank. . .
And then the Lover, sighing like a furnace, with a woeful video made to their lovers’
hologram. . .
Then a Soldier, full of strange oaths. Jealous in honour, sadden and quick in quarrel, seeking
hi-score, even in the laser’s mouth. . .
And the Justice, in fair round belly, with eyes severs and clothes of formal cut. Full
of wise words and machine code . . .
The Sixth Age shifts into the lean and slippered pantaloon. With spectacles on nose, their
youthful clothes well saved, a world too wide for their shrunken shank. And their adult
speech synthesiser turning again towards a childish trebble, piping and whistling in
its sound.
Last scene of all that ends this strange, eventful history, is Second Childishness,
and mere oblivion, without keyboard, without monitor, without power supply . . .