All the world's a stooge,
And all the men and women
in politics are merely larger or smaller.
Some are both;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time eats many parts,
His acts being seven ages of obscenity.

At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.

Then the whining schoolboy, wholly emptyhanded
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
to learn something,
jumping like flea at the chance for wild rumpass.

And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow.
He cheats and then he cheats again.
He teaches her to cheat.
A pair of cheats they are with a trump card
in hand, and if no card, then something pubic to grab,
and if no suppy, an aisleseat with Boebert.

Then a soldierdodger,
Full of strange oaths and unbearded unlike the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
horsefaced,
Seeking the bonespur reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth,
sans spur of bone.

And then the justice,
In fat rotund belly that overwhelms
and hides the small codfish, with good
chicken lined,
With eyes severe and fake hair of funny cut,
Full of lies, saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part.

The sixth age shifts
Into the old curmudgeon slippered pantaloon,
With fake spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his gargled 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.