All the world’s a stage
And all the men and women merely players;
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
And one man in his time plays many parts
All the world’s a stage
All the world’s a stage
All the world’s a stage

If music be the food of love, play on;
Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting
The appetite may sicken, and so die
That strain again! it had a dying fall:
O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound
That breathes upon a bank of violets
Stealing and giving odour! Enough; no more:
'Tis not so sweet now as it was before
O spirit of love! how quick and fresh art thou
That, notwithstanding thy capacity
Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there
Of what validity and pitch soe'er
But falls into abatement and low price
Even in a minute: so full of shapes is fancy
That it alone is high fantastical
If music be the food of love, play on