The world's a theater, the earth a stage,
Which God, and nature doth with Actors fill,
Kings have their entrance in due equipage,
And some there parts play well and others ill.
The best no better are (in this Theater,)
Where every humor 's fitted in his kinde;
This a true subject acts, and that a Traytor,
The first applauded, and the last confin'd;
This plaies an honest man, and that a knave,
A gentle person this, and he a clowne,
One man is ragged, and another brave;
All men have parts, and each man acts his owne.
She a chaste Lady acteth all her life,
A wanton Curtezan another playes.
This, covets marriage love, that, nuptial strife,
Both in continuall action spend their dayes.
Some Citizens, some Soldiers, borne to adventer,
Shepherds and Sea-men; then our play's begun,
When we are born, and to the world first enter,
And all finde Exits when their parts are done.
If then the world a Theater present,
As by the roundnesse it appeares most fit,
Built with starre-galleries of hye ascent,
In which Jehove doth as spectator sit,
And chiefe determiner to applaud the best,
And their indevours crowne with more than merit,
But by their evill actions doomes the rest,
To end disgrac'd whilst others praise inherit,
He that denyes then Theaters should be,
He may as well deny a world to me.