The Seven Ages of Beag
(From an idea by Willy Shakespeare)
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And Beag in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages.
At first the Infant,
Mewling and puking in his mother's arms.
Snoring through the May Day blitzkrieg,
Unaware of everything.
Next the whining Schoolboy,
With his graffitised satchel and running morning nose,
Creeping like snail unwillingly to school,
Until they throw him out.
Then the Student, surrounded by strange oafs,
Yea bearded like a Manfred,
Full of learning, full of crap.
Like other students, thinketh he will change the world.
And what about ye Footballer
Who fleet of foot once racèd down ye wing
Now full of pie and chips, obese?
Reduced to back-four cruncher, then spectator.
Now observe ye the Biker,
Blazing down the road at 90 miles an hour,
His rust-red steed leaketh oil from every orifice:
Eight crashes in a year.
Now analyse ye Research Chemist,
With fair round belly from fast food fancies,
Eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Replete with wisecracks and boring anecdotes.
And finally ye grouchy Lecturer, now retired,
Too young to die; too old to rock ‘n’ roll.
With animosity and whining tone
Hurling invective at the TV screen.