"ALL THE WORLD'S A STAGE"
WITH STEPHEN SPINELLA
Monday, July 13, 2020
On Monday, July 13, two-time Tony winner STEPHEN SPINELLA joins the Podversation to discuss his approach to text and the character of the great melancholic enigma Jacques from Shakespeare's As You Like It. He’ll read passages from the play and discuss his thoughts on the text and character in Shakespeare with host NATHAN WINKELSTEIN. They’ll take questions through Facebook LIVE and YouTube.
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As You Like It | Act II, Scene VII
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,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly 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.
As You Like It | Act 4, Scene 1
I prithee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted
They say you are a melancholy fellow.
I am so; I do love it better than laughing.
Those that are in extremity of either are abominable
fellows and betray themselves to every modern
censure worse than drunkards.
Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing.
Why then, 'tis good to be a post.
I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is
emulation, nor the musician's, which is fantastical,
nor the courtier's, which is proud, nor the
soldier's, which is ambitious, nor the lawyer's,
which is politic, nor the lady's, which is nice, nor
the lover's, which is all these: but it is a
melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples,
extracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry's
contemplation of my travels, in which my often
rumination wraps me in a most humorous sadness.
A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason to
be sad: I fear you have sold your own lands to see
other men's; then, to have seen much and to have
nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor hands.
Yes, I have gained my experience.
And your experience makes you sad: I had rather have
a fool to make me merry than experience to make me
sad; and to travel for it too!