All the World's a Web

with apologies to William Shakespeare

All the world's a web,
And many men and women merely bloggers:
They have their profiles and their comments-box;
And one world-wide web space hosts many sites,
Their types being seven ages. The first the infant,
Mewling and puking in his Auntie's arms.
And then the blowhard school-boy, with his jowls
And scowling satchel face, flogged for a fee,
Most willingly the fool. And then the lover,
Boiling like cauldron, woeful joyous column
Limp at the thought of Tony. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths when bearded by the mob,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Bursting the bubble reputation
E'en in the troll's very eye. And then the justice,
Reviewing roundedly if not too oft,
With comprehensive objectivity,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so the site is seen. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With acid in his prose and gurgling tum,
His New York times well lost, his words too dry
Shrunk by the Raines; but his big manly voice,
Turning again toward Eastern Gonzo, pipes
And smokes the bastards out. Last age of all,
To witness our electric mystery,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion:
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.