All The World's A Stage (As You Like It)/If Music Be The Food Of Love (Twelfth Night) - Cleo Laine

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

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 soever

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