All the market’s a chart
And all the men and women merely traders;
They each have their exits and their entrances.
And each trader at some time or another plays one of seven parts.
There is the newbie, oftentimes crying and puking at the market’s ways.
Then the student, whining and creeping like a snail, unwilling to learn from the lessons taught by the headmaster, the market.
And then the lover, sighing and with a woefully ignored ballad for the stock to please stay, is spurned again and again.
Then the soldier, full of pious quotes and axioms, acting like a pard
Seeking to bring honor to his jealous self, sudden and quick to anger
Desirous of a quick, undeserved reputation by taking foolish risks.
And then the justice, full of well earned knowledge
His eyes sharp, his countenance etched with a trader’s experiences.
Full of wise sayings and modern instances;
And so he also plays his part in due time.
The sixth part shifts into leanness and relaxed dress.
His vision impaired; his honor held closely by his side.
The world too wide; the childish things too obvious.
He whistles as he watches the childlike newbies play.
Last scene of all, that ends this strange eventful history
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans chart, sans vision, sans desire, sans everything.