Ageing Grapefully


Shakespeare's camera sure took funny pictures

The Seven Ages of Wine

All the cellar's a stage
And all the wines merely players,
They have their fermentations and bubbling,
And one wine in its time plays many parts,
Its acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and fizzing in the primary fermenter
Then, the bubbling new must with its airlock
And shining carboy surface, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to dryness. And then the clarifying,
Settling like a snowfall, with a woeful ballad
Made to its sediment bed. Then a new wine,
Full of strange aromas, and sulphited 'gainst the airs,
Low in finesse, sudden, and quick in tannin,
Seeking the end of bubbles
Even in the carboy's mouth. And then, the bottle
With fair round cork, with good label covered,
With tannin moderate, and acid that cuts not,
Full of bold fruit, and sweet bouquet,
And so it plays its part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippery vintage,
With richness on the nose, and velvet on the palate,
Its youthful colour well passed, a drink too wide,
For a puny glass, and its big manly structure,
Turning again towards childish treble, fades
And thins in his decanter. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans tannin, sans bouquet, sans taste, sans everything

With apologies to Old Bill–see, 'The Seven Ages of Man' speech, As You Like It Act 2, Scene 7, where Melancholy Jacques describes the thrill-a-minute ride that is the human lifespan.

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