--Life's a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more. For which hackneyed quotation I will make the reader amends by a very noble one, which few, I believe, have read. It is taken from a poem called the Deity, published about nine years ago, and long since buried in oblivion; a proof that good books, no more than good men, do always survive the bad. From Thee[*] all human actions take their springs, The rise of empires and the fall of kings! See the vast Theatre of Time display'd, While o'er the scene succeeding heroes tread! With pomp the shining images succeed, What leaders triumph, and what monarchs bleed! Perform the parts thy providence assign'd, Their pride, their passions, to thy ends inclin'd: Awhile they glitter in the face of day, Then at thy nod the phantoms pass away; No traces left of all the busy scene, But that remembrance says--_The things have been!_ [*] The Deity. In all these, however, and in every other similitude of life to the theatre, the resemblance hath been always taken from the stage only. None, as I remember, have at all considered the audience at this great drama. But as Nature often exhibits some of her best performances to a very full house, so will the behaviour of her spectators no less admit the above-mentioned comparison than that of her actors. In this vast theatre of time are seated the friend and the critic; here are claps and shouts, hisses and groans; in short, everything which was ever seen or heard at the Theatre-Royal. Let us examine this in one example; for instance, in the behaviour of the great audience on that scene which Nature was pleased to exhibit in the twelfth chapter of the preceding book, where she introduced Black George running away with the £500 from his friend and benefactor. Those who sat in the world's upper gallery treated that incident, I am well convinced, with their usual vociferation; and every term of scurrilous reproach was most probably vented on that occasion. If we had descended to the next order of spectators, we should have found an equal degree of abhorrence, though less of noise and scurrility; yet here the good women gave Black George to the devil, and many of them expected every minute that the cloven-footed gentleman would fetch his own. The pit, as usual, was no doubt divided; those who delight in heroic virtue and perfect character objected to the producing such instances of villany, without punishing them very severely for the sake of example. Some of the author's friends cryed, “Look'e, gentlemen, the man is a villain, but it is nature for all that.” And all the young critics of the age, the clerks, apprentices, &c., called it low, and fell a groaning.