hat passeth it. A man shall have such a confused mixture of
judgment poured out in the throng there, as ridiculous as laughter
itself. One says he likes not the writing; another likes not the plot;
another not the playing; and sometimes a fellow that comes not there
past once in five years, at a Parliament time or so, will be as
deep-mired in censuring as the best, and swear, by God's foot, he
would never stir his foot to see a hundred such as that is!" The
conduct of the gallants, among whom were included those who deemed
themselves critics and wits, appears to have usually been of a very
unseemly and offensive kind. They sat upon the stage, paying sixpence
or a shilling for the hire of a stool, or reclined upon the rushes
with which the boards were strewn. Their pages were in attendance to
fill their pipes; and they were noted for the capriciousness and
severity of their criticisms. "They had taken such a habit of dislike
in all things," says Valentine, in "The Case is Altered," "that they
will approve nothing, be it ever so conceited or elaborate; but sit
dispersed, making faces and spitting, wagging their upright ears, and
cry: 'Filthy, filthy!'" Ben Jonson had suffered much from the censure
of his audiences. In "The Devil is an Ass," he describes the demeanour
of a gallant occupying a seat upon the stage. Fitsdottrell says:

To day I go to the Blackfriars playhouse,
Sit in the view, salute all my acquaintance;
Rise up between the acts, let fall my cloak;
Publish a handsome man and a rich suit--
And that's a special end why we go thither.

Of the cutpurses, rogues, and evil characters of both sexes who
frequented the old theatres, abundant mention is made by the poets and
satirists of the past. In this respect there can be no question that
the censure which was so liberally awarded was also richly merited.
Mr. Collier quotes from Edmund Gayton, an author who avowedly "wrote
trite things merely to get bread to sustain him and his wife," and who
published, in 1654, "Festivous Notes on the History of the renowned
Don Quixote," a curious account of the behaviour of our early
audiences at certain of the public theatres. "Men," it is observed,
"come not to study at a playhouse, but love such expressions and
passages which with ease insinuate themselves into their
capacities.... On holidays, when sailors, watermen, shoemakers,
butchers, and apprentices are at leisure, then it is good policy to
amaze