Sunday Sonnett


The world’s a stage. The light is in one’s eyes.
The Auditorium is extremely dark.
The more dishonest get the larger rise ;
The more offensive make the greater mark.
The women on it prosper by their shape,
Some few by their vivacity. The men,
By tailoring in breeches and in cape.
The world’s a stage — I say it once again.

The scenery is very much the best
Of what the wretched drama has to show,
Also the prompter happens to be dumb.

We drink behind the scenes and pass a jest
On all our folly ; then, before we go
Loud cries for ” Author “… but he doesn’t come.

Hilaire Belloc