I watched the players playing on their stage; An old delightful comedy was theirs, The very picture of a gallant age, Full of majestic airs. Wit, virtuoso, captain, stately lord, Each played his part with smooth Augustan grace; And, gray and curl'd, th' Olympian perruques soared O'er each fine oval face. Anon, young Celia, poised on red high heels, Advanced with Chloe, the discreet soubrette: Her laughter rings abroad in silver peals; Her courtiers fawn and fret. One was a whiskered son of awful Mars; And one, the favourite, a thing of spleen, Whose pasquil jests, a stream of falling stars, Illumined all the scene. They trod a minuet, and evermore, Betwixt the curtseying lady and her thrall, A masked and shrouded dancer kept the floor, Unnoted by them all. Alas, poor player, that was Death's Dance indeed! The curtain fell; the masker's fleshless hand Compelled thee to his chariot, which at speed Rolled home to his own land. And now with cheeks and eyelids that confess Grim stains of the last midnight's gay disguise, The ingenious haggard actors swiftly press Where their dead brother lies. How strange a graveside—oh, how strange a scene! The player's double life in such eclipse! What a morality would this have been On those once mocking lips! But they are dumb, and there's scarce time for tears. Back to the town! They're clamouring for our plays. 'Tis good that arch-comedian Death appears But once in many days! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PASSION'S HOUNDS by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES THE PERSIANS (PERSAE): SALAMIS - MESSENGER by AESCHYLUS SONG OF SOLOMON 2: 10-13. SPRING by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE A WOMAN'S SONNETS: 4 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |