The moping watchman does in oaths complain,
Of such as, wandering near his secret box,
With clamour loud intrude on his domain.
Their parts perform’d, behind that curtain’s shade,
Where stretch the scenes in many a motley heap,
Each in his humble lodging quiet laid,
The chorus-singing tribe securely sleep.
The summons of rehearsal-bringing morn,
The prompter whispering from his wooden shed,
The trumpet, hautboy, clarionet, and horn,