All the world’s a stage, wrote Shakespeare in As You Like It. Hilaire Belloc takes up the sentiment in this lightly cynical reflection.

The world’s a stage. The trifling entrance fee
Is paid (by proxy) to the registrar.
The Orchestra is very loud and free
But plays no music in particular.
They do not print a programme, that I know.
The cast is large. There isn’t any plot.
The acting of the piece is far below
The very worst of modernistic rot.
 
The only part about it I enjoy
Is what was called in English the Foyay.
There will I stand apart awhile and toy
With thought, and set my cigarette alight;
And then -- without returning to the play -
On with my coat and out into the night.