Classic Poem

Most Plays are writ like Almanacks of late,
And serve one only year one only State;
Another makes them useless, stale and out of date;
But thine were wisely calculated fit
For each Meridian, every Clime of wit:
For all succeeding time and after-age,
And all Mankind might thy vast Audience sit,
And the whole World be justly made thy Stage.
Still they shall taking be, and ever new,
Still keep in vogue in spite of all the damning crew,
Till the last Scene of this great Theater
Clos'd and shut down,
The num'erous Actours all retire,
And the grand Play of human Life be done.