Classic Poem

Why are harsh Statutes 'gainst poor Players made,
When Acting is the Universal Trade?
The World's but one wide Scene, our Life the Play
And ev'ry Man an Actor in his Way:
In which he, who can act his ill Part well,
Does him, who acts a good one ill, excell.
Since it is not so much his Praise, whose Part
Is best, but His, who acts it with most Art.
No matter what our Task, if well 'tis done;
But most Men act Parts which are least their own.

The dull grave Fool will ever act the Wise,
The Coward be a Bully in Disguise,
The just Man's acted by the cunning Knave,
The proud Man, out of Pride, will be the Slave,
The knavish Flatt'rer still assumes the Friend,
Gives others Praise, himself to recommend;
And cries their Sense and Judgment up alone,
Not to support their Credit, but his own:
And not so much to have it understood
Their Praise is just, as that his Judgment's good.
Detractors, who speak ill alike of all,
Will their false Judgments their right Reason call.
The Hypocrites still most Religion act,
Most Faith profess, as they have least in Fact.
The cunning Slave most for a Fool would go,
And seem the Bubble whilst he makes Men so.
The wealthy hoarding Miser acts the Poor,
And least confesses, as his Wealth is more:
The needy Prodigal, on t'other side,
Fond to seem rich, shew all his Store in Pride:
So Fops, most lavish of their little Wit,
Talk most, but less still to demonstrate it.
Thus in the World, as on the Stage, we see
Men act, unlike themselves, in each Degree.
But 'twixt the World and Stage this Diff'rence lies,
Play'rs to reform us wear a known Disguise;
We no such warrantable End can boast,
But still are Hypocrites at others' Cost.
To shame us from the Trade, the Cheats they play,
We, when we most pretend to serve, betray.
In Justice to ourselves then, let's forbear
To censure; and our Brother-Strolers spare.