Vanity Fair (UK), September 1, 1904

(According to a West End manager, the theatre of the future will have no gallery.)

Up till now we’ve always acted
 With a trembling at the knees,
For the men who paid a shilling
 Were so difficult to please:
And with feverish excitement
 We would estimate the odds
Of the piece that charmed the boxes
 Being hooted by the gods.

But, according to an expert,
 Novel theatres will be planned,
And the gallery will vanish
 In our revoluted land.
The millennium must be coming:
 Can we need a better proof
Than the total abolition
 Of the critic in the roof?

Yes, there’s something to be looked for
 In the golden time to come,
For the stalls will all be crowded,
 And the gallery be dumb;
And the sensitive young playwright
 Dreams of happier days in store,
When the hooters cease from hissing,
 And the booers boo no more.