Then for your lacqueys and your train beside,
    By whate’er name or title dignified,
    They roar so loud, you’d think behind the stairs,
    Tom Dove and all the brotherhood of bears;
    They’ve grown a nuisance beyond all disasters,
    We’ve none so great but their unpaying masters. 
    We beg you, sirs, to beg your men that they
    Would please to give us leave to hear the play.

“Tom Dove,” it may be noted, was a “bear-ward,” or proprietor of bears, of some fame; his name is frequently mentioned in the light literature of the period.

At this time the servants were admitted gratis to the upper gallery of the theatre on the conclusion of the fourth act of the play of the evening.  In 1697, however, Rich, the manager of the theatre in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, placed his gallery at their disposal, without charge, during the whole of the evening.  Cibber speaks of this proceeding on the part of Rich as the lowest expedient to ingratiate his company in public favour.  Alarmed by the preference evinced by the town for the rival theatre in Drury Lane, Rich conceived that this new privilege would incline the servants to give his house “a good word in the respective families they belonged to,” and, further, that it would greatly increase the applause awarded to his performances.  In this respect his plan seems to have succeeded very well.

Cibber relates that “it often thundered from the full gallery above, while the thin pit and boxes below were in the utmost serenity.”  He proceeds to add, however, that the privilege, which from custom ripened into right, became the most disgraceful nuisance that ever depreciated the theatre.  “How often,” he exclaims, “have the most polite audiences in the most affecting scenes of the best plays been disturbed and insulted by the noise and clamour of these savage spectators!”

The example set by Rich seems to have been soon followed by other managers.  For many years the right of the footmen to occupy the upper gallery without payment was unchallenged.  In 1737, however, Mr. Fleetwood, manager of Drury Lane Theatre, announced his determination to put an end to a privilege which it was generally felt had grown into a serious nuisance.  A threatening letter was sent to him, which he answered by offering a reward of fifty guineas for the discovery of its author or authors.  The letter is given in full in Malcolm’s “Anecdotes of London,” 1810: 

“SIR,—­We are willing to admonish you before we attempt our design; and, provided you will use us civil and admit us into your gallery, which is our property according to Formalities; and if you think proper to come to a composition this way, you’ll hear no further; and if not, our intention is to join a body incognito, and reduce the playhouse to the ground.—­We are, INDEMNIFIED.”

A riot of an alarming nature followed.  The footmen, denied admission to their own gallery, as they regarded