At any rate, I determined to wait for the first act.
There was a dreadful orchestra, presided over by a young Hebrew who sat at a cracked piano, that nearly drove me away, but at last the drop-scene was drawn up and the play began.

Romeo was a stout elderly gentleman, with corked eyebrows, a husky tragedy voice, and a figure like a beer-barrel.

Mercutio was almost as bad.

He was played by the low-comedian, who had introduced gags of his own and was on most friendly terms with the pit.

They were both as grotesque as the scenery, and that looked as if it had come out of a country-booth.