Every seat on each side of the stage reserved for the "quality" was occupied.

There was just room for the actors and no more.

The gallery was crammed with a mob--a host of footmen prone to unruly behaviour, butchers from Clare Market ready to applaud their favourite Jemmy Spiller, Covent Garden salesmen and porters--a miscellaneous rabble that might easily become turbulent.
In the pit were well to do tradesmen and their wives cheek by jowl with well seasoned playgoers who had seen every stage celebrity and every famous tragedy and comedy for the past quarter of a century, who were well versed in all the traditional "business" of the boards, who in fact were the real critics to be pleased--or offended.

Into the second row Lancelot Vane had squeezed himself all expectation, with eyes and ears for no one but Polly Peachum.
Gay's friends filled a box next to that occupied by the Duke of Argyll, an enthusiastic patron of the stage.

Gay himself was there supported on either side by Pope, Dr.Arbuthnot, Bolingbroke and others.