A Prologue

Gentle reproofs have long been try'd in vain, Men but despise us while we but complain: Such numbers are concern'd for the wrong side, A weak resistance still provokes their pride; And cannot stem the fierceness of the tide. Laughers, buffoons, with an unthinking crowd Of gaudy fools, impertinent and loud, Insult in every corner: want of sense, Confirm'd with an outlandish impudence, Among the rude disturbers of the pit, Have introduc'd ill breeding and false wit; To boast their lewdness here young scourers meet, And all the vile companions of a street Keep a perpetual bawling near that door, Who beat the baud last night, who bilk'd the whore: They snarl, but neither fight nor pay a farthing: A play-house is become a mere bear-garden; Where every one with insolence enjoys His liberty and property of noise. Should true sense, with revengeful fire, come down, Our Sodom wants ten men to save the town: Each parish is infected; to be clear, We must lose more than when the plague was here: While every little thing perks up so soon, That at fourteen it hectors up and down With the best cheats and the worst whores i' th' town; Swears at a play who should be whipt at school, The foplings must in time grow up to rule, The fashion must prevail to be a fool. Some powerful Muse, inspir'd for our defence, Arise, and save a little common sense: In such a cause let thy keen satire bite, Where indignation bids thy genius write: Mark a bold leading coxcomb of the town, And single out the beast, and hunt him down; Hang up his mangled carcase on the stage, To fright away the vermin of the age.