Prologue

By your leave, critics! To a female play A female prologue may prepare the way. Among the Chronicles of modern fame Who has not read of gentle Frances' name? Henry and Frances! a fond tender pair, Whose soft epistles still amuse the fair. Some nights ago our couple, all alone, A fire-side tête-à-tête—Darby and Joan— Frances, said Henry, give up writing; men, And men alone should dare to wield the pen. Your sex of late all decency confounds, And breaks 'twixt us and them the modest bounds. Whether from passion, love of pow'r or riches, Women, we see, all like to wear the breeches. At sea some madcaps enter volunteers, Some in the army list as grenadiers: Others write hist'ries, state-intrigues unriddle, Ride the great horse, and play upon the fiddle. Gently, cries Frances; truce with your reproaches! And mark which sex on t'other most encroaches. Soft silky coxcombs, full of nice punctilio, All paste, pomatum, essence, and pulvilio, With huge boaupots, like boughpots, daily go, Trick'd out like dolls, to pace in Rotten-row. Thus flies the morning; and the day to crown, To quinze and faro ev'ry fop sits down. Each coat so trim, lest any speck fall on it, An apron guards,—each forehead a straw-bonnet; Nay lest rouleaus themselves should soil their ruffles, A muffatee each pretty master muffles. Women in vain to keep their place have striven; From ev'ry trade, from each profession driven. Men-midwives swarm; men mantuas make, make stays, Dress hair, dress meat—let women then write plays! While narrow prejudice deform'd the age, No actress play'd, no female trod the stage; Some smooth unrazor'd youth for Juliet rav'd, And Kings sat waiting till the Queen was shav'd; But woman once brought forward on the scene, By man, like Eve, was lik'd as soon as seen. Let females then compose, as well as play, And strive to please you in the noblest way! No sulky critic to the play-house drawn, Whom modern comedy provokes to yawn, But marks of authors past the valu'd file, And owns Centlivre tempted him to smile. Why may not Ladies too in future plays, Strike a Bold Stroke, and, anxious for the bays, New Busy Bodies form, new Wonders raise? Thus Frances spoke, and bid her dear good night— And Henry own'd his Wife was in the Right.