PROLOGUE To the FARCE of the MAN-MILLINER. February, 1787

Forgive me, Sirs, that I come in thus bounce! You know me, Ladies—your old friend, La Flounce: Sov'reign of Fancy, Regent of the Mode, To all your wants and wishes toute commode; For artificial sprigs a Winter Flora, With rouge that gives the blushes of Aurora; A Woman Milliner! for sure no Man Would be a Milliner, or ever can. Horse-Milliner, indeed, a Man's true trade is; But, saucy grooms, such trappings suit not ladies. Yet Men assail our persons several ways, They make our Mantuas, and they make our Stays; And though to Curry-Combs we scorn to truckle, They frize toupees, and give the locks their buckle. Hence strange reverses rise: and we're betray'd, By turns, their neighbour province to invade; Husbands the Distaff take; Wives seize the Club, At home their patient Hercules to drub: While Sir appears so feminine and trim, And Madam looks so masculine and grim, You scarce know him from her, or her from him.

In changes thus if humbler ranks should strive, Maid servants soon will mount the Box and drive; Or else, to Reason and Decorum blind, Seising a place unfit for woman-kind, With flambeaux in their hands, jump up behind. While Footmen, women grown, as now grown Fops, Shall darn old hose, sweep rooms, and trundle mops.

Ladies and Gentlemen, 'tis your's to-night To end disputes, and set the sexes right; To check the inroads of the Tyrant Man, And keep within due bounds the Woman's Plan. Let me then, as a Female Envoy greet ye, And here negociate a Commercial Treaty! Forbid the Men, by some restraining Clause, To deal in Ribbands, Muslin, Blond, and Gause; Bid Women too, resign the Barber's trade, And cease to shave the Guards on the Parade! Equal to Male and Female show compassion, Assert what's right, and laugh it into Fashion!