Prologue

In ancient Greece, the Infant Muse's School, Where Vice first felt the Pen of Ridicule, With honest Freedom and impartial Blows The Muse attack'd each Vice as it arose: No Grandeur could the Mighty Villain screen From the just Satyr of the Comick Scene: No Titles could the daring Poet cool, Nor save the great Right Honourable Fool. They spar'd not even the Aggressor's Name, And Publick Villany felt Publick Shame.

Long hath this gen'rous Method been disus'd, For Vice hath grown too great to be abus'd; By Pow'r, defended from the Piercing Dart, It reigns, and triumphs in the Lordly Heart; While Beaus, and Cits, and Squires, our Scenes afford, Justice preserves the Rogues who weild the Sword; All Satyr against her Tribunal's quash'd, Nor lash the Bards, for fear of being lash'd.

But the Heroick Muse who sings To-night, Through these neglected Tracks attempts her Flight: Vice, cloath'd with Pow'r, she combats with her Pen, And fearless, dares the Lyon in his Den.

Then only Reverence to Pow'r is due, When Publick Welfare is its only View: But when the Champions, whom the Publick arm For their own Good with Pow'r, attempt their Harm, He sure must meet the general Applause, Who 'gainst those Traytors fights the Publick Cause.

And while these Scenes the conscious Knave displease, Who feels within the Criminal he sees, The Uncorrupt and Good must smile, to find No Mark for Satyr in his Generous Mind.