 | Percy |  |
PROLOGUE. Spoken by Mrs. Bulkely.
Written by Mr. GARRICK.
Tho'
I'm a female, and the rule is ever,
For us, in Epilogue, to beg your favour,
Yet now I take the lead—and, leaving art
And envy to the men—with a warm heart,
A woman here I come—to take a woman's part.
No little jealousies my mind perplex,
I come, the friend and champion of my sex;
I'll prove, ye fair, that let us have our swing,
We can, as well as men, do any thing;
Nay, better too, perhaps—for now and then,
These times produce some bungling among men,
In spite of lordly wits—with force and ease,
Can't we write plays, or damn'em, if we please?
The men, who grant not much, allow us charms—
Are eyes, shapes, dimples, then, our only arms?
To rule this man our sex dame Nature teaches;
Mount the high horse we can, and make long speeches;
Nay, and with dignity, some wear the breeches;
And why not wear 'em?—We shall have your votes,
While some of t'other sex wear petticoats.
Did not a Lady Knight, late Chevalier,
A brave, smart soldier to your eyes appear?
Hey! presto! pass! his sword becomes a fan,
A comely woman rising from the man.
She goes—alike well skill'd to talk or write,
Dance, ride, negociate, scold, coqet, or fight.
If she should set her heart upon a rover,
And he prove false, she'd kick her faithless lover.
The Greeks and Romans own our boundless claim—
The Muses, Graces, Virtues, Fortune, Fame,
Wisdom and Nature too, they women call;
With this sweet flatt'ry—yet they mix some gall—
'Twill out—the Furies too are females all.
The pow'rs of Riches, Physic, War, and Wine,
Sleep, Death, and Devils too—are masculine.
Are we unfit to rule?—a poor suggestion!
Austria and Russia answer well that question.
If joy from sense and matchless grace arise,
With your own treasure, Britons, bless your eyes.
If such there are—sure, in an humbler way,
The sex, without much guilt, may write a play:
That they've done nobler things, there's no denial;
With all your judgment, then, prepare for trial—
Summon your critic pow'rs, your manhood summon,
A brave man will protect, not hurt a woman;
Let us wish modesty to share with men,
If not the force, the feather of the pen.
| Percy | |