Prologue to "Marriage A-la-Mode"

Lord, how reform'd and quiet are we grown,
Since all our braves and all our wits are gone!
Fop-corner now is free from civil war,
White-wig and vizard make no longer jar.
France, and the fleet, have swept the town so clear
That we can act in peace, and you can hear.
Those that durst fight are gone to get renown;
And those that durst not, blush to stand in town.
'T was a sad sight, before they march'd from home,
To see our warriors in red waistcoats come,
With hair tucked up, into our tiring-room.
But 'twas more sad to hear their last adieu:
The women sobb'd, and swore they would be true;
And so they were, as long as e'er they could.
But powerful guinea cannot be withstood,
And they were made of playhouse flesh and blood.
Fate did their friends for double use ordain;
In wars abroad they grinning honor gain,
And mistresses for all that stay maintain.
Now they are gone, 't is dead vacation here,
For neither friends nor enemies appear.
Poor pensive punk now peeps ere plays begin,
Sees the bare bench, and dares not venture in;
But manages her last half-crown with care,
And trudges to the Mall, on foot, for air.
Our city friends so far will hardly roam,
They can take up with pleasures nearer home;
And see gay shows and gaudy scenes elsewhere;
For we presume they seldom come to hear.
But they have now ta'en up a glorious trade,
And cutting Morecraft struts in masquerade.
There's all our hope, for we shall show to-day
A masking ball, to recommend our play;
Nay, to endear 'em more, and let 'em see
We scorn to come behind in courtesy.
We 'll follow the new mode which they begin
And treat 'em with a room, and couch within:
For that 's one way, howe'er the play fall short,
T' oblige the town, the city, and the court.