A Prologue spoken at Court to the Emperess of Morocco.

THE mighty Army now assembl…d here,
Of dreadful Criticks w…ll might make us fear;
But, Sir, to your Protection we retire;
No Fo… (we know) will at your quarters fire,
Though n…'re so bad, if you but grace our P…ay,
VVe and our Poet shall be safe to day:
Y…ur Royal stamp can make all money pass,
And none da…es c…ip your Coin, tho' but of brass:
Our valiant Hero's, like their Ladies, quake,
And they (poor souls) all wish they now could take
Morocco's deepest black their Cheeks to hide,
That wh…n th…y blush, it might by none be spy'd.
Like bashful Brides call'd to the Marriage bed,
They can't go back, and dare not forward …read;
But you, great Sir, may soon remove their f…are,
And ease those hearts where you've the greatest share.
Y…u with a smile can troubled minds assure,
As with a Touch you sickly b…i…s cure.