Chapter II: Prologue: Written by Mr. MOTTEUX

_So long the solitary Stage has mourn'd, Sure now you're pleas'd to find our Sports return'd. When Warriors come triumphant, all will smile, And Love wirh Conquest crown the Toyls of_ Lille. _Tho from the Field of Glory you're no Starters, Few love all Fighting, and no Winter-Quarters. Chagrin French Generals cry_, Gens temerare _Dare to take_ Lille! _We only take the Air. No, bravely, with the Pow'rs of_ Spain _and_ France, _We will--Entrench; and stand--at a distance: We'll starve 'em--if they please not to advance. Long thus, in vain, were the Allies defy'd, But 'twas ver cold by that damn'd River Side. So as they came too late, and we were stronger, Scorn the Poltrons, we cry'd-- March off;_ morbleu, _we'll stay for 'em no longer; The little Monsieurs their Disgrace may own, Now ev'n the Grand ones makes their Scandal known.

Mean while, without you half our Season's wasted. Before 'tis_ Lent _sufficiently we've fasted. No matter how our Op'ra Folks did fare, Too full a Stomach do's the Voice impair._ Nay, you your selves lost by't; for saunt'ring hither You're safe from all but Love, four Hours together. Some idle Sparks with dear damnd Stuff, call'd Wine, Got drunk by Eight, and perhaps sows'd by Nine, O'er Politicks and Smoke some rail'd some writ, The Wiser yawn'd, or nodded o'er their Wit. O'er Scandal, Tea, Cards, or dull am'rous Papers, The Ladies had the Spleen, the Beaux the Vapors. Some went among the Saints without Devotion; Nay more, 'tis fear'd went thro' a wicked Motion. But the kind Female Traders well may boast, When we're shut up, their Doors are open'd most.

I dare engage, they, by the Vint'ners back'd, Wou'd raise a Fund, so they alone might act. With them 'tis ne'er Vacation, tho' we lose, The Courts shut up, they Chamber Practice use.

Since therefore without Plays, tho' call'd a Curse, The Good grow bad, the Bad grow worse and worse, Show misled Zeal what Ills infest the Age, And truly to reform, support the_ British _Stage_.

Dramatis Personæ.

MEN.

Sir _Harry Sprightly_. Mr._Mills_.

Brigadier _Blenheim_, just return'd from the Army. Mr._Wilks_

Mr. _Nicknack_, a Beau-Merchant. Mr._Cibber_.

_Major Bramble_, a factious old Fellow. Mr._Johnson._

Master _Totty_, a great Boy. Mr._Bullock_.

_Knapsack_, an Attendant on the _Collonel_. Mr._Pinkethman_.

_Shrimp_, Sir Harry's Valet. Mr._Norris_.

WOMEN.

Lady _Rodomont_. Mrs._Oldfield_.

Lady _Toss-up_. Mrs._Porter_.

Mrs. _Lovejoy_, Cousin to Lady _Rodomont_. Mrs._Bradshaw_.

Mrs. _Flimsy_, Lady _Toss-up's_ Woman. Mrs._Saunders_.

_Orange-Woman._ Mr. _Pack_.

_Mercer, Manto-Maker, Sempstress, Toyman, India-Woman,_ and other Attendants.

SCENE LONDON.

In the Month of _December_.

THE Fine Lady's Airs: OR, AN EQUIPAGE of LOVERS.