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AN ODE TO THE GENIUS OF SCANDAL.
[PRICE ONE SHILLING.]
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AN ODE TO THE GENIUS OF SCANDAL.
QUI CAPIT, FACIT.
I SAY NOTHING!
LONDON: PRINTED FOR G. KEARSLY, AT NO. 46, IN FLEETSTREET. M.DCC.LXXXI.
AN ODE.
[]OH! thou, whoſe all-conſoling pow'r
Can ſoothe our cares to reſt;
Whoſe touch in Spleen's moſt vap'riſh hour
Can calm each female breaſt;
Thee I invoke! Great Genius hear—
Pity a lady's ſighs;—
Without thy kind relief be near
Poor COQUETINA dies!
[6]
Haſte thee, then, and with thee bring
Many a little venom'd ſting;
Many a tale that no one knows
Of ſhall-be-nameleſs belles and beaux;
Juſt-imported curtain lectures,
Winks, and nods, and ſhrewd conjectures;
Half a dozen ſtrange ſuſpicions
Built on ſtranger ſuppoſitions;
Unknown marriages ſome twenty,
Private child-bed linen plenty;
And horns juſt fitted to ſome people's heads,
And certain powder'd coats, and certain tumbled beds!
Teach me, powerful Genius! teach
Thine own myſterious art,
Safe from Retaliation's reach,
How I may throw detraction's dart!
[7]
So ſhall my hand an altar raiſe
Sacred to thy tranſcendent praiſe,
And daily with aſſiduous care,
Some grateful ſacrifice prepare.
The firſt informations
Of loſt reputations
As offerings to thee I'll conſign,
And the earlieſt news
Of ſurpriz'd billet-doux
Shall conſtant be ſerv'd at thy ſhrine.
Intrigues by the ſcore,
Never heard of before,
Shall the ſacrifice daily augment;
And by each Morning Poſt
Some favourite Toaſt
A victim to thee ſhall be ſent.
[8]
Heav'ns! methinks I ſee thy train
Softly tripping o'er the plain;
All the alphabet I view
Stepping forward two and two.
Huſh! for as they coupled walk,
Sure I hear the letters talk!
Though lowly-fearful whiſperings half ſmother
The well concerted tales they blab of one another:
"Lord! who'd have thought our couſin D
"Could think of marrying Mrs. E!
"True, I don't like theſe things to tell,
"But, faith! I pity Mr. L;
"And was I he, the bride to vex,
"I'd go and court my Lady X.
"Indeed they ſay that Charlotte U,
"With Fanny M, and we gueſs who,
"Occaſion'd all—for you muſt know
"They ſet their caps at Mr. O,
[9] "And as he courted Mrs. E,
"They thought if ſhe'd have couſin D,
"That things might be, through Captain A,
"Juſt brought about in their own way!"
Oh! how the pleaſing ſtyle regales my ear—!
Heav'ns! what new forms are theſe which now appear?
See yonder, in the thickeſt throng,
Deſigning Envy ſculks along,
Big with malicious Laughter!
Fiction and Cunning ſwell her train;
While, ſtretching far behind, in vain
Poor Truth comes panting after.
Now, now indeed, I burn with ſacred fires—
'Tis SCANDAL's ſelf that ev'ry thought inſpires!
I feel, all-potent Genius! now I feel
Thy working magic through each art'ry ſteal.
[10]
At thy command my fancy warms,
And ſweetly paints the alter'd ſcene—
Her touch now ev'ry grace deforms,
And blackens ev'ry mien!
Each moment to my prying eyes
Some freſh disfigur'd beauties riſe:
Each minute I perceive ſome flaw
That e'en Ill-nature's ſelf ne'er ſaw.
Hark! ſome airy whiſp'rer hints,
In accents wiſely faint,
That bright Cleora rather ſquints—
Roſetta uſes paint—
That though ſome fops of Celia prate,
Yet be not her's the praiſe,
For if ſhe ſhould be paſſing ſtraight—
Hem!—ſhe may thank her ſtays!
Each fool of Delia's figure talks,
And celebrates her fame;
But, for my part, whene'er ſhe walks,
I think ſhe's rather lame.
[11]
And mind Ma'am Chloe toſs her head!
Lord! how the creature ſtares!
Well!—I thank God it can't be ſaid
I give myſelf thoſe airs.
But ſoft! what figure's this I now ſee come?
His awful frown ſtrikes even SCANDAL dumb—
Ah me! the blood forſakes my trembling cheek,
While ſternly thus, methinks, I hear him ſpeak:
Peace, ſnarling woman, peace!
'Tis CANDOUR bids thee ceaſe—
CANDOUR—at whoſe inſulted name
Even thy face ſhould burn with ſhame!
Too long I've ſilent ſeen
The venom of thy ſpleen—
Too long, with ſecret pain,
Obſerv'd black SCANDAL's reign;
But now, with indignation ſtung,
Juſtice demands my tongue,
And bids me drag the lurking fiend to light,
And hold her deeds of darkneſs up to ſight.
[12] Look on this proſpect! and if e'er thy brow
Can feel Compunction's ſick'ning bluſh, 'tis now.
Mark yonder weeping maid,
Sadly deſerted laid
Beſide that mournful willow!
There ev'ry day, in ſilent woe,
She bids her tears inceſſant flow;
And ev'ry night forlornly pining,
Mute on her lilly hand reclining,
Bedews her waking pillow,
Sweet girl! ſhe was once moſt enchantingly gay,
Each youth felt her charms, and acknowledg'd their ſway;
No arts did ſhe uſe to acquire a grace,
'Twas good humour alone that enliven'd her face;
Pure nature had leave in her actions to ſpeak—
The wildneſs of youth gave the bluſh to her cheek,
And her looks uninſtructed her thoughts would impart,
Since her eyes only flaſh'd from the warmth of her heart.
[13]Herſelf undeſigning, no ſchemes ſhe ſuſpected—
Ne'er dreaming of ambuſh, defence ſhe neglected;
With the youth that ſhe lov'd, at the moon's ſilver hour,
In confidence tender, ſhe ſtole to the bow'r:
There he hop'd to have all his deſires obtain'd,
But ſhe ſpurn'd at the inſult her virtue ſuſtain'd;
And he, in revenge for his baffled endeavour,
Gave a hint,—'twas enough—ſhe was ruin'd for ever!
A thouſand kind females the ſtory augmented—
Each day grinning Envy additions invented;
Till ſatiated Malice had gain'd all her ends,
Had robb'd her of character—happineſs—friends.
And now, ſad innocent—alone—
Shunn'd as a peſt ſhe makes her moan,
And in unheard deſpair,
Yields all reſign'd to ſoul-conſuming care.
[14]Yet many a time her wand'ring brain
Turns with its fev'riſh weight of pain,
And then a thouſand childiſh things
The pretty mad one rudely ſings;
Or mute on the ground ſhe gazes,
And weeps as ſhe ſcatters her daiſies,
And then, in a ſtrain more diſtractedly loud,
She chants the ſad thoughts of her fancy,
And ſhivers and ſings of her cold ſhrowd—
Ah poor Nancy!
Nay, weep not now!—'tis now too late—
Thy friendſhip might have ſtopt her fate;
Rather now hide thy head in conſcious ſhame—
Thy mouth too buzz'd the tale that ſtain'd her fame.
But come—again—turn here thine eyes,
And view another victim riſe—
Obſerve that creſted warrior!—his name
Could make whole hoſtile ranks diſordered fly,
Victory follow'd where the hero came,
And conqueſt darted from his vengeful eye.
[15]His was true courage on good prudence built—
An arm prepar'd to extirpate or ſave:
'Twas only rais'd to cruſh preſuming guilt,
Or lend its vigour to the honeſt brave.
Yet e'en a man thus form'd,
With ev'ery nobler paſſion warm'd,
At Envy's infamous command,
Fell by dark SCANDAL's ſecret hand.—
Lothario, deareſt of his friends,
Wrong'd him—he ſcorn'd to aſk amends—
In real valour calmneſs we admire,
'Tis your mock honour that's ſo ſoon on fire.
Souls truly great no raſh reſentments ſeek—
His friendſhip pardon'd e'er his rage could ſpeak.
Yet, for a deed that challeng'd brighteſt fame,
SCANDAL bedamn'd him with a coward's name;
Nay, more ſecure her vengeance to purſue,
Proclaim'd the man that own'd him coward too.
[16]
And ſee! with proudly ſullen air
The injur'd hero ſtalks alone,
And, though his looks betray his care.
Diſdains to vent a ſingle groan:
Save when, by ſome diſtracting thought,
To wild impatience madly wrought,
With ſudden ſtamp the ground he beats,
As Mem'ry paints his former feats,
How once knee-deep in blood
Immoveably he ſtood,
And in the howling battle's roar,
With gaping wounds all cover'd o'er,
His ſingle arm durſt firm oppoſe
A phalanx of aſſailing foes.
And mark! with ſtarting rage poſſeſs'd,
Wildly he bares his furrow'd breaſt,
And as his ſcars he views with aching eyes,
"Oh! 'tis too much!" the fault'ring vet'ran cries—
Yet ſcorning ſtill to let his pangs appear,
Bites hard his quiv'ring lip, and gulps the ſtarting tear!
[17]
Theſe are the triumphs SCANDAL claims—
Triumphs deriv'd from ruin'd names—
Such as, to generous minds unknown,
An honeſt ſoul would ſcorn to own.
Nor think, vain woman, while you ſneer
At others faults, that you are clear;
No!—turn your back—you undergo
The ſelf-ſame malice you to others ſhow,
And ſoon by ſome malicious tale o'erthrown,
Like theſe ſhall fall, unpitied, and unknown!
Oh! then, ye blooming fair attend—
Oh! take kind CANDOUR for your friend,
Nor forfeit, for a mean delight,
That pow'r o'er man that's yours by right.
To woman ev'ry charm was giv'n,
Deſign'd by all indulgent Heav'n
To ſoften every care.
Yes! ye were form'd to bleſs mankind,
To harmonize and ſoothe the mind,
And guard us from deſpair.
[18]But when from thoſe ſweet lips we hear,
Ill-nature's whiſper, Envy's ſneer,
Your pow'r that moment dies.
Each coxcomb makes your name his ſport,
And fools when angry will retort
What men of ſenſe deſpiſe.
Leave, then, ſuch low purſuits as theſe,
And take a nobler road to pleaſe—
Let CANDOUR guide your way—
So ſhall you daily conqueſts gain,
And captives glorying in your chain,
Be proud to own your ſway.
THE END.
- Zitationsvorschlag für dieses Objekt
- TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 4081 An ode to the genius of scandal. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-57D8-F