AN ODE TO THE GENIUS OF SCANDAL. Richard Brinsley Sheridan Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T41991 K041189.000 Sheridan, Richard Brinsley, 1751-1816. An ode to the genius of scandal. London printed for G. Kearsly 1781 pp. []-18. [2],18p.; 4⁰.

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AN ODE TO THE GENIUS OF SCANDAL . 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 ! 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 ! 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 . 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 , " 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 . 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 . 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 . 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 . 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 . 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 . 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 . 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 ! 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 . 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 .