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THE CURLL MISCELLANIES UMBRA

Though speculation has connected several other persons with this poem, it is probably still another hit at the luckless Ambrose Philips. It, with the three following poems, was first published in the Miscellanies, 1727.

- Close to the best known author Umbra sits,
- The constant index to old Button’s Wits.
- ‘Who ’s here?’ cries Umbra. ‘Only Johnson.’—‘O!
- Your slave,’ and exit; but returns with Rowe.
- ‘Dear Rowe, let’s sit and talk of tragedies:’
- Ere long Pope enters, and to Pope he flies.
- Then up comes Steele: he turns upon his heel,
- And in a moment fastens upon Steele;
- But cries as soon, ‘Dear Dick, I must be gone,
- For, if I know his tread, here’s Addison.’
- Says Addison to Steele, ‘’T is time to go:’
- Pope to the closet steps aside with Rowe.
- Poor Umbra, left in this abandon’d pickle,
- Ev’n sits him down, and writes to honest Tickell.
- Fool! ’t is in vain from Wit to Wit to roam;
- Know, Sense, like Charity, ‘begins at home.’

BISHOP HOUGH

A Bishop, by his neighbors hated,
Has cause to wish himself translated;
But why should Hough desire translation,
Loved and esteem’d by all the nation?
Yet if it be the old man’s case,
I’ll lay my life I know the place:
’T is where God sent some that adore him,
And whither Enoch went before him.

SANDYS’ GHOST[ ]

OR, A PROPER NEW BALLAD ON THE NEW OVID’S METAMORPHOSES: AS IT WAS INTENDED TO BE TRANSLATED BY PERSONS OF QUALITY

This refers to the translation undertaken by Sir Samuel Garth, which aimed to complete Dryden’s translation of Ovid, avoiding the rigidness of Sandys’ method. The enterprise was begun in 1718, when these verses were probably written.

- Ye Lords and Commons, men of wit
- And pleasure about town,
- Read this, ere you translate one bit
- Of books of high renown.
- Beware of Latin authors, all,
- Nor think your verses sterling,
- Tho’ with a golden pen you scrawl,
- And scribble in a Berlin.
- For not the desk with silver nails,
- Nor bureau of expense,
- Nor standish well japann’d, avails
- To writing of good sense.
- Hear how a Ghost in dead of night,
- With saucer eyes of fire,
- In woful wise did sore affright
- A Wit and courtly Squire:
- Rare imp of Phœbus, hopeful youth!
- Like puppy tame, that uses
- To fetch and carry in his mouth
- The works of all the Muses.
- Ah! why did he write poetry,
- That hereto was so civil;
- And sell his soul for vanity
- To Rhyming and the Devil?
- A desk he had of curious work,
- With glitt’ring studs about;
- Within the same did Sandys lurk,
- Tho’ Ovid lay without.
- Now, as he scratch’d to fetch up thought,
- Forth popp’d the sprite so thin,
- And from the keyhole bolted out,
- All upright as a pin.
- With whiskers, band, and pantaloon,
- And ruff composed most duly,
- This Squire he dropp’d his pen full soon,
- While as the light burnt bluely.
- Ho! master Sam, quoth Sandys’ sprite,
- Write on, nor let me scare ye!
- Forsooth, if rhymes fall not in right,
- To Budgell seek or Carey .
- I hear the beat of Jacob’s drums,
- Poor Ovid finds no quarter!
- See first the merry comes
- In haste without his garter.
- Then Lords and Lordlings, Squires and Knights,
- Wits, Witlings, Prigs, and Peers:
- Garth at St. James’s, and at White’s,
- Beats up for volunteers.
- What Fenton will not do, nor Gay,
- Nor Congreve, Rowe, nor Stanyan,
- Tom B[urne]t , or Tom D’Urfey may,
- John Dunton, Steele, or any one.
- If Justice Philips’ costive head
- Some frigid rhymes disburses,
- They shall like Persian tales be read,
- And glad both babes and nurses.
- Let W[a]rw[ic]k’s Muse with Ash[urs]t join,
- And Ozell’s with Lord Hervey’s,
- Tickell and Addison combine,
- And P[o]pe translate with Jervas.
- L[ansdowne] himself, that lively lord,
- Who bows to every lady,
- Shall join with F[rowde] in one accord,
- And be like Tate and Brady.
- Ye ladies, too, draw forth your pen;
- I pray, where can the hurt lie?
- Since you have brains as well as men,
- As witness Lady Wortley.
- Now, Tonson, list thy forces all,
- Review them and tell noses;
- For to poor Ovid shall befall
- A strange metamorphosis;
- A metamorphosis more strange
- Than all his books can vapour—
- ‘To what (quoth ’Squire) shall Ovid change?’
- Quoth Sandys, ‘To waste paper.’

EPITAPH

Imitated from a Latin couplet on Joannes Mirandula:—

Joannes jacet hic Mirandula: cætera norunt
Et Tagus et Ganges—forsan et Antipodes.

First applied by Pope to Francis Chartres, but published in this form in 1727.

Here lies Lord Coningsby—be civil!
The rest God knows—perhaps the Devil.

THE THREE GENTLE SHEPHERDS

Of gentle Philips will I ever sing,
With gentle Philips shall the valleys ring.
My numbers too for ever will I vary,
With gentle Budgell, and with gentle Carey.
Or if in ranging of the names I judge ill,
With gentle Carey and with gentle Budgell.
Oh! may all gentle bards together place ye,
Men of good hearts, and men of delicacy.
May Satire ne’er befool ye or beknave ye,
And from all Wits that have a knack, God save ye!

ON THE COUNTESS OF BURLINGTON CUTTING PAPER

- Pallas grew vapourish once and odd;
- She would not do the least right thing,
- Either for Goddess or for God,
- Nor work, nor play, nor paint, nor sing.
- Jove frown’d, and ‘Use (he cried) those eyes
- So skilful, and those hands so taper;
- Do something exquisite and wise—’
- She bow’d, obey’d him, and cut paper.
- This vexing him who gave her birth,
- Thought by all Heav’n a burning shame,
- What does she next, but bids, on earth,
- Her Burlington do just the same.
- Pallas, you give yourself strange airs;
- But sure you ’ll find it hard to spoil
- The Sense and Taste of one that bears
- The name of Saville and of Boyle.
- Alas! one bad example shown,
- How quickly all the sex pursue!
- See, madam, see the arts o’erthrown
- Between John Overton and you!

EPIGRAM

AN EMPTY HOUSE

You beat your Pate, and fancy Wit will come:
Knock as you please, there ’s nobody at home.

[Page 120.]Sandys’ Ghost.

[Stanza x.]Carey. Probably John Carey.

[Stanza xi.]Jacob. Jacob Tonson. Pembroke. The Earl of Pembroke.

[Stanza xii.]Tom Burnet. Son of Bishop Burnet.

[Stanza xiii.]Justice Philips. Ambrose Philips.

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