Sandys Ghost ; A Proper Ballad on the New Ovid’s Metamorphosis poem – Alexander Pope

A poem by Alexander Pope (1688-1744) , the greatest English poet of “Augustan” or Georgian period

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,

Though 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 woeful wise did sore affright

A Wit and courtly ‘Squire.

Rare Imp and Phoebus, 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 glittering Studs about;

Within the same did Sandys lurk,

Though Ovid lay without.

Now as he scratch’d to fetch up Thought,

Forth popp’d the Sprite so thin;

And from the Key-hole 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 in not right,

To Budgell seek, or Carey.

“I hear the Beat of Jacob’s Drums,

Poor Ovid finds no Quarter!

See first the merry Pembroke 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 Burnet 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 Warwick’s Muse with Ashurst join,

And Ozell’s with Lord Hervey’s:

Tickell and Addison combine,

And P-pe translate with Jervas.

“Landsdowne himself, that lively Lord,

Who bows to every Lady,

Shall join with Frowde 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 befal

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.”

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• Answers by Mark Strand by Poetry In English
• And The Black Scythe With Its Beak of Ibis by Martine Morillon-Carreau by Poetry In English
• After Forever by Mark Miller by Poetry In English
• A World So Different by Mary Etta Metcalf by Poetry In English
• A Poet I knew by Martin Zakovski by Poetry In English
• A Piece Of The Storm by Mark Strand by Poetry In English
• A Photograph on the Desk by Mary Etta Metcalf by Poetry In English
• A Misty Morning by Mary Etta Mietcalf by Poetry In English
• A Cozy Little Room by Mary Etta Metcalf by Poetry In English
• À ce point du voyage by Martine Morillon-Carreau by Poetry In English
• A Dream of Rodney King by Mary TallMountain by Poetry In English
• You Ask Why Sometimes I Say Stop by Marge Piercy by Poetry In English
• Yell of Pain by Maria Ivana Trevisani Bach by Poetry In English
• Year’s End by Marilyn Hacker by Poetry In English
• Winter Promises by Marge Piercy by Poetry In English
• What Are Big Girls Made Of? by Marge Piercy by Poetry In English
• Visiting a Dead Man on a Summer Day by Marge Piercy by Poetry In English
• Upon Julia’s Breast by Marie Starr by Poetry In English
• Unloved, unmoved by Maria Jastine Golo by Poetry In English
• Twas’ the Night Before Christmas and Santa got Drunk by Margaret Marie Hubbard by Poetry In English

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