YORK

  Disturb him not—­let him pass peaceably.

  ELEANOR

  Lord Cardinal;—­if thou think’st of Heaven’s bliss
  Hold up thy hand;—­make signal of that hope. 
  He dies;—­and makes no sign!—­

In praise of this tragedy, Mr. Welsted has prefixed a very elegant copy of verses.

Mr. Philips by a way of writing very peculiar, procured to himself the name of Namby Pamby.  This was first bestowed on him by Harry Cary, who burlesqued some little pieces of his, in so humorous a manner, that for a long while, Harry’s burlesque, passed for Swift’s with many; and by others were given to Pope:  ’Tis certain, each at first, took it for the other’s composition.

In ridicule of this manner, the ingenious Hawkins Brown, Esq; now a Member of Parliament, in his excellent burlesque piece called The Pipe of Tobacco, has written an imitation, in which the resemblance is so great, as not to be distinguished from the original.  This gentleman has burlesqued the following eminent authors, by such a close imitation of their turn of verse, that it has not the appearance of a copy, but an original.

SWIFT,

POPE,

THOMSON,

YOUNG,

PHILIPS,

CIBBER.

As a specimen of the delicacy of our author’s turn of verification, we shall present the reader with his translation of the following beautiful Ode of Sappho.

  Hymn to Venus

  1.

  O Venus, beauty of the skies,
  To whom a thousand temples rise,
  Gayly false, in gentle smiles,
  Full of love, perplexing wiles;
  O Goddess! from my heart remove
  The wasting cares and pains of love.

  2.

  If ever thou hast kindly heard
  A song in soft distress preferr’d,
  Propitious to my tuneful vow,
  O gentle goddess! hear me now. 
  Descend, thou bright immortal guest! 
  In all thy radiant charms confess’d.

  3.

  Thou once did leave almighty Jove,
  And all the golden roofs above;
  The carr thy wanton sparrows drew,
  Hov’ring in air, they lightly flew;
  As to my bower they wing’d their way,
  I saw their quiv’ring pinions play.

  4.

  The birds dismiss’d (while you remain)
  Bore back their empty car again;
  Then you, with looks divinely mild,
  In ev’ry heav’nly feature smil’d,
  And ask’d what new complaints I made,
  And why I call’d you to my aid?

  5.

  What frenzy in my bosom rag’d,
  And by what cure to be asswag’d? 
  What gentle youth I would allure,
  Whom in my artful toils secure? 
  Who does thy tender heart subdue,
  Tell me, my Sappho, tell me who!

  6.

  Tho’ now he shuns my longing arms,
  He soon shall court thy slighted charms;
  Tho’ now thy off’rings he despise,
  He soon to thee shall sacrifice;
  Tho’ now he freeze, he soon shall burn,
  And be thy victim in his turn.