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However, Middleton's Game of Chess is good for a Poet to peruse, having quaint phrases fitting to be married to immortal verse. JOSHUA POOLE, of Clare Hall, I also recommend as an apt guide for an alumnus of the Muse.-Joshua edited a choice Parnassus, 1657, in the which I find many delicious, mellow hangings" of poesy.He is undoubtedly a sonorous dactylist" -and to him I add Mr. Jenner, Proctor of the Commons, and Commissary of St. Paul's, who is a gentleman of indefatigable politeness in opening the Archives of a Chapter-house for the delectation of a sound critic. Tottell's Songs and Sonnets of uncertain Auctoures is likewise a butful, or plenteous work. I conclude with assuring the Public, that my brother remembers to have heard my father tell his (i. e. my brother's) first wife's second cousin, that he, once, at Magdalen College, Oxford, had it explained to him, that the famous passage
His reasons are as two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff," has no sort of reference to verbal criticism and stale quotations.
[ACCORDING to the old and laudable usage of Editors, we shall now present our Readers with the judgments of the learned concerning our Poets.-These Testimonies, if they proceed from critical pens, cannot fail to have due influence on all impartial observers. They pass an author from one end of the kingdom to the other, as rapidly as the pauper Certificates of Magistracy.-Indeed, it were much to be wished, that as we have no State Licenser of Poetry, it might at least be made penal, to put forth rhymes without previously producing a certain number of sureties for their goodness and utility; which precaution, if assisted with a few other regulations, such as requiring all Practitioners in Verse to take out a License, in the manner of many other Dealers in Spirits, &c. could not fail to introduce good order among this class of authors, and also to bring in a handsome sum towards the aid of the public revenue.— Happy indeed will be those Bards, who are supplied with as reputable vouchers as those which are here subjoined.]
Testimonies of Sir JOSEPH MAWBEY's good Parts for Poetry.
Mrss HANNAH MORE.
SIR JOSEPH, with the gentlest sympathy, begged me to contrive that he should meet
Lactilla, in her morning walk, towards the Hot-Wells. I took the proper measures for this tête-à-tête between my two naturals, as I call this uneducated couple.-It succeeded beyond my utmost hopes.-For the first ten minutes they exchanged a world of simple observations on the different species of the brute creation, to which each had most obligations.-Lactilla praised her CowsSir Joseph his Hogs.-An artless eclogue, my dear madam, but warm from the heart. -At last the Muse took her turn on the tapis of simple dialogue.-In an instant both kindled into all the fervours-the delightful fervours, that are better imagined than described.-Suffice it to relate the sequel-Lactilla pocketed a generous halfcrown, and Sir Joseph was enchanted! Heavens! what would this amiable Baronet have been, with the education of a curate?"
Miss Hannah More's Letter to the Duchess of Chandos.
OF THE SAME.
By JONAS HANWAY, Esq.
"In short, these poor children who are employed in sweeping our chimnies, are not treated half so well as so many black Pigsnor, indeed, a hundredth part so well, where the latter have the good fortune to belong to a benevolent master, such as Sir Joseph Mawbey-a man who, notwithstanding he is a bright Magistrate, a diligent Voter in Parliament, and a chaste husband, is nevertheless author of not a few fancies in the poetical way."
Thoughts on our savage Treatment of Chimney-sweepers
Testimonies in favour of Sir CECIL WRAY, Bart.
DR. STRATFORD *.
ALCANDER, thou 'rt a God, more than a God!
* Author of 58 Tragedies, only one of which, to the disgrace of our Theatres, has yet appeared.
Hell squeaks, Eurus and Auster shake the skies-
Epistle to Sir Cecil Wray, under the
OF THE SAME.
By MRS. GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY.
"I was sitting one evening (as indeed I was wont to do when out of cash) astride the bullustrade of Westminster bridge, with my favourite little dog under my arm. I had that day parted with my diamond windmill.-Life was never very dear to me-but a thousand thoughts then rushed into my heart, to jump this world, and spring into eternity. I determined that my faithful Pompey should bear me company.-I pressed him close, and actually stretched out, fully resolved to plunge into the stream; when, luckily, (ought I to call it so?) that charming fellow (for such he then was), Sir Cecil Wray, catching hold of Pompey's tail, pulled him back, and with him pulled back me. In a moment I found myself in