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We are being very literary when we call someone a namby-pamby, a word derived from the name of Ambrose Philips, a little-known 18th-century poet whose verse incurred the sharp ridicule of his contemporaries Alexander Pope and Henry Carey. Their ridicule, inspired by political differences and literary rivalry, had little to do with the quality of Philips's poetry. In poking fun at some children's verse written by Philips, Carey used the nickname Namby Pamby: “So the Nurses get by Heart Namby Pamby's Little Rhimes.” Pope then used the name in the 1733 edition of his satirical epic The Dunciad. The first part of Carey's coinage came from Amby, or Ambrose. Pamby repeated the sound and form but added the initial of Philips's name. Such a process of repetition is called reduplication. After being popularized by Pope, namby-pamby went on to be used generally for people or things that are insipid, sentimental, or weak.

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The rhyming nature of it makes it sound rather childish to me and I wonder if this is the context in which it was largely used

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Originally posted by arnie: according to Dictionary.com the AHD says ...

etymologically speaking,

Namby-Pamby: or, A Panegyric on the New Versification
by Henry Carey (ca. 1687-1743)

Nauty Pauty Jack-a-Dandy / Stole a Piece of Sugar-Candy,
From the Grocer's Shoppy-shop, / And away did hoppy-hop.

All ye Poets of the Age! / All ye Witlings of the Stage!
Learn your Jingles to reform! / Crop your Numbers and Conform:
Let your little Verses flow / Gently, Sweetly, Row by Row:
Let the Verse the Subject fit; / Little Subject, Little Wit.
Namby-Pamby is your Guide; / Albion's Joy, Hibernia''s Pride.
Namby-Pamby Pilly-piss, / Rhimy pim'd on Missy-Miss;
Tartaretta Tartaree, / From the Navel to the Knee;
That her Father's Gracy-Grace / Might give him a Placy-Place.
He no longer writes of Mammy / Andromache, and her Lammy,
Hanging panging, at the Breast / Of a Matron most distrest.
Now the venal Poet sings / Baby Clouts, and Baby Things;
Baby Dolls, and Baby Houses, / Little Misses, Little Spouses;
Little Play-Things, little Toys, / Little Girls, and little Boys.
As an Actor does his Part, / So the Nurses get by Heart
Namby Pamby's Little Rhimes, / Little Jingle, Little Chimes,
To repeat to Little Miss, / Piddling Ponds of Pissy-Piss;
Cacking-packing like a Lady, / Or Bye-bying in the Crady.
Namby Pamby ne'er will die / While the Nurse sings Lullabye.
Namby Pamby's doubly mild, / Once a Man, and twice a Child;
To his Hanging-Sleeves restor'd; / Now he foots it like a Lord;
Now he pumps his little Wits; / Sh---ing Writes and Writing Sh-ts, / All by little tiny Bits.
Now methinks I hear him say, / Boys and Girls come out to Play! / Moon do's shine as bright as Day.
Now my Namby Pamby's found / Sitting on the Friar's Ground,
Picking Silver, Picking Gold, / Namby Pamby's never old.
Bally-Cally they begin, / Namby Pamby still keeps in.
Namby Pamby is no Clown, / London-Bridge is broken down:
Now he courts the gay Ladee, / Dancing o'er the Lady-Lee.
Now he sings of Lick-spit Lyar / Burning in the Brimstone Fire;
Lyar, Lyar! Lick-spit, lick, / Turn about the Candlestick!
Now he sings of Jacky Horner, / Sitting in the Chimney-Corner,
Eating of a Christmas-Pie, / Putting in his Thumb, Oh, fie!
Putting in, Oh, fie! his Thumb, / Pulling out, Oh, strange! a Plumb.
Now he plays at Stee, Staw, Stud, / Sticking Apples in the Mud:
When 'tis turn'd to Stee, Staw, Stire, / Then he sticks 'em in the Mire.
Now he acts the Grenadier, / Calling for a Pot of Beer;
Where's his Money? He's forgot: / Get him gone, a Drunken Sot.
Now on Cock-horse does he ride; / And anon on Timber stride,
See-and-Saw, and Sacch'ry down, / London is a gallant Town!
Now he gathers Riches in, / Thicker, faster, Pin by Pin:
Pins a-piece to see his Show, / Boys and Girls flock Row by Row;
From their Cloaths the Pins they take, / Risque a Whipping for his sake;
From their Frocks the Pins they pull, / To fill Namby's Cushion full.
So much Wit at such an Age, / Does a Genius great presage,
Second Childhood gone and past, / Shou'd he prove a Man at last!
What must second Manhood be, / In a Child so bright as he?
Guard him, ye poetic Powers! / Watch his Minutes, watch his Hours:
Let your Tuneful Nine inspire him; / Let poetic Fury fire him:
Let the Poets, one and all, / To his Genius Victims fall.

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Originally posted by arnie:Remember Andy Pandy? Or are you too young?