Date: 1725

"Forgive the harsh Expression, for believe, of all Mankind, I cou'd esteem you as a Friend--but, alas! my Heart wants room to entertain you as a tender Guest; long e're I knew your Merits it was taken up, all the Affections of my Soul are riveted to another--to him I am bound by all the ties of H...

— Haywood [née Fowler], Eliza (1693?-1756)

Date: 1726

"But as we are always ready to flatter our selves, so did our Lover, and took the Lady's Courtesie for Kindness, and her smiling Looks for interiour Affection."

— Barker, Jane (1675-1743)

Date: 1732

"Distrest by a confused Medley of thinking, she threw herself carelesly on a Couch, where amid a Chaos of Reflection, she slept, if, we can properly be said to sleep, (when the Mind fir'd by warring Passions, dreams 'em o'er again) the Chamber Door had but negligently fell too, for the unthinking...

— Boyd, Elizabeth (fl. 1727-1745)

Date: 1733

"But if Calista's perfect Soul they knew, / They'd own their Error, and her Praise pursue. / Centred in her the brightest Graces meet, / Treasures of Knowledge and rich Mines of Wit

— Masters, Mary (1694-1771)

Date: 1734, 1735

"The Mind, in peaceful Solitude, has Room / To range in Thought, and ramble far from home."

— Barber, Mary (c.1685-1755)

Date: 1736

"Philosophy was incapable of affording her any Relief, and all her Reason served only to paint the Unhappiness of her Condition in the stronger Colours."

— Haywood [née Fowler], Eliza (1693?-1756)

Date: 1736

"This Discourse, meant for a Comfort, was the severest Corrosive to the Heart of Eovaai."

— Haywood [née Fowler], Eliza (1693?-1756)

Date: 1736

"Here I had an Opportunity of observing how little the Toils of the Body are to be held in competition with those of the Mind."

— Haywood [née Fowler], Eliza (1693?-1756)

Date: 1738

"Thy skill my elemental Clay refin'd, / The straggling Parts in beauteous Order join'd, / With perfect Symmetry compos'd the whole, / And stampt thy sacred Image on my Soul."

— Carter, Elizabeth (1717-1806)

Date: 1738

"Whate'er we think on't, Forune's but a Toy, / Which cheats the Soul with empty Shows of Joy; / A mere ideal Creature of the Brain, / That reigns the Idol of the Mad and Vain; / Deludes their Senses with a fair Disguise, / And sets an airy Bliss before their Eyes."

— Carter, Elizabeth (1717-1806)