Date: 1763

"With curious art the brain, too finely wrought, / Preys on herself, and is destroy'd by thought"

— Churchill, Charles (1731-1764)

Date: 1765

"In Christ, his work and word / I trust, why should ye say, / That like a tim'rous bird / My soul must wing her way, / And flee from those, whose deadly skill / At worst can but the body kill?"

— Smart, Christopher (1722-1771)

Date: 1765

"In Christ, his work and word / I trust, why should ye say, / That like a tim'rous bird / My soul must wing her way, / And flee from those, whose deadly skill / At worst can but the body kill?"

— Smart, Christopher (1722-1771)

Date: 1765

"As when the greedy fowler's snare / The birds by providence elude, / Our souls are rescu'd from despair, / And their free flight renew'd."

— Smart, Christopher (1722-1771)

Date: 1773

"Know, lovely virgin, thy deluding art / Hath lodg'd a thousand scorpions in my breast:"

— Wolcot, John, pseud. Peter Pindar, (1738-1819)

Date: 1787

"Your heavy fat, I will maintain, / Is perfect birdlime of the brain; / And, as to goldfinches the birdlime clings-- / Fat holds ideas by the legs and wings."

— Wolcot, John, pseud. Peter Pindar, (1738-1819)

Date: 1787

"Fat flattens the most brilliant thoughts, / Like the buff-stop on harpsichords, or spinets-- / Muffling their pretty little tuneful throats, / That would have chirp'd away like linnets."

— Wolcot, John, pseud. Peter Pindar, (1738-1819)

Date: 1788

"Who for such perishable gaudes would put / A yoke upon his free unbroken spirit, / And gall himself with trammels and the rubs / Of this world's business; so he might stand clear / Of judgment and the tax of idleness / In that dread audit, when his mortal hours / (Which now with soft and silent ...

— Crowe, William (1745-1829)

Date: 1790

"The passions join the fierce invading host; / And I and virtue are o'erwhelm'd and lost-- / Passions that in a martingale should move; / Wild horses loosen'd by the hands of Love."

— Wolcot, John, pseud. Peter Pindar, (1738-1819)

Date: 1790

'While we converse together, and I feel / 'Secret correction from the bolt of truth / 'Shot home, my better soul in triumph rides, / Borne on the wings of reason to her throne."

— Hurdis, James (1763-1801)