Date: 1785-7, 1791, 1792

"Yet are there some who think (but what a shame!) / Poor people's souls like pence of Birmingham, / Adulterated brass--base stuff--abhorr'd-- / That never can pass current with the Lord; / And think because of wealth they boast a store, / With ev'ry freedom they may treat the poor."

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

Date: 1787

"But let me give his m*****y a hint, / Fresh from my brain's prolific mint."

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

Date: w. 1788, 1810

"Thee, Bard morose, / Churlish amid thy fancy's golden stores, / Thee will I teach, censorious as thou art, / What is not Virtue."

— Seward, Anna (1742-1809)

Date: 1792

"Could gold once give thee to my eager arms, / Lo, into guineas would I coin my heart;"

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

Date: w. 1776, 1793

"His pocket and his skull are brothers, / They thrive by borrowing from others; / I thank my stars, with heart sincere, / I was not born to be a Peer."

— Burrell [née Raymond, later Clay], Sophia, Lady Burrell (1750-1802)

Date: 1803

"But, wishing to enrich me more, to fill / My mind with treasure, led'st me far away / From city din to deep retreats, to banks / And streams Aonian, and, with free consent, / Didst place me happy at Apollo's side."

— Cowper, William (1731-1800)

Date: 1805

"Your Worth and Talents will unfold, / Richer than Needlework of Gold; / The native treasures of the soul, / True--as the Needle to the Pole."

— Pratt, Samuel Jackson [pseud. Courtney Melmoth] (1749-1814)

Date: 1814, 1816, 1896

"Ideas, dealt about, like current coin, / By motion, smooth'd, assimilate--and shine;"

— Woodhouse, James (bap. 1735, d. 1820)

Date: 1814, 1816, 1896

"Imagination shap'd continual schemes, / And fill'd with figures odd her airy dreams, / While Fancy flew around with golden wings, / And coin'd conceptions of substantial Things."

— Woodhouse, James (bap. 1735, d. 1820)

Date: 1817

"But he, the bard of every age and clime, / Of genius fruitful, ardent and sublime, / Who, from the glowing mint of fancy, pours / No spurious metal, fused from common ores, / But gold, to matchless purity refined, / And stamp'd with all the godhead in his mind."

— Gifford, William (1756-1826)