Date: February 2, 1796

"Her head's like the island, folks tell on, / Which nothing but monkies can dwell on"

— Hoare, Prince (1755-1834)

Date: February 2, 1796

"Her heart's like a lemon, so nice, / She carves for each lover a slice."

— Hoare, Prince (1755-1834)

Date: 1796, 1806

"A dread coincidence of time and act / Drew me from Reason's empire to Despair!"

— Robinson [Née Darby], Mary [Perdita] (1758-1800)

Date: 1796, 1806

"O! blessings on thee!--soft, this ray of hope / Dazzles my aching senses, and I start / As from a dream of horror, where the brain, / Stampt with the semblance of some phantom dire / Reflects it, waking, to the fearful gaze!"

— Robinson [Née Darby], Mary [Perdita] (1758-1800)

Date: 1796, 1806

"Ambition!--not that emulative zeal Which wings the tow'ring souls of godlike men! / But bold, oppressive, self-created pow'r, / That, trampling o'er the barrier of the laws, / And scattering wide the tender shoots of pity, / Strikes at the root of reason, and confines / Nature itself in bondage!"

— Robinson [Née Darby], Mary [Perdita] (1758-1800)

Date: April 20, 1796

"Ere yet we were, / Our finer tones of mind some guardian spirit / Touch'd into harmony; and, when we met, / Th' according strings struck forth a sound so sweet, / That heav'n itself might listen! love! ev'n love, / That brand of discord, burns within our bosoms, / Pale—cold—before the steady fla...

— Lee, Sophia (bap. 1750, d. 1824)

Date: April 20, 1796

"Oh! that superior mind is gone for ever! / --Yet still, thus ruin'd, like a broken mirror, / It gives a perfect image in each fragment!"

— Lee, Sophia (bap. 1750, d. 1824)

Date: April 20, 1796

"Oh, farewell! / I cannot coin in words my soul's soft meaning!"

— Lee, Sophia (bap. 1750, d. 1824)

Date: January 13, 1796

"Come then, sweet sounds, for you alone / Can bid the tumult cease, / Restore reason to it's throne / His bosom to it's peace."

— Cumberland, Richard (1732-1811)

Date: January 13, 1796

"Forbear! there is a spirit within me, sunk tho' I am in misery and despair, that will not suffer you, tho' now a conqueror in your turn, and towering far above the wretched son of Hastings, to take this base advantage of your fortune, and drag a trembling victim to the altar only to riot in the ...

— Cumberland, Richard (1732-1811)