Date: 1733, 1748

"O falsely deemed the foe of sacred wit! / Thou [Memory], who the nurse and guardian art of it, / Laying it up till season due and fit."

— Pilkington, Laetitia (c. 1709-1750)

Date: 1753

Locke's "guiding Hand th'ideal Blank explores, / And opens wide the Senses' various Doors, / Thro' which the thronging Thoughts their Passage find, / In social Tribes, and stock the peopled Mind."

— Jones, Henry (1721-1770)

Date: 1755

"My heart was free from care: / Love was a stranger to my breast"

— Derrick, Samuel (1724-1769)

Date: October 13, 1759

"My heart, a victim to thine eyes, / Should I at once deliver, / Say, would the angry fair one prize / The gift, who slights the giver?"

— Goldsmith, Oliver (1728?-1774)

Date: May 13, 1761

"In all my Enna's beauties blest, / Amidst profusion still I pine; / For though she gives me up her breast, / Its panting tenant is not mine."

— Goldsmith, Oliver (1728?-1774)

Date: 1767

"Man in this world, Sir, may be compared to a hackney-coach upon a stand; continually subject to be drawn by his unruly appetites, on one foolish jaunt or another; but you will say, if his appetites are horses, which as it were drag him along, reason is the coachman to rule those horses--But, Sir...

— Bickerstaff, Isaac (b. 1733, d. after 1808)

Date: 1770

"Spontaneous joys, where nature has its play, / The soul adopts and owns their firstborn sway; / Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind, / Unenvied, unmolested, unconfined."

— Goldsmith, Oliver (1728?-1774)

Date: 1772

"Not so blithe Corin, in his humble Cell, / Within his Bosom kinder Tenants dwell; / And though no Locks, or massy Bolts, secure / The slight Obstruction of his simple Door; / He sleeps at Ease, secure in Heaven's good Care, / Reckless of Villains, and exempt from Fear."

— Whyte, Samuel (1733-1811)

Date: 1772

"My Bosom is to Fear a Stranger; / The Prize is more enhanc'd by Danger"

— Whyte, Samuel (1733-1811)

Date: 1774

"The pupil of impulse, it [his heart] forced him along, / His conduct still right, with his argument wrong; / Still aiming at honour, yet fearing to roam, / The coachman was tipsy, the chariot drove home."

— Goldsmith, Oliver (1728?-1774)