Date: 1773

"Let gladness dwell in every heart, / And praise on every tongue."

— Barbauld, Anna Letitia [née Aikin] (1743-1825)

Date: 1773

"Beware of all, guard every part, / But most, the traitor in thy heart."

— Barbauld, Anna Letitia [née Aikin] (1743-1825)

Date: 1773

"At this still hour the self-collected soul / Turns inward, and beholds a stranger there / Of high descent, and more than mortal rank."

— Barbauld, Anna Letitia [née Aikin] (1743-1825)

Date: 1773, 1810

"Hail, mild Philosophy! the province thine, / To chase the spectres of the dark Divine! / Not to fix errour, but with reason's art, / To root the stiff old-woman from the heart."

— Stockdale, Percival (1736-1811)

Date: 1773, 1810

"Fancy no longer strews her glowing flowers, / But sad ideas crowd the dreary hours."

— Stockdale, Percival (1736-1811)

Date: 1773

"Such is thy pow'r, nor are thine orders vain, / O thou the leader of the mental train."

— Wheatley, Phillis (c.1753–1784)

Date: 1773

"Strong Passions draw, like Horses that are strong, / The Body-Coach of Flesh and Blood along; / While subtle Reason, with each Rein in Hand, / Sits on the Box, and has them at Command; / Rais'd up aloft, to see and to be seen, / Judges the Track, and guides the gay Machine."

— Byrom, John (1692-1763)

Date: 1773

"But was it made for nothing else beside / Passions to draw, and Reason to be Guide? / Was so much Art employ'd to drag and drive / Nothing within the Vehicle alive? / No seated Mind that claims the moving Pew, / Master of Passions, and of Reason too?"

— Byrom, John (1692-1763)

Date: 1773

"Hail to pleasure's frolic train; / Hail to fancy's golden reign; / Festive mirth, and laughter wild, / Free and sportful as the child; / Hope with eager sparkling eyes, / And easy faith, and fond surprise: / Let these, in fairy colours drest, / Forever share my careless breast; / Then, tho' wise...

— Barbauld, Anna Letitia [née Aikin] (1743-1825)

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)