Date: 1688

"The meager Monster doth neither harm nor good, / But like the wain, or wax, or ebb, or flood, / She shuns as what her age doth most detaste, / Where Heaven-bred Honour in the noble Mind, / From out the Cavern of the Breast proceeds"

— Scot, Walter (b. 1613, d. in or after 1688)

Date: 1688

"From out the Cavern of the Breast proceeds [...] Hell-born Envy shews her hellish kind, / And Vulture-like upon the Actions feed"

— Scot, Walter (b. 1613, d. in or after 1688)

Date: 1716

"O then, from such Idolatry refrain, To worship the Chimeras of your Brain."

— Anonymous

Date: 1733-1735

"Various rude Arts the untaught Ancients knew / To fix Ideas e'er they fled away, / And Images of Thought to Sight convey. / Brass, Wax, or Wood the Characters retain'd, / Some liv'd on Slates, and some the Canvas stain'd; / Some trac'd in Iv'ry, or engrav'd on Stone, / Or sunk in Clay, e're Bi...

— Bowden, Samuel (fl. 1733-1761)

Date: 1755

Had only heaven "stamp'd Omniscience on thy weaker Soul"

— Masters, Mary (1694-1771)

Date: 1755

"They George's Image in his Coin approve, / Thy pictur'd Mind I in thy Letters love."

— Masters, Mary (1694-1771)

Date: 1772

"My Brain's disturb'd; alas! alas! I rave; / What can I do? a poor forsaken Slave! / Like Birds, that spend their little idle Rage, / And, fruitless, mourn, indignant of their Cage, / From Thought to Thought, my fluttering Spirits rove, / Betray'd to Bondage, and, ah! lost to Love."

— Whyte, Samuel (1733-1811) [Editor]

Date: 1777

"Thus oft, from shop of brain, I try / To throw the dirt and rubbish by; / But still they gain their former state, / Or leave a vacuum in the pate."

— Savage, Mary (fl. 1763-1777)

Date: 1777

"At present in my brain there floats / A thousand parti-colored motes; / From which, if time would but permit, / I might sift some sparks of wit."

— Savage, Mary (fl. 1763-1777)

Date: w. 1789, 1804

"While Vanity unveils her whiffling flags, / Her glittering trinkets, and her tawdry rags-- / Spreads spangled nets, and fills her philter'd bowl, / To fix each Sense, and fascinate the Soul-- / Her birdlime twigs contrived with such sly Art, / That while they tangle thoughts, they trap the heart...

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