Date: 1759
"So Thoughts, when become too common, should lose their Currency; and we should send new metal to the Mint, that is, new meaning to the Press."
preview | full record— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)
Date: 1759
"Our suffering souls like gold refine, / And whiten us in blood Divine."
preview | full record— Wesley, John and Charles
Date: 1759
"Their grief, however, like their joy, was transient; every thing floated in their mind unconnected with the past or future, so that one desire easily gave way to another, as a second stone cast into the water effaces and confounds the circles of the first."
preview | full record— Johnson, Samuel (1709-1784)
Date: 1760
"If thus a golden crown can steel his heart, / O may I ne'er behold him while a king!"
preview | full record— Kenrick, William (1729/30-1779)
Date: 1761
"You, the miser's haunt be near; / Break his rest with causeless fear, / Creak his doors, his windows shake, / 'Till his iron heart shall quake."
preview | full record— Hawkesworth, John (bap. 1720, d. 1773)
Date: 1761
"Ye Pow'rs above my Breast with courage steel, / That when the Hour arrives, I may not feel / A Mother's weakness melting this sad Heart"
preview | full record— Jerningham, Edward (1727-1812)
Date: 1761
"But now Adversity's refining fire / Melts down the base alloy of earthly passions, / And purifies the temper of the heart."
preview | full record— Cumberland, Richard (1732-1811)
Date: 1761
"Soon as the guilty passion is allay'd, / The green and morbid colour of our souls / Is chang'd to virgin white; a gentle breeze / Of pity springs within us."
preview | full record— Cumberland, Richard (1732-1811)
Date: 1761
"Why then I thank thee, Nature, / That when you made this frame of such frail stuff, / So sensible of harm, so ill array'd / To combat sharp Misfortune, yet you cas'd / My Heart in temper'd steel, and made it proof / Against the soft compunctious stroke of Pity, / Bidding it laugh at all that Fat...
preview | full record— Cumberland, Richard (1732-1811)
Date: 1761
"But know to thy confusion, not the Winds, / That sweep the Scythian desart, are more deaf, / Than are thy fancied Deities; nor Rocks, / That shake those Winds from off their icy sides, / More hard, or more unfeeling than my heart."
preview | full record— Cumberland, Richard (1732-1811)