Date: 1743

"Our funeral tears from different causes rise. / As if from separate cisterns in the soul, / Of various kinds, they flow."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1744, 1772, 1795

"For such the bounteous providence of heaven, / In every breast implanting this desire / Of objects new and strange, to urge us on / With unremitted labour to pursue / Those sacred stores that wait the ripening soul, / In Truth's exhaustless bosom."

— Akenside, Mark (1720-1771)

Date: 1744, 1772, 1795

"Yet indistinct, / In vulgar bosoms, and unnotic'd lie / These pleasing stores, unless the casual force / Of things external prompt the heedless mind / To recognize her wealth."

— Akenside, Mark (1720-1771)

Date: 1744, 1772, 1795

"Hitherto the stores, / Which feed thy mind and exercise her powers, / Partake the relish of their native soil, / Their parent earth."

— Akenside, Mark (1720-1771)

Date: 1745

"And tho' each Day increas'd his curious Store / Thought his capacious Soul had room for more"

— Whaley, John (bap. 1710, d. 1745)

Date: 1745

"Such is the world Lorenzo's wisdom wooes, / And on its thorny pillow seeks repose; / A pillow which, like opiates ill-prepared, / Intoxicates, but not composes; fills / The visionary mind with gay chimeras, / All the wild trash of sleep, without the rest; / What unfeign'd travail, and what dream...

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1745

"Fancy and Sense from an infected shore, / Thy cargo bring; and pestilence the prize."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1745

"Drink early then, my Friend, at Reason's Bowl, / And fill with wholesome Draughts thy youthful Soul. / If Wine or Gall the Recent Vessel stains, / Each Scent alike the faithful Cask retains."

— Whaley, John (bap. 1710, d. 1745)

Date: 1753

"Worthy possess'd my will--my Lord my eye, / Grinly my spleen--my scorn Sir Lubberly. / Chip had my laughter;--every Man his part, / And room for forty more, in woman's heart."

— Hill, Aaron (1685-1750)

Date: 1753

"Over-cramm'd / With self, and surfeiting on brief success, / The narrow-compass'd heart wants room, for taste."

— Hill, Aaron (1685-1750)