Date: 1761

"Wake my Harp! to melting Measures, / Pour thy softest, sweetest Treasures, / Such as lift the Thoughts on high; / 'Till the rapt Soul, Earth forsaking, / Heaven-ward it's Flight is taking, / On the Wings of Harmony."

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

Date: 1762

"Thy griefs pent up, have prey'd upon thy heart."

— Cradock, Joseph (1742-1826)

Date: 1763

"My heart was lighter than a fly, / Like any bird I sung, / Till he pretended love, and I, / Believed his flattering tongue."

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

Date: 1773

"Fancy no more on airy wings shall rise, / We now must scold the maids, and make the pies."

— More, Hannah (1745-1833)

Date: 1773

Injur'd Reason may "her lost rights again / Resume, and of the passions take the rein"

— Hitchcock, Robert (d. 1809)

Date: 1775

"I'll wait till her just resentment is abated--and when I distress her so again, may I lose her for ever! and be linked instead to some antique virago, whose knawing passions, and long-hoarded spleen, shall make me curse my folly half the day, and all the night!"

— Sheridan, Richard Brinsley (1751-1816)

Date: 1778

The heart like a bird to its nestling will fly, / And when by the weight of a parent its bending, / Yet wishes while constant to break and to die. / Like a bird in a snare, of its freedom bereft, / Still hoping and wishing releasement again, / 'Till clos'd in the cage the flutterer is left / To p...

— Robertson, James (fl.1768-1788)

Date: 1779

"Not Man, but thriftless Nature, be accused, / Who to seductions left our minds a prey-- / --Nay more, who doth herself ensnare us; / Hath hung us round with senses exquisite, / Hath planted in our hearts resistless passions, / The first to weaken, and the last to war / On poor, defenceless, nake...

— Cowley [née Parkhouse], Hannah (1743-1809)

Date: 1779

"My mind, with wild contending passions torn, / Now, like a hart by worrying dogs forsook, / Sinks into apathy."

— Cowley [née Parkhouse], Hannah (1743-1809)

Date: 1779

"Mean time, Editha send; some secret grief / Preys on her mind, and fain I would relieve / Her bosom'd anguish."

— Cowley [née Parkhouse], Hannah (1743-1809)