Date: 1760-7

"Honours, like impressions upon coin, may give an ideal and local value to a bit of base metal; but Gold and Silver will pass all the world over without any other recommendation than their own weight."

— Sterne, Laurence (1713-1768)

Date: 1760-7

"There was the great king Aldrovandus, and Bosphorus, and Capadocius, and Dardanus, and Pontus, and Asius,--to say nothing of the iron-hearted Charles the XIIth, whom the Countess of K***** herself could make nothing of"

— Sterne, Laurence (1713-1768)

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."

— Hawkesworth, John (bap. 1720, d. 1773)

Date: 1761

Faulkland has "steeled my husband's heart against me, heaped infamy on my head, and loaded my mother's age with sorrow and remorse"

— Sheridan [née Chamberlaine], Frances (1724-1766)

Date: 1761

"If the unfortunate Mr. Arnold sees his error, can you be so unchristian as to endeavour at steeling his wife's heart against him?"

— Sheridan [née Chamberlaine], Frances (1724-1766)

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"

— 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."

— 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."

— 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...

— 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."

— Cumberland, Richard (1732-1811)