Date: 1746

"All raving Passions soon wou'd be supprest" is man cou'd "but thro' eternity pervade"

— Ruffhead, James

Date: 1747

"Hither beauteous Goddess move, / Leave a while th' Idalian Grove; / Once more to my transported Breast, / Come a mild, a grateful Guest; / There confirm thy pleasing Reign, / Free from Cares, and free from Pain."

— Lennox, née Ramsay, (Barbara) Charlotte (1730/1?-1804)

Date: 1746; December 17, 1747 [actually January, 1748]

"The Passions ceas’d their loud alarms, / And Virtue’s soft persuasive charms / O’er all their senses stole."

— Carter, Elizabeth (1717-1806)

Date: 1747

"Come, sinners, to the gospel feast, / Let every soul be Jesu's guest"

— Wesley, John and Charles

Date: 1733, 1748

"O falsely deemed the foe of sacred wit! / Thou [Memory], who the nurse and guardian art of it, / Laying it up till season due and fit."

— Pilkington, Laetitia (c. 1709-1750)

Date: 1751, 1791

"The passions are a num'rous crowd, / Imperious, positive, and loud: / Curb these licentious sons of strife; / Hence chiefly rise the storms of life: / If they grow mutinous, and rave, / They are thy masters, thou their slave."

— Cotton, Nathaniel, the elder (1705-1788)

Date: 1752, 1791

"This home philosophy, you know, / Was priz'd some thousand years ago. / Then why abroad a frequent guest? / Why such a stranger to your breast?"

— Cotton, Nathaniel, the elder (1705-1788)

Date: 1752, 1791

"Life's records rise on ev'ry side, / And Conscience spreads those volumes wide; / Which faithful registers were brought / By pale-ey'd Fear and busy Thought. / Those faults which artful men conceal, / Stand here engrav'd with pen of steel, / By Conscience, that impartial scribe!"

— Cotton, Nathaniel, the elder (1705-1788)

Date: 1753

Locke's "guiding Hand th'ideal Blank explores, / And opens wide the Senses' various Doors, / Thro' which the thronging Thoughts their Passage find, / In social Tribes, and stock the peopled Mind."

— Jones, Henry (1721-1770)

Date: 1753, 1770

"Tho' liv'd he now he might appeal with scorn / To Lords, Knights, 'Squires and Doctors, yet unborn; / Or justly mad to Moloch's burning fane / Devote the choicest children of his brain."

— Armstrong, John (1708/9-1779)