William Drummond (1746) avowed a taste which he knew to be very unfashionable:
Thrice happy he, who by some shady grove,
Far from the clamorous world, doth live his own
Though solitary, who is not alone,
But doth converse with that eternal love.
O how more sweet is birds' harmonious moan
Or the soft sobbings of the widow'd dove,
Than those smooth whisp'rings near a prince's throne....
O how more sweet is zephyr's wholesome breath
And sighs perfum'd, which new-born flowers unfold.