Date: 1700, 1705

"Wit, like the jangling Chimes, rings all in one, / Till Sense, the Artist, sets them into Tune."

— Defoe, Daniel (1660?-1731)

Date: 1701

"Which are but tantalizing Amusements that debauch our Genius when they are once over, and Fatigue allows us a serious interval; with what regret do we reflect upon our Folly, in letting our Appetites govern our Reason, and like the Sirens Song charm us into Ruine."

— Baker, Thomas (b. 1680-1)

Date: 1702 [but see also earlier editions 1648, 1651]

"My Soul untun'd, unstrung, doth wait on Thee / To teach her how to sing thy MYSTERY."

— Beaumont, Joseph (1616-1699)

Date: 1702

"Nay, yet more, / My Soul seems pleas'd to take acquaintance with thee, / As if ally'd to thine: Perhaps 'tis Sympathy / Of honest Minds; Like Strings wound up in Musick, / Where by one touch, both utter the same Harmony."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1700, 1702

"Forget that thought, / That jarring grates your Soul, and turns the Harmony / Of blessed Peace to curst infernal Discord."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1704

"Nay, wise Men and great Philosophers, have accounted it as the Archet or Musical Bow of the Mind. And certainly it is most true, and as it were a Secret of Nature, that the Minds of Men are more patent to Affections, and Impressions Congregate than Solitary."

— Dennis, John (1658-1734)

Date: 1705

"Nature is a kind of Harmony, which by a strange Collection of Things, makes an Impression on our Senses and our Reason."

— Manley, Delarivier (c. 1670-1724)

Date: 1706

"Our Souls are out of Tune, we languish all, / Nor does the sweet Returning of the Dawn / Chear with its usual Mirth our drowzy Spirits, / That droop'd beneath the lazy leaden Night."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1706

"Let ev'ry jarring Sound of Discord cease, / Tune all your Thoughts and Words to Beauty's Praise, / To Beauty, that with sweet and pleasant Influence / Breaks Life the Day-star from the chearful East."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1707, 1709

"So fell Great Britains Orpheus in his Rage, / When Furies in his Breast began to howl, / And Cares that wait on Life's uncertain Stage, / Had quite untun'd his Soul."

— Ward, Edward (1667-1731)