Date: 1703

"Man in himself a little World contains / A Soul not subject or to Bonds or Chains."

— Oldmixon, John (1672/3-1742)

Date: 1703

"My Father! oh let me unlade my Breast, / Pour out the fullness of my Soul before you, / Show ev'ry tender, ev'ry grateful Thought, / This wond'rous Goodness stirs."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1703

"A rising storm of Passion shook her Breast, / Her Eyes a piteous show'r of Tears let fall, / And then she sigh'd as if her Heart were breaking."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1703

"I found the Fond, Believing, Love-sick Maid, / Loose, unattir'd, warm, tender, full of Wishes; / Fierceness and Pride, the Guardians of her Honour, / Were charm'd to Rest, and Love alone was waking. / Within her rising Bosom all was calm, / As peaceful Seas that know no Storms, and only / Are ge...

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1703

"I found my Heart no more beat high with Transport, / No more I sigh'd, and languish'd for Enjoyment, / 'Twas past, and Reason took her turn to reign, / While ev'ry Weakness fell before her Throne."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1703

"At first her Rage was dumb, and wanted Words, / But when the Storm found way, 'twas wild and loud. / Mad as the Priestess of the Delphick God, / Enthusiastick Passion swell'd her Breast, / Enlarg'd her Voice, and ruffled all her Form."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1703

"Oh wretched Husband! while she hangs about thee / With idle Blandishments, and plays the fond one, / Ev'n then her hot Imagination wanders, / Contriving Riot, and loose scapes of Love."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1703

"It were unjust, no let me spare my Friend, / Lock up the fatal Secret in my Breast, / Nor tell him that which will undo his Quiet."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1703

"Wou'd I had met / Sharpest Convulsions, spotted Pestilences, / Or any other deadly Foe to Life, / Rather than heave beneath this load of Thought."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1703

"My little Heart is satisfy'd with you, / You take up all her room; as in a Cottage / Which harbours some Benighted Princely Stranger, / Where the good Man, proud of his Hospitality, / Yields all his homely Dwelling to his Guest, / And hardly keeps a Corner for himself."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)