Date: 1693

""And tho' all Joys have left me far behind, / I'll chew the Cudd of Pleasure in my Mind, / And so at least in Thought I will be Young again."

— Ames, Richard (bap. 1664?, d. 1692)

Date: 1693

"Musick alone inflames my drooping Mind; / Nay, she would mount her Wings, and fly away, / Not be confin'd to this dull Lump of Clay, / Did not the Charms of Musick most divine / Unite, and things so wide, so close combine."

— Hawkshaw, Benjamin (1671/2-1738)

Date: 1694, 1704

"If we govern ourselves in the use of sensual delight, by the Laws of God and reason, we shall find ourselves more at ease than if we should let loose the reins to our appetites and lusts."

— Tillotson, John (1630–1694)

Date: 1695

"I'll keep my Soul free, as the Bird that flies i'th' Air, / And ne'er Love one, till I of all the rest despair."

— Ravenscroft, Edward (c.1650- c.1700)

Date: 1696

The soul may leave "the reins in the wild hand of nature, who like a Phaeton, drives the fiery chariot, and sets the world on flame"

— Vanbrugh, Sir John (1664-1726)

Date: 1696

"He that strives not to Stem his Angers Tide, / Does a Mad Horse without a Bridle ride."

— Cibber, Colley (1671-1757)

Date: 1697

"Inexorable Hatred, Pride unmixt / Desp'rate Revenge, and Malice deeply fixt, / With Wrath from every Stain of Love refin'd / Reign'd uncontroul'd in his envenom'd Mind."

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1697

"Amazing Power of Guilt! one great Offence / Benumbs the Mind, and stupifys the Sense, / Binds fast reluctant Conscience with its Charms, / And of its Sting the Worm within disarms."

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1697

"What inward Whips my tortur'd Bowels tear? / Fierce Vipers twist their Spires about my Heart, / And Bite, and Sting, and Wound with deadly smart. / With more than Atlas weight my Soul's opprest, / And raging Tempests beat along my breast: / Corroding Flames eat thro' my burning veins, / And all ...

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1697

"Conscience enrag'd a fiercer Ravager, / Than ravening Vultures, Did his Bowels tear. / Around his Veins envenom'd Adders clung, / And to the Heart the tortur'd Monarch stung. / Vengeance Divine upon his Soul was pour'd, / And unextinguish'd Flames his Life devour'd."

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)