Date: 1696

"What's this I feel thus rising in my Breast? Have I room there for any thing but Love? From whence then this new Guest? Is't Jealousie? "

— Scott, Thomas (fl. 1696-1697)

Date: 1696

"No, for I have heard some say, Men are ne're less alone, then when alone. reason I suppose is this, because they have Crowds of Thoughts, that still per the Mind; which wou'd be like the Soul retired and free, thereby to enjoy sweet Repose, which nought but that can Grant."

— Harris, Joseph (fl. 1684-1703)

Date: 1696

"I find the danger now: my Spirits start / At the alarm, and from all quarters come / To Man my Heart, the Citadel of love."

— Southerne, Thomas (1659-1746)

Date: 1700

"I cannot view you, Madam: For when you speak, all the Faculties of my charm'd Soul crowd to my attentive Ears; desert my Eyes, which gaze insensibly"

— Farquhar, George (1676/7-1707)

Date: 1699, 1700

"New Joy so crowds my Heart, I cannot bear it."

— D'Urfey, Thomas (1653?-1723)

Date: 1701

"My Reason's conquer'd by more powerful Love, / Who rules as Tyrant in my captiv'd Breast."

— Sherburne, Sir Edward (bap. 1616, d. 1702)

Date: 1700, 1702

"Wise Mirza! were my Soul a Temple, fit For Gods, and Godlike Counsels to inhabit, Thee only would I choose of all Mankind, To be the Priest, still favour'd with access."

— 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

"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)

Date: 1703

"For oh! that Sorrow which has drawn your Anger, / Is the sad Native of Calista's Breast, / And once possest will never quit its Dwelling, / 'Till Life, the Prop all, shall leave the Building, / To tumble down, and moulder into Ruin."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)