Date: 1718

"The Brain contains ten thousand Cells: / In each some active Fancy dwells; / Which always is at Work, and framing / The several Follies I was naming."

— Prior, Matthew (1664-1721)

Date: 1718

"As in a Hive's vimineous Dome, / Ten thousand Bees enjoy their Home; / Each does her studious Action vary, / To go and come, to fetch and carry: / Each still renews her little Labor; / Nor justles her assiduous Neighbour."

— Prior, Matthew (1664-1721)

Date: 1718

"Whilst, as my System says, the Mind / Is to these upper Rooms confin'd."

— Prior, Matthew (1664-1721)

Date: 1718

"Mature, if not improv'd, by Time / Up to the Heart She loves to climb: / From thence, compell'd by Craft and Age, / She makes the Head her latest Stage."

— Prior, Matthew (1664-1721)

Date: 1718

"Your Horace owns, He various writ, / As wild, or sober Maggots bit: / And, where too much the Poet ranted, / The Sage Philosopher recanted."

— Prior, Matthew (1664-1721)

Date: 1718

"But I can call to my Assistance / Proximity (mark that!) and Distance: / Can prove, that all Things, on Occasion, / Love Union, and desire Adhesion; / That Alma merely is a Scale; / And Motives, like the Weights, prevail."

— Prior, Matthew (1664-1721)

Date: 1718

"If neither Side turn down or up, / With Loss or Gain, with Fear or Hope; / The Balance always would hang ev'n, / Like Mah'met's Tomb, 'twixt Earth and Heav'n."

— Prior, Matthew (1664-1721)

Date: 1718

"My simple System shall suppose, / That Alma enters at the Toes; / That then She mounts by just Degrees / Up to the Ancles, Legs, and Knees: / Next, as the Sap of Life does rise, / She lends her Vigor to the Thighs: / And, all these under-Regions past,/ She nestles somewhere near the Waste."

— Prior, Matthew (1664-1721)

Date: 1718

"Alma, They strenuously maintain, / Sits Cock-horse on Her Throne, the Brain; / And from that Seat of Thought dispenses / Her Sov'reign Pleasure to the Senses."

— Prior, Matthew (1664-1721)

Date: 1741

"Without Memory the Soul of Man would be but a poor destitute naked Being, with an everlasting Blank spread over it, except the fleeting ideas of the present Moment."

— Watts, Isaac (1674-1748)