Date: 1702

While Reason governs "all within's at Rest; / No Stormy Passion Revels in the Breast"

— Pomfret, John (1667-1702)

Date: 1702

"In Adversity / The Mind grows tough by buffeting the Tempest; / Which, in Success dissolving, sinks to Ease, / And loses all her Firmness."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1702

"For oh! My faithful Haly, / Another Care has taken up thy Master; / Spight of the high-wrought Tempest in my Soul, / Spight of the Pangs, which Jealousy has cost me; / This haughty Woman reigns within my Breast: / In vain I strive to put her from my Thoughts, / To drive her out with Empire, and ...

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: w. 1677, 1702

"Vain wandring Thoughts, that crowd within my Breast / Do oft obstruct my Soul from Solid Rest; / like to vagrant Clouds, obscure the Mind / Which should to serious watching be inclin'd."

— Mollineux [née Southworth], Mary (1651-1695)

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

"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

"Trust not to that; / Rage is the shortest Passion of our Souls, / Like narrow Brooks that rise with sudden Show'rs, / It swells in haste, and falls again as soon; / Still as it ebbs the softer Thoughts flow in, / And the Deceiver Love supplies its place."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1703

"She's here! yet oh! my Tongue is at a loss, / Teach me, some Pow'r, that happy Art of Speech, / To dress my Purpose up in gracious Words; / Such as may softly steal upon her Soul, / And never waken the Tempestuous Passions."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1703

"Sorrow, Remorse, and Shame, have torn my Soul, / They hang like Winter on my Youthful Hopes, / And blast the Spring and Promise of my Year."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)