Date: 1718

"You from your Breast must root Religion's Weed, / Not only sin, but disbelieve your Creed."

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1718

"May not this cheering Breath, this soothing Air, / Nourish too fast Vain-Glory's secret Root, / And make its rank pernicious Branches shoot, / Till on your Mind they baneful Blossoms spread, / And drop malignant Dews on Virtue's tender Head?"

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1718

"And now the fair Ideas, which possest / Your Mind, by loose and vicious Thoughts opprest, / How will you wing your Way to Realms above, / And feast your Soul with Extasies of Love"

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1721

"My Heart do's like soft Wax relent, / And midst my Bowels flow"

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1721

"Bless God, who did not give our Soul / To their sharp Teeth a Prey."

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1721

"Our Soul, as from a broken Snare / A Bird escapes, is fled."

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1722

"An empire, which thy [Jesus'] armies did not gain, / Not purchas'd by the blood of thousands slain, / But by thy own; an empire o'er the mind / Erected, and for heavenly ends design'd."

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1722

"[E]rring conscience must as well controll /Our acts, as when it moves and guides the soul"

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1722

"He, who the revelation owns, yet brings / The sacred truths and high mysterious things / Of Christian faith, which heav'nly light reveals, / To reason's bar, to a wrong court appeals."

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1722

"For reason, reason's self being judge, by laws, / That rule her province, can't decide the cause."

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)