Date: 1657

"Cupid denied of this did backward start, / And ran for hast to hide him in her heart, / Where he renewed fresh flames, and by delay, / So I corcht his wings he could not fly away / Thus force perforce in her my conquer'd breast / Is the poore Inne of such a God-borne guest, / Whom while I harbor...

— Bold, Henry (1627-1683)

Date: 1661

"[T]hrough ev'ry Breast [Faith] goes, invades their Minds, which, all-possest / By her great Deitie, each Soul doth prove / Her Altar, burning by her Sacred Love"

— Ross, Thomas (bap. 1620, d. 1675)

Date: c. 1680

"The Vitall Spirits apprehend thereby / Exposde to danger great suburbs ly, / The which they do desert, and speedily / The Fort of Life the Heart, they Fortify, / The Heart beats up still by her Pulse to Call / Out of the outworks her train Souldiers all / Which quickly come hence."

— Taylor, Edward (1642-1729)

Date: 1663-1689

"Our hearts weak forts we must resign / When beauty does its forces join / With man's strong enemy, good wine."

— Sackville, Charles, sixth earl of Dorset and first earl of Middlesex (1643-1706)

Date: 1700, 1717

"This Helenus to great AEneas told, / Which I retain, e'er since in other Mould: / My Soul was cloath'd; and now rejoice to view / My Country Walls rebuilt, and Troy reviv'd anew, / Rais'd by the fall: Decreed by Loss to Gain; / Enslav'd but to be free, and conquer'd but to reign."

— Dryden, John (1631-1700)

Date: 1712

"The watchful Centinels at ev'ry Gate, / At ev'ry Passage to the Senses wait."

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1740

"Thus lawless conquerors our town restore, / With the sad marks of their inhuman power; / No art, nor time, such ravage can repair; / No superstructure can these ruins bear."

— Dixon, Sarah (1671/2-1765)

Date: 1742

"Speech ventilates our intellectual fire; / Speech burnishes our mental magazine, / Brightens for ornament, and whets for use."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1745

"Imagination is the Paphian shop, / Where feeble Happiness, like Vulcan, lame, / Bids foul Ideas, in their dark recess, / And hot as hell, (which kindled the black fires,) / With wanton art, those fatal arrows form / Which murder all thy time, health, wealth, and fame."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)