Date: w. 1718 [first published 1907]

"All this says Richard is but Nonsense / For whats the Will without the Conscience / That mighty Pow'r by whom the thought / Is from Kings Bench to Chanc'ry brought. / What Seat for Her have You assign'd / When She may view and sway the mind?"

— Prior, Matthew (1664-1721)

Date: 1718

"A thousand little Nerves She sends / Quite to our Toes, and Fingers Ends; / And These in Gratitude again / Return their Spirits to the Brain; / In which their Figure being printed / (As just before, I think, I hinted) / Alma inform'd can try the Case, / As She had seen upon the Place. // Thus, w...

— Prior, Matthew (1664-1721)

Date: 1718

The mind is like "The Pope [who] prays and sleeps at Rome, / And very seldom stirs from Home: / Yet sending forth his Holy Spies, / And having heard what They advise, / He rules the Church's blest Dominions; / And sets Men's Faith by His Opinions."

— Prior, Matthew (1664-1721)

Date: 1718

One may erect in one' s heart a "Conscience-Throne"

— Amhurst, Nicholas (1697-1742)

Date: 1718

"Reluctant Reason you'll in Fetters keep, / And lay th' insulting Judge within asleep."

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1718, 1720

"For Love's my constant Guest, / And reigns a Lordly Tyrant in my Breast."

— Amhurst, Nicholas (1697-1742)

Date: 1718, 1720

"Love does my ev'ry other Thought controul, / And is the Master-Passion of my Soul."

— Amhurst, Nicholas (1697-1742)

Date: 1718

Reason may be "too Young to rule a Flame" (of love)

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1718

"Now, when unbridled Passions use to reign, / While vanquish'd Reason wears the Victor's Chain, / See Pleasure, fair and smiling as the Morn, / (Soft Silks her Limbs, gay Flow'rs her Head adorn) / Which with her Breath perfumes the ambient Air, / While sporting Zephyrs heave her golden Hair, / Mi...

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1718

"Should you presumptuous, quit your safer Ground, / And seek the utmost Lines, which Vertue bound, / And on the Frontier to engage the Foe, With Reason 's weak collected Forces go, / You'll soon those nice, ill-guarded Limits pass, / Throw down your Arms, and fond her Feet embrace, / In her soft ...

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)