Date: 1686, 1712

"When first my Soul put on its fleshly Load, / It was Imprison'd in the dark Abode; / My Feet were Fetters, my Hands Manacles, / My Sinews Chains, and all Confinement else; / My Bones the Bars of my loath'd Prison grate; / My Tongue the Turn-key, and my Mouth the Gate."

— Arwaker, Edmund (c.1655-1730)

Date: 1686, 1712

"O! that some usual Labour were injoyn'd, / And not the Tyrant Vice enslav'd my mind! / No weight of Chains cou'd grieve my captive Hands, / Like the loath'd Drudg'ry of its base Commands."

— Arwaker, Edmund (c.1655-1730)

Date: June 28, 1693

"Beauties shine thro' the Work, adorn the whole, / Chain up the Sense, and captivate the Soul."

— Tate, Nahum (c. 1652-1715)

Date: 1693

"From her blest Heart there flows a Line, / Which Nature made, and grapples mine. / Secret as that which tyes the Mind, / When to the Body 'tis confin'd"

— Hawkshaw, Benjamin (1671/2-1738)

Date: w. 1694-1698, 1989

"Wn to my soul thou'st spoken peace / When from its bonds thou wilt my soul release / all my mourning then shall cease."

— Parnell, Thomas (1679-1718)

Date: 1700

"They cannot, no; each sigh Love's flight sustains, / O'er my own Heart in my own Breast he Reigns, / And holds too strong, my strugling Soul in Chains."

— Hopkins, John (b. 1675)

Date: Friday, June 20, 1712

"Upon her Tongue did such smooth Mischief dwell, / And from her Lips such welcome Flatt'ry fell, / Th' unguarded Youth, in Silken Fetters ty'd, / Resign'd his Reason, and with Ease complied. / Thus does the Ox to his own Slaughter go, / And thus is senseless of th' impending Blow. / Thus flies th...

— Steele, Sir Richard (1672-1729)

Date: 1713, 1734

"We are chained to a body, that is to say, our perceptions are connected with corporeal motions."

— Berkeley, George (1685-1753)

Date: 1713, 1734

"We are chained to a Body, that is to say, our Perceptions are connected with corporeal Motions."

— Berkeley, George (1685-1753)

Date: w. 1702-1713

"Loos'd from ye chains of flesh his freer mind / Rose up to sacred love, / To perfect saint or seraphim refin'd, / Quitting his lump of clay, / As subtle spirits fume away / Loos'd from their earth they upward mount, they flye, / They light, they shine, & blaze along the skye."

— Parnell, Thomas (1679-1718)