Date: 1693

"And when a Soul of large Dimensions comes / T' inform the human flesh--compacted Rooms, / The gladsome Fabrick full of Beauty shows"

— Hawkshaw, Benjamin (1671/2-1738)

Date: 1693

"No, I will break this House of Clay, / Which clogs my fleeter Thoughts and Mind."

— Hawkshaw, Benjamin (1671/2-1738)

Date: 1693

"Condemn'd in this dark Prison must I here, / Watch till the Trumpet strike mine Ear? / Must I ne'er know thy Goodness and thy Love, / Because I did transgress thy Will above? / Must Clouds and Vapours still obscure my Mind?"

— Hawkshaw, Benjamin (1671/2-1738)

Date: 1693

"Some Glances of a State that's past I find, / Take up the Corners of my thoughtful Mind, / As cover'd Embers when they're blown, create / A Flame, and represent my former State."

— Hawkshaw, Benjamin (1671/2-1738)

Date: 1694, 1778

"But he said, that Vulcan was the most imprudent of them all, because he did not make a Window in the Man's Breast, that he might see what his Thoughts were, whether he designed some Trick, or whether he intended what he spoke."

— Pomey, François (1618-1673)

Date: 1695

Active spirits fly "To the round Palace of th' Immortal Soul, / And thro' the Rooms and dark Apartments roll."

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1695

"The busie Crowd fills all the labouring Brain, / Bright Fancy's Work-house, where close Cells contain / Of Forms and Images an endless Train, / Which thither thro' the waking Senses glide, / And in fair Mem'ry's Magazine abide."

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1695

"Compos'd of these, light Scenes and Shows appear, / Which still employ the restless Theater. / Divinely mov'd, the Airy Figures take / Their several Ranks, and this bright Vision make."

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1696

"Poor thredbare Vertue ne'er admir'd in Court. / But seeks its Refuge in an honest Mind, / There it securely dwells, / Like Anchorets in Cells / Where no Ambition nor wild Lust resorts."

— Tutchin, John (1661-1707)

Date: 1696

"I find the danger now: my Spirits start / At the alarm, and from all quarters come / To Man my Heart, the Citadel of love."

— Southerne, Thomas (1659-1746)