Date: 1703, 1718

"Hostile Desires fierce Wars repeat"

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1703, 1718

"Darkness, like that in Central Caves beneath, / Like that, which spreads the lonesome Walks of Death, / Where never Ray one Inroad made, / The Rebels Mind did swift invade."

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1711

"While Passions in their Breasts ungovern'd rage, / Distract the Mind, and War intestine wage, / Reason divine from her high Throne descends, / Lays by her Scepter, and her Pow'r suspends."

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1712

"See, how resistless Orators perswade, / Draw out their Forces, and the Heart invade: / Touch ev'ry Spring and Movement of the Soul, / This Appetite excite, and That controul."

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1712

"When threat'ning Tides of Rage and Anger rise, / Usurp the Throne, and Reason's Sway despise, / When in the Seats of Life this Tempest reigns, / Beats thro' the Heart, and drives along the Veins, / See, Eloquence with Force perswasive binds / The restless Waves, and charms the warring Winds: Res...

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1712

"These Out-guards of the Mind are sent abroad, / And still patrolling beat the neighb'ring Road: / Or to the Parts remote obedient fly, / Keep Posts advanc'd, and on the Frontier lye."

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1712

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

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1718

"Repeated Prostitutions conquer Shame, / Assure the Face, and struggling Reason tame."

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1718

"Should you at length decide the doubtful War, / Renounce to Virtue, and for Vice declare, / You'll ne'er in Triumph captive Reason lead, / On Conscience wholly conquer'd never tread."

— 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)