Date: 1713

"The hero's presence deep impression makes; / The scenes his soul and body re-unite / Furnish a voice, produce him to the sight."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: April 18, 1721

"Oh, what a Pain to think! when every Thought, / Perplexing Thought in Intricacies runs, / And Reason knits th'inextricable Toil / In which her self is taken. I am lost, / Poor Insect that I am, I am involv'd, / And bury'd in the Web my self have wrought."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: April 18, 1721

"O the Medley / Of Right and Wrong! the Chaos in my Brain! / He should, and should not dye-- / You should Obey, / And not Obey.--It is a Day of Darkness, / Of Contradictions, and of many Deaths."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: April 18, 1721

"I told her, from your Childhood you was wont / On any great Surprize, but chiefly then / When cause of Sorrow bore it Company, / To have your Passion shake the Seat of Reason, / A momentary Ill, which soon blew o'er."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1727, 1787

"Let us the soul in even balance bear; / Content with what we have, and what we are!"

— Welsted, Leonard (1688-1747)

Date: 1730

"Britannia's state what bounds confine? / (Of rising thought O golden mine!) / Mountains, Alps, streams, gulfs, oceans, set no bound."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1742

"So should all speak: so Reason speaks in all. / From the soft whispers of that god in man, / Why fly to Folly, why to Frenzy fly, / For rescue from the blessing we possess?"

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1742

"The soul is on a rack; the rack of rest, / To souls most adverse; action all their joy."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1742

"Not the gross act alone employs her pen; / She reconnoitres Fancy's airy band, / A watchful foe! the formidable spy, / Listening, o'erhears the whispers of our camp; / Our dawning purposes of heart explores, / And steals our embryos of iniquity."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1742

"Our freedom chain'd; quite wingless our desire; / In sense dark-prison'd all that ought to soar / Prone to the centre; crawling in the dust; / Dismounted every great and glorious aim; / Embruted every faculty divine; / Heart-buried in the rubbish of the world."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)