Date: 1703

"Methought ev'n now I mark'd the starts of Guilt, / That shook her Soul; tho' damn'd Dissimulation / Skreen'd her dark Thoughts, and set to publick View / A specious Face of Innocence and Beauty."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1703

"She's here! yet oh! my Tongue is at a loss, / Teach me, some Pow'r, that happy Art of Speech, / To dress my Purpose up in gracious Words; / Such as may softly steal upon her Soul, / And never waken the Tempestuous Passions."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1703

"Sorrow, Remorse, and Shame, have torn my Soul, / They hang like Winter on my Youthful Hopes, / And blast the Spring and Promise of my Year."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1703

"If it be so, this is our last Farewel, / And these the parting Pangs which Nature feels, / When Anguish rends the Heart-strings--Oh! my Daughter."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1703

"Nothing but Blood can make the Expiation, / And cleanse the Soul from inbred, deep Pollution."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1704

"Who then wou'd court the Pomp of guilty Power, / When the Mind sickens at the weary Shew, / And flies to temporary Death for Ease."

— Steele, Sir Richard (1672-1729)

Date: 1705

"The deadly Bullet thro' his Forehead past, / An Inch above the Eye-brows, and effac'd / The Haunts and Tracks of Learning in the Brain,"

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1706

"Did this state of mind remain always so, every one would, without scruple, give it the name of perfect madness; and whilst it does last, at whatever intervals it returns, such a rotation of thoughts about the same object no more carries us forwards towards the attainment of knowledge, than getti...

— Locke, John (1632-1704)

Date: 1706

"'Till then be kind, and leave me to my self; / Leave me to vent the Fulness of my Breast, / Pour out the Sorrows of my Soul alone, / And sigh my self, if possible, to Peace."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1706

"Behold that! that!--more dreadful than Medusa, / It drives my Soul back to her inmost Seats, / And freezes every stiff'ning Limb to Marble."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)