Date: 1697

"A lawless Rout of Passions still engage / In Nature's Cause with hideous Noise and Rage. / Reason is in the Tumult quite supprest, / And still the safest side we think the best."

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1697

"Then climbs the Mind to the first glorious Cause, / And his bright Image by this Model draws. / Freedom of Choice, pure Intellectual Light, / Power Independent, Goodness Infinite, / To form the great Idea we unite."

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1697

"At such Reflections do's not Nature start, / And try at every Spring to touch your Heart? / Do's not soft Pity's fire begin to burn, / Do not your yearning Bowels in you turn? / In such a case Breasts arm'd with temper'd Steel / And Hearts of Marble, should impression feel."

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1697

"Th'impetuous Stress of Passion bears me down, / And the high tyde dos sinking Reason drown."

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1697

"Let Love's strong Flame by its Celestial Art / To fill my Eyes, dissolve and melt my Heart; / As Central Fire advances watry Steams / Which from the Mountains spring in Crystal Streams."

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1697

"Lord, strike this Marble Heart, thy powerful Stroke / Will make a Flood gush from the cleaving Rock. / O draw all Nature's Sluces up, and drain / Her Magazines, which liquid Stores contain."

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1697

"Prodigious was the Compass of his Mind, / Wide as his Love, which took in Humane Kind. / He Albion's Good, not Fame or Riches fought, / Generous, and open-hearted to a fault. / An unexhausted Magazin his Brain / Did all the Treasures of the Schools contain."

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1697

"Thro' Helm and Skull the Fauchion passage found, / Cleft thro' the Brain, and ruin'd with the Wound / The curious Imag'ry by Fancy wrought, / All Mem'ry's Cells, and all the Moulds of Thought."

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1697

"When Lucifer observ'd the Pagans flee, / And the great Briton crown'd with Victory, / O'er-boiling Rage his lab'ring Mind possest, /And thoughts of deep Revenge o'erwhelm'd his Breast."

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1697

"What inward Whips my tortur'd Bowels tear? / Fierce Vipers twist their Spires about my Heart, / And Bite, and Sting, and Wound with deadly smart. / With more than Atlas weight my Soul's opprest, / And raging Tempests beat along my breast: / Corroding Flames eat thro' my burning veins, / And all ...

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)