Date: 1660, 1668

"Have you not seen an early-rising Lark / Spring from her Turf, making the Sun her mark, / Shooting her self aloft, yet higher, higher, / Till she had sung her self into Heaven's Quire? / Thus would he rise in Pray'r, and in a trice / His Soul become a Bird of Paradise."

— Wild, Robert (1615/16-1679)

Date: 1678

"I left off to watch, and be sober; I laid the reins upon the neck of my lusts; I sinned against the light of the Word, and the goodness of God."

— Bunyan, John (bap. 1628, d. 1688)

Date: 1678

"This conceit would loosen the reines of our lust, and tollerate us to live as we list."

— Bunyan, John (bap. 1628, d. 1688)

Date: 1693

""And tho' all Joys have left me far behind, / I'll chew the Cudd of Pleasure in my Mind, / And so at least in Thought I will be Young again."

— Ames, Richard (bap. 1664?, d. 1692)

Date: 1706

"O'er the broad lands, and cross the tide, / On fancy's airy horse I ride, / (Sweet rapture of the mind!) / Till on the banks of Ganges' flood, / In a tall ancient grove I stood / For sacred use design's."

— Watts, Isaac (1674-1748)

Date: 1719

"It would take up a larger Volume than this whole Work is intended to be, to set down all the Contrivances I hatch'd, or rather brooded upon in my Thought."

— Defoe, Daniel (1660?-1731)

Date: 1719

"My soul is like a wilderness, / Where beasts of midnight howl; / There the sad raven finds her place, / And there the screaming owl."

— Watts, Isaac (1674-1748)

Date: First performed February 17, 1720.

"No more--thou waken'st in my tortur'd Heart / The cruel conscious Worm that stings to Madness. / O I'm undone!--I know it, and can bear / To be undone for thee, but not to lose thee."

— Hughes, John (1678?-1720)

Date: 1722

"His Words I must confess fir'd my Blood; all my Spirits flew about my Heart, and put me into Disorder enough."

— Defoe, Daniel (1660?-1731)

Date: 1724

"Those Reflections began to prey upon my Comforts, and lessen the Sweets of my other Enjoyments: They might be said to have gnaw'd a Hole in my Heart before; but now they made a Hole quite thro' it; now they eat into all my pleasant things; made bitter every Sweet, and mix'd my Sighs with every S...

— Defoe, Daniel (1660?-1731)