Date: 1739

"I know thou hast a serpentizing Genius, / Can'st wind the subtlest Mazes of the Soul, / And trace her Wand'rings to the Source of Action."

— Brooke, Henry (c. 1703-1783)

Date: 1739

"At such a Time, it was, it was too much! / To pluck the soaring Pinion of my Soul, / While Eagle-ey'd she held her Flight to Heav'n, / O'er Pain and Death triumphant!"

— Brooke, Henry (c. 1703-1783)

Date: 1739

"The Sense but to have sav'd that wond'rous Man, / Is still a smiling Cherub in my Breast, / And whispers Peace within."

— Brooke, Henry (c. 1703-1783)

Date: 1739

"Where lives the Man whose Reason slumbers not?"

— Brooke, Henry (c. 1703-1783)

Date: 1739

"A gen'rous Mind, tho' sway'd a-while by Passion. / Is like the steely Vigour of the Bow, / Still holds its native Rectitude, and bends / But to recoil more forceful."

— Brooke, Henry (c. 1703-1783)

Date: 1739

"Thus, thus to be driven out from my own Breast! / To have no Shed, no shelt'ring Nook at Home / To take Reflection in!"

— Brooke, Henry (c. 1703-1783)

Date: 1739

"How looks the Wretch / Whose Heart cries Villain to itself? I'll not / Endure its Batt'ry."

— Brooke, Henry (c. 1703-1783)

Date: 1739

"Ye hallowed Men! / In whom Vice sanctifies, whose Precepts teach / Zeal without Truth, Religion without Virtue, / Who ne'er preach Heav'n but with a downward Eye / That turns your Souls to Dross; who shouting loose / The Dogs of Hell upon us."

— Brooke, Henry (c. 1703-1783)

Date: 1739

"For, O Gustavus, / My Soul is dark, disconsolate and dark; / Sick to the World, and hateful to myself, / I have no Country now."

— Brooke, Henry (c. 1703-1783)

Date: 1739

"I am all / That's left to calm, to sooth his troubled Soul, / To Penitence, to Virtue; and perhaps / Restore the better Empire o'er his Mind, / True Seat of all Dominion."

— Brooke, Henry (c. 1703-1783)