Date: 1676

"Can that blind faculty the Will be free, / When it depends upon the Understanding??

— Shadwell, Thomas (1642-1692)

Date: 1693

"Not so, I beseech you, Madam, (answer'd I) rather than lose the Happiness of your Conversation, I'll curb my forward Heart, that is unwilling to let me talk of any thing but its wounds."

— Anonymous

Date: 1693

"In short, Madam, you must be less Fair, or not banish Love from the severe and wise, for as long as you have those killing Eyes, those charming Lips, that graceful Person, all that you can say, will be no better defence, against the Darts they cast, than an Harangue against War, wou'd keep a Sou...

— Anonymous

Date: 1693

"A thousand Tortures perplex'd my Mind, and Love, tho' so lately born, was grown up already, to the heigth of impatience: To ease my mind a little, I set my self to writing, and made these Verses on my departure from Bracilla."

— Anonymous

Date: 1693

"Each day he came to her to seek a cure for those Wounds she had made in his tender Bosome, and each day he enlarg'd 'em, by beholding the relentless cause of all his sufferings; which were now arriv'd to that heighth, that he was neither able to bear 'em, nor yet knew how to remove them."

— Anonymous

Date: 1693

"So much the unhappier I (reply'd Montano) who am depriv'd of all means of obtaining Bracilla, tho her Embraces alone can cure my tortur'd Soul."

— Anonymous

Date: 1696

"O! that we cou'd incorporate, be one, / One Body, as we have been long one Mind: / That blended so, we might together mix, / And losing thus our Beings to the World, / Be only found to one anothers Joys."

— Southerne, Thomas (1659-1746)

Date: 1702

"If my wounded Mind / Could know a Thought of Peace, it would be now."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1700, 1702

"Her thoughtful Soul, labours with some event / Of high import, which bustles like an Embryo / In its dark Room, and longs to be disclos'd."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1706

"If these known Arts cou'd heal my wounded Soul, / Cou'd recompence the Sorrows of my Days, / Or sooth the Sighings of my lonely Nights; / Well might you hope to woe me to your Wishes, / And win my Heart with your fond Tales of Love."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)