Date: 1697, 1700

"Nor think thy force too small, too weak thy Mind / Because to Clay unequally confined; / Its Power is wondrous Great; how small a Mass / Of Gold or Gems, exceeds vast Heaps of Brass?"

— Manilius, Marcus (fl. 1st Century AD), Creech, Thomas (1659-1700)

Date: 1698

"He can't be assured the same Colours of Reason and Desire will last. Any little Accident from without may metamorphose his Fancy, and push him upon a new set of Thoughts."

— Collier, Jeremy (1650-1726)

Date: 1700

"In short, taking it for granted, that we two understand one another by half a Word, I will set both his and my Imagination on the Ramble."

— Brown, Thomas (bap. 1663, d. 1704)

Date: 1700, 1717

"Thus all Things are but alter'd, nothing dies; / And here and there th' unbodied Spirit flies, / By Time, or Force, or Sickness dispossess, / And lodges, where it lights, in Man or Beast; / Or hunts without, till ready Limbs it find, / And actuates those according to their kind; / From Tenement ...

— Dryden, John (1631-1700)

Date: 1701

"Stand by ye Fools--That noble Theam's my share,/ Farce is a Strain too low to court the Fair; / When to that pitch your Thoughts attempt to fly, / Like unskill'd Icarus you soar too high."

— Baker, Thomas (b. 1680-1)

Date: 1701

"Thro' Heat of Youth, her Fancy vainly roves, / And she acts just as every Whimsy moves."

— Baker, Thomas (b. 1680-1)

Date: 1702

"My Heart beats higher, and my nimble Spirits / Ride swiftly thro' their purple Channels round: / 'Tis the last blaze of Life: Nature revives / Like a dim, winking Lamp, that flashes brightly / With parting Light, and strait is dark for ever."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1700, 1702

"Each busie thought, that rouls within her breast, / Labours for him; the King, when first he sicken'd, / Declar'd he should succeed him in the Throne."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1700, 1702

"But whither does my roving fancy wander?"

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: w. 1677, 1702

"Vain wandring Thoughts, that crowd within my Breast / Do oft obstruct my Soul from Solid Rest; / like to vagrant Clouds, obscure the Mind / Which should to serious watching be inclin'd."

— Mollineux [née Southworth], Mary (1651-1695)