Date: 1676

The understanding argues before the will can choose and "the last Dictate of the Judgment sways / The Will, as in a Balance, the last Weight / Put in the Scale, lifts up the other end"

— Shadwell, Thomas (1642-1692)

Date: 1693

"But this small Out-let to my Passion gave it but little ease, a thousand distracting Thoughts turn'd my Mind to e'ry side, not permitting it to fix on any thing, yet all tended to the Contrivance of the satisfaction of my too impatient desires."

— Anonymous

Date: 1693

"On the contrary, it is not unjust not to pitty him that loves you to all the extravagance of raving; and with these words, he got into an entire possession of the strugling Nymph, who with a Heart all panting with excess of Pleasure, now calmly permitted whatsoe're the Count would do."

— 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: 1700

"This very Morning I'll prepare for Turin, / Where Time and Absence will deface the Image / Of that bewitching Beauty, which how haunts / My tortur'd Mind."

— Centlivre [née Freeman; other married name Carroll], Susanna (bap. 1669?, d. 1723)

Date: 1702

"Why hangs my Heart thus heavy / Like Death within my Bosom?"

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1702

"Oh, Glorious Thought! By Heav'n! I will enjoy it, / Tho' but in Fancy; Imagination shall / Make room to entertain the vast Idea."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1702

"Stop thee there, Arpasia, / And bar my Fancy from the guilty Scene; / Let not Thought enter, lest the busie Mind / Should muster such a train of monstrous Images, / As wou'd distract me."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1700, 1702

"So was the Monarchs heart for passion moulded, / So apt to take at first the soft impression."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1700, 1702

"My Son shall breathe so warm a gale of sighs, / As shall dissolve those Isicles, that hang / Like death about her heart."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)