Date: 1737
"My Mind resumes the thread it dropt before; / Thoughts, which at Hyde-Park-Corner I forgot, / Meet and rejoin me, in my pensive Grott. "
preview | full record— Pope, Alexander (1688-1744)
Date: 1737
"Talk what you will of Taste, my Friend, you'll find, / Two of a Face, as soon as of a Mind."
preview | full record— Pope, Alexander (1688-1744)
Date: 1737
"With Terrors round can Reason hold her throne / Despise the known, nor tremble at th'unknown?"
preview | full record— Pope, Alexander (1688-1744)
Date: 1738
"Still is there Room for Friends not less in Mind; / But the learn'd Elbow hates to be confin'd."
preview | full record— Ogle, George (1704-1746)
Date: w. 1737, published 1738
"A Voice there is, that whispers in my ear, / ('Tis Reason's voice, which sometimes one can hear)."
preview | full record— Pope, Alexander (1688-1744)
Date: w. 1737, published 1738
"Long, as to him who works for debt, the Day; / Long as the Night to her whose love's away; / Long as the Year's dull circle seems to run, / When the brisk Minor pants for twenty-one; / So slow th' unprofitable Moments roll, / That lock up all the Functions of my soul; / That keep me from Myself;...
preview | full record— Pope, Alexander (1688-1744)
Date: w. 1737, published 1738
"But when no Prelate's Lawn with Hair-shirt lin'd, / Is half so incoherent as my Mind, / When (each Opinion with the next at strife, / One ebb and flow of follies all my Life) / I plant, root up, I build, and then confound, / Turn round to square, and square again to round."
preview | full record— Pope, Alexander (1688-1744)
Date: 1738, 1792
"But soon a beam, emissive from above, / Shed mental day, and touch'd the heart with love; / Gave jealous rage to know Divine Controul, / And ruled the tempest rising in the soul."
preview | full record— Brooke, Henry (c. 1703-1783)
Date: 1738, 1792
"Love ... Give the soft sex to loathe inglorious rest, / String the weak arm, and steel the snowy breast!"
preview | full record— Brooke, Henry (c. 1703-1783)
Date: 1738
"And as the Mind in Infants, is like a white Sheet of Paper, where nothing is written; or like a tender Twig, which may be bent every Way; it is evident, that either Virtue or Vice may be planted in it."
preview | full record— Guazzo, Stefano (1530-1593)