Date: 1697
"What ever brought him here, or took him hence / It was no mean, or common influence, / Of Heavens best mettal, that inform'd his soul, / And made all vertue, but a blubr'd scrol / Of his great mind."
preview | full record— Cleland, William (1661?-1689)
Date: 1697
"Its Springs divinely touch'd, his lab'ring Brain / Did this Celestial Vision entertain."
preview | full record— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)
Date: 1697
"Inexorable Hatred, Pride unmixt / Desp'rate Revenge, and Malice deeply fixt, / With Wrath from every Stain of Love refin'd / Reign'd uncontroul'd in his envenom'd Mind."
preview | full record— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)
Date: 1697
"But he Employ'd to set their Judgments right, / No Force but Reason's mild but powerful Light."
preview | full record— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)
Date: 1697
"It reach'd the inmost Marrow of the Brain / Where we perceive our Pleasures, and our Pain. / There where the Soul upon her Throne abides, / And from our Sight conceal'd her Empire guides: / Do's various Orders various Tasks dispence, / To all th'inferiour Ministers of Sence."
preview | full record— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)
Date: 1697
"We are not pleas'd a glorious World to know, / Whereof our Senses no Impression show."
preview | full record— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)
Date: 1697
"Reluctant Sense declines the untrodden Path, / Tho aided both by Reason and by Faith."
preview | full record— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)
Date: 1697
"Amazing Power of Guilt! one great Offence / Benumbs the Mind, and stupifys the Sense, / Binds fast reluctant Conscience with its Charms, / And of its Sting the Worm within disarms."
preview | full record— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)
Date: 1697
"Our Senses to the Mind while lodg'd in Clay, / Do all their various Images convey. / Things that we tast, and feel, and see, afford / The Seeds of Thought with which our Minds are stor'd."
preview | full record— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)
Date: 1704
"Erect your schemes with as much method and skill as you please; yet, if the materials be nothing but dirt, spun out of your own entrails (the guts of modern brains), the edifice will conclude at last in a cobweb; the duration of which, like that of other spiders’ webs, may be imputed to their be...
preview | full record— Swift, Jonathan (1667-1745)