Date: 1744

"Sense! take the rein; blind Passion! drive us on; / And, Ignorance! befriend us on our way; / Ye new, but truest patrons of our peace! Yes; give the Pulse full empire; live the Brute, / Since as the Brute we die."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1744

"This all-pervading, this all-conscious soul, / This particle of energy Divine, / Which travels Nature, flies from star to star, / And visits gods, and emulates their powers, / For ever is extinguish'd"

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1744

"Beneath what baleful planet, in what hour / Of desperation, by what Fury's aid, / In what infernal posture of the soul, / All hell invited, and all hell in joy / At such a birth, a birth so near of kin, / Did thy foul fancy whelp so black a scheme / Of hopes abortive, faculties half-blown, / And...

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1744

"Nothing is dead; nay, nothing sleeps; each soul / That ever animated human clay / Now wakes, is on the wing; and where, O where, / Will the swarm settle?"

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1744

"The soul's high price / Is writ in all the conduct of the Skies."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1744

"Has not each element, in turn, subscribed / The soul's high price, and sworn it to the wise?"

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1744

"If not all-adamant, Lorenzo! hear: / All is delusion; Nature is wrapp'd up, / In tenfold night, from Reason's keenest eye; / There's no consistence, meaning, plan, or end / In all beneath the sun, in all above, / (As far as man can penetrate,) or heaven / Is an immense, inestimable prize; / Or a...

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1744

"Is it in words to paint you? O ye fallen! / Fallen from the wings of Reason, and of Hope!"

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1744

"And are you, too, convinced your souls fly off / In exhalation soft, and die in air, / From the full flood of evidence against you?"

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1744

"In the coarse drudgeries and sinks of Sense, / Your souls have quite worn out the make of Heaven, / By vice new-cast, and creatures of your own."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)