Date: 1718

"That dreadful Worm may long enchanted lie, / And roll'd in Volumes sleep, but cannot die; / Rousing at Times, indignant 'twill exert / Immortal Rage, and sting you to the Heart."

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1718

"Call to your Aid the Arts of Earth and Hell, / Th' upbraiding Guest within you'll ne'er expel."

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1718

"Should you presumptuous, quit your safer Ground, / And seek the utmost Lines, which Vertue bound, / And on the Frontier to engage the Foe, With Reason 's weak collected Forces go, / You'll soon those nice, ill-guarded Limits pass, / Throw down your Arms, and fond her Feet embrace, / In her soft ...

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1718

"The Foe has secret Friends within your Breast, / Perfidious Passions, which dissemble Rest / All these, should you approach her Camp too near, / Rising in Arms, against you will declare."

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1718

"By this strong Party lurking in your Heart, / Reason seduc'd, will to her Side desert."

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1718

"You from your Breast must root Religion's Weed, / Not only sin, but disbelieve your Creed."

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1718

"May not this cheering Breath, this soothing Air, / Nourish too fast Vain-Glory's secret Root, / And make its rank pernicious Branches shoot, / Till on your Mind they baneful Blossoms spread, / And drop malignant Dews on Virtue's tender Head?"

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1718

"And now the fair Ideas, which possest / Your Mind, by loose and vicious Thoughts opprest, / How will you wing your Way to Realms above, / And feast your Soul with Extasies of Love"

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1718

"Alma, They strenuously maintain, / Sits Cock-horse on Her Throne, the Brain; / And from that Seat of Thought dispenses / Her Sov'reign Pleasure to the Senses."

— Prior, Matthew (1664-1721)

Date: 1718 [first published 1684-1694]

"And not our Houses alone, when (as SOPHOCLES has it) they stand long untenanted, run the faster to ruine, but Mens natural parts lying unemployed for lack of Acquaintance with the World, contract a kind of filth or rust and craziness thereby."

— Plutarch (c. 46-120)