Date: 1661

"[Y]et is my Will / Free, as the Conquerour's: and Rome shall finde, / I still retain the Empire of my Minde, / That stands above her reach, where I alone / Will rule, and scorn to live, but on a Throne."

— Ross, Thomas (bap. 1620, d. 1675)

Date: 1661

"[T]hrough ev'ry Breast [Faith] goes, invades their Minds, which, all-possest / By her great Deitie, each Soul doth prove / Her Altar, burning by her Sacred Love"

— Ross, Thomas (bap. 1620, d. 1675)

Date: 1661

"But that, whose Sound, in the Pelîack Cave, / A Bridle to the Minds of Heroes gave, / And great Achilles Thoughts, the Centaure lov'd, / And when, upon the Strings, his Finger mov'd, / Hell's, or the Ocean's Fury 'twould allay."

— Ross, Thomas (bap. 1620, d. 1675)

Date: 1661

"Him th'unhappy Queen / Views with an earnest Eye, and Entertains / With Smiles: for Love within her Bosom Reigns."

— Ross, Thomas (bap. 1620, d. 1675)

Date: 1661

"To Liberty / A Bowl is crown'd, which all as greedily / Quaff off, as if in it they thought to finde / Their Wish, and Sense of Bondage from the Minde / Expel."

— Ross, Thomas (bap. 1620, d. 1675)

Date: 1678

"A Weak mind complains before it is overtaken with evil, and as Birds are affrighted with the noise of the Sling, so the infirm soul anticipates its troubles by its own fearful apprehensions, and falls under them before they are yet arrived."

— Wanley, Nathaniel (1634-1680)

Date: 1678

"Dares afraid his reasons house / (Though he had scarce so much as goose) / About his batter'd ears should tumble"

— Philips, John (1676-1709)

Date: 1678

"He lik't not banging sans defeizance. / While t'other labors all he can / To make a window to his brain."

— Philips, John (1676-1709)

Date: 1680

"Art thou with pow'r come down to make us leave / Those conquer'd Souls, which by our wiles we have / Fetter'd, with a design to make them be / Companions with us in our misery"?

— Chamberlayne, Sir James (c.1640-1699)

Date: 1680

"So week and feeble I am grown, / Wasted to nothing, ev'ry bone / Disjoynted, from its place doth start, / Like Wax dissolv'd so is my Heart."

— Chamberlayne, Sir James (c.1640-1699)