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."

— 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."

— 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."

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1697

"We are not pleas'd a glorious World to know, / Whereof our Senses no Impression show."

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1697

"Reluctant Sense declines the untrodden Path, / Tho aided both by Reason and by Faith."

— 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."

— 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."

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1697

"Oh, let no groundless Prejudice oppose / The Light, that from so pure a Fountain flows. / May these kind Beams dispel the Clouds, and find / An unobstructed Passage to your Mind."

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1697

"A lawless Rout of Passions still engage / In Nature's Cause with hideous Noise and Rage. / Reason is in the Tumult quite supprest, / And still the safest side we think the best."

— 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...

— Swift, Jonathan (1667-1745)