Date: 1712, 1721 [1706-21]

"After the princess had passed by Aladdin, and got into the baths, he remained some time astonished and confounded, and in a kind of extacy, in reflecting and imprinting the idea of so charming an object deeply in his mind."

— Anonymous

Date: 1721-22 [1706-1721]

"To stop my ears so hard with cotton, answered the princess, that I may not hear the voices, and by that means prevent the impression they may make upon my mind, and that I may not lose the use of my reason."

— Anonymous

Date: 1742

"So should all speak: so Reason speaks in all. / From the soft whispers of that god in man, / Why fly to Folly, why to Frenzy fly, / For rescue from the blessing we possess?"

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1742

"It makes us wander; wander earth around / To fly that tyrant, Thought."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1742

"The soul is on a rack; the rack of rest, / To souls most adverse; action all their joy."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1742

"Life we think long and short; Death seek and shun; / Body and soul, like peevish man and wife, / United jar, and yet are loath to part."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1742

"O treacherous Conscience! while she seems to sleep / On rose and myrtle, lull'd with siren song; / While she seems, nodding o'er her charge, to drop / On headlong appetite the slacken'd rein, / And give us up to licence, unrecall'd, / Unmark'd,---see, from behind her secret stand, / The sly info...

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1742

"Not the gross act alone employs her pen; / She reconnoitres Fancy's airy band, / A watchful foe! the formidable spy, / Listening, o'erhears the whispers of our camp; / Our dawning purposes of heart explores, / And steals our embryos of iniquity."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1742

"Lorenzo, such that sleeper in thy breast! / Such is her slumber; and her vengeance such / For slighted counsel; such thy future peace!"

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1742

"Our freedom chain'd; quite wingless our desire; / In sense dark-prison'd all that ought to soar / Prone to the centre; crawling in the dust; / Dismounted every great and glorious aim; / Embruted every faculty divine; / Heart-buried in the rubbish of the world."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)