Date: 1697

"What inward Whips my tortur'd Bowels tear? / Fierce Vipers twist their Spires about my Heart, / And Bite, and Sting, and Wound with deadly smart. / With more than Atlas weight my Soul's opprest, / And raging Tempests beat along my breast: / Corroding Flames eat thro' my burning veins, / And all ...

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1697

"Conscience enrag'd a fiercer Ravager, / Than ravening Vultures, Did his Bowels tear. / Around his Veins envenom'd Adders clung, / And to the Heart the tortur'd Monarch stung. / Vengeance Divine upon his Soul was pour'd, / And unextinguish'd Flames his Life devour'd."

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1697

"Thence thro' his Skull it passage did obtain, / And pierc'd the inmost Marrow of the Brain; / Where the melodious Strings of Sense are found / Up to a due and just extension wound; / All tun'd for Life, and fitted to receive / Th'harmonious strokes which outward Objects give."

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1699

"Whilst in his Breast the Fury breath'd a Storm, / Then sought her Cell, and reassum'd her Form, / Thus from the Sore altho' the Insect flies, / It leaves a brood of Maggots in disguise."

— Garth, Samuel (1660/61-1719)

Date: 1700

"Rack'd with my griefs, my Anxious Soul survives, / Dash'd like a ship which with the Billows drives."

— Hopkins, John (b. 1675)

Date: 1700

"O Sacharissa, what could steel thy breast, / To rob the charming Waller of his rest?"

— Cobb, Samuel (bap. 1675, d. 1713)

Date: 1700

"No shackling Rhyme chain'd the free Poets mind; / Majestick was his Style, and unconfin'd."

— Cobb, Samuel (bap. 1675, d. 1713)

Date: 1700

"Whilst our own Will our Passions shall restrain, / He [Nassaw] gives us each an Empire where to Reign."

— Hopkins, John (b. 1675)

Date: 1700

"The Passions still predominant will rule, / Ungovern'd, rude, not bred in Reason's School."

— Pomfret, John (1667-1702)

Date: 1700

"On these [passions] the Soul, as on some Flowing Tide, / Must sit, and on the raging Billows Ride, / Hurry'd away, for how can be withstood / Th' Impetuous Torrent of the boiling Blood?"

— Pomfret, John (1667-1702)