Date: w. 1592-3 or 1595?, 1623

"My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre, / For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go."

— Shakespeare, William (1564-1616)

Date: w. 1592-3 or 1595?, 1623

"Now my soul's palace is become a prison."

— Shakespeare, William (1564-1616)

Date: 1594

"This poor right hand of mine / Is left to tyrannize upon my breast, / Who, when my heart, all mad with misery, / Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh, / Then thus I thump it down."

— Shakespeare, William (1564-1616)

Date: 1597

"One of our souls had wandered in the air, / Banished this frail sepulchre of our flesh."

— Shakespeare, William (1564-1616)

Date: 1603

"And my imaginations are as foul / As Vulcan's stithy."

— Shakespeare, William (1564-1616)

Date: 1696

"I find the danger now: my Spirits start / At the alarm, and from all quarters come / To Man my Heart, the Citadel of love."

— Southerne, Thomas (1659-1746)

Date: 1702

"But that my Soul, conscious of whence it sprung, / Sits unpolluted in its sacred Temple, / And scorns to mingle with a Thought so mean."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1700, 1702

"Her thoughtful Soul, labours with some event / Of high import, which bustles like an Embryo / In its dark Room, and longs to be disclos'd."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1700, 1702

"Wise Mirza! were my Soul a Temple, fit For Gods, and Godlike Counsels to inhabit, Thee only would I choose of all Mankind, To be the Priest, still favour'd with access."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1700, 1702

"O could I think that he had ever known / My hidden flame, shame and confusion / Would force my Virgin soul to leave her mansion, / And certain Death ensue."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)