Date: 1718

"The Foe has secret Friends within your Breast, / Perfidious Passions, which dissemble Rest / All these, should you approach her Camp too near, / Rising in Arms, against you will declare."

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1718

"By this strong Party lurking in your Heart, / Reason seduc'd, will to her Side desert."

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1718

"You from your Breast must root Religion's Weed, / Not only sin, but disbelieve your Creed."

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1718

"May not this cheering Breath, this soothing Air, / Nourish too fast Vain-Glory's secret Root, / And make its rank pernicious Branches shoot, / Till on your Mind they baneful Blossoms spread, / And drop malignant Dews on Virtue's tender Head?"

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1718

"And now the fair Ideas, which possest / Your Mind, by loose and vicious Thoughts opprest, / How will you wing your Way to Realms above, / And feast your Soul with Extasies of Love"

— Blackmore, Sir Richard (1654-1729)

Date: 1718

"Alma, They strenuously maintain, / Sits Cock-horse on Her Throne, the Brain; / And from that Seat of Thought dispenses / Her Sov'reign Pleasure to the Senses."

— Prior, Matthew (1664-1721)

Date: 1718 [first published 1684-1694]

"And not our Houses alone, when (as SOPHOCLES has it) they stand long untenanted, run the faster to ruine, but Mens natural parts lying unemployed for lack of Acquaintance with the World, contract a kind of filth or rust and craziness thereby."

— Plutarch (c. 46-120)

Date: 1718 [first published 1684-1694]

"For sottish ease, and a life wholly sedentary and given up to Idleness, spoils and debilitates, not only the Body but the Soul too: And as close Waters shadowed over by bordering Trees, and stagnated in default of Springs, so supply current and motion to them become foul and corrupt; so methinks...

— Plutarch (c. 46-120)

Date: 1718 [first published 1684-1694]

"Have you not then observed how a Man's Reason (like fire, scarce visible and just going out) retires into it self, and what with inactivity and dullness, every little flitting object so flatters and endangers the extinguishing it, that there remains but some obscure indications that the Man is a...

— Plutarch (c. 46-120)

Date: 1780?

"Lust is the unbridled Horse of the Soul that has thrown its Rider."

— Walpole, Horatio [Horace], fourth earl of Orford (1717-1797)