Every human feeling, answered by Shakespeare: an 1892 dictionary that files the Bard's best lines under the passions they express — from Ambition to Woe.
84 passages from Dictionary of Shakespearian Quotations (1892), each filed under the passion it answers.
Wears yet a precious jewel in its head. 'Tis good for men to love their present pains, Upon example; so the spirit is eas'd: And, when the mind is quicken'd, out of doubt, The organs, though defunct and dead before, Break up their drowsy grave, and newly move With casted slough, and fresh legerity.— filed under Adversity
Thus with imagin'd wing our swift scene flies, In motion of no less celerity Than that of thought. Suppose that you have seen The well-appointed King at Hampton pier Embark his royalty, and his brave fleet With silken streamers the young Phœbus fanning, Play with your fancies; and in them behold, Upon the hempen tackle ship-boys climbing: Hear the shrill whistle which doth order give To sounds confus'd; behold the threaden sails, Borne with the invisible and creeping wind, Draw the huge bottoms through the furrow'd sea, Breasting the lofty surge: O do but think, You stand upon the rivage, and behold A city on the inconstant billows dancing; For so appears this fleet majestical,— filed under Armament, Sailing
Tell the Constable, We are but warriors for the working day; Our gayness, and our gilt, are all be-smirch'd With rainy marching in the painful field. There's not a piece of feather in our host, (Good argument I hope we shall not fly,) And time has worn us into slovenry : But, by the mass, our hearts are in the trim.— filed under Army
Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggar'd host, And faintly through a rusty beaver peeps. The horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks, With torch-staves in their hands; and their poor jades Lob down their heads, drooping the hides and hips; The gum down-roping from their pale dead eyes; And in their pale dull mouths the gymold bit Lies foul with chaw'd grass, still and motionless; And their executors, the knavish crows, Fly o'er them all, impatient for their hour.— filed under Army
And something to be done immediately. We few, we happy few, we band of brothers For he, to-day, that sheds his blood with me. : Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile, This day shall gentle his condition And gentlemen in England now abed Shall think themselves accurs'd, they were not here; And hold their manhoods cheap, while any speaks,— filed under Battle
Now entertain conjecture of a time, When creeping murmur and the poring dark, Fill the wide vessel of the universe. From camp to camp, through the foul womb of night, The hum of either army stilly sounds, That the fixed sentinels almost receive The secret whispers of each other's watch : BAΓ Fire answers fire; and through their paly flames, Each battle sees the other's umbered face : Steed threatens steed in high and boastful neighs, Piercing the night's dull ear; and from the tents, The armourers accomplishing the knights, With busy hammers closing rivets up, Give dreadful note of preparation. The country cocks do crow; the clocks do toll, And the third hour of drowsy morning name. Proud of their numbers, and secure in soul, The confident and over-lusty French Do the low-rated English play at dice; And chide the cripple tardy-gaited night, Who, like a foul and ugly witch, doth limp So tediously away. The poor condemned English, Like sacrifices by their watchful fires Sit patiently, and inly ruminate The morning's danger; and their gestures sad, Investing lank-lean cheeks, and war-worn coats, Presenteth them unto the gazing moon So many horrid ghosts.— filed under Battle
So work the honey bees; Creatures, that by a rule in nature teach The art of order to a peopled kingdom. 7 They have a king, and officers of sorts; Where some, like magistrates, correct at home; Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad; Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings, Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds; Which pillage they with merry march bring home, To the tent-royal of their emperor; Who, busied in his majesty, surveys The singing masons building roofs of gold; The civil citizens kneading up the honey; The poor mechanic porters crowding in Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate; The sad-ey'd justice, with his surly hum, Delivering o'er to executors pale— filed under Bees
I pray you to serve Got, and keep you out of prawls and prabbles, and quarrels, and dissentions, and, I warrant you,— filed under Brawls
Now thou art seal'd the son of chivalry. H. VI. PT. I. iv. 6. In this glorious and well foughten field, We kept together in our chivalry.— filed under Dissolving
'Tis no sinister, nor no aukward claim, Pick'd from the worm-holes of long vanish'd days, Nor from the dust of old oblivion rak'd.— filed under Claim, Antiquated
From rascals worse than they. Reproach and everlasting shame— filed under Toward
He which hath no stomach to this fight, Let him depart; his passport shall be made, And crowns for convoy put into his purse: We would not die in that man's company, That fears his fellowship to die with us.— filed under Coward
Perish the man whose mind is backward now. H.V. iv.— filed under Coward
Turn head and stop pursuit; for coward dogs Most spend their mouths, when what they seem to threaten Runs far before them.— filed under Coward
Custom calls me to't:- What custom wills in all things should we do't; The dust on antique time would lie unswept, And mountainous error be too highly heap'd For truth to overpeer. C. ii.) Nice customs curt'sey to great kings.— filed under Custom
The third hour of drowsy morning.— filed under Dawn
This fell serjeant death Is strict in his arrest.— filed under Death
'A made a finer end, and went away an it had been any christom child; 'a parted just between twelve and one ;--- e'en at the turning of the tide: for after I saw him fumble with the sheets, and play with flowers, and smile upon his fingers, ends, I knew there was but one way; for his nose was as sharp as a pen, and 'a babbled of green fields. How now, Sir John, quoth I: what, man! be of good cheer. So 'a cried out, God! -three or four times: now I, to comfort him, bid him 'a should not think of God; I hoped there was no need to trouble himself with any such thoughts yet.— filed under Death
Scorn, and defiance; slight regard, contempt, And any thing that may not misbecome The mighty sender, doth he prize you at.— filed under Defiance
Though I am not splenetive and rash, Yet have I in me something dangerous, Which let thy wisdom fear.— filed under Defiance
If the enemy is an ass, and a fool, and a prating coxcomb, is it meet, think you, that we should also, look you, be an ass, and a fool, and a prating coxcomb?— filed under Enemies
If England to herself do rest but true. O England, model to thy inward greatness, Like little body with a mighty heart, - What might'st thou do, that honour would thee do, Were all thy children kind and natural!— filed under England
The men do sympathize with the mastiffs, in robustious and rough coming on, leaving their wits with their wives; and then give them great meals of beef, and iron, and steel, they will eat like wolves, and fight like devils.— filed under English, The
Be friends, you English fools, be friends; we have French quarrels enough, if you could tell how to reckon.— filed under English, The
There is some soul of goodness in things evil Would men observingly distil it out: For our bad neighbour makes us early stirrers, Which is both healthful, and good husbandry; Besides, they are our outward consciences, And preachers to us all; admonishing, That we should dress us fairly for our end. Thus may we gather honey from the weed, And make a moral of the devil himself.— filed under Evil
For now sits Expectation in the air.— filed under Expectation
a quarter in rheum. I would give all my fame for a pot of ale, and safety.— filed under Fame
Even as men wrecked upon a sand, that look to be washed off the next tide.— filed under Forlorn
Her obsequies have been as far enlarg'd As we have warranty: Her death was doubtful; And, but that great command o'er-sways the order, She should in ground unsanctified have lodg'd Till the last trumpet; for charitable prayers, Shards, flints, and pebbles, should be thrown on her, Yet here she is allow'd her virgin rites, Her maiden strewments, and the bringing home Of bell, and burial.— filed under Funeral Rites
The grave doth gape, and doting death is near. H.V. ii.— filed under Grave
The Lord in heaven bless thee, noble Harry! H. V. iv. 1. God-a-mercy, old heart! thou speakest cheerfully.— filed under Greeting
Such fellows are perfect in great commanders' names: and they will learn you by rote where services are done.— filed under Hero, Military, Pretended
What a beard of the general's cut, and a horrid suit of the camp, will do among foaming bottles, and ale-washed— filed under Hero, Military, Pretended
Either our history shall, with full mouth, Speak freely of our acts; or else our grave, Like Turkish mute, shall have a tongueless mouth,— filed under Hero, Military, Pretended
But out upon this half-fac'd fellowship! By Jove, I am not covetous of gold, Nor care I, who doth feed upon my cost; It yearns me not if men my garments wear; Such outward things dwell not in my desires; But, if it be a sin to covet honour,— filed under Honour
Show men dutiful? Why, so didst thou: or seem they grave and learned? Why, so didst thou: come they of noble family? Why, so didst thou: seem they religious? Why, so didst thou: or are they spare in diet, Free from gross passion, or of mirth, or anger; Constant in spirit, not swerving with the blood; Garnish'd and deck'd in modest compliment; Not working with the eye, without the ear, And, but in purged judgment, trusting neither? Such, and so finely bolted, didst thou seem.— filed under Hypocrisy
God, and his angels, guard your sacred throne, And make you long become it!— filed under Invocation
O, for a muse of fire, that would ascend The brightest heaven of invention!— filed under Invocation
O hard condition, twin-born with greatness, Subject to the breath of every fool, Whose sense no more can feel but his own wringing' What infinite heart's ease must kings neglect, That private men enjoy! And what have kings, that privates have not too, Save ceremony, save general ceremony? And what art thou, thou idol ceremony? What kind of god art thou, that suffer'st more Of mortal griefs than do thy worshippers? What are thy rents? what are thy comings in ? O, ceremony, show me but thy worth What, is thy soul of adoration? Art thou aught else but place, degree, and form Creating awe and fear in other men? Wherein thou art less happy, being fear'd, Than they in fearing Shakespearinu Dictionary. What drink'st thou oft instead of homage sweet, But poison'd flattery? O, be sick, great greatness, And bid thy ceremony give thee cure! Think'st thou, the fiery fever will go out With titles blown from adulation? Will it give place to flexure and low bending? Canst thou, when thou command'st the beggar's knee, Command the health of it? No, thou proud dream; That play'st so subtly with a king's repose; I am a king, that find thee; and I know, 'Tis not the balm, the sceptre, and the ball, The sword, the mace, and crown imperial, The inter-tissued robe of gold and pearl, The farced title running 'fore the king, The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp, That beats upon the high shore of this world: No, not all these, thrice gorgeous ceremony, Not all these, laid in bed majestical, Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave; Who, with a body fill'd, and vacant mind, Gets him to rest, cramm'd with distressful bread; Never sees horrid night, the child of hell; But like a lackey, from the rise to set, Sweats in the eye of Phœbus, and all night Sleeps in Elysium; next day, after dawn, Doth rise, and help Hyperion to his horse; And follows so the ever-running year With profitable labour, to his grave: And, but for ceremony, such a wretch, Winding up his days with toil, and nights with sleep, Had the fore-hand and vantage of a king.— filed under Kings
The king is a good king; but it must be as it may; he— filed under Kings
Have left me naked to mine enemies. I think the king is but a man, as I am: the violet smells to him as it doth to me; the element shows to him as it doth to me; all his senses have but human conditions; his ceremonies laid by, in his nakedness he appears but a man; and though his affections are higher mounted than ours, yet, when they stoop, they stoop with the like wing; therefore, when he sees reason of fears, as we do, his fears, out of— filed under Kings
England ne'er had a king until his time. Virtue he had, deserving to command; His brandish'd sword did blind men with his beams; His arms spread wider than a dragon's wings; His sparkling eyes, replete with wrathful fire, More dazzled and drove back his enemies, Than mid-day sun, fierce bent against their faces. What should I say? his deeds exceed all speech: He ne'er lift up his hand, but conquered. H. VI. PT. I. 1. 1 Hear him but reason in divinity, And, all-admiring, with an inward wish You would desire the king were made a prelate: Hear him debate of commonwealth affairs, You would say-it hath been all-in-all his study; List his discourse of war, and you shall hear A fearful battle render'd you in music: Turn him to any cause of policy, The Gordian knot of it he will unloose, Familiar as his garter; that, when he speaks, The air, a charter'd libertine, is still, And the mute wonder lurketh in men's ears, To steal his sweet and honey'd sentences.— filed under Kings
You may as well go about to turn the sun to ice, by fanning in his face with a peacock's feather.— filed under Labour In Vain
signify. Why, what read you there, That hath so cowarded and chas'd your blood, Out of appearance?— filed under Letter
I know no ways to mince it in love, but directly to say, I love you; then, if you urge me further than to say, Do you in faith? I wear out my suit. Give me your answer; i' faith do, and so clap hands, and a bargain.— filed under Love
And those that leave their valiant bones in France, Dying like men, though buried in your dunghills,, They shall be fam'd; for there the sun shall greet them, And draw their honours reeking up to heaven. H. V. iv. 3. If we are mark'd to die, we are enough To do our country loss; and if to live, The fewer men, the greater share of honour.— filed under Magnanimity
I once did hold it, as our statists do, A baseness to write fair, and labour'd much How to forget that learning; but, sir, now It did me yeoman's service.— filed under Manuscript
'Tis dangerous, when the baser nature comes Between the pass and fell incensed points Of mighty opposites.— filed under Meddler
If little faults, proceeding on distemper, Shall not be wink'd at, how shall we stretch our eye, When capital crimes, chew'd, swallow'd, and digested, Appear before us?— filed under Mercy
You must not dare, for shame, to talk of mercy; For your own reasons turn into your bosoms, As dogs upon their masters, worrying them.— filed under Mercy
It must be so: for miracles are ceas'd; And therefore we must needs admit the means— filed under Miracles
To what base uses we may return, Horatio! Why may not imagination trace the noble dust of Alexander till he— filed under Mutability
When creeping murmur, and the poring dark, Fill the wide vessel of the universe.— filed under Night
Trust none; For oaths are straws, men's faiths are wafer-cakes, And hold-fast is the only dog, my duck; Therefore, caveto be thy counsellor.— filed under Jaths
I have no cunning in protestation; only downright oaths which I never use till urged, nor never break for urging.— filed under Oaths
the grinding. Though patience be a tired mare, yet she will plod.— filed under Patience
In peace, there's nothing so becomes a man, As modest stillness, and humility.— filed under Peace
- For mine own part, I have not a case of lives; the humour of it is too hot, that is the very plain-song of it.— filed under Peril
Every wretch pining and pale before, Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks A largess universal, like the sun, Shakespearian Dictionary. POP His lib'ral eye doth give to every one,— filed under Popularity
Our indiscretion sometimes serves us well, When our deep plots do pall: and that should teach us, Shakespearinn Dictionary. There's a divinity that shapes our ends,— filed under Providence
Nay, an' thou'lt mouth, I'll rant as well as thou— filed under Rant
Larded with many several sorts of reasons.— filed under Reason
This deadly quarrel daily doth beget. But now the Bishop Turns insurrection to religion: Suppos'd sincere and holy in his thoughts, He's follow'd both with body and with mind. H. IV. PT. IL L. L What rein can hold licentious wickedness, When down the hill he holds his fierce career? We may as bootless spend our vain command Upon th' enraged soldiers in their spoil, As send precepts to the Leviathan— filed under Rebellion
Consideration like an angel came, And whipp'd the offending Adam out of him Leaving his body as a paradise, To envelop and contain celestial spirits.— filed under Reform
Awake remembrance of these valiant dead, And with your puissant arm renew their feats.— filed under Remembrance
Like bright metal on a sullen ground, My reformation, glittering o'er my fault, Shall show more goodly, and attract more eyes, Than that which hath no foil to set it off. H. IV. PT. 1. 1. 2. Never came reformation in a flood, With such a heavy current, scow'ring faults: Nor ever hydra-headed wilfulness So soon did lose his seat, and fall at once, As in this king.— filed under Repentance
But it is no matter: Let Hercules himself do what he may, The cat will mew, the dog will have his day.— filed under Retribution
As is the ooze and bottom of the sea With sunken wreck and sumless treasuries.— filed under Rhymster
This secret is so weighty, 'twill require A strong faith to conceal it.— filed under Secrecy
Self-love is not se vile a sin As self-neglecting.— filed under Self-Love
Trailest thou the puissant pike?— filed under Soldier
SOUL, continued. inued. Every subject's duty is the king's, but every subject's— filed under Soul
The more pity, that great folk should have countenance in this world to drown or hang themselves, more than their— filed under Suicide
The pretty and sweet manner of it forc'd Those waters from me which I would have stopp'd; But I had not so much of man in me, But all my mother came into mine eyes,— filed under Tears
In the quick forge and working house of thought.— filed under Thought
Jumping o'er times; Turning the accomplishment of many years Into an hour-glass.— filed under Thought
These fellows of infinite tongue, that can rhyme them selves into ladies' favours, they do always reason them selves out again.— filed under Tongue
Let it not disgrace me, If I demand, before this royal view, What rub, or what impediment, there is, Why that the naked, poor, and mangled peace, Dear nurse of arts, plenties, and joyful births, Should not, in this best garden of the world, Our fertile France, put up her lovely visage? Alas! she hath from France too long been chas'd. And all her husbandry doth lie on heaps, Corrupting in its own fertility. Her vine, the merry cheerer of the heart, Unpruned, dies: her hedges even-pleach'd, - Like prisoners wildly overgrown with hair, Put forth disorder'd twigs: her fallow leas The darnel, hemlock, and rank fumitory, Doth root upon; while that the coulter rusts, That should deracinate such savagery: The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth The freckled cowslip, burnet, and green clover, Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank, Conceives by idleness; and nothing teems, But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burs, Losing both beauty and utility. And as our vineyards, fallows, meads, and hedges, Defective in their natures, grow to wildness; Even so our houses, and ourselves, and children, Have lost, or do not learn, for want of time, The sciences that should become our country; But grow, like savages, -as soldiers will, That nothing do but meditate on blood,- To swearing, and stern looks, diffus'd attire, And every thing that seems unnatural.— filed under War
The gates of mercy shall be all shut up; And the flesh'd soldier, -rough and hard of heart, - In liberty of bloody hand, shall range With conscience wide as hell; mowing like grass Your fresh fair virgins and your flow'ring infants.— filed under War
In a moment, look to see The blind and bloody soldier, with foul hand, Defile the locks of your shrill-shrieking daughters; Your fathers taken by the silver beards, And their most reverend heads dash'd to the walls; Your naked infants spitted upon pikes; Whiles the mad mothers with their howls confus'd Do break the clouds.— filed under War
The nimble gunner With linstock now the devilish cannon touches.— filed under War
See a siege : Behold the ordnance on their carriages, With fatal mouths gaping on girded Harfleur. ed Harfleur.— filed under War
And you, good yeomen, Whose limbs were made in England, show us here The mettle of your pasture; let us swear That you are worth your breeding, which I doubt not; For there is none of you so mean and base,— filed under Wrongs