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Shakespeare Quotes from Richard II
103 passages from Dictionary of Shakespearian Quotations (1892), each filed under the passion it answers.
Howlings attend it. I've stoopt my neck under your injuries, And sigh'd my English breath in foreign clouds,— filed under Banishment
With boisterous untun'd drums, And harsh resounding trumpets' dreadful bray,— filed under Battle
Never did captive with a freer heart Cast off his chains of bondage, and embrace His golden uncontroll'd enfranchisement, More than my dancing soul doth celebrate This feast of battle with mine adversary.— filed under Battle
Heaven in thy good cause make thee prosperous! Be swift like lightning in the execution; And let thy blows, doubly redoubled, Fall like amazing thunder on the casque— filed under Battle
on the worst side, were it worse than the name of rebellion H. IV. PT. II. i. 2. can tell how to make it. Speak with me, pity me, open the door,— filed under Beggars
Mark'd with a blot, damn'd in the book of heaven.— filed under Blot
Good, my lord, let's fight with gentle words, Till time lend friends, and friends their helping swords.— filed under Caviller
Thoughts tending to content, flatter themselves, - That they are not the first of fortune's slaves, Nor shall not be the last; like silly beggars, Who, sitting in the stocks, refuge their shame,- That many have, and others must sit there, And in this thought they find a kind of ease, Bearing their own misfortunes on the back Of such as have before endur'd the like.— filed under Comfort
As gentle and as jocund as to jest, Go I to fight: Truth has a quiet breast.— filed under Confidence
With clog of conscience and sour melancholy. R. II.— filed under Conscience, Guilty
These high wild hills and rough uneven ways, Draw out our miles and make them wearisome; And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar, Making the hard way sweet and délectable.— filed under Conversation
To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength, Gives, in your weakness, strength unto your foe, And so your follies fight against yourself. Fear and be slain; no worse can come, to fight: And fight and die, is death destroying death; Where, fearing dying, pays death servile breath.— filed under Cowards
A thousand flatteries sit within thy crown, Whose compass is no bigger than thy head; And, yet incaged in so small a verge, The waste is no whit lesser than thy land.— filed under Crown, Regal
If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights- You pluck a thousand dangers on your head; You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts, And prick my tender patience to those thoughts— filed under Danger
Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe.— filed under Death
The worst is,-death, and death will have his day.— filed under Death
How now? what means death in this rude assault? Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument. Go thou and fill another room in hell. That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire, That staggers thus my person. Exton, thy fierce hand Hath, with the king's blood, stain'd the king's own land. Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high; Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward here to lie.— filed under Death
The setting sun, and music at the close, As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last; Writ in remembrance, more than things long past: Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear,— filed under Death Bed Injunction
And spur thee on, with full as many lies As may be holla'd in thy treacherous ear— filed under Defiance
Who sets me else? by heaven, I'll throw at all: I have a thousand spirits in one breast, To answer twenty thousand such as you.— filed under Defiance
A ragged and forestall'd remission. There is my gage, the manual seal of death, That marks thee out for hell: I say, thou liest, And will maintain what thou hast said, is false, In thy heart blood, though being all too base To stain the temper of my knightly sword.— filed under Defiance
If that thy valour stand on sympathies, There is my gage, Aumerle, in gage to thine: By that fair sun which shows me where thou stand'st, I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spak'st it, That thou wert cause of noble Glo'ster's death. If thou deny'st it, twenty times thou liest; And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart,— filed under Defiance
I do defy him, and I spit at him; Call him a slanderous coward, and a villain.— filed under Defiance
Alack, and what shall good old York there see, But empty lodgings and unfurnish'd walls, Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones? And what cheer there for welcome but my groans ? Therefore commend me, let him not come there, To reek out sorrow that dwells every where: Desolate, desolate, will I hence and die; The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye.— filed under Desolation
I will despair, and be at enmity With cozening hope; he is a flatterer, A parasite, a keeper back of death, Who gently would dissolve the bands of life, Which false hope lingers in extremity.— filed under Despair
What say you now? what comfort have we now? By heaven, I'll hate him everlastingly,— filed under Despondency
Then all too late comes counsel to be heard, Where will doth mutiny with wit's regard.— filed under Determination
For night owls shriek, where mounting larks should sing.— filed under Disorder
This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise; This fortress built by nature for herself, Against infection and the hand of war; This happy breed of men, this little world; This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall, Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happy lands; This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, Fear'd by their breed, and famous by their birth, Renowned for their deeds as far from home, (For Christian service, and true chivalry,) As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry, Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's son: This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land, Dear for her reputation through the world, Is now leas'd out (I die pronouncing it,) Like to a tenement, or pelting farm : England, bound in with the triumphant sea, Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame, With inky blots, and rotten parchment bonds; That England that was wont to conquer others, Has made a shameful conquest of itself.— filed under England
Our sea-wall'd garden, the whole land, Is full of weeds, her fairest flowers choak'd up, Her fruit-trees all un-prun'd, her hedges ruin'd, Her knots disorder'd, and her wholesome herbs Swarming with caterpillars.— filed under England
continued. I am no traitor's uncle; - and that word grace, In an ungracious mouth, is but profane.— filed under Fawning
The love of wicked friends converts to fear; That fear, to hate; and hate turns one, or both, To worthy danger, and deserved death.— filed under Fear
Is every flatterer's spirit. Every one that flatters thee, Poems. Is no friend in misery. He dces me double wrong, That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue.— filed under Flattery
O villains, vipers, damn'd without redemption!— filed under Flattery
Whose manners still our tardy apish nation,— filed under Foreign
Yet, again, methinks, Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb,— filed under Foreboding
I count myself in nothing else so happy, As in a soul remembering my good friends; And as my fortune ripens with my love,— filed under Friend
Woe doth the heavier sit, Where it perceives it is but faintly borne.— filed under Grief
Sorrow, and grief of heart, Made him speak fondly, like a frantic man.— filed under Rief
O, that I were as great— filed under Rief
The purest treasure mortal times afford, Is spotless reputation; that away, Men are but gilded loam or painted clay A jewel in a ten-times barr'd up chest, Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast. Mine honour is my life; both grow in one;— filed under Honour
In that hope, I throw mine eyes to heaven, Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with. H.VI. III. i.4 I spy life peering; but I dare not say How near the tidings of our comfort is.— filed under Hope
I will despair, and be at enmity With cozening hope; he is a flatterer, A parasite, a keeper-back of death, Who gently would dissolve the bands of life,— filed under Hope
Wilt thou, pupil-like, Take thy correction mildly, kiss the rod, And fawn on rage with base humility?— filed under Humility
O happy 'vantage of a kneeling knee.— filed under Humility
O, who can hold a fire in his hand, By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite, By bare imagination of a feast? Or wallow naked in December's snow, By thinking on fantastic summer's heat O, no! the apprehension of the good, Gives but the greater feeling to the worse: Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more, Than when it bites, but lanceth not the sore.— filed under Imagination
Lascivious metres, to whose venom sound The open ear of youth doth always listen.— filed under Immoral Reading
Impartial are our eyes, and ears: Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir, Now by my sceptre's awe I make a vow, Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize The unstooping firmness of my upright soul.— filed under Judgment, Justice
That scalds with safety. Yet looks he like a king; behold, his eye, As bright as is the eagle's, lightens forth Controlling majesty: Alack, alack, for woe, That any harm should stain so fair a show.— filed under Kings
Not all the water in the rough, rude sea— filed under Kings
Can wash the balm from an anointed king! Is not the king's name forty thousand names ? R. II. iii.— filed under Kings
Acts little of his will. How long a time lies in one little word, Four lagging winters, and four wanton springs,— filed under Kings
The mightier man, the mightier is the thing That makes him honour'd, or begets him hate. Poems A thousand flatteries sit within thy crown, Whose compass is no bigger than thy head; And yet, incaged in so small a verge, The waste is no whit lesser than thy land.— filed under Kings
Landlord of England art thou now, not king: Thy state of law is bond-slave to the law.— filed under Kings
The king is not himself, but basely led by flatterers.— filed under Kings
Princes have but their titles for their glories, An outward honour for an inward toil; And, for unfelt imaginations, They often feel a world of restless cares : So that, between their titles, and low name, There's nothing differs but the outward fame. R. III. i. 4 For within the hollow crown, That rounds the mortal temples of a king, Keeps death his court: and there the antic sits, Scoffing his state, and grinning at his pomp; Allowing him a breath, a little scene To monarchise, be fear'd, and kill with looks; Infusing him with self and vain conceit, - As if this flesh, that walls about our life, Were brass impregnable; and humour'd thus, Comes at the last, and with a little pin Bores through his castle wall, and farewell, king.— filed under Kings
Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood With solemn reverence; throw away respect, Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty, For you have but mistook me all this while: I live on bread like you, feel want like you, Taste grief, need friends, like you: subjected thus, How can you say to me-I am a king!— filed under Kings
Numbering sands and drinking oceans dry.— filed under Labour In Vain
Thus play I, in one person, many people, And none contented.— filed under Life
Nor I, nor any man, that but man is, With nothing shall be pleas'd, till he be eas'd— filed under Loneliness
manager is in love; yea, he loveth. O king, believe not this hard-hearted man; Love, loving not itself, none other can.— filed under Love
Shakespearian Bictionary. Sweet love, I see, changing his property, Turas to the sourest and most deadly hate.— filed under Love
Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth, Nor, with thy sweets, comfort his ravenous sense: But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom, And heavy gaited toads, lie in their way; Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet, Which with usurping steps do trample thee. Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies; And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower, Guard it I pray thee, with a lurking adder.— filed under Malediction
Misery acquaints a man with strange bed-fellows. T. ii. 2. Misery makes sport to mock itself.— filed under Misery
I hate the murderer, love him murdered. The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour, But neither my good word, nor princely favour; With Cain go wander through the shade of night, And never shew thy head by day, nor light.— filed under Murder, Richard The Second
Teach thy necessity to reason thus; There is no virtue like necessity.— filed under Nature
I am sworn brother, sweet, To grim Necessity; and he and I Will keep a league till death.— filed under Nature
The means that heaven yields must be embrac'd, And not neglected; else, if heaven would, And we will not, heaven's offer we refuse.— filed under Opinion
O villains, vipers, damn'd without redemption ! Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man! Snakes, in my heart-blood warm'd, that sting my heart!— filed under Parasites
We make woe wanton with this foul delay; Once more, adieu! the rest let sorrow say.— filed under Farting
That which in mean men we entitle patience, Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.— filed under Patience
Had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted, And barbarism itself have pitied him.— filed under Pity
Thawing cold fear. Then, as I said, the Duke, great Bolingbroke, Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed, Which his aspiring rider seemed to know, With slow, but stately pace, kept on his course; While all tongues cry'd, -God save thee, Bolingbroke! You would have thought the very windows spake So many greedy looks of young and old Through casements darted their desiring eyes Upon his visage; - and that all the walls, With painted imag'ry, had said at once,- JESU preserve thee: Welcome, Bolingbroke! Whilst he, from one side to the other turning, Bare-headed, lower than his proud steed's neck, Bespake them thus:-I thank you, countrymen; And thus still doing, thus he passed along.— filed under Popularity
Ourself Observ'd his courtship to the common people: How he did seem to dive into their hearts, With humble and familiar courtesy; What reverence he did throw away on slaves; Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles, And patient underbearing of his fortune, As 'twere to banish their effects with him Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench; A brace of draymen bid-God speed him well! And had the tribute of his supple knee, With-Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends.— filed under Popularity
His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last; For violent fires soon burn out themselves: Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short; He tires betimes, that spurs too fast betimes; With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder: Light vanity, insatiate cormorant, Consuming means, soon preys upon itself.— filed under Profligacy
All superfluous branches We lop away, that bearing boughs may live. R. II.— filed under Pruning
In rage, deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.— filed under Rage
As full of valour as of royal blood: Both have I spilt; 0, would the deed were good! For now the devil, that told me, I did well, Says, that this deed is chronicled in hell.— filed under Regicide
How sharp the point of this remembrance is! O, would the deed were good! For now the devil, that told me I did well,— filed under Remorse
I am disgrac'd, impeach'd, and baffled here; Pierc'd to the soul with slander's venom'd spear; The which no balm can cure, but his heart's blood— filed under Revenge
Howe'e it be, I cannot but be sad; so heavy sad, As, though in thinking, on no thought I think,- Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink.— filed under Sadness
Go, count thy way with sighs;-I mine with groans.— filed under Sorrow
For gnarled sorrow hath less power to bite The man that mocks at it, and sets it light.— filed under Sorrow
Since thou hast far to go, bear not along The clogging burden of a guilty soul.— filed under Soul
The more fair and crystal is the sky,— filed under Stain
Things sweet to taste, prove in digestion sour.— filed under Sweetness
Tell them the lamentable fall of me, And send the hearers weeping to their beds.— filed under Tale Of Woe
Come, there is no more tribute to be paid: our kingdom is stronger than it was at that time; and, as I said, there is no more such Cæsars: other of them may have crooked noses; but, to owe such straight arms, none. Cym. iii L The commons hath he pill'd with grievous taxes, And lost their hearts.— filed under Taxation
Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows Which show like grief itself, but are not so: For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears, Divides one thing entire to many objects; Like pérspectives, which, rightly gaz'd upon, Show nothing but confusion; ey'd awry, Distinguish form: so your sweet majesty, Looking awry upon your lord's departure, Finds shapes of grief, more than himself, to wail; Which, look'd on as it is, is nought but shadows Of what is not.— filed under Tears
Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the poor; Which, till my infant fortune come to years,— filed under Thanks
Sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts.— filed under Thought
A generation of still-breeding thoughts, And these same thoughts people this little world; In humours, like the people of this world, For no thought is contented.— filed under Thought
How sour sweet music is When time is broke, and no proportion kept! So is it in the music of our lives.— filed under Time
I wasted time, and now doth time waste me.— filed under Time
Some of you, with Pilate, wash your hands, Showing an outward pity; yet you Pilates Have here deliver'd me to my sour cross, And water cannot wash away your sin.— filed under Traitor
All places that the eye of heaven visits, Are to the wise man ports and happy havens.— filed under Travelling
Trumpet, blow loud; Send thy brass voice through all these lazy tents. T. C. i. 3. Make all our trumpets speak; give them all breath; Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death. M. v 6 Go to the rude ribs of that antient castle; Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parle— filed under Trumpet
Light vanity, insatiate cormorant,— filed under Vanity
And put it in his pocket. No hand of blood and bone Can gripe the sacred handle of our sceptre,— filed under Vows
In dreadful trial of our kingdom's king. Why have they dar'd to march So many miles upon her peaceful bosom; Frighting her pale-fac'd villages with war,— filed under War
He is come to ope The purple testament of bleeding war; But ere the crown he looks for live in peace, Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers' sons Shall ill-become the flower of England's face; Change the complexion of her maid-pale face, To scarlet indignation, and bedew Her pastures' grass with faithful English blood.— filed under War
I'll use the advantage of my power, And lay the summer's dust with show'rs of blood, Rain'd from the wounds of slaughter'd Englishmen.— filed under War
The bay-trees in our country all are wither'd, And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven; The pale-fac'd moon looks bloody on the earth, And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful change; Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap, The one, in fear to lose what they enjoy. The other, to enjoy by rage and war.— filed under War