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Gold: Quotations from Shakespearian Quotations

Saint-seducing gold.— R. J. i. 1

O thou sweet king-killer, and dear divorce 'Twixt natural son and sire! thou bright defiler Of Hvmen's purest bed! thou valiant Mars! Thou ever young, fresh, lov'd, and delicate woocr, Whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow That lies on Dian's lap! thou visible god, That solder'st close impossibilities, And mak'st them kiss! that speak'st with every tongue,— T. A. iv. 3

To every purpose! For this the foolish over-careful fathers Have broke their sleep with thoughts, their brains with care Their bones with industry; For this they have engrossed and pil'd up The canker'd heaps of strange-achieved gold; For this they have been thoughtful to invest Their sons with arts, and martial exercises: When, like the bee, tolling from every flower, The virtuous sweets; Our thighs are pack'd with wax, our mouths with honey, We bring it to the hive; and, like the bees, Are murder'd for our pains.— H. IV. PT. II. iv. 4.

And 'tis gold Which makes the true man kill'd, and saves the thief; Nay, sometimes hangs both thief and true man: what Can it not do, and undo?— Cym. ii. 3.

'Thus much of this, will make black white; foul, fair; Wrong, right; base, noble; old, young; coward, valiant. Ha, ye gods! Why this? What, this, you gods? Why this Will lug your priests and servants from your sides; Pluck stout men's pillows from below their heads: This yellow slave Will knit and break religions; bless the accurs'd; Make the hoar leprosy ador'd; place thieves, And give them title, knee, and approbation, With senators on the bench: this is it, That makes the wappen'd widow wed again; She, whom the spital house, and ulcerous sores, Would cast the gorge at; this embalms and spices— T.A. iv. 3

To the April day again. There is thy gold; worse poison to men's souls, Doing more murders in this loathsome world, Than these poor compounds that thou mayest not sell.— R. J. v. L

See, sons, what things you are! How quickly nature falls into revolt, When gold becomes her object.— H. IV. PT. II. iv. 4

Know'st thou not any whom corrupting gold Would tempt into a close exploit of death?— R. III. iv. 2.

I know a discontented gentleman, Whose humble means match not his haughty mind: Gold were as good as twenty orators, And will, no doubt, tempt him to any thing. R. III.— R. III. iv. 2.

O thou touch of hearts!— T. A. iv. 3.