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Shakespeare quotes on deathThen what could death do if thou shouldst depart, Leaving thee living in posterity? Be not self-willed for thou art much too fair, To be death's conquest and make worms thine heir 22 My glass shall not persuade Source: THE SONNETS For when these quicker elements are gone In tender embassy of love to thee, My life being made of four, with two alone, Sinks down to death, oppressed with melancholy In me thou seest the twilight of such day, As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by and by black night doth take away, Death's second self that seals up all in rest A third nor red, nor white, had stol'n of both, And to his robbery had annexed thy breath, But for his theft in pride of all his growth A vengeful canker eat him up to death 146 Poor soul the centre of my sinful earth, My sinful earth these rebel powers array, Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth Painting thy outward walls so costly gay? Why so large cost having so short a lease, Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend? Shall worms inheritors of this excess Eat up thy charge? is this thy body's end? Then soul live thou upon thy servant's loss, And let that pine to aggravate thy store; Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross; Within be fed, without be rich no more, So shall thou feed on death, that feeds on men, And death once dead, there's no more dying then My reason the physician to my love, Angry that his prescriptions are not kept Hath left me, and I desperate now approve, Desire is death, which physic did except This young gentlewoman had a father- O, that 'had,' how sad a passage 'tis!-whose skill was almost as great as his honesty; had it stretch'd so far, would have made nature immortal, and death should have play for lack of work Thou Source: ALLS WELL THAT ENDS WELL Whoever shoots at him, I set him there; Whoever charges on his forward breast, I am the caitiff that do hold him to't; And though I kill him not, I am the cause His death was so effected His taken labours bid him me forgive; I, his despiteful Juno, sent him forth From courtly friends, with camping foes to live, Where death and danger dogs the heels of worth The stronger part of it by her own letters, which makes her story true even to the point of her death My more particular, And that which most with you should safe my going, Is Fulvia's death O most false love! Where be the sacred vials thou shouldst fill With sorrowful water? Now I see, I see, In Fulvia's death how mine receiv'd shall be Mine honest friends, I turn you not away; but, like a master Married to your good service, stay till death Know, my hearts, I hope well of to-morrow, and will lead you Where rather I'll expect victorious life Than death and honour We'll bury him; and then, what's brave, what's noble, Let's do it after the high Roman fashion, And make death proud to take us I pray you, one of you question yond man If he for gold will give us any food; I faint almost to death abandon the society of this female; or, clown, thou perishest; or, to thy better understanding, diest; or, to wit, I kill thee, make thee away, translate thy life into death, thy liberty into bondage Sing, siren, for thyself, and I will dote; Spread o'er the silver waves thy golden hairs, And as a bed I'll take them, and there he; And in that glorious supposition think He gains by death that hath such means to die Should they not, Well might they fester 'gainst ingratitude And tent themselves with death His heart's his mouth; What his breast forges, that his tongue must vent; And, being angry, does forget that ever He heard the name of death What you have seen him do and heard him speak, Beating your officers, cursing yourselves, Opposing laws with strokes, and here defying Those whose great power must try him- even this, So criminal and in such capital kind, Deserves th' extremest death The plebeians have got your fellow tribune And hale him up and down; all swearing if The Roman ladies bring not comfort home They'll give him death by inches Beseech your Majesty, Forbear sharp speeches to her; she's a lady So tender of rebukes that words are strokes, And strokes death to her No more of 'worthy lord'! Speak, or thy silence on the instant is Thy condemnation and thy death Yet still it's strange What Cloten's being here to us portends, Or what his death will bring us So I'll fight Against the part I come with; so I'll die For thee, O Imogen, even for whom my life Is every breath a death Lord Cloten, Upon my lady's missing, came to me With his sword drawn, foam'd at the mouth, and swore, If I discover'd not which way she was gone, It was my instant death One scene of it comes near the circumstance, Which I have told thee, of my father's death Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern] And, England, if my love thou hold'st at aught,- As my great power thereof may give thee sense, Since yet thy cicatrice looks raw and red After the Danish sword, and thy free awe Pays homage to us,- thou mayst not coldly set Our sovereign process, which imports at full, By letters congruing to that effect, The present death of Hamlet [Exit Horatio.] O, this is the poison of deep grief; it springs All from her father's death O my dear Gertrude, this, Like to a murd'ring piece, in many places Give, me superfluous death Let the King have the letters I have sent, and repair thou to me with as much speed as thou wouldst fly death I'll touch my point With this contagion, that, if I gall him slightly, It may be death Her clothes spread wide And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up; Which time she chaunted snatches of old tunes, As one incapable of her own distress, Or like a creature native and indued Unto that element; but long it could not be Till that her garments, heavy with their drink, Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay To muddy death But shall it be that you, that set the crown Upon the head of this forgetful man, And for his sake wear the detested blot Of murtherous subornation- shall it be That you a world of curses undergo, Being the agents or base second means, The cords, the ladder, or the hangman rather? O, pardon me that I descend so low To show the line and the predicament Wherein you range under this subtile king! Shall it for shame be spoken in these days, Or fill up chronicles in time to come, That men of your nobility and power Did gage them both in an unjust behalf (As both of you, God pardon it! have done) To put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose, And plant this thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke? And shall it in more shame be further spoken That you are fool'd, discarded, and shook off By him for whom these shames ye underwent? No! yet time serves wherein you may redeem Your banish'd honours and restore yourselves Into the good thoughts of the world again; Revenge the jeering and disdain'd contempt Of this proud king, who studies day and night To answer all the debt he owes to you Even with the bloody payment of your deaths I'll procure this fat rogue a charge of foot; and I know, his death will be a march of twelve score Look how we can, or sad or merrily, Interpretation will misquote our looks, And we shall feed like oxen at a stall, The better cherish'd, still the nearer death I was not born a yielder, thou proud Scot; And thou shalt find a king that will revenge Lord Stafford's death Many a nobleman lies stark and stiff Under the hoofs of vaunting enemies, Whose deaths are yet unreveng'd But what mean I To speak so true at first? My office is To noise abroad that Harry Monmouth fell Under the wrath of noble Hotspur's sword, And that the King before the Douglas' rage Stoop'd his anointed head as low as death Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless, So dull, so dread in look, so woe-begone, Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night And would have told him half his Troy was burnt; But Priam found the fire ere he his tongue, And I my Percy's death ere thou report'st it My Lord of York, it better show'd with you When that your flock, assembled by the bell, Encircled you to hear with reverence Your exposition on the holy text Than now to see you here an iron man, Cheering a rout of rebels with your drum, Turning the word to sword, and life to death Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds; And he, the noble image of my youth, Is overspread with them; therefore my grief Stretches itself beyond the hour of death By the mess, ere theise eyes of mine take themselves to slomber, ay'll de gud service, or I'll lig i' th' grund for it; ay, or go to death What say'st thou, man, before dead Henry's corse? Speak softly, or the loss of those great towns Will make him burst his lead and rise from death I am come to survey the Tower this day; Since Henry's death, I fear, there is conveyance [Cries] All manner of men assembled here in arms this day against God's peace and the King's, we charge and command you, in his Highness' name, to repair to your several dwelling-places; and not to wear, handle, or use, any sword, weapon, or dagger, henceforward, upon pain of death Then broke I from the officers that led me, And with my nails digg'd stones out of the ground To hurl at the beholders of my shame; My grisly countenance made others fly; None durst come near for fear of sudden death this brawl to-day, Grown to this faction in the Temple Garden, Shall send between the Red Rose and the White A thousand souls to death and deadly night True; and thou seest that I no issue have, And that my fainting words do warrant death Be packing, therefore, thou that wast a knight; Henceforth we banish thee on pain of death Alas, what joy shall noble Talbot have To bid his young son welcome to his grave? Away! vexation almost stops my breath, That sund'red friends greet in the hour of death Where is John Talbot? Pause and take thy breath; I gave thee life and rescu'd thee from death Speak, thy father's care; Art thou not weary, John? How dost thou fare? Wilt thou yet leave the battle, boy, and fly, Now thou art seal'd the son of chivalry? Fly, to revenge my death when I am dead In thee thy mother dies, our household's name, My death's revenge, thy youth, and England's fame Poor boy! he smiles, methinks, as who should say, Had Death been French, then Death had died to-day This argues what her kind of life hath been- Wicked and vile; and so her death concludes I am with child, ye bloody homicides; Murder not then the fruit within my womb, Although ye hale me to a violent death Wink at the Duke of Suffolk's insolence, At Beaufort's pride, at Somerset's ambition, At Buckingham, and all the crew of them, Till they have snar'd the shepherd of the flock, That virtuous prince, the good Duke Humphrey; 'Tis that they seek; and they, in seeking that, Shall find their deaths, if York can prophesy In sight of God and us, your guilt is great; Receive the sentence of the law for sins Such as by God's book are adjudg'd to death The King will labour still to save his life; The commons haply rise to save his life; And yet we have but trivial argument, More than mistrust, that shows him worthy death Now, York, or never, steel thy fearful thoughts And change misdoubt to resolution; Be that thou hop'st to be; or what thou art Resign to death- it is not worth th' enjoying Look not upon me, for thine eyes are wounding; Yet do not go away; come, basilisk, And kill the innocent gazer with thy sight; For in the shade of death I shall find joy- In life but double death,'now Gloucester's dead That is to see how deep my grave is made; For with his soul fled all my worldly solace, For, seeing him, I see my life in death Say if thou dar'st, proud Lord of Warwickshire, That I am faulty in Duke Humphrey's death Dread lord, the commons send you word by me Unless Lord Suffolk straight be done to death, Or banished fair England's territories, They will by violence tear him from your palace And torture him with grievous ling'ring death And therefore by His Majesty I swear, Whose far unworthy deputy I am, He shall not breathe infection in this air But three days longer, on the pain of death All scholars, lawyers, courtiers, gentlemen, They call false caterpillars and intend their death He is fled, my lord, and all his powers do yield, And humbly thus, with halters on their necks, Expect your Highness' doom of life or death My lord, I'll yield myself to prison willingly, Or unto death, to do my country good Hold, Warwick, seek thee out some other chase, For I myself must hunt this deer to death So, lie thou there; For underneath an alehouse' paltry sign, The Castle in Saint Albans, Somerset Hath made the wizard famous in his death God knows how long it is I have to live, And it hath pleas'd Him that three times to-day You have defended me from imminent death Urge it no more; lest that instead of words I send thee, Warwick, such a messenger As shall revenge his death before I stir My sons- God knows what hath bechanced them; But this I know- they have demean'd themselves Like men born to renown by life or death But how is it that great Plantagenet Is crown'd so soon and broke his solemn oath? As I bethink me, you should not be King Till our King Henry had shook hands with death Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult? It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen; Unless the adage must be verified, That beggars mounted run their horse to death O Warwick, Warwick! that Plantagenet Which held thee dearly as his soul's redemption Is by the stern Lord Clifford done to death My gracious father, by your kingly leave, I'll draw it as apparent to the crown, And in that quarrel use it to the death Whose soul is that which takes her heavy leave? A deadly groan, like life and death's departing Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to our house, That nothing sung but death to us and ours 'Tis but his policy to counterfeit, Because he would avoid such bitter taunts Which in the time of death he gave our father Bestride the rock; the tide will wash you off, Or else you famish- that's a threefold death Clarence, beware; thou keep'st me from the light, But I will sort a pitchy day for thee; For I will buzz abroad such prophecies That Edward shall be fearful of his life; And then to purge his fear, I'll be thy death I have this day receiv'd a traitor's judgment, And by that name must die; yet, heaven bear witness, And if I have a conscience, let it sink me Even as the axe falls, if I be not faithful! The law I bear no malice for my death But in this point All his tricks founder, and he brings his physic After his patient's death For your great graces Heap'd upon me, poor undeserver, I Can nothing render but allegiant thanks; My pray'rs to heaven for you; my loyalty, Which ever has and ever shall be growing, Till death, that winter, kill it By heaven, these scroyles of Angiers flout you, kings, And stand securely on their battlements As in a theatre, whence they gape and point At your industrious scenes and acts of death O, if thou grant my need, Which only lives but by the death of faith, That need must needs infer this principle- That faith would live again by death of need And when it breaks, I fear will issue thence The foul corruption of a sweet child's death Out of my sight, and never see me more! My nobles leave me; and my state is braved, Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign pow'rs; Nay, in the body of the fleshly land, This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath, Hostility and civil tumult reigns Between my conscience and my cousin's death Outside or inside, I will not return Till my attempt so much be glorified As to my ample hope was promised Before I drew this gallant head of war, And cull'd these fiery spirits from the world To outlook conquest, and to will renown Even in the jaws of danger and of death When beggars die, there are no comets seen; The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes Here the street is narrow, The throng that follows Caesar at the heels, Of senators, of praetors, common suitors, Will crowd a feeble man almost to death Grant that, and then is death a benefit; So are we Caesar's friends that have abridged His time of fearing death By your pardon, I will myself into the pulpit first, And show the reason of our Caesar's death Those that will hear me speak, let 'em stay here; Those that will follow Cassius, go with him; And public reasons shall be rendered Of Caesar's death There is tears for his love, joy for his fortune, honor for his valor, and death for his ambition The question of his death is enrolled in the Capitol, his glory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy, nor his offenses enforced, for which he suffered death Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony, who, though he had no hand in his death, shall receive the benefit of his dying, a place in the commonwealth, as which of you shall not? With this I depart- that, as I slew my best lover for the good of Rome, I have the same dagger for myself, when it shall please my country to need my death That by proscription and bills of outlawry Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus Have put to death an hundred senators The conquerors can but make a fire of him; For Brutus only overcame himself, And no man else hath honor by his death Know we have divided In three our kingdom; and 'tis our fast intent To shake all cares and business from our age, Conferring them on younger strengths while we Unburthen'd crawl toward death If, on the tenth day following, Thy banish'd trunk be found in our dominions, The moment is thy death By his authority I will proclaim it That he which find, him shall deserve our thanks, Bringing the murderous caitiff to the stake; He that conceals him, death Bid them come forth and hear me, Or at their chamber door I'll beat the drum Till it cry sleep to death 'Your (wife, so I would say) affectionate servant, 'Goneril.' O indistinguish'd space of woman's will! A plot upon her virtuous husband's life, And the exchange my brother! Here in the sands Thee I'll rake up, the post unsanctified Of murtherous lechers; and in the mature time With this ungracious paper strike the sight Of the death-practis'd Duke, For him 'tis well That of thy death and business I can tell If this austere insociable life Change not your offer made in heat of blood, If frosts and fasts, hard lodging and thin weeds, Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your love, But that it bear this trial, and last love, Then, at the expiration of the year, Come, challenge me, challenge me by these deserts; And, by this virgin palm now kissing thine, I will be thine; and, till that instant, shut My woeful self up in a mournful house, Raining the tears of lamentation For the remembrance of my father's death Silenced with that, In viewing o'er the rest o' the selfsame day, He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks, Nothing afeard of what thyself didst make, Strange images of death Now if you have a station in the file, Not i' the worst rank of manhood, say it, And I will put that business in your bosoms Whose execution takes your enemy off, Grapples you to the heart and love of us, Who wear our health but sickly in his life, Which in his death were perfect Safe in a ditch he bides, With twenty trenched gashes on his head, The least a death to nature To relate the manner Were, on the quarry of these murther'd deer, To add the death of you Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow Creeps in this petty pace from day to day To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death Make all our trumpets speak, give them all breath, Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death Why then, God's soldier be he! Had I as many sons as I have hairs, I would not wish them to a fairer death Thy best of rest is sleep, And that thou oft provok'st; yet grossly fear'st Thy death, which is no more If thou art rich, thou'rt poor; For, like an ass whose back with ingots bows, Thou bear'st thy heavy riches but a journey, And Death unloads thee There is a devilish mercy in the judge, If you'll implore it, that will free your life, But fetter you till death The weariest and most loathed worldly life That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment, Can lay on nature is a paradise To what we fear of death I am confessor to Angelo, and I know this to be true; therefore prepare yourself to death So please you, this friar hath been with him, and advis'd him for th' entertainment of death Shave the head and tie the beard; and say it was the desire of the penitent to be so bar'd before his death We do condemn thee to the very block Where Claudio stoop'd to death, and with like haste That the comparison May stand more proper, my eye shall be the stream And wat'ry death-bed for him [Reads] 'Sweet Bassanio, my ships have all miscarried, my creditors grow cruel, my estate is very low, my bond to the Jew is forfeit; and since, in paying it, it is impossible I should live, all debts are clear'd between you and I, if I might but see you at my death Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge, To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death There do I give to you and Jessica, From the rich Jew, a special deed of gift, After his death, of all he dies possess'd of Away, go; they say there is divinity in odd numbers, either in nativity, chance, or death For you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself To fit your fancies to your father's will, Or else the law of Athens yields you up- Which by no means we may extenuate- To death, or to a vow of single life This you know I know; And here, with all good will, with all my heart, In Hermia's love I yield you up my part; And yours of Helena to me bequeath, Whom I do love and will do till my death But fare ye well; 'tis partly my own fault, Which death, or absence, soon shall remedy When they next wake, all this derision Shall seem a dream and fruitless vision; And back to Athens shall the lovers wend With league whose date till death shall never end All this amazement can I qualify, When, after that the holy rites are ended, I'll tell you largely of fair Hero's death It is silliness to live when to live is torment, and then have we a prescription to die when death is our physician What shall I say? To safeguard thine own life The best way is to venge my Gloucester's death I thank my liege that in regard of me He shortens four years of my son's exile; But little vantage shall I reap thereby, For ere the six years that he hath to spend Can change their moons and bring their times about, My oil-dried lamp and time-bewasted light Shall be extinct with age and endless night; My inch of taper will be burnt and done, And blindfold death not let me see my son Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear, My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear Bushy and Green, I will not vex your souls- Since presently your souls must part your bodies- With too much urging your pernicious lives, For 'twere no charity; yet, to wash your blood From off my hands, here in the view of men I will unfold some causes of your deaths 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, Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch Throw death upon thy sovereign's enemies Cry woe, destruction, ruin, and decay- The worst is death, and death will have his day 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 In that dead time when Gloucester's death was plotted I heard you say 'Is not my arm of length, That reacheth from the restful English Court As far as Calais, to mine uncle's head?' Amongst much other talk that very time I heard you say that you had rather refuse The offer of an hundred thousand crowns Than Bolingbroke's return to England; Adding withal, how blest this land would be In this your cousin's death 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 Gloucester's death I am sworn brother, sweet, To grim Necessity; and he and Will keep a league till death Think I am dead, and that even here thou takest, As from my death-bed, thy last living leave The love of wicked men converts to fear; That fear to hate; and hate turns one or both To worthy danger and deserved death Thou kill'st me in his life; giving him breath, The traitor lives, the true man's put to death How now! What means death in this rude assault? Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive, Lo here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword; Which if thou please to hide in this true breast And let the soul forth that adoreth thee, I lay it naked to the deadly stroke, And humbly beg the death upon my knee Speak it again, and even with the word This hand, which for thy love did kill thy love, Shall for thy love kill a far truer love; To both their deaths shalt thou be accessary I was; but I do find more pain in banishment Than death can yield me here by my abode O Buckingham, take heed of yonder dog! Look when he fawns, he bites; and when he bites, His venom tooth will rankle to the death Are you drawn forth among a world of men To slay the innocent? What is my offence? Where is the evidence that doth accuse me? What lawful quest have given their verdict up Unto the frowning judge, or who pronounc'd The bitter sentence of poor Clarence' death? Before I be convict by course of law, To threaten me with death is most unlawful If you are hir'd for meed, go back again, And I will send you to my brother Gloucester, Who shall reward you better for my life Than Edward will for tidings of my death Have I a tongue to doom my brother's death, And shall that tongue give pardon to a slave? My brother killed no man-his fault was thought, And yet his punishment was bitter death Too late he died that might have kept that title, Which by his death hath lost much majesty Indeed, I am no mourner for that news, Because they have been still my adversaries; But that I'll give my voice on Richard's side To bar my master's heirs in true descent, God knows I will not do it to the death That you might well have signified the same Unto the citizens, who haply may Misconster us in him and wail his death Dighton and Forrest, who I did suborn To do this piece of ruthless butchery, Albeit they were flesh'd villains, bloody dogs, Melted with tenderness and mild compassion, Wept like two children in their deaths' sad story Come to me, Tyrrel, soon at after supper, When thou shalt tell the process of their death From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept A hell-hound that doth hunt us all to death In her consists my happiness and thine; Without her, follows to myself and thee, Herself, the land, and many a Christian soul, Death, desolation, ruin, and decay His horse is slain, and all on foot he fights, Seeking for Richmond in the throat of death From forth the fatal loins of these two foes A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life; Whose misadventur'd piteous overthrows Doth with their death bury their parents' strife What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds? Turn thee Benvolio! look upon thy death I fear, too early; for my mind misgives Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars, Shall bitterly begin his fearful date With this night's revels and expire the term Of a despised life, clos'd in my breast, By some vile forfeit of untimely death Two such opposed kings encamp them still In man as well as herbs- grace and rude will; And where the worser is predominant, Full soon the canker death eats up that plant Hath Romeo slain himself? Say thou but 'I,' And that bare vowel 'I' shall poison more Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice 'Romeo is banished'- There is no end, no limit, measure, bound, In that word's death; no words can that woe sound Ha, banishment? Be merciful, say 'death'; For exile hath more terror in his look, Much more than death O deadly sin! O rude unthankfulness! Thy fault our law calls death; but the kind Prince, Taking thy part, hath rush'd aside the law, And turn'd that black word death to banishment [Lays him in the tomb.] How oft when men are at the point of death Have they been merry! which their keepers call A lightning before death Beauty's ensign yet Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, And death's pale flag is not advanced there Seal up the mouth of outrage for a while, Till we can clear these ambiguities And know their spring, their head, their true descent; And then will I be general of your woes And lead you even to death Then gave I her (so tutored by my art) A sleeping potion; which so took effect As I intended, for it wrought on her The form of death What, did he marry me to famish me? Beggars that come unto my father's door Upon entreaty have a present alms; If not, elsewhere they meet with charity; But I, who never knew how to entreat, Nor never needed that I should entreat, Am starv'd for meat, giddy for lack of sleep; With oaths kept waking, and with brawling fed; And that which spites me more than all these wants- He does it under name of perfect love; As who should say, if I should sleep or eat, 'Twere deadly sickness or else present death Then, Timon, presently prepare thy grave; Lie where the light foam of the sea may beat Thy gravestone daily; make thine epitaph, That death in me at others' lives may laugh No sooner had they told this hellish tale But straight they told me they would bind me here Unto the body of a dismal yew, And leave me to this miserable death To prove thou hast a true divining heart, Aaron and thou look down into this den, And see a fearful sight of blood and death A stone is silent and offendeth not, And tribunes with their tongues doom men to death Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son, Let me redeem my brothers both from death Here are the heads of thy two noble sons; And here's thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back- Thy grief their sports, thy resolution mock'd, That woe is me to think upon thy woes, More than remembrance of my father's death To weep with them that weep doth ease some deal, But sorrow flouted at is double death Can the son's eye behold his father bleed? There's meed for meed, death for a deadly deed If I could 'a rememb'red a gilt counterfeit, thou wouldst not have slipp'd out of my contemplation; but it is no matter; thyself upon thyself! The common curse of mankind, folly and ignorance, be thine in great revenue! Heaven bless thee from a tutor, and discipline come not near thee! Let thy blood be thy direction till thy death All the argument is a whore and a cuckold-a good quarrel to draw emulous factions and bleed to death upon Whereupon I will show you a chamber and a bed; which bed, because it shall not speak of your pretty encounters, press it to death For every false drop in her bawdy veins A Grecian's life hath sunk; for every scruple Of her contaminated carrion weight A Troyan hath been slain; since she could speak, She hath not given so many good words breath As for her Greeks and Troyans suff'red death Nay, I'll come; if I lose a scruple of this sport let me be boil'd to death with melancholy Souls and bodies hath he divorc'd three; and his incensement at this moment is so implacable that satisfaction can be none but by pangs of death and sepulchre Go, go, be gone, to save your ship from wreck, Which cannot perish, having thee aboard, Being destin'd to a drier death on shore As you were past all shame- Those of your fact are so- so past all truth; Which to deny concerns more than avails; for as Thy brat hath been cast out, like to itself, No father owning it- which is indeed More criminal in thee than it- so thou Shalt feel our justice; in whose easiest passage Look for no less than death An old sheep-whistling rogue, a ram-tender, to offer to have his daughter come into grace! Some say he shall be ston'd; but that death is too soft for him, say I He has a son- who shall be flay'd alive; then 'nointed over with honey, set on the head of a wasp's nest; then stand till he be three quarters and a dram dead; then recover'd again with aqua-vitae or some other hot infusion; then, raw as he is, and in the hottest day prognostication proclaims, shall he be set against a brick wall, the sun looking with a southward eye upon him, where he is to behold him with flies blown to death I thought she had some great matter there in hand; for she hath privately twice or thrice a day, ever since the death of Hermione, visited that removed house Quotes for: Shakespeare Quotes
Source: Project Gutenburg Texts
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