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Shakespeare quotes on hopeBlessed are you whose worthiness gives scope, Being had to triumph, being lacked to hope Not prizing her poor infant's discontent; So run'st thou after that which flies from thee, Whilst I thy babe chase thee Source: THE SONNETS He hath abandon'd his physicians, madam; under whose practices he hath persecuted time with hope, and finds no other advantage in the process but only the losing of hope by time Oft expectation fails, and most oft there Where most it promises; and oft it hits Where hope is coldest, and despair most fits The troops are all scattered, and the commanders very poor rogues, upon my reputation and credit, and as I hope to live The eldest of the three wrestled with Charles, the Duke's wrestler; which Charles in a moment threw him, and broke three of his ribs, that there is little hope of life in him But whate'er you are That in this desert inaccessible, Under the shade of melancholy boughs, Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time; If ever you have look'd on better days, If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church, If ever sat at any good man's feast, If ever from your eyelids wip'd a tear, And know what 'tis to pity and be pitied, Let gentleness my strong enforcement be; In the which hope I blush, and hide my sword Villain, thou didst deny the gold's receipt, And told'st me of a mistress and a dinner; For which, I hope, thou felt'st I was displeas'd As I guess, Marcius, Their bands i' th' vaward are the Antiates, Of their best trust; o'er them Aufidius, Their very heart of hope God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour As one man more methinks would share from me For the best hope I have Your loss is great, Source: THE FIRST PART OF HENRY THE SIXTH Your Grace shall give me leave, my Lord of York, To be the post, in hope of his reward [Aside] Cold news for me; for I had hope of France As firmly as I hope for fertile England Send succours, lords, and stop the rage betime, Before the wound do grow uncurable; For, being green, there is great hope of help Why, Warwick, who should do the Duke to death? Myself and Beaufort had him in protection; And we, I hope, sir, are no murderers Peace to his soul, if God's good pleasure be! Lord Card'nal, if thou think'st on heaven's bliss, Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope Sweet is the country, because full of riches; The people liberal valiant, active, wealthy; Which makes me hope you are not void of pity This is the cause that I, poor Margaret, With this my son, Prince Edward, Henry's heir, Am come to crave thy just and lawful aid; And if thou fail us, all our hope is done Madam, you wrong the King's love with these fears; Your hopes and friends are infinite O, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours! There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to, That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin More pangs and fears than wars or women have; And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again He will advance thee; Some little memory of me will stir him- I know his noble nature-not to let Thy hopeful service perish too Here once again we sit, once again crown'd, And look'd upon, I hope, with cheerful eyes not to see a woman in that term, Which I hope well is not enrolled there; And one day in a week to touch no food, And but one meal on every day beside, The which I hope is not enrolled there; And then to sleep but three hours in the night And not be seen to wink of all the day- When I was wont to think no harm all night, And make a dark night too of half the day- Which I hope well is not enrolled there If there come truth from them (As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine) Why, by the verities on thee made good, May they not be my oracles as well And set me up in hope? But hush, no more Accursed be that tongue that tells me so, For it hath cow'd my better part of man! And be these juggling fiends no more believed That patter with us in a double sense, That keep the word of promise to our ear And break it to our hope Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth, The better part of my affections would Be with my hopes abroad Pray thee, take pain To allay with some cold drops of modesty Thy skipping spirit; lest through thy wild behaviour I be misconst'red in the place I go to And lose my hopes What says this leaden casket? 'Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.' Must give- for what? For lead? Hazard for lead! This casket threatens; men that hazard all Do it in hope of fair advantages There is but one hope in it that can do you any good, and that is but a kind of bastard hope, neither We have been praying for our husbands' welfare, Which speed, we hope, the better for our words Why, look where he comes; and my good man too; he's as far from jealousy as I am from giving him cause; and that, I hope, is an unmeasurable distance Mistress Page hath her hearty commendations to you too; and let me tell you in your ear, she's as fartuous a civil modest wife, and one, I tell you, that will not miss you morning nor evening prayer, as any is in Windsor, whoe'er be the other; and she bade me tell your worship that her husband is seldom from home, but she hopes there will come a time When remedies are past, the griefs are ended By seeing the worst, which late on hopes depended For mine own part- no offense to the general, nor any man of quality- I hope to be saved Every day thou daffest me with some device, Iago; and rather, as it seems to me now, keepest from me all conveniency than suppliest me with the least advantage of hope For you, my noble Lord of Lancaster, The honourable father to my foe, Once did I lay an ambush for your life, A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul; But ere I last receiv'd the sacrament I did confess it, and exactly begg'd Your Grace's pardon; and I hope I had it 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'; As were our England in reversion his, And he our subjects' next degree in hope Why hopest thou so? 'Tis better hope he is; For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope Who shall hinder me? 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 But theirs is sweet'ned with the hope to have The present benefit which I possess; And hope to joy is little less in joy Than hope enjoy'd I'll send to one in Mantua, Where that same banish'd runagate doth live, Shall give him such an unaccustom'd dram That he shall soon keep Tybalt company; And then I hope thou wilt be satisfied My cake is dough, but I'll in among the rest; Out of hope of all but my share of the feast Chiron, we hunt not, we, with horse nor hound, But hope to pluck a dainty doe to ground For this proud mock I'll be thy slaughterman, Sly frantic wretch, that holp'st to make me great, In hope thyself should govern Rome and me Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne's love, What Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we? Her bed is India; there she lies, a pearl; Between our Ilium and where she resides Let it be call'd the wild and wand'ring flood; Ourself the merchant, and this sailing Pandar Our doubtful hope, our convoy, and our bark I have lim'd her; but it is Jove's doing, and Jove make me thankful! And when she went away now- 'Let this fellow be look'd to.' 'Fellow,' not 'Malvolio' nor after my degree, but 'fellow.' Why, everything adheres together, that no dram of a scruple, no scruple of a scruple, no obstacle, no incredulous or unsafe circumstance- What can be said? Nothing that can be can come between me and the full prospect of my hopes That most ingrateful boy there by your side From the rude sea's enrag'd and foamy mouth Did I redeem; a wreck past hope he was And writers say, as the most forward bud Is eaten by the canker ere it blow, Even so by love the young and tender wit Is turn'd to folly, blasting in the bud, Losing his verdure even in the prime, And all the fair effects of future hopes In some sort, sir; but though my case be a pitiful one, I hope I shall not be flay'd out of it Whilst I remember Her and her virtues, I cannot forget My blemishes in them, and so still think of The wrong I did myself; which was so much That heirless it hath made my kingdom, and Destroy'd the sweet'st companion that e'er man Bred his hopes out of Quotes for: Shakespeare Quotes
Source: Project Gutenburg Texts
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