# Result number

Work The work is either a play, poem, or sonnet. The sonnets are treated as single work with 154 parts.

Character Indicates who said the line. If it's a play or sonnet, the character name is "Poet."

Line Shows where the line falls within the work.

The numbering is not keyed to any copyrighted numbering system found in a volume of collected works (Arden, Oxford, etc.) The numbering starts at the beginning of the work, and does not restart for each scene.

Text The line's full text, with keywords highlighted within it, unless highlighting has been disabled by the user.

1

Henry IV, Part II
[I, 2]

Falstaff

323

Let him be damn'd, like the Glutton; pray God his
be hotter! A whoreson Achitophel! A rascal-yea-forsooth
bear a gentleman in hand, and then stand upon security! The
whoreson smooth-pates do now wear nothing but high shoes, and
bunches of keys at their girdles; and if a man is through
them in honest taking-up, then they must stand upon security.
had as lief they would put ratsbane in my mouth as offer to
it with security. I look'd 'a should have sent me two and
yards of satin, as I am a true knight, and he sends me
Well, he may sleep in security; for he hath the horn of
abundance, and the lightness of his wife shines through it;
yet cannot he see, though he have his own lanthorn to light
Where's Bardolph?

2

Henry IV, Part II
[I, 2]

Falstaff

486

Not so, my lord. Your ill angel is light; but hope
that looks upon me will take me without weighing. And yet in
respects, I grant, I cannot go—I cannot tell. Virtue is of
little regard in these costermongers' times that true valour
turn'd berod; pregnancy is made a tapster, and his quick wit
wasted in giving reckonings; all the other gifts appertinent
man, as the malice of this age shapes them, are not worth a
gooseberry. You that are old consider not the capacities of
that are young; you do measure the heat of our livers with
bitterness of your galls; and we that are in the vaward of
youth, must confess, are wags too.

3

Henry IV, Part II
[II, 2]

Edward Poins

1021

By this light, I am well spoke on; I can hear it with
own ears. The worst that they can say of me is that I am a
brother and that I am a proper fellow of my hands; and those
things, I confess, I cannot help. By the mass, here comes
Bardolph.

4

Henry IV, Part II
[II, 3]

Lady Percy

1163

O, yet, for God's sake, go not to these wars!
The time was, father, that you broke your word,
When you were more endear'd to it than now;
When your own Percy, when my heart's dear Harry,
Threw many a northward look to see his father
Bring up his powers; but he did long in vain.
Who then persuaded you to stay at home?
There were two honours lost, yours and your son's.
For yours, the God of heaven brighten it!
For his, it stuck upon him as the sun
In the grey vault of heaven; and by his light
Did all the chivalry of England move
To do brave acts. He was indeed the glass
Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves.
He had no legs that practis'd not his gait;
And speaking thick, which nature made his blemish,
Became the accents of the valiant;
For those who could speak low and tardily
Would turn their own perfection to abuse
To seem like him: so that in speech, in gait,
In diet, in affections of delight,
In military rules, humours of blood,
He was the mark and glass, copy and book,
That fashion'd others. And him—O wondrous him!
O miracle of men!—him did you leave—
Second to none, unseconded by you—
To look upon the hideous god of war
In disadvantage, to abide a field
Where nothing but the sound of Hotspur's name
Did seem defensible. So you left him.
Never, O never, do his ghost the wrong
To hold your honour more precise and nice
With others than with him! Let them alone.
The Marshal and the Archbishop are strong.
Had my sweet Harry had but half their numbers,
To-day might I, hanging on Hotspur's neck,
Have talk'd of Monmouth's grave.

5

Henry IV, Part II
[II, 4]

Doll Tearsheet

1386

Away, you cut-purse rascal! you filthy bung, away! By
wine, I'll thrust my knife in your mouldy chaps, an you play
saucy cuttle with me. Away, you bottle-ale rascal! you
basket-hilt stale juggler, you! Since when, I pray you, sir?
God's light, with two points on your shoulder? Much!

6

Henry IV, Part II
[II, 4]

Doll Tearsheet

1398

Captain! Thou abominable damn'd cheater, art thou not
to be called captain? An captains were of my mind, they would
truncheon you out, for taking their names upon you before you
have earn'd them. You a captain! you slave, for what? For
a poor whore's ruff in a bawdy-house? He a captain! hang him,
rogue! He lives upon mouldy stew'd prunes and dried cakes. A
captain! God's light, these villains will make the word as
as the word 'occupy'; which was an excellent good word before
was ill sorted. Therefore captains had need look to't.

7

Henry IV, Part II
[II, 4]

Falstaff

1587

Thou whoreson mad compound of majesty, by this light
flesh and corrupt blood, thou art welcome.

8

Henry IV, Part II
[IV, 1]

Lord Mowbray

2396

Yea, but our valuation shall be such
That every slight and false-derived cause,
Yea, every idle, nice, and wanton reason,
Shall to the King taste of this action;
That, were our royal faiths martyrs in love,
We shall be winnow'd with so rough a wind
That even our corn shall seem as light as chaff,
And good from bad find no partition.

9

Henry IV, Part II
[IV, 2]

Archbishop Scroop

2530

Believe me, I am passing light in spirit.

10

Henry IV, Part II
[IV, 5]

Henry V

2907

No; I will sit and watch here by the King.
[Exeunt all but the PRINCE]
Why doth the crown lie there upon his pillow,
Being so troublesome a bedfellow?
O polish'd perturbation! golden care!
That keep'st the ports of slumber open wide
To many a watchful night! Sleep with it now!
Yet not so sound and half so deeply sweet
As he whose brow with homely biggen bound
Snores out the watch of night. O majesty!
When thou dost pinch thy bearer, thou dost sit
Like a rich armour worn in heat of day
That scald'st with safety. By his gates of breath
There lies a downy feather which stirs not.
Did he suspire, that light and weightless down
Perforce must move. My gracious lord! my father!
This sleep is sound indeed; this is a sleep
That from this golden rigol hath divorc'd
So many English kings. Thy due from me
Is tears and heavy sorrows of the blood
Which nature, love, and filial tenderness,
Shall, O dear father, pay thee plenteously.
My due from thee is this imperial crown,
Which, as immediate from thy place and blood,
Derives itself to me. [Putting on the crown] Lo where it
Which God shall guard; and put the world's whole strength
Into one giant arm, it shall not force
This lineal honour from me. This from thee
Will I to mine leave as 'tis left to me. Exit

11

Henry IV, Part II
[V, 5]

Dancer

3711

First my fear, then my curtsy, last my speech. My fear, is your
displeasure; my curtsy, my duty; and my speech, to beg your pardons.
If you look for a good speech now, you undo me; for what I have
to say is of mine own making; and what, indeed, I should say will, I doubt,
prove mine own marring. But to the purpose, and so to the
venture.

Be it known to you, as it is very well, I was lately here in the
end of a displeasing play, to pray your patience for it and to
promise you a better. I meant, indeed, to pay you with this; which if like an
ill venture it come unluckily home, I break, and you, my gentle
creditors, lose. Here I promis'd you I would be, and here I
commit my body to your mercies. Bate me some, and I will pay you some,
and, as most debtors do, promise you infinitely; and so I kneel down
before you—but, indeed, to pray for the Queen.

If my tongue cannot entreat you to acquit me, will you command
me to use my legs? And yet that were but light payment—to dance out of
your debt. But a good conscience will make any possible
satisfaction, and so would I. All the gentlewomen here have
forgiven me. If the gentlemen will not, then the gentlemen do not agree
with the gentlewomen, which was never seen before in such an assembly.

One word more, I beseech you. If you be not too much cloy'd
with fat meat, our humble author will continue the story, with Sir John in
it, and make you merry with fair Katherine of France; where, for
anything I know, Falstaff shall die of a sweat, unless already 'a
be killed with your hard opinions; for Oldcastle died a martyr and
this is not the man. My tongue is weary; when my legs are too, I will
bid you good night.