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Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
And Ph£bus'gins arise,

      — Cymbeline, Act II Scene 3

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1-6 of 6 total

KEYWORD: strong

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# 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

Twelfth Night
[I, 2]

Captain

55

True, madam: and, to comfort you with chance,
Assure yourself, after our ship did split,
When you and those poor number saved with you
Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother,
Most provident in peril, bind himself,
Courage and hope both teaching him the practise,
To a strong mast that lived upon the sea;
Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back,
I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves
So long as I could see.

2

Twelfth Night
[I, 3]

Sir Andrew Aguecheek

228

And I think I have the back-trick simply as strong
as any man in Illyria.

3

Twelfth Night
[I, 3]

Sir Andrew Aguecheek

239

Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a
flame-coloured stock. Shall we set about some revels?

4

Twelfth Night
[II, 4]

Orsino

992

There is no woman's sides
Can bide the beating of so strong a passion
As love doth give my heart; no woman's heart
So big, to hold so much; they lack retention
Alas, their love may be call'd appetite,
No motion of the liver, but the palate,
That suffer surfeit, cloyment and revolt;
But mine is all as hungry as the sea,
And can digest as much: make no compare
Between that love a woman can bear me
And that I owe Olivia.

5

Twelfth Night
[III, 2]

Sir Toby Belch

1456

I have been dear to him, lad, some two thousand
strong, or so.

6

Twelfth Night
[III, 4]

Viola

1905

I know of none;
Nor know I you by voice or any feature:
I hate ingratitude more in a man
Than lying, vainness, babbling, drunkenness,
Or any taint of vice whose strong corruption
Inhabits our frail blood.

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