# 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

Cymbeline
[I, 1]

Queen

84

No, be assured you shall not find me, daughter,
After the slander of most stepmothers,
Evil-eyed unto you: you're my prisoner, but
Your gaoler shall deliver you the keys
That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthumus,
So soon as I can win the offended king,
I will be known your advocate: marry, yet
The fire of rage is in him, and 'twere good
You lean'd unto his sentence with what patience
Your wisdom may inform you.

2

Cymbeline
[I, 1]

Imogen

101

O
Dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant
Can tickle where she wounds! My dearest husband,
I something fear my father's wrath; but nothing—
Always reserved my holy duty—what
His rage can do on me: you must be gone;
And I shall here abide the hourly shot
Of angry eyes, not comforted to live,
But that there is this jewel in the world
That I may see again.

3

Cymbeline
[I, 1]

Posthumus Leonatus

111

My queen! my mistress!
O lady, weep no more, lest I give cause
To be suspected of more tenderness
Than doth become a man. I will remain
The loyal'st husband that did e'er plight troth:
My residence in Rome at one Philario's,
Who to my father was a friend, to me
Known but by letter: thither write, my queen,
And with mine eyes I'll drink the words you send,
Though ink be made of gall.

4

Cymbeline
[I, 1]

Queen

122

Be brief, I pray you:
If the king come, I shall incur I know not
How much of his displeasure.
[Aside]
Yet I'll move him
To walk this way: I never do him wrong,
But he does buy my injuries, to be friends;
Pays dear for my offences.

5

Cymbeline
[I, 1]

Imogen

134

Nay, stay a little:
Were you but riding forth to air yourself,
Such parting were too petty. Look here, love;
This diamond was my mother's: take it, heart;
But keep it till you woo another wife,
When Imogen is dead.

6

Cymbeline
[I, 1]

Posthumus Leonatus

140

How, how! another?
You gentle gods, give me but this I have,
And sear up my embracements from a next
With bonds of death!
[Putting on the ring]
Remain, remain thou here
While sense can keep it on. And, sweetest, fairest,
As I my poor self did exchange for you,
To your so infinite loss, so in our trifles
I still win of you: for my sake wear this;
It is a manacle of love; I'll place it
Upon this fairest prisoner.

7

Cymbeline
[I, 1]

Cymbeline

157

Thou basest thing, avoid! hence, from my sight!
If after this command thou fraught the court
With thy unworthiness, thou diest: away!
Thou'rt poison to my blood.

8

Cymbeline
[I, 1]

Cymbeline

166

O disloyal thing,
That shouldst repair my youth, thou heap'st
A year's age on me.

9

Cymbeline
[I, 1]

Cymbeline

175

That mightst have had the sole son of my queen!

10

Cymbeline
[I, 1]

Cymbeline

178

Thou took'st a beggar; wouldst have made my throne
A seat for baseness.

11

Cymbeline
[I, 1]

Imogen

183

Sir,
It is your fault that I have loved Posthumus:
You bred him as my playfellow, and he is
A man worth any woman, overbuys me
Almost the sum he pays.

12

Cymbeline
[I, 1]

Imogen

189

Almost, sir: heaven restore me! Would I were
A neat-herd's daughter, and my Leonatus
Our neighbour shepherd's son!

13

Cymbeline
[I, 1]

Pisanio

208

My lord your son drew on my master.

14

Cymbeline
[I, 1]

Pisanio

211

There might have been,
But that my master rather play'd than fought
And had no help of anger: they were parted
By gentlemen at hand.

15

Cymbeline
[I, 1]

Imogen

216

Your son's my father's friend; he takes his part.
To draw upon an exile! O brave sir!
I would they were in Afric both together;
Myself by with a needle, that I might prick
The goer-back. Why came you from your master?

16

Cymbeline
[I, 1]

Imogen

230

About some half-hour hence,
I pray you, speak with me: you shall at least
Go see my lord aboard: for this time leave me.

17

Cymbeline
[I, 2]

Cloten

239

If my shirt were bloody, then to shift it. Have I hurt him?

18

Cymbeline
[I, 2]

Cloten

261

Come, I'll to my chamber. Would there had been some
hurt done!

19

Cymbeline
[I, 2]

Second Lord

268

Well, my lord.

20

Cymbeline
[I, 3]

Imogen

292

I would have broke mine eye-strings; crack'd them, but
To look upon him, till the diminution
Of space had pointed him sharp as my needle,
Nay, follow'd him, till he had melted from
The smallness of a gnat to air, and then
Have turn'd mine eye and wept. But, good Pisanio,
When shall we hear from him?