# 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

Merry Wives of Windsor
[I, 1]

Robert Shallow

85

That he will not. 'Tis your fault, 'tis your fault;
'tis a good dog.

2

Merry Wives of Windsor
[I, 4]

Hostess Quickly

411

Go; and we'll have a posset for't soon at night, in
faith, at the latter end of a sea-coal fire.
[Exit RUGBY]
An honest, willing, kind fellow, as ever servant
shall come in house withal, and, I warrant you, no
tell-tale nor no breed-bate: his worst fault is,
that he is given to prayer; he is something peevish
that way: but nobody but has his fault; but let
that pass. Peter Simple, you say your name is?

3

Merry Wives of Windsor
[I, 4]

Simple

420

Ay, for fault of a better.

4

Merry Wives of Windsor
[III, 3]

Ford

1606

'Tis my fault, Master Page: I suffer for it.

5

Merry Wives of Windsor
[III, 5]

Hostess Quickly

1782

Alas the day! good heart, that was not her fault:
she does so take on with her men; they mistook their erection.

6

Merry Wives of Windsor
[V, 5]

Falstaff

2560

The Windsor bell hath struck twelve; the minute
draws on. Now, the hot-blooded gods assist me!
Remember, Jove, thou wast a bull for thy Europa; love
set on thy horns. O powerful love! that, in some
respects, makes a beast a man, in some other, a man
a beast. You were also, Jupiter, a swan for the love
of Leda. O omnipotent Love! how near the god drew
to the complexion of a goose! A fault done first in
the form of a beast. O Jove, a beastly fault! And
then another fault in the semblance of a fowl; think
on 't, Jove; a foul fault! When gods have hot
backs, what shall poor men do? For me, I am here a
Windsor stag; and the fattest, I think, i' the
forest. Send me a cool rut-time, Jove, or who can
blame me to piss my tallow? Who comes here? my
doe?