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Result number
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Work
The work is either a play, poem, or sonnet. The sonnets
are treated as single work with 154 parts.
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Character
Indicates who said the line. If it's a play or sonnet,
the character name is "Poet."
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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.
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Text
The line's full text, with keywords highlighted
within it, unless highlighting has been disabled by the user.
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1 |
Antony and Cleopatra
[I, 2] |
Antony |
213 |
Forbear me.
[Exit Second Messenger]
There's a great spirit gone! Thus did I desire it:
What our contempt doth often hurl from us,
We wish it ours again; the present pleasure,
By revolution lowering, does become
The opposite of itself: she's good, being gone;
The hand could pluck her back that shoved her on.
I must from this enchanting queen break off:
Ten thousand harms, more than the ills I know,
My idleness doth hatch. How now! Enobarbus!
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2 |
Antony and Cleopatra
[I, 3] |
Charmian |
308 |
Tempt him not so too far; I wish, forbear:
In time we hate that which we often fear.
But here comes Antony.
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3 |
Antony and Cleopatra
[I, 3] |
Antony |
382 |
My precious queen, forbear;
And give true evidence to his love, which stands
An honourable trial.
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4 |
Antony and Cleopatra
[II, 7] |
Pompey |
1417 |
[Aside to MENAS] Forbear me till anon.
This wine for Lepidus!
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5 |
Antony and Cleopatra
[V, 2] |
Octavius |
3602 |
Forbear, Seleucus.
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6 |
As You Like It
[II, 7] |
Orlando |
984 |
Forbear, and eat no more.
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7 |
As You Like It
[II, 7] |
Orlando |
991 |
You touch'd my vein at first: the thorny point
Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show
Of smooth civility; yet am I inland bred,
And know some nurture. But forbear, I say;
He dies that touches any of this fruit
Till I and my affairs are answered.
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8 |
As You Like It
[II, 7] |
Orlando |
1023 |
Then but forbear your food a little while,
Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn,
And give it food. There is an old poor man
Who after me hath many a weary step
Limp'd in pure love; till he be first suffic'd,
Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger,
I will not touch a bit.
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9 |
Comedy of Errors
[II, 1] |
Luciana |
303 |
Till he come home again, I would forbear.
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10 |
Cymbeline
[I, 1] |
First Gentleman |
80 |
We must forbear: here comes the gentleman,
The queen, and princess.
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11 |
Cymbeline
[III, 5] |
Queen |
1989 |
Royal sir,
Since the exile of Posthumus, most retired
Hath her life been; the cure whereof, my lord,
'Tis time must do. Beseech your majesty,
Forbear sharp speeches to her: she's a lady
So tender of rebukes that words are strokes
And strokes death to her.
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12 |
Cymbeline
[IV, 2] |
Guiderius |
2677 |
Ghost unlaid forbear thee!
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13 |
Cymbeline
[V, 5] |
Belarius |
3518 |
Peace, peace! see further; he eyes us not; forbear;
Creatures may be alike: were 't he, I am sure
He would have spoke to us.
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14 |
Hamlet
[V, 1] |
Gertrude |
3617 |
For love of God, forbear him!
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15 |
Henry IV, Part II
[IV, 5] |
Henry IV |
2988 |
Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought.
I stay too long by thee, I weary thee.
Dost thou so hunger for mine empty chair
That thou wilt needs invest thee with my honours
Before thy hour be ripe? O foolish youth!
Thou seek'st the greatness that will overwhelm thee.
Stay but a little, for my cloud of dignity
Is held from falling with so weak a wind
That it will quickly drop; my day is dim.
Thou hast stol'n that which, after some few hours,
Were thine without offense; and at my death
Thou hast seal'd up my expectation.
Thy life did manifest thou lov'dst me not,
And thou wilt have me die assur'd of it.
Thou hid'st a thousand daggers in thy thoughts,
Which thou hast whetted on thy stony heart,
To stab at half an hour of my life.
What, canst thou not forbear me half an hour?
Then get thee gone, and dig my grave thyself;
And bid the merry bells ring to thine ear
That thou art crowned, not that I am dead.
Let all the tears that should bedew my hearse
Be drops of balm to sanctify thy head;
Only compound me with forgotten dust;
Give that which gave thee life unto the worms.
Pluck down my officers, break my decrees;
For now a time is come to mock at form-
Harry the Fifth is crown'd. Up, vanity:
Down, royal state. All you sage counsellors, hence.
And to the English court assemble now,
From every region, apes of idleness.
Now, neighbour confines, purge you of your scum.
Have you a ruffian that will swear, drink, dance,
Revel the night, rob, murder, and commit
The oldest sins the newest kind of ways?
Be happy, he will trouble you no more.
England shall double gild his treble guilt;
England shall give him office, honour, might;
For the fifth Harry from curb'd license plucks
The muzzle of restraint, and the wild dog
Shall flesh his tooth on every innocent.
O my poor kingdom, sick with civil blows!
When that my care could not withhold thy riots,
What wilt thou do when riot is thy care?
O, thou wilt be a wilderness again.
Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitants!
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16 |
Henry VI, Part I
[III, 1] |
Duke/Earl of Somerset |
1275 |
My lord, it were your duty to forbear.
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17 |
Henry VI, Part I
[III, 1] |
Duke of Gloucester |
1334 |
Stay, stay, I say!
And if you love me, as you say you do,
Let me persuade you to forbear awhile.
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18 |
Henry VI, Part I
[IV, 7] |
Charles, King of France |
2304 |
O, no, forbear! for that which we have fled
During the life, let us not wrong it dead.
[Enter Sir William LUCY, attended; Herald of the]
French preceding]
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19 |
Henry VI, Part II
[II, 4] |
Duke of Gloucester |
1218 |
Ah, Nell, forbear! thou aimest all awry;
I must offend before I be attainted;
And had I twenty times so many foes,
And each of them had twenty times their power,
All these could not procure me any scathe,
So long as I am loyal, true and crimeless.
Wouldst have me rescue thee from this reproach?
Why, yet thy scandal were not wiped away
But I in danger for the breach of law.
Thy greatest help is quiet, gentle Nell:
I pray thee, sort thy heart to patience;
These few days' wonder will be quickly worn.
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20 |
Henry VI, Part II
[III, 2] |
Henry VI |
1720 |
What, doth my Lord of Suffolk comfort me?
Came he right now to sing a raven's note,
Whose dismal tune bereft my vital powers;
And thinks he that the chirping of a wren,
By crying comfort from a hollow breast,
Can chase away the first-conceived sound?
Hide not thy poison with such sugar'd words;
Lay not thy hands on me; forbear, I say;
Their touch affrights me as a serpent's sting.
Thou baleful messenger, out of my sight!
Upon thy eye-balls murderous tyranny
Sits in grim majesty, to fright the world.
Look not upon me, for thine eyes are wounding:
Yet do not go away: come, basilisk,
And kill the innocent gazer with thy sight;
For in the shade of death I shall find joy;
In life but double death, now Gloucester's dead.
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