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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 |
Henry IV, Part I
[III, 1] |
Hotspur (Henry Percy) |
1788 |
I had rather hear Lady, my brach, howl in Irish.
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2 |
Henry IV, Part II
[II, 4] |
Falstaff |
1647 |
No, I think thou art not; I think thou art quit for
Marry, there is another indictment upon thee for suffering
to be eaten in thy house, contrary to the law; for the which
think thou wilt howl.
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3 |
Henry V
[II, 1] |
Pistol |
598 |
Let floods o'erswell, and fiends for food howl on!
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4 |
Henry VI, Part II
[I, 4] |
Bolingbroke |
642 |
Patience, good lady; wizards know their times:
Deep night, dark night, the silent of the night,
The time of night when Troy was set on fire;
The time when screech-owls cry and ban-dogs howl,
And spirits walk and ghosts break up their graves,
That time best fits the work we have in hand.
Madam, sit you and fear not: whom we raise,
We will make fast within a hallow'd verge.
[Here they do the ceremonies belonging, and make the]
circle; BOLINGBROKE or SOUTHWELL reads, Conjuro te,
&c. It thunders and lightens terribly; then the
Spirit riseth]
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5 |
King Lear
[V, 3] |
Lear |
3434 |
Howl, howl, howl, howl! O, you are men of stone.
Had I your tongues and eyes, I'ld use them so
That heaven's vault should crack. She's gone for ever!
I know when one is dead, and when one lives.
She's dead as earth. Lend me a looking glass.
If that her breath will mist or stain the stone,
Why, then she lives.
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6 |
Macbeth
[IV, 3] |
Macduff |
1844 |
Let us rather
Hold fast the mortal sword, and like good men
Bestride our down-fall'n birthdom: each new morn
New widows howl, new orphans cry, new sorrows
Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds
As if it felt with Scotland and yell'd out
Like syllable of dolour.
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7 |
Tempest
[I, 2] |
Prospero |
422 |
Dull thing, I say so; he, that Caliban
Whom now I keep in service. Thou best know'st
What torment I did find thee in; thy groans
Did make wolves howl and penetrate the breasts
Of ever angry bears: it was a torment
To lay upon the damn'd, which Sycorax
Could not again undo: it was mine art,
When I arrived and heard thee, that made gape
The pine and let thee out.
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