Henry V(1599) - William Shakespeare Literary Quotes - Quotesmin.com

All William Shakespeare Literary Quotes


Henry V Literary Quotes(1599) - William ShakespeareRating Mail
O! for a muse of fire, that would ascend The brightest heaven of invention! A kingdom for a stage, princes to act, And monarchs to behold the swelling scene!
[Prologue: Chorus]
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Consideration, like an angel, came
And whipp'd the offending Adam out of him.
[Act I: Archbishop of Canterbury, scene i]
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Turn him to any cause of policy,
The Gordian knot of it he will unloose,
Familiar as his garter; that, when he speaks,
The air, a charter'd libertine, is still.
[Act I: Archbishop of Canterbury, scene i]
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We are glad the Dauphin is so pleasant with us;
His present and your pains we thank you for:
When we have match'd our rackets to these balls,
We will, in France, by God's grace, play a set
Shall strike his father's crown into the hazard.
[Act I: King Henry, scene ii]
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Base is the slave that pays.
[Act II: Pistol, scene i]
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Sure, he's not in hell; he's in Arthur's bosom, if ever man went to Arthur's bosom. 'A made a finer end, and went away, an it had been any christom child; 'a parted even just between twelve and one, even at the turning oí the tide: for after I saw him fumble with the sheets, and play with flowers, and smile upon his fingers' ends, I knew there was but one way; for his nose was as sharp as a pen, and aí babbled of green fields.
[Act II: Mistress Quickly, scene iii]
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As cold as any stone.
[Act II: Mistress Quickly, scene iii]
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Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin,
As self-neglecting.
[Act II: Dauphin, scene iv]
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Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead!
In peace, there ís nothing so becomes a man,
As modest stillness and humility:
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood.
[Act III: King Henry, scene i]
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And sheath'd their swords for lack of argument.
[Act III: King Henry, scene i]
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I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot;
Follow your spirit: and upon this charge,
Cry ó God for Harry! England and Saint George!
[Act III: King Henry, scene i]
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I would give all my fame for a pot of ale, and safety.
[Act III: Boy, scene ii]
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Men of few words are the best men.
[Act III: Boy, scene ii]
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This is the latest parle we will admit:
Therefore to our best mercy give yourselves,
Or, like to men proud of destruction,
Defy us to our worst: for, as I am a soldier,
(A name, that, in my thoughts, becomes me best,)
If I begin the battery once again,
I will not leave the half-achieved Harfleur,
Till in her ashes she lie buried.
The gates of mercy shall be all shut up,
And the flesh'd soldier, rough and hard of heart,
In liberty of bloody hand, shall range
With conscience wide as hell; mowing like grass
Your fresh-fair virgins and your flowering infants.
What is it then to me, if impious War,
Array'd in flames, like to the prince of fiends,
Do, with his smirch'd complexion, all fell feats
Enlink'd to waste and desolation?
What is't to me, when you yourselves are cause,
If your pure maidens fall into the hand
Of hot and forcing violation?
What rein can hold licentious wickedness,
When down the hill he holds his fierce career?
We may as bootless spend our vain command
Upon the enraged soldiers in their spoil,
As send precepts to the Leviathan
To come ashore. Therefore, you men of Harfleur,
Take pity of your town, and of your people,
Whiles yet my soldiers are in my command;
Whiles yet the cool and temperate wind of grace
O'erblows the filthy and contagious clouds
Of deadly murder, spoil, and villainy.
If not, why, in a moment, look to see
The blind and bloody soldier, with foul hand,
Defile the locks of your shrill-shrieking daughters;
Your fathers taken by the silver beards,
And their most reverend heads dash'd to the walls;
Your naked infants spitted upon pikes,
Whiles the mad mothers with their howls confus'd
Do break the clouds, as did the wives of Jewry
At Herod's bloody-hunting slaughtermen.
What say you? Will you yield, and this avoid?
Or, guilty in defence, be thus destroy'd?
[Act III: King Henry, scene iii]
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For when lenity and cruelty play for a kingdom, the gentler gamester is the soonest winner.
[Act III: King Henry, scene viii (or vi)]
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I thought, upon one pair of English legs Did march three Frenchmen.
[Act III: King Henry, scene vi]
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You may as well say, ó thatís a valiant flea that dare eat his breakfast on the lip of a lion.
[Act III: Orleans, scene vii]
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The hum of either army stilly sounds,
That the fix'd sentinels almost receive
The secret whispers of each otherís watch.
Fire answers fire, and through their paly flames
Each battle sees the otherís umber'd face:
Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs
Piercing the nightís dull ear; and from the tents,
The armourers, accomplishing the knights,
With busy hammers closing rivets up,
Give dreadful note of preparation.
[Act IV: Chorus, prologue]
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There is some soul of goodness in things evil,
Would men observingly distil it out.
[Act IV: King Henry, scene i]
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Every subjectís duty is the kingís; but every subjectís soul is his own.
[Act IV: King Henry, scene i]
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Thatís a perilous shot out of an elder-gun.
[Act IV: Williams, scene i]
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The wretched slave,
Who, with a body fill'd, and vacant mind,
Gets him to rest, cramm'd with distressful bread.
[Act IV: King Henry, scene i]
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Such a wretch,
Winding up days with toil, and nights with sleep,
Had the fore-hand and vantage of a king.
[Act IV: King Henry, scene i]
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If we are mark'd to die, we are enough
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I, who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not, if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires:
But, if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
[Act IV: King Henry, scene iii;
variant editions read: If we are mark'd to die, we are enow To do our country loss...]
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O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse:
We would not die in that man's company,
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
[Act IV: King Henry, scene iii]
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