# 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]

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.

2

Cymbeline
[I, 2]

Second Lord

251

[Aside] So would I, till you had measured how long
a fool you were upon the ground.

3

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?

4

Cymbeline
[I, 4]

Posthumus Leonatus

457

Will you? I shall but lend my diamond till your
return: let there be covenants drawn between's: my
mistress exceeds in goodness the hugeness of your
unworthy thinking: I dare you to this match: here's my ring.

5

Cymbeline
[III, 1]

Cymbeline

1458

You must know,
Till the injurious Romans did extort
This tribute from us, we were free:
Caesar's ambition,
Which swell'd so much that it did almost stretch
The sides o' the world, against all colour here
Did put the yoke upon 's; which to shake off
Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon
Ourselves to be.

6

Cymbeline
[III, 5]

Cymbeline

1965

Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my lords,
Till he have cross'd the Severn. Happiness!

7

Cymbeline
[IV, 2]

Belarius

2529

Well, 'tis done:
We'll hunt no more to-day, nor seek for danger
Where there's no profit. I prithee, to our rock;
You and Fidele play the cooks: I'll stay
Till hasty Polydote return, and bring him
To dinner presently.

8

Cymbeline
[IV, 4]

Belarius

2940

No reason I, since of your lives you set
So slight a valuation, should reserve
My crack'd one to more care. Have with you, boys!
If in your country wars you chance to die,
That is my bed too, lads, an there I'll lie:
Lead, lead.
[Aside]
The time seems long; their blood
thinks scorn,
Till it fly out and show them princes born.

9

Cymbeline
[V, 5]

Posthumus Leonatus

3686

Hang there like a fruit, my soul,
Till the tree die!