# 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

Troilus and Cressida
[I, 2]

Cressida

221

Then you say as I say; for, I am sure, he is not Hector.

2

Troilus and Cressida
[I, 2]

Pandarus

261

Nay, I am sure she does. She came to him th' other
day into the compassed window,—and, you know, he
has not past three or four hairs on his chin,—

3

Troilus and Cressida
[I, 3]

Aeneas

691

Courtiers as free, as debonair, unarm'd,
As bending angels; that's their fame in peace:
But when they would seem soldiers, they have galls,
Good arms, strong joints, true swords; and,
Jove's accord,
Nothing so full of heart. But peace, AEneas,
Peace, Trojan; lay thy finger on thy lips!
The worthiness of praise distains his worth,
If that the praised himself bring the praise forth:
But what the repining enemy commends,
That breath fame blows; that praise, sole sure,
transcends.

4

Troilus and Cressida
[III, 3]

Thersites

2182

No, but he's out o' tune thus. What music will be in
him when Hector has knocked out his brains, I know
not; but, I am sure, none, unless the fiddler Apollo
get his sinews to make catlings on.

5

Troilus and Cressida
[V, 2]

Troilus

3199

She was not, sure.

6

Troilus and Cressida
[V, 2]

Ulysses

3200

Most sure she was.

7

Troilus and Cressida
[V, 3]

Andromache

3281

My dreams will, sure, prove ominous to the day.

8

Troilus and Cressida
[V, 10]

Troilus

3637

He's dead; and at the murderer's horse's tail,
In beastly sort, dragg'd through the shameful field.
Frown on, you heavens, effect your rage with speed!
Sit, gods, upon your thrones, and smile at Troy!
I say, at once let your brief plagues be mercy,
And linger not our sure destructions on!