Shakespeare Trivia
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Medieval knights in narrow canyon, antique painting, Prague Czechoslovakia [Czech Republic]
What character in King Lear speaks last?
Iago has a major role in which play?
What country other than Rome has a major role in Julius Caesar?
What city does Merchant of Venice take place in?
(Ok, while the last may be too easy, how many of the others did you get?) This Shakespeare quiz will whet your appetite as you screw your courage to the sticking point.
Who said it?
Some of the most memorable lines of Shakespeare are the openings - but others can be quite obscure. Here's a list of all the first lines from Shakespeare's 37 plays. How Many can you identify? In case you missed a few, there's another table with the answers at the bottom of this hub.
First lines
|
|---|
Two households, both alike in dignity, // In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, // From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, // Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. // From forth the fatal loins of these two foes // A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life; // Whole misadventured piteous overthrows // Do with their death bury their parents' strife.
|
Tranio, since for the great desire I had // To see fair Padua, nursery of arts, // I am arrived for fruitful Lombardy, // The pleasant garden of great Italy; // And by my father's love and leave am arm'd // With his good will and thy good company, // My trusty servant, well approved in all, // Here let us breathe and haply institute // A course of learning and ingenious studies.
|
Noble patricians, patrons of my right, // Defend the justice of my cause with arms, // And, countrymen, my loving followers, // Plead my successive title with your swords: // I am his first-born son, that was the last // That wore the imperial diadem of Rome; // Then let my father's honours live in me, // Nor wrong mine age with this indignity.
|
In Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of Greece // The princes orgulous, their high blood chafed, // Have to the port of Athens sent their ships, // Fraught with the ministers and instruments // Of cruel war: sixty and nine, that wore // Their crownets regal, from the Athenian bay // Put forth toward Phrygia; and their vow is made // To ransack Troy, within whose strong immures // The ravish'd Helen, Menelaus' queen, // With wanton Paris sleeps; and that's the quarrel.
|
Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus: // Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits. // Were't not affection chains thy tender days // To the sweet glances of thy honour'd love, // I rather would entreat thy company // To see the wonders of the world abroad, // Than, living dully sluggardized at home, // Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness. // But since thou lovest, love still and thrive therein, // Even as I would when I to love begin.
|
If you shall chance, Camillo, to visit Bohemia, on // the like occasion whereon my services are now on // foot, you shall see, as I have said, great // difference betwixt our Bohemia and your Sicilia.
|
I come no more to make you laugh: things now, // That bear a weighty and a serious brow, // Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe, // Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow, // We now present. Those that can pity, here // May, if they think it well, let fall a tear; // The subject will deserve it.
|
Hence! home, you idle creatures get you home: // Is this a holiday? what! know you not, // Being mechanical, you ought not walk // Upon a labouring day without the sign // Of your profession? Speak, what trade art thou?
|
Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives, // Live register'd upon our brazen tombs // And then grace us in the disgrace of death; // When, spite of cormorant devouring Time, // The endeavor of this present breath may buy // That honour which shall bate his scythe's keen edge // And make us heirs of all eternity.
|
To sing a song that old was sung, // From ashes ancient Gower is come; // Assuming man's infirmities, // To glad your ear, and please your eyes.
|
Old John of Gaunt, time-honour'd Lancaster, // Hast thou, according to thy oath and band, // Brought hither Henry Hereford thy bold son, // Here to make good the boisterous late appeal, // Which then our leisure would not let us hear, // Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?
|
Now is the winter of our discontent // Made glorious summer by this sun of York; // And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house // In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
|
Of government the properties to unfold, // Would seem in me to affect speech and discourse; // Since I am put to know that your own science // Exceeds, in that, the lists of all advice // My strength can give you:
|
In sooth, I know not why I am so sad: // It wearies me; you say it wearies you; // But how I caught it, found it, or came by it, // What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born, // I am to learn; // And such a want-wit sadness makes of me, // That I have much ado to know myself.
|
Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour // Draws on apace; four happy days bring in // Another moon: but, O, methinks, how slow // This old moon wanes! she lingers my desires, // Like to a step-dame or a dowager // Long withering out a young man revenue.
|
I learn in this letter that Don Peter of Arragon comes this night to Messina.
|
Tush! never tell me; I take it much unkindly // That thou, Iago, who hast had my purse // As if the strings were thine, shouldst know of this.
|
Good, speak to the mariners: fall to't, yarely, // or we run ourselves aground: bestir, bestir.
|
[Poet]Good day, sir. // [Painter] I am glad you're well.
|
If music be the food of love, play on; // Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, // The appetite may sicken, and so die.
|
Sir Hugh, persuade me not; I will make a Star- // chamber matter of it: if he were twenty Sir John // Falstaffs, he shall not abuse Robert Shallow, esquire.
|
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!
|
Now, say, Chatillon, what would France with us?
|
I thought the king had more affected the Duke of Albany than Cornwall.
|
When shall we three meet again // In thunder, lightning, or in rain?
|
So shaken as we are, so wan with care, // Find we a time for frighted peace to pant, // And breathe short-winded accents of new broils // To be commenced in strands afar remote.
|
Hung be the heavens with black, yield day to night! // Comets, importing change of times and states, // Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky, // And with them scourge the bad revolting stars
|
Open your ears; for which of you will stop // The vent of hearing when loud Rumour speaks? // I, from the orient to the drooping west, // Making the wind my post-horse, still unfold // The acts commenced on this ball of earth: // Upon my tongues continual slanders ride, // The which in every language I pronounce, // Stuffing the ears of men with false reports.
|
As by your high imperial majesty // I had in charge at my depart for France, // As procurator to your excellence, // To marry Princess Margaret for your grace, // So, in the famous ancient city, Tours, // In presence of the Kings of France and Sicil, // The Dukes of Orleans, Calaber, Bretagne and Alencon, // Seven earls, twelve barons and twenty reverend bishops, // I have perform'd my task and was espoused: // And humbly now upon my bended knee, // In sight of England and her lordly peers, // Deliver up my title in the queen // To your most gracious hands, that are the substance // Of that great shadow I did represent; // The happiest gift that ever marquess gave, // The fairest queen that ever king received.
|
I wonder how the king escaped our hands.
|
In delivering my son from me, I bury a second husband.
|
Nay, but this dotage of our general's // O'erflows the measure: those his goodly eyes, // That o'er the files and musters of the war // Have glow'd like plated Mars, now bend, now turn, // The office and devotion of their view // Upon a tawny front: his captain's heart, // Which in the scuffles of great fights hath burst // The buckles on his breast, reneges all temper, // And is become the bellows and the fan // To cool a gipsy's lust.
|
As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion bequeathed me by will but poor a thousand crowns, and, as thou sayest, charged my brother, on his blessing, to breed me well: and there begins my sadness.
|
Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall // And by the doom of death end woes and all.
|
Before we proceed any further, hear me speak.
|
You do not meet a man but frowns: our bloods // No more obey the heavens than our courtiers // Still seem as does the king.
|
Who's there?
|
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Play
| Who
| First lines
|
|---|---|---|
Romeo and Juliet
| PROLOGUE
| Two households, both alike in dignity, // In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, // From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, // Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. // From forth the fatal loins of these two foes // A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life; // Whole misadventured piteous overthrows // Do with their death bury their parents' strife.
|
Taming of the Shrew
| LUCENTIO
| Tranio, since for the great desire I had // To see fair Padua, nursery of arts, // I am arrived for fruitful Lombardy, // The pleasant garden of great Italy; // And by my father's love and leave am arm'd // With his good will and thy good company, // My trusty servant, well approved in all, // Here let us breathe and haply institute // A course of learning and ingenious studies.
|
Titus Andronicus
| SATURNINUS
| Noble patricians, patrons of my right, // Defend the justice of my cause with arms, // And, countrymen, my loving followers, // Plead my successive title with your swords: // I am his first-born son, that was the last // That wore the imperial diadem of Rome; // Then let my father's honours live in me, // Nor wrong mine age with this indignity.
|
Troilus and Cressida
| PROLOGUE
| In Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of Greece // The princes orgulous, their high blood chafed, // Have to the port of Athens sent their ships, // Fraught with the ministers and instruments // Of cruel war: sixty and nine, that wore // Their crownets regal, from the Athenian bay // Put forth toward Phrygia; and their vow is made // To ransack Troy, within whose strong immures // The ravish'd Helen, Menelaus' queen, // With wanton Paris sleeps; and that's the quarrel.
|
Two Gentlemen of Verona
| VALENTINE
| Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus: // Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits. // Were't not affection chains thy tender days // To the sweet glances of thy honour'd love, // I rather would entreat thy company // To see the wonders of the world abroad, // Than, living dully sluggardized at home, // Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness. // But since thou lovest, love still and thrive therein, // Even as I would when I to love begin.
|
Winter's Tale
| ARCHIDAMUS
| If you shall chance, Camillo, to visit Bohemia, on // the like occasion whereon my services are now on // foot, you shall see, as I have said, great // difference betwixt our Bohemia and your Sicilia.
|
Henry VIII
| THE PROLOGUE
| I come no more to make you laugh: things now, // That bear a weighty and a serious brow, // Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe, // Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow, // We now present. Those that can pity, here // May, if they think it well, let fall a tear; // The subject will deserve it.
|
Julius Caesar
| FLAVIUS
| Hence! home, you idle creatures get you home: // Is this a holiday? what! know you not, // Being mechanical, you ought not walk // Upon a labouring day without the sign // Of your profession? Speak, what trade art thou?
|
Love's Labour's Lost
| FERDINAND
| Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives, // Live register'd upon our brazen tombs // And then grace us in the disgrace of death; // When, spite of cormorant devouring Time, // The endeavor of this present breath may buy // That honour which shall bate his scythe's keen edge // And make us heirs of all eternity.
|
Pericles, Prince of Tyre
| GOWER
| To sing a song that old was sung, // From ashes ancient Gower is come; // Assuming man's infirmities, // To glad your ear, and please your eyes.
|
Richard II
| KING RICHARD II
| Old John of Gaunt, time-honour'd Lancaster, // Hast thou, according to thy oath and band, // Brought hither Henry Hereford thy bold son, // Here to make good the boisterous late appeal, // Which then our leisure would not let us hear, // Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?
|
Richard III
| GLOUCESTER
| Now is the winter of our discontent // Made glorious summer by this sun of York; // And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house // In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
|
Measure for Measure
| DUKE VINCENTIO
| Of government the properties to unfold, // Would seem in me to affect speech and discourse; // Since I am put to know that your own science // Exceeds, in that, the lists of all advice // My strength can give you:
|
Merchant of Venice
| ANTONIO
| In sooth, I know not why I am so sad: // It wearies me; you say it wearies you; // But how I caught it, found it, or came by it, // What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born, // I am to learn; // And such a want-wit sadness makes of me, // That I have much ado to know myself.
|
A Midsummer Night's Dream
| THESEUS
| Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour // Draws on apace; four happy days bring in // Another moon: but, O, methinks, how slow // This old moon wanes! she lingers my desires, // Like to a step-dame or a dowager // Long withering out a young man revenue.
|
Much Ado About Nothing
| LEONATO
| I learn in this letter that Don Peter of Arragon comes this night to Messina.
|
Othello
| RODERIGO
| Tush! never tell me; I take it much unkindly // That thou, Iago, who hast had my purse // As if the strings were thine, shouldst know of this.
|
Tempest
| Master
| Good, speak to the mariners: fall to't, yarely, // or we run ourselves aground: bestir, bestir.
|
Timon of Athens
| Poet/Painter
| [Poet]Good day, sir. // [Painter] I am glad you're well.
|
Twelfth Night
| DUKE ORSINO
| If music be the food of love, play on; // Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, // The appetite may sicken, and so die.
|
Merry Wives of Windsor
| SHALLOW
| Sir Hugh, persuade me not; I will make a Star- // chamber matter of it: if he were twenty Sir John // Falstaffs, he shall not abuse Robert Shallow, esquire.
|
Henry V
| Chorus
| 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!
|
King John
| KING JOHN
| Now, say, Chatillon, what would France with us?
|
King Lear
| KENT
| I thought the king had more affected the Duke of Albany than Cornwall.
|
Macbeth
| First Witch
| When shall we three meet again // In thunder, lightning, or in rain?
|
Henry IV, Part 1
| KING HENRY IV
| So shaken as we are, so wan with care, // Find we a time for frighted peace to pant, // And breathe short-winded accents of new broils // To be commenced in strands afar remote.
|
Henry VI, Part 1
| BEDFORD
| Hung be the heavens with black, yield day to night! // Comets, importing change of times and states, // Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky, // And with them scourge the bad revolting stars
|
Henry IV, Part 2
| RUMOUR
| Open your ears; for which of you will stop // The vent of hearing when loud Rumour speaks? // I, from the orient to the drooping west, // Making the wind my post-horse, still unfold // The acts commenced on this ball of earth: // Upon my tongues continual slanders ride, // The which in every language I pronounce, // Stuffing the ears of men with false reports.
|
Henry VI, Part 2
| SUFFOLK
| As by your high imperial majesty // I had in charge at my depart for France, // As procurator to your excellence, // To marry Princess Margaret for your grace, // So, in the famous ancient city, Tours, // In presence of the Kings of France and Sicil, // The Dukes of Orleans, Calaber, Bretagne and Alencon, // Seven earls, twelve barons and twenty reverend bishops, // I have perform'd my task and was espoused: // And humbly now upon my bended knee, // In sight of England and her lordly peers, // Deliver up my title in the queen // To your most gracious hands, that are the substance // Of that great shadow I did represent; // The happiest gift that ever marquess gave, // The fairest queen that ever king received.
|
Henry VI, Part 3
| WARWICK
| I wonder how the king escaped our hands.
|
All's Well that Ends Well
| COUNTESS
| In delivering my son from me, I bury a second husband.
|
Antony and Cleopatra
| PHILO
| Nay, but this dotage of our general's // O'erflows the measure: those his goodly eyes, // That o'er the files and musters of the war // Have glow'd like plated Mars, now bend, now turn, // The office and devotion of their view // Upon a tawny front: his captain's heart, // Which in the scuffles of great fights hath burst // The buckles on his breast, reneges all temper, // And is become the bellows and the fan // To cool a gipsy's lust.
|
As You Like It
| ORLANDO
| As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion bequeathed me by will but poor a thousand crowns, and, as thou sayest, charged my brother, on his blessing, to breed me well: and there begins my sadness.
|
Comedy of Errors
| AEGEON
| Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall // And by the doom of death end woes and all.
|
Coriolanus
| First Citizen
| Before we proceed any further, hear me speak.
|
Cymbeline
| First Gentleman
| You do not meet a man but frowns: our bloods // No more obey the heavens than our courtiers // Still seem as does the king.
|
Hamlet
| BERNARDO
| Who's there?
|
