The play's the thing

Wherein I 'll catch the conscience of the king.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Hamlet. Act ii. Sc. 2.

Arms and the man I sing, who, forced by fate

And haughty Juno's unrelenting hate.

John Dryden (1631-1701): Virgil, Aeneid, Line 1.

A man of sovereign parts he is esteem'd;

Well fitted in arts, glorious in arms:

Nothing becomes him ill that he would well.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Love's Labour's Lost. Act ii. Sc. 1.

Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors,

My very noble and approv'd good masters,

That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter,

It is most true; true, I have married her:

The very head and front of my offending

Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my speech,

And little bless'd with the soft phrase of peace:

For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith,

Till now some nine moons wasted, they have used

Their dearest action in the tented field,

And little of this great world can I speak,

More than pertains to feats of broil and battle,

And therefore little shall I grace my cause

In speaking for myself. Yet, by your gracious patience,

I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver

Of my whole course of love.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Othello. Act i. Sc. 3.

Now is the winter of our discontent

Made glorious summer by this sun of York,

And all the clouds that loured upon our house

In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.

Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths,

Our bruised arms hung up for monuments,

Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings,

Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.

Grim-visaged war hath smoothed his wrinkled front;

And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds

To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,

He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber

To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.

But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,

Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;

I, that am rudely stamped, and want love's majesty

To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;

I, that am curtailed of this fair proportion,

Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,

Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time

Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,

And that so lamely and unfashionable

That dogs bark at me as I halt by them,—

Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,

Have no delight to pass away the time,

Unless to spy my shadow in the sun.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): King Richard III. Act i. Sc. 1.

Imparadis'd in one another's arms.

John Milton (1608-1674): Paradise Lost. Book iv. Line 506.

Zealous, yet modest; innocent, though free;

Patient of toil, serene amidst alarms;

Inflexible in faith, invincible in arms.

James Beattie (1735-1803): The Minstrel. Book i. Stanza 11.

The land of scholars and the nurse of arms.

Oliver Goldsmith (1728-1774): The Traveller. Line 356.

This senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid;

Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms,

The anointed sovereign of sighs and groans,

Liege of all loiterers and malcontents.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Love's Labour's Lost. Act iii. Sc. 1.

Perish that thought! No, never be it said

That Fate itself could awe the soul of Richard.

Hence, babbling dreams! you threaten here in vain!

Conscience, avaunt! Richard's himself again!

Hark! the shrill trumpet sounds to horse! away!

My soul's in arms, and eager for the fray.

Colley Cibber (1671-1757): Richard III. (altered). Act v. Sc. 3.

Of seeming arms to make a short essay,

Then hasten to be drunk,—the business of the day.

John Dryden (1631-1701): Cymon and Iphigenia. Line 407.

Arms on armour clashing bray'd

Horrible discord, and the madding wheels

Of brazen chariots rag'd: dire was the noise

Of conflict.

John Milton (1608-1674): Paradise Lost. Book vi. Line 209.

All the world's a stage,

And all the men and women merely players.

They have their exits and their entrances;

And one man in his time plays many parts,

His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,

Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.

And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel

And shining morning face, creeping like snail

Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,

Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad

Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,

Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard;

Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,

Seeking the bubble reputation

Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,

In fair round belly with good capon lined,

With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,

Full of wise saws and modern instances;

And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts

Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,

With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;

His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide

For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,

Turning again toward childish treble, pipes

And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,

That ends this strange eventful history,

Is second childishness and mere oblivion,

Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 7.

Ran on embattled armies clad in iron,

And, weaponless himself,

Made arms ridiculous.

John Milton (1608-1674): Samson Agonistes. Line 129.

Eyes, look your last!

Arms, take your last embrace!

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Romeo and Juliet, Act v. Sc. 3.

Come the three corners of the world in arms,

And we shall shock them. Nought shall make us rue,

If England to itself do rest but true.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): King John. Act v. Sc. 7.

Than Timoleon's arms require,

And Tully's curule chair, and Milton's golden lyre.

Mark Akenside (1721-1770): Ode. On a Sermon against Glory. Stanza ii.

To arms! to arms! ye brave!

The avenging sword unsheathe!

March on! march on! all hearts resolved

On victory or death!

Joseph Rouget De L'Isle (1760-1836): The Marseilles Hymn.