O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven;

It hath the primal eldest curse upon 't,

A brother's murder.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Hamlet. Act iii. Sc. 3.

One to destroy is murder by the law,

And gibbets keep the lifted hand in awe;

To murder thousands takes a specious name,

War's glorious art, and gives immortal fame.

Edward Young (1684-1765): Love of Fame. Satire vii. Line 55.

Truth will come to sight; murder cannot be hid long.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): The Merchant of Venice. Act ii. Sc. 2.

Ez fer war, I call it murder,—

There you hev it plain an' flat;

I don't want to go no furder

Than my Testyment fer that.

 .   .   .   .   .

An' you 've gut to git up airly

Ef you want to take in God.

James Russell Lowell (1819-1891): The Biglow Papers. First Series. No. i.

Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting shame,

With many a foul and midnight murder fed.

Thomas Gray (1716-1771): The Bard. II. 3, Line 11.

One murder made a villain,

Millions a hero. Princes were privileged

To kill, and numbers sanctified the crime.

Beilby Porteus (1731-1808): Death. Line 154.

One to destroy is murder by the law,

And gibbets keep the lifted hand in awe;

To murder thousands takes a specious name,

War's glorious art, and gives immortal fame.

Edward Young (1684-1765): Love of Fame. Satire vii. Line 55.

Confusion now hath made his masterpiece!

Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope

The Lord's anointed temple, and stole thence

The life o' the building!

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Macbeth. Act ii. Sc. 3.

Methought I heard a voice cry, "Sleep no more!

Macbeth does murder sleep!" the innocent sleep,

Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleave of care,

The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath,

Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course,

Chief nourisher in life's feast.

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

For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak

With most miraculous organ.

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

One to destroy is murder by the law,

And gibbets keep the lifted hand in awe;

To murder thousands takes a specious name,

War's glorious art, and gives immortal fame.

Edward Young (1684-1765): Love of Fame. Satire vii. Line 55.