Careful Words

oak (n.)

oak (v.)

Music hath charms to soothe the savage breast,

To soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.

William Congreve (1670-1729): The Mourning Bride. Act i. Sc. 1.

A song to the oak, the brave old oak,

Who hath ruled in the greenwood long!

H F Chorley (1831-1872): The Brave Old Oak.

For angling-rod he took a sturdy oake;

For line, a cable that in storm ne'er broke;

His hooke was such as heads the end of pole

To pluck down house ere fire consumes it whole;

The hook was baited with a dragon's tale,—

And then on rock he stood to bob for whale.

Sir William Davenant (1605-1668): Britannia Triumphans. Page 15. 1637.

The lofty oak from a small acorn grows.—Lewis Duncombe (1711-1730): De Minimis Maxima (translation).

And many strokes, though with a little axe,

Hew down and fell the hardest-timbered oak.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): King Henry VI. Part III. Act ii. Sc. 1.

Hearts of oak are our ships,

Hearts of oak are our men.

David Garrick (1716-1779): Hearts of Oak.

While the hollow oak our palace is,

Our heritage the sea.

Allan Cunningham (1785-1842): A Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea.

Little strokes fell great oaks.

Benjamin Franklin (1706-1790): Maxims prefixed to Poor Richard's Almanac, 1757.

  The soft droppes of rain perce the hard marble; many strokes overthrow the tallest oaks.

John Lyly (Circa 1553-1601): Euphues, 1579 (Arber's reprint), page 81.

When Croft's "Life of Dr. Young" was spoken of as a good imitation of Dr. Johnson's style, "No, no," said he, "it is not a good imitation of Johnson; it has all his pomp without his force; it has all the nodosities of the oak, without its strength; it has all the contortions of the sibyl, without the inspiration."—Prior: Life of Burke.

That raven on yon left-hand oak

(Curse on his ill-betiding croak!)

Bodes me no good.

John Gay (1688-1732): Fables. Part i. The Farmer's Wife and the Raven.

  Because half-a-dozen grasshoppers under a fern make the field ring with their importunate chink, whilst thousands of great cattle, reposed beneath the shadow of the British oak, chew the cud and are silent, pray do not imagine that those who make the noise are the only inhabitants of the field; that of course they are many in number; or that, after all, they are other than the little shrivelled, meagre, hopping, though loud and troublesome insects of the hour.

Edmund Burke (1729-1797): Reflections on the Revolution in France. Vol. iii. p. 344.

Our ships were British oak,

And hearts of oak our men.

S. J. Arnold: Death of Nelson.