Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise

(That last infirmity of noble mind)

To scorn delights, and live laborious days;

But the fair guerdon when we hope to find,

And think to burst out into sudden blaze,

Comes the blind Fury with th' abhorred shears

And slits the thin-spun life.

John Milton (1608-1674): Lycidas. Line 70.

But, alas, to make me

A fixed figure for the time of scorn

To point his slow unmoving finger at!

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Othello. Act iv. Sc. 2.

Thrice he assay'd, and thrice in spite of scorn

Tears, such as angels weep, burst forth.

John Milton (1608-1674): Paradise Lost. Book i. Line 619.

Hang out our banners on the outward walls;

The cry is still, "They come!" our castle's strength

Will laugh a siege to scorn.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Macbeth. Act v. Sc. 5.

Built God a church, and laugh'd his word to scorn.

William Cowper (1731-1800): Retirement. Line 688.

Scorn not the sonnet. Critic, you have frowned,

Mindless of its just honours; with this key

Shakespeare unlocked his heart.

William Wordsworth (1770-1850): Scorn not the Sonnet.

Because right is right, to follow right

Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence.

Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892): oenone.

Lord, Lord! methought, what pain it was to drown!

What dreadful noise of waters in mine ears!

What ugly sights of death within mine eyes!

Methought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks,

Ten thousand men that fishes gnawed upon,

Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,

Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels,

All scattered in the bottom of the sea:

Some lay in dead men's skulls; and in those holes

Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept,

As 't were in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): King Richard III. Act i. Sc. 4.

Dowered with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn,

The love of love.

Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892): The Poet.

And better had they ne'er been born,

Who read to doubt, or read to scorn.

Sir Walter Scott (1771-1832): The Monastery. Chap. xii.

The horn, the horn, the lusty horn

Is not a thing to laugh to scorn.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): As You Like It. Act iv. Sc. 2.

Oh, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful

In the contempt and anger of his lip!

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 1.