The Shakespeare Olfactory Index

A catalogue of scent and nose references in the works of Shakespeare

This list is by no means exhaustive, and community scholars with suggestions or additions should write to StephanieAnnFoster@Gmail.com to be credited for their finds.

All's Well that Ends Well

PAROLLES
Good Monsieur Lavache, give my Lord Lafeu this letter: I have ere now, sir, been better known to you, when I have held familiarity with fresher clothes; but I am now, sir, muddied in fortune's mood, and smell somewhat strong of her strong displeasure.

CLOWN
Truly, fortune's displeasure is but sluttish, if it smell so strongly as thou speakest of: I will henceforth eat no fish of fortune's buttering. Prithee, allow the wind.

PAROLLES
Nay, you need not to stop your nose, sir; I spake but by a metaphor.

CLOWN
Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, I will stop my nose; or against any man's metaphor. Prithee, get thee further. (V.ii.2613)

LAFEU
Mine eyes smell onions; I shall weep anon. (V.iii.3041)

LAFEU
The devil it is that's thy master. Why dost thougarter up thy arms o' this fashion? dost make hose ofsleeves? do other servants so? Thou wert best setthy lower part where thy nose stands. By minehonour, if I were but two hours younger, I'ld beatthee: methinks, thou art a general offence, andevery man should beat thee: I think thou wastcreated for men to breathe themselves upon thee. (II.iii.1150)

COUNTESS
Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and calumnious knave? (I.iii.376)

LAFEU
'Twas a good lady, 'twas a good lady: we may pick athousand salads ere we light on such another herb. (IV.v.2476)

CLOWN
Indeed, sir, she was the sweet marjoram of thesalad, or rather, the herb of grace. (IV.v.2478)

LAFEU
They are not herbs, you knave; they are nose-herbs. (IV.v.2480)

KING OF FRANCE
Let us from point to point this story know,To make the even truth in pleasure flow. [To DIANA]If thou be'st yet a fresh uncropped flower, Choose thou thy husband, and I'll pay thy dower;For I can guess that by thy honest aidThou keep'st a wife herself, thyself a maid.Of that and all the progress, more or less,Resolvedly more leisure shall express:All yet seems well; and if it end so meet,The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet.[Flourish] (V.iii.3046

COUNTESS
'Tis the best brine a maiden can season her praisein. The remembrance of her father never approachesher heart but the tyranny of her sorrows takes alllivelihood from her cheek. No more of this, Helena;go to, no more; lest it be rather thought you affecta sorrow than have it. (I.i.45)

As You Like It

TOUCHSTONE
Nay, if I keep not my rank,--

ROSALIND
Thou losest thy old smell. (I.ii.233)

FIRST LORD
Indeed, my lord,
The melancholy Jaques grieves at that;
And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp
Than doth your brother that hath banish'd you.
To-day my Lord of Amiens and myself
Did steal behind him as he lay along
Under an oak whose antique root peeps out
Upon the brook that brawls along this wood!
To the which place a poor sequest'red stag,
That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt,
Did come to languish; and, indeed, my lord,
The wretched animal heav'd forth such groans
That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat
Almost to bursting; and the big round tears
Cours'd one another down his innocent nose
In piteous chase; and thus the hairy fool,
Much marked of the melancholy Jaques,
Stood on th' extremest verge of the swift brook,
Augmenting it with tears. (II.i.574)

JAQUES (LORD)
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;
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 woeful 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 lin'd,
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 sav'd, 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 every thing. (II.vii.1037)

JAQUES (LORD)
It is my only suit,
Provided that you weed your better judgments
Of all opinion that grows rank in them
That I am wise. I must have liberty
Withal, as large a charter as the wind,
To blow on whom I please, for so fools have;
And they that are most galled with my folly,
They most must laugh. And why, sir, must they so?
The why is plain as way to parish church:
He that a fool doth very wisely hit
Doth very foolishly, although he smart,
Not to seem senseless of the bob; if not,
The wise man's folly is anatomiz'd
Even by the squand'ring glances of the fool.
Invest me in my motley; give me leave
To speak my mind, and I will through and through
Cleanse the foul body of th' infected world,
If they will patiently receive my medicine. (II.vii.939)

TOUCHSTONE
I'll rhyme you so eight years together, dinners, and
suppers, and sleeping hours, excepted. It is the right
butter-women's rank to market. (III.ii.1207)

ORLANDO
As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion bequeathed
me by will but poor a thousand crowns, and, as thou say'st,
charged my brother, on his blessing, to breed me well; and there
begins my sadness. My brother Jaques he keeps at school, and
report speaks goldenly of his profit. For my part, he keeps me
rustically at home, or, to speak more properly, stays me here at
home unkept; for call you that keeping for a gentleman of my
birth that differs not from the stalling of an ox? His horses are
bred better; for, besides that they are fair with their feeding,
they are taught their manage, and to that end riders dearly
hir'd; but I, his brother, gain nothing under him but growth; for
the which his animals on his dunghills are as much bound to him
as I. Besides this nothing that he so plentifully gives me, the
something that nature gave me his countenance seems to take from
me. He lets me feed with his hinds, bars me the place of a
brother, and as much as in him lies, mines my gentility with my
education. This is it, Adam, that grieves me; and the spirit of
my father, which I think is within me, begins to mutiny against
this servitude. I will no longer endure it, though yet I know no
wise remedy how to avoid it. (I.i.2)

CORIN
And they are often tarr'd over with the surgery of our sheep; and would you have us kiss tar? The courtier's hands are perfum'd with civet. (III.ii.1176)

TOUCHSTONE
Most shallow man! Thou worm's meat in respect of a good
piece of flesh indeed! Learn of the wise, and perpend: civet is
of a baser birth than tar- the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend
the instance, shepherd. (III.ii.1179)

OLIVER
By and by.
When from the first to last, betwixt us two,
Tears our recountments had most kindly bath'd,
As how I came into that desert place-
In brief, he led me to the gentle Duke,
Who gave me fresh array and entertainment,
Committing me unto my brother's love;
Who led me instantly unto his cave,
There stripp'd himself, and here upon his arm
The lioness had torn some flesh away,
Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted,
And cried, in fainting, upon Rosalind.
Brief, I recover'd him, bound up his wound,
And, after some small space, being strong at heart,
He sent me hither, stranger as I am,
To tell this story, that you might excuse
His broken promise, and to give this napkin,
Dy'd in his blood, unto the shepherd youth
That he in sport doth call his Rosalind. (IV.iii.2144)

DUKE
Welcome; fall to. I will not trouble you
As yet to question you about your fortunes.
Give us some music; and, good cousin, sing.
SONG
Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind
As man's ingratitude;
Thy tooth is not so keen,
Because thou art not seen,
Although thy breath be rude.
Heigh-ho! Sing heigh-ho! Unto the green holly.
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly.
Then, heigh-ho, the holly!
This life is most jolly.
Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
That dost not bite so nigh
As benefits forgot;
Though thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp
As friend rememb'red not.
Heigh-ho! sing, &c. (II.vii.1071)

ROSALIND
It is not the fashion to see the lady the epilogue; but
it is no more unhandsome than to see the lord the prologue. If it
be true that good wine needs no bush, 'tis true that a good play
needs no epilogue. Yet to good wine they do use good bushes; and
good plays prove the better by the help of good epilogues. What a
case am I in then, that am neither a good epilogue, nor cannot
insinuate with you in the behalf of a good play! I am not
furnish'd like a beggar; therefore to beg will not become me. My
way is to conjure you; and I'll begin with the women. I charge
you, O women, for the love you bear to men, to like as much of
this play as please you; and I charge you, O men, for the love
you bear to women- as I perceive by your simp'ring none of you
hates them- that between you and the women the play may please.
If I were a woman, I would kiss as many of you as had beards that
pleas'd me, complexions that lik'd me, and breaths that I defied
not; and, I am sure, as many as have good beards, or good faces,
or sweet breaths, will, for my kind offer, when I make curtsy,
bid me farewell. (V.iv.2596)

TOUCHSTONE
For a taste:
If a hart do lack a hind,
Let him seek out Rosalinde.
If the cat will after kind,
So be sure will Rosalinde.
Winter garments must be lin'd,
So must slender Rosalinde.
They that reap must sheaf and bind,
Then to cart with Rosalinde.
Sweetest nut hath sourest rind,
Such a nut is Rosalinde.
He that sweetest rose will find
Must find love's prick and Rosalinde.
This is the very false gallop of verses;
why do you infect
yourself with them? (III.ii.1211)

TOUCHSTONE
Why, do not your courtier's hands sweat? And is not the
grease of a mutton as wholesome as the sweat of a man?
Shallow, shallow. A better instance, I say; come. (III.ii.1170)

Comedy of Errors

LUCIANA
Comfort my sister, cheer her, call her wife: 'Tis holy sport to be a little vain, When the sweet breath of flattery conquers strife. (III.ii.788)

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE
Oh, sir, upon her nose all o'er embellished with rubies, carbuncles, sapphires, declining their rich aspect to the hot breath of Spain; who sent whole armadoes of caracks to be ballast at her nose. (III.ii.891)

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE
Marry, in her buttocks: I found it out by the bogs. (III.ii.878)

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE
Swart, like my shoe, but her face nothing half so clean kept: for why, she sweats; a man may go over shoes in the grime of it. (III.ii.864)

Cymbeline

IACHIMO
Had I this cheek
To bathe my lips upon; this hand, whose touch,
Whose every touch, would force the feeler's soul
To the oath of loyalty; this object, which
Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye,
Fixing it only here; should I, damn'd then,
Slaver with lips as common as the stairs
That mount the Capitol; join gripes with hands
Made hard with hourly falsehood—falsehood, as
With labour; then by-peeping in an eye
Base and unlustrous as the smoky light
That's fed with stinking tallow; it were fit
That all the plagues of hell should at one time
Encounter such revolt. (I.vi.722)

ARVIRAGUS
Grow, patience!
And let the stinking elder, grief, untwine His perishing root with the increasing vine! (IV.ii.2393)

CLOTEN
There be many Caesars,
Ere such another Julius. Britain is
A world by itself; and we will nothing pay For wearing our own noses. (III.i.1423)

CLOTEN
Come, there's no more tribute to be paid: our kingdom is stronger than it was at that time; and, as I said, there is no moe such Caesars: other of them may have crook'd noses, but to owe such straight arms, none. (III.i.1446)

SECOND LORD
[Aside] To have smelt like a fool. (II.i.867)

CYMBELINE
Laud we the gods;
And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils
From our blest altars. Publish we this peace
To all our subjects. Set we forward: let
A Roman and a British ensign wave
Friendly together: so through Lud's-town march:
And in the temple of great Jupiter
Our peace we'll ratify; seal it with feasts.
Set on there! Never was a war did cease,
Ere bloody hands were wash'd, with such a peace. (V.v.3950)

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS
Is there no way for men to be but women
Must be half-workers? We are all bastards;
And that most venerable man which I
Did call my father, was I know not where
When I was stamp'd; some coiner with his tools
Made me a counterfeit: yet my mother seem'd
The Dian of that time so doth my wife
The nonpareil of this. O, vengeance, vengeance!
Me of my lawful pleasure she restrain'd
And pray'd me oft forbearance; did it with
A pudency so rosy the sweet view on't
Might well have warm'd old Saturn; that I thought her
As chaste as unsunn'd snow. O, all the devils!
This yellow Iachimo, in an hour,—wast not?—
Or less,—at first?—perchance he spoke not, but,
Like a full-acorn'd boar, a German one,
Cried 'O!' and mounted; found no opposition
But what he look'd for should oppose and she
Should from encounter guard. Could I find out
The woman's part in me! For there's no motion
That tends to vice in man, but I affirm
It is the woman's part: be it lying, note it,
The woman's; flattering, hers; deceiving, hers;
Lust and rank thoughts, hers, hers; revenges, hers;
Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, disdain,
Nice longing, slanders, mutability,
All faults that may be named, nay, that hell knows,
Why, hers, in part or all; but rather, all;
For even to vice
They are not constant but are changing still
One vice, but of a minute old, for one
Not half so old as that. I'll write against them,
Detest them, curse them: yet 'tis greater skill
In a true hate, to pray they have their will:
The very devils cannot plague them better. (II.v.1372)

BELARIUS
Here's a few flowers; but 'bout midnight, more: The herbs that have on them cold dew o' the night Are strewings fitt'st for graves. Upon their faces. You were as flowers, now wither'd: even so These herblets shall, which we upon you strew. Come on, away: apart upon our knees. The ground that gave them first has them again: Their pleasures here are past, so is their pain. (IV.ii.2683)

QUEEN
I wonder, doctor,
Thou ask'st me such a question. Have I not been
Thy pupil long?
Hast thou not learn'd me how
To make perfumes? Distil? Preserve?
Yea, so
That our great king himself doth woo me oft
For my confections? Having thus far proceeded—
Unless thou think'st me devilish—is't not meet
That I did amplify my judgment in
Other conclusions? I will try the forces
Of these thy compounds on such creatures as
We count not worth the hanging, but none human,
To try the vigour of them and apply
Allayments to their act, and by them gather
Their several virtues and effects. (I.v.504)

IMOGEN
[Awaking] Yes, sir, to Milford-Haven; which is
the way?—
I thank you.—By yond bush?—Pray, how far thither?
'Ods pittikins! can it be six mile yet?—;
I have gone all night. 'Faith, I'll lie down and sleep.
But, soft! No bedfellow!—O gods and goddesses!
[Seeing the body of CLOTEN]
These flowers are like the pleasures of the world;
This bloody man, the care on't. I hope I dream;
For so I thought I was a cave-keeper,
And cook to honest creatures: but 'tis not so;
'Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing,
Which the brain makes of fumes
: our very eyes
Are sometimes like our judgments, blind. Good faith,
I tremble stiff with fear: but if there be
Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity
As a wren's eye, fear'd gods, a part of it!
The dream's here still: even when I wake, it is
Without me, as within me; not imagined, felt.
A headless man! The garments of Posthumus!
I know the shape of's leg: this is his hand;
His foot Mercurial; his Martial thigh;
The brawns of Hercules: but his Jovial face
Murder in heaven?—How!—'Tis gone. Pisanio,
All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks,
And mine to boot, be darted on thee! Thou,
Conspired with that irregulous devil, Cloten,
Hast here cut off my lord. To write and read
Be henceforth treacherous! Damn'd Pisanio
Hath with his forged letters,—damn'd Pisanio—
From this most bravest vessel of the world
Struck the main-top! O Posthumus! alas,
Where is thy head? Where's that? Ay me! Where's that?
Pisanio might have kill'd thee at the heart,
And left this head on. How should this be? Pisanio?
'Tis he and Cloten: malice and lucre in them
Have laid this woe here. O, 'tis pregnant, pregnant!
The drug he gave me, which he said was precious
And cordial to me, have I not found it
Murderous to the senses? That confirms it home:
This is Pisanio's deed, and Cloten's: O!
Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood,
That we the horrider may seem to those
Which chance to find us: O, my lord, my lord!
[Falls on the body] (IV.ii.2692)

CYMBELINE
O rare instinct!
When shall I hear all through? This fierce abridgement
Hath to it circumstantial branches, which
Distinction should be rich in. Where? How lived You?
And when came you to serve our Roman captive?
How parted with your brothers? How first met them?
Why fled you from the court? And whither? These,
And your three motives to the battle, with
I know not how much more, should be demanded;
And all the other by-dependencies,
From chance to chance: but nor the time nor place
Will serve our long inter'gatories. See,
Posthumus anchors upon Imogen,
And she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye
On him, her brother, me, her master, hitting
Each object with a joy: the counterchange
Is severally in all. Let's quit this ground,
And smoke the temple with our sacrifices.
[To BELARIUS]
Thou art my brother; so we'll hold thee ever. (V.v.3839)

IACHIMO
The crickets sing, and man's o'er-labour'd sense
Repairs itself by rest. Our Tarquin thus
Did softly press the rushes, ere he waken'd
The chastity he wounded. Cytherea,
How bravely thou becomest thy bed, fresh lily,
And whiter than the sheets! That I might touch!
But kiss; one kiss! Rubies unparagon'd,
How dearly they do't! 'Tis her breathing that
Perfumes the chamber thus: the flame o' the taper
Bows toward her, and would under-peep her lids,
To see the enclosed lights, now canopied
Under these windows, white and azure laced
With blue of heaven's own tinct. But my design,
To note the chamber: I will write all down:
Such and such pictures; there the window; such
The adornment of her bed; the arras; figures,
Why, such and such; and the contents o' the story.
Ah, but some natural notes about her body,
Above ten thousand meaner moveables
Would testify, to enrich mine inventory.
O sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her!
And be her sense but as a monument,
Thus in a chapel lying! Come off, come off:
[Taking off her bracelet]
As slippery as the Gordian knot was hard!
'Tis mine; and this will witness outwardly,
As strongly as the conscience does within,
To the madding of her lord. On her left breast
A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops
I' the bottom of a cowslip: here's a voucher,
Stronger than ever law could make: this secret
Will force him think I have pick'd the lock and ta'en
The treasure of her honour. No more. To what end?
Why should I write this down, that's riveted,
Screw'd to my memory? She hath been reading late
The tale of Tereus; here the leaf's turn'd down
Where Philomel gave up. I have enough:
To the trunk again, and shut the spring of it.
Swift, swift, you dragons of the night, that dawning
May bare the raven's eye! I lodge in fear;
Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here.
[Clock strikes]
One, two, three: time, time! (II.ii.933)


ARVIRAGUSWith fairest flowersWhilst summer lasts and I live here, Fidele,

I'll sweeten thy sad grave
: thou shalt not lackThe flower that's like thy face, pale primrose, norThe azured harebell, like thy veins, no, nor

The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander,Out-sweeten'd not thy breath
: the ruddock would,With charitable bill,—O bill, sore-shamingThose rich-left heirs that let their fathers lieWithout a monument!—bring thee all this;Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are none,To winter-ground thy corse. (IV.ii.2606)

SICILLIUS LEONATUSHe came in thunder;
his celestial breathWas sulphurous to smell
: the holy eagleStoop'd as to foot us: his ascension is

More sweet than our blest fields
: his royal birdPrunes the immortal wing and cloys his beak,As when his god is pleased. (V.iv.3265)


GUIDERIUS

O sweetest, fairest lily!

My brother wears thee not the one half so wellAs when thou grew'st thyself. (IV.ii.2582)


QUEENWeeps she still, say'st thou? Dost thou think in timeShe will not quench and let instructions enterWhere folly now possesses? Do thou work:When thou shalt bring me word she loves my son,I'll tell thee on the instant thou art thenAs great as is thy master, greater, forHis fortunes all lie speechless and his nameIs at last gasp: return he cannot, norContinue where he is: to shift his beingIs to exchange one misery with another,And every day that comes comes to decayA day's work in him. What shalt thou expect,To be depender on a thing that leans,Who cannot be new built, nor has no friends,So much as but to prop him?[The QUEEN drops the box: PISANIO takes it up]Thou takest upThou know'st not what; but take it for thy labour:It is a thing I made, which hath the kingFive times redeem'd from death: I do not knowWhat is more cordial. Nay, I prethee, take it;It is an earnest of a further goodThat I mean to thee. Tell thy mistress howThe case stands with her; do't as from thyself.Think what a chance thou changest on, but thinkThou hast thy mistress still, to boot, my son,Who shall take notice of thee: I'll move the kingTo any shape of thy preferment suchAs thou'lt desire; and then myself, I chiefly,That set thee on to this desert, am boundTo load thy merit richly. Call my women:Think on my words.[Exit PISANIO]A sly and constant knave,Not to be shaked; the agent for his masterAnd the remembrancer of her to holdThe hand-fast to her lord. I have given him thatWhich, if he take, shall quite unpeople herOf liegers for her sweet, and which she after,Except she bend her humour, shall be assuredTo taste of too.[Re-enter PISANIO and Ladies]So, so: well done, well done:

The violets, cowslips, and the primroses,Bear to my closet.
Fare thee well, Pisanio;Think on my words. (I.v.550)


BELARIUSO thou goddess,Thou divine Nature, how thyself thou blazon'stIn these two princely boys!
They are as gentleAs zephyrs blowing below the violet,Not wagging his sweet head;
and yet as rough,Their royal blood enchafed, as the rudest wind,That by the top doth take the mountain pine,And make him stoop to the vale. 'Tis wonderThat an invisible instinct should frame themTo royalty unlearn'd, honour untaught,Civility not seen from other, valourThat wildly grows in them, but yields a cropAs if it had been sow'd. Yet still it's strangeWhat Cloten's being here to us portends,Or what his death will bring us. (IV.ii.2540)


FIRST LORD

Sir, I would advise you to shift a shirt; theviolence of action hath made you reek as asacrifice: where air comes out, air comes in:there's none abroad so wholesome as that you vent.
(I.ii.235)


CORNELIUS[Aside] I do not like her. She doth think she has

Strange lingering poisons:
I do know her spirit,And will not trust one of her malice withA drug of such damn'd nature. Those she hasWill stupefy and dull the sense awhile;Which first, perchance, she'll prove oncats and dogs,Then afterward up higher: but there isNo danger in what show of death it makes,More than the locking-up the spirits a time,To be more fresh, reviving. She is fool'dWith a most false effect; and I the truer,So to be false with her. (I.v.533)
CORNELIUSO gods!I left out one thing which the queen confess'd.Which must approve thee honest: 'If PisanioHave,' said she, 'given his mistress
that confectionWhich I gave him for cordial
, she is servedAs I would serve a rat.’ (V.v.3661)