Shakespeare's Language

He didn't invent English — but he stretched it further than anyone before him. The real story behind the word-coining legend.

“Shakespeare invented 1,700 words” is the most repeated statistic in English literature — and the most misunderstood. The truth is more interesting than the slogan.

The honest numbers

Start with what can be counted. Shakespeare’s surviving works use roughly 17,000 to 20,000 distinct headwords (David Crystal’s count, counting each dictionary entry once — not every ask’st and asketh as a separate word). For an early modern writer working without a dictionary of his own, that is a large but not supernatural vocabulary.

The famous claim comes from the Oxford English Dictionary: the full OED lists about 2,200 words whose earliest known citation is in Shakespeare, and Crystal judges roughly 1,700 of those plausibly his inventions — words like assassination, bedroom, eyeball, lonely, fashionable. The British Council’s summary puts it carefully: Shakespeare is “the first person known to use more than 1,700” words.

But first recorded is not the same as invented, and the OED’s numbers come with three large caveats:

  1. Sampling bias. The OED’s first editors read Shakespeare intensively and his contemporaries thinly — of course Shakespeare “wins” the first-citation race. As OED3’s ongoing revision reads more widely, Shakespeare’s first-use credits are steadily shrinking.
  2. Lost speech. A word first written by Shakespeare may have been spoken in London for years. Playwrights record slang; they don’t always mint it.
  3. Compounds and one-offs. Many credited “coinages” are compounds (blood-boltering, dog-hearted) or words that never caught on (anthropophaginian for “cannibal”). One careful count that excludes compounds puts the number of true inventions near 600 — still extraordinary, but not 1,700.

So: Shakespeare was a spectacularly inventive word-user and probably the most inventive in English — but the slogan should be “first recorded user of ~1,700 words,” not “inventor of 1,700 words.”

What he actually did

The coinages are the sideshow. The main event is what he did with the words he had:

He mixed registers freely. Kings speak prose, clowns speak verse, and both switch mid-scene. The porter in Macbeth (Act 2, Scene 3) does knockabout comedy minutes after a murder; the gravediggers in Hamlet (Act 5, Scene 1) do philosophy as vaudeville. No earlier English dramatist moved between high and low this fast.

He bent grammar. Shakespeare treats parts of speech as suggestions: adjectives become verbs (“to happy”? no — but “the be-all and the end-all”), nouns become verbs (“he words me, girls”), whole phrases compress into single hammer-blows: “one fell swoop” (Macbeth, Act 4, Scene 3), “the green-eyed monster” (Othello, Act 3, Scene 3), “in a pickle” (The Tempest, Act 5, Scene 1), “break the ice” (The Taming of the Shrew, Act 1, Scene 2).

He wrote blank verse that sounds like speech. The ten-syllable line was Marlowe’s engine; Shakespeare made it breathe — enjambment, caesuras, lines shared between speakers, prose erupting where verse should be. Compare any speech in Henry VI with the trial scene in The Merchant of Venice (Act 4, Scene 1) and you hear a decade of craft.

He made rhetoric do psychology. The soliloquy existed before him; the soliloquy as thinking in real time — “To be, or not to be” weighing, discarding, re-weighing — is his invention, and it changed what drama could represent: not just action, but consciousness.

Why it lasted

About half the words first recorded in Shakespeare are still in use. But the deeper legacy is syntactic: modern English still runs on his sentence shapes — the antithesis (“To be, or not to be”), the piled catalogue (“Friends, Romans, countrymen”), the image that thinks (“All the world’s a stage”). He didn’t give English its words so much as its moves.

Source notes

Limitations