• WordNet 3.6
    • v moil moisten or soil "Her tears moiled the letter"
    • v moil be agitated "the sea was churning in the storm"
    • v moil work hard "She was digging away at her math homework","Lexicographers drudge all day long"
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Webster's Revised Unabridged Dictionary
    • n Moil A spot; a defilement. "The moil of death upon them."
    • v. t Moil To daub; to make dirty; to soil; to defile. "Thou . . . doest thy mind in dirty pleasures moil ."
    • v. i Moil To soil one's self with severe labor; to work with painful effort; to labor; to toil; to drudge. "Moil not too much under ground.""Now he must moil and drudge for one he loathes."
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Century Dictionary and Cyclopedia
    • moil To wet; moisten.
    • moil To soil; dirty; daub.
    • moil To fatigue by labor; weary.
    • moil To soil one's self; wallow in dirt.
    • moil To drudge; labor; toil.
    • n moil Defilement.
    • n moil Labor; drudgery.
    • n moil A mule.
    • n moil A kind of high shoe.
    • n moil In glass-making, the metallic oxid adhering to the glass which is broken from the end of the blowpipe.
    • n moil A tool occasionally used by miners in certain districts instead of a pick when accurate cutting is to be done. The moil (also called a set) is usually made of drill-steel, about two and a half feet long, and pointed at the end like a gad. The gad, however, is short, and intended to be struck with the hammer; the moil is held and worked in the hand, like a short crowbar.
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Chambers's Twentieth Century Dictionary
    • v.t Moil moil to daub with dirt
    • v.i Moil to toil or labour: to drudge
    • n Moil a spot: a defilement
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Webster's Revised Unabridged Dictionary
OE. moillen, to wet, OF. moillier, muillier, F. mouller, fr. (assumed) LL. molliare, fr. L. mollis, soft. See Mollify


In literature:

Where the eager crowd is moiling, struggling on with weary tread!
"Rippling Rhymes" by Walt Mason
Would he come clean through the moil, winning honor and his place among men?
"The Promise" by James B. Hendryx
Ah, I do not wonder you love this morning hour, when beauty reigns supreme, before the toil and moil of the world has begun.
"Floyd Grandon's Honor" by Amanda Minnie Douglas
They toiled and moiled till they were quite exhausted, but all in vain.
"The King of Root Valley" by R. Reinick
Somewhere beyond the canyon's moiling maw, Harry Collins found that freedom and that oblivion.
"This Crowded Earth" by Robert Bloch
And a whole army now toiling and moiling for him every night, for him the chief and master.
"The Bill-Toppers" by Andre Castaigne
Ha'n't yu moiled yerself, an' yu a dyin' woman, over her hid o' hair?
"A Sheaf of Corn" by Mary E. Mann
Beneath the joyous heavens men moiled and sweated at the task of slaying.
"The Orchard of Tears" by Sax Rohmer
Like a plough-horse, I have always to be moiling and toiling.
"Madame Bovary" by Gustave Flaubert
Though all his life long he had toiled and moiled, he only left his widow and son two hundred florins.
"The Yellow Fairy Book" by Leonora Blanche Alleyne Lang

In poetry:

Life, and struggle and moil,
Day and day in the rough,
Poets knowing not these
Have not knowledge enough.
"Modern Poets" by Mary Eliza Fullerton
The boy who, wrapped from moil and moan,
With cheeks for ever round and fair,
Is dreaming of the nights that were
When lips immortal touched his own.
"Lean Over Me" by Digby Mackworth Dolben
"Still must I plod, and still in cities moil;
From precious leisure, learned leisure far,
Dull my best self with handling common soil;
Yet mine those honors are.
"Honours -- Part I" by Jean Ingelow
Stupidity, keep in their place
The moiling masses of my race,
And bid the lowly multitude
Be humble as a people should;
Learn us with patient hearts, I pray,
Lords to obey.
"Stupidity" by Robert W Service
Down, down, down and down,
With idler, knave, and tyrant!
Why for sluggards cark and moil?
He that will not live by toil
Has no right on English soil!
God's word's our warrant!
"Alton Locke's Song" by Charles Kingsley
Am I dead to the world, that I thus disdain
Its moil and toil in the prime of life,
When perhaps a score of years remain
To win more gold in its selfish strife?
Am I foolish to choose the purer air
Of my glorious Promenade Solitaire?
"My "Promenade Solitaire"" by John Lawson Stoddard