Internet Shakespeare Editions

Author: William Shakespeare
Editor: Timothy Billings
Not Peer Reviewed

Love's Labor's Lost (Quarto 1, 1598)

sweete tutch, a quicke venewe of wit, snip snap, quicke and
home, it reioyceth my intellect, true wit.
Page. Offerd by a childe to an old man: which is wit-old.
1800Peda. What is the figure? What is the figure?
Page. Hornes.
Peda. Thou disputes like an Infant: goe whip thy Gigg.
Pag. Lende me your Horne to make one, and I will whip
1805about your Infamie vnū cita a gigge of a Cuckolds horne.
Clow. And I had but one peny in the world thou shouldst
haue it to buy Ginger bread: Holde, there is the verie
Remuneration I had of thy Maister, thou halfepennie
1810purse of wit, thou Pidgin-egge of discretion. O and the
heauens were so pleased, that thou wart but my Ba-
stard; What a ioyfull father wouldest thou make me?
Go to, thou hast it ad dungil at the fingers ends, as they say.
Peda. Oh I smell false Latine, dunghel for vnguem.
1815Brag. Arts-man preambulat, we will be singuled from the
barbarous. Do you not educate youth at the Charg-House
on the top of the Mountaine?
Peda. Or Mons the hill.
Brag. At your sweete pleasure, for the Mountaine.
1820Peda. I do sans question.
Bra. Sir, it is the Kings most sweete pleasur & affection,
to congratulate the Princesse at her Pauilion, in the posteriors
of this day, which the rude multitude call the after-noone.
1825Peda. The posterior of the day, most generous sir, is liable,
congruent, and measurable for the after noone: the worde is
well culd, chose, sweete, & apt I do assure you sir, I do assure.
Brag. Sir, the King is a noble Gentleman, and my fami-
1830lier, I do assure ye very good friende: for what is inwarde
betweene vs, let it passe. I do beseech thee remember thy
curtesie. I beseech thee apparrell thy head: and among other
importunt and most serious designes, and of great import in
deede too: but let that passe for I must tell thee it will
1835please his Grace (by the worlde) sometime to leane vpon
my poore shoulder, and with his royall finger thus dallie
with my excrement, with my mustachie: but sweete hart
let that passe. By the world I recount no fable, some certaine
called Loues Labor's lost.