Internet Shakespeare Editions

Author: William Shakespeare
Editor: Timothy Billings
Not Peer Reviewed

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


Duma. Faire Ladie.
2150Mar. Say you so? Faire Lord, take that for your faire Lady
Duma. Please it you, as much in priuat, & ile bid adieu.
Maria. What, was your vizard made without a tongue?
2155Long. I know the reason (Lady) why you aske.
Mari. O for your reason, quickly sir, I long?
Long. You haue a double tongue within your Maske,
And would afforde my speachles vizard halfe.
Mar. Veale quoth the Dutch-man: is not veale a Calfe?
Long. A Calfe faire Ladie.
Mar. No, a faire Lorde Calfe.
Long. Let's part the word?
Mar. No, Ile not be your halfe:
2165Take all and weane it, it may proue an Oxe.
Lon. Loke how you butt your selfe in these sharpe mocks,
Will you giue hornes chast Lady? do not so.
Mar. Then die a Calfe, before your hornes do grow.
2170Long. One word in priuate with you ere I die.
Mar. Bleat softly then, the Butcher heares you crie.
Boyet. The tongues of mocking Wenches are as keene
As is the Rasors edge inuisible:
Cutting a smaller haire then may be seene,
2175Aboue the sence of sence so sensible,
Seemeth their conference, their conceites haue winges,
Fleeter then Arrowes, bullets wind thought swifter thinges.
Rosa. Not one word more my Maides, break off, break off.
2180Bero. By heauen, all drie beaten with pure scoffe.
King. Farewel mad Wenches, you haue simple wits.
Exe.
Quee. Twentie adieus my frozen Muskouits.
Are these the breede of Wits so wondered at?
2185Boye. Tapers they are with your sweete breaths puft out.
Rosa. Wel-liking Wits they haue grosse grosse, fat fat.
Quee. O pouertie in wit, Kingly poore flout.
Will they not (thinke you) hange them selues to nyght?
2190Or euer but in vizards shew their faces.
This pert Berowne was out of countnance quite.
Rosa. They were all in lamentable cases,
The King was weeping ripe for a good word.
H
Queene
A pleasant conceited Comedie: