Internet Shakespeare Editions

Author: William Shakespeare
Editor: Timothy Billings
Not Peer Reviewed

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


Enter the King and the rest.
2235King. Faire sir, God saue you: Wher's the Princesse?
Boyet. Gone to her Tent. Please it your Maiestie com-
maunde me any seruice to her thither,
King. That she vouchsafe me audience for one word.
Boy. I will, and so will she, I know my Lord.
Exit.
2240Berow. This fellow peckes vp Wit as Pidgions Pease,
And vtters it againe when God dooth please.
He is Witts Pedler, and retales his wares:
At Wakes and Wassels, meetings, markets, Faires.
And we that sell by grosse, the Lord doth know,
2245Haue not the grace to grace it with such show.
This Gallant pins the Wenches on his sleeue.
Had he bin Adam he had tempted Eue.
A can carue to, and lispe: Why this is hee
That kist his hand, a way in courtisie.
2250This is the Ape of Forme, Mounsier the nice,
That when he playes at Tables chides the Dice
In honorable tearmes; nay he can sing
A meane most meanely, and in hushering.
Mende him who can, the Ladies call him sweete.
2255The staires as he treades on them kisse his feete.
This is the floure that smyles on euery one.
To shew his teeth as white as Whales bone.
And consciences that will not die in debt,
Pay him the due of honie-tonged Boyet.
2260King. A blister on his sweete tongue with my hart,
That put Armathoes Page out of his part.
Enter the Ladies.
Bero. See where it comes. Behauiour what wert thou?
Till this mad man shewed thee, and what art thou now?
2265King. All haile sweete Madame, and faire time of day.
Quee. Faire in all Haile is foule, as I conceaue.
King. Consture my spaches better, if you may.
Quee. Then wish me better, I will giue you leaue.
King. We came to visite you, and purpose now,
H2
To
A pleasant conceited Comedie: