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  • Title: Love's Labor's Lost (Quarto 1, 1598)
  • Editor: Timothy Billings

  • Copyright Timothy Billings. This text may be freely used for educational, non-profit purposes; for all other uses contact the Editor.
    Author: William Shakespeare
    Editor: Timothy Billings
    Not Peer Reviewed

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

    called Loues Labor's lost.

    Their seuerall counsailes they vnboosome shall,
    To Loues mistooke, and so be mockt withall.
    2035Vpon the next occasion that we meete,
    With Visages displayde to talke and greete.
    Ros. But shall we dance, if they desire vs toot?
    Quee. No, to the death we will not moue a foot,
    Nor to their pend speach render we no grace:
    2040But while tis spoke each turne away his face.
    Boy. Why that contempt will kill the speakers hart,
    And quite diuorce his memorie from his part.
    Quee. Therefore I do it, and I make no doubt,
    The rest will ere come in, if he be out.
    2045Theres no such sport, as sport by sport orethrowne:
    To make theirs ours, and ours none but our owne.
    So shall we stay mocking entended game,
    And they wel mockt depart away with shame. Sound Trom.
    Boy. The Trompet soundes, be maskt, the maskers come.

    Enter Black-moores with musicke, the Boy with a
    speach, and the rest of the Lordes disguysed.
    Page.
    All haile, the richest Beauties on the earth.
    Berow. Beauties no richer then rich Taffata.
    2055Page.
    A holy parcell of the fayrest dames that euer turnd their
    backes to mortall viewes.
    The Ladyes turne their backes to him.
    Berow, Their eyes villaine, their eyes.
    Pag.
    That euen turnde their eyes to mortall viewes.
    Boy. True, out in deede.
    Out of your fauours heauenly spirites vouchsafe
    Not to beholde.
    Berow. Once to beholde, rogue.
    2065Page.
    Once to beholde with your Sunne beamed eyes,
    With your Sunne beamed eyes.
    Boyet. They will not answere to that Epythat.
    You were best call it Daughter beamed eyes.
    Pag. They do not marke me, and that bringes me out.
    2070Ber. Is this your perfectnes? begon you rogue.
    Rosa.