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  • Title: Love's Labor's Lost (Folio 1, 1623)
  • 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    Not Peer Reviewed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 (Folio 1, 1623)

    Loues Labour's lost133
    1370But doe not loue thy selfe, then thou wilt keepe
    My teares for glasses, and still make me weepe.
    O Queene of Queenes, how farre dost thou excell,
    No thought can thinke, nor tongue of mortall tell.
    How shall she know my griefes? Ile drop the paper.
    1375Sweet leaues shade folly. Who is he comes heere?

    Enter Longauile. The King steps aside.
    What Longauill, and reading: listen eare.
    Ber. Now in thy likenesse, one more foole appeare.
    Long. Ay me, I am forsworne.
    1380Ber. Why he comes in like a periure, wearing papers.
    Long. In loue I hope, sweet fellowship in shame.
    Ber. One drunkard loues another of the name.
    Lon. Am I the first yt haue been periur'd so?
    Ber. I could put thee in comfort, not by two that I (know,
    1385Thou makest the triumphery, the corner cap of societie,
    The shape of Loues Tiburne, that hangs vp simplicitie.
    Lon. I feare these stubborn lines lack power to moue.
    O sweet Maria, Empresse of my Loue,
    These numbers will I teare, and write in prose.
    1390Ber. O Rimes are gards on wanton Cupids hose,
    Disfigure not his Shop.
    Lon. This same shall goe. He reades the Sonnet.

    Did not the heauenly Rhetoricke of thine eye,
    'Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument,
    1395Perswade my heart to this false periurie?
    Vowes for thee broke deserue not punishment.
    A Woman I forswore, but I will proue,
    Thou being a Goddesse, I forswore not thee.
    My Vow was earthly, thou a heauenly Loue.
    1400Thy grace being gain'd, cures all disgrace in me.
    Vowes are but breath, and breath a vapour is.
    Then thou faire Sun, which on my earth doest shine,
    Exhalest this vapor-vow, in thee it is:
    If broken then, it is no fault of mine:
    1405If by me broke, What foole is not so wise,
    To loose an oath, to win a Paradise?
    Ber. This is the liuer veine, which makes flesh a deity.
    A greene Goose, a Coddesse, pure pure Idolatry.
    God amend vs, God amend, we are much out o'th'way.

    1410 Enter Dumaine.
    Lon. By whom shall I send this (company?) Stay.
    Bero. All hid, all hid, an old infant play,
    Like a demie God, here sit I in the skie,
    And wretched fooles secrets heedfully ore-eye.
    1415More Sacks to the myll. O heauens I haue my wish,
    Dumaine transform'd, foure Woodcocks in a dish.
    Dum. O most diuine Kate.
    Bero. O most prophane coxcombe.
    Dum. By heauen the wonder of a mortall eye.
    1420Bero. By earth she is not, corporall, there you lye.
    Dum. Her Amber haires for foule hath amber coted.
    Ber. An Amber coloured Rauen was well noted.
    Dum. As vpright as the Cedar.
    Ber. Stoope I say her shoulder is with-child.
    1425Dum. As faire as day.
    Ber. I as some daies, but then no sunne must shine.
    Dum. O that I had my wish?
    Lon. And I had mine.
    Kin. And mine too good Lord.
    1430Ber. Amen, so I had mine: Is not that a good word?
    Dum. I would forget her, but a Feuer she
    Raignes in my bloud, and will remembred be.
    Ber. A Feuer in your bloud, why then incision
    Would let her out in Sawcers, sweet misprision.
    1435Dum. Once more Ile read the Ode that I haue writ.
    Ber. Once more Ile marke how Loue can varry Wit.

    Dumane reades his Sonnet.


    On a day, alack the day:
    Loue, whose Month is euery May,
    1440Spied a blossome passing faire,
    Playing in the wanton ayre:
    Through the Veluet, leaues the winde,
    All vnseene, can passage finde.
    That the Louer sicke to death,
    1445Wish himselfe the heauens breath.
    Ayre (quoth he) thy cheekes may blowe,
    Ayre, would I might triumph so.
    But alacke my hand is sworne,
    Nere to plucke thee from thy throne:
    1450Vow alacke for youth vnmeete,
    Youth so apt to plucke a sweet.
    Doe not call it sinne in me,
    That I am forsworne for thee.
    Thou for whom Ioue would sweare,
    1455Iuno but an AEthiop were,
    And denie himselfe for Ioue.
    Turning mortall for thy Loue
    .

    This will I send, and something else more plaine.
    That shall expresse my true-loues fasting paine.
    1460O would the King, Berowne and Longauill,
    Were Louers too, ill to example ill,
    Would from my forehead wipe a periur'd note:
    For none offend, where all alike doe dote.
    Lon. Dumaine, thy Loue is farre from charitie,
    1465That in Loues griefe desir'st societie:
    You may looke pale, but I should blush I know,
    To be ore-heard, and taken napping so.
    Kin. Come sir, you blush: as his, your case is such,
    You chide at him, offending twice as much.
    1470You doe not loue Maria? Longauile,
    Did neuer Sonnet for her sake compile;
    Nor neuer lay his wreathed armes athwart
    His louing bosome, to keepe downe his heart.
    I haue beene closely shrowded in this bush,
    1475And markt you both, and for you both did blush.
    I heard your guilty Rimes, obseru'd your fashion:
    Saw sighes reeke from you, noted well your passion.
    Aye me, sayes one! O Ioue, the other cries!
    On her haires were Gold, Christall the others eyes.
    1480You would for Paradise breake Faith and troth,
    And Ioue for your Loue would infringe an oath.
    What will Berowne say when that he shall heare
    Faith infringed, which such zeale did sweare.
    How will he scorne? how will he spend his wit?
    1485How will he triumph, leape, and laugh at it?
    For all the wealth that euer I did see,
    I would not haue him know so much by me.
    Bero. Now step I forth to whip hypocrisie.
    Ah good my Liedge, I pray thee pardon me.
    1490Good heart, What grace hast thou thus to reproue
    These wormes for louing, that art most in loue?
    Your eyes doe make no couches in your teares.
    There is no certaine Princesse that appeares.
    You'll not be periur'd, 'tis a hatefull thing:
    1495Tush, none but Minstrels like of Sonnetting.
    But are you not asham'd? nay, are you not
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