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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    Not Peer Reviewed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)

    A pleasant conceited Comedie:

    Rosa. But that you take what doth to you belong,
    It were a fault to snatch wordes from my tongue.
    2310Ber. O, I am yours and all that I possesse.
    Rosa. All the foole mine.
    Ber. I cannot giue you lesse.
    Ros. Which of the Vizards was it that you wore?
    Ber. Where, when, what Vizard? why demaund you this?
    Rosa. There, then, that Vizard, that superfluous case,
    That hid the worse, and shewed the better face.
    King. We were descried, theyle mock vs now dounright.
    2320Duman. Let vs confesse and turne it to a iest.
    Quee. Amazde my Lord? Why lookes your highnes sad?
    Rosa. Helpe holde his browes, heele sound: why looke
    you pale?
    2325Sea sicke I thinke comming from Muscouie.
    Bero. Thus pooure the Starres downe plagues for periurie.
    Can anie face of brasse hold longer out?
    Heere stand I, Ladie dart thy skill at me,
    Bruse me with scorne, confound me with a flout.
    2330Thrust thy sharpe wit quite through my ignorance,
    Cut me to peeces with thy keene conceit.
    And I will wish thee neuer more to daunce,
    Nor neuer more in Russian habite waite.
    O neuer will I trust to speaches pend,
    2335Nor to the motion of a Schoole-boyes tongue:
    Nor neuer come in vizard to my friend,
    Nor woo in rime like a blind harpers songue.
    Taffata phrases, silken tearmes precise,
    Three pilde Hiberboles, spruce affection:
    2340Figures pedanticall, these sommer flies,
    Haue blowne me full of maggot ostentation.
    I do forsweare them, and I here protest,
    By this white Gloue (how white the hand God knowes)
    Hencefoorth my wooing minde shalbe exprest
    2345In russet yeas, and honest kersie noes.
    And to begin Wench, so God helpe me law,
    My loue to thee is sound, sance cracke or flaw.
    Rosa. Sans, sans, I pray you.