Love’s Labour’s Lost

The King of Navarre’s park.

Enter Ferdinand, King of Navarre, Biron, Longaville and Dumain.

King

Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives, Live register’d upon our brazen tombs And then grace us in the disgrace of death; When, spite of cormorant devouring Time, The endeavour of this present breath may buy That honour which shall bate his scythe’s keen edge And make us heirs of all eternity. Therefore, brave conquerors⁠—for so you are, That war against your own affections And the huge army of the world’s desires⁠— Our late edict shall strongly stand in force: Navarre shall be the wonder of the world; Our court shall be a little Academe, Still and contemplative in living art. You three, Biron, Dumain, and Longaville, Have sworn for three years’ term to live with me My fellow-scholars and to keep those statutes That are recorded in this schedule here: Your oaths are pass’d; and now subscribe your names, That his own hand may strike his honour down That violates the smallest branch herein: If you are arm’d to do as sworn to do, Subscribe to your deep oaths, and keep it too.

Longaville

I am resolved; ’tis but a three years’ fast: The mind shall banquet, though the body pine: Fat paunches have lean pates, and dainty bits Make rich the ribs, but bankrupt quite the wits.

Dumain

My loving lord, Dumain is mortified: The grosser manner of these world’s delights He throws upon the gross world’s baser slaves: To love, to wealth, to pomp, I pine and die; With all these living in philosophy.

Give me the paper; let me read the same; And to the strict’st decrees I’ll write my name.

King

How well this yielding rescues thee from shame!

Biron

Reads. “Item, That no woman shall come within a mile of my court:” Hath this been proclaimed?

Longaville

Four days ago.

Biron

Let’s see the penalty. Reads. “On pain of losing her tongue.” Who devised this penalty?

Longaville

Marry, that did I.

Biron

Sweet lord, and why?

Longaville

To fright them hence with that dread penalty.

Biron

A dangerous law against gentility!

Reads. “Item, If any man be seen to talk with a woman within the term of three years, he shall endure such public shame as the rest of the court can possibly devise.”

This article, my liege, yourself must break; For well you know here comes in embassy The French king’s daughter with yourself to speak⁠— A maid of grace and complete majesty⁠— About surrender up of Aquitaine To her decrepit, sick and bedrid father: Therefore this article is made in vain, Or vainly comes the admired princess hither.

King

What say you, lords? why, this was quite forgot.

Biron

So study evermore is overshot: While it doth study to have what it would It doth forget to do the thing it should, And when it hath the thing it hunteth most, ’Tis won as towns with fire, so won, so lost.

King

We must of force dispense with this decree; She must lie here on mere necessity.

Biron

Necessity will make us all forsworn Three thousand times within this three years’ space; For every man with his affects is born, Not

King

Ay, the best for the worst. But, sirrah, what say you to this?

Costard

Sir, I confess the wench.

King

Did you hear the proclamation?

Costard

I do confess much of the hearing it, but little of the marking of it.

King

It was proclaimed a year’s imprisonment, to be taken with a wench.

Costard

I was taken with none, sir: I was taken with a damsel.

King

Well, it was proclaimed “damsel.”

Costard

This was no damsel neither, sir; she was a virgin.

King

It is so varied too; for it was proclaimed “virgin.”

Costard

If it were, I deny her virginity: I was taken with a maid.

King

This maid will not serve your turn, sir.

Costard

This maid will serve my turn, sir.

King

Sir, I will pronounce your sentence: you shall fast a week with bran and water.

Costard

I had rather pray a month with mutton and porridge.

King

And Don Armado shall be your keeper. My Lord Biron, see him deliver’d o’er: And go we, lords, to put in practise that Which each to other hath so strongly sworn. Exeunt King, Longaville, and Dumain.

Biron

I’ll lay my head to any good man’s hat, These oaths and laws will prove an idle scorn. Sirrah, come on.

Costard

I suffer for the truth, sir; for true it is, I was taken with Jaquenetta, and Jaquenetta is a true girl; and therefore welcome the sour cup of prosperity! Affliction may one day smile again; and till then, sit thee down, sorrow! Exeunt.

Here comes Navarre.

Enter King, Longaville, Dumain, Biron, and Attendants.

King

Fair princess, welcome to the court of Navarre.

Princess

“Fair” I give you back again; and “welcome” I have not yet: the roof of this court is too high to be yours; and welcome to the wide fields too base to be mine.

King

You shall be welcome, madam, to my court.

Princess

I will be welcome, then: conduct me thither.

King

Hear me, dear lady; I have sworn an oath.

Princess

Our Lady help my lord! he’ll be forsworn.

King

Not for the world, fair madam, by my will.

Princess

Why, will shall break it; will and nothing else.

King

Your ladyship is ignorant what it is.

Princess

Were my lord so, his ignorance were wise, Where now his knowledge must prove ignorance. I hear your grace hath sworn out house-keeping: ’Tis deadly sin to keep that oath, my lord, And sin to break it. But pardon me, I am too sudden-bold: To teach a teacher ill beseemeth me. Vouchsafe to read the purpose of my coming, And suddenly resolve me in my suit.

King

Madam, I will, if suddenly I may.

Princess

You will the sooner, that I were away; For you’ll prove perjured if you make me stay.

Biron

Did not I dance with you in Brabant once?

And I, forsooth, in love! I, that have been love’s whip; A very beadle to a humorous sigh; A critic, nay, a night-watch constable; A domineering pedant o’er the boy; Than whom no mortal so magnificent! This whimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy; This senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid; Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms, The anointed sovereign of sighs and groans, Liege of all loiterers and malcontents, Dread prince of plackets, king of codpieces, Sole imperator and great general Of trotting ’paritors:⁠—O my little heart!⁠— And I to be a corporal of his field, And wear his colours like a tumbler’s hoop! What, I! I love! I sue! I seek a wife! A woman, that is like a German clock, Still a-repairing, ever out of frame, And never going aright, being a watch, But being watch’d that it may still go right! Nay, to be perjured, which is worst of all; And, among three, to love the worst of all; A wightly wanton with a velvet brow, With two pitch-balls stuck in her face for eyes; Ay, and by heaven, one that will do the deed Though Argus were her eunuch and her guard: And I to sigh for her! to watch for her! To pray for her! Go to; it is a plague That Cupid will impose for my neglect Of his almighty dreadful little might. Well, I will love, write, sigh, pray, sue and groan: Some men must love my lady and some Joan. Exit.

The same.

Enter Biron, with a paper.

Biron

The king he is hunting the deer; I am coursing myself: they have pitched a toil; I am toiling in a pitch⁠—pitch that defiles: defile! a foul word. Well, set thee down, sorrow! for so they say the fool said, and so say I, and I the fool: well proved, wit! By the Lord, this love is as mad as Ajax: it kills sheep; it kills me, I a sheep: well proved again o’ my side! I will not love: if I do, hang me; i’ faith, I will not. O, but her eye⁠—by this light, but for her eye, I would not love her; yes, for her two eyes. Well, I do nothing in the world but lie, and lie in my throat. By heaven, I do love: and it hath taught me to rhyme and to be melancholy; and here is part of my rhyme, and here my melancholy. Well, she hath one o’ my sonnets already: the clown bore it, the fool sent it, and the lady hath it: sweet clown, sweeter fool, sweetest lady! By the world, I would not care a pin, if the other three were in. Here comes one with a paper: God give him grace to groan! Stands aside.

Enter the King, with a paper.

King

Ay me!

Biron

Aside. Shot, by heaven! Proceed, sweet Cupid: thou hast thumped him with thy bird-bolt under the left pap. In faith, secrets!

King

Reads.