Classic Audiobook Collection - Loves Labours Lost by William Shakespeare ~ Full Audiobook [comedy]

Episode Date: April 29, 2025

Loves Labours Lost by William Shakespeare audiobook. Genre: comedy In the kingdom of Navarre, a young king and his three closest companions make a bold vow: for three years they will devote themselves to study, fasting, and strict abstinence, building a little academy of the mind sealed off from distraction. Their high-minded plan is tested almost immediately when the Princess of France arrives on a diplomatic mission, accompanied by three sharp-witted ladies who refuse to be dismissed or underestimated. What begins as a contest of ideals quickly becomes a sparkling battle of language, pride, and desire, as the men struggle to keep their promises while the women meet each attempt at courtship with intelligence, humor, and pointed skepticism. Mistaken identities, secret letters, overheard conversations, and playful performances turn the court into a lively arena where words can wound, woo, and deceive. Love's Labours Lost is a fast, lyrical comedy about ambition and vulnerability, the masks people wear to seem wise or in control, and the humbling realization that real life does not always obey elegant rules. For ad-free listening try our premium subscription Chapters (Approximate) (00:00:00) Chapter 0 (00:02:22) Chapter 1 (00:29:25) Chapter 2 (00:44:57) Chapter 3 (00:56:33) Chapter 4 (01:42:11) Chapter 5 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Act 1 of Love's Labours Lost by William Shakespeare. Scene 1 The King of Navarre's Park Enter Ferdinand, King of Navarre, Baroon, Longerville, and Domain. Let fame that all hunt after in their lives, Live registered upon our brazen tombs, and then grace us in the disgrace of death,

when, spite of cormorant devourables, time, the endeavor of this present breath may buy that honor which shall bait his scyth's keen edge, and make us airs 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. shall be the wonder of the world. Our court shall be a little academe, still and contemplative, in living art. You three, Biroon, Domain and Longerhiel 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 passed. And now subscribe. your names, that his own hand may strike his honour down, that violates the smallest branch herein. If you are armid to do as sworn to do, subscribe to your deep oaths, and keep it too. I am resolved, this but a three years fast, the mind shall banquet, though the body pine, fat ponches have lean pates, and dainty bits make rich the ribs, but bankrupt quite the wits. My loving Lord, Domain, is mortified. The gross a manner of these worlds' delights he throws upon the gross world's baseless slaves.

To love, to wealth, to pomp, I pine and die, with all these things living in philosophy. I can but say their protestation over. So much, dearly, I have already sworn, that is, to live and study here three years. But there are other strict observances as not to see a woman in that term, which I hope well is not enrolled there, and one day in a week to touch no food

and but one meal on every day beside, the which I hope is not enrolled there, and then to sleep but three hours in the night and not be seen to wink of all the day when I was wont to think no harm all night. It'd make a dark night two of half the day, which I hope well is not enrolled there. Oh, these are barren tasks too hard to keep, not to see ladies, study fast, not sleep. Your oath is pasted to pass away from

these. Let me say no, my liege, and if you please, I only swore to study with your grace and stay here in your court for three years' space. You swore to that baroon, and to the rest. by yea and nay, sir, then I swore in jest. What is the end of study? Let me know. Why, that, to know which else we should not know? Things hid and barred, you mean from common sense. Aye, that is studies godlike recompense. Come on, then.

I will swear to study so, to know the thing I am forbidden to know, as thus, to study where I well-made dying, when I to face expressly am forbid, or study where to meet some mistress fine when mistresses from common sense are hid, or having sworn too hard a keeping oath, study to break it and not break my troth. If studies gain be thus, and this be so,

study knows that which yet it does not know. Swear me to this, and I will ne'er say no. These be the stops that hinder study quite, and train our intellects to vain delight. Why, all delights are vain. But that most vain which with pain purchased doth inherit pain, as painfully to pour upon a book, to seek the light of truth, while truth the while doth falsely blind the eyesight of his look. Light seeking light doth light of light beguile. So ere you find where light in darkness lies, your light grows dark by losing of your eyes. Study me how to please the eye indeed by fixing it upon a fairer eye,

who dazzling so that I shall be his heed, and give him light that it was blinded by. Study is like the heaven's glorious sun, that will not be deep searched with saucy looks, small have continual plodders ever won, save base authority from other's books. These earthly godfathers of heaven's lights that give a name to every fixed star have no more profit of their shining knights than those that walk and what they are. Too much to know is to know naught but fame. and every godfather can give a name. How well he's read to reason against reading.

Proceeded well to stop all good proceeding. He weeds the corn and still lets grow to weeding. The spring is near when green geese are up breeding. How full is that? Fit in his place and time. In reason, nothing. Something then in rhyme. Burune is like an envious, sniping frost.

the bites the first-born infants of the spring. Where say I am, why should proud summer boast before the birds have any cause to sing? Why should I joy in any abortive birth? At Christmas I'd no more desire a rose than wish a snow in May's newfangled shows, but like of each thing that in season grows. So you, to study now it is too late, climb on the house to unlock the little gate. Well, sit you out. Go home, Berune. Adieu.

No, my good lord. I have sworn to stay with you. And though I have for barbarism spoke more than for that angel knowledge you can say, and confident I'll keep what I have swore, and bide the pettance of each three years' day. Give you the paper, let me read the same, and to the strictest decrees I'll write my name. How well this yielding rescues thee from, shame.

Berune reads. Hmm. Item, that no woman shall come within a mile of my court. Have this been proclaimed? Four days ago. Let's see the penalty. Reads. On pain of losing her tongue.

Who devise this penalty? Mary, that did I. Sweet Lord and why? To fright them hence with that dread penalty. 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 devised this article might ease 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 second-bed-red father therefore this article is made in vain, or vainly comes the admired princess hither.

Oh, what say you, Lord? Why, this was quite forgot. 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 a thing it hunteth most, tis one is towns with fire, so one so lost. We must have forced the spence with this decree. She must lie here on mere necessity. necessity will make us all forsworn three thousand times within this three years space. For every man with his effects is born, not by might master but by special grace. If I break faith, this word shall speak for me.

I am foresworn on mere necessity. So to the laws at large I write my name. Subscribes. And he that breaks them in the least degree stands in a tanger of eternal shame. Suggestions are to others to be. but I believe, although I seem so lath, I am the last that will last keep his own. But is there no quick recreation granted?

Aye, that there is. Our court, you know, is haunted with a refined traveller of Spain, a man in all the world's new fashion planted, that hath a mint of phrases in his brain, one whom the music of his own vain tongue doth ravish like enchanting harmony, a man of compliments whom right and wrong have chose as umpire of their mutiny this child of fancy that our mono height for interim to our studies shall relate in high-born words the worth of many a night from tawny spain lost in the world's debate how you delight my lord i know not i but i pretest i love to him lie i shall

shall use him for my minstrelsy. Her motto is a most illustrious white, a man of fire new words fashion's own knight. Costa de Swain and he shall be our sport. And so to study, three years is but short. Enter dull with a letter and custard. Which is the Duke's own person? This fellow, what wouldst?

I myself reprehend his own person, for I am as Grace Astavara, but I would see his own person in flesh and blood. This is he. Signor Armagh, Armagh, commends you. There's villainy abroad. This letter will tell you more. Sir, the contempt thereof are as touching me.

A letter from the magnificent armado. Hello, so ere the matter I hope in God for high words. A high hope for a low heaven. God grand us patience. To hear or for me. bear laughing. To hear meekly, sir, and to laugh moderately, or

to forbear both. Well, sir, be it as the style shall give us cause to climb in the meriness. The matter is to me, sir, as concerning Jack and Edda. The manner of it is, I was taken with the manor. In what manner?

In manner and form, following, sir, all those three, I was seen with her in the manor house, sitting with her, upon the form and taken following her into the park, which put together is in manner and form following. Now, sir, for the manner, it is the manner of a man to speak to a woman for the form, in some form. For the following, sir? As it shall follow in my correction, and God defend the right.

Will you hear this letter with attention? As we would hear an oracle. Such is the simplicity of man to hearken after the flesh. King reads, Great deputy, the Welkins' vice-region, and soul-dominator of Navarre, my soul's earth's god and bodies fostering patron. Not a word of Gostad yet.

So it is. It may be so, but if he say it is so, he is in telling true but so. Peace. Be to me, and every man that dares not fight. No words. Of other man's secrets I beseech you. King reads.

So it is, besieged with sable-colored melancholy. I did commend the black oppressing humor to the most wholesome physic of thy health-giving air. And as I am most a gentleman, betook myself to walk. the time when about the sixth hour when beast most graze birds best peck and men sit down to that nourishment which is called supper so much for the time then now for the ground which which i mean i walked upon it is eclapted thy park then for the place where where i mean i did a cader that obscene and most preposterous event that Draweth from my snow-white pin, the emin-colored ink, which here thou viewest, beholdest, surveyest, or seest. But to the place where, it standeth north-north-east,

and by east from west corner of thy curious knotted garden, there did I see that low-spirited swain, that base minnowed of thy mirth, Me? That unlettered small-knowing soul? Me? That shallow vessel. Still me.

Which, as I remember, height, costard. Oh, me. Sorted and consorted, contrary to thy established, proclaimed edict, an continent cadden, which with, oh with, but with this passion to say, wherewith? With a wench? with a child of our grandmother Eve, a female, or, for thy more sweet understanding, a woman.

Him, I, as my ever-esteem duty pricks me on, have said to thee to receive the meed of punishment by thy sweet graces officer, Anthony Dull, a man of good repute, carriage, bearing an estimation. me and it shall please you i am anthony doll for jacconetta so is the weaker vessel called which i apprehended with the aforesaid swain i keep her as a vessel of thy law's fury and shall at the least of thy sweet notice bring her to trial thine in all compliments of devoted and heart-burning heat of duty don i Adriano di Armado. This is not so well as I look for, but the best it ever I heard.

Aye, the best for the worst. But, Sarah, what say you to this? Sir, I confess the wench. Did you hear the proclamation? I do confess much of the hearing it, but little of the marking of it. It was proclaimed a year's imprisonment to be taken with a winch. I was taken with none, sir. was taken with a damsel.

Well, it was proclaimed damsel. This was no damsel neither, sir. She was a virgin. It is so varied too, for it was proclaimed virgin. If it were, I deny her virginity. I was taken with a maid. This maid will not serve your turn, sir. This maid will serve my turn, sir.

Sir, I will pronounce your sentence. You shall fast a week with bran and water. I had rather pray a month with mutton and porridge. And Don Armorrow shall be your keeper. My lord, Byroun, see him delivered o'er. And go we, lords, to put in practice that which we two other hath so strongly sworn. Exeunt, King, Longerville, and Domain.

I'll lay in my head To any good man's hat These oaths and laws Will prove an idle scorn Sarah, come on I suffer for the truth, sir, For true it is I was taken with

Jaconetta And Jaconetta is a true girl And therefore welcome The sour cup of prosperity Affliction may one day smile Again until then Sit be down sorrow Exeunt

Scene 2 The same. Enter, Omado, and moat. Boy, what sign is it when a man of great spirit grows melancholy? A great sign, sir, that he will look sad. Why, sadness is one and the said same thing, dear imp. No, no, Lord, sir, no. How comes thou apart sadness and melancholy, my tender juvenile?

By a familiar demonstration of the working, my tough senior. Why tough seor, why tough signor? Why tender juvenile? Why tender juvenile? I spoke it, tender juvenile, as a congruent empisitone appertaining to la young days,

which we may nominate, tender. And I, tough senior, as in a pertinent title to your old time, which we may name tough. Ha, ha, ha, pretty and apt. How mean you, sir? I pretty and my saying apt? Or I apt and my saying pretty?

Thou pretty because little. Little, pretty, because little. Wherefore apt? And therefore apt, because quick. Speak you disin my praise, master. In thy condine praise. I will praise and eel with the same praise. What?

that an ear is ingenious That an eel is quick I do say thou art quick in answers Thou heatest my blood I am answered sir I love not to be crossed Mote aside He speaks to me a contrary

Crosses love not him I have promised to study Three years with the Duke You may do it in an hour Sir How many is one, thrice told? I am ill at reckoning. It fitteth the spirit of a tapster.

You are a gentleman and a gamester, sir. I confess both. They are both the varnish of a complete man. Then I am sure you know how much the gross sum of deuce ace amounts to. It does amount to one more than two. Which the base vulgar do call three. True. Why, sir, is this such a piece of step?

now here is three studied ere ye'll thrice wink and how easy it is to put years to the word three and study three years in two words the dancing-horse will tell you how most fine figure to prove you a cipher i will hear upon confess i am in love and as it is best for a soldier to laugh so am i in love with a base wench if drawing me my sort against the humour of affection would deliver me from the reprobate thought of it, I would take desire prisoner, and ransom him to any French courtier for a new devised courtesy.

I think scorned a sigh. Me things I should out swear Cupid. Comfort me, boy. What great men have been in love? Hercules, master. Most sweet Hercules. More authority, dear boy.

Name more. And sweet my child, let them be man of good repute and carriage. Samson, master, he was a man of good carriage, great carriage, for he carried the town gates on his back like a porter, and he was in love. Oh, well, neat, Samson, strong jointed, Samson. I do excel thee in my rapier as much as thou didst me on carrying gates. I am in love, too. Who was Samson's love, my dear moat?

man, master. Of what complexion? Of all the four, or the three, or the two, or one of the four. Tell me precisely, of what complexion? Of the seawater green, sir. Is that one of the four complexions? As I have read, sir, and the best of them, too. Green indeed is the color of lovers, but I have a love of that colour, may think Samson adds more reason for it. He surely affected her for her wits. It was so, sir, for she had a green wit. My love, is most immaculate white and red. Most maculate thoughts, master, are masked under such colors.

Define, define, well-educated infant. My father's wit and my mother's tongue assist me. Sweet in the caution of our child, most pretty and pathetical. If she be made of white and red, her father's... Her faults will never be known, for blushing cheeks by faults are bred, and fears by pale white shone. Then if she fear, or be to blame,

by this you shall not know, for still her cheeks possess the same, which native she doth owe. A dangerous rhyme, master, Against the reason of white and red. Is there not a ballad boy of the king and the beggar? The world was very guilty of such a ballad some three ages since. But I think now it is not to be found, or if it were, it would neither serve for the writing nor the tune.

I will have that subject newly retort, that I may example my digression by some mighty president. Boy, I do love that contrary girl that I took in the park with the rational hind-costert. She deserves well. Mote, aside. To be whipped, and yet a better love than me. my master. Sing, boy. My spirit grows heavy in love.

And that's a great marvel, loving a light wench. I say sing. Forbear till this company be passed. Enter Dole, Custard, and Jekinetta. Sir, the Duke's pleasure is that you keep Costard safe, and you must suffer him to take no delight nor no penance, but a must fast three days a week. For this damsel, I must keep her at the park,

She is allowed for the day woman. Fair you well. I do betray myself with blushing. A maid. Man? I will visit thee at thy lodge. That's hereby. I know where it is situate.

Lord, how wise you are. I will tell thee wonders. With that vice. I love thee. So I hope thee. you say? And so, farewell. Fairweather after you.

Come, Jacaneda, away. Exaunt. Doe and Jackanetta. Villan, thou shalt fast for thy offences, here thou be pardoned. Well, sir, I hope when I do it, I shall do it in a full stomach. Thou shalt be heavily punished.

I am more bound to you than your fellows, for they are but lightly rewarded. Take away. This villain, shut him up. Come, you transgressing slave, away. Well, let me not be pent up, sir. I will fast being loose.

No, sir, that we're fast and loose. Thou shalt to prison. Well, if ever I do see the merry days of desolation that I have seen, some shall see. What shall some see? Now nothing messed about, but what they look upon. It is not for prisoners to be too silent in their words. therefore I will say nothing I thank God

I have as little patience as another man Therefore I can be quiet Exot, Mote and Custard I do affect the very ground Which is base Where her shoe which is baser Guided by her foot Which is basest doth trait

I shall be forsworn Which is a great argument of Foxwood If I love And how can that be true love which is falsely attempted. Love is a familiar. Love is a devil. There is no evil angel but love.

Yet was Sanson so tempted, and he had an excellent strength. Yet was Solomon so seduced, and he had a very good wit. Cupid's butt shaft is too hard for Hercules' clop, and therefore two muddods for a Spangard's rapier. The first and second cause will not serve my turn. the passado he respects not, the dwello he regards not,

His disgrace is to be called boy, But his glory is to subdue men. Adieu valour, rust rapier, be still drum, For your manager is in love. Yea, he loveth. Assiss me some extemporal god of rhyme, For I am sure I shall turn sonnet. Deve I is wit,

Write pen, for I am for whole volumes in folio. Exit. End of Act 1. Act 2 of Love's Labour's Lost by William Shakespeare. This is a Librevox recording. All Librivox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visitlibrivox.org. Scene 1. The same.

Enter the Princess of France, Rosaline, Maria, Catherine, Boyette, Lords and other attendants. Now, madame, summon up your dear spirits. Consider who the key your father sends, to whom he sends, and what's his embassy. Your self held precious in the world's esteem to parley with the sole inheritor of all perfections that a man may owe. Maschleus Navarre, the plea of noveless with an acquitaine, a dowry for a queen. Be now as prodigal of all dear grace as nature as in making grace as dear, when she did starve the general world decides, and prodigly gave them all to you.

Good Lord, Briette, my beauty, zor but mean, needs not the painted flourish of your praise. Beauty is bought by judgment of the eye, not uttered by base sale of Chapman's tongues. I am less proud to hear you tell my worth, than you, much willing to be counted wise, in spending your wit in the praise of mine. But now to task the tasker, good boy yet,

you are not ignorant, all telling fame doth noise abroad. Navarre hath made a vow, till painful study shall outweigher three years. No woman may approach his silent court. therefore's to seemeth at a needful course, Before we enter his forbidden gates, To know his pleasure,

Hand-in's at behalf, bold of your worthiness, We single you as our best-moving fair solicitor. Tell him, the daughter of the King of France, On serious business, Craving quick dispatch, Importune's personal conference with his grace. Haste signify so much, while we attend, like humble visage suitors, his high will.

Proud of employment, willingly I go. All pride is willing pride, and yours is so. Exit, Boyette. Who are the Votteries, my loving lords? Set her vow, fellows, with this virtuous duke? Lord Longerville is one. Know you the man? I know him, madam, at a remarriage feast,

between Lord Perricot and the beauteous hair or Jacques the Falcon Bridge solomized in Normandy so I this Longerville A man of sovereign parts He is esteered Well fitted in arts

Glorious in arms Nothing becomes him ill That he would well The only soil of his fair Virtuous gloss A virtuous gloss will stain with any soil Is a sharp wheat Match it with two blante real

whose edge has power to cut whose will still wills it should not spare that come within his power some merri mocking lord be like is it so they say so most that most his humors know such short-lived weeds do wither as they grow who are the rest the young dumain a well-accomplished youth of all that virtue love for virtue loved most power to do most harm least knowing ill, for he hath wit to make an ill-shape good, and shape to win grace, though he had no wit. I saw him at the Duke Aloncansans once, and much too little of that good I saw is my report to his great worthiness. Another of these students at that time was there with him, if I have heard the truth, Be ruin they call him, but a merrier man within the limit of becoming much. i never spend an hour's talk withal his eye begets occasion for his wit for every object that the one does catch the other turns to a mirth-moving jest which his fair tongue conceits expositor delivers in such apt and gracious words that aged ears play turnt at his tails and younger hearings are quite ravished so sweet and voluble is his discourse God bless, my ladies, as they all in love, that every one her own hath garnished,

with such bedecking ornaments of praise. Here comes her boyette. Re-enter Boyette. Now what did Mittens, Lord? Nevar had notice of your fair approach, and his competitors in oath were all addressed to meet you gentle lady before he came. Mary, thus much I have learned. He rather means to lodge you in the field, like one that comes here,

to besiege his court, then seek a dispensation for his oath to let you enter his unbeeled house. Here comes Navarre. Enter King, Longerville, Domain, Baroon, and attendance. Fair, princess, welcome to the court of Naval. 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 field. to base to be mine. You shall be welcome, Madame, to my court.

I will be welcome, then. Conduct me thither. Hear me, dear lady. I have sworn an oath. Our lady help, my lord. He'll be forsworn. Not for the world fair, madam, by my will. Why, wheels shall it break, wheel and nothing else. Your ladyship is ignorant what it is. Were my lord so, his ignorance were wise, where now his knowledge must prove ignorance, I hear your grace hath sworn out housekeeping, 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 be seemeth me. Vouch safe to read the purpose of my coming, and suddenly resolve me in my suit. Madame, I will, if suddenly I may. You will see sooner that I were away, for you'll prove perjured if you make me stay. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once? Did not I dance with you in Brabant once? I know you did.

How needless was it then to ask the question? You must not be so quick. Tis long of you that spur me with such questions. Your witch's too hot, it speeds too fast, will tire. Not till it leave the rider in the mire. What time a day? The hour that fools should ask. Now fare bethall your mask.

Fair fall the face it covers. And send you many lovers. Amen, so you be none. If, then I will be gone. Madam, your father here doth intimate the payment of a hundred thousand crowns, being but the one half of an entire sum, dispersed by my father in his wars, but say that he, or we, as neither have, received that sum, yet there remains unpaid a hundred thousand more, in surety of the which one part of Aquitaine is bound to us, although not value,

to the money's worth. If then the king your father will restore, but that one half which is unsatisfied, we will give up our right in Aquitaine, and hold fair friendship with his majesty, but that, it seem, he little purposeth. For here he doth demand to have repaid a hundred thousand crowns,

and not demands, on payment of a hundred thousand, crowns, to have his title live in Aquitaine, which we much rather had depart with all, and have the money by our father lent, than Aquitaine so gilded as it is, dear princess, were not his request so far from reasons yielding, your fair self should make a yielding, against some reason in my breast, and go well satisfied to France again. You do the king my father too much wrong, and wrong the reputation of your name, in so unseeming to confess receipt of that which hath so faithfully been paid. I do protest, I never heard of it,

and if you prove it, I'll repay it back, or yield up acquitaine. We harassed your word, for yet you can produce acquittances. for such a sum from special offers of charles his father satisfy me so so please your grace the packet is not come where that and other specialties are bound to-morrow you should have a sight of them it shall suffice me at which interview all liberal reason i will yield unto meantime receive such welcome at my hand as honour without breach of honour may make tender of To thy true worthiness You may not come

Fair Princess In my gates But here without You shall be so received As you shall deem yourself Lodged In my heart Though so denied

Fair Harbour in my house Your own good thoughts Excuse me And farewell Tomorrow shall we visit you again? Sweet health and fair desires consort your race. Thy own wish, wish I thee in every place.

Exit. Lady, I will commend you to mine own heart. Pray you, do my commendations. I would be glad to see it. I would you heard it groan. Is the fool sick? Sick at the heart. Alack.

Let it blood. Would that do it good? My physics says I. Will you prick with your eye? No point. With my knife. Now, God saved my life. And yours from long living.

I cannot stay Thanksgiving. Retiring. Sir, I pray you a word. What lady is that same? The heir of Alonon, Catherine her name. A gallant lady, monsieur. Fare you well. Exit.

I beseech you a word. What is she in the white? A woman sometimes, and you saw her in the light? Perchance light in the light? I desire her name. She has but one for herself, to desire that were a shame. Praise you, sir. Whose daughter?

Her mother's, I have heard. God's blessing on your beard. Good sir. be not offended she is an heir of falcon bridge may my collar is ended she is a most sweet lady not unlike sir that may be exit longerville what's her name in the cap rosaline by good hap is she wedded or no to her will sir or so you are welcome sir adieu farewell to me sir and welcome to you Exit Baroon. That last is Berune, the merry Madcap-Lord. Not a word with him but a jest. And every jest but a word.

It was well done of you to take him at his word. I was as willing to grapple as he was to board. Too hot a sheep's, Mary. And wherefore not ships? No sheep's with lamb unless we feed on your lips. You sheep and I pasture shall that finish the jest? So you grant pasture for me. Offering to kiss her.

Not also gentle beast? My lips are no common. Though several they be. Belonging to whom? To my fortunes and me. Good wits will be jangling, but gentles agree. These civil war of wits were much better used on Navarre and his bookmen, for here tis abused.

If my observation which very seldom lies by the how, still rhetoric disclosed with eyes. Deceive me no now, now, never is infected. With what? With that which we lovers entitled affected. Your reason? Why, all his behaviours did make their retire to the court of his eye, peeping thorough desire. His heart, like a nugget, with your print impressed, proud with his form and his eye pride expressed. His tongue, all impatient, to speak and not see, they stumbled with haste in his eyesight to be. All senses to that sense did make their repair,

to feel only looking on fairest affair. He thought all his senses were locked in his eye, as jewels in crystal for some prince to buy, who, tendering their own wards from where they were glast, did point you to buy them along as you passed. His face's own margin did quote such a maze, that all I saw his eyes Enchanted with gazes

I'll give you acritaine And all that is his And you give him for my sake But one loving kiss Come to our pavilion Boyette is disposed But to speak that in words Which his eye has disclosed

I only have made a mouth of his eye By adding a tongue Which I know will not lie thou are the old lovemonger and speaks as skillfully He is Cupid's grandfather And learns news of him Then was Venus like her mother For her father is but grim

Do you hear my mad wrenches No What then do you see I Our way to be gone Oh you are too hard for me Excient End of Act 2

Act 3 of Love's Labour's Lost by William Shakespeare This is a Librivox recording All Librevox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer Please visit Librevox.org Scene 1 The same Enter Amardo and moat

Warbel child Make passionate my sense of hearing Gongolido sweet air go tenderness of years take this key give enlargement to the swain bring him festinately hither i must employ him in a letter to my love master will you win your love with a french brawl how meanest thou brawling in french no my complete master but to jig off a cune at the tongue's end canary to it with your feet humouring with turning up your eyelids, sigh a note, and sing a note, sometimes through the throat,

as if you swallowed love with singing love, sometimes through the nose, as if you snuffed up love by smelling love, with your head penthouse-like over the shop of your eyes, with your arms crossed on your thin belly doublet, like a rabbit on a spit, or your hands in your pocket, like a man after the old painting,

and keep not too long in one tune, but a snip and away. These are compliments, these are humors, these betray nice wenches that would be betrayed without these, and make them men of note, do you note me, that most are affected to these? How hast thou purchased this experience? By my penny of observation? But oh, but all... The hobby horses forgot.

Callest thou, my love, hobby horse? No, master, the hobby horse is but a cold, and your love perhaps a hackney. But have you forgot your love? Almost I had. Negligion, student, learn her by heart. By heart, and in heart, boy. And out of heart, master, all those three I will prove. What will thou prove?

A man, if I live, and this by, in and without. upon the instant. By heart, you love her, because your heart cannot come by her. In heart, you love her, because your heart is in love with her. And out of heart you love her, being out of heart that you cannot enjoy her. I am, all these three. And three times as much more, and yet nothing at all. Fish here are the swain.

he must carry me a letter. A message well sympathized. A horse to be ambassador for an ass. Ha! ha! What says, though? Mary, sir, you must send the ass upon the horse, for he is very slow-gated. But I go. The way is but short.

Away. As swift as led, sir. The meaning, pretty ingenious, is not led a metal-heavy, dull and slow? Me. Me, honest master, or rather, master, no. I say lad is slow. You are too swift, sir, to say so. Is that lad slow, which is fired from a gun? Sweet smoke of rhetoric. Here, accuse me a cannon, and the bullets that's he.

I shoot thee at the swain. Something and I flee. Exit. Our most acute juvenile. Vulable and free of. grace. By thy favour, sweet welkin, I must sigh in thy face. Most rude melancholy, valour gives thee place. My harold is returned. Rientermote with costard.

A wonder, master, here's the costa broken in the shin. Some enigma, some riddle. Come, thy l'emvoi, begin. No egmer, no riddle, no lemvoy, no salve in a mail, sir. Oh, sir, a plantain, a plain plantain. No lemvoy, no lemvoy, no salve, sir, but a plantain. Vyver shud thou enforceest laughter. Thy silly thought, my skin, the heaving of my lungs provokes me to ridiculous smiling. Oh, pardon me, my stars. Do you think considerate takes solve for landvoi, and the word lonvoi for salve? Do the wise think them other? not Lenvoy itself?

No, page. It is an epilogue or discourse to make plain some obscure precedents that have too far been sane. I will examine it. The fox, the ape and the humble bee were still at odds, being about three. There's the moral. Now the long boy. I will add the lanvoy.

Say the moral again. The fox, the ape, the humble bee, were still at odds being but three. Until the goose came out of door and stayed the odds by adding four. Now will I begin your moral and do you follow with my envoy. The fox, the ape and the humble bee were still at odds being but three. Until the goose came out of door, staying the odds by adding four. A good landvoy ending in the goose.

Would you desire more? The boy have sold him about. A goose, that's flat. Sir, your pennyworth is good, and your goose be fat. The seller bargain well is as cunning as fast and loose. Let me see. A fat lemoy, aye, that's a fat goose. Calm here, come here there.

How did this argument begin? By saying that a cosset was broken in a shin, then called you for the lanvoy. True, an eye for a plantain. Thus came your argument in. Then the boy's fat, Lenvoie, The goose that you bought, only ended the market. Must tell me, how is there a costard broken in a shin?

I will tell you sensibly. There was no feeling of it, Mote. I will speak that, L'Envoy. O'Costard, running out, that was safely within, fell over the threshold and broke my shin. We'll talk no more of this matter. Till there be no matter in the shin. Sir a Costart, I will enfranchise thee. Oh, marry me to one, Francis.

I smell some lemvoy, some goose in this. By my sweet soul, I mean setting thee at liberty, and freedoming thy person, thou wertemure to restrain, captivated bound. True, true, and now you will be my purgation, and let me lose. I give thee thy liberty, set thee from durance, and, in lieu thereof, impose on thee nothing by this. Bear thee significant.

Giving a letter. To the contrary. remade jackaneta. There is remuneration. For the best word of mine honour is rewarding my dependence. Mott, follow. Exit. Like the sequel, I, Signo cost, adieu. My sweet ounce of man's flesh, my incognit Jew. Exit, moat. Now, I will look to his remuneration. Remuneration. Oh, that's the Latin word for three fathens. Three fathens. VINS. Remuneration.

What's the price of this inkle? One penny? No, I'll give you a remuneration. Why, it carries it. Remuneration. Why, it's a fairer name than French crown. I will never buy and sell out of this word. Enter Baroon. Oh, my good name cost it. Exceedingly well met. Pre you, sir. How much carnation ribbon may a man buy for a remuneration? What is a remuneration? marry sir, ha'penny farthing. Why, then, three farthing worth of silk. I thank your worship, God be with you.

Stay, slave, I must employ thee. As that wilt win my favour, good my knave, do one thing for me that I shall entreat. When would you have it done, sir? This afternoon. Well, I will do it, sir. Fair you well. Thou knowest not what it is. I shall know, sir, when I have done it. Why, villain, thou must know first.

I will come to your worship, tomorrow, morning. It must be done this afternoon, Harkslave. It is but this. The princess comes to hunt here in the park, and in her train there is a gentle lady when tongues speak sweetly, then they name her name, and Rosaline, they call her, ask for her, and to her white hands see thou do commend this sealed-up council. There's thy garden, go. Giving him a shilling. Garden, oh, sweet garden, better than remuneration. 11 pence farthing better. More sweet garden. I will do it, sir.

In print. Garden remuneration. Exit. 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 or the boy,

then whom no mortal so magnificent. This wimpled, 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 placates, king of codpieces, sole impuritor and great general of trotting,

Oh, my little heart! And I, to be a corporal of his field, and bear his colors like a tumbar's hoop. What 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 a right, being a watch, but being watched 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 whitely wanted with a velvet brow, with two pitchballs stuck in her face for eyes. I, and by heaven, one that will do the deed,

though Argus were her eunuch and her god, 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. End of Act 3.

Act 4 of Love's Labour's Lost by William Shakespeare. This is a Librevox recording. All Librevox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librevonks.org. Scene one. The same. Enter the princess and her train, a forester, boyette,

Rosaline, Maria and Catherine. Was that the sea king that spread his horse so hard against the steeper rising of the ill? I know not, but I think it was not here. Whoe'er it was a shodomountain mind? Well, lords, today we shall have our dispatch. On Saturday we will return to France. Then, Forster, my friend, where is the bush that we must stand and play the murderer in?

Hereby upon the edge of yonder coppice, a stand where you may make the fairish shoot. I think my beauty. I am fair that shoot. And thereupon thou speakest the fairest shoot. Pardon me, madam, for I meant not so. What, what, first praise me, and again say no. Oh, short-lived pride, not fair, a lack for woe. Yes, madam, fair. Nay, never paint me now.

Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow. Here, good my glass, take this for telling true. Fair payment for foul words is more than due. Nothing but fair, is that which you inherit. See, see, my beauty will be saved by merit. O hearsaying fair, fit for these days. A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise. But come, ze bow, now mercy goes to keel,

And shooting well is then accounted ill. Thus will I save my credit in ze shoot. Not wounding, pity would not let me do't. If wounding, then it was to show my skill, That more for praise than purpose meant to kill. And out of question, so it is sometimes glory grows guilty of detested crimes When, for fame's sake, for praise, an outward part,

We bend to that the working of the heart, As I for praise alone now seek to spill, The poor dear's blood, that my heart means no ill. Do not cast wives hold that self-sovereignty only for praise's sake When they strive to be laws of their lords? Only for praise, and praise we may afford to any lady that subdues a lord. Here comes a member of the Commonwealth. Enter Costard.

God dig you, den all. Pray you, which is the head lady? Thou shalt know her fellow, by the rest that have no heads. Which is the greatest lady, the highest? The thickest and the tallest. The thickest and the tallest. It is so. truth is truth and your waist mistress were as slender as my wit one of these maids gurgles for your waist should be fit are not you the chief woman you are the thickest here what's your will sir what's your will i have a letter from monsieur berun to one lady rosaline oh zay letter zay letter he's a good friend of mine stand aside good bearer boyette

You can carve. Break up this capon. I am bound to serve. Oh, this letter is mistook. It import if none here. It is read to Jacinetta. We will read it, I swear. Break the neck of the wax, and every one give ear. Boyette reads.

Ahem. By Evan, the doubt fair is most infallible. True, that thou art beauteous. truth itself, that thou art lovely. More fairer than fair, beautiful than beauteous, truer than truth itself, have commiseration on thy heroical vessel. The magnanimous and most illustriate king, Cofitua,

set eye upon the pernicious and indubitate beggar the Nellophon, and he it was that might rightly say, Vinivivich, which to an orphanise in the vulgar, O base and obscure vulgar, Videlis said, He came, saw, and overcame. He came one, so too, overcame three. Who came, the king? Why did he come, to see?

Why did he see, to overcome? To whom came he, to the beggar. What saw he, the beggar? Who overcame he, the beggar? The conclusion is. victory. On whose side? The kings. The captive is enraged. On whose side, the beggars? The catastrophe is a nuptial. On whose side the kings? No, on both in one or one in both. I am the king, for so stands the comparison. Thou the beggar, for so witnesses thy loneliness.

shall I command thy love? I may. Shall I enforce thy love? I could. Shall I entreat thy love? I will. What shall thou exchange for rags, robes, for tittles, titles for thyself, me? Thus, expecting their reply, I profane my lips on thy foot, my eyes on thy picture, and my heart on thy every part. thine in the dearest design of industry don edriano de armado thou dost thou hear the nemean lie roar against thee thou lamb that standest as his prey so miso'neth for his princely feet before and he from forage will incline to play but if thou strive poor soul what art thou then food for his rage repasha for his den What plume of feathers is he that indicted this letter? What vain? What weathercock? Did you ever hear better?

I am much deceived, but I remember the style. Else your memory is bad, going or it a while. This armadao is a Spaniard that keeps here in court, a fantasism, a monarch, and woman makes sport to the prince and his bookmates. Zalphello, a word. Who gave thee this letter? I told you, my lord. To whom should thou give it? From my lord to my lady. From which lord to which lady?

From my lord, be ruined, a good master of mine, to a lady of France that he called Rosaline. Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come, lords, away. To Rosaline. Ere sweet, put up this. T'will be thine another. Exeont Princess Antrain.

Who is the suitor? Who is the suitor? Shall I teach you to know? I, my continental musie. Why is she that bears the bow? Finally put off. My lady goes to kill horns. But if thou marry, hang me by their neck if horns that ye are miscarry, finally put on.

Well, then, I am the shooter. And who is your dear? If we choose by the horns, You'll self come not kneel. finally put on indeed You still handle with her boy yet And she strikes at the brow But she herself is hit lower

Have I hit her now Shall I come upon thee with an old saying That was a man when King Pepin of France Was a little boy As touching the hit-it So I may answer thee with one as old That was a woman when Queen Greenover Britain was a little wrench

I's touching the hit-hit Thou gains not hit-it hit it, hit it. Thou canst not hit it, my good man. And I cannot, cannot, cannot, and I cannot another can. Exxiant, Rosaline and Catherine.

By my troth, most pleasant, how both did fit it. A mark marvellous well shot, for they both did hit it. A mark. Oh, Mark, but that mark. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, a mark, says my lady. Let the mark

have a pricking to meet at, if it may be. Why do the bow hand effect? Your hand is out. Indeed, I must shoot nearer, or he'll near hit the clout. And if my hand be out, then be like your hand is in. Then will she get the upshot by cleaving the pin. Come, come, you talk grisily, your lips grow foul. She's too hard for you at Pricks, sir. Challenge her to bowl.

I fear too much rubbing. Good night, my good hour. Exeunt, Boyette, and Maria. By my soul, a swain, a most simple clown. Lord, Lord, how the ladies and I have put him down. Oh, my truth, most sweet jests, most incoony vulgar wit. When it comes so smoothly off, so obscenely as it were so fit. Amardo, or the one side, a most dainty man, to see him walk before a lady and to bear her fan

to see him kiss his hand and how most sweetly I will swear and his page up at other side that handful of wit ah heavens it is a most pathetical knit Sola Sola! Sola! Shout within Exit Costard running

Scene 2 The same Enter Holophonies Sir Nathanio and Dow Very reverend sport truly And done in the testimony Of a good conscience The dear was, as you know,

sanguis in blood, ripe as the palm water Who now haggeth like a jewel In the air of Coelho The sky, the welter, the heaven And anon falleth like a crab On the face of terror, The soil, the land, the earth.

Truly, master, whole orphan is, The epithets are sweetly varied, like a scholar at the least. But, sir, I assure you, it was the buck of the first head. Sir Nathaniel Hod-Credo. T'was not a hod-credo. T'was a pricket. Most barbarous information, yet a kind of insinuation, as it were, in via a way of explication for carrie, as it were, replication, or rather ostentary.

to show, as it were, his inclination after his undressed, unpolished, uneducated, unpruned, untrained, or rather unlettered, or ratherest unconfirmed fashion, to insert again my hod credo for a deer. I said the deer was not a hard cradle. Twas a pricket. Twythad simplicity, bis-cuctus. Oh, them monster ignorance, how deformed dost thou look? Sir, he have never fed with the dainties,

that are bred in a book. He hath not eat paper, as it were. He hath not drunk ink. His intellect is not replenished. He is only an animal, only sensible in the duller parts. And such bedin plounds are set before us that we thankful should be,

which we of taste and feeling are, for those parts that do fruitify in us more than ye. For as it would ill become me to be vain, indiscreet or a fool So were there a patch settled learning To see him in a school

But only many is the eye Being of an old father's mind Many can brook the weather That love not the wind You two are bookmen Can you tell me by your wit What a month old at Cain's birth That's not five weeks old as yet

Dictina good mental Dictina goodmendal What is Dictina? A title to Phoebe, to Luna, to the moon. The moon was a month old when Adam was no more, and rot not to five weeks when he came to five score, the illusion holds in the exchange. Tis true indeed, the collision holds in the exchange.

God comfort thy capacity. I say the allusion holds in the exchange. And I say the pollution holds in the exchange, for the moon is never but a month old, and I say beside that, t'was a pricket that the princess killed. Sir Nathaniel, will you hear an extemporal epitaph on the death of the deer, and, to humor the ignorant, call I the dear the princess killed a pricket? Perge, good master, holof-nays, perj. So it shall please you to have. congregates credit. I will something affect the letter for it argues facility. The pre-ful princess pierced and pricked a pretty pleasing cricket.

Some say a saw, but not a saw till now made sore with shooting. The dogs did yell put El to Saw, then Sorow jumps from Picket, or Pricket's Saw or El, that people fall a hooting. A saw be sore, then El to Saw makes fifty sores one sorrow, of one sore eye, and hundred big, by adding but one more. or L. Oh, rare talent. Dull aside.

If talent be a claw, look how he claws him with a talent. This is a gift that I have. Simple, simple, a foolish, extravagant spirit full of forms, figures, shapes, objects, ideas, apprehensions, motions, revolutions.

These are begot to the ventricle of memory, nourished to the womb of pure mutter, and delivered upon the mellowing of occasion, but the gift is good in those in whom it is acute, and I am thankful for it. Sir, I praise the Lord for you, and so may my parishioners, for their sons are well-tutored by you, and their daughters profit very greatly under you. You are a good member of the Commonwealth. Mereheckley, if their sons be ingenuous, they shall want no instruction.

If their daughters be capable, I will put it to them. But Virsappet, quipocutor, a soul feminine saluted us. Enter Jaconetta and Custard. Go give you good-morrow, Master Parson. Master Parson, quasi-person, and if one should be pierced, which is the one? Mary, Master Schoolmaster, he that is likeest to a hog's head. Piercing a hog's head, a good luster of conceited a turf of earth, fire enough for a flint, pearl enough for a swine, it's pretty, it is well.

Good Master, Parson, be so good as to read me this letter. It was given me by Costod, and sent me from Don Armado. I beseech you, read it. First, they precordia, light a quantio piquas of the subambrun and so forth. Ah, good old Manchewan, I may speak of thee as the traveller, daughter, Venice, Venetia, Venetia, Tainante, Varene, Varendte, Prisha. Old Manchewan, old Manchewan, who understandeth thee not, loves thee not. But, forso la maful.

Underpart and say, what are the contents? Or rather, as Horace says he is, well, at my soul, verses. Aye, sir, and very learned. Let me hear a stuff, a stanza, a verse, leger, domine. Nathaniel reads, If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love? Ah, never faith could hold, if not to beauty vowed.

Though to myself foresworn, to thee, I'll think, will prove. Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like Osiers bowed. Study his biased leaves, and makes his book thine eyes, where all those pleasures live that art would comprehend, if knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice, where learned is that tongue that well can thee commend, all ignorant that soul that sees thee without wonder, which is to me some praise that I thy parts admire. Thy eye, Jove's lightning bears, Thy voice is dreadful thunder,

Which not to anger bent is music and sweet fire, Celestial as thou art, O pardon love this wrong, That sings heaven's praise with such an earthly tongue. You find not the apostrophes, and so miss the accent, Let me supervise the canternet. Here are only numbers ratified, but for the elegancy, vicinity, and golden cadence of poetry, Carat. Ovidius Neso was the man, and why, indeed, Nesau, but for smithing out for the odiferous flowers of fancy, the jerks of invention.

Imitari is nothing. So doth the hound his master, the apis-keeper, the tiger-horse, his rider. But, Tammal-Zella virgin, was this directed to you? I, sir, from one Monsieur Beiroun, one of the strange Queen's Lords. I will overglance the superscript. To the snow-white hand of the most beauteous Lady Rosaline. I will look again on the intellect of the letter for the domination of the party writing to the person written on two. Your ladyships in all desired employment, Berune. St. Nathaniel, this Baroon is what.

of the votaries with the king, and here he hath framed the letter to a secret of the stranger queens, which accidentally or by the way of progression, hath been scurried. Trip and go, my sweet, deliver this paper into the royal hand of the king. It may concern much. Stay not by compliment. I forgive my duty. Adieu. Good, Costard, go with me. Sir, God save your life. Have we thee, my girl? Exeunt Costard and Jaconetta. You have done this in the fear of God, very religiously, and as a certain father, say,

Sir, tell me not of the father. I do fear colourable colours. But to return to the verses, did they please you, Sir Nathaniel? Marvelous well for the pen. I do dine today at the fathers of a certain pupil of mine, where, if before it passed, it shall please you to gratify the table with a group. race, I will, on my privilege I have with the parents of the foresaid child or pupil, undertake your benvilito, where I will prove those verses to be very unlerud, neither savouring of poetry, wit, nor invention. I beseech your society. And thank you, too. For society, says the text, is the happiness of life.

And cert is the text most inferaply concludes it. To dull. Sir, I do invite you too. You shall not say me nay, Porco Verba. Away, the gentrals are at their game, and we will to our recreation. Exeont. Scene three. The same.

Enter Baroon with a paper. The king, he is hunting the deer. I am coursing myself. They have pitched to toil. I am toiling in a pitch. Pitch that defiles. Defile a foul one. 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, prove to gain on my side. I will not love, if I do, hang me of faith, I will not. Oh, 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 lying and lying on my throat. My heaven, I do love, and it has taught me to rhyme and to be melancholy, and here is part of my rhyme, and here my melancholy. Well, she hath one of my sonnets already. The clown at 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 giving grace to groan stands aside enter the king with a paper ay me baroon aside shot by heaven proceed sweet sweet Cupid, thou hast thunt him with thy bird bolt under the left pap in faith secrets.

King reads, So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives naught, To those fresh morning drops upon the rose, As thy eye-beams, when there fresh rays have smote, The night of dew that on my cheeks down flows, nor shines the silver moon one half so bright through the transparent bosom of the deep as doth thy face through tears of mine give light thou shinest in every tear that i do weep no drop but as a coach doth carry thee so rightest thou triumphing in my woe, do but behold the tears that swell in me, and they thy glory through my grief will show.

But do not love thyself, then thou will keep my tears for glasses, and still make me weep. Oh, queen of queens, how far dost thou excel? No thought can think, nor tongue of mortal tell. How shall she know my griefs? Ah, I'll drop the paper. Sweet leaves, shade folly, who is he, comes here? Steps aside. What?

Long of heel, and reading. Listen here. Now in thy like this one more fool appear. Into Longerville with a paper. Aye, me, I am forsworn. Why, he comes in like a perjure wearing papers. In love, I hope. Sweet fellowship in shame.

One drunkard loves another of the name. Am I the first that have been perjured so? I could put thee in comfort, not by two that I know. Thou makeest the triumvary, the corner cap of society, the shape of love's tiburn that hangs up simplicity. I fear these stubborn lines like power to move. Oh, sweet Maria, empress of my love! These numbers are will tear, and write in prose.

Oh, rhymes are guards on wanting Cupidos. Disfigure not his slop. This same shall go. Reeds. Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye, Against whom the world cannot hold argument, Persuade my heart to this false perjury, Vows for thee broke, deserve not punishment.

A woman, I foreswore, But I will prove, thou being a goddess, I foreswore not thee. My vow was earthly. thou a heavenly love. Thy grace being gained Cures all disgrace in me. Vows are but breath,

And breath a vaporis, Then thou, fair sun, Which on my earth does shine, Exhalest this vapour vow, In thee it is. If broken then it is no fault of mine. If by me broke, what fool is not so,

wise to lose an oath to win a paradise. This is the liver vein, which makes flesh a deity, a green goose a goddess. Pure, pure idolatry. God amend! God amend! We are much out of the way. By whom shall I send this? Company, stay! Steps aside! All hid, all hid, an old infant play, like a devigod here set eye on the sky, and wretched fool's secrets heedfully o'er I, more sacks to the bill. Oh, heavens, I have my wish. Enter Domain with a paper.

Domain transformed, four woodcocks in a dish. Oh, most divine, Kate. Oh, most profane coxcomb. By heaven the wonder, in a mortal eye. By earth she is not, corporal, there you lie. Her amber hairs for foul hath amber quoted. An amber-coloured raven was well noted. As upright as the cedar.

Stoop, I say, her shoulder is with child. As fair as day. Aye, as some days, but then no sun must shine. Oh, that I had my wish. And I had mine. And I mine too, good lord. Amen, so I had mine. Is not that a good word?

I would forget her. But a fever she reigns in my blood and will remember be. A fever in your blood. Why, then, incision would let her out in saucers, sweet Miss Prision. Once more, I'll read the ode that I have writ. Once more I'll mark how love can vary wit. Domain reads, On a day, alack the day, love whose month this ever may, spied a blossom passing fair, Playing in the wanton air

Through the velvet leaves the wind All unseen can passage find That the lover, sick to death, Wish himself the heaven's breath. Ere, quoth he, Thy cheeks may blow, Ere would I might triumph so. But alack my hand is sworn,

dare to pluck thee from thy thorn. Thou alack for youth unmeat, youth so apt to pluck a sweet. Do not call it sin in me that I am forsworn for thee. Thou for whom Jove would swear, Juno but in Ethiope were, and denying self for Jove, turning mortal for thy love. This will I send And something else more plain That shall express my true love's fasting pain Oh, would the king Beroon and Longerville were lovers too

Ill, too example ill Would from my forehead wipe a perjured note For none offend where all alike to dot Longerville advancing Domain, thy love is far from charity that in love's grief desires society. You may look pale, but I should blush, I know, To be overheard and take a napping soul.

King advancing. Come, sir, you blush, As his, your case is such, you chide at him, Offending twice as much. You do not love Mariah Longerville, Did never sonnet for her sake compile, nor never lay his wreathed arms athwart, his loving bosom to keep down his heart.

I have been closely shrouded in this bush, and marked you both, and for you both did blush. I heard your guilty rhymes, observed your fashion, saw size rake from you, noted well your passion. Aye, me, says one, Oh, Jove, the other cry. One her hair were gold, crystal the other's eyes. To Longerville.

You would for paradise break faith and troth. To Domain. And Joe, for your love, would infringe an oath. What would Beroon say, when that shall he hear? Faith infringed, with such zeal did swear. How he will scorn, how he will spend his wit, How he will triumph, leap, and laugh at it! For all the wealth that ever I did see,

I would not have him know so much by me. Now step I forth to whip hypocrisy. Advancing. Ah, good, my liege, I pray thee, pardon me. Good heart, what grace hast thou dost to reprove these worms for loving that art most in love? Your eyes do make no couches, and your tears there is, no certain princess that appears He'll not be perjured.

Tis a hateful thing. Tash none but minstrels like of sonneting. But are you not ashamed? Nay, are you not all three of you to be thus much or shot? You found his moat, the king your moat did see,

but I, a bean, do find in each of three. Oh, what has seen of foolery have I seen? Of size, of groans of sorrow and of teen oh me with what strict patience have i sat to see a king transform it to a gnat to see great hercules whipping a gig and profound solomon to to de jig and nestor play at pushpin with the boys and critic timon laugh at idle toys where lies thy grief oh tell me good to me and gentle Longaville, where lies thy pain, and where my liegers?

All about the breast, a coddle ho! Too bitter is thy gist. Are we betrayed thus to thy overview? Not you to me, but I betrayed by you. I, that am honest, I that hold its sin to break the vow I am engaged in. I am betrayed by keeping company with men like you, men of inconstancy. When shall you see me write a thing in rhyme, Or groan for love,

Or spend a minute's time in pruning me, When shall you hear that I will praise a hand, A foot, a face, and I, a gate, a state, a brow, a breast, a waist, a leg, limb? Soft, whither away so fast. A true man or a thief that galloped, so. I post from love, good lover let me go. Enter, Jaconetta, and Custard. God bless the king!

What present hast thou, There. Some certain treason. What makes treason here? Nay, it makes nothing, sir. If it more, nothing, neither. The treason and you go in peace away together. I beseech your grace, let this letter be read. Our parson misdoubts it.

T'was treason, he said. Beroon, read it all. Giving him the paper. Where hadst thou it? Of castod. Where had it's thou eat? Of Dan Adramadio, Dan adramadio. Baroon tears the letter.

How now? What is in you? Why dost thou tear it? A toy, my leisure toy. Your grace needs not fear it. It did move him to passion, and therefore let's heal it. It is Baroon's writing, and here is his name. Gathering up the pieces, Barun to Costard. You horse and loggerhead. You're a horse and loggerhead. were born to do me shame. Guilty, my lord, guilty, I confess, I confess. What?

That you three fools lacked me fool to make up the mess. He, he, and you and you, my liege, and I, are pick, purses in love, and we deserve to die. Oh, dismiss the audience and I shall tell you more. Now the number is even. True, true, we are four. Will these turtles be gone? Surs away. Walk aside the true folk and let the traitors stay. Exeunt Custard and Jacanetta. Sweet lords, sweet lovers, Oh, let us embrace. As true we are as flesh and blood can be,

the sea will ebb and flow. Heaven show his face. Young blood doth not obey an old decree. We cannot cross the cause why we were born. Therefore, of all hands, must we be. foresworn. What? Did these rent-lines show some love of thine? Did they, quoth you? Who sees the heavenly Rosaline, that like a rude and savage man of Ind, at the first opening of the gorgeous east, bows not his vassal head, and struck and blind kisses the base ground with obedient

breast. What peremptory eagle, sighted I, dares look upon the heaven of her brow that is not blinded by her majesty. What zeal? What fury have inspired thee now? My love, her mistress, is a gracious moon. She is an attending star, scarce seen a light. My eyes are then no eyes nor I baroon. Oh, but for my love, day would turn to night. Of all complexions the cold sovereignty do meet as at a fair in her fair cheek, where several worthies make one dignity, where nothing wants that want itself doth seek. Let me the flourish of all gentle tongues. Fye, painted rhetoric. Oh, she needs it not. To things of sale a seller's praise belongs, She passes praise, and prays too short doth blot.

A withered hermit, five-score winters-worn, might shake off fifty looking in her eye. Beauty doth varnish age as if newborn, and gives the crutch the cradle's infancy. Oh, tis the sun that maketh all things shine. By heaven, thy love is black as ebony. Is ebony like her? O wood divine! A wife of such wood were felicity! Or who can give an oath?

Where is a book, that I may swear beauty doth beauty lack, if that she learn not of her eye to look? No face is fair that is not full so black. Oh, paradox! Black is the badge of hell, the hue of dungeons and the school of night, and beauty's crest becomes the heavens, well. Devil's soonest tempt resembling spirits of light. Oh, if in black my lady's brows be

decked. It mourns that painting and usurping hair should ravish doters with a false aspect. And therefore is she born to make black fair. Her favor turns the fashion of the days, but native blood is counted painting now, and therefore red, it would avoid disprays, paints itself black, to imitate her brow. to look like her are chimney-sweepers black and since her time our colliers counted bright and ethiopes of their sweet complexions crack dark needs no candles now for dark is light your mistress's dear never come in rain for fear their colours should be washed away were good yours did for sir to tell you plain i'll find a fairer face not wash it to-day i'll prove her fair or talk till doomsday here. No devil will fright thee then so much as she.

I never knew men hold vile stuff so dear. Look, here's thy love, my foot and her face see. Oh, if the streets were paved with fine eyes, her feet were much too dainty for such tread. Oh, vile, then as she goes what upward lies, the street should see as she walked overhead. But what of this? Are we not all in love? Nothing so sure, and thereby all forsworn. Then leave this chat, and good, Beroon, now prove our loving lawful and our faith not torn. I marry there, some flattery for this evil.

Oh, some authority how to proceed, some tricks, some quillets, how to cheat the devil. Some self for perjury. Tis more than need. Have at you then. Affections men at arms. Consider what you first did swear unto. Too fast, to study, and to see no woman. Flat treason gains the kingly state of youth.

Say, can you fast? Your stomachs are too young, and abstinence in gender's maladies. And where that you have vowed to study, lords, in that each of you have forsworn his book. Can you still dream and poor and thereon look? For when would you, my lord, or you, have found the ground of study's excellence without the beauty of a woman's face? From women's eyes, this doctor and I derive, they are the ground, the books, the acadames, from whence the spring, the true Promethean fire. Why, universal plot prisons up the nimble spirit of the arteries, as motion and long-during action tires the siloey vigor of the traveler.

Now, for not looking on a woman's face, you, that have in that foresworn the use of eyes and study, too, the causer of your vow, for where is any author in the world to teach us such beauty as a woman's eye? Learning is but an adjunct to ourselves, and where we are learning likewise is then when ourselves we see in ladies' eyes. Do we not likewise see our learning there? Oh, we have made a vow to study, lords, and in that vow we have forsworn our books. For when would you, my liege, or you, or you, in letting contemplation have found out such fiery numbers as the prompt. "'opting eyes of beauty-stutors have enriched you with. "'Other slow arts entirely keep the brain, "'and therefore finding barren practicers

"'scare show a harvest on their heavy toil. "'But love, first learned in a lady's eyes, "'lives not alone imured in the brain, "'but with the motion of all elements, "'courses as swift as thought in every power, "'and gives to every power a double power above their functions and their offices. It adds a precious seeing to the eye.

A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind. A lover's ear will hear the lowest sound. When the suspicious head of theft is stopped, Love's feeling is more soft and sensible than are the tender horns of cockled snails. Love's tongue proves dainty, bacchus gross in taste. For valor. Is not love a Hercules, still climbing trees in the Hesperides, subtle as sphinx,

as sweet and musical, as bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair, and when love speaks the voice of all the gods make heaven drowsy with the harmony? Never durst poet touch a pen to write until his ink were tempered with love's size. Oh, then his lines would ravish savage ears, and plant in tyrants mild humility. From women's eyes, this doctrine I derive, they sparkle still the right Promethean fire. They are the books, the arts, the academies,

that show, contain, and nourish all the world, else none at all in ought proves excellent. Then fools you were these women to forswear, or keeping what is sworn you will prove fools. For wisdom's sake, a word that all men love, or for love's sake, a word that loves all men, or for men's sake the authors of these women, or women's sake, by whom we men are men.

Let us once lose our oaths to find ourselves, or else we lose ourselves to keep our oaths. It is religion to be thus foresworn, for charity itself fulfills the law, and who can sever love from charity? St. Cupid, then, and soldiers to the field! Advance your standards, and upon them, lords, pell-mell down with them, but be first advised in conflict that you get the son of them.

Now to plain dealing, ladies close as by, shall we resolve to woo these girls of France? And win them too, Therefore, let us devise some entertainment for them in their tents. First, from the park let us conduct them dither, then home would every man attach the hand of his fair mistress? In the afternoon we will with some strange pastime solace them, such as the shortness of the time could shape,

her rebels, dances, masks, and merry hours for run fair love, strewing her way with flowers. Away, away, no time shall be omitted, That will be time, and may by us be fitted. Alon, along, so cockle reap no corn, and justice always whirls in equal measure. Light winters may prove blags to men forsorn. If so, our copper buys no better treasure. Exeunt. End of Act 4. Act 5 of Love's Labour's Lost by William Shakespeare.

This is a Librivox recording. All Librivox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librivox.org. Scene one. The same. Enter Halophonies, Sir Nathaniel, and Dole. That is quad sufficient. I praise God for you, sir. Your reasons at dinner have been sharp and sententious,

pleasant without scurility, witty without affection, audacious without impudency, learned without opinion, and strange without heresy. I did converse this squandum day with a companion of the kings, who is in Titu-nominated or called Don Adriano de Armado. Novi hominem taquemte. His humour is lofty, his discreet. course a peremptory, his tongue fine, his eye ambitious, his gait majestical, and his general behaviour vain, ridiculous and throsodical. He has to pickt, to spruce, too affected, too odd,

as it were, to parencate, as I may call it. Oh, most singular and choice epithet. Draws out his table book. He droth out the threat. His verbosity, findeth the staple of his argument. I abhor such fanatical fantasies, such insatiable and point-device companions, such rackers of orthography,

has to speak doubt, fine, where he should say, doubt, debt, where he should pronounce debt, D-E-B-T, not D-E-T, he clippeth a calf-cough, half-hoff, Neba vocator, never. Ney, abbreviated, ne. This is abominable, which he would call abominable. It insinuates me of insinnae,

ne intelligest oboeiae, to make frantic, lunatic. Raus deo, bened, deligo. Bon, bon for bon, prision, a little scratched twill serve. Videsne who's venit? Video at Godio. Enter Amardo, Moat and Custard. Amardo to Moat. Chira.

Cura, not Cira. Men of peace, well encountered. Most military, sir, salutation. Mote aside to Costard. They have been at a great feast of languages and stolen the scraps. Oh, they have lived me. long on the arm's basket of words, I marvel thy master

hath not eaten thee for a word, for thou art not so long by the head as honorificabotatant in his atybus. Thou art easier swallowed than a flap dragon. Peace, the peel begins. Amardo to Holophonies.

Monsieur, are you not lettered? Yes, yes. He teaches boys the hornbook. What is A, B, spelled backward, with the horn on his head. Bar, Puritia, with a horn added. Ba, most silly sheep with a horn. You hear his learning.

Quish-quist thus consonant? The third of the five vowels, if you repeat them, or the fifth of I. I will repeat them, A, E, I. The sheep. The other two concludes it. O, U. Now by the salt wave of the Mediterranean, a sweet torch, a quick vineyard of wit, slip, snap, quick and home. It rejoices my intellect, true wit. Offered by a child to an old man, which is wit old.

What is the figure? What is the figure? Horns. Thou disputest like an infant, go whip thy gig. lend me your horn to make one And I will whip about your infamy circumsirker A gig of a cuck-holes horn And I had put one penny in the world Thou shouldst have it to buy gingerbread

Hold There is the very remuneration I had of thy master Thou hate what hearse of wit Thou pigeon egg of discretion Oh And the heavens were so pleased That thou were but my bastard

did, well, a joyful father wouldst thou make me? Go to, thou hast it at Dunghill, at the finger's ends, as they say. Oh, I smell Forts Latin, Dunghill for Anguam. Arsman, preambulate, we will be singled from the barbarous. Do you not educate youth at the chargehouse on the top of the mountain? Or Mons, the Hill. At your sweet pleasure, for the mountain. I do, Sands question.

Sir, it is the King's own sweet pleasure and affection to congratulate the princess at her pavilion in the posteriors of this day, which the rude multitude call the afternoon. The posterior of the day, most generous sir, is liable, congruent, and measurable for the afternoon. The word is well called, choose sweet and apt. I do assure you, sir, I do assure. Sir, the king is a noble gentleman, and my familiar, I do assure you, very good friend. For what is inward between us, let it pass. I do beseech thee, remember thy courtesy. I beseech thee, apparel thy head, and among other important and most serious design,

and of great import indeed too. But let that pass, for I must tell thee it will please his grace by the world, some time to lean upon my poor shoulder, and with his royal finger thus dally with my excrement, with my moustachio. But, sweetheart, let that pass. By the world, I recount no favour.

Some certain special honours it pleases his greatness to impart to Armado, a soldier, a man of travel, that has seen the world. But let that pass. The very all of all is. But, sweetheart, I do implore secrecy. The king would have me present the princess, sweet chuck, with some delightful ostentation, or show, or pageant, or antique, or firework.

Now, understanding that the curate and your sweet self are good at such eruptions, and sudden breaking out of mirth, as it were, I have acquainted you with all, to the end, to crave your assistance. Sir, you shall present before her the nine worthies, sir, as concerning some entertainment of time, some show in the posterior of the day,

to be rendered by our assistants at the King's Command, and this most gallant, illustriate, and learned gentlemen before the princess. I say none so fit as to present the nine worthies. Where will you find men worthy enough to present them? Joshua yourself, myself for this gallant gentleman, Judas Maccabas, this swain because of his great limb or joint, shall pass Poppy the Great, the page Hercules. Pardon, sir, error.

He is not quantity enough for that worthy thumb. He is not so big as the end of his club. Shall I have audience? He shall present Hercules in minority. His enter and exit shall be strangling a snake, and I will have an apology for that purpose. An excellent device, so if any of the audience hiss, you may cry,

Well done, Hercules, now thou crushest the snake. That is the way to make an offence gracious, though few have the grace to do it. for the rest of the worthies i will pay three myself thrice worthy gentleman shall i tell you a theme we attend we will have if this fagnot an antique i beseech you follow there good man dull thou hast spoken no word all this while nor understood none neither sir alo we will employ thee i'll make one in a dance or so, or I will play on the table to the worthies, and let them dance the hay. Most dull, Orris Donne. To our sport, away. Exeunt. Scene two, the same. Enter the princess, Catherine, Rosaline and Maria. Sweethearts, we shall be richer we depart. If Ferens comes

us plentiful in, a lady ward about with diamonds. Look you what I have from the loving king. Madame, came nothing else along with that? Nothing but this. Yes, as much loving rhyme, as would be crammed up in a sheet of paper, writ of both sides the leaf, margent and all, that he was fain to seal on Cupid's name. That was the way to make his god head wax, for he has been five thousand years a boy. I and a shrewd unhappy gallows too. You'll never be friends with him,

a killed your sister. He made her melancholy, sad, and heavy, and so she died. Had she been light, like you, of such a merry, nimble, stirring spirit, she might have been a grand arm ere she died. And so may you, for a light heart lives long.

What's your dark meaning, mouse, of this light word? A light condition in beauty dark. We need more light to. find your meaning out. You'll mar the light by taking it in snuff. Therefore, I'll darkly end the argument. Look what you do. You do it still in the dark.

So do not you, for you are a light wench. Indeed, I weigh not you, and therefore light. You weigh me not. Oh, that you care not for me. Great reason, for past cure is still past care. well bandied both a set of wheat well played but rosaline you have a favour too who sent it and what is it i would you knew and if my face were but as fair as yours my favour were as great be witness this nay i have verses two i thank the number's true and were the numbering two i were the fairest goddess on the ground i am compared to twenty thousand fares

oh he has drawn my picture in his letter anything like much in the letters nothing in the praise beaute as ink a good conclusion fair as a text be in a copy-book where pens is ho let me not die your debtor my red dominical my golden letter oh that your face were not so full of o's a pox of that jest and i beshrew all shrews but Catherine, what was sent to you from Fair Domain? Madam, this glove. Did he not send you Twain? Yes, madame, and moreover some thousand verses of a faithful lover, a huge translation of hypocrisy, virely compiled, profound simplicity. This and these pearls to me sent Longerville.

The letter is too long by half a mail. I think no less, Dost thou not wishing heart, the chain were longer and the letter short. Aye, or I would these hands might never part. We are wise girls to mock our lover's soul. They are worse fools to purchase mocking-soe. That same be run I'll torture here I go. Oh, that I knew we were but in by the week.

How I would make him fawn and beg and seek and wait the season and observe the times and spend his prodigal wits in bootless rhymes. and shape his service wholly to my hests and make him proud to make me proud that jests so pertain'd like would i oversweigh his state that he should be my fool and eye his fate none are so surely caught when they are catched as wit turned fool folly in wisdom hatched hath wisdom's warrant and the help of school and wits on grace to grace a learned fool the blood of youth burns not with such excess as gravity's revolt to wantonness. Fully and fools bears not so strong in note as foolery in the wise when wit does a doubt.

Since all the power there of it does apply to prove by wit worth in simplicity. Here comes Boyette, and mirth is in his face. Enter Boyette. Oh, I am sad with laughter. Who else here, Race. Sign news, boyette.

Prepare, madam, prepare. Arm, wrenches, arm! Encounters mounted are against your peace. Love, daughter approach, disguised, arm made in arguments, you'd be surprised. Master your wits, stand in your own defense, or hide your hands like cowards,

and fly hence. Some to Saint-Cupid, what hazeze that charge their breath against us? Say, scouts, say. Under the cool shade of a sycamore I sought to close my eyes from half an hour, when lo, to interrupt my purpose rest, toward that shade I might behold addressed the king and his companions. Wearily I stood into a neighbour thicket by, and overheard what you shall overhear, that by and by, disguised they will be here. Their herald is a pretty knavish page that well by heart has called his ambassage, action and action. and did they teach him there.

Thus must thou speak, and thus thy body bear. And ever in and on, they made a doubt presence, majestical would put him out. For, quoth the king, an angel shalt thou see, yet fear not thou, but speak audaciously. The boy replied, "'N angel is not evil. I should have feared her. Had she been a devil?' with that all laughed and clapped him on the shoulder, making the boat wag by their praises boulder.

One rubbed his elbow thus, and flared and swore a better speech who never spoke before. Another with his finger in his thumb, cried, via, we will do it, come what will come. The third he capered and cried, all goes well. The fourth turned on the toe and down he fell. With that, they all did tumble on the gulf. ground with such a zealous laughter so profound that in this spleen ridiculous appears to check their folly passion solemn tears but what but what come say to visit us they do they do and are prepared us like moscovice or russians as i guess their purpose is to power to court and dance and everyone his love-fit will advance unto his several mistress which they'll know by favour, several which they did bestow.

And will they so, the gallant shall be tasked. For ladies, we will every one be masked. And not a man of them shall have the grace, despite of suit to see a lady's face. Hold, Roseline, this favour thou shalt wear, and then the king will court thee for his dear. Hold, take thou this, my sweet, And give me thine, so shall Baroon take me,

for Roseline, and change you favours too, so shall your love's woo contrary, deceived by these removes. Come on then, where do favours most in sight? But in this changing, what is your intent? The effect of my intent is to cross theirs. They do it between mocking merriment, and mock for mock is only my intent. There's several counters they unbosom shall, to love's mistook, and so be mocked with Al.

Upon the next occasions that we meet, with visage displayed, to talk and greet. But shall we dance if they desire us to it? No, to the death, we will not move a foot. Nor to the penned speech render we no grace, but while tis spoke, each turn away her face. Why, that contempt will kill the speaker's heart and quite divorce his memory from his part.

Therefore I do it, and I make no doubt, The rest will ne'er come in if he be out. There's no sport as sport by sport or throne To make these ours, and ours none but our own. So shall we stay, mocking intended game, And they, well mocked, depart away with shame. Trumpet sound within. The trumpet sounds.

We masked, the mask has come. The ladies mask. Enter Blackamores with music. Mote, the King, Barun, Longerville, and Domain in Russian habits and masked. All hail the richest beauties on the earth. The beauty is no richer than rich Stavita.

A holy parcel of the fairest dames. The ladies turned their backs to him. That ever turned their backs to mortally. views. Baroon aside to moat. Their eyes, villain, their eyes. That ever turned their eyes to mortal views. Out?

Too, out indeed. Out of your favours, heavenly spirits, vouch safe, not to behold. Barun aside to moat. Once to behold, rogue. Once to behold with your sun-beamed eyes. With your sun-beamed eyes? They will not answer to that episode. You will best call it daughter-beamed eyes.

They do not mark me, and that brings me out. Is this your perfectness? Be gone, you rogue. Exit, moat. What would these strangers know their minds, boy, if they do speak our language, tis our will that some plain men recount their purposes. Know what they would. What would you wish?

the princess. Nothing but peace and gentle visitation. What would they say they? Nothing but peace and gentle visitation. Why, that they have and bid them so begone. She says you have it and you may be gone. Say to her, we have measured many miles to tread a measure with her on this glass. They say that they have measured many a mile to tread a measure with you on this grass.

It is not so. Ask them how many inches is in one mile. If they have measured many, the measure then of one is easily told. If to come here, you have measured miles and many miles, the Princess Bess view tell how many inches do you fill up one mile? Tell her, we measure them by weary steps. She hears herself. How many weary steps of many weary miles you have overgone are numbered in the travel of one mile? We number nothing that we spend for you. Our duty is so rich, so infinite, that we may do it still without account. Vogue safe to show the sunshine of your face, but we, like savages, may worship it. My face is by the moon and clouded too.

Blessed our clouds to do such as clouds do. Watch safe, bright moon, and these die stars to shine. Those clouds removed upon our water. e'en, O vain petitioner, beg a greater matter, thou now requestest but moonshine in the water. Then, in our measure, but while save one change, thou biddest me beg, this begging is not strange. Play music, then. Nay, you must do it soon. Music plays. Not yet, no dance. This change, I like the moon.

Will you not dance? How come? come you thus estranged? You took the moon at full, but now she's changed. Yet still she is the moon, and I, the man, the music plays, watch save some motion to it. Our ears vouchsafe it. But your legs should do it. Since you are strangers and come here by chance, we'll not be nice.

Take hands, we will not dance. Why take the hands dance? only to part friends curtsy sweethearts and so the measure ends more measure of this measure be not nice we can afford no more at such a price prize you yourselves what buys your company your absence only that can never be then cannot we be bought and so adieu twice to your visor and half one to you. If you deny to dance, let's hold more chat. In private, then. I am best, please, this, that. They converse apart.

White-handed mistress, One sweet word with ye. Onion and milk and sugar. There is three. Nay, then two trays that you grow so nice. Methylogen, wart and malmsey, well-run dice.

There is half a dozen sweets. Seventh sweet, adieu. Since you can cog, I'll play no more with you. One word in secret. Let it not be sweet. How grievous my gall. Garl, bitter. Therefore, meet.

They converse apart. Will you vouchsafe with me to change a word? Name it. Fair lady. Say you so, fair lord? Take that for your fair lady. Please it you. was much in private and I'll bid adieu. They converse apart.

What? Was your vizard made without a tongue? I know the reason, lady, why you ask. Oh, for your reason. Quickly, sir, I long. You have a double tongue within your mask, and would afford my speechless wizard half. Ville, quoth the Dutchman, is not veal, a calf? A calf, fair lady? No, a fair lord calf. Let's part the word.

No, I'll not be your half. Take all and wean it. It may prove an ox. Look how you but yourself in these sharp mocks. Will you give horns chaste lady? Do not so. Then die a calf, before your horns do grow. One word in private with you, ere I die.

Bleat softly then. The butcher hears you, crows. They converse apart. The tongues of mocking wrenches are riski-ness, is the razor's edge invisible, cutting a smaller hair than they be seen, above the sense of sense, so sensible seemeth their conference, their conceits have wings, fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, swift our things. Not one word more, my maids, break off, break off.

By heaven, all dry, beaten with pure, scoff. Farewell, mad vincers. You have simple vits. Twenty are Jews, my false and muscovitz. Exeunt king, lords, and blackamores. Are these the breed of which so wondered at? Tapers they are, with your sweet breast puffed out.

Well, liking which they have, gross, gross, fat, fat. Oh, poverty in wit, kingly poor flout. You say not, zinc you, hanged. themselves tonight, or ever, but in wizards, show their faces? This pert, Barun was out of countenance quite. Oh, they were all in lamentable cases. The king was weeping ripe for a good word. Baroon did swear himself out of all suit. The man was at my service, and he sold, no point was I. My servant straight was moot. Lord Longerville said, I came all his heart, and trout, you what he called me. Quam, perhaps. Yes, in good faith. Go, sickness as thou art. Well, better wits have worn

plain statute, caps. But will you hear? The king is my love sworn. And quick, Brun hath plighted faith to me. And Longerville was for my service born. The man is mine, as sure as bar country. Madam and pretty mistresses give air. Immediately they will again be here, in their own shapes, for it can never be they will digest its harsh indignity. Will they return? They will, they will. God knows and leap for joy, though they are lame with blows, therefore change favors, and when they repair, blow like sweet roses in the summer air. How blow! How blow! Speak to be understood!

Fair lady's mast are roses in her butt. dismasked their damask sweet comic sure shown are rangers veiling clouds or roses blown. A font, perplexity, what shall we do if they return in zir own shapes to woo? Good madam, if by me you'll be advised, let's mock them still, as well known as disguised. Let us complain to them what fools were here disguised like Muscovites in shapeless gear, and wonder what they were and to what end their shallow shows and prologue vile penned, and their rough carriage so ridiculous should be presented at our tent to us. Ladies withdraw, the gallants are at hand.

Whip to our tents as rose run or land. Exeunt Princess, Rosaline, Catherine and Maria, re-enter the king, Baroon, Longerville and Domain, in their proper habits. fair sir, God save you, where's the princess? Go to her a tent. Please, it your majesty, command me and your service to her thither. That she vouchsafed me, audience, for one word. I will, and so will she. I know, my lord.

Exit. This fellow pecks up wit as pigeons, peas, and utters it again when God doth please. He is wit's peddner and retails his wares at wakes and wasales, meetings, markets, fairs, and we that sell by gross the Lord doth know have not the grace to grace it with such show. This gallant pins the wenches on his sleeve. Had he been Adam, he had tempted Eve. I can carve too, and lisp. Why, this is he that kissed his hand away in courtesy. This is the ape of form, monsieur the dice, that when he plays at tables chides the dice, in honorable terms, nay, he can sing a mean most meanly, and in ushering, men

him who can. The ladies call him sweet. The stairs as he treads on them kiss his feet. This is the flower that smiles on everyone who show his teeth as white as whale's bone, and consciences that will not die in debt. Pay him the dew of honey-tongued boyette. A blister on his sweet tongue with my heart that put Armada's page out of his part. See where it comes. Behavior, what wert thou till this madman showed thee. And what art thou now? Re-enter the princess, ushered by Boyette, Rosalind, Maria, and Catherine.

All hail, sweet madam, and fair time of day. Fair, in all hail, is foul, as I conceive. Construe my speeches better, if you may. Then wish me better. I will give you leave. We came to visit you and propose now to leave. Lead you to our court. VALCH save it then. Sisfield shall hold me, and so old your vow, Nor God, nor I, delights and perjured men.

Rebuke me not for that which you provoke. The virtue of your eye must break my oath. You nickname virtue, vice you should have spoke. For virtue's office never breaks men's truth. Now, by my maiden honour yet as pure, as the unsullied lily I protest, a world of torment so I should endure, I would not yield to be your house's guest.

So much I hate a breaking cause to be, of heavenly oaths, vowed with integrity. Oh, you have lived in desolation here, unseen, unvisited, much to our shame. Not so, my lord. It is not so, I swear. We have had pastimes here and pleasant games. a mess of russians left us but of late how madam russians i in truth my lord trim gallants full of courtship and of state madam speak true it is not so my lord my lady to the manner of the days in courtesy gives undeserving praise we four indeed confronted were with four in russian habit here they stayed an hour and talked apace and in that

hour, my lord, they did not bless us with one happy word. I dare not call them fools, but this, I think, when they are thirsty, fools would fain have drink. This jest is dry to be. Fair, gentle, sweet, your wit makes wise things foolish. When we greet with eyes best seeing, heaven's fiery eye, by light we lose light, your capacity is of that that nature that to go a huge store, wise things seem foolish and rich things but poor. This proves you wise and rich, for in my eye— I am a fool and full of poverty. But that you take what that to you belong. It were a fault to snatch words from my tongue.

Oh, I am yours, and all that I possess— All the fool, mine— I cannot give you less. Which of the wizards was it that you wore? Where? When? What visit? Why demand you this?

There, then, that wizard. That superfluous case that hid the worse and showed the better face. We are descried. They'll mock us now down right. Let us confess and turn it into a jest. Amazed, my lord. Why looks your highness sad? Help, hold his brows.

He'll swoon. Why look you pale, seasick, I think, coming from Muscovy? Thus pour the stars down plagues for perjury. Can any face of brass hold longer out? Here stand I, lady, dart thy skill at me, bruise me with scorn, confound me with a flout, Thrust thy sharp wit quite through my ignorance, cut me to pieces with i keen conceit, And I will wish thee never more to dance, Nor never more, in Russian habit wait.

O never will I trust to speeches penned, Nor to the motion of a schoolboy's tongue, Nor never come in visor'd to my friend, Nor woo in rhyme, Like a blind harbour song, Taffeta phrases, Silk and terms precise, Three piled hyperboles,

Spruce affectation, Figures pedantical, These summerflies have blown me full of maggot ostentation, I do forswear them, and I hear protest by this white glove, how white the hand God knows. Henceforth my wooing mind shall be expressed in russet gaze, an honest curzy nose. And to begin, wench, so God help me, la, my love to thee is sound, sand's crack, or flaw. Sense, sense, I pray you.

Yet I have a trick of the old rage. Bear with me, I am sick. I'll leave it by degrees. Soft, let us see. Right. Lord have mercy on us, and those three, they are infected. In their heart it lies. They have the plague in quartet of your eyes.

These lords are visited. You are not free, for the Lord's tokens on you, do I see? No, they are free that gave these tokens to us. Our states are forfeit. Seek not to undo us. It is not so, for how can this? be true that you stand forfeit, being those that

sue. Peace, for I will not have to do with you. Nor shall not, if I do as I intend. Speak for yourself. My wit is at an end. Teach us, sweet madam, for our rude transgression, some

fair excuse. See, fairest is confession. We're not you here but even now disguised. Madam, I was. And were you well advised? I was fair, madam. When you then were here, what did you whisper in your lady's ear?

That, more than all the world, I did respect her. When she shall challenge this, you will reject her. Upon mine honour, no! Peace, peace, forbear. Your oath once broke, you force not to forswear. despise me when I break this oath of mine I will and therefore keep it Roseline what did the Russian whisper in your ear

Madame he swore that he did hold me dear as precious eyesight and did value me above this world adding there too moreover that he would wed me or else die my lover God gives thee joy of him the noble lord most honourably doth uphold his word What mean you madam? By my life my troth! I never swore this lady such an oath!

By heaven you did, and to confirm it plain, you gave me this. But take it, sir, again. My faith, and this the princess I did give, I knew her by this jewel on her sleeve. Pardon me, sir, this jewel did she wish? and Lord Baroon, I think him, is my dear. What, will you have me or your pearl again? Neither of either.

I remit both Twain. I see the trick-aunt. Here was a consent, knowing a forehand of our merriment, to dash it like a Christmas comedy, some carry-tail, some pleas man, some slight zany, some mumbledews, some drencher-night, some dick, and smiles his cheek in years and knows the trick to make my lady laugh when she's disposed,

told our intents before, which, once disclosed, the ladies did change favours, and then we, following the signs, wooed but the sign of she. Now to our perjury, to add more terror, we are again forsworn in will and error. Much upon this it is. To poyettes. And might not you forestall our sport, to make us thus untrue. Do you not know my lady's foot to the square, and laugh upon the apple of her eye, and stand between her back sir and the fire, holding a trencher jesting merrily.

You put our page out. Go, you are allowed. Die when you will. A smock shall be your shroud. You leer upon me, do you? There's an eye wounds like a leaden sword. Foll merrily has his brave manage, this career been run. though he is tilting straight. Peace, I have done. Enter Costard. Welcome, pure wit. Thou part'st a fair fray.

Oh, Lord, sir, they would know whether the three worthies can come in or no. What, are there but three? No, sir, but it's very fine. For every one percent's three. And three times thrice is nine. Not so, sir, under correction, sir. I hope it is not so. You cannot beg us, sir.

I can assure you, sir, we know what we know. I hope, sir, three times thrice, sir. Is not nine? Under correction, sir, we know where until it doth amount. By a joke, I always took three threes for nine. Oh, Lord, sir, it were pity you should get your living by reckoning, sir. How much is it? Oh, Lord, sir, the parties themselves, the actors, sir, will show where until.

till it doth amount. For mine own part I am, as they say, but to perfect one man in one poor man. Pompeian the Great, sir. Art thou one of the worthies? It pleased them to think me worthy of Pompeian the Great, for mine own part, I know not the degree of the worthy, but I am to stand for him. Go bid them prepare. We will turn it finely off, sir. We will take some care. Exit. Be run, they will shame us, let them not approach. We are shame-proof, my lord, and tis some policy to have one show worse of the kings and his company.

I say there shall not come. Nay, my good lord, let me or rule you now. That sport best pleases that doth least know how, where zeal strives to content, and the contents dies in the zeal of that which it presents. Their form confounded makes most form in mirth When great things labouring perish in their birth A right description of our sport, my lord Enter Armado

Unminded, I implore so much expense of thy royal sweet breath As will utter a brace of words Converses apart with the king And delivers him a paper Doth this man serve God Why ask you? He speaks not like a man of God's making. That is all won, my fair, sweet honey monarch, for I protest the schoolmaster is exceeding

fantastical. Too too vain. But we will put it, as they say, to Fortuna de la Gere. I wish you the peace of mind's most royal coupliment. Exit. Here is like to be a good presence of worthies. He presents Hector of Troy, the swain, Pompey the Great, the parish curate, Alexander, Amardo's Page, Hercules, the pedant, Judas Macabeus.

And if these four worthies in their first show thrive, these four will change habits and present the other five. There is five in the first show. You are deceived, tis not so. The pedant, the Breggart, the hedge priest, the fool, and the boy, a bait throw at Novum, and the the whole world again could out pick out five such Kaki Kwan in his vein. The ship is under sail

and here she comes amain. Enter Custard for Pompey. I Pompey am You are not here. I Pompey am with Leibald's head on knee. Well said old mucker

I must need to be friends with thee. I Pompey am Pompey surname The Big The Great It is great, sir. Pompey surnamed the Great, that often filled with targ and shield

did make my foe to sweat. And travelling along the coast, I here am come by chance and lay my arms before the legs of this sweet lass of France. If your day she would say, Thanks, Pompey, I had done. Great, thanks, great Pompey.

It is not much word, but I hope I was perfect. I made a little fault in great. My hat to a half-ha-pity, Pompey proves the best worthy. Enter Sir Nathaniel for Alexander. When in the world I lived, I was the world's commander. By east, west, north and south, I spread my conquering might. My scotian plain declares that I am Alexander.

Your nose says no you are not, for it stands to right. Your nose smells, though, in this most tender smelling night. The concours dismayed. Proceed, good Alexander. When in the world I lived, I was the world's commander. My truth is right. You were so, Alexander. Poppy the Great. Your servant and Custard.

Take away the cockroach. take away Alexander. Castard to Sir Nathaniel. Oh sir, you have overthrown Alessander, the conqueror. You will be scraped out of the painted cloth for this. Your lion, that holds his pole axe

sitting on a close stool, will be given to Ajax. He will be the ninth worthy, a conqueror and a fear to speak. Run away for shame, Alessander. Nathaniel retires. There, act shall please you. A foolish, mild man, an honest man, look you, and soon dashed.

He's a marvellous good neighbour, faith, and a very good bowler. But for Aless, you see how tis, a little awe-partied. But their wordies are coming, will speak their mind in some other sort. Stand aside, good Pompey. Enter Helophonies, for Judas, and moat for Hercules. is presented by this imp, whose club killed Cerberus, that three-headed canis. And when he was a babe, a child, a shrimp, thus did he strangle serpents in his manis. Quorum he seemeth in minority.

Ergo, I come with this apology. Keep some state to thy exit and vanish. tires. Judas I am... A Judas. Not Iscariat, sir. Judas, I am eclipped Maccobaeus. Judas Maccabeyus dipped this plain Judas. A kissing traitor, how art thou proved Judas?

Judas, I am... The more shame for you, Judas. What mean you, sir? To make Judas hang himself. Who begins, sir? you are my elder well followed Judas was hanged on an elder

I will not be put out of countenance because thou hast no face What is this A sit down head The head of a bodkin A death's face and a ring The face of an old Roman coin Scarce seen

The bummer of Caesar's fashion The carved bone face on a flask St George's half cheek In a brooch Aye, and in a brooch of lead. Aye, and worn in the cap of a tooth-drawer, and now forward, for we have put thee in countenance. You have put me out of countenance.

False, we have given thee faces. But you have out-faced them all, and thou wert a lion, we would do so. Therefore, he sees and us let him go, and so adieu, sweet Jude, nay, why dost now stay? For the letter end of his name. For the ass to the Jude, give it him. Judas, away.

This is not generous, not gentle, not humble. A light for Monsieur Judas, it grows dark, he may stumble. Holophanes, retires. Alas, poor Machabee, how hath he been baited? Enter Armado for Hector. Hide thy head, Achilles. here comes Hector in arms. Though my mocks come home by me, I will now be merry.

Hector was but a Trojan in respect of this. What is this Hector? I think Hector was not so clean timbered. His leg is too big for Hector's. More calf, certain. No, he is best in due to small. This cannot be Hector. He's a god or a painter, for he makes faces.

The armipotent mars of Lances the Almighty gave Hector a gift. A gilt nutmeg. A lemon. Stuck with clothes? No, clove in. Peace. The armipotent Mars of Lances the Almighty gave Hector a gift, the air of Elyon, a man so braved that certain he would fight.

yea, from morn till night, out of his pavilion. I am that flower. That mint. That columbine. Sweet lord, Longerville, rain thy tongue. I must rather give it the rain, for it runs against Hector. Aye, and Hector's a greyhound. The sweet warman is dead and wroughton.

Sweet sharks, beat not the bones of the buried. When he breathed, he was a man. but I will forward with my device. To the princess, sweet royalty, bestow on me the sense of hearing. Speak, boy, Vector, we are much delighted. I do adore thy sweet graces, slipper. Boyet aside to Domain. Loves her by the foot.

Domain aside to Boyet. He may not buy the yard. These Hector, far surmounted. "'The party is gone, Pharaoh Hector. "'She is gone. She is two months on her way. "'What meanest thou?' "'Faith, unless you play the honest Trojan, "'the poor when she's cast away.

"'She's quick. The child brags in her belly already. "'Tis yours. "'Dost thou infamonise me, young man, potentates? "'Thou shalt die.' "'Then shall Hector be whipped for Jaconetta. that is quick by him and hanged for Pompey that is dead by him. Most rare Pompey. Renowned Pompey.

Greater than great, great, great, great, great, Pompey. Pompey the huge. Hector trembles. Pompey's move, more atis, more ate, stir them on, stir them on. Hector will challenge him. Aye, if I have no more man's blood in's belly than we'll sup a flee. By the north pole, I do. challenge thee.

I will not fight with a pole like a northern man, I'll slash. I'll do it by the sword, I'll bepray you. Let me borrow my arms again. Room for the incensed worthies. I'll do it in my shirt. Most resolute Pompeii. Master, let me take you a buttonhole lower. Do you not see Pompey is uncasing for the combat?

What mean you? You will lose your reputation. gentlemen and soldiers pardon me i will not combat in my shirt you may not deny it pompey hath made the challenge sweet bloods i both may and will what reason have you for the naked truth of it is i have no shirt i go woolward for penance true and it was enjoined him in rome for want of linen since when i'll be sworn he wore none but a dish Claudo Jacquenade and that two else next he's out for a favour. Enter Marcade. God save you, madam.

Welcome, Marcade. But that thou interrupted our merriment. I am sorry, madam, for the news I bring is heavy in my tongue. The king, your father? Dead for my life. Even so.

My tale is told. Worthies, away. The scene begins to cloud. For mine own part, I breathe free breath. I have seen a day of wrong through the little hole of discretion, and I will write myself like a soldier. Exeunt worthies. How fairs, your majesty?

Boyette, prepare. I wheel away to-night. Madam, not so. I do beseech you. Stay. Prepare, I say. I thank you, gracious lords, for all your fair endeavours, and entreat out of a new, sad soul, that you vouchsafe in your rich wisdom to excuse or hide the liberal opposition of our spirits. If over boldly we have borne ourselves in the converse of breath, your gentleness was guilty of it. Farewell, worthy lord, a heavy heart bears not an humble tongue.

Excuse me so, coming too short of thanks. suit so easily obtained? The extreme parts of time extremely forms all causes to the purpose of his speed, and often at his very loose, decides

that which long process could not arbitrate, and through the morning brow of progeny, forbid the smiling courtesy of love. The holy suit, which fain it would convince, yet, since love's

argument was first on foot, let not the cloud of sorrow jostle it, from what it purposed, since to whale friends lost is not by much so wholesome profitable as to rejoice at friends but newly found. I understand you not, my gleeves are double. Honest plain words best pierce the air of grief, and by these badges understand the king. for your fair sakes have we neglected time, played foul play with our oaths. Your beauty, ladies, hath much deformed us, fashioning our humours even to the opposed end of our intents, and what in us hath seemed ridiculous, as love is full of unbefitting strains,

all wanted as a child skipping and vain, formed by the eye, and therefore like the eye, full of strange shapes of habits and of forms, varying in subjects as the eye doth roll to every varied object in his glance, which, particoated presence of loose love put on by us, if in your heavenly eyes, has misbecumbed our oaths and gravities, those heavenly eyes that look into these faults suggested us to make. Therefore, ladies, our love being yours, the error that love makes is likewise yours. We to ourselves prove false by being once false forever

to be true to those that make us both. Fair ladies, you, and even that falsehood, in itself a sin, that purifies itself and turns to grace. We have received your letters full of love, your favors,

the ambassadors of love. Hint in our maiden counsel, rated Sam, at courtship, pleasant jest and courtesy, as bombast and as lining to the time, but more devout since this in our respects, have we not been, and therefore met your loves in their own fashion, like a merriment. Our letters, madam, showed much more than jest. So did our looks. We did not quote them so.

Now, at the latest minute of the hour, grant us your loves. It time methinks, too short, To make a world without end bargain in. No, no, my lord, your grace is perjured much, Full of dear guiltiness, And therefore this, if for my love, has there is no such cause, You will do aught, this shall you do for me. Your oath I will not trust, but go with speed to some forlorn a naked ermitage. remote from all the pleasures of the world. There stay until the twelve celestial signs

have brought about the annual reckoning. If this austere and sociable life, change not your offer made in heat of blood. If frosts and fasts, hard lodging and zin weeds, nip not the gaudy blossoms of your love. But that it bears his trial and last love. Then, at the expiration of the year, come challenge me. Challenge me by these desserts. And by this virgin palm now kissing zine,

I will be zine until that instant shut my woeful self up in a morning else, raining the tears of lamentation for the remembrance of my father's death. If this thou do deny, let our hands part, neither in tidal in the other's heart. If this, or more than this, I would deny, To flatter up these powers of mine with rest, The sudden hand of death close up mine eye, Hence, ever then, my heart is in thy breast. And what to me, my love, and what to me?

You must be purged, too, your sins are wrecked. You are attained with false and perjury, therefore, if you my favour mean to get, a twelve month shall you spend and never rest but seek the weary beds of people seek. But what to me, my love, but what to me a wife? A beard, fair health, and honesty. With threefold love, I wish you all these three. Oh, shall I say I thank you, gentle wife. Not so, my lord.

twelve month and a day I'll mark no words that smooth-faced wooers say Come when the king doth to my lady come Then, if I have much love I'll give you some I'll serve thee true and faithfully till then Yet swear not, lest ye be foresworn again

What says Maria At the twelve months' end I'll change my black gown up for a faithful friend. I'll stay with patience, but the time is long. The lack of you, few tore are so young. Studies, my lady, mistress, look on me. Behold the window of my heart, mine eye, what humble suit attends thy answer there, impose some service on me for thy love. Often have I heard of you, my lord Beiroun, before I saw you, and the world's large tongue

proclaims you for a man replete with mocks, full of comparisons and wounding flouts, which you on all estates will execute that lie within the mercy of your wit. To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain, and therewithal to win me, if you please, without the which I am not to be won. You shall this twelve-month term from day to day visit the speechless Sikh, and still converse with groaning wretches, and your task shall be with all the fierce endeavor of your wit to enforce the pained impotent to smile. To move wild laughter in the throat of death, it cannot be. It is impossible. MIRTH cannot move a soul in agony.

Why, that's the way to choke a gibbing spirit, whose influence is begot of that loose grace which shallow, laughing hearers give to fools. A jest's prosperity Lies in the ear Of him that hears it Never in the tongue of him that makes it Then your sickly ears Deft with the clamors of their own dear groans Will hear your idle scorns

Continue then And I will have you and that fault withal But if they will not Throw away that spirit And I shall find you empty of that fault Right joyful of your reformation A twelve month? Well, before what will we fall, I'll just a twelve month in an hospital. Princess to the king.

I, sweet my lord, and so I take my leave. No, madam, we will bring you on your way. Our woman doth not end like an old play. Jack hath not Jill. These ladies courtesy by twelve have made our sport a comedy. Come, sir. It won't twelve month and a day. and then twillioned. That's too long for a play. Re-enter Amardo. Sweet majesty, I vow to save me.

Was it not, said, Ector? The worthy knight of Troy. I will kiss thy royal finger and take leave. I am a votary. I have vowed to Jaconetta to hold the plough for her sweet love three years. But most esteemed greatness, will you hear the dialogue? that the two learned men have compiled in praise of the owl and the cuckoo, it should have followed in the end of our show.

Call them forth quickly. We will do so. Ola! Approach. Re-enter Holophonies, Nathaniel, Mote, Custard and others. This sight is hymns, winter, this ver this spring. The one maintained by the owl, the other by the cuckoo. There begin When day violets blue And ladies smocks all silver white

And cuckoo buds of yellow hue Do paint the meadows with Then on every tree Mocks married men For thus sings he Cuckoo Cuckoo To be in shepherd's pipe on oaten straws,

And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks When turtles tread and rooks and oars, And maidens bleach their sum, Then on every tree Mok's married men for the sings he, Cuckoo, Coooooooo! unpleasing to when icicles hang by the wall and dig the shepherd blows his nail and tombers logs into the hall and milk comes frozen home in pale when blood is nipped and wies be foul then nightly sings the staring owl to to wit to who a merry note while greasy joan doth keel the pot when all aloud the wind that blow

and coughing drowns the parson's saw and birds see brooding in the snow and the merry in snows looks red and raw when roasted crabs his in the boughl Then nightly sings the staring owl, To wit, To who, A merry note, Why greasy Joan doth keel the pot. The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo. You that way, we this way. Exeont. End of Act 5. End of Love's Labour's Lost by William Shakespeare. Thank you.