# Result number

Work The work is either a play, poem, or sonnet. The sonnets are treated as single work with 154 parts.

Character Indicates who said the line. If it's a play or sonnet, the character name is "Poet."

Line Shows where the line falls within the work.

The numbering is not keyed to any copyrighted numbering system found in a volume of collected works (Arden, Oxford, etc.) The numbering starts at the beginning of the work, and does not restart for each scene.

Text The line's full text, with keywords highlighted within it, unless highlighting has been disabled by the user.

1

Love's Labour's Lost
[I, 1]

Ferdinand

151

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

2

Love's Labour's Lost
[I, 1]

Costard

287

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

3

Love's Labour's Lost
[I, 2]

Moth

390

It was so, sir; for she had a green wit.

4

Love's Labour's Lost
[I, 2]

Moth

398

If she be made of white and red,
Her faults will ne'er be known,
For blushing cheeks by faults are bred
And fears by pale white shown:
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.

5

Love's Labour's Lost
[I, 2]

Don Adriano de Armado

413

I will have that subject newly writ o'er, that I may
example my digression by some mighty precedent.
Boy, I do love that country girl that I took in the
park with the rational hind Costard: she deserves well.

6

Love's Labour's Lost
[I, 2]

Dull

424

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. Fare you well.

7

Love's Labour's Lost
[II, 1]

Boyet

485

Now, madam, summon up your dearest spirits:
Consider who the king your father sends,
To whom he sends, and what's his embassy:
Yourself, held precious in the world's esteem,
To parley with the sole inheritor
Of all perfections that a man may owe,
Matchless Navarre; the plea of no less weight
Than Aquitaine, a dowry for a queen.
Be now as prodigal of all dear grace
As Nature was in making graces dear
When she did starve the general world beside
And prodigally gave them all to you.

8

Love's Labour's Lost
[II, 1]

Longaville

690

I beseech you a word: what is she in the white?

9

Love's Labour's Lost
[II, 1]

Boyet

693

She hath but one for herself; to desire that were a shame.

10

Love's Labour's Lost
[II, 1]

Boyet

697

Good sir, be not offended.
She is an heir of Falconbridge.

11

Love's Labour's Lost
[II, 1]

Longaville

699

Nay, my choler is ended.
She is a most sweet lady.

12

Love's Labour's Lost
[II, 1]

Biron

705

Is she wedded or no?

13

Love's Labour's Lost
[IV, 1]

Rosaline

1091

Why, she that bears the bow.
Finely put off!

14

Love's Labour's Lost
[IV, 1]

Maria

1100

You still wrangle with her, Boyet, and she strikes
at the brow.

15

Love's Labour's Lost
[IV, 1]

Boyet

1102

But she herself is hit lower: have I hit her now?

16

Love's Labour's Lost
[IV, 1]

Costard

1121

Then will she get the upshoot by cleaving the pin.

17

Love's Labour's Lost
[IV, 3]

Biron

1319

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

18

Love's Labour's Lost
[IV, 3]

Ferdinand

1345

[Reads]
So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not
To those fresh morning drops upon the rose,
As thy eye-beams, when their 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 ridest 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 wilt keep
My tears for glasses, and still make me weep.
O queen of queens! how far dost thou excel,
No thought can think, nor tongue of mortal tell.
How shall she know my griefs? I'll drop the paper:
Sweet leaves, shade folly. Who is he comes here?
[Steps aside]
What, Longaville! and reading! listen, ear.

19

Love's Labour's Lost
[IV, 3]

Biron

1411

By earth, she is not, corporal, there you lie.

20

Love's Labour's Lost
[IV, 3]

Dumain

1423

I would forget her; but a fever she
Reigns in my blood and will remember'd be.