# 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]

Costard

259

With a wench.

2

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

Costard

279

Sir, I confess the wench.

3

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

Ferdinand

283

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

4

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

Don Adriano de Armado

360

I will hereupon confess I am in love: and as it is
base for a soldier to love, so am I in love with a
base wench. If drawing my sword 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 scorn to sigh: methinks I should
outswear Cupid. Comfort, me, boy: what great men
have been in love?

5

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

Moth

420

And that's great marvel, loving a light wench.

6

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

Boyet

1106

So I may answer thee with one as old, that was a
woman when Queen Guinover of Britain was a little
wench, as touching the hit it.

7

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

Katharine

1905

So do not you, for you are a light wench.

8

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

Biron

2316

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 thy 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 penn'd,
Nor to the motion of a schoolboy's tongue,
Nor never come in vizard to my friend,
Nor woo in rhyme, like a blind harper's song!
Taffeta phrases, silken terms precise,
Three-piled hyperboles, spruce affectation,
Figures pedantical; these summer-flies
Have blown me full of maggot ostentation:
I do forswear them; and I here protest,
By this white glove;—how white the hand, God knows!—
Henceforth my wooing mind shall be express'd
In russet yeas and honest kersey noes:
And, to begin, wench,—so God help me, la!—
My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw.

9

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

Costard

2615

Faith, unless you play the honest Troyan, the poor
wench is cast away: she's quick; the child brags in
her belly already: tis yours.