The lines from Love's Labour's Lost, explained

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

I’m suffering for the truth, sir; because it’s true, I was caught with Jaquenetta, and Jaquenetta is a genuine girl; so bring on the bitter taste of success! Misfortune might one day smile on me again; and until then, sit down, sorrow!

Costard · Act 1, Scene 1

Costard accepts his punishment with unexpected dignity, treating his time with Jaquenetta as something true and worthy of suffering. This speech lands because it reframes suffering as a form of grace—the clown becomes the play's moral center, finding joy and meaning in affliction. It tells us that love, however simple or humble, ennobles those who feel it.

Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives, Live register'd upon our brazen tombs And then grace us in the disgrace of death; When, spite of cormorant devouring Time, The endeavor of this present breath may buy That honour which shall bate his scythe's keen edge And make us heirs of all eternity.

Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives, Live recorded on our solid tombstones, And then honor us in the disgrace of death; When, despite the greedy passage of time, The efforts of this moment may earn An honor that will blunt Time's sharp scythe And make us heirs of all eternity.

Ferdinand, King of Navarre · Act 1, Scene 1

Ferdinand opens the play by announcing his academy plan, vowing to pursue immortal fame through study and the denial of worldly pleasure. This line reveals the fundamental delusion that drives the plot: the belief that will and reason can override human nature and cheat death itself. It is the arrogance that the play will systematically dismantle.

Sir, I confess the wench.

Sir, I admit it was the girl.

Costard · Act 1, Scene 1

When asked about his transgression, Costard simply admits it without excuse or elaboration. The line works because it is the play's first honest answer to a lie—Costard speaks plainly where everyone else will later hide behind masks and sonnets. His directness exposes the truth that will take the entire play to confirm: the simple acknowledgment is more honorable than all the ornate denial.

Study me how to please the eye indeed By fixing it upon a fairer eye, Who dazzling so, that eye shall be his heed And give him light that it was blinded by.

Study me how to truly please the eye By fixing it on a fairer eye, Who, dazzling you, makes your eye pay attention And gives you light that it was once blinded by.

Biron · Act 1, Scene 1

Biron argues that a woman's eye is the truest school of learning, more valuable than all the books the academy promises to study. This argument prefigures his later defense of love and foreshadows that the men will learn their deepest lessons not from study but from encounter with the women. It is the intellectual foundation for the play's central reversal.

Such is the simplicity of man to hearken after the flesh.

Such is the foolishness of men to pay attention to physical desires.

Costard · Act 1, Scene 1

Costard, caught red-handed with Jaquenetta and facing the king's edict, offers this one-line philosophy about human nature. It lands because it is the most honest diagnosis in the play—delivered by the least learned man, stating what all the scholars have failed to understand. The observation frames the entire action: young blood cannot be legislated out of existence, no matter how noble the academy.

You swore to that, Biron, and to the rest.

You swore to that, Biron, and to the rest.

Longaville · Act 1, Scene 1

Longaville challenges Biron's objection to the king's academy rules, pointing out that he has already sworn the oath. The line lands because it is the first moment when the play's central contradiction becomes clear—the men cannot both keep their oath and live as humans. It is the instant before everything falls apart.

I do affect the very ground, which is base, where her shoe, which is baser, guided by her foot, which is basest, doth tread. I shall be forsworn, which is a great argument of falsehood, 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 Samson 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’ club; and therefore too much odds for a Spaniard’s rapier. The first and second cause will not serve my turn; the passado he respects not, the duello 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. Assist me, some extemporal god of rhyme, for I am sure I shall turn sonnet. Devise, wit; write, pen; for I am for whole volumes in folio.

I am in love with the very ground, which is low, where her shoe, which is even lower, guided by her foot, which is the lowest, treads. I will be lying, which is a clear sign of falsehood, if I love. And how can that be true love which is faked? Love is a habit; Love is a devil: there is no bad angel but Love. Yet Samson was tempted that way, and he had amazing strength; yet Solomon was misled the same, and he had very good sense. Cupid’s arrow is too strong for Hercules’ club; and that makes it too much of a challenge for a Spaniard’s sword. The first and second reasons won’t work for me; the thrust he doesn’t care about, the duel he doesn’t care about: his shame is being called a boy; but his glory is in defeating men. Goodbye, courage! Rust, sword! Be quiet, drum! because your leader is in love; yes, he loves. Help me, some impromptu god of poetry, because I know I’ll start writing a sonnet. Come up with ideas, wit; write, pen; because I’m ready to write whole books.

Don Adriano de Armado · Act 1, Scene 2

Armado stands alone, wrestling with his sudden love for Jaquenetta and the contradiction between his military pride and his newfound devotion. This speech lands because it captures the moment a man realizes he has become ridiculous—and decides to commit to the ridiculousness anyway, calling for sonnets and volumes of verse. It shows how love, in this play, unmakes identity and forces even the proudest men to surrender their armor.

You are a gentleman and a gamester, sir. DON

You’re a gentleman and a gambler, sir. DON

Moth · Act 1, Scene 2

Moth, asked by Armado how he knows so much, flatters him by calling him a gentleman and a gambler—attributes of a complete man. The line works because it is Moth teaching Armado how to seduce through words, showing the page's own mastery of courtship language. It reveals that flattery, in this play, is both the tool of love and the lie at its heart.

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

Please, a word—who is the lady in white?

Longaville · Act 2, Scene 1

Longaville, having just seen the Princess and her ladies, immediately asks Boyet to identify the woman in white. The line works because it shows love arriving without announcement or delay—the moment he sees Maria, he needs to know who she is. It begins the pattern of desire that will overturn the academy and teach the men something about themselves.

I am forsworn, which is a great argument of falsehood, if I love.

I am swearing falsely, which is a clear sign of falsehood, if I love.

Biron · Act 3, Scene 1

Alone on stage, Biron wrestles with the contradiction between his oath and his heart. The line captures the central predicament of the play: that love itself is a form of faithlessness to principle, and that honesty about desire requires dishonesty about vows. It is the moment Biron accepts that contradiction and chooses love.

’The hobby-horse is forgot.’ DON

"The hobby-horse is forgotten." DON

Moth · Act 3, Scene 1

Moth, sensing that Armado is about to forget his love, quotes a line about the forgotten hobby-horse. The line lands because it is Moth pointing out what Armado himself fears—that even passion can be forgotten, that even the greatest love is temporary. It is a child's wisdom about the fragility of human feeling.

Sir, you have done this in the fear of God, very religiously; and, as a certain father saith,--

Sir, you’ve done this in the fear of God, very religiously; and as a certain father says,--

Sir Nathaniel · Act 4, Scene 2

Nathaniel, moved by Holofernes' epitaph on the deer, praises him for doing the work in the fear of God, then begins to cite scriptural authority. The line lands because it shows how pedants use piety to legitimize pedantry—Nathaniel mistakes Holofernes' verbose show-off for actual learning and faith. It reveals the play's skepticism toward those who hide behind authority rather than speaking plainly.

’Twas not a haud credo; ’twas a pricket.

It wasn’t a "haud credo"; it was a young stag.

Dull · Act 4, Scene 2

Dull, asked to identify a deer the princess has killed, insists it was a pricket, not a haud credo, speaking with unusual certainty. The line matters because it is Dull's one moment of stubborn clarity amid Holofernes' verbal parade—he will not bend to learned terminology, and he is right. It reveals that the learned are often wrong and the simple are often wise.

From women's eyes this doctrine I derive: They are the ground, the books, the academes From whence doth spring the true Promethean fire

From women's eyes this idea I take: They are the books, the arts, the schools, That show, contain, and nourish all the world:

Biron · Act 4, Scene 3

In his great defense of love, Biron declares that women's eyes are the only true source of knowledge and inspiration. The statement inverts the academy's entire premise and makes the feminine, not reason, the foundation of wisdom. It is a radical repositioning of value that the play sustains to the end.

Let us once lose our oaths to find ourselves, Or else we lose ourselves to keep our oaths.

Let us once break our oaths to find ourselves, Or else we lose ourselves to keep our oaths.

Biron · Act 4, Scene 3

Biron delivers this paradox when defending the men's perjury to the other lords. The line is the play's philosophical heart: it argues that fidelity to false principles destroys the self more thoroughly than breaking those principles to find one's true nature. It reframes perjury as honesty and honesty as a form of spiritual death.

[Reads] On a day--alack the day!-- Love, whose month is 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. Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow; Air, would I might triumph so! But, alack, my hand is sworn Ne’er to pluck thee from thy thorn; Vow, alack, for youth unmeet, 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 an Ethiope were; And deny himself 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. O, would the king, Biron, and Longaville, Were lovers too! Ill, to example ill, Would from my forehead wipe a perjured note; For none offend where all alike do dote.

[Reads] On a day—alas, the day!— Love, whose month is always May, Saw a flower, wonderfully fair, Floating in the playful air: Through the soft leaves, the wind, Unseen, can find its way; So the lover, sick with longing, Wishes himself the breath of heaven. Air, he says, may your cheeks blow; Air, how I wish I could triumph like that! But alas, my hand is sworn Never to pick you from your thorn; Alas, the vow, for youth isn’t ready, Youth is too eager to pluck a sweet flower! Don’t call it a sin in me, That I’ve broken my vow for you; You, for whom Jove would swear That Juno is no more than a black woman; And deny himself for Jove, Becoming mortal for your love. This I will send, along with something more simple, That will show my true love’s painful fasting. Oh, if only the king, Biron, and Longaville, Were lovers too! That way, to set an example, I’d wipe away a false promise from my forehead; For no one sins when everyone loves the same way.

Dumain · Act 4, Scene 3

Dumain reads aloud the sonnet he has written to Katharine, confessing his love and defending his perjury as justified by her beauty. The speech lands because it is both ridiculous and touching—formal in structure, genuine in feeling, and utterly betrayed by the fact that Costard will mix it up with Biron's letter. The sonnet shows love at the moment it tries hardest and fails most completely to speak truthfully.

I’ll make one in a dance, or so; or I will play On the tabour to the Worthies, and let them dance the hay.

I’ll join in a dance, or something; or I’ll play the drum for the Worthies, and let them dance the hay.

Dull · Act 5, Scene 1

Dull volunteers to participate in the entertainment, offering to dance or play the tabour for the Nine Worthies. The line matters because Dull—who has understood nothing—is willing to join the spectacle anyway, asking for nothing but to be useful and part of the community. It embodies the play's final movement: where learning fails, simple participation and goodwill succeed.

Nor understood none neither, sir.

And I haven’t understood anything either, sir.

Dull · Act 5, Scene 1

When asked to participate in the Nine Worthies pageant, Dull admits he has understood nothing said so far. The line lands because it is an admission of honest ignorance, and Holofernes praises him for it—asking him to join anyway. It shows that in this play, the inability to understand pretentious language is not a fault but a kind of innocence.

A beard, fair health, and honesty; With three-fold love I wish you all these three.

A beard, good health, and honesty; With three kinds of love, I wish you all three.

Katharine · Act 5, Scene 2

Katharine, asked what she wants from Dumain, lists the marks of manhood and maturity—beard, health, honesty—with measured affection. The line matters because it shows that Katharine's love is neither romantic effusion nor cold contract but a clear-eyed wish for the other person's growth and virtue. It defines the kind of love this play ends with: patient, practical, and grounded in time.

A jest's prosperity lies in the ear Of him that hears it, never in the tongue Of him that makes it.

A joke's success depends on the listener, Not the person telling it.

Rosaline · Act 5, Scene 2

When setting the condition for Biron's year of penance, Rosaline explains that wit has no value unless it lands with the listener. She is teaching him that language, love, and meaning itself depend on another's reception, not the speaker's intention. It is a lesson in humility and interdependence that reframes the whole enterprise of courtship.

A time, methinks, too short To make a world-without-end bargain in.

I think the time is too short To make a forever deal.

Princess of France · Act 5, Scene 2

When Ferdinand begs for immediate marriage, the Princess rejects the haste with a line that captures the play's deepest insight about love: that true commitment requires time, patience, and proof. The refusal of the instant resolution is the play's most mature statement about what love actually demands.

But what to me, my love? but what to me? A wife?

But what about me, my love? What about me? A wife?

Dumain · Act 5, Scene 2

Dumain, having just vowed a year of service, suddenly asks what he gets in return—a wife. The line works because it is the comic deflation of romance by appetite, and because Katharine's answer demands he prove his devotion first. It reminds us that love in this play is not just feeling but negotiation, not just gift but contract.

I’ll stay with patience; but the time is long.

I’ll wait with patience; but the time is long.

Longaville · Act 5, Scene 2

Longaville, told he must wait a year for Maria, accepts the wait with patience but also with a lament about its length. The line matters because it shows the weight of time on love—he is resigned but weary, committed but aware of the cost. It captures the play's final truth: that love requires not just feeling but the hard labor of waiting.

I will kiss thy royal finger, and take leave. I am a votary; I have vowed to Jaquenetta 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.

I will kiss your royal finger and take my leave. I am a devoted man; I have promised Jaquenetta to plow for her sweet love for three years. But, most honored greatness, would you like to hear the dialogue that the two learned men have put together in praise of the owl and the cuckoo? It was supposed to come at the end of our show.

Don Adriano de Armado · Act 5, Scene 2

Armado bids farewell to the court, announcing his three-year vow to labor for Jaquenetta's love and offering to perform the final dialogue of the pageant. The line matters because it is Armado at his most sincere—having lived the whole play in exaggeration, he ends it in genuine devotion, both to his lady and to the art of entertainment itself. It tells us that even the most absurd lover can find a kind of grace through constancy.

If this austere insociable life Change not your offer made in heat of blood; If frosts and fasts, hard lodging and thin weeds Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your love, But that it bear this trial and last love; Then, at the expiration of the year, Come challenge me, challenge me by these deserts,

If this harsh and lonely life Doesn't change the offer made in the heat of passion; If cold and fasting, hard lodging and thin clothes Don't diminish your love, But it still endures and remains true; Then, at the end of the year, Come challenge me, challenge me by these deeds,

Princess of France · Act 5, Scene 2

The Princess sets the terms for the men's redemption: a year of harsh penance to prove that their love is not a sudden infatuation but a genuine commitment. The speech is the play's final word on the education of desire, arguing that love worth having is love that survives trial and austere testing.

Our wooing doth not end like an old play; Jack hath not Jill: these ladies' courtesy Might well have made our sport a comedy.

Our courting doesn't end like an old play; Jack doesn't marry Jill: these ladies' kindness Could have turned our fun into a comedy.

Biron · Act 5, Scene 2

In the final moments, Biron notes that the play does not end with marriage. The observation is rueful but also wise: the women's choice to defer pleasure and demand growth has transformed courtship from a game into something more serious. The refusal of the conventional ending marks the play's resistance to easy resolution.

Sans 'sans,' I pray you.

Without without, I beg you.

Rosaline · Act 5, Scene 2

Rosaline catches Biron in the act of claiming to forswear fancy language while still speaking in ornate verse. This tiny, perfect correction exposes the play's central problem: that sincerity itself is always performed, and that the claim to plain speech is itself a rhetorical move. It is the wit that wins Biron's heart.

So much I hate a breaking cause to be Of heavenly oaths, vow'd with integrity.

I hate breaking an oath, especially one Made with sincerity.

Princess of France · Act 5, Scene 2

The Princess refuses to reward the men until they prove themselves worthy of marriage. She grounds her refusal not in anger but in a moral principle: that breaking oaths, however they are justified, corrupts the soul. Her stance forces the men to accept that desire alone is not enough; growth requires time and genuine change.

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:

That kind of play is best when no one knows how it goes: Where passion tries to please, but the result Dies in the effort of trying to do so:

Princess of France · Act 5, Scene 2

The Princess argues for allowing the pageant to proceed despite its disarray, saying that the most genuine pleasure comes from effort that fails rather than effort that succeeds too smoothly. It is a philosophy of art, love, and life: that the true value lies not in polished perfection but in the struggle itself.

The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo. You that way: we this way.

Mercury’s words sound harsh after Apollo’s songs. You go that way, we’ll go this way.

Don Adriano de Armado · Act 5, Scene 2

Armado speaks this final line as the pageant ends and the courtiers and ladies prepare to part, announcing that harsh speech must now give way to song and farewell. The line matters because it is the play's own farewell—after all the wit, the jests, the broken oaths, the only refuge is in art without words. It tells us that language has failed love, and only music remains.

The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo.

Mercury's words sound harsh after Apollo's songs.

Don Adriano de Armado · Act 5, Scene 2

Armado closes the play with a line that acknowledges the death of the King of France, which has interrupted the final festivities. The statement is a graceful concession: that ordinary speech and prose reality cannot compete with poetry and song. It is a melancholy recognition that the play's world of wit and love must yield to the world of time and mortality.

Then die a calf, before your horns do grow.

Then die a calf, before your horns even start to grow.

Katharine · Act 5, Scene 2

Katharine, mocked by Longaville for his jokes about her giving him horns, tells him to die as a calf before he becomes a man. The line lands because it is Katharine using his own metaphor to cut him down—she will not be subject to his wit but will master it. She shows that the sharpest weapon in this play is not eloquence but the quick reversal of an opponent's words.

This is not generous, not gentle, not humble.

This is not noble, not kind, not humble.

Holofernes · Act 5, Scene 2

Holofernes, the pedant, is mocked mercilessly by the court during the pageant of the Nine Worthies. His rebuke is quiet and devastating: it names the cruelty of the courtiers' laughter. Though Holofernes himself is ridiculous, his words cut through to the moral truth the play wants to preserve: that wit without mercy is not wit at all.

Yet swear not, lest ye be forsworn again.

But don’t swear, or you might break your promise.

Katharine · Act 5, Scene 2

When Dumain offers to swear his fidelity, Katharine warns him against swearing again, having already seen him forsworn once. The line lands because it is Katharine protecting him from himself—she knows that oaths have failed in this play and that true commitment must come through deeds, not words. It shows her as the moral judge, holding him to a standard higher than rhetoric.