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!
The King is out hunting deer; I am hunting myself. They have set a trap; I am caught in it, pitch that corrupts me. Foul word! Well, sit down, sorrow, since they say the fool said so, and I say so, and I the fool. Well argued, wit! By the Lord, this love is as mad as Ajax. It kills sheep, it kills me, I am a sheep. Well argued again, on my side! I will not love; if I do, hang me! In faith, I will not. But her eye! By this light, except for her eye, I would not love her; yes, for her two eyes. Well, I do nothing but lie constantly, and lie shamelessly. By heaven, I do love, and it has taught me to write verse and to be melancholy. And here is part of my verse, and here my melancholy. Well, she has one of my sonnets already. The servant brought it, a fool sent it, and the lady has it. Sweet servant, sweeter fool, sweetest lady! By the world, I would not care a pin if the other three were in love too. Here comes one with a paper. God give him grace to suffer love-sickness!
The King is out in the forest hunting deer; meanwhile I'm hunting myself straight into love. They've set a trap and I'm caught in it—disgusting stuff that corrupts everything. Gross word! Anyway, sit down, sorrow, because they say the fool said that, and I'm saying it, and I'm the fool. Good argument, wit! For real, this love is as insane as Ajax was. It kills sheep, it kills me, and somehow I'm like a sheep. Great argument again, on my side! I won't fall in love; if I do, hang me! I absolutely will not. But wait—her eyes! Without her eyes, I wouldn't love her; but with both her eyes? I constantly lie about all of this and do it shamelessly. By heaven, I really do love her, and she's made me a poet and depressed. Here's my terrible poetry and my depression to back it up. She's already got one of my sonnets. Some servant brought it, a fool sent it, and she has it. Sweet servant, sweeter fool, sweetest lady! I wouldn't care at all if the other three guys fell in love too. Here comes someone with a letter. God help him deal with being in love!
king's hunting deer im hunting myself trapped in love—disgusting im the fool this love's insane its killing me im a sheep her eyes though wouldnt love her without them but both her eyes? come on im lying constantly shes made me a poet shes got my sonnet already
Ay me!
Oh me!
Oh no!
oh no
[_Aside_.] Shot, by heaven! Proceed, sweet Cupid, thou hast thumped him
with thy birdbolt under the left pap. In faith, secrets!
Bullseye! Proceed, sweet Cupid, you've struck him with your arrow right in the heart. Indeed, secrets!
Got him! Come on, Cupid, you nailed him right in the heart with that arrow. Man, what a secret!
bullseye! cupid got him right in the heart shh don't tell
[_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 shin’st 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?
The sun's sweet kiss upon the morning rose Is nothing to the brightness of your gaze, When its fresh rays illuminate The dew of sorrow falling on my face. The silver moon, however bright and clear, Shining through the ocean's depths below, Cannot match how your face gives me light Through all the tears that from my weeping flow. Each tear becomes a carriage for your form, So you ride victorious through my pain. Just look at all the tears swelling in me— They'll show your beauty through my deep distress. But do not love yourself; then you would keep My tears as mirrors to make me weep forever. O queen above all queens, how far you excel— No thought can think it, no tongue can tell it. How shall she know my heartbreak? I'll drop this paper. Sweet leaves, hide this foolish passion. Who comes here?
The sun may kiss the morning dewdrops sweetly, but it's nothing compared to the light in your eyes. When you look at me, your gaze shines brighter than anything—even through the tears running down my face. The moon is bright, yes, but not nearly as bright as your face reflected in my tears. Every single tear I cry seems to carry you with it, like you're riding in triumph through my misery. Look at all these tears pooling up—they show your beauty in the middle of my pain. Don't fall in love with yourself, because if you do, my tears will just become mirrors where you admire yourself, and I'll keep crying forever. You're the greatest queen anyone could ever be—no one could even think of how amazing you are, let alone find words for it. How will she ever know how heartbroken I am? I'll drop this poem. Dear page, hide this foolishness. Who's coming?
ur eyes shine brighter than the sun even through my tears every tear carries u u shine through my pain please look at me no one compares to u i'm dropping this poem b4 anyone sees it
[_Aside_.] Now, in thy likeness, one more fool appear!
Now, looking like you, one more fool appears!
Great, here comes another fool who looks just like you!
another fool just like u
Ay me! I am forsworn.
I am doomed, I've broken my oath.
I'm completely done for—I broke my promise!
im screwed i broke my vow
Why, he comes in like a perjure, wearing papers.
Because he comes in like someone perjured, wearing poems.
Because look at him coming in like he broke his oath—wearing love poems on him!
hes walking in with poems like hes perjured
In love, I hope. Sweet fellowship in shame.
In love, I hope. Sweet companionship in shame.
In love, hopefully. Sweet to have company in this shameful situation.
yeah hes in love atleast were shameful together
One drunkard loves another of the name.
One drunk person loves another drunk person.
One lovesick person loves seeing another lovesick person.
birds of a feather both love struck
Am I the first that have been perjured so?
Am I the first one who has broken this oath?
Am I the only one who broke the promise?
am i the first one to break the oath
I could put thee in comfort: not by two that I know.
Thou makest the triumviry, the corner-cap of society,
The shape of love’s Tyburn, that hangs up simplicity.
I could comfort you: not by two who I know. You make the three, the special member of society, The shape of love's gallows, that hangs up simplicity.
I could cheer you up, but not just by two guys I know. You're the third one, which makes you the special one in this group, the symbol of how love kills innocence.
youre the third the final member loves gallows
I fear these stubborn lines lack power to move.
O sweet Maria, empress of my love,
These numbers will I tear, and write in prose.
I'm worried these stubborn verses won't convince her to feel anything. O sweet Maria, you're the ruler of my heart, I'm going to rip these poems into pieces and write her something in ordinary speech instead.
I'm worried these poems aren't strong enough to affect her. O sweet Maria, ruler of my love, I'm going to tear up these verses and write in plain language instead.
poems wont move her maria rules my heart im writing plain speech
O, rhymes are guards on wanton Cupid’s hose.
Disfigure not his shop.
O, poems are guards on wild Cupid's pants. Do not ruin his shop.
O, poems protect Cupid's goods. Don't mess them up!
poems protect cupid don't ruin his stuff
This same shall go.
This one will do fine.
This one will work.
use this one
Scene 4-3 has a unique nested architecture. It is essentially three eavesdropping scenes nested inside each other, like Russian dolls. Berowne hides first (alone, watching). The King enters and hides when Longaville approaches. When Dumaine enters, three men are hidden. As each layer is uncovered, the exposure is symmetrical: Longaville exposes Dumaine, the King exposes Longaville, Berowne exposes the King—and then Jaquenetta exposes Berowne. The scene is a precise machine for humiliation: each man's superiority is immediately undercut by revelation of his own identical position. It is one of the most elegant comic constructions in Renaissance drama.
This is the liver vein, which makes flesh a deity,
A green goose a goddess. Pure, pure idolatry.
God amend us, God amend! We are much out o’ th’ way.
This is the passion vein, which makes flesh a god, A young goose a goddess. Pure, pure idol worship. God fix us, God fix us! We are much off the right path.
This is the passion vein, the one that makes ordinary people into gods, makes silly girls into goddesses. Pure, pure worship. God help us, God help us! We're way off track.
this is passion makes flesh into gods makes geese into goddesses pure idol worship god help us
By whom shall I send this?—Company! Stay.
Who should I send this to?—Someone's coming! Wait.
Who do I send this to?—Oh, someone's here! Stop.
who do i send this someones coming wait
All hid, all hid, an old infant play.
Like a demigod here sit I in the sky,
And wretched fools’ secrets heedfully o’er-eye.
More sacks to the mill. O heavens, I have my wish.
Dumaine transformed! Four woodcocks in a dish!
All hidden, all hidden, an old children's game. Like a demigod here I sit in the sky, And wretched fools' secrets I carefully look down on. More grist for the mill. O heavens, I have my wish. Dumaine transformed! Four woodcocks in a dish!
All hidden, all hidden, an old game we played as kids. I'm sitting up here like a demigod in the sky, watching foolish people's secrets from above. More stuff to enjoy. O heaven, I got what I wanted. Dumaine changed! Four stupid people caught!
all hidden im a demigod in the sky watching fools' secrets getting exactly what i want dumaine got transformed four idiots caught
O most divine Kate!
O how wonderful Kate is!
O Kate, you're so amazing!
kate youre perfect
O most profane coxcomb!
O most disrespectful fool!
O you complete fool!
what a fool
By heaven, the wonder in a mortal eye!
By heaven, the wonder in a human eye!
By heaven, she's an amazing sight!
shes incredible to look at
By earth, she is but corporal. There you lie.
By earth, she is only human. You're lying.
By earth, she's just a regular person. You're exaggerating.
shes just human youre lying
Her amber hairs for foul hath amber quoted.
Her amber hair—for what is foul has amber noted.
Her amber hair—like, what's unattractive has been described as amber before.
her hair is amber so amber is beautiful
An amber-coloured raven was well noted.
An amber-colored raven was well noted.
An amber-colored raven was also noted as beautiful.
a raven can be amber too
As upright as the cedar.
She stands as upright as a cedar.
Tall as a cedar tree, completely straight.
cedar-straight posture
Stoop, I say.
Her shoulder is with child.
Bend, I say. Her shoulder is pregnant.
Lean down, I say. Her shoulder is drooping.
shes not that straight shoulder's drooping
As fair as day.
As beautiful as day.
As pretty as daylight.
shes as pretty as day
Ay, as some days, but then no sun must shine.
Yes, like some cloudy days, but then the sun must not shine.
Yeah, like some cloudy days, but then there's no sun shining.
yeah on cloudy days no sun
O, that I had my wish!
O, if only I had my wish!
O, I wish I could have what I want!
i wish i had her
And I had mine!
I want to have mine too!
I wish mine would come true as well!
i want mine
And I mine too, good Lord!
And I want to have mine too, Lord!
And I hope mine happens, for sure!
me too lord
Amen, so I had mine. Is not that a good word?
Yes, so I'd have mine—isn't that a wonderful word?
Amen, I wish I had mine. That's a good word, right?
great word
The speech beginning 'Have at you, then, affection's men-at-arms' (138) is the play's philosophical centerpiece—and one of the most debated passages in Shakespeare. It argues that love is superior to book-learning because: (1) the vow to study was itself a rejection of the world's real content; (2) love energizes every human faculty beyond its normal capacity; (3) women's eyes carry the same Promethean fire that makes all civilization possible. The argument is genuinely beautiful and partially true. It's also completely self-serving: Berowne was commissioned to produce a rationalization. His disclaimer at the end ('light wenches may prove plagues') suggests he knows this—even as he performs the speech. The play holds both things: the speech is real poetry and it's also a very smart lawyer's brief.
I would forget her; but a fever she
Reigns in my blood, and will remembered be.
I'd like to forget her, but she's burning through my veins like sickness that won't leave.
I want to forget her, but love burns in my blood like a fever and won't go away.
i want to forget her but shes like a fever in my blood
A fever in your blood? Why, then incision
Would let her out in saucers. Sweet misprision!
A fever in your blood? Why, then cutting you open Would let her out in dishes. Sweet mistake!
A fever in your blood? Well, if we cut you open, we'd pour her out into bowls. What a silly mix-up!
fever in your blood? cutting you open would pour her out what a mistake
Once more I’ll read the ode that I have writ.
Once more I'll read the poem that I have written.
I'll read the poem I wrote one more time.
ill read my poem again
Once more I’ll mark how love can vary wit.
Once more I'll see how love can change someone's wit.
I'll watch how love makes someone say stupid things.
im watching love mess up your brain
_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,
Wished 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, Berowne 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.
On a day—oh what misery!— Love, whose season is forever May, Spied a blossom so beautiful Playing in the playful air. Through the velvet leaves the wind, All unseen, can find its way; So the lover, dying from longing, Wished he were the breath of heaven. "Air," said he, "your cheeks may blow; Air, if only I could triumph so!" But oh, my hand is sworn Never to pluck you from your thorn. Alas, for youth so unfit, Youth so eager to pluck something sweet. Do not call it sin in me, That I have broken my oath for you; You for whom Love would swear That Juno were merely a woman, And deny himself for love, Becoming mortal for your love. This I will send, and something else more clear, That shall express my true love's starving pain. Oh, would that the King, Berowne and Longaville Were lovers too! Then I, as a bad example, Would from my forehead wipe a broken vow, For none offend where all alike are in love.
One day—ugh, what a mess— Love, who's always in spring, Spotted this gorgeous flower Playing in the breeze. Through the soft petals the wind, All hidden, can slip through; So the desperate lover Wished he was the breath of heaven. "Breeze," he said, "you blow her cheeks; Breeze, if only I could do that!" But man, I swore I'd never pick you from your thorn. Ugh, you're too young for this, You're too eager to pluck something sweet. Don't blame me for it, That I've broken my promise for you; You for whom Love would claim That Juno's just a normal woman, And he'd give up everything for love, Become mortal just for you. I'm sending this, plus something plainer, To show how much I'm dying for you. Man, if only the King, Berowne and Longaville Were in love! Then I, as a cautionary tale, Could erase my broken vow, For nobody's wrong when everybody's in love.
one day ugh love's always spring this gorgeous flower playing in breeze wind through petals lover dying wished he was heaven's breath "breeze" — u blow cheeks breeze i wanna do that but i swore can't pick u from thorn u too young eager to pick sweet don't blame me broked my oath for u u for whom love'd swear juno's just a woman now he'd give up godhood become mortal for u sending this to show i'm dying for u man if king berowne longaville were in love too i'd erase my broken vow everybody's guilty when everybody loves
[_Comes forward_.] Dumaine, thy love is far from charity,
That in love’s grief desir’st society.
You may look pale, but I should blush, I know,
To be o’erheard and taken napping so.
Dumaine, your love is far from charity—in your love's grief you desire company. You might look pale, but I should blush, I know, to be overheard and caught this way.
Dumaine, your love doesn't show much charity—you wanted someone to share your misery with. You look pale right now, but I should be the one blushing for getting caught like this.
dumaine ur love aint charitable u wanted someone to cry with i should be ashamed for being caught
[_Comes forward_.] Come, sir, you blush. As his, your case is such.
You chide at him, offending twice as much.
You do not love Maria? Longaville
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 sighs reek from you, noted well your passion.
“Ay, me!” says one. “O Jove!” the other cries.
One, her hairs were gold; crystal the other’s eyes.
[_To Longaville_.] You would for paradise break faith and troth;
[_To Dumaine_.] And Jove, for your love would infringe an oath.
Come, sir, you blush. Your situation is just like his. You criticize him, but you're breaking your vows twice as badly. You don't love Maria? Longaville never wrote sonnets for her sake, never crossed his arms over his chest to hold down his racing heart. I've been hiding in this bush the whole time, watching both of you and blushing on your behalf. I heard your guilty rhymes, watched how you acted, saw signs of passion radiating from you, noticed your deep feelings clearly. One of you says 'Oh, me!' The other cries 'Oh, Jupiter!' One praised her golden hair; the other called her eyes like crystal. To Longaville: You would break your sacred promises for paradise if she'd let you. To Dumaine: And you would break your oath—even for Jupiter—for the sake of her love.
Come on, you're blushing. Your situation is exactly like his—you're in the same boat. But you've done worse criticizing him than he did breaking the vow. Don't you love Maria? Longaville never even wrote poems for her, never tried to hide his feelings. I was sitting in this bush the whole time watching you two, and I was blushing for you both. I heard your lovesick verses, I saw how you acted, I felt the passion coming off you both. One of you moans 'Oh, me!' The other cries 'Oh God!' One guy thought her hair was gold, the other thought her eyes were crystal clear. You'd throw away everything sacred if she'd let you. And you'd break any promise, even to the gods themselves, for her love.
ur both as bad as each other but u made it worse criticizing him i watched u both hiding heard all ur lovesick poems u'd break every promise for her
Now step I forth to whip hypocrisy.
Ah, good my liege, I pray thee pardon me.
Good heart, what grace hast thou thus to reprove
These worms for loving, that art most in love?
Your eyes do make no coaches; in your tears
There is no certain princess that appears.
You’ll not be perjured, ’tis a hateful thing:
Tush, none but minstrels like of sonneting!
But are you not ashamed? Nay, are you not,
All three of you, to be thus much o’ershot?
You found his mote, the King your mote did see;
But I a beam do find in each of three.
O, what a scene of foolery have I seen,
Of sighs, of groans, of sorrow, and of teen!
O me, with what strict patience have I sat,
To see a king transformed to a gnat!
To see great Hercules whipping a gig,
And profound Solomon to tune a jig,
And Nestor play at push-pin with the boys,
And critic Timon laugh at idle toys.
Where lies thy grief, O, tell me, good Dumaine?
And, gentle Longaville, where lies thy pain?
And where my liege’s? All about the breast?
A caudle, ho!
Now I come forward to punish hypocrisy. O my good king, I beg you to forgive me. Good heart, what grace do you have to blame These people for loving, when you love most? Your eyes do not create coaches; in your tears There is no certain princess that appears. You won't be perjured—it's a hateful thing: Shut up, only minstrels enjoy writing sonnets! But are you not ashamed? Are you not, All three of you, to be so overcome? You found his flaw, the King saw your flaw; But I find a plank in each of three. O, what a display of foolishness I have seen, Of sighs, of groans, of sadness, and of pain! O me, with what strict patience I have sat, To see a king changed into a gnat! To see great Hercules whipping a spinning top, And wise Solomon playing a dance, And Nestor playing marbles with the boys, And wise Timon laughing at silly things. Where is your sadness, tell me, good Dumaine? And, gentle Longaville, where is your pain? And where is my king's? All about the heart? Bring medicine, quick!
Now I'm stepping up to call out the hypocrisy. O my good king, I beg your pardon. Good man, how can you blame these people for being in love when you're the most in love? Your eyes don't create fantasies; in your tears there's no imaginary princess. You're not going to break your oath—it's a terrible thing: Be quiet, only poets enjoy writing sonnets! But you're not ashamed? None of you three, to be so completely taken over? You saw his flaw, the King saw your flaw; but I see a huge beam in each of you. O, what a performance of foolishness I've seen—sighing, groaning, sadness, and pain! O me, I've sat here so patiently watching a king turn into an insect! Great Hercules whipping a spinning top, and brilliant Solomon playing a jig, and old Nestor playing marbles with kids, and smart Timon laughing at stupid things. Where's your sadness, tell me, Dumaine? And where's your pain, gentle Longaville? And where's my king's? All in the heart? Give him medicine!
now im calling out the hypocrisy forgiving the king how can you blame them for loving when youre the most in love how pathetic only poets write sonnets you should all be ashamed i saw huge flaws in all of you what fools king turned into a gnat hercules spinning a top solomon dancing old nestor playing marbles tell me where your sadness is
Too bitter is thy jest.
Are we betrayed thus to thy over-view?
Your joke is too bitter. Are we betrayed by showing ourselves to you?
Your joke is too harsh. Did we mess up by letting you see us?
your joke is mean did we mess up letting you see
Not you to me, but I betrayed by you.
I that am honest, I that hold it 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 Joan? Or spend a minute’s time
In pruning me? When shall you hear that I
Will praise a hand, a foot, a face, an eye,
A gait, a state, a brow, a breast, a waist,
A leg, a limb—
Not you betrayed me, but I am betrayed by you. I who am honest, I who consider it sin To break the oath I have committed to. I am betrayed by keeping company With men like you, men who don't stay constant. When will you see me write something in verse? Or groan for Joan? Or spend a moment In grooming myself? When will you hear that I Will praise a hand, a foot, a face, an eye, A walk, a state, a brow, a chest, a waist, A leg, a limb—
You didn't betray me; I'm betrayed by you. I'm the honest one, I think it's a sin to break my oath. I'm betrayed by hanging out with men like you, men who don't keep their promises. When are you going to see me write poetry? Or suffer for some girl? Or spend a minute getting myself looking nice? When are you going to hear me praise a hand, a foot, a face, an eye, a walk, bearing, a brow, a chest, a waist, a leg, a limb—
youre betraying me im the honest one i keep my oaths im betrayed by hanging with you inconstant men when will i write poetry when will i suffer when will i praise her body
Soft! Whither away so fast?
A true man, or a thief, that gallops so?
Stop! Where are you going so fast? An honest man, or a thief, that rides so fast?
Wait! Where are you running off to? Are you an honest man or a thief galloping away?
where are you going so fast thief
I post from love. Good lover, let me go.
I am fleeing from love. Good lover, let me go.
I'm running away from love. Good person, let me escape.
im leaving love let me go
God bless the King!
May God protect the King!
God bless and keep the King!
bless the king
What present hast thou there?
What do you have there?
What are you carrying?
what have you got
Some certain treason.
Some certain treason.
Some certain treason.
some certain treason
What makes treason here?
What causes treason here?
What makes this treason?
what treason
Nay, it makes nothing, sir.
No, it makes nothing, sir.
No, it's nothing, sir.
its nothing
If it mar nothing neither,
The treason and you go in peace away together.
If it causes nothing either, Then the treason and you go in peace away together.
If it doesn't cause anything, then you and this treason can go in peace together.
if it causes nothing you and the treason can go
The exchange about Rosaline's dark complexion (chunks 115-131) is one of the play's most complex passages. Berowne defends dark beauty on philosophical and aesthetic grounds: black beauty is the real thing; fair beauty is cosmetic imitation. This inverts the standard Elizabethan hierarchy (fair-skinned, blonde-haired was the Renaissance beauty ideal). It's a genuine counter-argument, not just flattery. But it also engages—uncomfortably by modern standards—with racial comparisons (Ethiopia, 'man of Ind') that encode the very hierarchy Berowne claims to subvert. The passage is simultaneously radical (defending a non-standard beauty) and problematic (the comparisons it deploys). Any production or reading has to sit with this complexity.
I beseech your Grace, let this letter be read.
Our person misdoubts it; ’twas treason, he said.
I beg your Grace, let this letter be read. Our lord doubts it; he said it was treason.
I'm begging you, sir, let this letter be read. The lord suspected it; he said it was treason.
please read this letter he said it was treason
Berowne, read it over.
Berowne, read it aloud.
Berowne, read it out loud.
berowne read it
Of Costard.
Of Costard.
Of Costard.
of costard
Where hadst thou it?
Where did you get it?
Where'd you get this?
from where
Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio.
From a man named Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio.
From a guy named Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio.
from dun adramadio
How now, what is in you? Why dost thou tear it?
What now, what is wrong? Why are you tearing it?
What's wrong? Why are you ripping it up?
why are you tearing it
A toy, my liege, a toy. Your Grace needs not fear it.
A small thing, my lord, a small thing. Your Grace does not need to fear it.
Nothing important, my lord, nothing. You don't need to worry about it.
its nothing your grace no worries
It did move him to passion, and therefore let’s hear it.
It moved him to emotion, and therefore let's hear it.
It got a reaction from him, so let's hear what it says.
he got emotional lets hear it
It is Berowne’s writing, and here is his name.
These words are written in Berowne's hand, and here's his name at the bottom.
This is Berowne's handwriting, and there's his signature.
berownes handwriting thats his name
[_To Costard_.] Ah, you whoreson loggerhead, you were born to do me
shame.
Guilty, my lord, guilty. I confess, I confess.
Ah, you baseborn blockhead, you were born to bring me shame. Guilty, my lord, guilty. I confess, I confess.
Oh man, you idiot, you were just born to embarrass me. Guilty, your majesty, guilty. I confess everything.
omg u fool u were literally born 2 shame me guilt confession time
What?
What?
What?
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.
O, dismiss this audience, and I shall tell you more.
That you three fools lacked me, a fool, to make the group complete. He, he, and you—and you, my lord—and I Are thieves in love, and we deserve to die. O, send away these witnesses, and I shall tell you more.
That you three fools were missing me, a fool, to complete the group. He, he, and you—and you, my lord—and I are love-thieves, and we deserve to die. O, send away these people, and I'll tell you more.
you three fools needed me to complete the mess we're all love-thieves we deserve death send them away
Now the number is even.
Now we're balanced out
Now we have an even number.
now theres four
True, true, we are four.
Will these turtles be gone?
True, true, we are four. Will these lovers leave?
True, true, there are four of us now. Will these lovebirds go away?
yep we're four will the lovers leave
Hence, sirs, away!
Get away, sirs!
Get out of here!
go away
Walk aside the true folk, and let the traitors stay.
Move aside, you honest people, and let the betrayers stay.
Step aside, you good people, and let the traitors stay here.
good people step aside let the traitors stay
Sweet lords, sweet lovers, O, 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 forsworn.
Sweet lords, sweet lovers, O, let us embrace! As honest as we are as physical and alive can be. The sea will ebb and flow, heaven shows his face; Young blood does not obey an old rule. We cannot go against the reason why we were born; Therefore all of us must be perjured.
Sweet lords, sweet lovers, O, let's embrace! We're as honest as anyone who's made of flesh and blood can be. The sea rises and falls, heaven shows itself; young blood doesn't follow old rules. We can't fight what we're born to do; therefore all of us must break our oaths.
lets embrace we're human the sea ebbs and flows heaven shows its face young blood doesnt obey old rules we cant fight what were born for so all of us break our oaths
What, did these rent lines show some love of thine?
What, did these torn lines show some love of yours?
What, did these torn lines show you were in love?
did these lines show your love
“Did they?” quoth you? Who sees the heavenly Rosaline
That, like a rude and savage man of Ind,
At the first op’ning of the gorgeous east,
Bows not his vassal head and, strucken blind,
Kisses the base ground with obedient breast?
What peremptory eagle-sighted eye
Dares look upon the heaven of her brow
That is not blinded by her majesty?
"Did they?" you ask? Who sees the heavenly Rosaline That, like a savage and brutal man from India, At the first opening of the beautiful east, Does not bend his servant's head and, struck blind, Kisses the ground with obedient breast? What commanding eagle-eyed gaze Dares look upon the heaven of her brow That is not blinded by her majesty?
"Did they?" you ask? Who sees the heavenly Rosaline, and like a wild and savage man from far away, at the first light of the gorgeous sun, doesn't bow his head like a servant and, struck blind, kiss the ground with obedient reverence? What powerful eagle-eyed gaze dares look at the beauty of her brow without being blinded by her majesty?
rosaline is heavenly like a savage seeing the sun bowing down kissing the ground blind to everything else who can look at her brow without going blind
What zeal, what fury hath inspired thee now?
My love, her mistress, is a gracious moon;
She, an attending star, scarce seen a light.
What passion, what fury has inspired you now? My love, her ruler, is a gracious moon; She, an attending star, barely seen, a light.
What passion, what fury has gotten into you? My love is like a gracious moon, a beautiful ruler; she is like a star attending her, barely visible, just light.
what fury is this my loves a gracious moon shes a dim star beside it
My eyes are then no eyes, nor I Berowne.
O, but for my love, day would turn to night!
Of all complexions the culled 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.
Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues—
Fie, painted rhetoric! O, she needs it not.
To things of sale a seller’s praise belongs.
She passes praise; then praise 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 new born,
And gives the crutch the cradle’s infancy.
O, ’tis the sun that maketh all things shine!
My eyes are then no eyes, nor I Berowne. O, but for my love, day would turn to night! Of all complexions the chosen perfection Do meet as at a fair in her fair cheek, Where several excellences make one perfection, Where nothing is lacking that lack itself seeks. Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues— No, painted speech! O, she does not need it. To things sold a seller's praise belongs. She goes beyond praise; then praise too short does wrong. A withered hermit, one hundred years worn, Might shake off fifty, looking in her eye. Beauty makes old age young, as if born new, And gives the crutch the cradle's infancy. O, it is the sun that makes all things shine!
Then my eyes aren't eyes, and I'm not Berowne. O, except for my love, day would become night! All the beautiful complexions of the world meet together in her beautiful cheek, where many excellences combine into one perfection, where nothing is missing that anyone could want. Give me all the beautiful language—no, painted speech! O, she doesn't need it. Things that are sold need a seller's praise. She goes beyond praise; then praise too short wrongs her. An old hermit, one hundred years worn, might shake off fifty years just looking in her eye. Beauty makes old age young, as if newly born, and gives the crutch a baby's helplessness. O, it's the sun that makes everything shine!
my eyes arent eyes if i cant see her if she wasnt here day would be night all the worlds beauty meets in her cheek nothing is lacking in her give me beautiful words no—she doesnt need them she goes beyond praise an old hermit would feel young just looking at her beauty makes age young she is the sun
By heaven, thy love is black as ebony.
By heaven, your love is dark as ebony.
Well, your girlfriend is definitely dark-skinned.
her skin dark like ebony
Berowne's confession ('Guilty, my lord, guilty. I confess, I confess') is the scene's most revealing moment. He tears the letter in panic—and then, caught, pivots instantly to performance. His confession is not humble; it's theatrical. He immediately reframes his guilt as shared fault ('you three fools lacked me fool to make up the mess'). He turns exposure into comedy. His solidarity speech ('Sweet lords, sweet lovers—let us embrace!') follows directly from the confession but sounds like a general leading troops. He never stops performing even in defeat. This is what makes Berowne the most interesting character in the play: his self-awareness is genuine, but it never costs him anything, because he turns it into another performance.
Is ebony like her? O word divine!
A wife of such wood were felicity.
O, 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.
Is ebony like her? O such a word! A wife of such wood would be happiness. O, who can take an oath? Where is a book? That I may swear beauty lacks beauty If she does not learn from her eye to see. No face is beautiful that is not equally black.
Is ebony like her? O, what a word! A wife of such dark wood would be perfect. O, who can swear an oath? Where's a book? So I can swear that beauty itself lacks beauty if she doesn't know how to look with her eye. No face is beautiful unless it's equally dark.
ebony like her that would be perfect i need to swear an oath beauty needs her to define it no face is beautiful if its not dark like her
O paradox! Black is the badge of hell,
The hue of dungeons and the school of night;
And beauty’s crest becomes the heavens well.
O contradiction! Dark is the mark of hell, The color of dungeons and the place of darkness; And beauty's crown becomes the heavens well.
O contradiction! Dark is the mark of hell, the color of prisons and the school of darkness; and beauty's crown fits heaven well.
dark is hell dark is prison darks the school of night but beauty looks good against heaven
Devils soonest tempt, resembling spirits of light.
O, 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 favour turns the fashion of the days,
For native blood is counted painting now;
And therefore red, that would avoid dispraise,
Paints itself black, to imitate her brow.
Demons tempt most quickly, looking like spirits of light. O, if my lady's brows are adorned in black, It mourns that makeup and false hair Should bewitch admirers with a false appearance; And therefore she was born to make black beautiful. Her favor changes the fashion of the days, For natural beauty is now called makeup; And therefore red, that would avoid shame, Paints itself black, to match her brow.
Demons tempt us fastest by looking like spirits of light. O, if my lady's eyebrows are black, it's sad that makeup and fake hair fool admirers with false beauty; and therefore she was born to make black beautiful. Her preference changes fashion, because natural beauty is now called makeup; and therefore red, which wants to avoid shame, paints itself black to match her brow.
demons look like angels if shes got black brows makeup is stupid she makes black beautiful she changes fashion now everyone paints themselves black to match her
To look like her are chimney-sweepers black.
Chimney sweepers now stay black to resemble her.
Even chimney sweepers embrace being black to look like her.
chimney sweepers rock being black now
And since her time are colliers counted bright.
And since her time coal miners are counted beautiful.
And since she came along, coal miners are considered beautiful.
coal miners are beautiful now
And Ethiopes of their sweet complexion crack.
And people from Ethiopia celebrate their dark complexion.
Ethiopians rejoice in their dark skin now.
ethiopian beauty now celebrated
Dark needs no candles now, for dark is light.
Darkness needs no candles now, because darkness is light.
Darkness doesn't need candles now, because darkness is light.
dark is light now
Your mistresses dare never come in rain,
For fear their colours should be washed away.
Your ladies won't step outside in the rain—afraid their painted faces will run.
Your girlfriends never go out in the rain because their makeup might wash off.
your girlfriends skip the rain makeup will wash away
’Twere good yours did; for, sir, to tell you plain,
I’ll find a fairer face not washed today.
It would be good if yours did; because, sir, to tell you plainly, I'll find a prettier face that is not washed today.
It would be good if your girlfriend did go in the rain; because, sir, to be honest, I'll find a prettier face that hasn't been washed today.
yours should i can find a prettier face that hasnt been washed
I’ll prove her fair, or talk till doomsday here.
I'll prove she's beautiful, or talk until the end of time here.
I'll prove she's beautiful, or talk forever here.
ill prove shes beautiful or talk forever
No devil will fright thee then so much as she.
No devil will frighten you then as much as she will.
No devil will scare you as much as she will.
no devil is scarier than her
I never knew man hold vile stuff so dear.
I never knew any man hold ugly stuff so dear.
I never saw any man hold onto something ugly so much.
ive never seen anyone love something ugly so much
Look, here’s thy love, my foot and her face see.
Look, here is your love; my foot and her face see.
Look, here's proof of your love: my foot and her face together.
look at your love my foot and her face
O, if the streets were paved with thine eyes,
Her feet were much too dainty for such tread.
O, if the streets were covered with your eyes, Her feet would be far too delicate for such ground.
O, if the streets were paved with your eyes, her feet would be too gentle to walk on them.
if streets were your eyes her feet too delicate to walk on them
O vile! Then, as she goes, what upward lies
The street should see as she walked over head.
O terrible! Then, as she walks, what shines upward The street would see as she walked above it.
O gross! Then as she walks along, people would see what's under her as she walks over them.
gross people would see up her dress
But what of this? Are we not all in love?
But think about this: aren't we all in love?
But wait, don't we all have someone we're into?
arent we all in love tho
Nothing so sure, and thereby all forsworn.
Nothing is more certain than that, and it makes us all oath-breakers.
That's the whole problem—we're definitely all breaking our oaths.
yep and thats why were all oathbreakers
Then leave this chat, and, good Berowne, now prove
Our loving lawful, and our faith not torn.
Then stop talking and, good Berowne, now prove that our loving is lawful and our faith is not torn apart.
Stop all this debate, Berowne—just show us how our love can actually be okay and we're not betraying anything.
ok stop talking prove our love is legit and we havent broken faith
Ay, marry, there; some flattery for this evil.
Yes, exactly; some flattery for this wrongdoing.
Yeah, that's what we need—some nice words to make this okay.
yes some flattery to excuse this
O, some authority how to proceed.
Some tricks, some quillets, how to cheat the devil.
Oh, some authority on how to proceed. Some tricks, some clever arguments, how to outsmart consequences.
We need some legal reason to do this. Some clever tricks, some loopholes, to justify breaking our word.
need authority some tricks to cheat consequences
Some salve for perjury.
Some soothing comfort for our broken oaths.
Something to make us feel better about breaking our word.
something to ease the guilt
O, ’tis more than need.
Have at you, then, affection’s men-at-arms.
Consider what you first did swear unto:
To fast, to study, and to see no woman—
Flat treason ’gainst the kingly state of youth.
Say, can you fast? Your stomachs are too young,
And abstinence engenders maladies.
O, 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 leaden contemplation have found out
Such fiery numbers as the prompting eyes
Of beauty’s tutors have enriched you with?
Other slow arts entirely keep the brain,
And therefore, finding barren practisers,
Scarce show a harvest of their heavy toil;
But love, first learned in a lady’s eyes,
Lives not alone immured 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 valour, 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 sighs.
O, 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 academes,
That show, contain, and nourish, all the world;
Else none at all in aught 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 forsworn,
For charity itself fulfils the law,
And who can sever love from charity?
Yes, that's more than necessary. Come on then, soldiers of love! Think about what you swore: To fast, to study, and to avoid all women— That's a betrayal of the natural desires of youth. Tell me, can you really fast? You're too young for it, And starving yourself only makes you sick. We made a vow to study hard, my lords, And by making that vow we've cut ourselves off from real learning; For when would you, my lord, or you, or you, Through dull, slow thinking ever have discovered Such passionate words as the inspiring beauty Of lovely women has already taught you? Other slow arts just occupy the mind, And so their practitioners, despite their effort, Show barely any reward for all their work; But love, first learned by watching a lady's face, Doesn't stay locked in the brain, But travels with all natural forces As fast as thought through every ability, And strengthens every ability twofold, Beyond what they normally do. It sharpens your sight. A lover's eyes can stare down an eagle. A lover's ear can hear the faintest sound, Even when a thief tries to hide. Love's touch is softer and more sensitive Than the tiny tentacles of snails. Love's taste makes wine seem rough. As for courage, isn't Love like Hercules, Constantly climbing for the golden apples? As clever as the Sphinx, as lovely and musical As Apollo's bright lute, strung with his own hair. And when Love speaks, all the gods' voices Make heaven itself drowsy with the beauty. No poet ever dared write Until love had flavored their ink with sighs. Then their words would move savage hearts And make harsh rulers humble. From looking at women's beauty I learned this truth. Their eyes still spark with the fire of creation; They are the books, the learning, the universities, That teach, hold, and nourish the whole world; Otherwise nothing at all can ever be excellent. So you were fools to give up these women, Or if you keep your word, you'll prove yourselves fools. For wisdom's sake, a thing all men prize, Or for love's sake, a thing that embraces all men, Or for men's sake, since women create us, Or for women's sake, who make us into men, Let us break our oaths and find who we really are, Or else we lose ourselves keeping oaths. It's actually right to break these oaths, For love itself fulfills every law, And who can separate love from goodness?
Yes, exactly what we need. All right, love soldiers, let's do this! Remember what you promised: No eating normally, only study, and absolutely no women— That's just betraying what it means to be young. Can you actually starve yourself? You're still growing, And not eating just makes you sick. We swore to only read books, my friends, But that oath actually cuts us off from real knowledge; When would you guys ever figure out Through all that boring thinking the kind of powerful stuff That beautiful women are already teaching you? Other subjects just keep people busy, And the people who study them, even though they work hard, Don't get much out of it; But love, which you learn by looking at a woman, Doesn't just stay in your head— It flows through everything you are Just as fast as you can think, And it makes you twice as good at everything, Better than you'd normally be. It makes your vision sharper. A guy in love can outstare an eagle. His hearing picks up the tiniest sound, Even the sound a thief is trying to hide. Love makes you more sensitive than the softest thing there is. Love's taste makes fine wine seem cheap. Think about it—isn't love like Hercules, Always striving for impossible things? It's as clever as the Sphinx, as beautiful and perfect As Apollo's golden harp. And when love speaks, it sounds like all heaven talking, Beautiful enough to make the gods sleep. No serious writer ever dared write Without love getting into their work first. Once love is there, their words change hearts And make cruel people kind. And I got all this from watching women. Their eyes still have that original creative spark; They're like libraries, schools, academies, That show you, contain, and feed everything in the world; Without them, nothing ever becomes really great. So you were idiots to try to give them up, Or if you stick to your word, you'll be idiots anyway. For the sake of wisdom, something everyone values, Or for love's sake, something that includes everyone, Or because women are what make men men, Or for women's sake, who create us, Let's break these stupid oaths and actually become ourselves, Or else we lose who we are by keeping them. It's actually religious to break these promises, Because love is what makes everything right, And how can you separate real love from real goodness?
yes exactly love soldiers go!! remember u swore off women? thats betraying being young u cant fast anyway ur too young we said wed only study but thats cutting ourselves off from real learning beautiful women teach u more than books other stuff is just busy work but love? love teaches through a womans eyes it gets into everything u do makes u twice as good at everything better hearing better sight better everything love hits different than anything its more sensitive than anything love makes expensive wine taste cheap isnt love like hercules doing impossible things? its smart as the sphinx beautiful as apollos harp when love speaks its like heaven talking no poet ever wrote anything good without love their words change hearts make cruel ppl kind women are the real universities their eyes have the spark of creation theyre the books the schools that teach everything nothing becomes great without them so ur idiots if u give them up or idiots if u keep the oath for wisdom for love for being men for women lets break these oaths and be ourselves or we lose ourselves keeping them its actually right to break these promises love is what makes everything right love and goodness are the same thing
Saint Cupid, then, and, soldiers, to the field!
Cupid be our saint then, and soldiers, to battle!
All right, love is our guide, soldiers—let's go!
yes cupid is our saint soldiers go
Advance your standards, and upon them, lords!
Pell-mell, down with them! But be first advised
In conflict that you get the sun of them.
Raise your banners high and charge them, my lords! Fight fiercely, mix it up with them! But first remember: When you're fighting, try to get the sun at your back.
Raise your flags and rush them, everyone! Go all out against them! But here's the thing— When you attack, make sure you've got the sun behind you.
raise ur flags charge them but get sun behind u
Now to plain dealing. Lay these glozes by.
Shall we resolve to woo these girls of France?
Now let's be straightforward. Drop all these flowery excuses. Are we decided to court these French ladies?
Okay, enough fancy talk. Let's be real. So are we going to actually pursue these French women?
stop the bs are we courting these french girls or what
And win them too. Therefore let us devise
Some entertainment for them in their tents.
And win them completely. So let's come up with Some entertainment for them in their quarters.
And actually win them over. So we need to plan Some kind of entertainment for them in their camp.
and win them we need entertainment for them
First, from the park let us conduct them thither.
Then homeward 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 can shape;
For revels, dances, masques, and merry hours
Forerun fair Love, strewing her way with flowers.
First, let's escort them from the park. Then as we head back, each man should take the hand Of his lovely lady. In the afternoon We'll entertain them with unusual activities, Whatever we can manage in the time we have; Because celebrations, dances, theatrical performances, and good times Go before true love, decorating her path with flowers.
First we get them from the park. Then on the way back, each guy should hold hands With his lady. Then in the afternoon We'll do something fun and different for them, Whatever we can pull together; Because dances, shows, celebrations, and good music All come before real love, preparing the way for her.
walk them from park each guy holds hands with his girl afternoon entertainment dances masks weird stuff party then love
Away, away! No time shall be omitted
That will betime and may by us be fitted.
Away, away! We'll waste no time That could be used well and is possible for us.
Come on, let's go! We won't waste any moment That could help us or is actually possible.
go go no wasted time
_Allons! allons!_ Sowed cockle reaped no corn,
And justice always whirls in equal measure.
Light wenches may prove plagues to men forsworn;
If so, our copper buys no better treasure.
Let's go! Let's go! If you plant weeds you harvest nothing, And the world always balances itself out. Careless women could become disasters for men who've broken their word; If that happens, our cheap money buys nothing better anyway.
Forward! Forward! You reap what you sow— The world always evens things out. These French women might be trouble for guys who just ditched their oaths; But what else are we gonna do? We can't afford better.
lets go lets go reap what u sow world balances itself these women might be trouble but whatever
The Reckoning
This is the structural and comedic centerpiece of the whole play. The eavesdropping geometry—observer-inside-observer-inside-observer—is perfectly engineered: each man believes himself the knowing outsider while being caught himself. Berowne's great pro-love speech, which runs nearly forty lines, is the play's philosophical climax: it argues that women's eyes are the true books, the real academes. It's also a magnificent piece of sophistry—self-serving rationalization dressed as transcendent wisdom—and Shakespeare lets us enjoy both things simultaneously.
If this happened today…
Four guys in the same friend group have all secretly started texting the same group of women they promised each other they'd avoid. Each one discovers another's messages but doesn't confess his own—until one person's DM history gets forwarded to the whole group chat. Then the most articulate one stands up and delivers a TED talk about why falling in love was actually the most intellectual thing they could have done.