Love’s Labor’s Lost. Act 3, Scene 1. Berowne
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939 O, and I forsooth in loue,
940 I that haue beene loues whip?
941 A verie Beadle to a humerous sigh: A Criticke,
942 Nay, a night-watch Constable.
943 A domineering pedant ore the Boy,
944 Then whom no mortall so magnificent,
945 This wimpled, whyning, purblinde waiward Boy,
946 This signior Iunios gyant drawfe, don Cupid,
947 Regent of Loue-rimes, Lord of folded armes,
948 Th’annointed soueraigne of sighes and groanes:
949 Liedge of all loyterers and malecontents:
950 Dread Prince of Placcats, King of Codpeeces.
951 Sole Emperator and great generall
952 Of trotting Parrators (O my little heart.)
953 And I to be a Corporall of his field,
954 And weare his colours like a Tumblers hoope.
955 What? I loue, I sue, I seeke a wife,
956 A woman that is like a Germane Cloake,
957 Still a repairing: euer out of frame,
958 And neuer going a right, being a Watch:
959 But being watcht, that it may still goe right.
960 Nay, to be periurde, which is worst of all:
961 And among three, to loue the worst of all,
962 A whitly wanton, with a veluet brow.
963 With two pitch bals stucke in her face for eyes.
964 I, and by heauen, one that will doe the deede,
965 Though Argus were her Eunuch and her garde.
966 And I to sigh for her, to watch for her,
967 To pray for her, go to: it is a plague
968 That Cupid will impose for my neglect,
969 Of his almighty dreadfull little might.
970 Well, I will loue, write, sigh, pray, shue, grone,
971 Some men must loue my Lady, and some Ione.