ABSTRACT
Loves Labor Lost, I once did see a Play, Ycleped so, so called to my paine, Which I to heare to my small Joy did stay, Giving attendance on my froward Dame, My misgiving minde presaging to me Ill, Yet was I drawne to see it gainst my Will. This Play no Play but Plague was unto me, For there I lost the Love I liked most: And what to others seemde a Jest to be, I, that (in earnest) found unto my cost, To every one (save me) twas Comicall, Whilst Tragick like to me it did befall. Each Actor plaid in cunning wise his part, But chiefly Those entrapt in Cupids snare: Yet all was fained, twas not from the hart, They seemde to grieve, but yet they felt no care: Twas I that Griefe (indeed) did beare in brest, The others did but make a show in Jest. Yet neither faining theirs, nor my meere Truth, Could make her once so much as for to smile: Whilst she (despite of pity mild and ruth) Did sit as skorning of my Woes the while. Thus did she sit to see Love lose his Love, Like hardned Rock that force nor power can move.
