# 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
[II, 1]

Biron

603

Did not I dance with you in Brabant once?

2

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

Rosaline

604

Did not I dance with you in Brabant once?

3

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

Dull

1876

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.

4

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

Boyet

2004

They do, they do: and are apparell'd thus.
Like Muscovites or Russians, as I guess.
Their purpose is to parle, to court and dance;
And every one his love-feat will advance
Unto his several mistress, which they'll know
By favours several which they did bestow.

5

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

Rosaline

2029

But shall we dance, if they desire to't?

6

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

Rosaline

2103

Play, music, then! Nay, you must do it soon.
[Music plays]
Not yet! no dance! Thus change I like the moon.

7

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

Ferdinand

2106

Will you not dance? How come you thus estranged?

8

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

Rosaline

2112

Since you are strangers and come here by chance,
We'll not be nice: take hands. We will not dance.

9

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

Ferdinand

2124

If you deny to dance, let's hold more chat.

10

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.