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Updated: June 22, 2025
The Baconians who think that a poet could not derive from books and court plays his knowledge of fashions far more prevalent in literature than at Court, decide that the poet of Love's Labour's Lost was not Will, but the courtly "concealed poet." No doubt Baconians may argue with Mr.
I noticed that here as elsewhere the short grass was starred with daisies. They are not considered in place in a well-kept lawn. But remembering the cuckoo song in "Love's Labour's Lost," "When daisies pied ... do paint the meadows with delight," it was hard to look at them as unwelcome intruders. The old cathedral seemed to me particularly mouldy, and in fact too high-flavored with antiquity.
There was great fondness in cottage and hall for merry tales of errant knights, lovers, lords, ladies, dwarfs, friars, thieves, witches, goblins, for old stories told by the fireside, with a toast of ale on the hearth, as in Milton's allusion " -to the nut-brown ale, With stories told of many a feat" A designation of winter in "Love's Labour's Lost" is "When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl."
And Nellie's heart, that had thrilled with joy when New Unionism uprose in its strength and drew the line hard and fast between the Labour that toiled and the Capitalism that reaped Labour's gains, ached with mingled pride and pain to see how hunger itself could not shake the stolid unionism about her.
These critics, who turn the laugh upon themselves, who caricature their own follies for the benefit of learning, who make themselves and their own failures the centre of the comedy of Love's Labour's Lost, are not going to let this thing escape; with the heights of its ideal, and the grossness of its real, it is the very fuel for the mirth that is blazing and crackling here.
There is not a greater fallacy in the world than the common creed that sweet sleep is labour's guerdon. Mere regular, corporeal labour may certainly procure us a good, sound, refreshing slumber, disturbed often by the consciousness of the monotonous duties of the morrow; but how sleep the other great labourers of this laborious world? Where is the sweet sleep of the politician?
If thou chance for to find A new house to thy mind, And built without thy cost; Be good to the poor, As God gives thee store, And then my labour's not lost.
Could Somerset have seen through the panels of the door in passing, he would have beheld the room occupied by Paula alone. It was she who sat at the instrument, and the message she was despatching ran as under: 'Can you send down a competent actress, who will undertake the part of Princess of France in "Love's Labour's Lost" this evening in a temporary theatre here?
Lucentio's errand in Padua, his breeding and relations to his servant qualify him as quite the conventional hero of a romantic love-story. How does he compare with the young noblemen of "Love's Labour's Lost?" What part of the study of Philosophy does he specially desire to take up and how does his temper toward learning fall in with theirs?
Happily for them the charmer was an artist in his way; he loved his work for its own sake, and abated no part of his performance, although the reward would hardly buy him and his assistant a meal of mutton and bread at their labour's end.
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