Original: The king he is hunting the deer; I am coursing myself:
Modern: The king is hunting deer, but I’m chasing after something myself:

Original: they have pitched a toil; I am toiling in a pitch, pitch that defiles:
Modern: they’ve set a trap, but I’m trapped in something dark that stains me:

Original: defile! a foul word.
Modern: “stains”—what an ugly word.

Original: Well, set thee down, sorrow! for so they say the fool said, and so say I, and I the fool:
Modern: Well, sit down, sadness! That’s what they say the fool said, and that’s what I say too, and I am the fool:

Original: well proved, wit!
Modern: well done, clever mind!

Original: By the Lord, this love is as mad as Ajax: it kills sheep; it kills me, I a sheep:
Modern: I swear, this love is as crazy as Ajax was: it kills sheep, and it’s killing me—I’m just a sheep:

Original: well proved again o’ my side!
Modern: another good point for me!

Original: I will not love: if I do, hang me; i’ faith, I will not.
Modern: I will not fall in love—if I do, you can hang me; I swear I won’t.

Original: O, but her eye,–by this light, but for her eye, I would not love her;
Modern: Oh, but her eyes—I swear, if it weren’t for her eyes, I wouldn’t love her;

Original: yes, for her two eyes.
Modern: actually, yes, it’s because of both her eyes.

Original: Well, I do nothing in the world but lie, and lie in my throat.
Modern: Well, all I do in this world is lie, and lie completely.

Original: By heaven, I do love: and it hath taught me to rhyme and to be melancholy;
Modern: I swear to God, I am in love, and it has taught me to write poetry and be sad;

Original: and here is part of my rhyme, and here my melancholy.
Modern: and here’s some of my poetry, and here’s my sadness.

Original: Well, she hath one o’ my sonnets already: the clown bore it, the fool sent it, and the lady hath it:
Modern: Well, she already has one of my love poems: the servant carried it, this fool sent it, and the lady has it:

Original: sweet clown, sweeter fool, sweetest lady!
Modern: dear servant, dearer fool, dearest lady!

Original: By the world, I would not care a pin, if the other three were in.
Modern: I swear, I wouldn’t care at all if the other three people knew about it too.

In Act IV, Scene iii of “Love’s Labour’s Lost,” Berowne enters alone, having composed a love poem to Rosaline, and hides when he sees the King approaching. The King arrives reading aloud his own love sonnet written to the Princess of France, unaware that Berowne is concealed nearby and listening. When Longaville enters, the King quickly hides to observe him. Longaville then reads his love poem addressed to Maria, after which he too conceals himself when Dumaine appears. Dumaine proceeds to read his sonnet for Katherine, creating a layered scene where each lord spies on the next, all having broken their oath to avoid the company of women and dedicate themselves to study.

Once Dumaine finishes, Longaville emerges to reproach him for breaking their vow, only to be confronted in turn by the King, who reveals that Longaville is equally guilty. The King then lectures both men on their faithlessness, at which point Berowne descends from his hiding place to accuse all three of oath-breaking. Berowne positions himself as the only one faithful to their original vow, declaring his moral superiority—until Jaquenetta and Costard arrive with a letter. The letter, which Berowne had intended for Rosaline but mistakenly gave to Jaquenetta, is read aloud, exposing Berowne’s own transgression. Now all four men stand revealed as forsworn, and Berowne delivers a lengthy speech justifying their actions, arguing that women’s eyes are the true books of learning and that their oath to study is better fulfilled through love than through austere scholarship.

“Love’s Labour’s Lost” opens with Ferdinand, the King of Navarre, and his three courtiers—Berowne, Longaville, and Dumain—taking a solemn oath to dedicate three years to scholarly pursuits while forswearing the company of women, fasting, and sleeping only three hours per night. Their noble intentions are immediately complicated by the arrival of the Princess of France and her three attending ladies—Rosaline, Maria, and Katharine—who come on a diplomatic mission regarding Aquitaine. Despite their vows, all four men quickly fall in love with the visiting ladies, though they initially attempt to hide their feelings from one another.

The romantic complications intensify when each man tries to secretly woo his chosen lady while believing himself to be the only oath-breaker. Comic relief is provided by a cast of eccentric characters including Don Armado, a bombastic Spanish knight who loves the country wench Jaquenetta; Costard, a simple clown; and the pedantic schoolmaster Holofernes. The ladies, aware of the men’s affections, decide to test their suitors’ sincerity by disguising themselves at a masque, leading to a delightful scene of mistaken identities where each man woos the wrong woman.

The play builds toward what seems like a conventional comic resolution with multiple betrothals, but Shakespeare subverts expectations in the final act. News arrives that the Princess’s father, the King of France, has died, casting a somber shadow over the festivities. The ladies impose a year-long trial on their suitors—the men must prove their love’s constancy through a period of good works and patient waiting. The play concludes unusually for a Shakespearean comedy, with promises of future union rather than immediate marriages, ending with the famous songs of Spring and Winter that celebrate the eternal cycle of seasons and human nature.