Samuel Johnson [1765], The plays of William Shakespeare, in eight volumes, with the corrections and illustrations of Various Commentators; To which are added notes by Sam. Johnson (Printed for J. and R. Tonson [and] C. Corbet [etc.], London) [word count] [S11001].
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TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL.
-- 352 --
Introductory matter
Dramatis Personæ.
ORSINO, Duke of Illyria.
Sebastian, a young Gentleman, Brother to Viola.
Antonio, a Sea-captain, Friend to Sebastian.
Valentine, Gentleman, attending on the Duke.
Curio, Gentleman, attending on the Duke.
Sir Toby Belch, Uncle to Olivia.
Sir Andrew Ague-cheek [Sir Andrew Aguecheek], a foolish Knight, pretending to Olivia.
A Sea-captain [Captain], Friend to Viola.
Fabian, Servant to Olivia.
Malvolio, a fantastical Steward to Olivia.
Clown [Feste], Servant to Olivia.
Olivia, a Lady of great Beauty and Fortune, belov'd by the Duke.
Viola, in Love with the Duke.
Maria, Olivia's Woman.
Priest, Sailors, Officers, and other Attendants.
[Servant], [Officer 1], [Officer 2]
SCENE, a City on the Coast of Illyria.
note
-- 353 --
TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL.
ACT I.
SCENE I.
The PALACE.
Enter the Duke, Curio, and Lords.
Duke.
If musick be the food of love, play on;
Give me excess of it; 1 note
that, surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.
-- 354 --
2 note
That strain again;—it had a dying fall:
O, it came o'er my ear, like the sweet south,
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing and giving odour. Enough!—no more;
'Tis not so sweet now, as it was before.
O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou!
That, notwithstanding thy capacity
Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there,
Of what validity and pitch soe'er,
But falls into abatement and low price,
Even in a minute; 3 note
so full of shapes in fancy,
-- 355 --
That it alone is high fantastical.
Cur.
Will you go hunt, my Lord?
Duke.
What, Curio?
Cur.
The hart.
Duke.
Why, so I do, the noblest that I have:
O, when my eyes did see Olivia first,
Methought, she purg'd the air of pestilence;
That instant was I turn'd into a hart,4 note
And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds,
E'er since pursue me. How now, what news from her?
Enter Valentine.
Val.
So please my Lord, I might not be admitted,
But from her hand-maid do return this answer:
The element itself, 'till seven years hence,
Shall not behold her face at ample view;
But, like a cloystress, she will veiled walk,
And water once a day her chamber round
With eye-offending brine: all this to season
A brother's dead love, which she would keep fresh
And lasting in her sad remembrance.
Duke.
O, she, that hath a heart of that fine frame,
To pay this debt of love but to a brother,
-- 356 --
How will she love, when the rich golden shaft
Hath kill'd the flock of all affections else
That live in her? when liver, brain, and heart,
5 noteThree sov'reign thrones, are all supply'd, and fill'd,
6 noteHer sweet perfections, with one self-same King!
Away before me to sweet beds of flowers;
Love-thoughts lye rich, when canopy'd with bowers.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
The Street.
Enter Viola, a Captain and Sailors.
Vio.
What country, friends, is this?
Cap.
Illyria, Lady.
Vio.
And what should I do in Illyria?
My brother he is in Elysium.—
Perchance, he is not drown'd; what think you, sailors?
Cap.
It is perchance, that you yourself were sav'd.
Vio.
O my poor brother! so, perchance, may he be.
Cap.
True, Madam: and to comfort you with chance,
Assure yourself, after our ship did split,
When you, and that poor number sav'd with you,
Hung on our driving boat: I saw your brother,
Most provident in peril, bind himself
(Courage and hope both teaching him the practice)
To a strong mast, that liv'd upon the sea;
Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back,
I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves,
So long as I could see.
-- 357 --
Vio.
For saying so, there's gold.
Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope,
Whereto thy speech serves for authority,
The like of him. Know'st thou this country?
Cap.
Ay, Madam, well; for I was bred and born,
Not three hours travel from this very place.
Vio.
Who governs here?
Cap.
A noble Duke in nature, as in name.7 note
Vio.
What is his name?
Cap.
Orsino.
Vio.
Orsino! I have heard my father name him:
He was a batchelor then.
Cap.
And so is now, or was so very late;
For but a month ago I went from hence,
And then 'twas fresh in murmur (as you know,
What Great ones do, the less will prattle of)
That he did seek the love of fair Olivia.
Vio.
What's she?
Cap.
A virtuous maid, the daughter of a Count,
That dy'd some twelve months since, then leaving her
In the protection of his son, her brother,
Who shortly also dy'd; for whose dear love,
They say, she hath abjur'd the sight
And company of men.
Vio.
O, that I serv'd that lady,
And might not be deliver'd to the world,8 note
'Till I had made mine own occasion mellow
What my estate is!
Cap.
That were hard to compass;
-- 358 --
Because she will admit no kind of suit,
No, not the Duke's.
Vio.
There is a fair behaviour in thee, Captain;
And tho' that nature with a beauteous wall
Doth oft close in pollution; yet of thee,
I will believe, thou hast a mind that suits
With this thy fair and outward character:
I pr'ythee, and I'll pay thee bounteously,
Conceal me what I am, and be my aid
For such disguise as, haply, shall become
The form of my intent. I'll serve this Duke;9 note
Thou shalt present me as an eunuch to him,
It may be worth thy pains; for I can sing,
And speak to him in many sorts of musick,
That will allow me very worth his service,
What else may hap, to time I will commit;
Only shape thou thy silence to my wit.
Cap.
Be you his eunuch, and your mute I'll be:
When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see.
Vio.
I thank thee; lead me on.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
An Apartment in Olivia's House.
Enter Sir Toby, and Maria.
Sir To.
What a plague means my niece, to
take the death of her brother thus? I
am sure, care's an enemy to life.
Mar.
By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in
earlier a-nights; your niece, my lady, takes great exceptions
to your ill hours.
Sir To.
Why, let her except, before excepted.
Mar.
Ay, but you must confine yourself within the
modest limits of order.
-- 359 --
Sir To.
Confine? I'll confine myself no finer than
I am; these cloaths are good enough to drink in, and
so be these boots too; an they be not, let them hang
themselves in their own straps.
Mar.
That quaffing and drinking will undo you;
I heard my lady talk of it yesterday, and of a foolish
Knight that you brought in one night here, to be her
wooer.
Sir To.
Who, Sir Andrew Ague-cheek?
Mar.
Ay, he.
Sir To.
He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria.
Mar.
What's that to th'purpose?
Sir To.
Why, he has three thousand ducats a year.
Mar.
Ay, but he'll have but a year in all these ducats:
he's a very fool and a prodigal.
Sir To.
Fie, that you'll say so! he plays o'th'violdegambo,
and speaks three or four languages word for
word without book, and hath all the good gifts of
nature.
Mar.
He hath, indeed,—almost natural; for besides
that he's a fool, he's a great quarreller; and but
that he hath the gift of a coward to allay the gust he
hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought among the prudent,
he would quickly have the gift of a grave.
Sir To.
By this hand, they are scoundrels and subtractors
that say so of him. Who are they?
Mar.
They that add moreover, he's drunk nightly
in your company.
Sir To.
With drinking healths to my neice: I'll
drink to her as long as there's a passage in my throat,
and drink in Illyria. He's a coward, and a coystril,
that will not drink to my neice 'till his brains turn
o'th' toe like a parish-top. What, wench? 1 noteCastiliano
Volgo; for here comes Sir Andrew Ague-cheek.
-- 360 --
SCENE IV.
Enter Sir Andrew.
Sir And.
Sir Toby Belch! how now, Sir Toby Belch?
Sir To.
Sweet Sir Andrew!
Sir And.
Bless you, fair shrew.
Mar.
And you too, Sir.
Sir To.
Accost, Sir Andrew, accost.—
Sir And.
What's that?
Sir To.
My neice's chamber-maid.
Sir And.
Good mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance.
Mar.
My name is Mary, Sir.
Sir And.
Good mistress Mary Accost,—
Sir To.
You mistake, Knight: accost, is, front her,
board her, wooe her, assail her.
Sir And.
By my troth, I would not undertake her
in this company. Is that the meaning of accost?
Mar.
Fare you well, gentlemen.
Sir To.
An thou let her part so, Sir Andrew, would
thou might'st never draw sword again.
Sir And.
An you part so, mistress, I would I might
never draw sword again. Fair lady, do you think,
you have fools in hand?
Mar.
Sir, I have not you by th' hand.
Sir And.
Marry, but you shall have, and here's my
hand.
Mar.
Now, Sir, thought is free: I pray you, bring
your hand to th' buttery-bar, and let it drink.
Sir And.
Wherefore, sweet heart? what's your metaphor?
-- 361 --
Mar.
It's dry, Sir.2 note
Sir And.
Why, I think so: I am not such an ass,
but I can keep my hand dry. But what's your jest?
Mar.
A dry jest, Sir.
Sir And.
Are you full of them?
Mar.
Ay, Sir, I have them at my fingers ends:
marry, now I let your hand go, I am barren.
[Exit Maria.
Sir To.
O Knight, thou lack'st a cup of canary:
when did I see thee so put down?
Sir And.
Never in your life, I think, unless you see
canary put me down: methinks, sometimes I have no
more wit than a christian, or an ordinary man has;
but I am a great eater of beef, and, I believe, that
does harm to my wit.
Sir To.
No question.
Sir And.
An I thought that, I'd forswear it. I'll
ride home to-morrow, Sir Toby.
Sir To.
Pourquoy, my dear Knight.
Sir And.
What is pourquoy? do, or not do? I would,
I had bestowed that time in the tongues that I have in
fencing, dancing, and bear-baiting. O, had I but
follow'd the arts!
Sir To.
Then hadst thou had an excellent head of
hair.
Sir And.
Why, would that have mended my hair?
Sir To.
Past question; for 3 note
thou seest, it will not
curl by nature.
Sir And.
But it becomes me well enough, does't
not?
Sir To.
Excellent! it hangs like flax on a distaff;
-- 362 --
and I hope to see a house-wife take thee between her
legs, and spin it off.
Sir And.
Faith, I'll home to-morrow, Sir Toby;
your neice will not be seen, or, if she be, it's four to
one she'll none of me: the Duke himself here, hard
by, wooes her.
Sir To.
She'll none o'th' Duke, she'll not match
above her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit; I
have heard her swear it. Tut, there's life in't, man.
Sir And.
I'll stay a month longer. I am a fellow o'
th' strangest mind i'th' world: I delight in masks and
revels sometimes altogether.
Sir To.
Art thou good at these kick-shaws, Knight?
Sir And.
As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be,
under the degree of my betters; 4 noteand yet I will not
compare with an old man.
Sir To.
What is thy excellence in a galliard, Knight?
Sir And.
Faith, I can cut a caper.
Sir To.
And I can cut the mutton to't.
Sir And.
And, I think, I have the back-trick simply
as strong as any man in Illyria.
Sir To.
Wherefore are these things hid? wherefore
have these gifts a curtain before them? are they like
to take dust, like mistress Mall's picture? why dost
thou not go to church in a galliard, and come home
in a coranto? my very walk should be a jig! I would
not so much as make water, but in a sink-a pace:
what dost thou mean? is it a world to hide virtues in?
I did think, by the excellent constitution of thy leg, it
was form'd under the star of a galliard.
Sir And.
Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well
in a flame-colour'd stocking. Shall we set about some
revels?
-- 363 --
Sir To.
What shall we do else? were we not born
under Taurus?
Sir And.
Taurus? that's sides and heart.5 note
Sir To.
No, Sir, it is legs and thighs. Let me see
thee caper; ha! higher: ha, ha!—excellent.
[Exeunt.
SCENE V.
Changes to the Palace.
Enter Valentine, and Viola in man's attire.
Val.
If the Duke continue these favours towards you,
Cesario, you are like to be much advanc'd;
he hath known you but three days, and already you
are no stranger.
Vio.
You either fear his humour, or my negligence,
that you call in question the continuance of his love.
Is he inconstant, Sir, in his favours?
Val.
No, believe me.
Enter Duke, Curio, and Attendants.
Vio.
I thank you: here comes the Duke.
Duke.
Who saw Cesario, hoa?
Vio.
On your attendance, my Lord, here.
Duke.
Stand you a-while aloof.—Cesario,
Thou know'st no less, but all: I have unclasp'd
To thee the book even of my secret soul.
Therefore, good youth, address thy gate unto her;
Be not deny'd access, stand at her doors,
And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow,
'Till thou have audience.
Vio.
Sure, my noble Lord,
-- 364 --
If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow
As it is spoke, she never will admit me.
Duke.
Be clamorous, and leap all civil bounds,
Rather than make unprofited return.
Vio.
Say, I do speak with her, my Lord; what then?
Duke.
O, then, unfold the passion of my love,
Surprize her with discourse of my dear faith;
It shall become thee well to act my woes;
She will attend it better in thy youth,
Than in a Nuncio of more grave aspect.
Vio.
I think not so, my Lord.
Duke.
Dear lad, believe it:
For they shall yet belie thy happy years,
That say, thou art a man: Diana's lip
Is not more smooth and rubious; thy small pipe
Is as the maiden's organ, shrill, and sound,
And all is semblative—a Woman's part.6 note
I know, thy Constellation is right apt
For this affair.—Some four or five attend him;
All, if you will; for I my self am best
When least in company. Prosper well in this,
And thou shalt live as freely as thy Lord,
To call his fortunes thine.
Vio.
I'll do my best
To woo your Lady; [Exit Duke.] yet, a barful strife!
Who-e'er I woo, myself would be his wife.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VI.
Changes to Olivia's House.
Enter Maria and Clown.
Mar.
Nay, either tell me where thou hast been,
or I will not open my lips so wide as a
-- 365 --
bristle may enter, in way of thy excuse; my Lady
will hang thee for thy absence.
Clo.
Let her hang me; he, that is well hang'd in
this world, needs fear no colours.
Mar.
Make that good.
Clo.
He shall see none to fear.
Mar.
A good 7 notelenten answer: I can tell thee where
that saying was born, of, I fear no colours.
Clo.
Where, good mistress Mary?
Mar.
In the wars, and that may you be bold to
say in your foolery.
Clo.
Well, God give them wisdom that have it; and
those that are fools, let them use their talents.
Mar.
Yet you will be hang'd for being so long absent,
or be turn'd away; is not that as good as a hanging
to you?
Clo.
Marry, a good hanging prevents a bad marriage;
and for turning away, let summer bear it out.
Mar.
You are resolute then?
Clo.
Not so neither, but I am resolv'd on two points.
Mar.
That if one break, the other will hold; or,
if both break, your gaskins fall.
Clo.
Apt, in good faith; very apt: well, go thy
way, if Sir Toby would leave drinking, thou wert as
witty a piece of Eve's flesh as any in Illyria.
Mar.
Peace, you rogue, no more o' that; here
comes my Lady; make your excuse wisely, you were
best.
[Exit.
SCENE VII.
Enter Olivia, and Malvolio.
Clo.
Wit, and't be thy will, put me into a good
fooling! those wits, that think they have thee, do
very oft prove fools; and I, that am sure I lack thee,
-- 366 --
may pass for a wise man. For what says Quinapalus,
Better be a witty fool than a foolish wit.8 note God bless
thee, Lady!
Oli.
Take the fool away.
Clo.
Do you not hear, fellows? take away the Lady.
Oli.
Go to, y'are a dry fool; I'll no more of you;
besides, you grow dishonest.
Clo.
Two faults, Madona, that drink and good
counsel will amend; for give the dry fool drink, then
is the fool not dry: Bid the dishonest man mend himself;
if he mend, he is no longer dishonest; if he cannot,
let the botcher mend him. Any thing, that's
mended, is but patch'd; virtue, that transgresses, is
but patch'd with sin; and sin, that amends, is but
patch'd with virtue. If that this simple syllogism will
serve, so; if it will not, what remedy? as there is no
true cuckold but calamity, so beauty's a flower: the
Lady bade take away the fool, therefore, I say again,
take her away.
Oli.
Sir, I bade them take away you.
Clo.
Misprision in the highest degree.—Lady, Cucullus
non facit monachum; that's as much as to say, I
wear not motley in my brain: good Madona, give me
leave to prove you a fool.
Oli.
Can you do it?
Clo.
Dexterously, good Madona.
Oli.
Make your proof.
Clo.
I must catechize you for it, Madona; good
my mouse of virtue, answer me.
Oli.
Well, Sir, for want of other idleness, I'll bide
your proof.
Clo.
Good Madona, why mourn'st thou?
Oli.
Good fool, for my brother's death.
Clo.
I think, his soul is in hell, Madona.
-- 367 --
Oli.
I know his soul is in heav'n, fool.
Clo.
The more fool you, Madona, to mourn for
your brother's soul being in heav'n: take away the
fool, Gentlemen.
Oli.
What think you of this fool, Malvolio, doth
he not mend?
Mal.
Yes, and shall do, 'till the pangs of death
shake him. Infirmity, that decays the wise, doth ever
make better the fool.
Clo.
God send you, Sir, a speedy infirmity, for the
better increasing your folly! Sir Toby will be sworn,
that I am no fox; but he will not pass his word for
two pence, that you are no fool.
Oli.
How say you to that, Malvolio?
Mal.
I marvel, your Ladyship takes delight in such
a barren rascal; I saw him put down the other day
with an ordinary fool, that has no more brain than a
stone. Look you now, he's out of his guard already;
unless you laugh and minister occasion to him, he is
gagg'd. I protest, I take these wise men, that crow
so at these set kind of fools, no better than the fools'
Zanies.
Oli.
O, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and
taste with a distemper'd appetite. To be generous,
guiltless, and of free disposition, is to take those things
for bird-bolts that you deem cannon bullets: there is
no slander in an allow'd fool, though he do nothing
but rail; nor no railing in a known discreet man,
though he do nothing but reprove.
Clo.
9 note
Now Mercury indue thee with leasing, for
thou speak'st well of fools!
-- 368 --
Enter Maria.
Mar.
Madam, there is at the gate a young Gentleman,
much desires to speak with you.
Oli.
From the Count Orsino, is it?
Mar.
I know not, Madam, 'tis a fair young Man,
and well attended.
Oli.
Who of my people hold him in delay?
Mar.
Sir Toby, Madam, your Uncle.
Oli.
Fetch him off, I pray you, he speaks nothing
but madman: fie on him! Go you, Malvolio; if it
be a suit from the Count, I am sick, or not at home:
What you will, to dismiss it. [Exit Malvolio.] Now
you see, Sir, how your fooling grows old, and people
dislike it.
Clo.
Thou hast spoke for us, Madona, as if thy
eldest Son should be a fool: whose scull Jove cram
with brains, for here comes one of thy Kin has a most
weak Pia Mater!—
SCENE VIII.
Enter Sir Toby.
Oli.
By mine honour, half drunk. What is he at
the gate, Uncle?
Sir To.
A Gentleman.
Oli.
A Gentleman? what Gentleman?
Sir To.
1 note
'Tis a Gentleman here.—A plague o'
these pickle herring! how now, sot?
-- 369 --
Clo.
Good Sir Toby,—
Oli.
Uncle, Uncle, how have you come so early
by this lethargy?
Sir To.
Letchery! I defie letchery: there's one at
the gate.
Oli.
Ay, marry, what is he?
Sir To.
Let him be the devil and he will, I care
not: give me faith, say I. Well, it's all one.
[Exit.
Oli.
What's a drunken man like, fool?
Clo.
Like a drown'd man, a fool, and a madman:
one draught above heat makes him a fool; the second
mads him; and a third drowns him.
Oli.
Go thou and seek the Coroner, and let him sit
o' my Uncle; for he's in the third degree of drink;
he's drown'd; go, look after him.
Clo.
He is but mad yet, Madona, and the fool shall
look to the madman.
[Exit Clown.
Enter Malvolio.
Mal.
Madam, yond young Fellow swears he will
speak with you. I told him, you were sick; he takes
on him to understand so much, and therefore comes
to speak with you. I told him you were asleep; he
seems to have a fore-knowledge of that too, and therefore
comes to speak with you. What is to be said to
him, Lady? he's fortified against any denial.
Oli.
Tell him, he shall not speak with me.
Mal.
He has been told so; and he says, he'll 2 note
stand
at your door like a Sheriff's post, and be the supporter
to a bench, but he'll speak with you.
-- 370 --
Oli.
What kind o'man is he?
Mal.
Why, of mankind.
Oli.
What manner of man?
Mal.
Of very ill manners; he'll speak with you,
will you or no.
Oli.
Of what personage and years is he?
Mal.
Not yet old enough for a man, nor young
enough for a boy; as a squash is before 'tis a peascod,
or a codling when 'tis almost an apple: 'tis with him
in standing water, between boy and man. He is very
well-favour'd, and he speaks very shrewishly; one
would think, his mother's milk were scarce out of
him.
Oli.
Let him approach: call in my Gentlewoman.
Mal.
Gentlewoman, my Lady calls.
[Exit.
SCENE IX.
Enter Maria.
Oli.
Give me my veil: come, throw it o'er my face;
We'll once more hear Orsino's embassy.
Enter Viola.
Vio.
The honourable Lady of the house, which is
she?
Oli.
Speak to me, I shall answer for her: your will?
Vio.
Most radiant, exquisite, and unmatchable Beauty
—I pray you, tell me, if this be the Lady of
the house, for I never saw her. I would be loth to
-- 371 --
cast away my speech; for, besides that it is excellently
well penn'd, I have taken great pains to con it. Good
Beauties, let me sustain no scorn; 3 noteI am very comptible,
even to the least sinister usage.
Oli.
Whence came you, Sir?
Vio.
I can say little more than I have studied, and
that Question's out of my Part. Good gentle One,
give me modest assurance, if you be the Lady of the
house, that I may proceed in my speech.
Oli.
Are you a Comedian?
Vio.
No, my profound heart; and yet, by the very
fangs of malice, I swear, I am not that I play. Are
you the Lady of the house?
Oli.
If I do not usurp myself, I am.
Vio.
Most certain, if you are she, you do usurp
yourself; for what is yours to bestow, is not yours to
reserve; but this is from my Commission. I will on
with my speech in your praise, and then shew you the
heart of my message.
Oli.
Come to what is important in't: I forgive you
the praise.
Vio.
Alas, I took great pains to study it, and 'tis
poetical.
Oli.
It is the more like to be feign'd. I pray you,
keep it in. I heard you were sawcy at my gates; and
I allow'd your approach, rather to wonder at you than
to hear you. If you be not mad, be gone; if you
have reason, be brief: 'tis not that time of the moon
with me, to make one in so * noteskipping a dialogue.
Mar.
Will you hoist sail, Sir, here lies your way.
Vio.
No, good swabber, I am to hull here a little
longer. Some mollification for your 4 noteGiant, sweet
Lady.
-- 372 --
5 note
Oli.
Tell me your mind.
Vio.
I am a messenger.
Oli.
Sure, you have some hideous matter to deliver,
when the courtesie of it is so fearful. Speak your
office.
Vio.
It alone concerns your ear. I bring no overture
of war, no taxation of homage; I hold the olive
in my hand: my words are as full of peace as matter.
Oli.
Yet you began rudely. What are you? what
would you?
Vio.
The rudeness, that hath appear'd in me, have
I learn'd from my entertainment. What I am, and
what I would, are as secret as maiden-head; to your
ears, divinity; to any other's, prophanation.
Oli.
Give us the place alone. [Exit Maria.] We will
hear this divinity. Now, Sir, what is your text?
Vio.
Most sweet Lady,—
Oli.
A comfortable Doctrine, and much may be
said of it. Where lies your text?
Vio.
In Orsino's bosom.
Oli.
In his bosom? in what chapter of his bosom?
Vio.
To answer by the method, in the first of his
heart.
Oli.
O, I have read it; it is heresy. Have you no
more to say?
Vio.
Good Madam, let me see your face.
Oli.
Have you any commission from your Lord to
negotiate with my face? you are now out of your text;
but we will draw the curtain, and shew you the picture.
-- 373 --
6 noteLook you, Sir, such a one I was this present: is't
not well done?
[Unveiling.
Vio.
Excellently done, if God did all.
Oli.
'Tis in grain, Sir; 'twill endure wind and
weather.
Vio.
'Tis Beauty truly blent, whose red and white
Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on:
Lady, you are the cruell'st She alive,
If you will lead these graces to the Grave,
And leave the world no copy.
Oli.
O, Sir, I will not be so hard-hearted: I will
give out diverse schedules of my beauty. It shall be
inventoried, and every particle and utensil labell'd to
my will. As, Item, two lips indifferent red. Item,
two grey eyes, with lids to them. Item, one neck,
one chin, and so forth. Were you sent hither to praise
me?
Vio.
I see you, what you are; you are too proud;
But if you were the Devil, you are fair.
My Lord and Master loves you: O, such love
Could be but recompens'd, tho' you were crown'd
The Non-pareil of Beauty!
Oli.
How does he love me?
Vio.
With adorations, with fertile tears,
With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire.
Oli.
Your Lord does know my mind, I cannot love him;
Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble,
Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth;
-- 374 --
In voices well divulg'd; free, learn'd, and valiant;
And in dimension, and the shape of nature,
A gracious person; but yet I cannot love him:
He might have took his answer long ago.
Vio.
If I did love you in my master's flame,
With such a suff'ring, such a deadly life,
In your denial I would find no sense:
I would not understand it.
Oli.
Why, what would you do?
Vio.
Make me a willow cabin at your gate,
And call upon my soul within the house;
Write loyal canto's of contemned love,
And sing them loud even in the dead of night:
7 noteHollow your name to the reverberant hills,
And make the babling gossip of the air
Cry out, Olivia! O, you should not rest
Between the elements of air and earth,
But you should pity me.
Oli.
You might do much:
What is your parentage?
Vio.
Above my fortunes, yet my state is well:
I am a gentleman.
Oli.
Get you to your Lord;
I cannot love him: let him send no more;
Unless, perchance, you come to me again,
To tell me how he takes it; fare you well:
I thank you for your pains; spend this for me.
Vio.
I am no fee'd post, Lady; keep your purse:
My master, not myself, lacks recompence.
Love make his heart of flint, that you shall love,
And let your fervour, like my master's, be
Plac'd in contempt! farewel, fair cruelty.
[Exit.
Oli.
What is your parentage?
Above my fortunes, yet my state is well:—
I am a gentleman.—I'll be sworn thou art.
-- 375 --
Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit,
Do give thee five-fold blazon—not too fast—soft! soft!
Unless the master were the man.—How now?
Even so quickly may one catch the plague?
Methinks, I feel this youth's perfections,
With an invisible and subtile stealth,
To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be—
What ho, Malvolio,—
Enter Malvolio.
Mal.
Here, Madam, at your service.
Oli.
Run after that same peevish messenger,
The Duke's man; he left this ring behind him,
Would I, or not: tell him, I'll none of it.
Desire him not to flatter with his Lord,
Nor hold him up with hopes; I am not for him:
If that the youth will come this way to-morrow,
I'll give him reasons for't. Hye thee, Malvolio.
Mal.
Madam, I will.
[Exit.
Oli.
I do, I know not what; and fear to find
* noteMine eye too great a flatterer for my mind:
Fate, shew thy force; ourselves we do not owe;
What is decreed, must be; and be this so!
[Exit.
-- 376 --
ACT II.
SCENE I.
The Street.
Enter Antonio and Sebastian.
Antonio.
Will you stay no longer? nor will you not,
that I go with you?
Seb.
By your patience, no: my stars shine darkly
over me; the malignancy of my fate might, perhaps,
distemper yours; therefore I shall crave of you your
leave, that I may bear my evils alone. It were a bad
recompence for your love, to lay any of them on you.
Ant.
Let me yet know of you, whither you are
bound.
Seb.
No, in sooth, Sir; my determinate voyage is
meer extravagancy: but I perceive in you so excellent
a touch of modesty, that you will not extort from me
what I am willing to keep in; therefore it charges me
in manners the rather 8 noteto express myself: you must
know of me then, Antonio, my name is Sebastian;
which I call'd Rodorigo; my father was that Sebastian
of Messaline, whom, I know, you have heard of. He
left behind him, myself, and a sister, both born in one
hour; if the heav'ns had been pleas'd, would we had
so ended! but you, Sir, alter'd that; for, some hour
before you took me from the breach of the sea, was
my sister drown'd.
Ant.
Alas, the day!
Seb.
A Lady, Sir, tho' it was said she much resembled
me, was yet of many accounted beautiful;
-- 377 --
but tho' I could not 9 notewith such estimable wonder
overfar believe that, yet thus far I will boldly publish
her, she bore a mind that envy could not but call
fair: she is drown'd already, Sir, with salt water, tho'
I seem to drown her remembrance again with more.
Ant.
Pardon me, Sir, your bad entertainment.
Seb.
O good Antonio, forgive me your trouble.
Ant.
If you will not murther me for my love, let
me be your servant.
Seb.
If you will not undo what you have done,
that is, kill him whom you have recover'd, desire it
not. Fare ye well at once; my bosom is full of kindness,
and I am yet so near the manners of my mother,
that upon the least occasion more, mine eyes will tell
tales of me: I am bound to the Duke Orsino's court;
farewel.
[Exit.
Ant.
The gentleness of all the Gods go with thee!
I have made enemies in Orsino's court,
Else would I very shortly see thee there:
But come what may, I do adore thee so,
The danger shall seem sport, and I will go.
[Exit.
SCENE II.
Enter Viola and Malvolio, at several doors.
Mal.
Were not you e'en now with the Countess
Olivia?
Vio.
Even now, Sir; on a moderate pace I have
since arrived but hither.
Mal.
She returns this ring to you, Sir; you might
-- 378 --
have saved me my pains, to have taken it away your
self. She adds moreover, that you should put your
Lord into a desperate Assurance, she will none of him.
And one thing more, that you be never so hardy to
come again in his affairs, unless it be to report your
Lord's taking of this: receive it so.
Vio.
She took the ring of me, I'll none of it.
Mal.
Come, Sir, you peevishly threw it to her, and
her will is, it should be so return'd: if it be worth stooping
for, there it lyes in your eye; if not, be it his
that finds it.
[Exit.
Vio.
I left no ring with her; what means this Lady?
Fortune forbid, my outside have not charm'd her!
She made good view of me; indeed, so much,
That, sure, methought 1 note
her eyes had lost her tongue;
For she did speak in starts distractedly:
She loves me, sure; the cunning of her passion
Invites me in this churlish messenger.
None of my Lord's ring; why, he sent her none.
I am the man—If it be so, (as, 'tis;)
Poor Lady, she were better love a dream.
Disguise, I see, thou art a wickedness,
Wherein the pregnant enemy does much.
How easie is it, for the proper false2 note
-- 379 --
In women's waxen hearts to set their forms!
Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we,
For such as we are made, if such we be.
How will this fadge? my master loves her dearly,
And I, poor monster, fond as much on him;
And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me.
What will become of this? as I am man,
My state is desperate for my master's love;
As I am woman, (now, alas the day!)
What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe?
O time, thou must untangle this, not I;
It is too hard a knot for me t' unty.
[Exit.
SCENE III.
Changes to Olivia's House.
Enter Sir Toby, and Sir Andrew.
Sir To.
Approach, Sir Andrew: not to be a-bed
after midnight, is to be up betimes; and
Diluculo surgere, thou know'st,—
Sir And.
Nay, by my troth, I know not: but I
know, to be up late, is to be up late.
Sir To.
A false conclusion: I hate it, as an unfill'd
can; to be up after midnight, and to go to bed then,
is early; so that to go to bed after midnight, is to go
bed betimes. Does not our life consist of the four
elements?
Sir And.
'Faith, so they say; but, 3 noteI think, it rather
consists of eating and drinking.
-- 380 --
Sir To.
Th'art a scholar, let us therefore eat and
drink. Maria! I say!—a stoop of wine.
Enter Clown.
Sir And.
Here comes the fool, i'faith.
Clo.
How now, my hearts? did you never see the
picture of we three?
Sir To.
Welcome, ass, now let's have a catch.
Sir And.
By my troth, the fool has an excellent
breast6Q0083. I had rather than forty shillings I had such a
leg, and so sweet a breath to sing, as the fool has. In
sooth, thou wast in very gracious fooling last night,
when thou spok'st of Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians
passing the Equinoctial of Queubus: 'twas very good,
i'faith: I sent thee six-pence for thy Lemon, hadst it?4 note
Clo.
5 noteI did impeticos thy gratility; for Malvolio's
nose is no whip-stock. My Lady has a white hand,
and the Myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses.
Sir And.
Excellent: why, this is the best fooling,
when all is done. Now, a Song—
Sir To.
Come on, there's Six-pence for you. Let's
have a Song.
Sir And.
There's a testril of me too; if one Knight
give a—
Clo.
Would you have a Love-song, or a Song of
good life?
Sir To.
A Love-song, a Love-song.
Sir And.
Ay, ay, I care not for good life.
-- 381 --
Clown sings.
O mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O stay and hear, your true love's coming,
That can sing both high and low.
Trip no further, pretty sweeting,
Journeys end in lovers' meeting,
Every wise man's son doth know.
Sir And.
Excellent good, i'faith!
Sir To.
Good, good.
Clo.
What is love? 'tis not hereafter,
Present mirth hath present laughter,
What's to come, is still unsure:
6 note
In delay there lyes no plenty,
* note
Then come kiss me, sweet, and twenty,
Youth's a stuff will not endure.
Sir And.
A mellifluous voice, as I am a true Knight.
Sir To.
A contagious breath.
Sir And.
Very sweet and contagious, i'faith.
Sir To.
To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion.
But shall we 7 notemake the welkin dance, indeed?
Shall we rouze the night-owl in a catch, that will
8 notedraw three souls out of one weaver? shall we do
that?
-- 382 --
Sir And.
An you love me, let's do't: I am a dog
at a catch.
Clo.
By'r Lady, Sir, and some dogs will catch well.
Sir And.
Most certain? let our catch be, Thou knave.
Clo.
Hold thy peace, thou knave, Knight. I shall be
constrain'd in't, to call thee knave, Knight.
Sir And.
'Tis not the first time I have constrain'd
one to call me knave. Begin, fool; it begins, Hold
thy peace.
Clo.
I shall never begin, if I hold my peace.
Sir And.
Good, i'faith: come, begin.
[They sing a catch.9 note
SCENE IV.
Enter Maria.
Mar.
What a catterwauling do you keep here? if
my Lady have not call'd up her steward, Malvolio,
and bid him turn you out of doors, never trust me.
Sir To.
My Lady's a Catayan, we are politicians,
Malvolio's a 1 notePeg-a-Ramsey, and Three merry men be we.
-- 383 --
Am not I consanguineous? am I not of her blood?
Tilly valley, Lady! there dwelt a man in Babylon, Lady,
Lady.
[Singing.
Clo.
Beshrew me, the Knight's in admirable fooling.
Sir And.
Ay, he does well enough if he be dispos'd,
and so do I too: he does it with a better grace, but I
do it more natural.
Sir To.
O, the twelfth day of December,—
[Singing.
Mar.
For the love o'God, peace.
Enter Malvolio.
Mal.
My masters, are you mad? or what are you?
have you no wit, manners, nor honesty, but to gabble
like tinkers at this time of night? do ye make an alehouse
of my Lady's house, that ye squeak out your
2 notecoziers catches without any mitigation or remorse of
voice? is there no respect of place, persons, nor time
in you?
Sir To.
We did keep time, Sir, in our catches.
Sneck up!—
[Hiccoughs.
Mal.
Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My
Lady bade me tell you, that tho' she harbours you as
her Uncle, she's nothing ally'd to your disorders. If
you can separate yourself and your misdemeanors, you
are welcome to the House: if not, an it would please
you to take leave of her, she is very willing to bid
you farewel.
Sir To.
Farewel, dear heart, since I must needs be
gone.
Mal.
Nay, good Sir Toby.
Clo.
His eyes do shew, his days are almost done.
Mal.
Is't even so?
Sir To.
But I will never die.
Clo.
Sir Toby, there you lie.
Mal.
This is much credit to you.
-- 384 --
Sir To.
Shall I bid him go?
[Singing.
Clo.
What, an if you do?
Sir To.
Shall I bid him go, and spare not?
Clo.
O no, no, no, you dare not.
Sir To.
Out o'time, Sir, ye lie: art thou any more
than a steward? dost thou think, because thou art virtuous,
there shall be no more cakes and ale?
Clo.
Yes, by Saint Anne; and ginger shall be hot
i'th' mouth too.
Sir To.
Thou'rt i'th' right.—Go, Sir, rub your
chain with crums.3 note—A stoop of wine, Maria.—
Mal.
Mistress Mary, if you priz'd my Lady's favour
at any thing more than contempt, you would not
give means for this uncivil rule;4 note she shall know of it,
by this hand.
[Exit.
Mar.
Go shake your ears.
Sir And.
'Twere as good a deed as to drink when a
man's a hungry, to challenge him to the field, and
then to break promise with him, and make a fool of
him.
Sir To.
Do't, Knight, I'll write thee a challenge: or
I'll deliver thy indignation to him by word of mouth.
Mar.
Sweet Sir Toby, be patient for to night; since
the youth of the Duke's was to day with my Lady,
she is much out of quiet. For Monsieur Malvolio,
let me alone with him: if I do not gull him into a
nayword, and make him a common recreation, do not
think, I have wit enough to lie straight in my bed:
I know, I can do it.
Sir To.
Possess us,5 note possess us, tell us something of
him.
-- 385 --
Mar.
Marry, Sir, sometimes he is a kind of a Puritan.
Sir And.
O, if I thought that, I'd beat him like a
dog.
Sir To.
What, for being a Puritan? thy exquisite
reason, dear Knight.
Sir And.
I have no exquisite reason for't, but I have
reason good enough.
Mar.
The devil a Puritan that he is, or any thing
constantly but a time-pleaser; 6 notean affection'd ass, that
cons state without book, and utters it by great swaths;
the best persuaded of himself; so cram'd, as he thinks,
with excellencies, that it is his ground of faith, that
all that look on him, love him; and on that vice in
him will my revenge find notable cause to work.
Sir To.
What wilt thou do?
Mar.
I will drop in his way some obscure epistles
of love, wherein, by the colour of his beard, the
shape of his leg, the manner of his gait, the expressure
of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he shall
find himself most feelingly personated. I can write
very like my Lady your Neice; on a forgotten matter
we can hardly make distinction of our hands.
Sir To.
Excellent, I smell a device.
Sir And.
I have't in my nose too.
Sir To.
He shall think by the letters, that thou wilt
drop, that they come from my Neice, and that she is
in love with him.
Mar.
My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour.
Sir And.
And your horse now would make him
an ass.
Mar.
Ass, I doubt not.
Sir And.
O, 'twill be admirable.
Mar.
Sport royal, I warrant you: I know, my
physick will work with him. I will plant you two,
-- 386 --
and let the fool make a third, where he shall find the
letter: observe his construction of it. For this night to
bed, and dream on the event. Farewel.
[Exit.
Sir To.
Good night, Penthesilea.
Sir And.
Before me, she's a good wench.
Sir To.
She's a beagle, true-bred, and one that adores
me; what o'that?
Sir And.
I was ador'd once too.
Sir To.
Let's to bed, Knight.—Thou hadst need send
for more money.
Sir And.
If I cannot recover your Neice, I am a
foul way out.
Sir To.
Send for money, Knight; if thou hast her
not i'th'end, call me Cut.
Sir And.
If I do not, never trust me, take it how
you will.
Sir To.
Come, come, I'll go burn some sack, 'tis
too late to go to bed now. Come, Knight; come
Knight.
[Exeunt.
SCENE V.
Changes to the Palace.
Enter Duke, Viola, Curio, and others.
Duke.
Give me some musick now.—Good morrow, friends—
Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song,
That old and antique song, we heard last night;
Methought, it did relieve my passion much;
More than light airs, and recollected terms* note
Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times.
—Come, but one verse.
Cur.
He is not here, so please your Lordship, that
should sing it.
Duke.
Who was it?
-- 387 --
Cur.
Feste, the jester, my Lord, a fool that the Lady
Olivia's father took much delight in. He is about
the house.
Duke.
Seek him out, and play the tune the while.
[Ex. Curio.
[Musick.
—Come hither, boy; if ever thou shalt love,
In the sweet pangs of it, remember me;
For such as I am, all true lovers are;
Unstaid and skittish in all motions else,
Save in the constant image of the creature
That is belov'd.—How dost thou like this tune?
Vio.
It gives a very echo to the seat
Where love is thron'd.
Duke.
Thou dost speak masterly.
My life upon't, young tho' thou art, thine eye
Hath staid upon some favour that it loves:
Hath it not, boy?
Vio.
A little, by your favour.* note
Duke.
What kind of woman is't?
Vio.
Of your complexion.
Duke.
She is not worth thee then. What years, i'faith?
Vio.
About your years, my Lord.
Duke.
Too old, by heav'n; let still the woman take
An elder than herself, so wears she to him;
So sways she level in her husband's heart.
For, boy, however we do praise ourselves,
Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm,
More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn,7 note
Than women's are.
Vio.
I think it well, my Lord.
Duke.
Then let thy love be younger than thyself,
Or thy affection cannot hold the bent:
-- 388 --
For women are as roses, whose fair flower,
Being once display'd, doth fall that very hour.
Vio.
And so they are: alas, that they are so,
To die, even when they to perfection grow!
Enter Curio and Clown.
Duke.
O fellow, come.—The song we had last night,—
Mark it, Cesario, it is old and plain;
The spinsters and the knitters in the sun,
And the free8 note maids that weave their thread with bones,
Do use to chaunt it: it is silly sooth,* note
And dallies with the innocence of love,9 note
Like the old age.1 note
Clo.
Are you ready, Sir?
Duke.
Ay; pr'ythee, sing.
[Musick.
SONG.
Come away, come away, death,
And in sad cypress let me be laid;
Fly away, fly away, breath,
I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
My shrowd of white, stuck all with yew,
O, prepare it.
My part of death no one so true
Did share it.2 note
-- 389 --
Not a flower, not a flower sweet,
On my black coffin let there be strown:
Not a friend, not a friend greet
My poor corps, where my bones shall be thrown.
A thousand thousand sighs to save,
Lay me, O! where
True lover never find my grave,
To weep there.
Duke.
There's for thy pains.
Clo.
No pains, Sir; I take pleasure in singing, Sir.
Duke.
I'll pay thy pleasure then.
Clo.
Truly, Sir, and pleasure will be paid one time
or other.
Duke.
Give me now leave to leave thee.
Clo.
Now the melancholy God protect thee, and the
taylor make thy doublet of changeable taffata, for thy
mind is a very opal!2 note I would have men of such constancy
put to sea, 3 notethat their business might be every
thing, and their intent every where; for that's it, that
always makes a good voyage of nothing. Farewel.
[Exit.
SCENE VI.
Duke.
Let all the rest give place.
[Exeunt.]
Once more, Cesario,
Get thee to yond same sovereign cruelty:
-- 390 --
Tell her, my love, more noble than the world,
Prizes not quantity of dirty lands;
The parts, that fortune hath bestow'd upon her,
Tell her, I hold as giddily as fortune:
4 note
But 'tis that miracle, and Queen of Gems,
That nature pranks her in, attracts my soul.
Vio.
But if she cannot love you, Sir—
Duke.
I cannot be so answer'd.
Vio.
Sooth, but you must.
Say, that some Lady, as, perhaps, there is,
Hath for your love as great a pang of heart
As you have for Olivia: you cannot love her;
You tell her so; must she not then be answer'd?
Duke.
There is no woman's sides
Can bide the beating of so strong a passion,
As love doth give my heart: no woman's heart
So big to hold so much; they lack retention.
Alas, their love may be call'd appetite:
No motion of the liver, but the palate,
That suffers surfeit, cloyment, and revolt;
But mine is all as hungry as the sea,
And can digest as much; make no compare
Between that love a woman can bear me,
And that I owe Olivia.
Vio.
Ay, but I know—
-- 391 --
Duke.
What dost thou know?
Vio.
Too well what love women to men may owe;
In faith, they are as true of heart, as we.
My father had a daughter lov'd a man,
As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman,
I should your Lordship.
Duke.
And what's her history?
Vio.
A blank, my Lord: She never told her love,
But let concealment, like a worm i'th' bud,
Feed on her damask cheek: she pin'd in thought;
And, with a green and yellow melancholy,
5 note
She sat like Patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed?
-- 392 --
We men may say more, swear more, but, indeed,
Our shows are more than will; for still we prove
Much in our vows, but little in our love.
Duke.
But dy'd thy sister of her love, my boy?
Vio.
I'm all the daughters of my fathers' house,6 note
And all the brothers too—and yet I know not—
Sir, shall I to this Lady?
Duke.
Ay, that's the theme.
To her in haste; give her this jewel: say,
My love can give no place, bide no denay.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VII.
Changes to Olivia's Garden.
Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian.
Sir To.
Come thy ways, Signior Fabian.
Fab.
Nay, I'll come; if I lose a scruple
of this sport, let me be boil'd to death with melancholy.
Sir To.
Would'st thou not be glad to have the
-- 393 --
niggardly rascally sheep-biter come by some notable
shame?
Fab.
I would exult, man; you know, he brought
me out of favour with my Lady, about a bear-baiting
here.
Sir To.
To anger him, we'll have the bear again;
and we will fool him black and blue, shall we not, Sir
Andrew?
Sir And.
An we do not, it's pity of our lives.
Enter Maria.
Sir To.
Here comes the little villain: how now, my
nettle of India?* note
Mar.
Get ye all three into the box-tree; Malvolio's
coming down this walk, he has been yonder i'th'sun
practising behaviour to his own shadow this half hour.
Observe him, for the love of mockery; for, I know,
this letter will make a contemplative idiot of him.
Close, in the name of jesting! lye thou there; for
here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling.
[Throws down a letter, and Exit.
SCENE VIII.
Enter Malvolio.
Mal.
'Tis but fortune, all is fortune. Maria once
told me, she did affect me; and I have heard herself
come thus near, that should she fancy, it should be
one of my complexion. Besides, she uses me with a
more exalted respect, than any one else that follows
her. What should I think on't?
Sir To.
Here's an over-weening rogue.—
Fab.
O, peace: contemplation makes a rare Turkey-cock
-- 394 --
of him; how he jets under his advanc'd
plumes!
Sir And.
'Slife, I could so beat the rogue.
Sir To.
Peace, I say.
Mal.
To be Count Malvolio,—
Sir To.
Ah, rogue!
Sir And.
Pistol him, pistol him.
Sir To.
Peace, peace.
Mal.
There is example for't: 7 note
the Lady of the
Strachy married the yeoman of the wardrobe.
Sir And.
Fie on him, Jezebel!
Fab.
O, peace, now he's deeply in; look, how
imagination blows him.
Mal.
Having been three months married to her,
sitting in my state—
Sir To.
8 noteO for a stone-bow, to hit him in the eye!—
Mal.
Calling my officers about me, in my branch'd
velvet-gown; having come down from a day-bed,
where I have left Olivia sleeping.
Sir To.
Fire and brimstone!
Fab.
O, peace, peace.
Mal.
And then to have the humour of state; and
after a demure travel of regard, telling them, I know
my place, as I would they should do theirs—to ask
for my uncle Toby—
Sir To.
Bolts and shackles!
Fab.
Oh, peace, peace, peace; now, now.
Mal.
Seven of my people with an obedient start
make out for him: I frown the while, and, perchance,
-- 395 --
wind up my watch,9 note or play with some rich jewel. Toby
approaches, curtsies there to me.
Sir To.
Shall this fellow live?
Fab.
Tho' our silence be drawn from us with cares,
yet, peace.1 note
Mal.
I extend my hand to him thus; quenching
my familiar smile with an austere regard of controul.
Sir To.
And does not Toby take you a blow o'th' lips
then?
Mal.
Saying, uncle Toby, my fortunes having cast
me on your Neice, give me this prerogative of
speech—
Sir To.
What, what?
Mal.
You must amend your drunkenness.
Sir To.
Out, scab?
Fab.
Nay, patience, or we break the sinews of our
plot.
Mal.
Besides, you waste the treasure of your time
with a foolish Knight—
Sir And.
That's me, I warrant you.
Mal.
One Sir Andrew,—
Sir And.
I knew, 'twas I; for many do call me
Fool.
-- 396 --
Mal.
What employment have we here?2 note
[Taking up the letter.
Fab.
Now is the woodcock near the gin.
Sir To.
Oh peace! now the spirit of humours intimate
reading aloud to him!
Mal.
By my life, this is my Lady's hand: these
be her very C's, her U's, and her T's, and thus makes
she her great P's. It is, in contempt of question, her
hand.
Sir And.
Her C's, her U's, and her T's: why
that?
Mal.
To the unknown belov'd, this, and my good
wishes; her very phrases: By your leave, wax. Soft!
and the impressure her Lucrece, with which she uses to
seal; 'tis my Lady: to whom should this be?
Fab.
This wins him, liver and all.
Mal.
Jove knows I love, but who,
Lips do not move, no man must know.
No man must know—what follows? the number's
alter'd—no man must know—if this should be
thee, Malvolio?
Sir To.
Marry, hang thee, Brock!
Mal.
I may command, where I adore,
But, silence, like a Lucrece knife,
With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore,
M. O. A. I. doth sway my life.
Fab.
A fustian riddle.
Sir To.
Excellent wench, say I.
Mal.
M. O. A. I. doth sway my life—nay, but
first, let me see—let me see—
Fab.
What a dish of poison has she dress'd him?
-- 397 --
Sir To.
And with what wing the 3 notestannyel checks
at it?
Mal.
I may command where I adore.
Why, she may
command me: I serve her, she is my Lady. Why,
this is evident to any 4 noteformal capacity. There is no
obstruction in this—and the end—what should
that alphabetical position portend? if I could make
that resemble something in me? softly—M. O.
A. I.—
Sir To.
O, ay! make up that; he is now at a cold
scent.
Fab.
Sowter will cry upon't for all this, tho' it be
not as rank as a fox.5 note
Mal.
M.—Malvolio—M.—why, that begins
my name.
Fab.
Did not I say, he would work it out? the cur
is excellent at faults.
Mal.
M. But then there is no consonancy in the sequel;
That suffers under probation: A should follow,
but O does.
Fab.
And O shall end, I hope.6 note
Sir To.
Ay, or I'll cudgel him, and make him
cry, O.
Mal.
And then I comes behind.
Fab.
Ay, and you had any eye behind you, you
might see more detraction at your heels than fortunes
before you.
Mal.
M. O. A. I.—this simulation is not as the
former—and yet to crush this a little, it would bow
to me, for every one of these letters is in my name.
Soft, here follows prose—If this fall into thy hand,
revolve. In my stars I am above thee, but be not afraid
-- 398 --
of greatness; some are born great, some atchieve greatness,
and some have greatness thrust upon them. Thy
fates open their hands, let thy blood and spirit embrace
them; and to inure thyself to what thou art like to be,
cast thy humble slough, and appear fresh. Be opposite
with a kinsman, surly with servants: let thy tongue tang
arguments of state; put thyself into the trick of singularity.
She thus advises thee, that sighs for thee. Remember
who commended thy yellow stockings, and wish'd
to see thee ever cross-garter'd. I say, remember; go to,
thou art made, if thou desirest to be so: if not, let me
see thee a steward still, the fellow of servants, and not
worthy to touch fortunes' fingers. Farewel. She, that
would alter services with thee, the fortunate and happy.
Day-light and champian discovers no more:7 note this is
open. I will be proud, I will read politick authors,
I will baffle Sir Toby, I will wash off gross acquaintance,
I will be point de vice, the very man. I do
not now fool myself, to let imagination jade me; for
every reason excites to this, that my Lady loves me.
She did commend my yellow stockings of late, she
did praise my leg, being cross-garter'd, and in this
she manifests herself to my love, and with a kind of
injunction drives me to these habits of her liking. I
thank my stars, I am happy: I will be strange, stout,
in yellow stockings, and cross-garter'd, even with the
swiftness of putting on. Jove, and my stars be praised!
—Here is yet a postscript. Thou canst not chuse but
know who I am: if thou entertainest my love, let it appear
in thy smiling; thy smiles become thee well. Therefore
in my presence still smile, dear my sweet, I pr'ythee.
—Jove, I thank thee! I will smile, I will do every
thing that thou wilt have me.
[Exit.
-- 399 --
Fab.
I will not give my part of this sport for a pension
of thousands to be paid from the Sophy.
Sir To.
I could marry this wench for this device.
Sir And.
So could I too.
Sir To.
And ask no other dowry with her, but such
another jest.
SCENE IX.
Enter Maria.
Sir And.
Nor I neither.
Fab.
Here comes my noble gull-catcher.
Sir To.
Wilt thou set thy foot o'my neck?
Sir And.
Or o' mine either?
Sir To.
Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip,8 note and
become thy bond-slave?
Sir And.
I'faith, or I either?
Sir To.
Why, thou hast put him in such a dream,
that when the image of it leaves him, he must run
mad.
Mar.
Nay, but say true, does it work upon him?
Sir To.
Like Aqua vitæ with a midwife.9 note
Mar.
If you will then see the fruits of the sport,
mark his first approach before my Lady: he will come
to her in yellow stockings, and 'tis a colour she abhors;
and cross-garter'd, a fashion she detests; and
he will smile upon her, which will now be so unsuitable
to her disposition, being addicted to a melancholy,
as she is, that it cannot but turn him into a notable
contempt: if you will see it, follow me.
Sir To.
To the gates of Tartar; thou most excellent
devil of wit!
Sir And.
I'll make one too.
[Exeunt.
-- 400 --
ACT III.
SCENE I.
Olivia's Garden.
Enter Viola, and Clown.
Viola.
Save thee, Friend, and thy musick. Dost thou
live by thy Tabor?
Clo.
No, Sir, I live by the Church.
Vio.
Art thou a Churchman?
Clo.
No such matter, Sir; I do live by the Church;
for I do live at my House, and my House doth stand
by the Church.
Vio.
So thou may'st say, the King lyes by a Beggar,
if a Beggar dwell near him: or the Church
stands by thy Tabor, if thy Tabor stand by the
Church.
Clo.
You have said, Sir.—To see this age!—A sentence
is but a chev'ril glove to a good wit; how
quickly the wrong side may be turned outward?
Vio.
Nay, that's certain; they, that dally nicely
with words, may quickly make them wanton.
Clo.
I would therefore, my Sister had had no Name,
Sir.
Vio.
Why, Man?
Clo.
Why, Sir, her Name's a word; and to dally
with that word, might make my Sister wanton; but,
indeed, words are very rascals, since bonds disgrac'd
them.
Vio.
Thy reason, Man?
Clo.
Troth, Sir, I can yield you none without
words; and words are grown so false, I am loth to
prove reason with them.
-- 401 --
Vio.
I warrant, thou art a merry Fellow, and carest
for nothing.
Clo.
Not so, Sir, I do care for something; but, in
my conscience, Sir, I do not care for you: if that be
to care for nothing, Sir, I would, it would make you
invisible.
Vio.
Art not thou the Lady Olivia's Fool?
Clo.
No, indeed, Sir; the Lady Olivia has no folly;
she will keep no Fool, Sir, 'till she be married; and
Fools are as like Husbands, as Pilchers are to Herrings,
the Husband's the bigger: I am, indeed, not
her Fool, but her Corrupter of Words.
Vio.
I saw thee late at the Duke Orsino's.
Clo.
Foolery, Sir, does walk about the Orb like the
Sun; it shines every where. I would be sorry, Sir,
but the Fool should be as oft with your Master, as with
my Mistress: I think, I saw your wisdom there.
Vio.
Nay, an thou pass upon me, I'll no more with
thee. Hold, there's expences for thee.
Clo.
Now Jove, in his next commodity of hair,
send thee a beard!
Vio.
By my troth, I'll tell thee, I am almost sick
for one, though I would not have it grow on my
chin. Is thy lady within?
Clo.
Would not a pair of these have bred, Sir?
Vio.
Yes, being kept together, and put to use.
Clo.
I would play lord Pandarus1 note of Phrygia, Sir,
to bring a Cressida to this Troylus.
Vio.
I understand you, Sir, 'tis well begg'd.
Clo.
The matter, I hope, is not great, Sir; begging
but a beggar: Cressida was a beggar. My lady
is within, Sir, I will conster to them whence you
come; who you are, and what you would, is out of
my welkin; I might say, element; but the word is
over-worn.
[Exit.
-- 402 --
Vio.
This fellow is wise enough to play the fool,
And, to do that well, craves a kind of wit:
He must observe their mood on whom he jests,
The quality of the persons, and the time;
And, like the haggard, check at every feather
That comes before his eye. This is a practice,
As full of labour as a wise-man's art:
For folly, that he wisely shews, is fit;
But wise men's folly fall'n,2 note quite taints their wit.
SCENE II.
Enter Sir Toby, and Sir Andrew.
Sir And.
Save you, Gentleman.3 note
Vio.
And you, Sir.
Sir To.
Dieu vous guarde, Monsieur.
Vio.
Et vous aussi; votre serviteur.
Sir To.
I hope, Sir, you are; and I am yours.—
Will you encounter the House? my Niece is desirous
you should enter, if your trade be to her.
Vio.
I am bound to your Niece, Sir; I mean, she
is the list of my voyage.4 note
Sir To.
Taste your legs, Sir, put them to motion.
Vio.
My legs do better understand me, Sir, than I
-- 403 --
understand what you mean by bidding me taste my
legs.
Sir To.
I mean, to go, Sir, to enter.
Vio.
I will answer you with gaite and entrance; but
we are prevented.
Enter Olivia and Maria.
Most excellent accomplish'd Lady, the heav'ns rain
odours on you!
Sir And.
That youth's a rare Courtier! rain odours?
well.
Vio.
My matter hath no voice, Lady, but to your
own most pregnant and vouchsafed ear.5 note
Sir And.
Odours, pregnant, and vouchsafed:—I'll
get 'em all three ready.
Oli.
Let the garden door be shut, and leave me to
my hearing.
[Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Maria.
SCENE III.
Give me your hand, Sir.
Vio.
My duty, Madam, and most humble service.
Oli.
What is your name?
Vio.
Cesario is your servant's name, fair Princess.
Oli.
My servant, Sir? 'Twas never merry world,
Once lowly feigning was call'd compliment:
Y'are servant to the Duke Orsino, youth.
Vio.
And he is yours, and his must needs be yours:
Your servant's servant is your servant, Madam.
Oli.
For him, I think not on him: for his thoughts,
'Would they were blanks, rather than filled with me!
Vio.
Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts
On his behalf.
-- 404 --
Oli.
O, by your leave, I pray you;—
I bade you never speak again of him.
But would you undertake another suit,
I'd rather hear you to solicit that
Than musick from the spheres,
Vio.
Dear lady,
Oli.
Give me leave, I beseech you: I did send,
After the last enchantment, (you did hear)6 note
.
A ring in chafe of you. So did I abuse
Myself, my servant, and, I fear me, you;
Under your hard construction must I sit,
To force that on you in a shameful cunning,
Which you knew none of yours. What might you think?
Have you not set mine honour at the stake,
And baited it with all th' unmuzzled thoughts
That tyrannous heart can think? to one of your receiving7 note
Enough is shewn; a cyprus,8 note not a bosom,
Hides my poor heart. So let us hear you speak.
Vio.
I pity you.
Oli.
That's a degree to love.
Vio.
No, not a grice;9 note for 'tis a vulgar proof,
That very oft we pity enemies.
Oli.
Why then, methinks, 'tis time to smile again;
O world, how apt the poor are to be proud!
If one should be a prey, how much the better
To fall before the lion, than the wolf!
[Clock strikes.
The clock upbraids me with the waste of time.
Be not afraid, good youth, I will not have you;
-- 405 --
And yet when wit and youth are come to harvest,
Your wife is like to reap a proper man:
There lies your way, due west.
Vio.
Then westward hoe:—
Grace and good disposition attend your ladyship;
You'll nothing, Madam, to my Lord by me?
Oli.
Stay; pr'ythee tell me, what thou think'st of me?
Vio.
That you do think, you are not what you are.
Oli.
If I think so, I think the same of you.
Vio.
Then think you right, I am not what I am.
Oli.
I would you were, as I would have you be!
Vio.
Would it be better, Madam, than I am?
I wish it might, for now I am your fool.
Oli.
O, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful
In the contempt and anger of his lip!
A murd'rous guilt shews not itself more soon,
Than love that would seem hid: love's night is noon.
Cesario, by the roses of the spring,
By maid-hood, honour, truth, and every thing,
I love thee so, that, maugre all thy pride,
Nor wit, nor reason, can my passion hide.
Do not extort thy reasons from this clause,
For that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause:
But rather reason thus with reason fetter;
Love sought is good; but given, unsought, is better.
Vio.
By innocence I swear, and by my youth,
I have one heart, one bosom, and one truth,
1 noteAnd that no woman has; nor never none
Shall mistress be of it, save I alone.2 note
And so adieu, good Madam; never more
Will I my master's tears to you deplore.
-- 406 --
Oli.
Yet come again; for thou, perhaps, may'st move
That heart, which now abhors, to like his love.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
Changes to an Apartment in Olivia's House.
Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian.
Sir And.
No, faith, I'll not stay a jot longer.
Sir To.
Thy reason, dear venom, give
thy reason.
Fab.
You must needs yield your reason, Sir Andrew.
Sir And.
Marry, I saw your neice do more favours
to the Duke's serving-man, than ever she bestow'd on
me. I saw't, i'th' orchard.
Sir To.
Did she see thee the while, old boy, tell me
that?
Sir And.
As plain as I see you now.
Fab.
This was a great argument of love in her towards
you.
Sir And.
'Slight! will you make an ass o' me?
Fab.
I will prove it legitimate, Sir, upon the oaths
of judgment and reason.
Sir To.
And they have been Grand Jury-men since
before Noah was a sailor.
Fab.
She did shew favour to the youth in your sight,
only to exasperate you, to awake your dormouse valour,
to put fire in your heart, and brimstone in your
liver. You should then have accosted her, with some
excellent jests, fire-new from the mint; you should have
bang'd the youth into dumbness. This was look'd for
at your hand, and this was baulkt. The double gilt of
this opportunity you let time wash off, and you are
now sail'd into the north of my lady's opinion;
where you will hang like an isicle on a Dutchman's
-- 407 --
beard, unless you do redeem it by some laudable attempt,
either of valour or policy.
Sir And.
And't be any way, it must be with valour;
for policy I hate: I had as lief be a Brownist, as a
politician.
Sir To.
Why then, build me thy fortunes upon the
basis of valour; challenge me the Duke's youth to
fight with him; hurt him in eleven places; my niece
shall take note of it; and assure thyself, there is no
love-broker in the world can more prevail in man's
commendation with woman than report of valour.
Fab.
There is no way but this, Sir Andrew.
Sir And.
Will either of you bear me a challenge to
him?
Sir To.
Go, write in a martial hand; be curst and
brief: it is no matter how witty, so it be eloquent, and
full of invention; 3 notetaunt him with the licence of ink;
if thou thou'st him some thrice, it shall not be amiss;
-- 408 --
and as many lies as will lye in thy sheet of paper, although
the sheet were big enough for the bed of Ware
in England; set 'em down, go about it. Let there be
gall enough, in thy ink, tho' thou write with a goose-pen,
no matter: about it.
Sir And.
Where shall I find you?
Sir To.
We'll call thee at the Cubiculo: go.
[Exit Sir Andrew.
SCENE V.
Fab.
This is a dear manikin to you, Sir Toby.
Sir To.
I have been dear to him, lad, some two
thousand strong or so.
Fab.
We shall have a rare letter from him; but
you'll not deliver't.
Sir To.
Never trust me then; and by all means stir
on the youth to an answer. I think, oxen and wainropes
cannot hale them together. For Andrew, if he
were open'd, and you find so much blood in his liver
as will clog the foot of a flea, I'll eat the rest of th'
anatomy.
Fab.
And his opposite, the youth, bears in his visage
no great presage of cruelty.
Enter Maria.
Sir To.
* noteLook, where the youngest wren of nine
comes.
Mar.
If you desire the spleen, and will laugh yourselves
into stitches, follow me: yond gull Malvolio is
turned Heathen, a very Renegado; for there is no
Christian, that means to be sav'd by believing rightly,
can ever believe such impossible passages of grossness,
He's in yellow stockings.
-- 409 --
Sir To.
And cross-garter'd?
Mar.
Most villainously; like a pedant that keeps
a school i'th' church—I have dogg'd him, like his murtherer.
He does obey every point of the letter, that
I dropt to betray him. He does smile his face into
more lines than is in the new map, with the augmentation
of the Indies; you have not seen such a thing,
as 'tis; I can hardly forbear hurling things at him. I
know, my lady will strike him; if she do, he'll smile,
and take't for a great favour.
Sir To.
Come, bring us, bring us where he is.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VI.
Changes to the Street.
Enter Sebastian and Anthonio.
Seb.
I would not by my will have troubled you.
But since you make your pleasure of your pains,
I will no further chide you.
Ant.
I could not stay behind you; my desire,
(More sharp than filed steel,) did spur me forth;
And not all love to see you, (tho' so much,
As might have drawn one to a longer voyage.)
But jealousie what might befal your travel,
Being skilless in these parts; which to a stranger,
Unguided and unfriended, often prove
Rough and unhospitable. My willing love,
The rather by these arguments of fear,
Set forth in your pursuit.
Seb.
My kind Antonio,
I can no other answer make, but thanks;4 note
-- 410 --
And thanks, and ever thanks; and oft good turns
Are shuffled off with such uncurrent pay;
But were my worth, as is my conscience, firm,
You should find better dealing: what's to do?
Shall we go see the relicks of this town?
Ant.
To-morrow, Sir; best, first, go see your lodging.
Seb.
I am not weary, and 'tis long to night;
I pray you, let us satisfie our eyes
With the memorials, and the things of fame,
That do renown this city.
Ant.
'Would, you'd pardon me:
I do not without danger walk these streets.
Once, in a sea-fight 'gainst the Duke his gallies,
I did some service, of such note, indeed,
That were I ta'en here, it would scarce be answer'd.
Seb.
Belike, you slew great number of his people.
Ant.
Th' offence is not of such a bloody nature,
Albeit the quality of the time and quarrel
Might well have given us bloody argument:
It might have since been answer'd in repaying
What we took from them, which, for traffick's sake,
Most of our city did. Only myself stood out;
For which, if I be lapsed in this place,
I shall pay dear.
Seb.
Do not then walk too open.
Ant.
It doth not fit me: hold, Sir, here's my purse.
In the south suburbs at the Elephant
-- 411 --
Is best to lodge: I will bespeak our diet,
Whiles you beguile your time, and feed your knowledge
With viewing of the town; there shall you have me.
Seb.
Why I your purse?
Ant.
Haply, your eye shall light upon some toy
You have desire to purchase; and your store,
I think, is not for idle markets, Sir.
Seb.
I'll be your purse-bearer, and leave you for
An hour.
Ant.
To th' Elephant.—
Seb.
I do remember.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VII.
Changes to Olivia's House.
Enter Olivia, and Maria.
Oli.
I have sent after him; 5 note
he says he'll come;
How shall I feast him? what bestow on him?
For youth is bought more oft, than begg'd or borrow'd.
I speak too loud.—
Where is Malvolio? he is sad and civil,
And suits well for a servant with my fortunes.
Where is Malvolio?
Mar.
He's coming, Madam; but in very strange manner.
-- 412 --
He is sure possest, Madam.
Oli.
Why, what's the matter, does he rave?
Mar.
No, Madam, he does nothing but smile;
your ladyship were best to have some guard about you,
if he come; for, sure, the man is tainted in his wits.
Oli.
Go call him hither.
Enter Malvolio.
I'm as mad as he,
If sad and merry madness equal be.
How now, Malvolio?
Mal.
Sweet lady, ha, ha.
[Smiles fantastically.
Oli.
Smil'st thou? I sent for thee upon a sad occasion.
Mal.
Sad, lady? I could be sad; this does make
some obstruction in the blood; this cross-gartering;
but what of it? if it please the eye of One, it is with
me as the very true sonnet is: Please one, and please all.
Oli.
Why? how dost thou, man? what is the matter
with thee?
Mal.
Not black in my mind, tho' yellow in my
legs: it did come to his hands, and commands shall
be executed. I think, we do know that sweet Roman
hand.
Oli.
Wilt thou go to bed, Malvolio?
Mal.
To bed? ay, sweet heart; and I'll come to
thee.
Oli.
God comfort thee! why dost thou smile so,
and kiss thy hand so oft?
Mar.
How do you, Malvolio?
Mal.
At your request?
Yes, nightingales answer daws!
Mar.
Why appear you with this ridiculous boldness
before my lady?
Mal.
Be not afraid of Greatness;—'twas well writ.
Oli.
What meanest thou by that, Malvolio?
Mal.
Some are born Great—
-- 413 --
Oli.
Ha?
Mal.
Some atchieve Greatness—
Oli.
What say'st thou?
Mal.
And some have Greatness thrust upon them—
Oli.
Heav'n restore thee!
Mal.
Remember, who commended thy yellow stockings.—
Oli.
Thy yellow stockings?
Mal.
And wish'd to see thee cross-garter'd—
Oli.
Cross-garter'd?
Mal.
Go to, thou art made, if thou desirest to be
so—
Oli.
Am I made?
Mal.
If not, let me see thee a servant still.
Oli.
Why, this is a very midsummer madness.6 note
Enter Servant.
Ser.
Madam, the young gentleman of the Duke Orsino's
is return'd; I could hardly entreat him back;
he attends your ladyship's pleasure.
Oli.
I'll come to him. Good Maria, let this fellow
be look'd to. Where's my uncle Toby? let some
of my people have a special care of him; I would not
have him miscarry for half of my dowry.
[Exit.
SCENE VIII.
Mal.
Oh, oh! do you come near me now? no
worse man than Sir Toby to look to me! this concurs
directly with the letter; she sends him on purpose that
I may appear stubborn to him; for she incites me to
that in the letter. Cast thy humble slough, says she;
—be opposite with a kinsman,—surly with servants,
—let thy tongue tang with arguments of state,
-- 414 --
—put thyself into the trick of singularity;—and
consequently sets down the manner how; as a sad face,
a reverend carriage, a slow tongue, in the habit of
some Sir of note, and so forth. I have lim'd her,7 note
but it is Jove's doing; and Jove make me thankful!
and when she went away now, let this fellow be look'd
to: Fellow!8 note not Malvolio, nor after my degree, but
fellow. Why, every thing adheres together, that no
dram of a scruple, no scruple of a scruple, no obstacle,
no incredulous or unsafe circumstance—what
can be said? Nothing, that can be, can come between
me and the full prospect of my hopes. Well,
Jove, not I, is the doer of this, and he is to be thanked.
SCENE IX.
Enter Sir Toby, Fabian, and Maria.
Sir To.
Which way is he, in the name of sanctity?
if all the devils in hell be drawn in little, and Legion
himself possest him, yet I'll speak to him.
Fab.
Here he is, here he is; how is't with you,
Sir? how is't with you, man?
Mal.
Go off; I discard you; let me enjoy my privacy:
go off.
Mar.
Lo, how hollow the fiend speaks within him!
did not I tell you? Sir Toby, my Lady prays you to
have a care of him.
Mal.
Ah, ha! does she so?
Sir To.
Go to, go to; peace, peace, we must deal
gently with him; let me alone. How do you, Malvolio?
how is't with you? what! man, defy the devil;
consider, he's an enemy to mankind.
Mal.
Do you know what you say?
-- 415 --
Mar.
La, you! if you speak ill of the devil, how
he takes it at heart.—Pray God, he be not bewitch'd.
Fab.
Carry his water to th' wise woman.
Mar.
Marry, and it shall be done to-morrow morning
if I live. My Lady would not lose him for more
than I'll say.
Mal.
How now, mistress?
Mar.
O Lord!
Sir To.
Pr'ythee, hold thy peace; that is not the
way: do you not see, you move him? let me alone
with him.
Fab.
No way but gentleness, gently, gently; the
fiend is rough, and will not be roughly us'd.
Sir To.
Why, how now, my bawcock? how dost
thou, chuck?
Mal.
Sir?—
Sir To.
Ay, biddy, come with me. What! man,
'tis not for gravity to play at cherry-pit with satan.
Hang him, foul collier.
Mar.
Get him to say his prayers, good Sir Toby;
get him to pray.
Mal.
My prayers, minx!
Mar.
No, I warrant you, he will not hear of godliness.
Mal.
Go hang yourselves all: you are idle shallow
things; I am not of your element, you shall know
more hereafter.
[Exit.
Sir To.
Is't possible?
Fab.
If this were plaid upon a stage now, I could
condemn it as an improbable fiction.
Sir To.
His very genius hath taken the infection of
the device, man.
Mar.
Nay, pursue him now, lest the device take
air, and taint.
Fab.
Why, we shall make him mad, indeed.
Mar.
The house will be the quieter.
-- 416 --
Sir To.
Come, we'll have him in a dark room and
bound. My niece is already in the belief that he is
mad; we may carry it thus for our pleasure and his
penance, 'till our very pastime, tired out of breath,
prompt us to have mercy on him; at which time we
will bring the device to the bar, and crown thee for
a finder9 note of madmen; but see, but see.
SCENE X.
Enter Sir Andrew.
Fab.
More matter for a May morning.
Sir And.
Here's the challenge, read it: I warrant,
there's vinegar and pepper in't.
Fab.
Is't so sawcy?
Sir And.
Ay, is't? I warrant him: do but read.
Sir To.
Give me.
[Sir Toby reads.
Youth, whatsoever thou art, thou art but a scurvy
fellow.
Fab.
Good and valiant.
Sir To.
Wonder not, nor admire not in thy mind why
I do call thee so; for I will shew thee no reason for't.
Fab.
A good note; That keeps you from the blow
of the law.
Sir To.
Thou com'st to the Lady Olivia, and in my
sight she uses thee kindly; but thou liest in thy throat,
that is not the matter I challenge thee for.
Fab.
Very brief, and exceeding good sense-less.
Sir To.
I will way-lay thee going home, where if it
be thy chance to kill me—
Fab.
Good.
Sir To.
Thou kill'st me like a rogue and a villain.
Fab.
Still you keep o'th' windy side of the law:
good.
-- 417 --
Sir To.
Fare thee well, and God have mercy upon one
of our souls: he may have mercy upon mine,1 note
but my hope
is better, and so look to thyself. Thy friend as thou
usest him, and thy sworn enemy, Andrew Ague-cheek.
Sir To.
If this letter move him not, his legs cannot:
I'll give't him.
Mar.
You may have very fit occasion for't: he is
now in some commerce with my Lady, and will by-and-by
depart.
Sir To.
Go, Sir Andrew, scout me for him at the
corner of the orchard like a bum-bailiff; so soon as
ever thou seest him, draw; and, as thou drawst, swear
horribly; for it comes to pass oft, that a terrible oath,
with a swaggering accent sharply twang'd off, gives
manhood more approbation than ever proof itself would
have earn'd him. Away.
Sir And.
Nay, let me alone for swearing.
[Exit.
Sir To.
Now will not I deliver his letter; for the
behaviour of the young gentleman gives him out to
be of good capacity and breeding; his employment
between his Lord and my niece confirms no less; therefore
this letter, being so excellently ignorant, will
breed no terror in the youth; he will find, that it
comes from a clodpole. But, Sir, I will deliver his
challenge by word of mouth; set upon Ague-cheek a
notable report of valour; and drive the gentleman,
(as, I know, his youth will aptly receive it,) into a
most hideous opinion of his rage, skill, fury, and impetuosity.
This will so fright them both, that they
will kill one another by the look, like cockatrices.
-- 418 --
SCENE XI.
Enter Olivia and Viola.
Fab.
Here he comes with your niece; give them
way, 'till he take leave, and presently after him.
Sir To.
I will meditate the while upon some horrid
message for a challenge.
[Exeunt.
Oli.
I've said too much unto a heart of stone,
And laid mine honour too unchary out.
There's something in me, that reproves my fault;
But such a head-strong potent fault it is,
That it but mocks reproof.
Vio.
With the same 'haviour that your passion bears,
Goes on my master's grief.
Oli.
Here, wear this * notejewel for me, 'tis my picture;
Refuse it not, it hath no tongue to vex you:
And, I beseech you, come again to-morrow.
What shall you ask of me that I'll deny,
That, honour sav'd, may upon asking give?
Vio.
Nothing but this, your true love for my master.
Oli.
How with mine honour may I give him that,
Which I have given to you?
Vio.
I will acquit you.
Oli.
Well, come again to-morrow: fare thee well.
A fiend, like thee, might bear my soul to hell.
[Exit.
SCENE XII.
Enter Sir Toby and Fabian.
Sir To.
Gentleman, God save thee.
Vio.
And you, Sir.
Sir To.
That defence thou hast, betake thee to't;
of what nature the wrongs are thou hast done him, I
know not; but thy interpreter, full of despight, bloody
as the hunter, attends thee at the orchard-end; dismount
-- 419 --
thy tuck, be yare in thy preparation, for thy
assailant is quick, skilful, and deadly.
Vio.
You mistake, Sir; I am sure, no man hath
any quarrel to me; my remembrance is very free and
clear from any image of offence done to any man.
Sir To.
You'll find it otherwise, I assure you; therefore,
if you hold your life at any price, betake you to
your guard; for your opposite hath in him, what
youth, strength, skill, and wrath can furnish man
withal.
Vio.
I pray you, Sir, what is he?
Sir To.
He is Knight, dubb'd with unhack'd2 note rapier,
and on carpet consideration; but he is a devil in
private brawl; souls and bodies hath he divorc'd three;
and his incensement at this moment is so implacable,
that satisfaction can be none but by pangs of death
and sepulcher: hob, nob, is his word; give't, or
take't.
Vio.
I will return again into the house, and desire
some conduct of the lady. I am no fighter. I have
heard of some kind of men, that put quarrels purposely
on others to taste their valour: belike, this is a
man of that quirk.
Sir To.
Sir, no; his indignation derives itself out
of a very competent injury; therefore get you on, and
give him his desire. Back you shall not to the house,
unless you undertake that with me, which with as
much safety you might answer him; therefore on, or
strip your sword stark naked; for meddle you must,
that's certain, or forswear to wear iron about you.
-- 420 --
Vio.
This is as uncivil, as strange. I beseech you,
do me this courteous office, as to know of the Knight
what my offence to him is: it is something of my negligence,
nothing of my purpose.
Sir To.
I will do so. Signior Fabian, stay you by
this gentleman, 'till my return.
[Exit Sir Toby.
Vio.
Pray you, Sir, do you know of this matter?
Fab.
I know, the Knight is incens'd against you,
even to a mortal arbitrement; but nothing of the circumstance
more.
Vio.
I beseech you, what manner of man is he?
Fab.
Nothing of that wonderful promise to read
him by his form, as you are like to find in the proof
of his valour. He is, indeed, Sir, the most skilful,
bloody, and fatal opposite that you could possibly have
found in any part of Illyria: will you walk towards
him? I will make your peace with him, if I can.
Vio.
I shall be much bound to you for't: I am one,
that had rather go with Sir Priest than Sir Knight: I
care not who knows so much of my mettle.
[Exeunt.
SCENE XIII.
Enter Sir Toby, and Sir Andrew.
Sir To.
Why, man, he's a very devil; I have not
seen such a virago:* note I had a pass with him, rapier,
scabbard and all; and he gives me the stuck—in with
such a mortal motion, that it is inevitable; and on the
answer, he pays you as surely as your feet hit the
ground they step on. They say, he has been fencer to
the Sophy.
Sir And.
Pox on't, I'll not meddle with him.
Sir To.
Ay, but he will not now be pacified:
Fabian can scarce hold him yonder.
Sir And.
Plague on't, an I thought he had been valiant,
-- 421 --
and so cunning in fence, I'd have seen him
damn'd ere I'd have challeng'd him. Let him let the
matter slip, and I'll give him my horse, grey Capilet.
Sir To.
I'll make the motion; stand here, make a
good shew on't;—This shall end without the perdition
of souls; marry, I'll ride your horse as well as I
ride you.
[Aside.
Enter Fabian and Viola.
I have his horse to take up the quarrel; I have persuaded
him, the youth's a devil.
[To Fabian.
Fab.
He is as horribly conceited of him; and pants
and looks pale, as if a bear were at his heels.
Sir To.
There's no remedy Sir, he will fight with
you for's oath sake: marry, he had better bethought
him of his quarrel, and he finds that now scarce to be
worth talking of; therefore draw for the supportance
of his vow, he protests he will not hurt you.
Vio.
Pray God defend me! a little thing would
make me tell them how much I lack of a man.
Fab.
Give ground, if you see him furious.
Sir To.
Come, Sir Andrew, there's no remedy; the
gentleman will for his honour's sake have one bout
with you; he cannot by the duello avoid it; but he
has promis'd me, as he is a gentleman and a soldier,
he will not hurt you. Come on, to't.
[They draw.
Sir And.
Pray God, he keep his oath!
SCENE XIV.
Enter Antonio.
Vio.
I do assure you, 'tis against my will.
Ant.
Put up your sword; if this young gentleman
Have done offence, I take the fault on me;
If you offend him, I for him defy you.
[Drawing.
Sir To.
You Sir? Why, what are you?
Ant.
One, Sir, that for his love dares yet do more
-- 422 --
Than you have heard him brag to you he will.
Sir To.
Nay, if you be an undertaker, I am for you.
[Draws.
Enter Officers.
Fab.
O good Sir Toby, hold; here come the officers.
Sir To.
I'll be with you anon.
Vio.
Pray, Sir, put your sword up if you please.
[To Sir Andrew.
Sir And.
Marry, will I, Sir; and for that I promis'd
you, I'll be as good as my word.—He will bear
you easily, and reins well.
1 Off.
This is the man; do thy office.
2 Off.
Antonio, I arrest thee at the suit of Duke
Orsino.
Ant.
You do mistake me, Sir.
1 Off.
No, Sir, no jot; I know your favour well;
Tho' now you have no sea-cap on your head.
—Take him away; he knows, I know him well.
Ant.
I must obey.—This comes with seeking you;
But there's no remedy. I shall answer it.
What will you do? now my necessity
Makes me to ask you for my purse. It grieves me
Much more, for what I cannot do for you,
Than what befals myself: you stand amaz'd,
But be of comfort.
2 Off.
Come, Sir, away.
Ant.
I must intreat of you some of that mony.
Vio.
What mony, Sir?
For the fair kindness you have shew'd me here,
And part being prompted by your present trouble,
Out of my lean and low ability
I'll lend you something; my Having is not much;
I'll make division of my present with you:
Hold, there's half my coffer.
Ant.
Will you deny me now?
Is't possible, that my deserts to you
Can lack persuasion? do not tempt my misery,
-- 423 --
Lest that it make me so unsound a man,
As to upbraid you with those kindnesses
That I have done for you.
Vio.
I know of none,
Nor know I you by voice, or any feature:
I hate ingratitude more in a man,
Than lying, vainness, babling drunkenness,
Or any taint of vice, whose strong corruption
Inhabits our frail blood.
Ant.
Oh, heav'ns themselves!—
2 Off.
Come, Sir, I pray you, go.
Ant.
Let me speak a little. This youth that you see here,
I snatch'd one half out of the jaws of death;
Reliev'd him with such sanctity of love,
And to his image, which, methought, did promise
Most venerable worth, did I devotion.
1 Off.
What's that to us?—the time goes by—away.
Ant.
But oh, how vile an idol proves this god!
Thou hast, Sebastian, done good feature shame.
In nature there's no blemish but the mind:
None can be call'd deform'd, but the unkind.
Virtue is beauty; but the beauteous evil
Are empty trunks, o'erflourish'd by the devil.
1 Off.
The man grows mad, away with him.
—Come, come, Sir.
Ant.
Lead me on.
[Exit Antonio with Officers.
Vio.
Methinks, his words do from such passion fly,
That he believes himself—so do not I.* note
Prove true, imagination, oh, prove true,
That I, dear brother, be now ta'en for you!
Sir To.
Come hither, Knight; come hither, Fabian;
we'll whisper o'er a couplet or two of most sage saws.
Vio.
He nam'd Sebastian; I my brother know
Yet living in my glass. Even such, and so
In favour was my brother; and he went
-- 424 --
Still in this fashion, colour, ornament;
For him I imitate: oh, if it prove,
Tempests are kind, and salt waves fresh in love.
[Exit.
Sir To.
A very dishonest paltry boy, and more a
coward than a hare; his dishonesty appears in leaving
his friend here in necessity, and denying him; and for
his cowardship, ask Fabian.
Fab.
A coward, a most devout coward, religious in it.
Sir. And.
'Slid, I'll after him again, and beat him.
Sir To.
Do, cuff him soundly, but never draw thy sword.
Sir And.
An I do not,—
[Exit Sir Andrew.
Fab.
Come, let's see the event.
Sir To.
I dare lay any mony, 'twill be nothing yet.
[Exeunt.
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
The STREET.
Enter Sebastian, and Clown.
Clown.
Will you make me believe, that I am not sent
for you?
Seb.
Go to, go to, thou art a foolish fellow. Let
me be clear of thee.
Clo.
Well held out, i'faith: no, I do not know you,
nor I am not sent to you by my Lady, to bid you
come speak with-her; nor your name is not master Cesario,
nor this is not my nose neither. Nothing, that
is so, is so.
Seb.
I pr'ythee, vent thy folly somewhere else; thou
know'st not me.
Clo.
Vent my folly!—he has heard that word of
some great man, and now applies it to a fool. Vent
-- 425 --
my folly! I am afraid, this great lubber* note the world
will prove a cockney. I pr'ythee now, ungird thy
strangeness and tell me what I shall vent to my Lady;
shall I vent to her, that thou art coming?
Seb.
I pr'ythee, foolish Greek,3 note
depart from me;
there's mony for thee. If you tarry longer, I shall
give worse payment.
Clo.
By my troth, thou hast an open hand; these
wise men, that give fools mony, get themselves a good
report after fourteen years' purchase.4 note
Enter Sir Andrew, Sir Toby, and Fabian.
Sir And.
Now, Sir, have I met you again? there's
for you.
[Striking Sebastian.
Seb.
Why, there's for thee, and there, and there:
are all the people mad?
[Beating Sir Andrew.
Sir To.
Hold, Sir, or I'll throw your dagger o'er
the house.
Clo.
This will I tell my Lady strait: I would not
be in some of your coats for two pence.
[Exit Clown.
Sir To.
Come on, Sir; hold.
[Holding Sebastian.
Sir And.
Nay, let him alone, I'll go another way
to work with him; I'll have an action of battery
against him, if there be any law in Illyria; tho' I
struck him first, yet it's no matter for that.
Seb.
Let go thy hand.
-- 426 --
Sir To.
Come Sir, I will not let you go. Come,
my young soldier, put up your iron; you are well
flesh'd: come on.
Seb.
I will be free from thee. What wouldst thou
now? If thou dar'st tempt me further, draw thy sword.
Sir To.
What, what? nay, then, I must have an
ounce or two of this malapert blood from you.
[They draw and fight.
SCENE II.
Enter Olivia.
Oli.
Hold, Toby; on thy life, I charge thee, hold.
Sir To.
Madam?
Oli.
Will it be ever thus? ungracious wretch,
Fit for the mountains and the barbarous caves,
Where manners ne'er were preach'd: out of my sight!
Be not offended, dear Cesario:—
Rudesby, be gone! I pr'ythee, gentle friend,
[Exeunt Sir Toby, and Sir Andrew.
Let thy fair wisdom, not thy passion, sway
In this uncivil and unjust extent5 note
Against thy peace. Go with me to my house,
And hear thou there, how many fruitless pranks
This ruffian hath botch'd up,6 note
that thou thereby
May'st smile at this: thou shalt not chuse but go:
Do not deny; beshrew his soul for me,
He started one poor heart of mine in thee.7 note
-- 427 --
Seb.
What relish is in this?8 note how runs the stream?
Or I am mad, or else this is a dream.
Let fancy still my sense in Lethe steep,
If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep.
Oli.
Nay, come, I pray: 'would, thou'dst be rul'd by me.
Seb.
Madam, I will.
Oli.
O, say so, and so be!
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
An Apartment in Olivia's House.
Enter Maria, and Clown.
Mar.
Nay, I pr'ythee, put on this gown, and
this beard; make him believe, thou art
Sir Topas the curate; do it quickly. I'll call Sir Toby
the whilst.
[Exit Maria.
Clo.
Well, I'll put it on, and I will dissemble myself
in't; and I would, I were the first that ever dissembled
in such a gown. I am not tall enough to become
the function well, nor lean enough to be thought
a good student; but to be said an honest man, and a
good housekeeper, goes as fairly, as to say, a careful
man and a great scholar.9 note The competitors enter.
Enter Sir Toby, and Maria.
Sir To.
Jove bless thee, Mr. Parson.
Clo.
Bonos dies, Sir Toby; for as the old hermit of
Prague, that never saw pen and ink, 1 notevery wittily said
-- 428 --
to a niece of King Gorboduck, that that is, is: so I
being Mr. Parson, am Mr. Parson; for what is that,
but that? and is, but is?
Sir To.
To him, Sir Topas.
Clo.
What, hoa, I say,—peace in this prison!
Sir To.
The knave counterfeits well; a good knave.
Mal.
Who calls there?
[Malvolio within.
Clo.
Sir Topas the curate, who comes to visit Malvolio
the lunatick.
Mal.
Sir Topas, Sir Topas, good Sir Topas, go to
my lady.
Clo.
Out, hyperbolical fiend, how vexest thou this man?
Talkest thou of nothing but ladies?
Sir To.
Well said, master Parson.
Mol.
Sir Topas, never was man thus wrong'd; good
Sir Topas, do not think I am mad; they have laid
me here in hideous darkness.
Clo.
Fy, thou dishonest sathan; I call thee by the
most modest terms; for I am one of those gentle ones,
that will use the devil himself with curtesy: say'st
thou, that house is dark?
Mal.
As hell, Sir Topas.
Clo.
Why, it hath bay-windows transparent as baricadoes,
and the clear stones towards the south-north
are as lustrous as ebony; and yet complainest thou of
obstruction?
Mal.
I am not mad, Sir Topas; I say to you, this
house is dark.
Clo.
Madman, thou errest; I say, there is no darkness
but ignorance; in which thou art more puzzled
than the Egyptians in their fog.
Mal.
I say, this house is as dark as ignorance,
though ignorance were as dark as hell; and I say,
there was never man thus abus'd; I am no more mad
-- 429 --
than you are, make the tryal of it in any constant
question.2 note
Clo.
What is the opinion of Pythagoras concerning
wild-fowl?
Mal.
That the soul of our grandam might happily
inhabit a bird.
Clo.
What think'st thou of his opinion?
Mal.
I think nobly of the soul, and no way approve
of his opinion.
Clo.
Fare thee well: remain thou still in darkness;
thou shalt hold the opinion of Pythagoras, ere I will
allow of thy wits; and fear to kill a woodcock, lest
thou dispossess the soul of thy grandam. Fare thee
well.
Mal.
Sir Topas, Sir Topas!
Sir To.
My most exquisite Sir Topas!
Clo.
Nay, I am for all waters.3 note
Mar.
Thou might'st have done this without thy
beard and gown; he sees thee not.
Sir To.
To him in thine own voice, and bring me
word how thou find'st him: I would, we were all rid
of this knavery. If he may be conveniently deliver'd,
I would, he were; for I am now so far in offence with
my niece, that I cannot pursue with any safety this
sport to the upshot. Come by and by to my chamber.
[Exit with Maria.
SCENE IV.
Clo.
Hey Robin, jolly Robin, tell me how my lady does.
[Singing.
Mal.
Fool—
Clo.
My lady is unkind, perdie.
-- 430 --
Mal.
Fool,—
Clo.
Alas, why is she so?
Mal.
Fool, I say;—
Clo.
She loves another—who calls, ha?
Mal.
Good fool, as ever thou wilt deserve well at
my hand, help me to a candle, and pen, ink, and paper;
as I am a gentleman, I will live to be thankful
to thee for't.
Clo.
Mr. Malvolio!
Mal.
Ay, good fool,
Clo.
Alas, Sir, how fell you besides your five wits?
Mal.
Fool, there was never man so notoriously abus'd;
I am as well in my wits, fool, as thou art.
Clo.
But as well! then thou art mad, indeed, if
you be no better in your wits than a fool.
Mal.
They have here 4 notepropertied me; keep me in
darkness, send ministers to me, asses, and do all they
can to face me out of my wits.
Clo.
Advise you what you say: the minister is here.
Malvolio, Malvolio, thy wits the heav'ns restore: endeavour
thyself to sleep, and leave thy vain bibble
babble.
Mal.
Sir Topas,—
Clo.
* noteMaintain no words with him, good fellow.—
Who, I, Sir? not, I, Sir. God b'w'you, good Sir Topas—
Marry, amen.—I will, Sir, I will.
Mal.
Fool, fool, fool, I say.
Clo.
Alas, Sir, be patient. What say you, Sir? I
am shent for speaking to you.
Mal.
Good fool, help me to some light, and some
paper; I tell thee, I am as well in my wits, as any
man in Illyria.
-- 431 --
Clo.
Well-a-day—that you were, Sir!
Mal.
By this hand, I am. Good fool, some ink,
paper and light; and convey what I set down to my
Lady: It shall advantage thee more than ever the bearing
of letter did.
Clo.
I will help you to't. But tell me true, are you
not mad, indeed, or do you but counterfeit?5 note
Mal.
Believe me, I am not: I tell thee true.
Clo.
Nay, I'll ne'er believe a mad-man, 'till I see
his brains. I will fetch you light, and paper, and
ink.
Mal.
Fool, I'll requite it in the highest degree;
I pr'ythee, be gone.
Clo.
I am gone, Sir, and anon, Sir,
[Singing.
I'll be with you again
In a trice, like to the old vice,* note
Your need to sustain:
Who with dagger of lath, in his rage, and his wrath,
Cries, ah, ha! to the devil:
Like a mad lad, pare thy nails, dad,
Adieu, good man drivel.
[Exit.
SCENE V.
Changes to another apartment in Olivia's House.
Enter Sebastian.
Seb.
This is the air, that is the glorious sun;
This pearl she gave me, I do feel't and see't.
-- 432 --
And though 'tis wonder that enwraps me thus,
Yet 'tis not madness. Where's Antonio then?
I could not find him at the Elephant;
Yet there he was, and there I found this credit,6 note
That he did range the town to seek me out.
His counsel now might do me golden service;—
For tho' my soul disputes well with my sense,
That this may be some error, but no madness;
Yet doth this accident and flood of fortune
So far exceed all instance, all discourse;7 note
That I am ready to distrust mine eyes,
And wrangle with my reason that persuades me
To any other trust,* note but that I'm mad;
Or else the Lady's mad; yet if 'twere so,
She could not sway her house, command her followers,
Take and give back affairs, and their dispatch,
With such a smooth, discreet, and stable bearing,
As, I perceive, she does: there's something in't,
That is deceivable. But here she comes.
Enter Olivia and Priest.
Oli.
Blame not this haste of mine: if you mean well,
-- 433 --
Now go with me, and with this holy man,
Into the chantry by; there before him,
And underneath that consecrated roof,
Plight me the full assurance of your faith;
That my most jealous and too doubtful soul
May live at peace. He shall conceal it,
* noteWhiles you are willing it shall come to note;
What time we will our celebration keep
According to my birth.—What do you say?
Seb.
I'll follow this good man, and go with you;
And having sworn † notetruth, ever will be true.
Oli.
Then lead the way, good father; and heav'ns so shine,
That they may fairly note this act of mine!
[Exeunt.
ACT V.
SCENE I.
The STREET.
Enter Clown, and Fabian.
Fabian.
Now, as thou lov'st me, let me see his letter.
Clo.
Good Mr. Fabian, grant me another
request.
Fab.
Any thing.
Clo.
Do not desire to see this letter.
Fab.
This is to give a dog, and in recompence desire
my dog again.
Enter Duke, Viola, Curio, and lords.
Duke.
Belong you to the lady Olivia, friends?
Clo.
Ay, Sir, we are some of her trappings.
-- 434 --
Duke.
I know thee well; how dost thou, my good
fellow?
Clo.
Truly, Sir, the better for my foes, and the
worse for my friends.
Duke.
Just the contrary; the better for thy friends.
Clo.
No, Sir, the worse.
Duke.
How can that be?
Clo.
Marry, Sir, they praise me, and make an ass
of me; now, my foes tell me plainly, I am an ass:
so that by my foes, Sir, I profit in the knowledge of
myself; and by my friends I am abused; so that, conclusions
to be as kisses,8 note
if your four negatives make
your two affirmatives, why, then the worse for my
friends, and the better for my foes.
Duke.
Why, this is excellent.
Clo.
By my troth, Sir, no; tho' it please you to
be one of my friends.
Duke.
Thou shalt not be the worse for me. There's
gold.
-- 435 --
Clo.
But that it would be double-dealing, Sir, I
would, you could make it another.
Duke.
O, you give me ill counsel.
Clo.
Put your grace in your pocket, Sir, for this
once, and let your flesh and blood obey it.
Duke.
Well, I will be so much a sinner to be a double
dealer: there's another.
Clo.
Primo, secundo, tertio, is a good Play, and the
old saying is, the third pays for all: the triplet, Sir,
is a good tripping measure; or the bells of St. Bennet,9 note
Sir, may put you in mind, one, two, three.
Duke.
You can fool no more mony out of me at
this throw; if you will let your Lady know, I am
here to speak with her, and bring her along with you,
it may awake my bounty further.
Clo.
Marry, Sir, lullaby to your bounty 'till I come
again. I go, Sir; but I would not have you to think,
that my desire of having is the sin of covetousness;
but, as you say, Sir, let your bounty take a nap, and I
will awake it anon.
[Exit Clown.
SCENE II.
Enter Antonio, and Officers.
Vio.
Here comes the man, Sir, that did rescue me.
Duke.
That face of his I do remember well;
Yet when I saw it last, it was besmear'd
As black as Vulcan, in the smoak of war:
A bawbling vessel was he captain of,
For shallow draught and bulk unprizable,
With which such scathful graple did he make
With the most noble bottom of our fleet,
-- 436 --
That very envy and the tongue of loss
Cry'd fame and honour on him.—What's the matter?
1 Off.
Orsino, this is that Antonio,
That took the Phœnix and her fraught from Candy;
And this is he, that did the Tyger board,
When your young nephew Titus lost his leg:
Here in the streets, desperate of shame and state,1 note
In private brabble did we apprehend him.
Vio.
He did me kindness, Sir; drew on my side:
But in conclusion put strange speech upon me,
I know not what 'twas, but distraction.
Duke.
Notable pirate! thou salt-water thief!
What foolish boldness brought thee to their mercies,
Whom thou in terms so bloody, and so dear,
Hast made thine enemies;
Ant.
Orsino, noble Sir,
Be pleas'd that I shake off these names you give me:
Antonio never yet was thief, or pirate;
Though I confess, on base and ground enough,
Orsino's enemy. A witchcraft drew me hither:
That most ungrateful boy there, by your side,
From the rude sea's enrag'd and foamy mouth
Did I redeem; a wreck past hope he was:
His life I gave him, and did thereto add
My love without retention or restraint;
All his in dedication. For his sake,
Did I expose myself, pure, for his love,
Into the danger of this adverse town;
Drew to defend him, when he was beset;
Where being apprehended, his false cunning,
Not meaning to partake with me in danger,
Taught him to face me out of his acquaintance;
And grew a twenty years removed thing,
While one would wink: deny'd me mine own purse,
Which I had recommended to his use
-- 437 --
Not half an hour before.
Vio.
How can this be?
Duke.
When came he to this town?
Ant.
To day, my Lord; and for three months before,
No Interim, not a minute's vacancy,
Both day and night did we keep company.
SCENE III.
Enter Olivia, and Attendants.
Duke.
Here comes the countess; now heav'n walks on earth
—But for thee, fellow, fellow, thy words are madness:
Three months this youth hath tended upon me;
But more of that anon—Take him aside.—
Oli.
What would my Lord, but that he may not have,
Wherein Olivia may seem serviceable?
—Cesario, you do not keep promise with me.
Vio.
Madam!
Duke.
Gracious Olivia,—
Oli.
What do you say, Cesario?—Good my Lord—
Vio.
My Lord would speak, my duty hushes me.
Oli.
If it be aught to the old tune, my Lord,
It is as fat and fulsome to mine ear,2 note
As howling after musick.
Duke.
Still so cruel?
Oli.
Still so constant, lord.
Duke.
What, to perverseness? you uncivil Lady,
To whose ingrate and unauspicious altars
My soul the faithfull'st offerings has breath'd out,
-- 438 --
That e'er devotion tender'd. What shall I do?
Oli.
Ev'n what it please my Lord, that shall become him.
Duke.
Why should I not, had I the heart to do't
3 note
Like to th' Egyptian thief, at point of death
Kill what I love? (a savage jealousy,
That sometimes savours nobly;) but hear me this;
Since you to non-regardance cast my faith,
And that I partly know the instrument,
That screws me from my true place in your favour:
Live you the marbled-breasted tyrant still.
But this your minion, whom, I know, you love,
And whom, by heav'n, I swear, I tender dearly,
Him will I tear out of that cruel eye,
Where he sits crowned in his master's spight.
Come, boy, with me; my thoughts are ripe in mischief:
I'll sacrifice the lamb that I do love,
-- 439 --
To spight a raven's heart within a dove.
[Duke going.
Vio.
And I most jocund, apt, and willingly,
To do you rest, a thousand deaths would die.
[following.
Oli.
Where goes Cesario?
Vio.
After him I love,
More than I love these eyes, more than my life;
More, by all mores, than e'er I shall love wife.
If I do feign, you witnesses above
Punish my life, for tainting of my love!
Oli.
Ay me, detested! how am I beguil'd?
Vio.
Who does beguile you? who does do you wrong?
Oli.
Hast thou forgot thyself? Is it so long?
Call forth the holy father.
Duke.
Come, away.
[To Viola.
Oli.
Whither, my Lord? Cesario, husband, stay.
Duke.
Husband?
Oli.
Ay, Husband. Can he that deny?
Duke.
Her husband, sirrah?
Vio.
No, my Lord, not I.
Oli.
Alas, it is the baseness of thy fear,
That makes thee strangle thy propriety:
Fear not, Cesario, take thy fortunes up:
Be that, thou know'st, thou art, and then thou art
As great, as that thou fear'st.
Enter Priest.
O welcome, father.
Father, I charge thee by thy reverence
Here to unfold, (tho' lately we intended
To keep in darkness, what occasion now
Reveals before 'tis ripe) what, thou dost know,
Hath newly past between this youth and me.
Priest.
A contract of eternal bond of love,
Confirm'd by mutual joinder of your hands,
Attested by the holy close of lips,
-- 440 --
Strengthned by enterchangement of your rings;
And all the ceremony of this compact
Seal'd in my function, by my testimony:
Since when, my watch hath told me, tow'rd my grave
I have travell'd but two hours.
Duke.
O thou dissembling cub! what wilt thou be,
When time hath sow'd a grizzel on thy * notecase?
Or will not else thy craft so quickly grow,
That thine own trip shall be thine overthrow?
Farewel, and take her; but direct thy feet,
Where thou and I henceforth may never meet.
Vio.
My Lord, I do protest—
Oli.
O, do not swear;
Hold little faith, tho' thou hast too much fear!
SCENE IV.
Enter Sir Andrew, with his head broke.
Sir And.
For the love of God a surgeon, and send
one presently to Sir Toby.
Oli.
What's the matter?
Sir And.
H'as broke my head a-cross, and given
Sir Toby a bloody coxcomb too. For the love of God,
your help. I had rather than forty pound, I were at
home.
Oli.
Who has done this, Sir Andrew?
Sir And.
The count's gentleman, one Cesario; we
took him for a coward, but he's the very devil incardinate.
Duke.
My gentleman, Cesario?
Sir And.
Od's lifelings, here he is.—You broke my
head for nothing; and that that I did, I was set on to
do't by Sir Toby.
Vio.
Why do you speak to me? I never hurt you:
You drew your sword upon me, without cause;
But I bespake you fair, and hurt you not.
-- 441 --
Enter Sir Toby, and Clown.
Sir And.
If a bloody coxcomb be a hurt, you have
hurt me: I think, you set nothing by a bloody coxcomb.
Here comes Sir Toby halting, you shall hear
more; but if he had not been in drink, he would have
tickled you other-gates than he did.
Duke.
How now, gentleman? how is't with you?
Sir To.
That's all one, he has hurt me, and there's
an end on't; sot, didst see Dick surgeon, sot?
Clo.
O he's drunk, Sir Toby, above an hour agone;
his eyes were set at eight i'th' morning.
Sir To.
Then he's a rogue, and a past-measure
Painim6Q0091. I hate a drunken rogue.
Oli.
Away with him: who hath made this havock
with them?
Sir And.
I'll help you, Sir Toby, because we'll be
drest together.
Sir To.
Will you help an ass head, and a coxcomb,
and a knave, a thin fac'd knave, a gull?
[Exeunt Clo. Sir Toby, and Sir Andrew.
Oli.
Get him to bed, and let his hurt be look'd to.
SCENE V.
Enter Sebastian.
Seb.
I am sorry, Madam, I have hurt your kinsman:
But had it been the brother of my blood,
I must have done no less with wit and safety.
[All stand in amaze.
You throw a strange regard on me, by which,
I do perceive, it hath offended you;
Pardon me, sweet one, even for the vows
We made each other, but so late ago.
-- 442 --
Duke.
One face, one voice, one habit, and two persons;
* noteA nat'ral perspective, that is, and is not!
Seb.
Antonio, O my dear Antonio!
How have the hours rack'd and tortur'd me,
Since I have lost thee?
Ant.
Sebastian are you?
Seb.
Fear'st thou that, Antonio!
Ant.
How have you made division of yourself?
An apple, cleft in two, is not more twin
Than these two creatures. Which is Sebastian?
Oli.
Most wonderful!
Seb.
Do I stand there? I never had a brother:
Nor can there be that deity in my nature,
Of here and every where. I had a sister,
Whom the blind waves and surges have devour'd:
Of charity, what kin are you to me?
[To Viola.
What countryman? what name? what parentage?
Vio.
Of Messaline; Sebastian was my father;
Such a Sebastian was my brother too:
So went he suited to his wat'ry tomb.
If spirits can assume both form and suit,
You come to fright us.
Seb.
A spirit I am, indeed;
But am in that dimension grosly clad,
Which from the womb I did participate.
Were you a woman, as the rest goes even,
I should my tears let fall upon your cheek,
And say, “Thrice welcome, drowned Viola!”
Vio.
My father had a mole upon his brow.
Seb.
And so had mine.
Vio.
And dy'd that day, when Viola from her birth
Had number'd thirteen years.
-- 443 --
Seb.
O, that record is lively in my soul;
He finished, indeed, his mortal act,
That day that made my sister thirteen years.
Vio.
If nothing let's to make us happy both,
But this my masculine usurp'd attire;
Do not embrace me, 'till each circumstance
Of place, time, fortune, do cohere and jump,
That I am Viola; which to confirm,
I'll bring you to a captain in this town
Where lie my maids weeds; by whose gentle help
I was preserv'd to serve this noble Duke.
All the occurrence of my fortune since
Hath been between this Lady, and this Lord.
Seb.
So comes it, Lady, you have been mistook;
[To Olivia.
But nature to her bias drew in that.
You would have been contracted to a maid,
Nor are you therein, by my life, deceiv'd;
You are betroth'd both to a maid, and man.
Duke.
Be not amaz'd: right-noble is his blood.
If this be so, as yet the glass seems true,
I shall have share in this most happy wreck.
—Boy, thou hast said to me a thousand times,
[To Vio.
Thou never should'st love woman like to me.
Vio.
And all those sayings will I over-swear,
And all those swearings keep as true in soul;
As doth that orbed continent the fire,
That severs day from night.
Duke.
Give me thy hand,
And let me see thee in thy woman's weeds.
Vio.
The captain, that did bring me first on shore,
Hath my maids garments: he upon some action
Is now in durance, at Malvolio's suit,
A gentleman and follower of my lady's.
Oli.
He shall enlarge him: fetch Malvolio hither.
And yet, alas, now I remember me,
They say, poor gentleman! he's much distract.
-- 444 --
SCENE VI.
Enter the Clown with a Letter, and Fabian.
A most extracting frenzy4 note of mine own
From my remembrance clearly banish'd his.
How does he, sirrah?
Clo.
Truly, Madam, he holds Belzebub at the stave's
end, as well as a man in his case may do: h'as here
writ a letter to you, I should have given't you to day
morning. But as a mad-man's epistles are no gospels,
so it skills not much, when they are deliver'd.
Oli.
Open't, and read it.
Clo.
Look then to be well edify'd, when the fool
delivers the mad-man—By the Lord, Madam,—
[Reads.
Oli.
How now, art mad?
Clo.
No, Madam, I do but read madness: an your
Ladyship will have it as it ought to be, you must allow
Vox.
Oli.
Pr'ythee, read it, i'thy right wits.
Clo.
So I do, Madona; but to read his right wits,
is to read thus: therefore perpend, my princess, and
give ear.
Oli.
Read it you, Sirrah.
[To Fabian.
Fab. [Reads.]
By the Lord, Madam, you wrong me,
and the world shall know it: though you have put me into
darkness, and given your drunken Uncle rule over me,
yet have I the benefit of my senses as well as your Ladyship.
I have your own Letter, that induced me to the
semblance I put on; with the which I doubt not, but to
do myself much right, or you much shame: think of me,
as you please: I leave my duty a little unthought of, and
speak out of my injury. The madly us'd Malvolio.
Oli.
Did he write this?
Clo.
Ay, Madam.
-- 445 --
Duke.
This savours not much of distraction.
Oli.
See him deliver'd, Fabian; bring him hither.
My Lord, so please you, these things further thought on,
To think me as well a sister, as a wife;
One day shall crown th' alliance on't, so please you,
Here at my house, and at my proper cost.
Duke.
Madam, I am most apt t'embrace your offer.
Your master quits you; and for your service done him,
So much against the metal of your sex,
[To Viola.
So far beneath your soft and tender breeding;
And since you call'd me master for so long.
Here is my hand, you shall from this time be
Your master's mistress.
Oli.
A sister,—you are she.
SCENE VII.
Enter Malvolio.
Duke.
Is this the mad-man?
Oli.
Ay, my Lord, this same: how now, Malvolio?
Mal.
Madam, you have done me wrong, notorious wrong.
Oli.
Have I, Malvolio? no.
Mal.
Lady, you have; pray you, peruse that Letter.
You must not now deny it is your hand
Write from it if you can, in hand or phrase;
Or say, 'tis not your seal, nor your invention;
You can say none of this. Well, grant it then,
And tell me in the modesty of honour,
Why you have given me such clear lights of favour,
Bade me come smiling, and cross-garter'd to you,
To put on yellow stockings, and to frown
Upon Sir Toby, and the * notelighter people:
And acting this in an obedient hope,
Why have you suffer'd me to be imprison'd,
Kept in a dark house, visited by the priest,
-- 446 --
And made the most notorious geck,5 note and gull,
That e'er invention plaid on? tell me, why?
Oli.
Alas, Malvolio, this is not my writing,
Tho', I confess, much like the character:
But, out of question, 'tis Maria's hand.
And now I do bethink me, it was she
First told me, thou wast mad; then cam'st thou smiling,
And in such forms which here were presuppos'd6 note
Upon thee in the letter: pr'ythee, be content;
This practice hath most shrewdly past upon thee;
But when we know the grounds, and authors of it,
Thou shalt be both the plaintiff and the judge
Of thine own cause.
Fab.
Good Madam, hear me speak;
And let no quarrel, nor no brawl to come,
Taint the condition of this present hour,
Which I have wondred at. In hope it shall not,
Most freely I confess, myself and Sir Toby
Set this device against Malvolio here,
Upon some stubborn and uncourteous parts
We had conceiv'd against him. Maria writ
The letter, at Sir Toby's great importance;
In recompence whereof, he hath married her.
How with a sportful malice it was follow'd,
May rather pluck on laughter than revenge;
If that the injuries be justly weigh'd,
That have on both sides past.
Oli.
Alas, poor fool! how have they baffled thee?
Clo.
Why, some are born great, some atchieve greatness,
and some have greatness thrust upon them. I was
one, Sir, in this interlude; one Sir Topas, Sir; but
that's all one:—by the Lord, fool, I am not mad;—
but do you remember, Madam,—why laugh you at
-- 447 --
such a barren rascal? an you smile not, he's gagg'd: and
thus the whirl-gigg of time brings in his revenges.
Mal.
I'll be reveng'd on the whole pack of you.
[Exit.
Oli.
He hath been most notoriously abus'd.
Duke.
Pursue him, and intreat him to a peace:
He hath not told us of the captain yet;
When that is known, and golden time convents,
A solemn combination shall be made
Of our dear souls. Mean time, sweet sister,
We will not part from hence.—Cesario, come;
(For so you shall be, while you are a man;)
But when in other habits you are seen,
Orsino's mistress, and his fancy's Queen.
[Exeunt.
Clown sings.
When that I was a little tiny boy,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain:
A foolish thing was but a toy,
For the rain it raineth every day.
But when I came to man's estate,
With hey, ho, &c.
'Gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gate,
For the rain, &c.
But when I came, alas! to wive,
With hey, ho, &c.
By swaggering could I never thrive,
For the rain, &c.
But when I came unto my beds,
With hey, ho, &c.
With toss-pots still had drunken heads,
For the rain, &c.
-- 448 --
A great while ago the world begun,
With hey, ho, &c.
But that's all one, our play is done;
And we'll strive to please you every day.
[Exit. |
