ACT II.SCENE I.The Street.Enter Antonio and Sebastian.
Ant.
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 8noteto express myself: You
must know of me then, Antonio, my name is Sebastian,
which I call'd Rodorigo; my father was that
Sebastian of Messaline9note
, whom I know, you have
-- 184 --
heard of: he left behind him, myself, and a sister,
both born in an hour; If the heavens 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, though it was said she much resembled
me, was yet of many accounted beautiful:
but, though I could not, 1note
with such estimable wonder,
over-far 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,
though 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 count Orsino's court:
farewel.
[Exit.
-- 185 --
Ant.
The gentleness of all the gods go with thee!
I have many enemies in Orsino's court,
Else would I very shortly see thee there:
But, come what may, I do adore thee so,
That danger shall seem sport, and I will go. [Exit.SCENE II.Enter Viola and Malvolio, at several doors.
Mal.
Were not you even 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
have saved me my pains, to have taken it away yourself.
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 lies 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, sure2note, methought 3note
her eyes had lost her tongue,
-- 186 --
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 4note
the pregnant enemy does much.
How easy is it, for the proper false5note
-- 187 --
In women's waxen hearts to set their forms!
Alas, our frailty6note is the cause, not we;
For, such as we are made, if such we be.
How will this fadge7note
? 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 to untye. [Exit.SCENE III.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 dilucuhsurgere, thou know'st,—
-- 188 --
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 to bed betimes. Does not our life
consist of the four elements?
Sir And.
'Faith, so they say; but, 8noteI think, it rather
consists of eating and drinking.
Sir To.
Thou art a scholar; let us therefore eat and
drink.—Marian, I say!—a stoop9note
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?
breast. 9Q0429 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 leman; Had'st
it2note
I did impeticoat thy gratuity 9Q0430; for Malvolio's
nose is no whip-stock: My lady has a white hand,
and he 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 is 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 life4note?
-- 191 --
Sir To.
A love-song, a love-song.
Sir And.
Ay, ay; I care not for good life.
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:
5note
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.
-- 194 --
Sir To.
My lady's a Cataian1note
, we are politicians;
Malvolio's a 2note
[unresolved image link]
Peg-a-Ramsey, and Three merry menbe we.
-- 195 --
Am not I consanguineous? am I not of her blood?
Tilly valley3note
, lady! There dwelt a man in Babylon4note
, lady,
lady!
[Singing.
-- 196 --
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
-- 197 --
like tinkers at this time of night? Do ye make
an ale-house of my lady's house, that ye squeak out
your 5note
coziers' 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 up6note
!
Mal.
Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My
lady bade me tell you, that, though she harbours you
as her kinsman, she's nothing ally'd to your disorders.
If you can separate yourself and your misdemeanors,
-- 198 --
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.
7noteFarewel, 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.
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, no, you dare not.
Sir To.
Out o'tune, sir, ye lie.—Art any more
than a steward? 8noteDost 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'the mouth too.
Sir To.
Thou'rt i'the right.—Go, sir, rub your
chain with crums9note
:—A stoop of wine, Maria!—
-- 199 --
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 rule1note
; 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
-- 200 --
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 count'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 nayword2note, 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 us3note, possess us; tell us something
of him.
Mar.
Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of 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; 4note
an affection'd ass,
that cons state without book, and utters it by great
swarths: 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.
-- 201 --
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 niece; 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 niece, and that she
is in love with him.
Sport royal, I warrant you: I know, my
physick will work with him. I will plant you two,
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.
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 had'st need
send for more money.
-- 202 --
Sir And.
If I cannot recover your niece, I am a
foul way out.
Sir To.
Send for money, knight; if thou hast her
not i'the end, call me Cut7note
.
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 IV.The Duke's Palace.Enter Duke, Viola, Curio, and others.
Duke.
Give me some music:—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 recollected8note
terms,
-- 203 --
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?
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.
[Exit 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 though thou art, thine eye
Hath stay'd upon some favour that it loves;
Hath it not, boy?
Duke.
She is not worth thee then. What years, i'faith?
Vio.
About your years, my lord.
Duke.
Too old, by heaven; 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,
-- 204 --
More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn1note,
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:
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! Re-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 free2note maids that weave their thread with bones,
Do use to chaunt it; it is silly sooth3note,
And dallies with the innocence of love4note
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 it6note
.
Not a flower, not a flower sweet,
On my black coffin let there be strown;
Not a friend, not a friend greet
My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown:
A thousand thousand sighs to save,
Lay me, O! where
Sad true-love 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 opal7note
that 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.
Duke.
Let all the rest give place.—
[Exeunt.
Once more, Cesario,
Get thee to yon same sovereign cruelty:
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;
9note
But 'tis that miracle, and queen of gems,
That nature pranks her in, attracts my soul.
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 suffer 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,—
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.
,
Feed on her damask cheek: she pin'd in thought;
And, with a green and yellow melancholy,
3note
She sat like patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed?
-- 209 --
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 am all the daughters of my father's house4note
,
-- 210 --
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 denay5note
. [Exeunt.SCENE V.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
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 is pity of our lives.
Enter Maria.
Sir To.
Here comes the little villain:—How now,
my nettle of India6note
?
-- 211 --
Mar.
Get ye all three into the box-tree: Malvolio's
coming down this walk; he has been yonder i'the
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 ideot
of him. Close, in the name of jesting! Lie thou there;
for here comes the trout that must be caught with
tickling.
[They hide themselves. Maria throws down a letter, and Exit.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?
Calling my officers about me, in my branch'd
velvet gown; having come from a day-bed2note
, where
I have left Olivia sleeping.
Sir To.
Fire and brimstone!
-- 214 --
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 kinsman Toby:—
Sir To.
Bolts and shackles!
Fab.
O, peace, peace, peace! now, now.
Mal.
Seven of my people, with an obedient start,
make out for him: I frown the while; and, perchance,
wind up my watch3note
, or play with some rich jewel. 9Q0433Toby approaches; curtsies there to me:
Sir To.
Shall this fellow live?
Fab.
Though our silence be drawn from us with
cars, yet peace4note
.
-- 215 --
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'the
lips then?
Mal.
Saying, Cousin Toby, my fortunes having castme on your niece, 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;
Oh peace! and 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's6note
. It is, in contempt of question,
her hand.
-- 216 --
Sir And.
Her C's, her U's, and her T's: Why
that?
Mal.
To the unknown belov'd, this, and my goodwishes: 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 numbers
alter'd—No man must know:—if this should be thee,
Malvolio?
I may command where I adore. Why, she may
command me; I serve her, she is my lady. Why,
this is evident to any 9note
formal 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.—
Ay, an you had an 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 afraidof greatness: Some are born great* note, some atchieve greatness,
and some have greatness thrust upon them. Thyfates open their hands; let thy blood and spirit embracethem. And, to inure thyself to what thou art like to be,
cast thy humble slough, and appear fresh. Be oppositewith a kinsman, surly with servants: let thy tongue tangarguments of state; put thyself into the trick of singularity:
She thus advises thee, that sighs for thee. Remember whocommended thy yellow stockings4note
: I say, remember. Go to; thou artmade, if thou desirest to be so; if not, let me see thee a stewardstill, the fellow of servants, and not worthy to touchfortune's fingers. Farewel. She, that would alter serviceswith thee, The fortunate-unhappy. Day-light and
: this is open. I will
be proud, I will read politic authors, I will baffle
sir Toby, I will wash off gross acquaintance, I will
be point-de-vice, the very man7note
. 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 knowwho I am. If thou entertainest my love, let it appear inthy smiling; thy smiles become thee well: therefore in mypresence 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.
-- 221 --
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.
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 detests1note; 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!
