Maria.
Sir T.
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
o'nights; your cousin, my lady, takes great exceptions
to your ill hours.
Sir T.
Why, let her except, before excepted.
Mar.
Ay, but you must confine yourself within the
modest limits of order.
Sir T.
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 T.
Who? sir Andrew Ague-cheek?
Mar.
Ay, he.
Sir T.
He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria.
Mar.
What's that to the purpose?
Sir T.
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 T.
Fie, that you'll say so! he plays o'the violde-gambo,
and speaks three or four languages word
for word without book, and hath all the good gifts
-- 8 --
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 T.
By this hand, they are scoundrels, and substractors,
that say so of him. Who are they?
Mar.
They that add moreover, he's drunk nightly
in your company.
Sir T.
With drinking healths to my niece; I'll drink
to her, as long as there is a passage in my throat, and
drink in Illyria: he's a coward, and a coystril, note that will
not drink to my niece, 'till his brains turn o'the toe like
a parish top. What, wench? Castiliano volto note;14Q0432 for here
comes sir Andrew Ague-face.
Enter Sir Andrew.
Sir A.
Sir Toby Belch! how now, sir Toby Belch?
Sir T.
Sweet sir Andrew!
Sir A.
Bless you, fair shrew.
Mar.
And you too, sir.
Sir T.
Accost, sir Andrew, accost.
Sir A.
What's that?
Sir T.
My niece's chamber-maid.
Sir A.
Good note mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance.
Mar.
My name is Mary, sir.
Sir A.
Good mistress Mary Accost,—
Sir T.
You mistake, knight: accost, is, front her,
board her, woo her, assail her.
Sir A.
By my troth, I would not undertake her in this
company. Is that the meaning of accost?
Mar.
Fare you well, gentlemen.
-- 9 --
Sir T.
An thou let part note so, sir Andrew, 'would thou
might'st never draw sword again.
Sir A.
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 the hand.
Sir A.
Marry, but you shall have; and here's my hand.
Mar.
Now, sir, thought is free: I pray you, bring
your hand to the buttery bar, and let it drink.
Sir A.
Wherefore, sweet heart? what's your metaphor?
Mar.
It's dry, sir.
Sir A.
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 A.
Are you full of them?
Mar.
Ay, sir; I have them at my fingers' ends:
marry, now I let go your hand, I am barren.
[Exit Maria.
Sir T.
O knight, thou lack'st a cup of canary; When
did I see thee so put down?
Sir A.
Never in your life, I think; unless you see
canary put me note 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 T.
No question.
Sir A.
An I thought that, I'd forswear it. I'll ride
home to-morrow, sir Toby.
Sir T.
Pourquoy, my dear knight?
Sir A.
What is pourquoy? do, or not do? I would I
had bestow'd that time in the tongues, that I have in
fencing, dancing, and bear-baiting: O, had I but follow'd
-- 10 --
the arts!
Sir T.
Then hadst thou had an excellent head of hair.
Sir A.
Why, would that have mended my hair?
Sir T.
Past question; for, thou see'st, it will not curl
by nature note.
Sir A.
But it becomes me well enough, does't not?
Sir T.
Excellent; it hangs like flax on a distaff: and
I hope to see a huswife take thee between her legs, and
spin it off.
Sir A.
'Faith, I'll home to-morrow, sir Toby: your
niece will not be seen; or, if she be, it's four to one
she'll none of me; the count himself, here hard by, woes
her.
Sir T.
She'll none of the count; she'll not match
above her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit; I
have heard her swear't. note Tut, there's life in't, man.
Sir A.
I'll stay a month longer. I am a fellow o'th'
strangest mind i'the world; I delight in masques and revels
sometimes altogether.
Sir T.
Art thou good at these kickshaws, knight?
Sir A.
As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be, under
the degree of my betters; and yet I will not compare
with an old man.
Sir T.
What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight?
Sir A.
'Faith, I can cut a caper.
Sir T.
And I can cut the mutton to't.
Sir A.
And, I think, I have the back-trick, simply as
strong as any man in Illyria.
Sir T.
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?
-- 11 --
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 A.
Ay note 'tis strong; and it does indifferent well
in a flame-colour'd stocking. note Shall we set about some
revels?
Sir T.
What shall we do else? were we not born under
Taurus?
Sir A.
Taurus? that's sides, and heart.
Sir T.
No, sir; it is legs, and thighs. Let me see thee
caper: † ha! higher: † ha, ha! excellent!
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
A Room in the Duke's 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.
Vio.
I thank you. Here comes the count.
Enter Duke, attended.
Duk.
Who saw Cesario, ho?
Vio.
On your attendance, my lord; here.
Duk.
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 gait unto her;
-- 12 --
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,
If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow
As it is spoke, she never will admit me.
Duk.
Be clamorous, and leap all civil bounds,
Rather than make unprofited return.
Vio.
Say, I do speak with her, my lord; What then?
Duk.
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 nuntio note of more grave aspéct.
Vio.
I think not so, my lord.
Duk.
Dear lad, believe it;
For they shall yet belye 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.
I know, thy constellation is right apt
For this affair:—Some four, or five, attend him;
All, if you will; for I myself 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:—&clquo;yet, a barful strife;&crquo;
&clquo;Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife.&crquo;
[Exeunt.
SCENE V.
A Room in Olivia's House.
-- 13 --
Enter Maria, and Clown.
Mar.
Nay, either tell me where thou hast been, or
I will not open my lips, so wide as a 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 to fear no colours.
Mar.
Make that good.
Clo.
He shall see none to fear.
Mar.
A good lenten 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 note turn'd away; Is not that as good as a hanging
to you?
Clo.
Many a note good hanging prevents a bad marriage;
and, for turning away, let summer bear it out.
Mar.
You are note 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 note best.
[Exit.
Enter Olivia, attended, and Malvolio.
Clo.
Wit, an't be thy will, put me into good fooling!
-- 14 --
Those wits, that think they have thee, do very oft prove
fools; and I, that am sure I lack thee, may pass for a
wise man: For what says Quinapalus? Better a witty fool,
than a foolish wit.—God bless thee, lady.
Oli.
Take the fool away.
Clo.
Do you not hear, fellows? take away the lady.
Oli.
Go to, you're 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 flower14Q0433:—The lady
bad take away the fool; therefore I say again, take her
away.
Oli.
Sir, I had them take away you.
Clo.
Misprision in the highest degree! Lady, cucullus
non facit monachum: that's as much as to say, I note wear
not motley in my brain. Good madona, give me leave
to prove you a fool.
Oli.
Can you do it?
Clo.
Dexteriously, 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.
-- 15 --
Clo.
Good madona, why mourn'st thou?
Oli.
Good fool, for my brother's death.
Clo.
I think, his soul is in hell, madona.
Oli.
I know, his soul is in heaven, fool.
Clo.
The more fool, you, madona, to mourn for your
brother's soul being in heaven.—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 the note better fool.
Clo.
God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for the
better encreasing 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 gag'd. I protest, I take these wise men, that crow
so at these set kind of fools, to be 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 note,
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.
-- 16 --
Clo.
Now Mercury indue thee with leasing, for thou
speak'st well of fools!
Re-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 kinsman.
Oli.
Fetch him off, I pray you; he speaks nothing
but madman; Fye on him! [Exit Maria.] 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 note one of thy kin has a most weak pia
mater.
Enter Sir Toby.
Oli.
By mine honour, half drunk.—What is he at
the gate, cousin?
Sir T.
A gentleman.
Oli.
A gentleman? What gentleman?
Sir T.
'Tis a gentleman14Q0434:—[hiccups.] A plague of
these pickle-herring!—How now, sot?
Clo.
Good sir Toby,—
Oli.
Cousin, cousin, how have you come so early by
this lethargy?
Sir T.
Letchery? I defy letchery: There's one at the gate.
Oli.
Ay, marry; what is he?
-- 17 --
Sir T.
Let him be the devil, an he will, I care not:
give me faith, say I. Well, it's all one.
[Exit Sir Toby]
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 coz; note 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.
Re-enter Malvolio.
Mal.
Madam, yon' 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 is
fortify'd against any denial.
Oli.
Tell him, he shall not speak with me.
Mal.
He has been told so; and he says, he'll stand
at your door like a sheriff's post, and be note the supporter
to a bench, but he'll speak with you.
Oli.
What kind o'man is he?
Mal.
Why, of man kind.
Oli.
What manner of man?
Mal.
Of very ill manner; note 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
-- 18 --
e'en standing note 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.
Re-enter Maria.
Oli.
Give me my veil: come, throw it o'er my face;
We'll once more hear Orsino's embassy.
Enter Viola. note
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 cast away my
speech; for, besides that it is excellently well pen'd, I
have taken great pains to con it. Good beauties, let me
sustain no scorn; I am very comptible, comptible, even to the least
sinister usage.
Oli.
Whence came you, sir?
Vio.
I can say little more than I have study'd, 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
phangs 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
-- 19 --
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 saucy at my gates; and
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 moon with me, to
make one in so skipping 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 giant, sweet lady;
tell me your mind, I am a messenger.
Oli.
Sure, you have some hideous matter to deliver,
when the courtesy 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 maidenhead: note to your ears,
divinity; to any others, prophanation.
Oli.
Give us the place alone: we will hear this divinity.
[Exeunt Maria, and Attendants.] Now, sir,
what is your text?
Vio.
Most sweet lady,—
-- 20 --
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, [unveiling] and shew you
the picture. Look you, sir, such a one I was this note present:
14Q0435 Is't not well done?
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 lay'd on:
Lady, you are the cruel'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 divers schedules of my beauty: It shall be
inventory'd; and every particle, and utensil, label'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 recompenc'd, though you were crown'd
-- 21 --
The non-pareil of beauty.
Oli.
How does he love me?
Vio.
With adorations, with fertil 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;
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 suffering, such a deadly life,
In your denial I would find no sense,
I would not understand it.
Oli.
Why, what would you?
Vio.
Make me a willow cabin at your gate,
And call upon my soul within the house;
Write loyal canzons note of contemned love,
And sing them loud even in the dead of night;
Hollow your name to the reverberate 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:
-- 22 --
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 Viola.
Oli.
What is your parentage?—
Above my fortunes, yet my state is well:
I am a gentleman.—I'll be sworn, thou art;
Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit,
Do give thee five-fold blazon: Not too fast; soft; note
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 subtle stealth,
To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be.—
What, ho! Malvolio!
Re-enter Malvolio.
Mal.
Here, madam, at your service.
Oli.
Run after that same peevish messenger,
The county's note man note: he left this &dagger2; 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
Mine 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.
-- 23 --
ACT II.
SCENE I.
The Sea-coast.
Enter Sebastian, and Antonio.
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, '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 to 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,14Q0436 whom I know, you have 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 note it was said she much resembl'd
me, was yet of many accounted beautiful:
but, though I could not, with such estimable wonder,
over-far believe that, yet thus far I will boldly publish
-- 24 --
her, she bore a mind that envy could note 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.
Ant.
The gentleness of all the gods go with thee!—
I have many enemies note 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.
A Street.
Enter Viola, Malvolio following.
Mal.
Were not you even now with the countess
Olivia?
Vio.
Even now, sir; on a moderate pace I have since
arriv'd 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 hard to come
-- 25 --
again in his affairs, unless it be to report your lord's
taking of this. Receive it, note sir.
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 Malvolio.
Vio.
I left no ring with her: What means this lady?
Fortune forbid, my out-side have not charm'd her!
She made good view of me; indeed, so much,
That, sure, methought, her eyes had lost her note 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 easy is it, for the proper false
In women's waxen hearts to set their forms!
Alas, our frailty note is the cause, not we;
For, such as we are made, e'en such note 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 doat 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 breath?
O time, thou must untangle this, not I;
It is too hard a knot for me to unty.
[Exit.
-- 26 --
SCENE III.
A Room in Olivia's House.
Enter Sir Toby, and Sir Andrew.
Sir T.
Approach, sir Andrew: not to be a-bed note after
midnight, is to be up betimes; and diluculo note surgere, thou
know'st,—
Sir A.
Nay, by my troth, I know not: but I know,
to be up late, is to be up late.
Sir T.
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 note consist of the four
elements?
Sir A.
'Faith, so they say; but, I think, it rather consists
of eating and drinking.
Sir T.
Thou'rt a scholar; let us therefore eat and
drink.—Maria note, I say,—a stoop of wine!
Enter Clown.
Sir A.
Here comes the fool, i'faith.
Clo.
How now, my hearts? Did you never see the
picture of we three. note
Sir T.
Welcome, ass. Now let's have a catch.
Sir A.
By my troth, the fool has an excellent breast.
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 note; Had'st it?
Clo.
I did impeticos thy gratility14Q0437; for Malvolio's
nose is no whip-stock, my lady has a white hand, and
the Myrmidons are no bottle-ale-houses.
-- 27 --
Sir A.
Excellent! Why, this is the best fooling, when
all is done. Now, a song.
Sir T.
Come on; there is six-pence &dagger2; for you: let's
have a song.
Sir A.
There's a testril &dagger2; of me too: if one knight
give a—
Clo.
Would you have a love-song, or a song of
good life?
Sir T.
A love-song, a love-song.
Sir A.
Ay, ay; I care not for good life.
SONG.
Clo.
[I.]
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 farther, pretty sweeting;
journeys end in lover's meeting,
every wise man's son doth know.
Sir A.
Excellent good, i'faith.
Sir T.
Good, good.
Clo.
St. II.
What is love? 'tis not hereafter;
present mirth hath present laughter;
what's to come, is still unsure:
in delay there lies no plenty;
then come kiss me, sweet, and twenty,
youth's a stuff will not endure.
Sir A.
A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight.
Sir T.
A contagious breath.
Sir A.
Very sweet and contagious, i'faith.
Sir T.
To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion.
But shall we make the welkin dance indeed? Shall we
-- 28 --
rouse the night-owl in a catch, that will draw three
souls out of one weaver? shall we do that?
Sir A.
An you love me, let's do't: I am dog at a catch.
Clo.
By'r-lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well.
Sir A.
Most certain: Let our catch be, Thou knave.
Clo.
Hold thy peace, thou knave, knight? note I shall be
constrain'd in't to call thee knave, knight.
Sir A.
'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 A.
Good, i'faith! Come, begin.
[Catch sung.
Enter Maria.
Mar.
What a catterwawling 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 T.
My lady's a Cataian, we are politicians; Malvolio's
a Peg o' Ramsey, and Three merry men be we.
Am not I consanguinious? am I not of her blood?
Tilly-vally! lady!—There dwelt a man in Babylon,—
lady, lady!
Clo.
Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable fooling.
Sir A.
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 T.
O, the twelfth day of December,—
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 coziers'
-- 29 --
catches without any mitigation or remorse of voice? Is
there no respect of place, persons, nor time in you?
Sir T.
We did keep time, sir, in our catches. Sneck-up! note
Mal.
Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My lady
bad 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 misdemeanours, 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 T.
Farewel, dear heart, since I must needs be gone.
Mar.
Nay, good sir Toby.
Clo.
His eyes do show his days are almost done.
Mal.
Is't even so?
Sir T.
But I will never dye. note
Clo.
Sir Toby, there you lye.
Mal.
This is much credit to you.
Sir T.
Shall I bid him go?
Clo.
What an if you do?
Sir T.
Shall I bid him go, and spare not?
Clo.
O, no, no, no, no, you dare not.
Sir T.
Out o'tune, sir, ye lye.—Art 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'the mouth too.
Sir T.
Thou'rt i'the right.—Go, sir, rub your chain
with crums:—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; she shall know of it, by this
hand.
[Exit Malvolio.
-- 30 --
Mar.
Go, shake your ears.
Sir A.
'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 T.
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 nay-word, and
make him a common recreation, do not think I have
wit enough to lye strait in my bed: I know, I can
do it.
Sir T.
Possess us, possess us; tell us something of him.
Mar.
Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of puritan:
Sir A.
O, if I thought that, I'd beat him like a dog.
Sir T.
What, for being a puritan? thy exquisite reason,
dear knight?
Sir A.
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; an affection'd ass, note
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 grounds of note
faith, that all, that look on him, love him; and on
that vice in him will my revenge find notable cause to
work.
Sir T.
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
-- 31 --
eye, forehead, and complection, 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 T.
Excellent! I smell a device.
Sir A.
I ha't in my nose too.
Sir T.
He shall think, by the letters that thou wilt
drop, that they come from my niece, and that she's in
love with him.
Mar.
My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour.
Sir A.
And your horse now would make him an ass.
Mar.
Ass—I doubt not.
Sir A.
O, 'twill be admirable.
Mar.
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 note of it: For this night, to bed,
and dream on the event: Farewel.
[Exit.
Sir T.
Good night, Penthesilea.
Sir A.
Before me, she's a good wench.
Sir T.
She's a beagle, true bred, and one that adores
me; What o'that?
Sir A.
I was ador'd once too.
Sir T.
Let's to bed, knight: Thou hadst need send
for more money.
Sir A.
If I cannot recover your niece, I am a foul
way out.
Sir T.
Send for money, knight; if thou hast her not
i'the end, call me, cut.
Sir A.
If I do not, never trust me, take it how you
will.
Sir T.
Come, come; I'll go burn some sack, 'tis too
-- 32 --
late to go to bed now: come, knight, come, knight.
SCENE IV.
A Room in the Duke's Palace.
Enter Duke, Viola, Curio, and Others.
Duk.
Give me some musick:—Now, good-morrow, friends:—
Now, good Cesario,14Q0438 but that piece of song,
That old and antick note song we heard last night:
Methought, it did relieve my passion much;
More than light airs, and recollected terms,
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.
Duk.
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.
Duk.
Go, 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;
Unstay'd 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.
Duk.
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?
Vio.
A little, by your favour.
-- 33 --
Duk.
What kind of woman is't.
Vio.
Of your complection.
Duk.
She is not worth thee then. What years, i'faith?
Vio.
About your years, my lord.
Duk.
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,
More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn, note
Than women's are.
Vio.
I think it well, my lord.
Duk.
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 dye, even when they to perfection grow!
Re-enter Curio, with Clown.
Duk.
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 free maids that weave their thread with bones,
Do use to chant it; it is silly sooth,
And dallies with the innocence of love,
Like the old age.
Clo.
Are you ready, sir?
Duk.
Ay; pr'ythee, sing.
[Musick.
SONG.
Clo.
[I.]
Come away, come away, death,
and in sad cypress let me be lay'd;
fly away, fly away note, breath;
-- 34 --
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.
II. St.
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
sad true-love note never find my grave,
to weep there.
Duk.
There's &dagger2; for thy pains.
Clo.
No pains, sir, I take pleasure in singing, sir.
Duk.
I'll pay thy pleasure then.
Clo.
Truly, sir, and pleasure will be pay'd, one time,
or another.
Duk.
Give me now leave to leave thee.
Clo.
Now, the note melancholy god protect thee; and
the tailor make thy doublet of changeable taffeta, for
thy mind is a very opal!—I would have men of such
constancy put to sea, 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 Clown.
Duk.
Let all the rest give place.—Once more, Cesario,
[Exeunt Curio, and Attendants.
Get thee to yon' same sovereign cruelty:
Tell her, my love, more noble than the world,
-- 35 --
Prizes not quantity of dirty lands;
The parts that fortune hath bestow'd upon her,
Tell her, I hold as giddily as fortune;
But 'tis that miracle, and queen of gems,
That nature pranks her in, attracts my soul.
Vio.
But, if she cannot love you, sir?—
Duk.
I cannot note 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?
Duk.
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 note surfeit, cloyment, and revolt;
But mine is all as hungry as the sea,
And can digest note as much: make no compare
Between that love a woman can bear me,
And that I owe Olivia.
Vio.
Ay, but I know,—
Duk.
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:
Duk.
And what's her history?
Vio.
A blank, my lord: She never told her love,
-- 36 --
But let concealment, like a worm i'the bud,
Feed on her damask cheek: she pin'd in thought;
And, with a green and yellow melancholy,
She sat like patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed?
We men may say more, swear more: but, indeed,
Our shews are more than will; for still we prove
Much in our vows, but little in our love.
Duk.
But dy'd thy sister of her love, my boy?
Vio.
I am all the daughters of my father's house,
And all the brothers too;—and yet I know not:—
Sir, shall I to this lady?
Duk.
Ay, that's the theme.
To her in haste: give her this &dagger2; jewel; say,
My love note can give no place, bide no denay.
[Exeunt.
SCENE V.
Olivia's Garden.
Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian.
Sir T.
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 T.
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 T.
To anger him, we'll have the bear again; and
we'll fool him black and blue:—Shall we not, sir
Andrew?
Sir A.
An we do not, it is pity of our lives.
Enter Maria.
Sir T.
Here comes the little villain:—How now, my
nettle note of India?
-- 37 --
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. [Men hide themselves.] Lye thou
there; [throws down a Letter.] for here comes the trout,
that must be caught with tickling.
[Exit Maria.
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 complection. Besides, she uses me with a more
exalted respect, than any one else that follows her. What
should I think on't?
&clquo;Sir T.
&clquo;Here's an over-weening rogue!&crquo;
&clquo;Fab.
&clquo;O, peace! Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock
of him; how he jets under his advanc'd
plumes!&crquo;
&clquo;Sir A.
&clquo;S'light, I could so beat the rogue:—&crquo;
&clquo;Sir T.
&clquo;Peace, I say.&crquo;
Mal.
To be count Malvolio:
&clquo;Sir T.
&clquo;Ah, rogue!&crquo;
&clquo;Sir A.
&clquo;Pistol him, pistol him.&crquo;
&clquo;Sir T.
&clquo;Peace, peace.&crquo;
Mal.
There is example for't; the lady of the Strachy
marry'd the yeoman of the wardrobe.14Q0439
&clquo;Sir A.
&clquo;Fye on him, Jezebel!&crquo;
&clquo;Fab.
&clquo;O, peace! now he's deeply in; look, how
imagination blows him.&crquo;
Mal.
Having been three months marry'd to her, sitting
in my state,—
-- 38 --
&clquo;Sir T.
&clquo;O for a stone-bow, to hit him in the eye!&crquo;
Mal.
Calling my officers about me, in my branch'd
velvet gown; having come from a day-bed, where I have
left Olivia sleeping:
&clquo;Sir T.
&clquo;Fire and brimstone!&crquo;
&clquo;Fab.
&clquo;O, peace, peace!&crquo;
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:
&clquo;Sir T.
&clquo;Bolts and shackles!&crquo;
&clquo;Fab.
&clquo;O, peace, peace, peace! now, now.&crquo;
Mal.
Seven of my people, with an obedient start,
make out for him: I frown the while; and, perchance,
wind up my watch, or play with some rich jewel: Toby
approaches; curtsies there to me:
&clquo;Sir T.
&clquo;Shall this fellow live?&crquo;
&clquo;Fab.
&clquo;Though our silence be drawn from us with
cares, yet peace.&crquo;
Mal.
I extend my hand to him, † thus, quenching
my familiar smile with an austere regard of controul;
&clquo;Sir T.
&clquo;And does not Toby take you a blow o'the
lips then?&crquo;
Mal.
Saying, Cousin Toby, my fortunes having cast
me on your niece give me this prerogative of speech;
&clquo;Sir T.
&clquo;What, what?&crquo;
Mal.
You must amend your drunkenness.
&clquo;Sir T.
&clquo;Out, scab!&crquo;
&clquo;Fab.
&clquo;Nay, patience, or we break the sinews of our plot.&crquo;
Mal.
Besides, you waste the treasure of your time with
a foolish knight;
&clquo;Sir A.
&clquo;That's me, I warrant you.&crquo;
-- 39 --
Mal.
One sir Andrew:
&clquo;Sir A.
&clquo;I knew, 'twas I; for many do call me fool.&crquo;
Mal.
What employment note have we here?
[taking up the Letter.
&clquo;Fab.
&clquo;Now is the woodcock near the gin.&crquo;
&clquo;Sir T.
&clquo;O, peace! and the spirit of humours intimate
reading aloud to him!&crquo;
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.
&clquo;Sir A.
&clquo;Her C's, her U's, and her T's; Why that?&crquo;
Mal. [reads.]
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?
[opes the Letter.
&clquo;Fab.
&clquo;This wins him, liver and all.&crquo;
Mal. [reads.]
Jove knows, I love:
But who?
Lips note 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, Malvalio?
&clquo;Sir T.
&clquo;Marry, hang thee, brock!&crquo;
Mal. [reads.]
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.
&clquo;Fab.
&clquo;A sustian riddle!&crquo;
&clquo;Sir T.
&clquo;Excellent wench, say I.&crquo;
Mal.
M, O, A, I, doth sway my life. Nay, but first,
let me see, let me see, let me see.
-- 40 --
&clquo;Fab.
&clquo;What a dish of poison has she dress'd him!&crquo;
&clquo;Sir T.
&clquo;And with what wing the stanyel note checks
at it!&crquo;
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 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.
&clquo;Sir T.
&clquo;O, ay, make up that: note—he is now at a cold
scent.&crquo;
&clquo;Fab.
&clquo;Sowter will cry upon't, for all this, though
it be as note rank as a fox.&crquo;
Mal.
M,—Malvolio;—M, why, that begins my name.
&clquo;Fab.
&clquo;Did not I say, he would work it out? the
cur is excellent at faults.&crquo;
Mal.
M,—But then there is no consonancy in the
sequel; that suffers under probation: A should follow,
but O does.
&clquo;Fab.
&clquo;And O shall end, I hope.&crquo;
&clquo;Sir T.
&clquo;Ay, or I'll cudgel him, and make him cry O.&crquo;
Mal.
And then I comes behind.
&clquo;Fab.
&clquo;Ay, an you had any eye behind you, you
might see more detraction at your heels, than fortunes
before you.&crquo;
Mal.
M, O, A, I;—This simulation note is not as the
former: and yet, to crush this a little, it would bow to
me, for every one of these letters are in note my name. Soft;
here follows prose.
[reads.
If this fall into thy hand, revolve. In my stars I am
above thee; but be not afraid of greatness: Some are born
great note, some atchieve note greatness, and some have greatness
-- 41 --
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 desir'st to be so; if not, let me see thee a steward
still, the fellow of servants, and not worthy to touch
fortune's fingers. Farewel. She that would alter services
with thee,
The fortunate-unhappy.
Day-light, and champian, discovers not more: 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-devise the very man. I do not note now fool
myself, to let imagination jade me; for every note 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 note,
drives me to these habits of her liking. I thank my
stars, I am happy. I will be strange, stout, in yellow
stockings, note and cross-garter'd, even with the swiftness of
putting on. Jove, and my stars, be praised! Here is yet
a post-script.
Thou can'st not choose but know who I am. If thou
entertain'st 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
-- 42 --
every thing that thou wilt have me.
[Exit.
Fab.
I will not give my part of this sport for a
pension of thousands to be pay'd from the Sophy.
Sir T.
I could marry this wench for this device;
Sir A.
So could I too.
Sir T.
And ask no other dowry with her, but such
another jest.
Sir A.
Nor I neither.
Enter Maria.
Fab.
Here comes my noble gull-catcher.
Sir T.
Wilt thou set thy foot o'my neck?
Sir A.
Or o'mine either?
Sir T.
Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip, and become
thy bond-slave?
Sir A.
I'faith, or I either?
Sir T.
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 T.
Like aqua-vitæ with a midwife.
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 T.
To the gates of tartar, thou most excellent
devil of wit.
Sir A.
I'll make one too.
[Exeunt.
-- 43 --
ACT III.
SCENE I.
The same.
Enter Viola, and Clown, meeting14Q0440.
Vio.
Save thee, friend, and thy musick: Dost thou
live by the tabor? note
Clo.
No, sir, I live by the church.
Vio.
Art thou a churchman?
Clo.
No such matter, sir; I do note 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 lies note 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 turn'd 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.
Vio.
I warrant, thou art a merry fellow, and car'st
-- 44 --
for nothing.
Clo.
Not so, sir, I do care for something: but note 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 marry'd; and fools
are as like husbands, as pilchards 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 count 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 &dagger2; 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 Pandarus of Phrygia, sir, to
bring a Cressida to this Troilus.
Vio.
I understand you, sir 'tis well beg'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, are out note of my welkin: I might
say, element; but the word is over-worn.
[Exit Clown.
-- 45 --
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 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, folly-faln, note quite taint their wit.
Enter Sir Toby, and Sir Andrew.
Sir T.
Save you, gentleman14Q0441.
Vio.
And you, sir.
Sir A.
Dieu vous guarde, monsieur.
Vio.
Et vous aussi; votre serviteur.
Sir A.
I hope, sir, you are; and I am yours.
Sir T.
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.
Sir T.
Taste your legs, sir, put them to motion.
Vio.
My legs do better understand me, sir, than
I understand what you mean by bidding me taste my
legs.
Sir T.
I mean, to go, sir, to enter.
Vio.
I will answer you with gate note and entrance:
But we are prevented.—
Enter Olivia, and Maria.
Most excellent-accomplish'd lady, the heavens rain
odours on you!
&clquo;Sir A.
&clquo;That youth's a rare courtier. Rain odours!
well.&crquo;
Vio.
My matter hath no voice, lady, but to your
-- 46 --
own most pregnant and vouchsafed ear.
&clquo;Sir A.
&clquo;Odours, pregnant, and vouchsafed:—I'll get
'em all three ready note.&crquo;.
Oli.
Let the garden door be shut, and leave me to
my hearing.
[Exeunt Sir T. Sir A. and Maria.
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,
Since lowly feigning was call'd compliment:
You're servant to the count 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 fill'd with me.
Vio.
Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts
On his behalf:—
Oli.
O, by your leave, I pray you;
I bad you never speak again of him:
But, would you undertake another suit,
I had rather hear you to sollicit that,
Than musick from the spheres.
Vio.
Dear lady,—
Oli.
Nay, give me leave, beseech you: I did send,
After the last enchantment you did here, note
A ring in chace 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,
-- 47 --
And baited it with all the unmuzzl'd thoughts
That tyranous note heart can think? To one of your receiving
Enough is shewn; a cyprus note, not a bosom,
Hides my poor note heart: So note let me hear you speak.
Vio.
I pity you.
Oli.
That's a degree to love.
Vio.
No, not a grize; 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:
And yet, when wit and youth is 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:
I 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.—
-- 48 --
Cesario, by the roses of the spring,
By maidhood, 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,
And that no woman has; nor ever none
Shall mistress be of it, save I alone.
And so adieu, good madam; never more
Will I my master's tears to you deplore.
Oli.
Yet come again; for thou, perhaps, may'st move
That heart, which now abhors, to like his love.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
A Room in Olivia's House.
Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian.
Sir A.
No, 'faith, I'll not stay a jot longer.
Sir T.
Thy reason, dear venom, give thy reason.
Fab.
You must needs yield your reason, sir Andrew.
Sir A.
Marry, I saw your niece do more favours to
the count's servingman, than ever she bestow'd upon
me; I saw't i'the orchard.
Sir T.
Did she see thee the while, old boy; tell me that?
Sir A.
As plain as I see you now.
Fab.
This was a great argument of love in her toward
you.
Sir A.
'Slight, will you make an ass o'me?
Fab.
I will note prove it legitimate, sir, upon the oaths
of judgment and reason.
-- 49 --
Sir T.
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; and 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 baulk'd: 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 beard, unless
you do redeem it by some laudable attempt, either
of valour, or policy.
Sir A.
An't be any way, it must be with valour;
for policy I hate: I had as lief be a Brownist, as a politician.
Sir T.
Why then, build me thy fortunes upon the
basis of valour. Challenge me the count'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 A.
Will either of you bear me a challenge to him?
Sir T.
Go, write it in a martial hand, be curst, and
brief: it is no matter how witty, so it be eloquent, and
full of invention: taunt him with the licence of ink:
if thou thou'st him some thrice,14Q0442 it shall not be amiss;
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
-- 50 --
gall enough in thy ink; though thou write with a goose-pen,
no matter: About it.
Sir A.
Where shall I find you?
Sir T.
We'll call thee at the cubiculo: Go.
[Exit Sir Andrew.
Fab.
This is a dear manakin to you, sir Toby.
Sir T.
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 T.
Never trust me then; and by all means stir
on the youth to an answer. I think, oxen and wain-ropes
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 o'the
anatomy.
Fab.
And his opposite, the youth, bears in his visage
no great presage of cruelty.
Enter Maria.
Sir T.
Look, where the youngest wren of nine note comes.
Mar.
If you desire the spleen, and will laugh yourselves
into side-stitches, follow me: yon' gull Malvolio
is turn'd heathen, a very renegado; for there is no
christian, that means to be saved by believing rightly,
can ever believe such impossible passages of grossness.
He's in yellow stockings.
Sir T.
And cross-garter'd?
Mar.
Most villanously; like a pedant that keeps a
school i'the church. I have dog'd him like his murtherer:
He does obey every point of the letter that I
drop'd to betray him: he does smile his face into more
lines, than is in the new map, with the augmentation
-- 51 --
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 T.
Come, bring us, bring us where he is.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
A Street.
Enter Sebastian, and Antonio.
Seb.
I would not, by my will, have troubl'd 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, (though so much,
As might have drawn one to a longer voyage)
But jealousy 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,
And thanks, note and ever thanks; and oft good turns
Are shuffl'd 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 reliques 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 satisfy our eyes
With the memorials, and the things of fame,
-- 52 --
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 count 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.
The 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 &dagger2; my purse:
In the south suburbs, at the elephant,
Is best to lodge: I will bespeak our diet,
While you beguile the 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 the elephant:
Seb.
I do remember.
[Exeunt severally.
SCENE IV.
Olivia's Garden.
Enter Olivia, and Maria.
-- 53 --
Oli.
I have sent after him: He says, he'll come14Q0443;
How shall I feast him? what bestow of him?
For youth is bought more oft, than beg'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: 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.—I'm as mad as he,
If sad and merry madness note equal be.—
Enter Malvolio.
How now, Malvolio?
Mal.
Sweet, lady,—
[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 that? if it please the eye of one, it is
with me as the very true sonnet note has it, Please one, and
please all.
Oli.
Why note, how dost thou, man? what is the matter with thee?
Mal.
Not black in my mind, though yellow in my
legs: It did come to his hands, and commands shall
be executed. I think, we do know the sweet Roman
hand.
Oli.
Wilt thou go to bed, Malvolio?
-- 54 --
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,—
Oli.
Ha?
Mal.
Some atchieve greatness,—
Oli.
What say'st thou?
Mal.
And some have greatness thrust upon them.
Oli.
Heaven 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 desir'st to be so;—
Oli.
Am I made?
Mal.
If not, let me see thee a servant still.
Oli.
Why, this is very midsummer madness.
Enter a Servant.
Ser.
Madam, the young gentleman of the count
Orsino's is return'd; I could hardly intreat him back;
he attends your ladyship's pleasure.
Oli.
I'll come to him. [Exit Ser.] Good Maria, let
this fellow be look'd to. Where's my cousin Toby? Let
some of my people have a special care of him; I would
not have him miscarry for the half of my dowry.
[Exeunt Olivia, and Maria.
-- 55 --
Mal.
Oh ho, 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 note tang arguments note of state, 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: 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! 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.
Re-enter Maria, with Sir Toby, and Fabian.
Sir T.
Which way is he, in the name of sanctity? If
all the devils in hell be drawn in little, and Legion himself
possess'd 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 private;
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.
-- 56 --
Mal.
Ah, ha, does she so?
Sir T.
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?
Mar.
La you, an you speak ill of the devil, how he
takes it at heart. Pray God, he be not bewitch'd!
Fab.
Carry his water to the 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 T.
Pr'ythee, hold thy peace, this 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 T.
Why, how now, my bawcock? how dost thou,
chuck?
Mal.
Sir?
Sir T.
Ay, biddy, come with me. What, man; 'tis
not for gravity to play at cherry-pit with Satan: Hang
him foul collier? note
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 Malvolio.
-- 57 --
Sir T.
Is't possible?
Fab.
If this were play'd upon a stage now, I could
condemn it as an improbable fiction.
Sir T.
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 note the quieter.
Sir T.
Come, we'll have him in a dark room, and
bound. My niece is already in the belief that he's 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 finder of madmen:
But see, but see.
Enter Sir Andrew.
Fab.
More matter for a May morning.
Sir A.
Here's the † challenge, read it; I warrant,
there's vinegar and pepper in't.
Fab.
Is't so saucy?
Sir A.
Ay, is't? I warrant him: do but read.
Sir T.
Give me. [reads.] Youth, whatsoever thou art,
thou art but a scurvy fellow:
Fab.
Good, and valiant.
Sir T.
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 T.
Thou com'st to the lady Olivia, and in my sight
she uses thee kindly: but thou ly'st in thy throat, that is not
the matter I challenge thee for.
-- 58 --
Fab.
Very brief, and exceeding note good senseless.
Sir T.
I will way-lay thee going home: where if it be
thy chance to kill me,—
Fab.
Good.
Sir T.
Thou kill'st me like a rogue and a villain.
Fab.
Still you keep o'the windy side of the law:
Good.
Sir T.
Fare thee well; And God have mercy upon one of
our souls! He may have mercy upon mine; but my hope is
better, and so look to thyself. Thy friend, as thou usest him,
and thy sworn enemy,
Andrew Ague-cheek.
If this letter move him not, his legs cannot: I'll giv'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 T.
Go, sir Andrew; scout me for him at the corner
of the orchard, like a bum-bailiff: so soon as ever thou
see'st him, draw; and, as thou draw'st, swear horribly: note
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 A.
Nay, let me alone for swearing.
[Exit Sir Andrew.
Sir T.
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 it comes from a clod-pole.
-- 59 --
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.
Enter Olivia, and Viola.
Fab.
Here he comes with your niece: give them
way 'till he take leave, and presently after him.
Sir T.
I will meditate the while upon some horrid
message for a challenge.
[Exeunt Sir Toby, Fabian, and Maria.
Oli.
I have said too much unto a heart of stone,
And lay'd mine honour too unchary out note:
There's something in me, that reproves my fault;
But such a headstrong potent fault it is,
That it but mocks reproof.
Vio.
With the same 'haviour note that your passion bears,
Goes on my master's grief note.
Oli.
Here, wear this &dagger2; jewel 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 Olivia.
-- 60 --
Re-enter Sir Toby, and Fabian.
Sir T.
Gentleman, God save thee.
Vio.
And you, sir.
Sir T.
That defense thou hast, betake thee to't: of
what nature the wrongs are thou hast done him, I know
not; but thy intercepter, full of despite, bloody as the
hunter, attends thee at the orchard end: dismount 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 T.
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 T.
He is knight14Q0444, dub'd with unhack'd 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 sepúlcher:
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 T.
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
-- 61 --
safety you might answer him: note therefore, on, or strip
your sword stark naked; for meddle you must, that's
certain, or forswear to wear iron about you.
Vio.
This is an uncivil, as note strange. I beseech you,
do me this courteous office, to note know of the knight what
my offence to him is; it is something of my negligence,
nothing of my purpose.
Sir T.
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 him 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.
Re-enter Sir Toby, with Sir Andrew.
Sir T.
Why, man, he's a very devil, I have not seen
such a virago. 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 note surely as your feet hit note the ground
they step on: They say, he has been fencer to the
Sophy.
Sir A.
Pox on't, I'll not meddle with him.
-- 62 --
Sir T.
Ay, but he will not now be pacify'd; Fabian
can scarce hold him yonder.
Sir A.
Plague on't; an I thought he had been valiant,
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 T.
I'll make the motion: Stand here, make a
good shew on't; this shall end without the perdition of
souls:—&clquo;Marry, I'll ride your horse, as well as I ride
you.—I have his horse [to Fab.] to take up the quarrel;
I have persuaded him, the youth's a devil.&crquo;
&clquo;Fab.
&clquo;He is as horribly conceited of him; and
pants, and looks pale, as if a bear were at his heels.&crquo;
Sir T.
There's no remedy, sir, [to Vio.] he will fight
with you for's oath's sake: marry, he hath better bethought
him of his quarrel, and he finds that now scarce
to be worth note talking of: therefore draw, for the supportance
of his vow; he protests, he will not hurt you.
&clquo;Vio.
&clquo;Pray God defend me! A little thing would
make me tell them how much I lack of a man.&crquo;
Fab.
Give ground, if you see him furious.
Sir T.
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.
Sir A.
Pray God, he keeps his oath!
[draws.
Vio.
I do assure you, [to Sir And.] 'tis against my
will.
[draws.
Enter Antonio; draws, and runs between.
Ant.
Put up your sword:—If this young gentleman
Have done offence, I take the fault on me;
-- 63 --
If you offend him, I for him defy you.
Sir T.
You, sir? why, what are you?
Ant.
One, sir, that for his love dares yet do more
Than you have heard him brag to you he will.
Sir T.
Nay, if you be an undertaker, I am for you.
Enter two Officers.
Fab.
O, good sir Toby, hold; here come the officers.
Sir T.
I'll be with you anon.
[to Antonio.
Vio.
Pray, sir, put your sword up, if you please.
Sir A.
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. O.
This is the man; do thy office.
2. O.
Antonio, I arrest thee at the suit
Of count Orsino.
Ant.
You do mistake me, sir.
1. O.
No, sir, no jot; I know your favour well,
Though 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. O.
Come, sir, away.
Ant.
I must intreat of you
Some of that money back.
Vio.
What money, sir?
For the fair kindness you have shew'd me here,
And, part, being prompted by your present trouble,
-- 64 --
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,
Lest that it make me so unfound 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.
O heavens themselves!
2. O.
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. O.
What's that to us? the time goes by; away.
Ant.
But, o, 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'er-flourish'd by the devil.
1. O.
The man grows mad; away with him.
2. O.
Come, come, sir.
-- 65 --
Ant.
Lead me on.
[Exeunt Officers with Ant.
Vio.
Methinks, his words do from such passion fly,
That he believes himself; so do not I:
Prove true, imagination, o, prove true,
That I, dear brother, be now ta'en for you!
Sir T.
Come hither, knight, come hither, Fabian;
we'll whisper o'er a couplet or two of most sage saws.
[converse apart.
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
Still in this fashion, colour, ornament,
For him I imitate: O, if it prove,
Tempests are kind, and salt waves fresh in love.
[Exit Viola.
Sir T.
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 A.
'Slid, I'll after him again, and beat him.
Sir T.
Do, cuff him soundly, but never draw thy sword.
Sir A.
An I do not,—
[Exit.
Fab.
Come, let's see the event.
Sir T.
I dare lay any money, 'twill be nothing yet.
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
Street before Olivia's House.
Enter Sebastian, and Clown.
Clo.
Will you make me believe, that I am not sent for you?
-- 66 --
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; note
nor this is not my nose neither&dotup; nothing, that is
so, is so&dotup;
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 my folly!
I am afraid note this great lubber 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 note coming?
Seb.
I pr'ythee, foolish Greek14Q0445, depart from me;
There's &dagger2; money 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 money, get themselves a good
report, after fourteen years purchase.
Enter Sir Andrew, Sir Toby, and Fabian.
Sir A.
Now, sir, have I met you again? there's for
you.
[striking Sebastian.
Seb.
Why, there's for thee, and there, and there, and there:
[striking him again.
Are all the people mad?
Sir T.
Hold, sir, or I'll throw your dagger o'er the house.
Clo.
This will I tell my lady straight: I would not
be in some of your coats for two-pence.
[Exit Clown.
Sir T.
Come on, sir; hold.
[holding Sebastian.
Sir A.
Nay, let him alone, I'll go another way to
-- 67 --
work with him; I'll have an action of battery against
him, if there be any note law in Illyria: though I strook him
first, yet it's no matter for that.
Seb.
Let go thy hand.
Sir T.
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 would'st thou now?
[wrenches from him, and draws.
If thou dar'st tempt me further, draw thy sword.
Sir T.
What, what? Nay, then I must have an ounce
or two of this malapert blood from you.
[draws too.
Enter Olivia, hastily.
Oli.
Hold, Toby; on thy life, I charge thee, hold.
Sir T.
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, Sir Andrew, and Fabian.
Let thy fair wisdom, not thy passion, sway
In this uncivil and unjust extent
Against thy peace. Go with me to my house;
And hear thou there how many fruitless pranks
This ruffian hath botch'd up, that thou thereby
May'st smile at this: thou shalt not choose but go;
Do not deny: Beshrew his soul for me,
He started one poor heart of mine in thee.
Seb.
What relish is in this? how runs the stream?
Or I am mad, or else this is a dream:—
Let fancy still my sense in Lethe steep;
-- 68 --
If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep!
Oli.
Nay, come, I pr'ythee: 'Would thou'dst be rul'd by me!
Seb.
Madam, I will.
Oli.
O, say so, and so be!
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
A Room in Olivia's House.
Enter Maria, and Clown.
Mar.
Nay, I pr'ythee, put on this &dagger2; gown, and &dagger2;
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 dissembl'd 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 graceful note man, and a
great scholar. The competitors enter.
Re-enter Maria, with Sir Toby.
Sir T.
Jove bless thee, Mr. parson.
Clo.
Bonos dies, sir Toby:14Q0446 for as the old hermit of
Prague, that never saw pen and ink, very wittily said to
a niece of king Gorboauc, That, that is, is; so I, being
Mr. parson, am Mr. parson; For what is that, but that;
and is, but is?
Sir T.
To him, sir Topas.
Clo.
What ho, I say, [rapping at an inner Door.]
Peace in this prison!
&clquo;Sir T.
&clquo;The knave counterfeits well; a good knave.&crquo;
Mal. [within.]
Who calls there?
Clo.
Sir Topas the curate, who comes to visit Malvolio
the lunatick.
-- 69 --
Mal.
Sir Topas, sir Topas, good sir Topas, go to my lady.
Clo.
Out, hyperbolical fiend! how vexest thou this
man? talkest thou nothing but of ladies?
&clquo;Sir T.
&clquo;Well said, Mr. parson.&crquo;
Mal.
Sir Topas, never was man thus wrong'd; good
sir Topas, do not think I am mad; they have lay'd me
here in hideous darkness.
Clo.
Fie, 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 courtesy; Say'st thou,
that house is dark?
Mal.
As hell, sir Topas.
Clo.
Why, it hath bay windows transparent as barricadoes,
and the clear stones note toward 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 puzzl'd,
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 than you are; make
the trial of it in any constant question.
Clo.
What is the opinion of Pythagoras, concerning
wild-fowl?
Mal.
That the soul of our grandam might haply inhabit
a bird.
Clo.
What think'st thou of his opinion?
Mal.
I think nobly of the soul, and no way approve
his opinion.
-- 70 --
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 wood-cock, lest thou
dispossess the soul of note thy grandam. Fare thee well.
Mal.
Sir Topas, sir Topas,—
&clquo;Sir T.
&clquo;My most exquisite sir Topas!&crquo;
&clquo;Clo.
&clquo;Nay, I am for all waters.&crquo;
&clquo;Mar.
&clquo;Thou might'st have done this without thy
beard, and gown; he sees thee not.&crquo;
&clquo;Sir T.
&clquo;To him in thine own voice, and bring me
word how thou find'st him: I would, we were well
rid note of this knavery. If he may be conveniently deliver'd,
I would he were; for I am now so fair in offence
with my niece, that I cannot pursue with any
safety this sport to the upshot. Come by and by to my
chamber. note&crquo;
[Exeunt Sir Toby, and Maria.
Clo. [sings.]
Hey, Robin, jolly Robin,
tell me how thy lady does.
Mal.
Fool,—
Clo.
My lady is unkind, perdy.
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;
-- 71 --
I am as well in my wits, fool, as thou art.
Clo.
But as well? then you are mad indeed, if you
be no better in your wits than a fool.
Mal.
They have here property'd 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 heavens restore!
endeavour thyself to sleep, and leave thy vain bibble
babble.
Mal.
Sir Topas,—
Clo.
Maintain no words with him, good fellow.—Who,
—I, sir? not I, sir. God b'w'you, good sir Topas.
—Marry, amen.—I will, sir, note 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.
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 will 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?
Mal.
Believe me, I am not; I tell thee true.
Clo.
Nay, I'll ne'er believe a madman, '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 pry'thee, be gone.
-- 72 --
Clo.
I am gone, sir,
[singing.
and anon, sir,
I'll be with you again,
in a trice,
like to the old vice,
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, goodman devil. note
[Exit.
SCENE III.
Olivia's Garden.
Enter Sebastian.
Seb.
This is the air; that is the glorious sun;
This pearl † she gave me, I do feel't, and see't:
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,
That he did range the town to seek me out.
His counsel now might do me golden service:
For though 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,
That I am ready to distrust mine eyes,
And wrangle with my reason, that persuades me
To any other trust, but that I am mad,
Or else the lady's mad; yet, if 'twere so,
She could not sway her house, command her followers,
-- 73 --
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 the lady comes.
Enter Olivia, and a Priest.
Oli.
Blame not this haste of mine: If you mean well,
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,
Whiles 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 truth, ever will be true.
Oli.
Then lead the way, good father;—And heavens so shine,
That they may fairly note this act of mine!
[Exeunt.
ACT V.
Scene 1
SCENE, before Olivia's House.
Enter Clown, and Fabian.
Fab.
Now, as thou lov'st me, let me see this letter. note
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, and Attendants.
-- 74 --
Duk.
Belong you to the lady Olivia, friends?
Clo.
Ay, sir; we are some of her trappings.
Duk.
I know thee well; How dost thou, my good fellow. note
Clo.
Truly, sir, the better for my foes, and the worse
for my friends.
Duk.
Just the contrary; the better for thy friends.
Clo.
No, sir, the worse.
Duk.
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 kisses14Q0447, if your four negatives make your two affirmatives,
why, then the worse for my friends, and the
better for my foes.
Duk.
Why, this is excellent.
Clo.
By my troth, sir, no; though it please you to be
one of my friends.
Duk.
Thou shalt not be the worse for me; there's &dagger2; gold.
Clo.
But that it would be double-dealing, sir, I would
you could make it another.
Duk.
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.
Duk.
Well, I will be so much a sinner, to be a double-dealer;
there's &dagger2; another.
Clo.
Primo, secundo, tertio, is a good play; and the
old saying is, the third pays for all: the triplex, sir, is a
good tripping measure; or the bells of saint Bennet, sir,
may put you in mind, One, two, three.
Duk.
You can fool no more money out of me at this
throw: if you will let your lady know, I am here to
-- 75 --
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, I will awake
it anon.
[Exit Clown.
Enter Antonio, and Officers.
Vio.
Here comes the man, sir, that did rescue me.
Duk.
That face of his I do remember well;
Yet, when I saw it last, it was besmear'd,
As black as Vulcan, in the smoke of war:
A baubling vessel was he captain of,
For shallow draught, and bulk, unprizable;
With which such scathful grapple did he make
With the most noble bottom of our fleet,
That very envy, and the tongue of loss,
Cry'd fame and honour on him.—What's the matter?
1. O.
Orsino, this is that Antonio,
That took the Phœnix, and her fraught, from Candy,
And this is he that did the Tiger board,
When your young nephew Titus lost his leg:
Here in the streets, desp'rate of shame, and state,
In private brabble did we apprehend him.
Vio.
He shew'd me note kindness, sir; drew on my side;
But, in conclusion, put strange speech upon me,
I know not what 'twas, but distraction.
Duk.
Notable pyrate, 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,
-- 76 --
Be pleas'd that I shake off these names you give me;
Antonio never yet was thief, or pyrate,
Though, I confess, on base and ground enough,
Orsino's enemy. A witchcraft drew me hither:
That most ingrateful 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 note 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
Not half an hour before.
Vio.
How can this be?
Duk.
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.
Enter Olivia, and Attendants.
Duk.
Here comes the countess; now heaven 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?—
-- 77 --
Cesario, you do not keep promise with me.
Vio.
Madam?
Duk.
Gracious Olivia,—
Oli.
What do you say, Cesario?—Good my lord,—
Vio.
My lord would speak, my duty hushes me.
Oli.
If it be ought to the old tune, my lord,
It is as flat note and fulsome to mine ear,
As howling after musick.
Duk.
Still, still so cruel?
Oli.
Still so constant, lord.
Duk.
What, to perverseness? you uncivil lady,
To whose ingrate and unauspicious altars
My soul the faithfull'st off'rings hath breath'd note out,
That e'er devotion tender'd! What shall I do?
Oli.
Even what it please my lord, that shall become him.
Duk.
Why should I not, had I the heart to do it,
Like to the Egyptian thief, at point of death,
Kill what I love; a savage jealousy,
That sometime 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 marble-breasted tyrant, still;
But this your minion, whom, I know, you love,
And whom, by heaven 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. note
To spite a raven's heart within a dove, note
[going.
Vio.
And I, most jocund, apt, and willingly,
To do you rest, a thousand deaths would dye.
[following.
-- 78 --
Oli.
Where goes Cesario? note
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.
Ah 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.
[Exit an Attendant.
Duk.
Come, away.
[to Viola.
Oli.
Whither, my lord?—Cesario, husband, stay.
Duk.
Husband?
Oli.
Ay, husband; Can he that deny?
Duk.
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.—O, welcome, father!
Re-enter Attendant, with Priest.
Father, I charge thee by thy reverence,
Here to unfold (though 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.
Pri.
A contract of eternal bond of love,
Confirm'd by mutual joinder of your hands,
Attested by the holy close of lips,
Strengthen'd by enterchangement of your rings;
And all the ceremony of this compact
-- 79 --
Seal'd in my function, by my testimony:
Since when, my watch hath told me, toward my grave
I have travel'd but two hours.
Duk.
O thou dissembling cub! what wilt thou be,
When time hath sow'd a grizzle on thy case?
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 note faith, though thou hast too much fear.
Enter Sir Andrew, with his Head broke.
Sir A.
For the love of God, a surgeon; send one presently
to sir Toby.
Oli.
What's the matter?
Sir A.
H'as broke my head across, and h'as 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 A.
The count's gentleman, one Cesario: we took
him for a coward, but he's the very devil incardinate.
Duk.
My gentleman, Cesario?
Sir A.
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.
Sir A.
If a bloody coxcomb be a hurt, you have hurt
me; I think, you set nothing by a bloody coxcomb.
Enter Sir Toby, drunk, led by the Clown.
-- 80 --
Here comes sir Toby halting, you shall hear more: but
if he had not been in drink, he would have tickl'd you
othergates than he did.
Duk.
How now, gentleman? how is't with you?
Sir T.
That's all one; h'as hurt me, and there's the
end on't.—Sot, did'st see Dick surgeon, sot?
Clo.
O, he's drunk, sir Toby, an note hour agone; his
eyes were set at eight i'the morning.
Sir T.
Then he's a rogue, and a past-measure paynim: note note
I hate a drunken rogue.
Oli.
Away with him: Who hath made this havock
with them?
Sir A.
I'll help you, sir Toby, because we'll be drest
together.
Sir T.
Will you help an ass-head, and a coxcomb,
and a knave; a thin-fac'd knave, a gull?
Oli.
Get him to bed, and let his hurt be look'd to.
[Exeunt Clown, and some Attendants,
with Sir Toby, and Sir Andrew.
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.
You throw a strange regard upon me, and
By that I do perceive it hath offended you;
Pardon, me, sweet one, even for the vows
We made each other but so late ago.
Duk.
One face, one voice, one habit, and two persons;
A natural 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?
-- 81 --
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 twain
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 note in my nature,
Of here and every note where. I had a sister,
Whom the blind waves and surges have devour'd:—
Of charity, what kin are you to me?
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 watry 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 note,
I should my tears let fall upon your cheek,
As say, note 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.
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 lets to make us happy both,
But this my masculine usurp'd attire,
-- 82 --
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 lye my maids weeds note; by whose gentle help
I was preserv'd note, to serve this noble count:
All the occurrence of my fortune since
Hath been between this lady, and this lord.
Seb.
So comes it, lady, [to Oli.] you have been mistook:
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.
Duk.
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,
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.
Duk.
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 inlarge him:—Fetch Malvolio hither:—
And yet, alas, now I remember me,
They say, poor gentleman, he's much distract.
Re-enter Clown, with a Letter.
-- 83 --
A most extracting note frenzy of mine own
From my remembrance clearly banish'd his. note—
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 madman'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 madman. By the Lord, madam,—
Oli.
How now, art thou 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 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 cousin 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.
-- 84 --
Duk.
This savours not much of distraction.
Oli.
See him deliver'd, Fabian; bring him hither.
[Exit Fabian.
My lord, so please you, these things further thought on,
To think me as well a sister as a wife,
One day shall crown the alliance on't, so please you,
Here at my house, and at my proper cost.
Duk.
Madam, I am most apt to embrace your offer.—
Your master quits you: [to Vio.] and, for your service done him,
So much against the mettle of your sex,
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.
Re-enter Fabian, with Malvolio.
Duk.
Is this the madman?
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 &dagger2; 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, not 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;
Bad me come smiling, and cross-garter'd, to you,
To put on yellow stockings, and to frown
Upon sir Toby, and the lighter people:
-- 85 --
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,
And made the most notorious geck, and gull note,
That e'er invention play'd on? tell me why?
Oli.
Alas, Malvolio, this is not my writing,
Though, 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 in smiling, note
And in such forms which here were presuppos'd
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 note speak;
And let no quarrel, nor no brawl to come,
Taint the condition of this present hour,
Which I have wonder'd at. In hope it shall not,
Most freely I confess, myself, and 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 marry'd 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 baffl'd thee!
Clo.
Why, some are born great, some atchieve greatness,
-- 86 --
and some have greatness thrown note 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 such a barren rascal?
an you smile not, he's gag'd: And thus the whirligig of
time brings in his revenges.
Mal.
I'll be reveng'd on the whole pack of you.
[Exit Malvolio.
Oli.
He hath been most notoriously abus'd.
Duk.
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.
SONG.
Clo.
[1.]
When that14Q0448 I was and 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.
2.
But when I came to man's estate,
with hey, ho, &c.
'gainst knaves, and thieves, men shut their gate,
for the rain, &c.
3.
But when I came, alas, to wive,
-- 87 --
with hey, ho, &c.
by swaggering could I never thrive,
for the rain, &c.
4.
But when I came unto my beds,
with hey, ho, &c.
with toss-pots still had drunken heads,
for the rain, &c.
5.
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.
