Sir And. An I thought that, I'd forswear it. I'll Thou know'st no less but all; I have unclasp'd ride home to-morrow, sir Toby. Sir To. Pourquoy, my dear knight? Sir And. What is pourquoy? do or not do? I would I had bestowed that time in the tongues, that I have in fencing, dancing, and bear-baiting: O, had I but followed the arts! To thee the book even of my secret soul. Sure, my noble lord, Sir To. Then hadst thou had an excellent head of If she be so abandoned to her sorrow hair. As it is spoke, she never will admit me. Duke. Be clamorous, and leap all civil bounds, Rather than make unprofited return. Sir And. Why, would that have mended my hair? Sir To. Past question; for thou seest it will not curl by nature. Sir And. But it becomes me well enough, does't not? Sir To. Excellent; it hangs like flax on a distaff; and I hope to see a housewife take thee beween her legs, and spin it off. : Sir And. '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, wooes her. Sir To. She'll none o' the count; she'll not match above her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit; I have heard her swear it. Tut, there's life in't, man. Sir And. I'll stay a month longer. 1 I am a fellow o' the strangest mind i' the world; I delight in masques and revels sometimes altogether. Sir To. Art thou good at these kick-shaws, knight? Sir And. As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be, under the degree of my betters; and yet I will not compare with an old man. Sir To. What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight? Sir And. And, I think, I have the back-trick, sim ply as strong as any man in Illyria. Sir To. Wherefore are these things hid? where fore have these gifts a curtain before them? are they like to take dust, like mistress Mall's picture? why dost thou not go to church in a galliard, and come home in a coranto? My very walk should be a jig; I would not so much as make water, but in a sinka 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 formed under the star of a galliard. Sir And. Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a flame-coloured stock. Shall we set about some revels? Sir To. What shall we do else? were we not born under Taurus? Sir And. Taurus? that's sides and heart. Sir To. 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. you, Cesario, you are like to be much advanced; 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? Enter DUKE, CURIO, and Attendants. Vio. On your attendance, my lord; here. Vio. Say, I do speak with her, my lord: What then? Duke. O, then unfold the passion of my love Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith. It shall become thee well to act my woes; She will attend it better in thy youth, Than in a nuncio of more grave aspect. Vio. I think not so, my lord. Duke. Dear lad, believe it; For they shall yet belie thy happy years, That say, thou art a man: Diana's lip is not more smooth, and rubious; thy small pipe Is as the maiden's organ, shrill, and sound, And all is semblative a woman's part. 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: yet, [Aside.] a barful strife. Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife. [Exeunt I SCENE V.-A Room in Olivia's House.. Enter MARIA and Clown. will not open my lips, so wide as a bristle may enter, Mar. Nay, either tell me where thou hast been, of in way of thy excuse my lady will hang thee for thy absence. Clo. Let her hang me: he, that is well hanged in this world, needs to fear no colours. Mar. Make that good. Clo. He shall see none to fear. that saying was born, of, I fear no colours. Mar. A good lenten answer: I can tell thee where 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 hanged, for being so long absent: or, to be turned away; is not that as good as a hanging to you? Clo. Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage; and, for turning away, let summer bear it out. Mar. You are resolute then? Clo. Not so neither; but I am resolved on two points. Mar. That, if one break, the other will hold, or, if both break, your gaskins fall. Clo. Apt, in good faith; very apt! Well, go thy way; if sir Toby would leave drinking, thou wert as witty a piece of Eve's flesh as any in Illyria. Mar. Peace, you rogue, no more o' that; here comes my lady: make your excuse wisely, you were best. [Exit. Enter OLIVIA and MALVOLIO. Clo. Wit; and 't be thy will, put me into good fooling! Those wits, that think they have thee, do Ivery oft prove fools; and I, that am sure I lack thee, D. Take the fool away. . Do you not hear, fellows? Take away the lady. O Go to, you're a dry fool; I'll no more of you: des, you grow dishonest. Flo. Two faults, madonna, that drink and good sel will amend: for give the dry fool drink, then me fool not dry; bid the dishonest man mend him; if he mend, he is no longer dishonest; if he not, let the botcher mend hiin: Any thing that's ded, is but patched: virtue, that transgresses, ut patched with sin; and sin, that amends, is but hed with virtue: If that this simple syllogism serve, so; if it will not, What remedy? As there true cuckold but calamity, so beauty's a flower: e lady bade take away the fool; therefore, I say , take her away. i. Sir, I bade them take away you. . Misprision in the highest degree! - Lady, llus non facit monachum; that's as much as to wear not motley.in my brain. Good madonna, me leave to prove you a fool. E. Can you do it? =. Dexteriously, good madonna. . Make your proof. . I must catechize you for it, madonna; Good ouse of virtue, answer me. - Well, sir, for want of other idleness, I'll your proof. - Good madonna, why mourn'st thou ? - Good fool, for my brother's death. I think, his soul is in hell, madonna. I know his soul i. in heaven, fool. The more fool yos, madonna, to mourn for rother's soul being in heaven.-Take away the entlemen. What think you of this fool, Malvolio? doth mend? Yes; and shall do, till the pangs of death im: Infirmity, that decays the wise, doth ever he better fool. God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for the increasing your folly! Sir Toby will be sworn, am no fox; but he will not pass his word for nce that you are no fool. How say you to that, Malvolio? I marvel your ladyship takes delight in such n rascal; I saw him put down the other day aordinary fool, that has no more brain than . Look you now, he's out of his guard alunless you laugh and minister occasion to is gagged. I protest, I take these wise men, ow so at these set kind of fools, no better than s' zanies. O, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and ith a distempered appetite. To be generous, -s, and of free disposition, is to take those For bird-bolts, that you deem cannon-bullets: no slander in an allowed fool, though he do but rail; nor ne railing in a known discreet ough he do nothing but reprove. Now Mercury endue thee with leasing, for eakest well of fools! Re-enter MARIA. 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 tick or not at home; what you will, to dismiss it. [Tait MALVOLIO.] Now you see, sir, how your fooling grows old, and people dislike it. Clo. Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy eldest son should be a fool: whose skull Jove cram with brains, for here he comes, one of thy kin, has a most weak pia mater. Oli. Cousin, cousin, how have you come so early by this lethargy? Sir To. Lechery! I defy lechery: There's one at the gate. Oli. Ay, marry; what is he? Sir To. Let him be the devil, an he will, I care not give me faith, say I. Well, it's all one. [Exit. Oli. What's a drunken man like, fool? Clo. Like a drown'd man, a fool, and a madman: one draught above heat makes him a fool; the second mads him; and a third drowns him. Oli. Go thou and seek the coroner, and let him sit o' my coz; for he 's in the third degree of drink, he's drown'd go, look after him. Clo. He is but mad yet, madonna; and the fool [Exit Clown. shall look to the madman. Re-enter MALVOLIO. Mal. Madam, yond young fellow swears he will speak with you. I told him you were sick; he takes on him to understand so much, and therefore comes to speak with you; I told him you were asleep; he seems to have a fore-knowledge of that too, and therefore comes to speak with you. What is to be said to him, lady? he's fortified against any denial. Oli. Tell him, he shall not speak with me. Mal. He has been told so; and he says, he 'll' stand at your door like a sheriff's post, and be the supporter of a bench, but he'll speak with you. Oli. What kind of man is he? Mal. Why, of mankind. Oli. What manner of man? Mal. Of very ill manner; he'll speak with you, will you, or no. Ol. 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 e'en standing water, between boy and man He is very well-favoured, 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 Midam, there is at the gate a young gintle- We'll once more hear Orsino's embassy. h desires to speak with you Frota the coun: Orsino, is it? I know not, madam; 'tis a fair young man, attended. Enter VIOLA. Vis. 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 never saw her: I would be loath to cast away my speech; for, besides that it is excellently well penn'd, I have taken great pains to con it. Good beauties, let me sustain no scorn; I am very comptible, even to the least sinister usage. Öli. Whence came you, sir? Vio. I can say little more than I have studied, and that question's out of my part. Good gentle one, give me modest assurance, if you be the lady of the house, that I may proceed in my speech. Oli. Are you a comedian? Vio. No, my profound heart: and yet, by the very fangs of malice, I swear I am not that I play. Are you the lady of the house? Oli. If I do not usurp myself, I am. Vio. Most certain, if you are she, you do usurp yourself; for what is yours to bestow, is not yours to reserve. But this is from my commission: I will on with my speech in your praise, and then shew you the heart of my message. Oli. Come to what is important in't: I forgive you the praise. Vic. Alas, I took great pains to study it, and 'tis poetical. Oli. It is the more like to be feigned; I pray you, keep it in. I heard you were saucy at my gates; and allowed 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. Öli. Tell me your mind. Vio. 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 appeared in me, have I learn'd from my entertainment. What I am, and what I would, are as secret as maidenhead: to your ears, divinity; to any other's, profanation. Oli. Give us the place alone: we will hear this divinity. [Exit MARIA.] Now, sir, what is your text? Vio. Most sweet lady,— Oli. 'Tis in grain, sir; 'twill endure wind and weather. Vio. "Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white Oli. O, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted; I will give out divers schedules of my beauty: It shall be inventoried; and every particle, and utensil, labelled 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; Oli. How does he love me? ant, Oli. Your lord does know my mind, I cannot love Vio. If I did love you in my master's flame, Oli. Get you to your lord; I cannot love him: let him send no more; Vio. I am no fee'd post, lady; keep your purse; Oli. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be Above my fortunes, yet my state is well; said of it. Where lies your text? Vio. In Orsino's bosom. Oli. In his bosom? In what chapter of his bosom? Vio. To answer by the method, in the first of his heart. Oli. O, I have read it; it is heresy. Have you no more to say? Vio. Good madam, let me see your face. Oli. Have you any commission from your lord to negotiate with my face? you are now out of your text: but we will draw the curtain, and shew you the picture. Look you, sir, such a one as I was this present: Is't not well done? [Unveiling. Vio. Excellently done, if God did all." I am a gentleman.· -I'll be sworn thou art; scft! soft! ACT II. SCENE 1.-The sea-coast. Enter ANTONIO and SEBASTIAN. Ant. Will you stay no longer? nor will you not, that I go with you? Vio. Even now, sir; on a moderate pace I have since arrived but hither. Mal. She returns this ring to you, sir; you might have saved me my pains, to have taken it away your. self. She adds moreover, that you should put your lord into a desperate assurance she will none of him: And one thing more; that you be never so hardy to come again in his affairs, unless it be to report your lord's taking of this. Receive it so. Vio. She took the ring of me: I'll none of it. Mal. Come, sir, you peevishly threw it to her; and her will is, it should be so returned: if it be worth stooping for, there it lies in your eye; if not, be it his that finds it. [Exit. Vio. I left no ring with her: What means this lady? Fortune forbid, my outside have not charm'd her! She made good view of me; indeed, so much, That, sure, methought, her eyes had lost her tongue, For she did speak in starts distractedly. She loves me, sure; the cunning of her passion Invites me in this churlish messenger. Seb. By your patience, no: my stars shine darkly None of my lord's ring! why, he sent her none. over me; the malignancy of my fate might, perhaps, I am the man;-If it be so, (as 'tis,) distemper yours; therefore I shall crave of you your Poor lady, she were better love a dream. leave, that I may bear my evils alone: It were a bad Disguise, I see, thou art a wickedness, recompense for your love, to lay any of them on you. Wherein the pregnant enemy does much. Ant. Let me yet know of you, whither you are How easy is it, for the proper-false bound. In women's waxen hearts to set their forms! Seb. No, 'sooth sir; my determinate voyage is Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we; mere extravagancy. But I perceive in you so excel- For, such as we are made of, such we be. lent a touch of modesty, that you will not extort from How will this fadge? My master loves her dearly me what I am willing to keep in; therefore it charges And I, poor monster, fond as much on him; me in manners the rather to express myself. You And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me: must know of me then, Antonio, my name is Sebas- What will become of this! As I am man, tian, which I called Rodorigo; my father was that My state is desperate for my master's love; Sebastian of Messaline, whom I know, you have As I am woman, now alas the day! heard of: he left behind him, myself, and a sister, What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe? both born in an hour. If the heavens had been O time, thou must entangle this, not I; pleased, 'would we had so ended! but you, sir, al-It is too hard a knot for me to untie. tered that; for, some hour before you took me from the breach of the sea, was my sister drowned. Ant. Alas, the day! Seb. A lady, sir, though it was said she much resembled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful: but, though I could not, with such estimable wonder, overfar believe that, yet thus far I will boldly publish her, she bore a mind that envy could not but call fair; she is drown'd already, sir, with salt water, 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 murder 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 recovered, 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: farewell. [Exit. Ant. The gentleness of all the gods go with thee! I have many enemies in Orsino's court, Else would I very shortly see thee there: SCENE III. A Room in Olivia's House. Enter Sir TOBY BELCH and Sir [Exit. Sir To. Approach, sir Andrew: not to be a-bed after midnight, is to be up betimes; and diluculo surgere, thou know'st, Sir And. Nay, by my troth, I know not: but I know, to be up late, is to be up late. Sir To. A false conclusion; I hate it as an unfilled 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. Do not our lives consist of the four elements? Sir And. 'Faith so they say; but, I think, it rather consists of eating and drinking. Sir To. Thou art a scholar; let us therefore eat and drink.-Marian, I say!-A stoop of wine! Enter CLOWN. Sir And. Here comes the fool, i'faith. Clo. How now, my hearts? Did you never see the picture of we three? Sir To. Welcome ass. Now let's have a catch. That danger shall seem sport, and I will go. [Exit. breast. I had rather than forty shillings I had such SCENE II-A Street. Enter VIOLA; MALVOLIO following. 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 spokest of Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians passing the equinoctial of Queubus; 'twas very good, i'faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy leman: Hadst it? Clo. I did impeticos thy gratillity; for Malvolio's nose is no whipstock: My lady has a white hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses. Sir And. Excellent! Why, this is the best fooling, when all is done. Now, a song. Sir To. Come on; there is sixpence for you: let's have a song. Sir And. There's a testril of me too: if one knight give a Clo. Would you have a love-song, or a song of good life? Sir To. A love-song, a love song. Sir And. Ay, ay; I care not for good life. SONG. Clo. O mistress mine, where are you roaming? Every wise man's son doth know. Sir And. Excellent good, i'faith. Clo. What is love? 'tis not hereafter; Sir And. A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight. Sir And. Very sweet and contagious, i'faith. Clo. By'r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well. Sir And. Most certain: let our catch be, Thou knave. Clo. Hold thy peace, thou knave, knight? I shall be constrain'd in't to call thee knave, knight. Sir And. 'Tis not the first time I have constrain'd one to call me knave. Begin, fool; it begins, Hold thy peace. Clo. I shall never begin, if I hold my peace. Enter MARIA. Mar. What a catterwauling do you keep here! If Sir To. O, the twelfth day of December,— Enter MALVOLIO. [Singing. 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' catches without any mitigation or remorse of voice? Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time, in you? Sir To. We did keep time, sir, in our catches. Sneck up! Mal. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My lady bade me tell you, that, though she harbours you as her kinsman, she's nothing allied to your disorders. If you can separate yourself and your misdemeanors, you are welcome to the house; if not, an it would please you to take leave of her, she is very willing to bid you farewell. Sir To. Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs be gone. Mar. Nay, good sir Toby. Clo. His eyes do shew his days are almost done. Mal. Is't even so? Sir To. But I will never die. Clo. Sir Toby, there you lie. Mal. This is much credit to you. Sir To. Shall I bid him go? Clo. What an if you do? [Singing. Sir To. Shall I bid him go, and spare not? Clo. O no, no, no, no, you dare not. Sir To. Out o' time? sir, ye lie-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 not i' the mouth too. Sir To. 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. Mar. Go shake your ears. Sir And. 'Twere as good a deed as to drink when a man's a hungry, to challenge him to the field; and then to break promise with him, and make a fool of him. Sir To. Do't knight; I'll write thee a challenge; or I'll deliver thy indignation to him by word of mouth. Mar. Sweet sir Toby, be patient for to-night; since the youth of the 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 nayword, and make him a common recreation, do not think I have wit enough to lie straight in my bed: I know, I can do it. Sir To. Possess us, possess us; tell us something of him. Mar. Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Puritan. dog. Sir To. What, for being a Puritan? thy exquisite reason, dear knight? Sir And I have no exquisite reason for't, but I have reason good enough. Mar. The devil a Puritan that he is, or any thing constantly but a time pleaser; an affection'd ass, that cons state without book, and utters it by great swarths. the best persuaded of himself, so crammed, as he thinks, with excellencies, that it is his ground of faith, that all, that look on him, love him; and on that vice in him will my revenge find notable cause to work. Sir To. What wilt thou do? Mar. I will drop in his way some obscure epistles of love; wherein, by the colour of his beard, the shape of his leg, the manner of his gait, the expressure of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he shall find himself most feelingly personated: I can write very like my lady, your niece; on a forgotten matter we can hardly make distinction of our hands, |