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 royal cantons of contemned love, And sing them loud even in the dead of night, Holla your name to the reverberate hills, And make the babbling gossip of the air Cry, out, Olivia! O, you should not rest Between the elements of air and earth, But you should pity me. Baby [tage? Oli. You might do much: what is your parenVio. Above my fortunes. yet my state is well: 1 am a gentleman. Oli. Get you to your lord; I cannot love him: let him send no more; To tell me how he takes it. Fare you well: I thank you for your pains: spend this for me. [exit. ACT II. [exit. 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 recompense 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 mere 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 called Roderigo; my father was that Sebastian of Messaline, whom, I know, you have heard of: he left behind him, myself, and a sister, both born in an hour. If the heavens had been pleased, 'would we had so ended! but you, sir, altered 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, over-far believe that, yet thus far I will boldly publish her, she bore a mind that envy could not but call fair; she is drowned 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, min eyes will tell tales of me. I am bound to the count Orsino's court: farewell. Ant. The gentleness of all the gods go with thee! I have many enemies in Orsino's court, Else would I very shortly see thee there: But, come what may, I do adore thee so, That danger shall seem sport, and I will go. [exit. SCENE II. A STREET. [exit. 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 arrived but hither. Mal. She returns this ring to you, sir; you might have saved me my pains, to have taken it away yourself. She adds moreover, that you should put your lord into a desperate assurance she will none of him; and one thing more; that you be never so hardy to come again in his affairs, unless it be to report your lord's taking of this. Receive it so. Vio. She took the ring of me; I'll none of it. Mal. Come, sir, you peevishly threw it to her; and her will is, it should be so 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. None of my lord's ring! why, he sent her none. In women's waxen hearts to set their forms! SCENE III. A ROOM IN OLIVIA'S HOUSE. [exit. Enter Sir Toby Belch and Sir Andrew Ague-check. 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. Sir And. 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 spokest of Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians passing the equinoctial of Queubus; 'twas very good, i'faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy leman: had'st it? Clo. I did impeticos thy gratility; 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. Clo. O, mistress mine, where are you roaming? Clo. What is love? 'tis not hereafter; In delay there lies no plenty; Sir And. A mellifluous voice, as I am true Sir And. Very sweet and contagious, i'faith. Sir To. To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion. But shall we make the welkin dauce indeed? Shall we rouse the night-owl in a catch, that will draw three souls out of one weaver? shall we do that? [at a catch. Sir And. An you love me, let's do't: I am a dog Clo. By'r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well. [knave. Sir And. Most certain: let our catch be, Thou 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 constrained one to call me knave. Begin, fool; it begins, Hold thy peace. Clo. I shall never begin, if I hold my peace. Mar. What a catterwauling do you keep here! If my lady have not called up her steward, Malvolio, and bid him turn you out of doors, never trust me. Sir To. My lady's a Cataian, we are politicians; Malvolio's a Peg-a-Ramsey, and Three merry men be we. Am not I consanguineous? am I not of her blood? Tilly-valley, lady! There dwelt a man in Babylon, lady, lady! [singing. Clo. Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable fooling. Sir And. Ay, he does well enough, if he be disposed, and so do I too; he does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural. Sir To. O,the twelfthday of December,—[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 Mal. Nay, good Sir Toby. [ie gone. Clo. His eyes do show his days are almost done. Mal. Is't even so? Sir To. But I will never die. Clo. Sir Toby, there you lie. [singing. Sir To. Shall I bid him go, and-spare 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 hot 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 prized 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. Mar. Go shake your ears. [cxit. Sir And. 'Twere as good a deed 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 ady, 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 lie straight in my bed: I know, I can do it. Sir To. Possess us, possess us; tell us something of him. [ritan. Mar. Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of PuSir And. O, if I thought that, I'd beat him like a dog. Sir To. What, for being a Puritan? thy exquisite reason, dear knight? Sir And. I have no exquisite reason for't, but I have reason good enough. Mar. The devil a Puritan that he is, or any thing constantly but a time-pleaser; an affectioned 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. Sir To. Excellent! I smell a device. Sir And. And I have't in my nose too. Sir To. He shall think, by the letters that thou wilt drop, that they come from my niece, and that she is in love with him. Mar. My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour. Sir And. And your horse now would make him Mar., Ass, I doubt not. [an ass. Sir And. O, 'twill be admirable. Mar. Sport royal, I warrant you: I know my physic will work with him. I will plant you two, and let the fool make a third, where he shall find the letter; observe his construction of it. For this night, to bed, and dream on the event. Faro well. [exit. Sir To. Good night, Penthesilea. Sir And. Before me, she's a good wench. Sir To. She's a beagle, true-bred, and one that adores me; what o'that? Sir And. I was adored once too. Sir To. Let's to-bed, knight.-Thou hadst need send for more money. [a foul way out. Sir And. If I cannot recover your niece, I am Sir To. Send for money, knight; if thou hast her not i'the end, call me Cut. Sir And. If I do not, never trust me, take it how you will. Sir To. Come, come; I'll go burn some sack, 'tis too late to go to bed now: come, knight; come knight. [exit. SCENE IV. A ROOM IN THE DUKE'S PALACE. Enter Duke, Viola, Curio, and others. Duke. Give me some music: Now, good-mor row, friends: Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song, Cur. He is not here, so please your lordship, that should sing it. Duke. Who was it? Cur. Feste, the jester, my lord; a fool, that the lady Olivia's father took much delight in: he is about the house. Duke. Scek him out, and play the tune the while. [exit Curio; music. Come hither, boy; If ever thou shalt love, In the sweet pangs of it, remember me: For, such as I am, all true lovers are; Unstaid and skittish in all motions else, Save, in the constant image of the creature That is belov'd.-How dost thou like this tune? Vio. It gives a very echo to the seat Where love is thron'd. Duke. Thou dost speak masterly: My life upon't, young though thou art, thine eye Hath stay'd upon some favour that it loves; Hath it not, boy? Vio. A little, by your favour. Duke. What kind of woman is't? Vio. Of your complexion. Duke. She is not worth thee then. Vio. About your years, my lord. Duke. Too old, by heaven; let still the woman 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, Vio. I think it well, my lord. Duke. Then let thy love be younger than thyOr thy affection cannot hold the bent: [self, For women are as roses; whose fair flower, Being once display'd, doth fall that very hour. Vio. And so they are: alas, that they are so ; To die, even when they to perfection grow! Re-enter Curio and Clown. [night: Duke. O fellow, come, the song we had last 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 Do use to chaunt it; it is silly sooth, And dallies with the innocence of love, Like the old age. Clo. Are you ready, sir? Duke. Ay; pr'ythee, sing. Clo. Come away, come away, death, I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white, stuck all with yew My part of death no one so true Did share it. Not a flower, not a flower sweet, [bones, On my black coffin let there be strown; Not a friend, not a friend greet No motion of the liver, but the palate,— Vio. Ay, but I know, Duke. What dost thou know? Vio. Too well what love women to men may Duke. And what's her history? Vio. A blank, my lord: she never told her love, [music. She sat like patience on a monument My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown, Sad true lover ne'er find my grave, Duke. There's for thy pains. [sir. Clo. No pains, sir; I take pleasure in singing, Duke. Give me now leave to leave thee. Clo. Now, the melancholy god protect thee; and the taylor make thy doublet of changeable taffata, for thy mind is a very opal !—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. Farewell, [exit. Duke. Let all the rest give place.[exeunt Curio and Attendants. Once more, Cesario, The parts, that fortune hath bestow'd upon her, Say, that some lady, as, perhaps, there is, Can bide the beating of so strong a passion Smiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed? We men may say more, swear more; but, indeed, Our shows are more than will; for still we prove Much in our vows, but little in our love. Duke. But died 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? Duke. Ay, that's the theme. To her in haste; give her this jewel; say, SCENE V. OLIVIA'S GARDEN. [exeunt. Enter Sir Toby Belch, Sir Andrew Ague-chcek, and Fabian. Sir To. Come thy ways, signior Fabian. Fab. Nay, I'll come; if I lose a scruple of this sport, let me be boiled to death with melancholy. Sir To. Would'st thou not be glad to have the niggardly, rascally sheep-biter come by some notable shame? Fab. I would exult, man: you know, he brought me out of favour with my lady, about a bear-baiting here. Sir To. To anger him, we'll have the bear again; and we will fool him black and blue :shall we not, Sir Andrew? Sir And. An we do not, it is pity of our lives. Enter Maria. Sir To. Here comes the little villain :-How now, my nettle of India? 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! [the Men hide themselves.] Lie 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 complexion. Besides, shr uses me with a more exalted respect, than any Sir And. 'Slight, I could so beat the rogue :- Mal. To be count Malvolio! Sir And. Pistol him, pistol him. Mal. There is example for't; the lady of the strachy married the yeoman of the wardrobe. Sir And. Fie on him, Jezebel ! Fab. O, peace! now he's deeply in; look, how imagination blows him. Mal. Having been three months married to her, sitting in my state, [eye! Sir To. O, for a stone-bow, to hit him in the Mal. Calling my officers about me, in my branched velvet gown; having come from a daybed, where I left Olivia sleeping. Sir. To. Fire and brimstone! Mal. And then to have the humour of state; and after a demure travel of regard,-telling them, I know my place, as I would they should do theirs -to ask for my kinsman Toby: Sir To. Bolts and shackles ! Fab. O, peace, peace, peace! now, now. Mal. Seven of my people, with an obedient start, make out for him: I frown the while; and, perchance, wind up my watch, or play with some rich jewel. Toby approaches; court'sies there to me: Sir To. Shall this fellow live? Fab. Though our silence be drawn from us with cars, yet peace. Mal. I extend my hand to him thus, quenching my familiar smile with an austere regard of control: Sir To. And does not Toby take you a blow o'the lips then? Mal. Saying, Cousin Toby, my fortunes having cast me on your niece, give me this prerogative of speech: Sir To. What, what? Mal. You must amend your drunkenness. Sir To. Out, scab! Fab. Nay, patience, or we break the sinews of our plot. Mal. Besides, you waste the treasure of your time with a foolish knight; Sir And. That's me, I warrant you. Mal. One sir Andrew: Sir And. Her C's, her U's, and her T's: why that? Mal. [reads.] To the unknown beloved, 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. whom should this be? Fab. This wins him, liver and all. But who? Lips do not move, No man must know. Sir To. Excellent wench, say I. Mal. M, O, A, I, doth sway my life.-Nay, but first, let me see,-let me see,-let me see. Fab. What a dish of poison has she dressed him! Sir To. And with what wing the stannyel checks at it! Mal. I may command where I adore. Why, she may command me; I servo 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.~ Sir To. O, ay! make up that:-he is now at a cold scent. Fab. Sowter will cry upon't, for all this though it be as rank as a fox. Mal. M,-Malvolio ;-M,-why, that begins my name. Fab. Did not I say, he would work it out? the cur is excellent at faults. Mal. M,-but then there is no consonancy in the sequel; that suffers under probation: A should follow, but does. Fab. And O shall end, I hope. Sir To. Ay, or I'll cudgel him, and make him cry, O. Mal. And then I comes behind: Fab. Ay, an you had any eye behind you, you might see more detraction at your heels, than fortunes before you. Mal. M, O, A, I;-This simulation is not as the former and yet, to crush this a little, it would bow to me, for every one of these letters are in my name. Soft! here follows prose. If this fall into thy hand, revolve. In my stars I am above thee; but be not afraid of greatness; some are born great, Sir And. I knew, 'twas I; for many do call some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon me fool. Mal. What employment have we here? [taking up the letter. Fab. Now is the woodcock near the gin. Sir To. O, peace! and the spirit of humours intimate reading aloud to him! Mal. By my life, this is my lady's hand: these be her very C's, her U's, and her T's: and thus makes she her great P's. It is, in contempt of question, her hand. 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 wished to see thee ever cross-gartered; I say, remember. Go to, thou art made if thou desirest to be so, if not, let me see thee a steward still, the fellow of servants, and not worthy to touch fortune's fingers. Farewell. She, that would alter services with thee, Day-light and champian discovers not more: this is open. I will be proud, I will read politie The fortunate-unhappy. |