O, that I served that lady; And might not be delivered to the world, Till I had made mine own occasion mellow, What my estate is. Cap. That were hard to compass; Because she will admit no kind of suit, No, not the duke's. Vio. There is a fair behaviour in thee, captain; And though that nature with a beauteous wall Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee I will believe, thou hast a mind that suits Cap. Be you his eunuch, and your mute I'll be: When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see! Vio. I thank thee: lead me on. [Exeunt. SCENE III-A room in Olivia's house. Enter Sir Toby Belch and Maria. Sir To. What a plague means my niece, to take the death of her brother thus? I am sure, care's an enemy to life. Mar. By troth, sir Toby, you must come in earlier o' nights; your cousin, my lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours. Sir To. Why, let her except before excepted. Mar. Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modest limits of order. Sir To. Confine? I'll confine myself no finer than I am these clothes are good enough to drink in, and so be these boots too; an they be not, let them hang themselves in their own straps. Mar. That quaffing and drinking will undo you: I heard my lady talk of it yesterday; and of a foolish knight, that you brought in one night here, to be her wooer. Sir To. Who? Sir Andrew Ague-cheek? Sir To. He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria. Sir To. Why, he has three thousand ducats year. a Mar. Ay, but he'll have but a year in all these ducats; he's a very fool, and a prodigal. Sir To. Fie, that you'll say so! he plays o' the viol-de-gambo, and speaks three or four languages word for word without book, and hath all the good gifts of nature. Mar. He hath, indeed,—almost natural: for, besides that he's a fool, he's a great quarreller; and, but that he hath the gift of a coward to allay the gust he hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought among the prudent, he would quickly have the gift of a grave. Sir To. By this hand, they are scoundrels, and substractors, that say so of him. Who are they? Mar. They that add moreover, he's drunk nightly in your company. Sir To. With drinking healths to my 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, that will not drink to my niece, till his brains turn o' the toe, like a parish-top. What, wench? Castiliano vulgo; for here comes sir Andrew Ague-face. Enter Sir Andrew Ague-cheek. Sir And. Sir Toby Belch! how now, sir Toby Belch? Sir To. Sweet sir Andrew? Sir And. Bless you, fair shrew. Mar. And you too, sir. Sir To. Accost, sir Andrew, accost. Sir And. What's that? Sir To. My niece's chamber-maid. Sir And. Good mistress Acco, I desire better acquaintance. Mar. My name is Mary, sir. Sir And. Good mistress Mary Accost, Sir To. You mistake, knight: accost, is, front her, board her, woo her, assail her. Sir And. By my troth, I would not undertake her in this company. Is that the meaning of accost? Mar. Fare you well, gentlemen. Sir To. An thou let part so, sir Andrew, 'would thou might'st never draw sword again. Sir And. An you part so, mistress, I would I might never draw sword again. Fair lady, do you think you have fools in hand? Mar. Sir, I have not you by the hand. Sir And. Marry, but you shall have; and here's my hand. Mar. Now, sir, thought is free; I pray you, bring your hand to the buttery-bar, and let it drink. Sir And. Wherefore, sweetheart? what's your metaphor? Mar. It's dry, sir. Sir And. Why, I think so; I am not such an ass, but I can keep my hand dry. But what's your jest? Mar. A dry jest, sir. Sir And. Are you full of them? Mar. Ay, sir; I have them at my fingers' ends: marry, now I let go your hand, I am barren. [Exit Maria. Sir To. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of canary. when did I see thee so put down? Sir And. Never in your life, I think; unless you see canary put me down: methinks, sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian, or an ordinary man has: but I am a great eater of beef, and, 1believe, that does harm to my wit. Sir To. No question. Sir And. An I thought that, I'd forswear it. I'll ride home to-morrow, sir Toby. Sir To. Pourquoy, my dear knight? Sir And. What is pourquoy? do or not do? I would I had bestowed that time in the tongues, that I have in fencing, dancing, and bear-baiting: O, had I but followed the arts! (S) Keystril, a bastard hawk. Sir To. Then hadst thou had an excellent head To thee the book even of my secret soul: of hair. 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 between her legs, and spin it off. Sir And. 'Faith, I'll home to-morrow, sir Toby: your nieee will not be seen; or, if she be, it's four to one she'll none of nie: the count himself, here hard by, woos 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. 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? Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her; Vio. Sure, my noble lord, If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow Vio. Say, I do speak with her, my lord; what Duke. O, then unfold the passion of my love, Dear lad, believe it, Sir And. As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he And all is semblative a woman's part. be, under the degree of my betters; and yet I will I know, thy constellation is right apt not compare with an old man. Sir To. What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight? Sir And. 'Faith, I can cut a caper. Sir And. And, I think, I have the back-trick, simply as strong as any man in Illyria. For this affair:-Some four, or five, attend him, I'll do my best, To woo your lady: yet [Aside.] a barful strife! Sir To. Wherefore are these things hid? where- Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife. fore have these gifts a curtain before them? are they like to take dust, like mistress Mall's picture? Maria and Clown. [Exeunt. Why dost thou not go to church in a galliard, SCENE V.-A room in Olivia's house. Enter and come home in a coranto? My very walk should be a jig; I would not so much as make water, but in a sink-a-pace. What dost thou Mar. Nay, either tell me where thou hast been, mean? is it a world to hide virtues in? I did think, or I will not open my lips so wide as a bristle may by the excellent constitution of thy leg, it was enter, in way of thy excuse: my lady will hang formed under the star of a galliard. thee for thy absence. 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. Clo. Let her hang me: he, that is well hanged Clo. He shall see none to fear. Mar. In the wars; and that may you be bold to say in your foolery. Clo. Well, God give them wisdom, that have it; SCENE IV. A room in the Duke's palace. En- and those that are fools, let them use their talents. ter Valentine, and Viola in man's attire. Val. If the duke continue these favours towards 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? Val. No, believe me. Enter Duke, Curio, and attendants. Vio. I thank you. Here comes the count. Duke. Who saw Cesario, ho? Vio. On your attendance, my lord; here. (1) Cinque-pace, the name of a dance. 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? riage; and, for turning away, let sunimer bear it Clo. Many a good hanging prevents a bad mar 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. (5) Short and spare. (6) Points were hooks which fastened the hose Jor breeches. Enter Olivia and Malvolio. Clo. Wit, an't be thy will, put me into good fooling! 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. Re-enter Maria. Mar. Madam, there is at the gate a young gen- Oli. Who of my people hold him in delay ? am Oli. Fetch him off, I pray you; he speaks nothing but madman: fie on him! [Exit Maria.] Go Oli. Go to, you are a dry fool; I'll no more of you, Malvolio; if it be a suit from the count, you: besides, you grow dishonest. sick, or not at home; what you will, to dismiss it. Clo. Two faults, madonna,' that drink and good [Exit Malvolio.] Now you see, sir, how your foulcounsel will amend: for give the dry fool drink, ing grows old, and people dislike it. then is the fool not dry; bid the dishonest mend Clo. Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy himself; if he mend, he is no longer dishonest; if eldest son should be a fool: whose skull Jove cram he cannot, let the botcher mend him; any thing, with brains, for here he comes, one of thy kin, has that's mended, is but patched: virtue, that trans- a most weak pia mater. gresses, is but patched with sin; and sin, that amends, is but patched with virtue: if that this simple syllogism will serve, so; if it will not, what remedy? As there is no true cuckold but calamity, so beauty's a flower :-the lady bade take away the fool; therefore, I say again, take her away. Oli. Sir, I bade them take away you. Clo. Dexterously, good madonna. Clo. I must catechise you for it, madonna; good my mouse of virtue, answer me. Oli. Well, sir, for want of other idleness, I'll 'bide your proof. Clo. Good madonna, why mourn'st thou ? Clo. The more fool you, madonna, to mourn for! your brother's soul being in heaven.-Take away the fool, gentlemen. at Enter Sir Toby Belch. Oli. By mine honour, half drunk.-What is he the gate, cousin? Sir To. A gentleman. Oli. A gentleman? What gentleman? these pickle-herrings !-How now, sot? Sir To. 'Tis a gentleman here-A plague o' Clo. Good sir Toby, 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 he's drown'd go, look after him. sit o' my coz; for he's in the third degree of drink, Clo. He is but mad yet, madonna; and the fool [Exit Clown. Oli. What think you of this fool, Malvolio? doth shall look to the madman. he not mend? Mal. Yes; and shall do, till the pangs of death shake him infirmity, that decays the wise, doth ever make the better fool. : Clo. God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for the better increasing your folly! Sir Toby will be sworn, that I am no fox; but he will not pass his word for two-pence that you are no fool. Oli. How say you to that, Malvolio? Mal. I marvel your ladyship takes delight in such a barren rascal: I saw him put down the other day with an ordinary fool, that has no more brain than a stone. Look you now, he's out of his guard already unless you laugh and minister occasion to him, he is gagged. I protest, I take these wise men, that crow so at these set kind of fools, no better than the fools' zanies.2 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 man kind. Oli. What manner of man? Mal. Of very ill manner : he'll speak with you, will you, or no. Oli. O, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and taste with a distempered appetite. To be generous, guiltless, and of free disposition, is to take those Oli. Of what personage, and years, is he? things for bird-bolts,' that you deem cannon-bul- Mal. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young lets: there is no slander in an allowed fool, though enough for a boy; as a squash is before 'tis a peashe do nothing but rail; nor no railing in a known discreet man, though he do nothing but reprove. Clo. Now Mercury endue thee with leasing, for thou speakest well of fools! (1) Italian, mistress, dame. (2) Fools' baubles. (3) Short arrows. (4) Lying. 4 cod, 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. (5) The cover of the brain. Oli. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be Oli. In his bosom? In what chapter of his bosom? Oli. Give me my veil: come, throw it o'er my his heart. face; We'll once more hear Orsino's embassy. Enter Viola. Vio. The honourable lady of the house, is she? Oli. Speak to me, I shall answer for her. will? which Your 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 loath to cast away my speech; for, besides that it is exceldently 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, Oli. Whence came you, sir? Vio. I can say little more than I have studied, and that question's out of my part. Good gentle one, give me modest assurance, if you be the lady of the house, that I may proceed in my speech. Oli, Are you a comedian? Vio. No, my profound heart: and yet, by the very fangs of malice, I swear, I am not that I play. Are you the lady of the house? Oli. If I do not usurp myself, I am. Vio. Most certain, if you are she, you do usurp yourself; for what is yours to bestow, is not yours to reserve, But this is from my commission: I will on with my speech in your praise, and then show 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. 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 negociate with my face? you are now out of your text: but we will draw the curtain, and show 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. Oli. "Tis in grain, sir; 'twill endure wind and weather. Vio. 'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and 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: crown'd The nonpareil of beauty! Oli. How does he love me? Oli. It is the more like to be feigned; I pray you Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble, keep it in. I heard, you were saucy at my gates: Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth; and allowed your approach, rather to wonder at In voices well divulg'd, free, learn'd, and valiant, you than to hear you. If you be not mad, be And, in dimension, and the shape of nature, gone; if you have reason, be brief: 'tis not that A gracious person but yet I cannot love him; time of moon with me, to make one in so skipping He might have took his answer long ago. a dialogue. a Mar. Will you hoist sail, sir? here lies your way. Vio. No, good swabber: I am to hull here little longer. Some mollification for your giant, sweet lady. Oli. Tell me your mind. 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, Vio. I am a messenger. And call upon my soul within the house; Oli. Sure, you have some hideous matter to de- Write loyal cantons of contemned love, liver, when the courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak And sing them loud even in the dead of night your office. Holla your name to the reverberate hills, Vio. It alone concerns your ear. I bring no And make the babbling gossip of the air overture of war, no taxation of homage; I hold Cry out, Olivia! O, you should not rest the olive in my hand: my words are as full of peace Between the elements of air and earth, But you should pity me. 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: 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, I thank you for your pains: spend this for me. soft! soft! not but call fair: she is drowned already, sir, with salt water, though I seem to drown her remem. brance 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, Ant. The gentleness of all the gods go with thee' SCENE II-A street. Enter Viola; Malvolio 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, SCENE I.-The sea-coast. Enter Antonio and be it his that finds it. Ant. Will you stay no longer? nor will you not, that I go with you? of them on you. Ant. Let me yet know of you, whither you are bound. [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, I Seb. By your patience, no: my stars shine darkly over me: the malignancy of my fate might, For she did speak in starts distractedly. perhaps, distemper yours; therefore I shall crave She loves me, sure; the cunning of her passion of you your leave, that I may bear my evils alone: Invites me in this churlish messenger. it were a bad recompense for your love, to lay any None of my lord's ring! why, he sent her none, am the man;-if it be so (as 'tis,) Poor lady, she were better love a dream, Disguise, I see, thou art a wickedness, Seb. No, 'sooth, sir; my determinate voyage is Wherein the pregnant enemy does much. mere extravagancy. But I perceive in you so ex-How easy is it, for the proper-false" cellent a touch of modesty, that you will not extort In women's waxen hearts to set their forms' from me what I am willing to keep in; therefore Alas! our frailty is the cause, not we; it charges me in manners the rather to express For, such as we are made of, such we be. myself. You must know of me then, Antonio, my How will this fadge ? My master loves her dearly, name is Sebastian, which I called Rodrigo; my And I, poor monster, fond as much on him; father was that Sebastian of Messaline, whom I And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me: know, you have heard of: he left behind him, What will become of this! As I am man, myself, and a sister, both born in an hour. If the My state is desperate for my master's love; heavens had been pleased, 'would we had so As I am woman, now alas the day! ended! but you, sir, altered that; for, some hour! What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe? before you took me from the breach of the sea, was my sister drowned. Ant. Alas, the day! time, thou must untangle this, not I; It is too hard a knot for me to untie. [Exit, SCENE III.A room in Olivia's house. Enter Seb. A lady, sir, though it was said she much Sir Toby Belch, and Sir Andrew Ague-cheek. resembled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful: but, though I could not, with such estimable Sir To. Approach, sir Andrew: not to be a-bed wonder, overfar believe that, yet thus far I will after midnight, is to be up betimes; and diluculo boldly publish her, she bore a mind that envy could surgere, thou know'st, |