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 volto; for here comes Sir Andrew Ague-face. Enter Sir Andrew Ague-cheek. 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 kickshaws, knight? Sir And. As any man in Illyria, whatsoever Sir And. Sir Toby Belch! how now, Sir Toby knight? Sir To. Sweet Sir Andrew! Sit 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. 'Faith, I can cut a caper. Sir To. Wherefore are these things hid ? wherefore have these gifts a curtain before them? are they like to take dust, like Mistress Mall's pic Sir And. Good mistress Accost, I desire better ture? why dost thou not go to church in a galacquaintance. 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 mytroth, I would not undertake her in this company. Is that the meaning of accost? Mar. Fare you well, gentlemen. Sir To. Anthou 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. [Erit Maria. liard, 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 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. Enter 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? Sir To. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of canary: When did I see thee so put down? Vio. On your attendance, my lord; here. Sir And. Never in your life, I think; unless Duke. Stand you awhile aloof-Cesario, you see canary put me down: Methinks, some-Thou know'st no less but all; I have unclasp'd times 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 To. No question. Sir And. An I thought that, I'd forswear it. I'll ride home to-morrow, Sir Toby. Sr 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? Sir To. Then hadst thou had an excellent head 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 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, woos her. To thee the book even of my secret soul: Sure, my noble lord, Vio. Say, I do speak with her, my lord; what Duke. 0, then unfold the passion of my love, Dear lad, believe it Sir To. Excellent; it hangs like flax on a dis-For they shall yet belie thy happy years 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. 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. SCENE V. A Room in Olivia's House. 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 hanged 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 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 Exit. were best. Enter Olivia and Malvolio. Clo. Wit, and'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. Oli. Go to, you're a dry fool; I'll no more of you: besides, you grow dishonest. Clo. Two faults, madonna, 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 patched; virtue," that transgresses, 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. Misprision in the highest degree !-Lady, Cucullus non facit monachum; that's as much as to say, I wear not motley in my brain. Good madonna, give me leave to prove you a fool. Oli. Can you do it 7 Clo. Dexterously, good madonna. Oli. Make your proof. Clo. I must catechise you for it, madonna: Clo. Good madonna, why mourn'st thou ? Oli. I know his soul is in heaven, fool. Clo. The more fool you, madonna, 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 better fool. Clo. God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, fo the better increasing your folly! Sir Toby wi be sworn that I am no fox; but he will not pas his word for twopence that you are no fool. Oli. How say you to that, Malvolio? Mal. 1 marvel your ladyship takes delight ir such a barren rascal; 1 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 minis ter 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. 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 things for bird-bolts, that you deem cannon-bullets: There is no slander in an allowed fool, though he 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! 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: Fie 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, madonna, as if thy eldest son should be a fool: whose skuli Jove cram with brains, for here he comes, one of thy kin, has a most weak pia mater. Enter Sir Toby Belch. Oli. By mine honour, half drunk.-What is he at the gate, cousin 7 Sir To. A gentleman. Oli. A gentleman! what gentleman ? Sir To. "Tis a gentleman here-A plague o' these pickle-herrings -How now, sot? 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, 1 care not: give me faith, say I. Well, it's all [Exit. one. 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 shall look to the madman. [Exit Clown. 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 foreknowledge of that too, and therefore comes to speak with you. What is to be said to him, lady 7 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. 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 gentle 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 T 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, 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 Oli. Give me my veil; come, throw it o'er out of your text: but we will draw the curtain, my face; We'll once more hear Orsino's embassy. Enter Viola. 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 1 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. 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 mes sage. 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 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. Oli. 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. and shew you the picture. Look you, sir, such a one as I was, this presents :-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 white Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on: Oli. O, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted; 1 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 gray 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. crown'd The nonpareil of beauty! How does he love me? Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble, Why, what would you? Oli. You might do much: What is your parentage? Vio. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well: I am a gentleman. [Exit. Oli. What is your parentage? Do give thee five-fold blazon ;-Not too fast:- Unless the master were the man.-How now? Mal. Re-enter Malvolio. Here, madam, at your service. ACT 11. SCENE 1. The Sea Coast. [Exit. Enter Antonio and Sebastian. Ant. Will you stay no longer? nor wil 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 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. 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, I have many enemies in Orsino's court, SCENE II. A Street. Eril 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. [Erit. 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, For she did speak in starts distractedly. In women's waxen hearts to set their forms! Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we: Seb. No, 'sooth, sir; my determinate voyage which I called Rodorigo: my father was that What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe 7 Sebastian of Messaline, whom, I know, you O time, thou must untangle this, not 1: have heard of: he left behind him myself, and It is too hard a knot for me to untie. a sister, both born in an hour. If the heavens [Erit. had been pleased, 'would we had so ended! but, SCENE III. A Room in Olivia's House. you, sir, altered that; for, some hour before you took me from the breach of the sea, was Enter Sir Toby Belch and Sir Andrew Aguemy 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 drowned already, sir, with salt water, though I seem to drown her remembrance again with more. Ant. Pardon me, sir, your bad entertainment. cheek. Sir To. Approach, Sir Andrew: not to be a-bed after midnight, is to be up betimes; and diluculo surgere, thou know'st, 1 Sir And. Nay, by my troth, 1 know not: but know to be up late, is to be up late. Sir To. A false conclusion; 1 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." our lives consist of the four elements ? Do no Sir And. 'Faith, so they say; but, I think, itmerry men we be. Am not 1 consanguineous ? rather consists of eating and drinking. am I not of her blood? Tilley valley, lady! Sir To. Thou art a scholar; let us therefore There dwelt a man in Babylon, lady, lady! eat and drink.-Marian, I say!-a stoop of [Singing. wine! Enter Clown. Sir And. Here comes the fool, i' faith. Clo. How now, my hearts? see the picture of we three ? Clo. Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable Mar. For the love o' God, peace. Did you never 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 Mal. My masters, are you mad? or what are of Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians passing the you? Have you no wit, manners, nor honesty, equinoctial of Queubus, 'twas very good, but to gabble like tinkers at this time of night? 'faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy leman: Do you make an alehouse of my lady's house, Hadst it? that ye squeak out your coziers' catches with Clo. I did impeticos thy gratillity: for Malvo-out any mitigation or remorse of voice? Is lio's nose is no whipstock: My lady has a white there no respect of place, persons, nor time, in hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses. Sir To. We did keep time, sir, in our catches. Sneck up! 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? Clo. What is love? 'tis not hereafter; Sir And. A mellifluous voice, as I am true Sir To. A contagious breath. 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 dance indeed? Shall we rouse the night-owl in a catch, that will draw three souls out of one weaver ? shall we do that? Sir And. 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 And. Most certain: let our catch be, Thou knave. never trust me. you? Mal. Sir Toby, 1 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 take leave of her, she is very willing to bid you to the house; if not, an it would please you to farewell. Sir To. Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs be gone. Mar. Nay, good Sir Toby. Clo. His eyes do show his days are almost done. Sir To. But I will never die. [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. [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 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. Mar. Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Puritan. Sir And. O, if I thought that, I'd beat him like a dog. Sir To. What, for being a Puritan 7 thy ex-quisite reason, dear knight? Sir To. My lady's a Cataian, we are politi-Sir And. I have no exquisite reason for't, but cians: Malvolio's a Peg-a-Ramsey, and Threell have reason good enough. |