Vio. I'll do my best Oli. I know his soul is in heaven, fool. To woo your lady: yet [Aside,] a barful strife! [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 ny 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 were best. 1 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 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, 1 say again, take her away. Oli. Sir, I bade them take away you. Clo. Misprision in the highest degree !-Lady, Clo. Dexterously, good madonna. Clo. I must catechise you for it, madonna: Clo. Good madonna, why mourn'st thou ? Oli. What think you of this fool, Malvolio? doth he not mend 7' 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 twopence 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. 1 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 inan, 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! Erit 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 skull 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 Oli. A gentleman! what gentleman? 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? 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 m ther'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 7 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. [Erit Maria. Now, sir, what is your text 2 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 7 In what chapter of bis 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 7 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 unmatch able 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 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. Óli. Come to what is important in't: I forgive yon 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 inake one in so skipping a dialogue. Mar. Will you hoist sail, sir? here lies your and shew you the picture. Look you, sir, such Vio. Excellently done, if God did all. 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; } will give out divers schedules of ny 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. Yet I suppose him virtuons, know him noble, 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. 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: But, come what may, I do adore thee so, That danger shall seem sport, and I will go. 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 Here, madam, at your service.might have saved me my pains, to have taken Oli. Run after that same peevish messenger, Exit ACT 11. SCENE 1. The Sea Coast. [Exit. Enter Antonio and Sebastian. 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 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. 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. Exil. 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, tongue, For she did speak in starts distractedly. Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we: Seb. No, 'sooth, sir; my determinate voyage is mere extravagancy. But I perceive in you so excellent a touch of modesty, that you will And 1, poor monster, fond as much on him; not extort from me what I am willing to keep And she, mistaken, seems to dete on me ; in therefore it charges me in manners the What will become of this! A. I am man, rather to express myself. You must know of My state is desperate for my master's love; me, then, Antonio, my name is Sebastian, As I am woman, now alas the day! 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 [Exit. 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, Sir And. Nay, by my troth, I know not: but 1 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, 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 wine! [Singing. Enter Clown. Did you never 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 fooling. Sir And. Ay, he does well enough, if he be disposed, and so do I too; he does it with a bet ter grace, but I do it more natural. Sir To. O, the twelfth day of December,Mar. For the love o' God, peace. [Singing. Enter Malvolio. Sir To. Welcome, ass, now let's have a catch. Sir And. By my troth, the fool has an excel-] lent 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 withClo. 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, în hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottle-ale Sir To. We did keep time, sir, in our catches. Sneck up! 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 Sir To. A love-song, a love-song. song Clo. O mistress mine, where are you roaming? Every wise man's son doth know. 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. you? Mal. Sir Toby, 1 must be round with you. My lady bade me tell you, that though she har bours 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 show his days are almost done. 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 7 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. My lady's a Cataian, we are politicians: Malvolio's a Peg-a-Ramsey, and Three 1 Sir To. Possess us, possess us; tell us something of him. Mar. Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of 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 have reason good enough. Vio. Mar. The devil a Puritan that he is, or any Hath it not, boy? A little, by your favour. 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. 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 an ass. Mar. Ass, I doubt not. 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. Farewell. [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 7 Sir And. I was adored once too. Sir To. Let's to bed, knight.-Thou hadst | need send for more money. Sir And. If I cannot recover your niece, I am a foul way out. Sir To. Send for money, knight; if thou hast ner 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; [Exeunt. come, knight. SCENE IV. A Room in the Duke's Palace. Enter Duke, Viola, Curio, and others. Duke. Give me some musick:-Now, good morrow, 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. 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; Unstaid and skittish in all motions esse, 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; Of your complexion Duke. She is not worth thee then. What years, i' faith? Vio. About your years, my lord. Duke. Too old, by heaven; Let still the woman take An elder than herself; so wears she to him, Vio. Duke. Then let thy love be younger than thy self, Or thy affection cannot hold the bent: Duke. O fellow, come, the song we had last night: Mark it, Cesario; it is old and plain: bones, Do use to chant it; it is silly sooth, Clo. Are you ready, sir? [Musick. Clo. Come away, come away, death, My part of death no one so true Not a flower, not a flower sweet, thrown: A thousand thousand sighs to save, Duke. There's for thy pains. Clo. No pains, sir; I take pleasure in singing, sir. Duke. I'll pay thy pleasure then. Clo. Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid one time or another. Duke. Give me now leave to leave thee. Clo. Now the melancholy god protect thee; and the tailor make thy doublet of changeable taffata, for thy mind is a very opal-I would have men of such constancy put to sea, tha: 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 Clown Duke. Let all the rest give place. [Exeunt Curio and Attendants Once more, Cesario, Get thee to yon' same sovereign cruelty: Tell her, my love, more noble than the world, Prizes not quantity of dirty lands: The parts that fortune hath bestow'd upon het 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? Duke. I cannot be so answer'd. |