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Between the elements of air and earth,
But you should pity me.
Oli. You might do much: What is your parentage? Vio. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well:
I am a gentleman.
Above my fortunes, yet my state is well:
Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit,
Even so quickly may one catch the plague?
To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be.-
Here, madam, at your service.
Oli. Run after that same peevish messenger,
Nor hold him up with hopes! I am not for him:
Mal. Madam, I will.
Oli. I do I know not what; and fear to find Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind. Fate, show thy force: ourselves we do not owe; What is decreed, must be; and be this so!
SCENE I. The Sea-coast.
Enter ANTONIO and SEBASTIAN.
Ant. Will you stay no longer? nor will you not that I with you ?
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 Rodorigo: 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, 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.
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 occa sion 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,
SCENE II. A Street.
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.
She loves me, sure; the cunning of her passion
None of my lord's ring! why, he sent her none.
Poor lady, she were better love a dream.
In woman's waxen hearts to set their forms!
How will this fadge? My master loves her dearly;
What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe?
SCENE III. A Room in Olivia's House.
Enter SIR TOBY BELCH and SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK.
Sir To. Approach, Sir Andrew: not to be abed 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!
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 the 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.
Clo. O mistress mine, where are you roaming?
That can sing both high and low:
Every wise man's son doth know.
Clo. What is love? 'tis not hereafter;
In delay there lies no plenty;
Sir And. A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight. 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. Clo. Hold thy peace, thou knave, knight? I shall be constrained 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.
Sir And. Good, i'faith! Come, begin.
[They sing a catch.
Mar. What a caterwauling 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 we be. Am not I consanguineous? am I not of her blood? Tilley-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 Î do it
Sir To. O the twelfth day of December,— ́[Singing. Mar. For the love o' God, peace.