SCENE I-An Apartment in the DUKE's Palace. Enter DUKE, CURIO, LORDS; Musicians Duke. If music be the food of love, play on, no more; Even in a minute! So full of shapes is fancy, That it alone is high fantastical. + Cur. Will you go hunt, my lord? Duke. What, Curio? Cur. The hart. Duke. Why, so I do, the noblest that I have: O, when mine eyes did see Olivia first, And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds, Away before me to sweet beds of flowers: SCENE II.-The Sea-coast. [Exeunt. Enter VIOLA, CAPTAIN, and SAILORS. Vio. What country, friends, is this? Vio. And what should I do in Illyria? My brother he is in Elysium. [sailors! Perchance, he is not drown'd:-What think you, Cap. It is perchance, that you yourself were saved. Vio. O, my poor brother! And so, perchance, may he be. Cap. True, madam: and, to comfort you with chance, Assure yourself, after our ship did split, (Courage and hope both teaching him the practice) I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves, Vio. For saying so, there's gold; E'er since pursue me.-How now? What news from The like of him. Know'st thou this country? her? Enter VALENTINE. Val. So please my lord, I might not be admitted, But from her handimaid do return this answer; The element itself, till seven years heat, A brother's dead love, which she would keep fresh, Duke. O, she that hath a heart of that fine frame, To pay this debt of love but to a brother, How will she love, when the rich golden shaft, Hath kill'd the flock of all affections else That live in her! When liver, brain, and heart, These sovereign thrones, are all supplied, and fill'd, ('er sweet perfections,) with one self king! • Value. 4 Fantastical to the height. Heated. Cap. Ay, madam, well: for I was bred and born, Cap. A noble duke in nature, as in his name. Cap. Orsino. Vio. Orsino! I have heard my father name him: He was a bachelor then. Cap. And so is now, Or was so very late; for but a month Vio. What's she? Cap. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count That died some twelve-month since; then leaving In the protection of his son, her brother, [hei Who shortly also died; for whose dear love, They say, she hath abjured the company And sight of men. Vie. 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 I will believe, thou hast a mind that suits Cap. Be you his eunuch, and your mute I'll be: 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 my 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 Bolish knight, that you brought in one night here, to be her wooer. Sir To. Who! Sir Andrew Ague-cheek? Mer. Av, he. Sir To. He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria. Sir To. Why, he has three thousand ducats a year. 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 violgambo, and speaks three or four languages, word word, without book, and hath all the good gifts nature. Mar. He hath, indeed,-almost natural: for besides that, he's a fool, he's a great quarreller; and, bet that he hath the gift of a coward to allay the gost he hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought ang the prudent, he would quickly have the gift fa grave. Sir To. By this hand, they are scoundrels, and -tractors, that say so of him. Who are they? Mar. They that add moreover, he's drunk nightly your company. Sr To. With drinking healths to my niece; I'll enk to her as long as there's a passage in my throat, 4d drink in Illyria: he's a coward, and a coystril, hat will not drink to my niece, 'till his brains turn to the toe like a parish top. What, wench? Castiano valgo; for here comes Sir Andrew Ague-face. Enter Sir ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK. 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 finger's 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, 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. Sir To. Pourquoy, my dear knight? Sir And. What is pourquoy? Do, or not do? I would I had bestow'd that time in the tongues, that I have in fencing, dancing, and bear-baiting: O, had I but follow'd the arts! Sir To. Then hadst thou had an excellent head of 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' 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, wooes 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? Sir And. As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be, under the degree of my betters: and yet I will 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 To. And I can cut the mutton to't. Sir And. And, I think, I have the back-trick, simply as strong as any man in Illyria. 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 picture? Why dost thou not go to church in a galliard, and come home in a coranto? My very walk should be Sir And. Sir Toby Belch! How now, Sir Toby a jig; I would not so much as make water, but in a Beich! Sir To. Sweet Sir Andrew! Sir And. Bless you, fair shrew. Mar. And you too, Sir. Sr To. Accost, Sir Andrew, accost. Sir And. What's that? To. My niece's chamber-maid. Sir And. Good mistress Accost, I desire better intance. Mer. My name is Mary, Sir. Sir And. Good mistress Mary Accost,-~ 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 form'd under the star of a galliard. Sir And. Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a flame-colour'd 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. To. You mistake, knight: accost, is, front her, thee caper: ha! higher; ha, ha!-excellent! beard her, woo her, assail her. - + Stout. Approve. * Cinque-pace, the name of a dance. + Stocking. [Excunt. 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! Vio. On your attendance, my lord; here. Duke. Stand you awhile aloof.-Cesario, Thou know'st no less but all; I have unclasp'd To thee the book even of my secret soul: Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her; Be not denied access, stand at her doors, And tell them, there thy fix'd foot shall grow, Till thou have audience. Vio. Sure, my noble lord, If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow As it is spoke, she never will admit me. Duke. Be clamorous, and leap all civil bounds, Rather than make unprofited return. Vio. Say, I do speak with her, my lord; What then? Duke. O, then unfold the passion of my love, Duke. Dear lad, believe it; For they shall yet belie thy happy years, Is not more smooth, and rubious; thy small pipe For this affair :-Some four, or five, attend him; When least in company-Prosper well in this, Mar. Make that good. Clo. He shall see none to fear. Mar. A good lentent 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 hang'd, for being so long absent: or, to be turn'd 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. comes my lady: make your excuse wisely, you were best. [Exit. Enter OLIVIA and MALVOLIO. Clo. Wit, and't be thy will, put me into good fooling! Those wits, that think thay have thee, do very oft prove fools; and I, that am sure I lack thee, may pass for a wise man: For, what says Quina palus? 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 hi self; if he mend, he is no longer dishonest; if he cannot, let the botcher mend him: any thing, that's mended, is but patch'd: virtue, that transgresses, is but patch'd with sin: and sin, that amends, is bot patch'd 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; there fore, 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? Clo. Dexterously, good madonna. Clo. I must catéchise 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. 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, 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 t him, he is gagg'd. I protest, I take these wise met that crow so at these set kind of fools, no better than the fool's zanies.t Oli. O, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and taste with a distemper'd appetite. To be generous guiltless, and of free disposition, is to take those things for bird-bolts, that you deem cannon-bul lets: there is no slauder in au allow'd 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, fo thou speak'st well of fools! Re-enter MARIA. Mar. Madam, there is at the gate a young gen tleman, 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 not at home; what you will, to dismiss it [Exit Malvolio.] Now you see, Sir, how your fooling grows old, and people dislike it. or Clo. Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thị Italian, mistress, dame. Short arrows. + Fools' baubles. Lying. THE TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. eldest son should be a fool: whose scull Jove cram with brains, for here he comes, one of thy kin, has a most weak pia mater.” Enter Sir TOBY BELCH. 53 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 feign'd; I pray you, Oli. By mine honour, half drunk.—What, is he at keep it in. I heard, you were saucy at my gates; the gate, cousin? Sir To. A gentleman. Oli. A gentleman? What gentleman? and allow'd 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 Sir To. Tis a gentleman here-A plague o'these with me, to make one in so skipping a dialogue. piekle-herrings!-How now, sot? Cle. 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? Cle. 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 my coz; for he's in the third degree of drink, he's drown'd: go, look after him. Cle. 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 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 tand 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? Mai. Why, of man kind. Oli. What manner of man? Mel. Of very ill manner; he'll speak with you, vil you, or no. Ofi. Of what pers nage, 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 een standing water, between boy and man. He is ery well-favour'd, and he speaks very shrewishly; e would think his mother's milk were scarce out Oli. Let him approach: call in my gentlewoman. Re-enter MARIA. [Exit. 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, lady. Oli. Tell me your mind. Vio. I am a messenger. sweet Oli. Sure, you have some hideous matter to deliver, when the courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak your office. 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? Vio. The rudeness, that hath appear'd in me, have I Vio. Most sweet lady,- Oli. In his bosom? In what chapter of his bosom? Have you no Oli. Have you any commission from your lord to negotiate with my face; you are now out of your text: but we will draw the curtain, and shew 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. weather. Oli. 'Tis in grain, Sir; 'twill endure wind and Vio. 'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on : 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, label'd to my will; as item, two lips indifferent red; item, Give me my veil: come, throw it o'er my face; two grey eyes, with lids to them; item, one neck, We'll once more hear Orsino's embassy. one chin, and so forth. Were you sent hither to 'praise me? Enter VIOLA. Vie. The honourable lady of the house, which is Oli. Speak to me, I shall answer for her? Your Fio. Most radiant, exquisite, and unmatchable beauty-I pray you, tell me, if this be the lady of the be, for I never saw her: I would be loth to cast ay my speech; for, besides that it is excellently penn'd, I have taken great pains to con it. Good beauties, let me sustain no scorn; I am very puble, even to the least sinister usage. Whence came you, Sir? I can say little more than I have studied, that question's out of my part. Good gentle ive me modest assurance, if you be the lady the house, that I may proceed in my speech. Si. Are you a comedian ? No, my profound heart: and yet, by the langs of malice, I swear, I am not that I play. y the lady of the house? If I do not usurp myself, I am. F. Most certain, if you are she, you do usurp if; for what is yours to bestow, is not yours erve. But this is from my commission: I will wah my speech in your praise, and then shew the heart of my message. Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble, Vio. If I did love you in my master's flame, Oli. Why, what would you? Vio. Make me a willow cabin at your gate, * It appears from several parts of this play, that And sing them loud even in the dead of night;" Oli. You might do much: What is your paren. tage? Vio. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well: I am a gentleman. Oli. Get you to your lord: I cannot love him: let him send no more, Unless the master were the man.-How now? To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be- Re-enter MALVOLIO. Mal. Here, madam, at your service. [Exit. Oli. Run after that same peevish messenger, The county's man: he left this ring behind him, Would I, or not; tell him, I'll none of it. Desire him not to flatter with his lord, Nor hold him up with hopes; I am not for him : If that the youth will come this way to-morrow, I'll give him reasons for't. Hie thee, Malvolio. Mal. Madam, I will. [Exit. Oli. I do I know not what; and fear to find SCENE 1.-The Sea-coast. 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, I shall crave of you your leave, that I may bear my evils alone: It were a bad recompence 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 call'd 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, alter'd that: for, some hour before you took me from the breach of the sea, was my sister drown'd. 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 will I boldly publish her, she bore a mind that envy could not but call fair: she is drown'd 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 • Messenger. Count. undo what you have done, + Proclation of gentility. Own, possess. Reveal. that is, kill him whom you have recover'd, 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 now even 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 return'd: 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 loves me, sure; the cunning of her passion In women's waxen hearts to set their forms? SCENE III-A Room in OLIVIA's House. [Exit. Sir To. Approach, Sir Andrew: not to be a-bed after midnight, is to be up betimes; and diluculo surgere, thou know'st, know, to be up late, is to be up late. Sir And. Nay, by my troth, I know not: beil Sir To. A false conclusion; I hate it as an unhi can to be up after midnight, and to go to bed the 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 ? ý 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 fo has. In sooth, thou wast in very gracious foolin last night, when thou spokest of Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians passing the equinoctial of Queubus Dexterous, ready fiend. + Fair deceiver. * Suit. Voice. |