Shakespeare W. Twelfth Night; Or, What You Will

1602

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

ORSINO, Duke of Illyria
SEBASTIAN, brother of Viola
ANTONIO, a sea captain, friend of Sebastian
A SEA CAPTAIN, friend of Viola
VALENTINE, gentleman attending on the Duke
CURIO, gentleman attending on the Duke
SIR TOBY BELCH, uncle of Olivia
SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK
MALVOLIO, steward to Olivia
FABIAN, servant to Olivia
FESTE, a clown, servant to Olivia

OLIVIA, a rich countess
VIOLA, sister of Sebastian
MARIA, Olivia's waiting woman

Lords, Priests, Sailors, Officers, Musicians, and Attendants





SCENE:
A city in Illyria; and the sea-coast near it



ACT I. SCENE I.
The DUKE'S palace

Enter ORSINO, Duke of Illyria, CURIO, and other LORDS; MUSICIANS attending

DUKE. If music be the food of love, play on,
Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken and so die.
That strain again! It had a dying fall;
O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing and giving odour! Enough, no more;
'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.
O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou!
That, notwithstanding thy capacity
Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there,
Of what validity and pitch soe'er,
But falls into abatement and low price
Even in a minute. So full of shapes is fancy,
That it alone is high fantastical.
CURIO. Will you go hunt, my lord?
DUKE. What, Curio?
CURIO. The hart.
DUKE. Why, so I do, the noblest that I have.
O, when mine eyes did see Olivia first,
Methought she purg'd the air of pestilence!
That instant was I turn'd into a hart,
And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds,
E'er since pursue me.

Enter VALENTINE

How now! what news from her?
VALENTINE. So please my lord, I might not be admitted,
But from her handmaid do return this answer:
The element itself, till seven years' heat,
Shall not behold her face at ample view;
But like a cloistress she will veiled walk,
And water once a day her chamber round
With eye-offending brine; all this to season
A brother's dead love, which she would keep fresh
And lasting in her sad remembrance.
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,
Her sweet perfections, with one self king!
Away before me to sweet beds of flow'rs:
Love-thoughts lie rich when canopied with bow'rs.
Exeunt




SCENE II.
The sea-coast

Enter VIOLA, a CAPTAIN, and SAILORS

VIOLA. What country, friends, is this?
CAPTAIN. This is Illyria, lady.
VIOLA. And what should I do in Illyria?
My brother he is in Elysium.
Perchance he is not drown'd- what think you, sailors?
CAPTAIN. It is perchance that you yourself were saved.
VIOLA. O my poor brother! and so perchance may he be.
CAPTAIN. True, madam, and, to comfort you with chance,
Assure yourself, after our ship did split,
When you, and those poor number saved with you,
Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother,
Most provident in peril, bind himself-
Courage and hope both teaching him the practice-
To a strong mast that liv'd upon the sea;
Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back,
I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves
So long as I could see.
VIOLA. For saying so, there's gold.
Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope,
Whereto thy speech serves for authority,
The like of him. Know'st thou this country?
CAPTAIN. Ay, madam, well; for I was bred and born
Not three hours' travel from this very place.
VIOLA. Who governs here?
CAPTAIN. A noble duke, in nature as in name.
VIOLA. What is his name?
CAPTAIN. Orsino.
VIOLA. Orsino! I have heard my father name him.
He was a bachelor then.
CAPTAIN. And so is now, or was so very late;
For but a month ago I went from hence,
And then 'twas fresh in murmur- as, you know,
What great ones do the less will prattle of-
That he did seek the love of fair Olivia.
VIOLA. What's she?
CAPTAIN. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count
That died some twelvemonth since, then leaving her
In the protection of his son, her brother,
Who shortly also died; for whose dear love,
They say, she hath abjur'd the company
And sight of men.
VIOLA. O that I serv'd that lady,
And might not be delivered to the world,
Till I had made mine own occasion mellow,
What my estate is!
CAPTAIN. That were hard to compass,
Because she will admit no kind of suit-
No, not the Duke's.
VIOLA. 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
With this thy fair and outward character.
I prithee, and I'll pay thee bounteously,
Conceal me what I am, and be my aid
For such disguise as haply shall become
The form of my intent. I'll serve this duke:
Thou shalt present me as an eunuch to him;
It may be worth thy pains, for I can sing
And speak to him in many sorts of music,
That will allow me very worth his service.
What else may hap to time I will commit;
Only shape thou silence to my wit.
CAPTAIN. Be you his eunuch and your mute I'll be;
When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see.
VIOLA. I thank thee. Lead me on. Exeunt




SCENE III.
OLIVIA'S house

Enter SIR TOBY BELCH and MARIA

SIR TOBY. What a plague means my niece to take the death of her
brother thus? I am sure care's an enemy to life.
MARIA. By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o' nights;
your cousin, my lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours.
SIR TOBY. Why, let her except before excepted.
MARIA. Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modest limits
of order.
SIR TOBY. 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.
MARIA. 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 TOBY. Who? Sir Andrew Aguecheek?
MARIA. Ay, he.
SIR TOBY. He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria.
MARIA. What's that to th' purpose?
SIR TOBY. Why, he has three thousand ducats a year.
MARIA. Ay, but he'll have but a year in all these ducats; he's a
very fool and a prodigal.
SIR TOBY. Fie that you'll say so! He plays o' th' viol-de-gamboys,
and speaks three or four languages word for word without book,
and hath all the good gifts of nature.
MARIA. 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 TOBY. By this hand, they are scoundrels and subtractors that
say so of him. Who are they?
MARIA. They that add, moreover, he's drunk nightly in your company.
SIR TOBY. 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 coystrill that will not drink to my niece
till his brains turn o' th' toe like a parish-top. What, wench!
Castiliano vulgo! for here comes Sir Andrew Agueface.

Enter SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK

AGUECHEEK. Sir Toby Belch! How now, Sir Toby Belch!
SIR TOBY. Sweet Sir Andrew!
AGUECHEEK. Bless you, fair shrew.
MARIA. And you too, sir.
SIR TOBY. Accost, Sir Andrew, accost.
AGUECHEEK. What's that?
SIR TOBY. My niece's chambermaid.
AGUECHEEK. Good Mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance.
MARIA. My name is Mary, sir.
AGUECHEEK. Good Mistress Mary Accost-
SIR Toby. You mistake, knight. 'Accost' is front her, board her,
woo her, assail her.
AGUECHEEK. By my troth, I would not undertake her in this company.
Is that the meaning of 'accost'?
MARIA. Fare you well, gentlemen.
SIR TOBY. An thou let part so, Sir Andrew, would thou mightst never
draw sword again!
AGUECHEEK. An you part so, mistress, I would I might never draw
sword again. Fair lady, do you think you have fools in hand?
MARIA. Sir, I have not you by th' hand.
AGUECHEEK. Marry, but you shall have; and here's my hand.
MARIA. Now, sir, thought is free. I pray you, bring your hand to
th' buttry-bar and let it drink.
AGUECHEEK. Wherefore, sweetheart? What's your metaphor?
MARIA. It's dry, sir.
AGUECHEEK. Why, I think so; I am not such an ass but I can keep my
hand dry. But what's your jest?
MARIA. A dry jest, sir.
AGUECHEEK. Are you full of them?
MARIA. Ay, sir, I have them at my fingers' ends; marry, now I let
go your hand, I am barren. Exit MARIA
SIR TOBY. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of canary! When did I see
thee so put down?
AGUECHEEK. 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 great eater of beef, and I
believe that does harm to my wit.
SIR TOBY. No question.
AGUECHEEK. An I thought that, I'd forswear it. I'll ride home
to-morrow, Sir Toby.
SIR TOBY. Pourquoi, my dear knight?
AGUECHEEK. What is 'pourquoi'- do or not do? I would I had bestowed
that time in the tongues that I have in fencing, dancing, and
bear-baiting. Oh, had I but followed the arts!
SIR TOBY. Then hadst thou had an excellent head of hair.
AGUECHEEK. Why, would that have mended my hair?
SIR TOBY. Past question; for thou seest it will not curl by nature.
AGUECHEEK. But it becomes me well enough, does't not?
SIR TOBY. Excellent; it hangs like flax on a distaff, and I hope to
see a huswife take thee between her legs and spin it off.
AGUECHEEK. 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.
SIR TOBY. She'll none o' th' Count; she'll not match above her
degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit; I have heard her
swear't. Tut, there's life in't, man.
AGUECHEEK. I'll stay a month longer. I am a fellow o' th' strangest
mind i' th' world; I delight in masques and revels sometimes
altogether.
SIR TOBY. Art thou good at these kickshawses, knight?
AGUECHEEK. 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 TOBY. What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight?
AGUECHEEK. Faith, I can cut a caper.
SIR TOBY. And I can cut the mutton to't.
AGUECHEEK. And I think I have the back-trick simply as strong as
any man in Illyria.
SIR TOBY. Wherefore are these things hid? Wherefore have these
gifts a curtain before 'em? 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 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 form'd under the
star of a galliard.
AGUECHEEK. Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in
flame-colour'd stock. Shall we set about some revels?
SIR TOBY. What shall we do else? Were we not born under Taurus?
AGUECHEEK. Taurus? That's sides and heart.
SIR TOBY. No, sir; it is legs and thighs. Let me see the caper. Ha,
higher! Ha, ha, excellent! Exeunt




SCENE IV.
The DUKE'S palace

Enter VALENTINE, and VIOLA in man's attire

VALENTINE. If the Duke continue these favours towards you, Cesario,
you are like to be much advanc'd; he hath known you but three
days, and already you are no stranger.
VIOLA. 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?
VALENTINE. No, believe me.

Enter DUKE, CURIO, and ATTENDANTS

VIOLA. I thank you. Here comes the Count.
DUKE. Who saw Cesario, ho?
VIOLA. 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 fixed foot shall grow
Till thou have audience.
VIOLA. 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.
VIOLA. Say I do speak with her, my lord, what then?
DUKE. O, then unfold the passion of my love,
Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith!
It shall become thee well to act my woes:
She will attend it better in thy youth
Than in a nuncio's of more grave aspect.
VIOLA. I think not so, my lord.
DUKE. Dear lad, believe it,
For they shall yet belie thy happy years
That say thou art a man: Diana's lip
Is not more smooth and rubious; thy small pipe
Is as the maiden's organ, shrill and sound,
And all is semblative a woman's part.
I know thy constellation is right apt
For this affair. Some four or five attend him-
All, if you will, for I myself am best
When least in company. Prosper well in this,
And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord
To call his fortunes thine.
VIOLA. I'll do my best
To woo your lady. [Aside] Yet, a barful strife!
Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife.




SCENE V.
OLIVIA'S house

Enter MARIA and CLOWN

MARIA. 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.
CLOWN. Let her hang me. He that is well hang'd in this world needs
to fear no colours.
MARIA. Make that good.
CLOWN. He shall see none to fear.
MARIA. A good lenten answer. I can tell thee where that saying was
born, of 'I fear no colours.'
CLOWN. Where, good Mistress Mary?
MARIA. In the wars; and that may you be bold to say in your
foolery.
CLOWN. Well, God give them wisdom that have it; and those that are
fools, let them use their talents.
MARIA. 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?
CLOWN. Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage; and for turning
away, let summer bear it out.
MARIA. You are resolute, then?
CLOWN. Not so, neither; but I am resolv'd on two points.
MARIA. That if one break, the other will hold; or if both break,
your gaskins fall.
CLOWN. 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.
MARIA. Peace, you rogue, no more o' that. Here comes my lady. Make
your excuse wisely, you were best. Exit

Enter OLIVIA and MALVOLIO

CLOWN. 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!
OLIVIA. Take the fool away.
CLOWN. Do you not hear, fellows? Take away the lady.
OLIVIA. Go to, y'are a dry fool; I'll no more of you. Besides, you
grow dishonest.
CLOWN. 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. Anything
that's mended is but patch'd; virtue that transgresses is but
patch'd with sin, and sin that amends is but 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; therefore, I
say again, take her away.
OLIVIA. Sir, I bade them take away you.
CLOWN. Misprision in the highest degree! Lady, 'Cucullus non facit
monachum'; that's as much to say as I wear not motley in my
brain. Good madonna, give me leave to prove you a fool.
OLIVIA. Can you do it?
CLOWN. Dexteriously, good madonna.
OLIVIA. Make your proof.
CLOWN. I must catechize you for it, madonna.
Good my mouse of virtue, answer me.
OLIVIA. Well, sir, for want of other idleness, I'll bide your
proof.
CLOWN. Good madonna, why mourn'st thou?
OLIVIA. Good fool, for my brother's death.
CLOWN. I think his soul is in hell, madonna.
OLIVIA. I know his soul is in heaven, fool.
CLOWN. The more fool, madonna, to mourn for your brother's soul
being in heaven. Take away the fool, gentlemen.
OLIVIA. What think you of this fool, Malvolio? Doth he not mend?
MALVOLIO. Yes, and shall do, till the pangs of death shake him.
Infirmity, that decays the wise, doth ever make the better fool.
CLOWN. 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.
OLIVIA. How say you to that, Malvolio?
MALVOLIO. 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 gagg'd. I protest I take these wise men that crow so at
these set kind of fools no better than the fools' zanies.
OLIVIA. 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 bullets. There is no slander in an allow'd fool, though he
do nothing but rail; nor no railing in known discreet man, though
he do nothing but reprove.
CLOWN. Now Mercury endue thee with leasing, for thou speak'st well
of fools!

Re-enter MARIA

MARIA. Madam, there is at the gate a young gentleman much desires
to speak with you.
OLIVIA. From the Count Orsino, is it?
MARIA. I know not, madam; 'tis a fair young man, and well attended.
OLIVIA. Who of my people hold him in delay?
MARIA. Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman.
OLIVIA. 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.
CLOWN. 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

OLIVIA. By mine honour, half drunk! What is he at the gate, cousin?
SIR TOBY. A gentleman.
OLIVIA. A gentleman! What gentleman?
SIR TOBY. 'Tis a gentleman here. [Hiccups] A plague o' these
pickle-herring! How now, sot!
CLOWN. Good Sir Toby!
OLIVIA. Cousin, cousin, how have you come so early by this
lethargy?
SIR TOBY. Lechery! I defy lechery. There's one at the gate.
OLIVIA. Ay, marry; what is he?
SIR TOBY. Let him be the devil an he will, I care not; give me
faith, say I. Well, it's all one. Exit
OLIVIA. What's a drunken man like, fool?
CLOWN. 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.
OLIVIA. Go thou and seek the crowner, and let him sit o' my coz;
for he's in the third degree of drink, he's drown'd; go look
after him.
CLOWN. He is but mad yet, madonna, and the fool shall look to the
madman. Exit

Re-enter MALVOLIO

MALVOLIO. 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.
OLIVIA. Tell him he shall not speak with me.
MALVOLIO. Has been told so; and he says he'll stand at your door
like a sheriff's post, and be the supporter to a bench, but he'll
speak with you.
OLIVIA. What kind o' man is he?
MALVOLIO. Why, of mankind.
OLIVIA. What manner of man?
MALVOLIO. Of very ill manner; he'll speak with you, will you or no.
OLIVIA. Of what personage and years is he?
MALVOLIO. 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 in standing water, between boy and
man. He is very well-favour'd, and he speaks very shrewishly; one
would think his mother's milk were scarce out of him.
OLIVIA. Let him approach. Call in my gentlewoman.
MALVOLIO. Gentlewoman, my lady calls. Exit

Re-enter MARIA

OLIVIA. Give me my veil; come, throw it o'er my face;
We'll once more hear Orsino's embassy.

Enter VIOLA

VIOLA. The honourable lady of the house, which is she?
OLIVIA. Speak to me; I shall answer for her. Your will?
VIOLA. 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
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.
OLIVIA. Whence came you, sir?
VIOLA. 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.
OLIVIA. Are you a comedian?
VIOLA. 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?
OLIVIA. If I do not usurp myself, I am.
VIOLA. 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.
OLIVIA. Come to what is important in't. I forgive you the praise.
VIOLA. Alas, I took great pains to study it, and 'tis poetical.
OLIVIA. It is the more like to be feigned; I pray you keep it in. I
heard you were saucy at my gates, 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
with me to make one in so skipping dialogue.
MARIA. Will you hoist sail, sir? Here lies your way.
VIOLA. No, good swabber, I am to hull here a little longer.
Some mollification for your giant, sweet lady.
OLIVIA. Tell me your mind.
VIOLA. I am a messenger.
OLIVIA. Sure, you have some hideous matter to deliver, when the
courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak your office.
VIOLA. 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.
OLIVIA. Yet you began rudely. What are you? What would you?
VIOLA. 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 cars, divinity; to any other's, profanation.
OLIVIA. Give us the place alone; we will hear this divinity.
[Exeunt MARIA and ATTENDANTS] Now, sir, what is your text?
VIOLA. Most sweet lady-
OLIVIA. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be said of it.
Where lies your text?
VIOLA. In Orsino's bosom.
OLIVIA. In his bosom! In what chapter of his bosom?
VIOLA. To answer by the method: in the first of his heart.
OLIVIA. O, I have read it; it is heresy. Have you no more to say?
VIOLA. Good madam, let me see your face.
OLIVIA. 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 show you the picture. [Unveiling] Look you, sir, such a one I
was this present. Is't not well done?
VIOLA. Excellently done, if God did all.
OLIVIA. 'Tis in grain, sir; 'twill endure wind and weather.
VIOLA. 'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white
Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on.
Lady, you are the cruell'st she alive,
If you will lead these graces to the grave,
And leave the world no copy.
OLIVIA. 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 labell'd 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?
VIOLA. I see you what you are: you are too proud;
But, if you were the devil, you are fair.
My lord and master loves you- O, such love
Could be but recompens'd though you were crown'd
The nonpareil of beauty!
OLIVIA. How does he love me?
VIOLA. With adorations, fertile tears,
With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire.
OLIVIA. Your lord does know my mind; I cannot love him.
Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble,
Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth;
In voices well divulg'd, free, learn'd, and valiant,
And in dimension and the shape of nature
A gracious person; but yet I cannot love him.
He might have took his answer long ago.
VIOLA. If I did love you in my master's flame,
With such a suff'ring, such a deadly life,
In your denial I would find no sense;
I would not understand it.
OLIVIA. Why, what would you?
VIOLA. Make me a willow cabin at your gate,
And call upon my soul within the house;
Write loyal cantons of contemned love
And sing them loud even in the dead of night;
Halloo your name to the reverberate hals,
And make the babbling gossip of the air
Cry out 'Olivia!' O, you should not rest
Between the elements of air and earth
But you should pity me!
OLIVIA. You might do much.
What is your parentage?
VIOLA. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well:
I am a gentleman.
OLIVIA. Get you to your lord.
I cannot love him; let him send no more-
Unless perchance you come to me again
To tell me how he takes it. Fare you well.
I thank you for your pains; spend this for me.
VIOLA. I am no fee'd post, lady; keep your purse;
My master, not myself, lacks recompense.
Love make his heart of flint that you shall love;
And let your fervour, like my master's, be
Plac'd in contempt! Farewell, fair cruelty. Exit
OLIVIA. 'What is your parentage?'
'Above my fortunes, yet my state is well:
I am a gentleman.' I'll be sworn thou art;
Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit,
Do give thee five-fold blazon. Not too fast! Soft, soft!
Unless the master were the man. How now!
Even so quickly may one catch the plague?
Methinks I feel this youth's perfections
With an invisible and subtle stealth
To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be.
What ho, Malvolio!

Re-enter MALVOLIO

MALVOLIO. Here, madam, at your service.
OLIVIA. 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.
MALVOLIO. Madam, I will. Exit
OLIVIA. 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! Exit





ACT II. SCENE I.
The sea-coast

Enter ANTONIO and SEBASTIAN

ANTONIO. Will you stay no longer; nor will you not that I go with
you?
SEBASTIAN. 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.
ANTONIO. Let me know of you whither you are bound.
SEBASTIAN. 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 Roderigo; 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 pleas'd, 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.
ANTONIO. Alas the day!
SEBASTIAN. 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 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.
ANTONIO. Pardon me, sir, your bad entertainment.
SEBASTIAN. O good Antonio, forgive me your trouble.
ANTONIO. If you will not murder me for my love, let me be your
servant.
SEBASTIAN. If you will not undo what you have done- 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
ANTONIO. The gentleness of all the gods go with thee!
I have many cnemies 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. Exit




SCENE II.
A street

Enter VIOLA and MALVOLIO at several doors

MALVOLIO. Were you not ev'n now with the Countess Olivia?
VIOLA. Even now, sir; on a moderate pace I have since arriv'd but
hither.
MALVOLIO. 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.
VIOLA. She took the ring of me; I'll none of it.
MALVOLIO. 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
VIOLA. 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 methought her eyes had lost her tongue,
For she did speak in starts distractedly.
She loves me, sure: the cunning of her passion
Invites me in this churlish messenger.
None of my lord's ring! Why, he sent her none.
I am the man. If it be so- as 'tis-
Poor lady, she were better love a dream.
Disguise, I see thou art a wickedness
Wherein the pregnant enemy does much.
How easy is it for the proper-false
In women's waxen hearts to set their forms!
Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we!
For such as we are made of, such we be.
How will this fadge? My master loves her dearly,
And I, poor monster, fond as much on him;
And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me.
What will become of this? As I am man,
My state is desperate for my master's love;
As I am woman- now alas the day!-
What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe!
O Time, thou must untangle this, not I;
It is too hard a knot for me t' untie! Exit




SCENE III.
OLIVIA'S house

Enter SIR TOBY and SIR ANDREW

SIR TOBY. Approach, Sir Andrew. Not to be abed after midnight is to
be up betimes; and 'diluculo surgere' thou know'st-
AGUECHEEK. Nay, by my troth, I know not; but I know to be up late
is to be up late.
SIR TOBY. A false conclusion! I hate it as an unfill'd 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. Does not our lives
consist of the four elements?
AGUECHEEK. Faith, so they say; but I think it rather consists of
eating and drinking.
SIR TOBY. Th'art a scholar; let us therefore eat and drink.
Marian, I say! a stoup of wine.

Enter CLOWN

AGUECHEEK. Here comes the fool, i' faith.
CLOWN. How now, my hearts! Did you never see the picture of 'we
three'?
SIR TOBY. Welcome, ass. Now let's have a catch.
AGUECHEEK. 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 spok'st of Pigrogromitus,
of the Vapians passing the equinoctial of Queubus; 'twas very
good, i' faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy leman; hadst it?
CLOWN. 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.
AGUECHEEK. Excellent! Why, this is the best fooling, when all is
done. Now, a song.
SIR TOBY. Come on, there is sixpence for you. Let's have a song.
AGUECHEEK. There's a testril of me too; if one knight give a-
CLOWN. Would you have a love-song, or a song of good life?
SIR TOBY. A love-song, a love-song.
AGUECHEEK. Ay, ay; I care not for good life.

CLOWN sings

O mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O, stay and hear; your true love's coming,
That can sing both high and low.
Trip no further, pretty sweeting;
Journeys end in lovers meeting,
Every wise man's son doth know.

AGUECHEEK. Excellent good, i' faith!
SIR TOBY. Good, good!

CLOWN sings

What is love? 'Tis not hereafter;
Present mirth hath present laughter;
What's to come is still unsure.
In delay there lies no plenty,
Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty;
Youth's a stuff will not endure.

AGUECHEEK. A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight.
SIR TOBY. A contagious breath.
AGUECHEEK. Very sweet and contagious, i' faith.
SIR TOBY. 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?
AGUECHEEK. An you love me, let's do't. I am dog at a catch.
CLOWN. By'r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well.
AGUECHEEK. Most certain. Let our catch be 'Thou knave.'
CLOWN. 'Hold thy peace, thou knave' knight? I shall be constrain'd
in't to call thee knave, knight.
AGUECHEEK. 'Tis not the first time I have constrained one to call
me knave. Begin, fool: it begins 'Hold thy peace.'
CLOWN. I shall never begin if I hold my peace.
AGUECHEEK. Good, i' faith! Come, begin. [Catch sung]

Enter MARIA

MARIA. What a caterwauling do you keep here! If my lady have not
call'd up her steward Malvolio, and bid him turn you out of
doors, never trust me.
SIR TOBY. My lady's a Cataian, we are politicians, Malvolio's a
Peg-a-Ramsey, and [Sings]
Three merry men be we.
Am not I consanguineous? Am I not of her blood? Tilly-vally,
lady. [Sings]
There dwelt a man in Babylon,
Lady, lady.
CLOWN. Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable fooling.
AGUECHEEK. Ay, he does well enough if he be dispos'd, and so do I
too; he does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural.
SIR TOBY. [Sings] O' the twelfth day of December-
MARIA. For the love o' God, peace!

Enter MALVOLIO

MALVOLIO. My masters, are you mad? Or what are you? Have you no
wit, manners, nor honesty, but to gabble like tinkers at this
time of night? Do ye make an ale-house of my lady's house, that
ye squeak out your coziers' catches without any mitigation or
remorse of voice? Is there no respect of place, persons, nor
time, in you?
SIR TOBY. We did keep time, sir, in our catches. Sneck up!
MALVOLIO. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My lady bade me tell
you that, though she harbours you as her kins-man, she's nothing
allied to your disorders. If you can separate yourself and your
misdemeanours, you are welcome to the house; if not, and it would
please you to take leave of her, she is very willing to bid you
farewell.
SIR TOBY. [Sings] Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs be gone.
MARIA. Nay, good Sir Toby.
CLOWN. [Sings] His eyes do show his days are almost done.
MALVOLIO. Is't even so?
SIR TOBY. [Sings] But I will never die. [Falls down]
CLOWN. [Sings] Sir Toby, there you lie.
MALVOLIO. This is much credit to you.
SIR TOBY. [Sings] Shall I bid him go?
CLOWN. [Sings] What an if you do?
SIR TOBY. [Sings] Shall I bid him go, and spare not?
CLOWN. [Sings] O, no, no, no, no, you dare not.
SIR TOBY. [Rising] Out o' tune, sir! Ye lie. Art any more than a
steward? Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall
be no more cakes and ale?
CLOWN. Yes, by Saint Anne; and ginger shall be hot i' th' mouth
too.
SIR TOBY. Th' art i' th' right. Go, sir, rub your chain with crumbs.
A stoup of wine, Maria!
MALVOLIO. Mistress Mary, if you priz'd my lady's favour at anything
more than contempt, you would not give means for this uncivil
rule; she shall know of it, by this hand.
Exit
MARIA. Go shake your ears.
AGUECHEEK. 'Twere as good a deed as to drink when a man's ahungry,
to challenge him the field, and then to break promise with him
and make a fool of him.
SIR TOBY. Do't, knight. I'll write thee a challenge; or I'll
deliver thy indignation to him by word of mouth.
MARIA. 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 nayword, 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 TOBY. Possess us, possess us; tell us something of him.
MARIA. Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Puritan.
AGUECHEEK. O, if I thought that, I'd beat him like a dog.
SIR TOBY. What, for being a Puritan? Thy exquisite reason, dear
knight?
AGUECHEEK. I have no exquisite reason for't, but I have reason good
enough.
MARIA. The devil a Puritan that he is, or anything constantly but a
time-pleaser; an affection'd ass that cons state without book and
utters it by great swarths; the best persuaded of himself, so
cramm'd, as he thinks, with excellencies that it is his grounds
of faith that all that look on him love him; and on that vice in
him will my revenge find notable cause to work.
SIR TOBY. What wilt thou do?
MARIA. 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 forgotten matter we
can hardly make distinction of our hands.
SIR TOBY. Excellent! I smell a device.
AGUECHEEK. I have't in my nose too.
SIR TOBY. He shall think, by the letters that thou wilt drop, that
they come from my niece, and that she's in love with him.
MARIA. My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour.
AGUECHEEK. And your horse now would make him an ass.
MARIA. Ass, I doubt not.
AGUECHEEK. O, 'twill be admirable!
MARIA. 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 TOBY. Good night, Penthesilea.
AGUECHEEK. Before me, she's a good wench.
SIR TOBY. She's a beagle true-bred, and one that adores me.
What o' that?
AGUECHEEK. I was ador'd once too.
SIR TOBY. Let's to bed, knight. Thou hadst need send for more
money.
AGUECHEEK. If I cannot recover your niece, I am a foul way out.
SIR TOBY. Send for money, knight; if thou hast her not i' th' end,
call me Cut.
AGUECHEEK. If I do not, never trust me; take it how you will.
SIR TOBY. Come, come, I'll go burn some sack; 'tis too late to go
to bed now. Come, knight; come, knight.
Exeunt




SCENE IV.
The DUKE'S palace

Enter DUKE, VIOLA, CURIO, and OTHERS

DUKE. Give me some music. Now, good morrow, friends.
Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song,
That old and antique song we heard last night;
Methought it did relieve my passion much,
More than light airs and recollected terms
Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times.
Come, but one verse.
CURIO. He is not here, so please your lordship, that should sing
it.
DUKE. Who was it?
CURIO. 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. [Music plays]
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 else
Save in the constant image of the creature
That is belov'd. How dost thou like this tune?
VIOLA. 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;
Hath it not, boy?
VIOLA. A little, by your favour.
DUKE. What kind of woman is't?
VIOLA. Of your complexion.
DUKE. She is not worth thee, then. What years, i' faith?
VIOLA. About your years, my lord.
DUKE. Too old, by heaven! Let still the woman take
An elder than herself; so wears she to him,
So sways she level in her husband's heart.
For, boy, however we do praise ourselves,
Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm,
More longing, wavering, sooner lost and won,
Than women's are.
VIOLA. I think it well, my lord.
DUKE. Then let thy love be younger than thyself,
Or thy affection cannot hold the bent;
For women are as roses, whose fair flow'r
Being once display'd doth fall that very hour.
VIOLA. And so they are; alas, that they are so!
To die, even when they to perfection grow!

Re-enter CURIO and CLOWN

DUKE. O, fellow, come, the song we had last night.
Mark it, Cesario; it is old and plain;
The spinsters and the knitters in the sun,
And the free maids that weave their thread with bones,
Do use to chant it; it is silly sooth,
And dallies with the innocence of love,
Like the old age.
CLOWN. Are you ready, sir?
DUKE. Ay; prithee, sing. [Music]

FESTE'S SONG

Come away, come away, death;
And in sad cypress let me be laid;
Fly away, fly away, breath,
I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
My shroud of white, stuck all with yew,
O, prepare it!
My part of death no one so true
Did share it.

Not a flower, not a flower sweet,
On my black coffin let there be strown;
Not a friend, not a friend greet
My poor corpse where my bones shall be thrown;
A thousand thousand to save,
Lay me, O, where
Sad true lover never find my grave,
To weep there!

DUKE. There's for thy pains.
CLOWN. No pains, sir; I take pleasure in singing, sir.
DUKE. I'll pay thy pleasure, then.
CLOWN. Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid one time or another.
DUKE. Give me now leave to leave thee.