Act I
Scene I
Enter Orsino, Duke of Illyria, Curio, and other Lords; Musicians
DUKEIf 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 soever,
But falls into abatement and low price
Even in a minute! So full of shapes is fancy,
That it alone is high fantastical.
CURIOWill you go hunt, my lord?
DUKEWhat, Curio?
CURIOThe hart.
DUKEWhy 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. How now? what news from her?
Enter Valentine.
VALENTINESo 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.
DUKEO, 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 flowers,
Love-thoughts lie rich when canopied with bowers.
Exeunt.
Scene II
Enter Viola, a Captain and Sailors.
VIOLAWhat country, friends, is this?
CAPTAINThis is Illyria, lady.
VIOLAAnd what should I do in Illyria?
My brother he is in Elysium.
Perchance he is not drown’d. What think you, sailors?
CAPTAINIt is perchance that you yourself were sav’d.
VIOLAO my poor brother! and so perchance may he be.
CAPTAINTrue, madam; and to comfort you with chance,
Assure yourself, after our ship did split,
When you, and those poor number sav’d 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.
VIOLAFor 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?
CAPTAINAy, madam, well, for I was bred and born
Not three hours’ travel from this very place.
VIOLAWho governs here?
CAPTAINA noble duke, in nature as in name.
VIOLAWhat is his name?
CAPTAINOrsino.
VIOLAOrsino! I have heard my father name him.
He was a bachelor then.
CAPTAINAnd 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.
VIOLAWhat’s she?
CAPTAINA 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.
VIOLAO that I served that lady,
And might not be delivered to the world,
Till I had made mine own occasion mellow,
What my estate is.
CAPTAINThat were hard to compass,
Because she will admit no kind of suit,
No, not the Duke’s.
VIOLAThere 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 pray thee, 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 thy silence to my wit.
CAPTAINBe you his eunuch and your mute I’ll be;
When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see.
VIOLAI thank thee. Lead me on.
Exeunt.
Scene III
Enter Sir Toby and Maria.
SIR TOBYWhat a plague means my niece to take the death of her brother thus? I
am sure care’s an enemy to life.
MARIABy my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o’ nights; your cousin,
my lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours.
SIR TOBYWhy, let her except, before excepted.
MARIAAy, but you must confine yourself within the modest limits of order.
SIR TOBYConfine? I’ll confine myself no finer than I am. These clothes are good
enough to drink in, and so be these boots too; and they be not, let
them hang themselves in their own straps.
MARIAThat 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 TOBYWho? Sir Andrew Aguecheek?
MARIAAy, he.
SIR TOBYHe’s as tall a man as any’s in Illyria.
MARIAWhat’s that to th’ purpose?
SIR TOBYWhy, he has three thousand ducats a year.
MARIAAy, but he’ll have but a year in all these ducats. He’s a very fool,
and a prodigal.
SIR TOBYFie, that you’ll say so! he plays o’ the viol-de-gamboys, and speaks
three or four languages word for word without book, and hath all the
good gifts of nature.
MARIAHe 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 TOBYBy this hand, they are scoundrels and substractors that say so of him.
Who are they?
MARIAThey that add, moreover, he’s drunk nightly in your company.
SIR TOBYWith drinking healths to my niece; I’ll drink to her as long as there
is a passage in my throat, and drink in Illyria. He’s a coward and a
coystril that will not drink to my niece till his brains turn o’ the
toe like a parish top. What, wench! _Castiliano vulgo:_ for here comes
Sir Andrew Agueface.
Enter Sir Andrew.
AGUECHEEKSir Toby Belch! How now, Sir Toby Belch?
SIR TOBYSweet Sir Andrew!
SIR ANDREWBless you, fair shrew.
MARIAAnd you too, sir.
SIR TOBYAccost, Sir Andrew, accost.
SIR ANDREWWhat’s that?
SIR TOBYMy niece’s chamber-maid.
SIR ANDREWGood Mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance.
MARIAMy name is Mary, sir.
SIR ANDREWGood Mistress Mary Accost,—
SIR TOBYYou mistake, knight: accost is front her, board her, woo her, assail
her.
SIR ANDREWBy my troth, I would not undertake her in this company. Is that the
meaning of accost?
MARIAFare you well, gentlemen.
SIR TOBYAnd thou let part so, Sir Andrew, would thou mightst never draw sword
again.
SIR ANDREWAnd you part so, mistress, I would I might never draw sword again. Fair
lady, do you think you have fools in hand?
MARIASir, I have not you by the hand.
SIR ANDREWMarry, but you shall have, and here’s my hand.
MARIANow, sir, thought is free. I pray you, bring your hand to th’ buttery
bar and let it drink.
SIR ANDREWWherefore, sweetheart? What’s your metaphor?
MARIAIt’s dry, sir.
SIR ANDREWWhy, I think so; I am not such an ass but I can keep my hand dry. But
what’s your jest?
MARIAA dry jest, sir.
SIR ANDREWAre you full of them?
MARIAAy, sir, I have them at my fingers’ ends: marry, now I let go your
hand, I am barren.
Exit Maria.
SIR TOBYO knight, thou lack’st a cup of canary: When did I see thee so put
down?
SIR ANDREWNever 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 TOBYNo question.
SIR ANDREWAnd I thought that, I’d forswear it. I’ll ride home tomorrow, Sir Toby.
SIR TOBY_Pourquoy_, my dear knight?
SIR ANDREWWhat is _pourquoy?_ Do, or not do? I would I had bestowed that time in
the tongues that I have in fencing, dancing, and bear-baiting. O, had I
but followed the arts!
SIR TOBYThen hadst thou had an excellent head of hair.
SIR ANDREWWhy, would that have mended my hair?
SIR TOBYPast question; for thou seest it will not curl by nature.
SIR ANDREWBut it becomes me well enough, does’t not?
SIR TOBYExcellent, it hangs like flax on a distaff; and I hope to see a
huswife take thee between her legs, and spin it off.
SIR ANDREWFaith, I’ll home tomorrow, 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 TOBYShe’ll none o’ the 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.
SIR ANDREWI’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 TOBYArt thou good at these kick-shawses, knight?
SIR ANDREWAs any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be, under the degree of my
betters; and yet I will not compare with an old man.
SIR TOBYWhat is thy excellence in a galliard, knight?
SIR ANDREWFaith, I can cut a caper.
SIR TOBYAnd I can cut the mutton to’t.
SIR ANDREWAnd I think I have the back-trick simply as strong as any man in
Illyria.
SIR TOBYWherefore 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 formed under the star of a galliard.
SIR ANDREWAy, ’tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a dam’d-colour’d
stock. Shall we set about some revels?
SIR TOBYWhat shall we do else? Were we not born under Taurus?
SIR ANDREWTaurus? That’s sides and heart.
SIR TOBYNo, sir, it is legs and thighs. Let me see thee caper. Ha, higher: ha,
ha, excellent!
Exeunt.
Scene IV
Enter Valentine and Viola in man’s attire.
VALENTINEIf 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.
VIOLAYou either fear his humour or my negligence, that you call in question
the continuance of his love. Is he inconstant, sir, in his favours?
VALENTINENo, believe me.
Enter Duke, Curio and Attendants.
VIOLAI thank you. Here comes the Count.
DUKEWho saw Cesario, ho?
VIOLAOn your attendance, my lord, here.
DUKEStand 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.
VIOLASure, my noble lord,
If she be so abandon’d to her sorrow
As it is spoke, she never will admit me.
DUKEBe clamorous and leap all civil bounds,
Rather than make unprofited return.
VIOLASay I do speak with her, my lord, what then?
DUKEO 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.
VIOLAI think not so, my lord.
DUKEDear 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.
VIOLAI’ll do my best
To woo your lady. [_Aside._] Yet, a barful strife!
Whoe’er I woo, myself would be his wife.
Exeunt.
Scene V
Enter Maria and Clown.
MARIANay; 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.
CLOWNLet her hang me: he that is well hanged in this world needs to fear no
colours.
MARIAMake that good.
CLOWNHe shall see none to fear.
MARIAA good lenten answer. I can tell thee where that saying was born, of I
fear no colours.
CLOWNWhere, good Mistress Mary?
MARIAIn the wars, and that may you be bold to say in your foolery.
CLOWNWell, God give them wisdom that have it; and those that are fools, let
them use their talents.
MARIAYet you will be hanged for being so long absent; or to be turned away;
is not that as good as a hanging to you?
CLOWNMany a good hanging prevents a bad marriage; and for turning away, let
summer bear it out.
MARIAYou are resolute then?
CLOWNNot so, neither, but I am resolved on two points.
MARIAThat if one break, the other will hold; or if both break, your gaskins
fall.
CLOWNApt, 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.
MARIAPeace, you rogue, no more o’ that. Here comes my lady: make your excuse
wisely, you were best.
Exit.
Enter Olivia with Malvolio.
CLOWNWit, 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!
OLIVIATake the fool away.
CLOWNDo you not hear, fellows? Take away the lady.
OLIVIAGo to, y’are a dry fool; I’ll no more of you. Besides, you grow
dishonest.
CLOWNTwo 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 patched; virtue
that transgresses is but patched with sin, and sin that amends is but
patched with virtue. If that this simple syllogism will serve, so; if
it will not, what remedy? As there is no true cuckold but calamity, so
beauty’s a flower. The lady bade take away the fool, therefore, I say
again, take her away.
OLIVIASir, I bade them take away you.
CLOWNMisprision in the highest degree! Lady, _cucullus non facit monachum:_
that’s as much to say, I wear not motley in my brain. Good madonna,
give me leave to prove you a fool.
OLIVIACan you do it?
CLOWNDexteriously, good madonna.
OLIVIAMake your proof.
CLOWNI must catechize you for it, madonna. Good my mouse of virtue, answer
me.
OLIVIAWell sir, for want of other idleness, I’ll ’bide your proof.
CLOWNGood madonna, why mourn’st thou?
OLIVIAGood fool, for my brother’s death.
CLOWNI think his soul is in hell, madonna.
OLIVIAI know his soul is in heaven, fool.
CLOWNThe more fool you, madonna, to mourn for your brother’s soul being in
heaven. Take away the fool, gentlemen.
OLIVIAWhat think you of this fool, Malvolio? doth he not mend?
MALVOLIOYes; and shall do, till the pangs of death shake him. Infirmity, that
decays the wise, doth ever make the better fool.
CLOWNGod 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.
OLIVIAHow say you to that, Malvolio?
MALVOLIOI 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. I protest I take
these wise men, that crow so at these set kind of fools, no better than
the fools’ zanies.
OLIVIAO, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and taste with a distempered
appetite. To be generous, guiltless, and of free disposition, is to
take those things for bird-bolts that you deem cannon bullets. There is
no slander in an allowed fool, though he do nothing but rail; nor no
railing in a known discreet man, though he do nothing but reprove.
CLOWNNow Mercury endue thee with leasing, for thou speak’st well of fools!
Enter Maria.
MARIAMadam, there is at the gate a young gentleman much desires to speak
with you.
OLIVIAFrom the Count Orsino, is it?
MARIAI know not, madam; ’tis a fair young man, and well attended.
OLIVIAWho of my people hold him in delay?
MARIASir Toby, madam, your kinsman.
OLIVIAFetch him off, I pray you; he speaks nothing but madman. Fie on him!
Exit Maria.
Exit Malvolio.
CLOWNThou 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.
OLIVIABy mine honour, half drunk. What is he at the gate, cousin?
SIR TOBYA gentleman.
OLIVIAA gentleman? What gentleman?
SIR TOBY’Tis a gentleman here. A plague o’ these pickle-herrings! How now, sot?
CLOWNGood Sir Toby.
OLIVIACousin, cousin, how have you come so early by this lethargy?
SIR TOBYLechery! I defy lechery. There’s one at the gate.
OLIVIAAy, marry, what is he?
SIR TOBYLet him be the devil an he will, I care not: give me faith, say I.
Well, it’s all one.
Exit.
OLIVIAWhat’s a drunken man like, fool?
CLOWNLike a drowned man, a fool, and a madman: one draught above heat makes
him a fool, the second mads him, and a third drowns him.
OLIVIAGo thou and seek the coroner, and let him sit o’ my coz; for he’s in
the third degree of drink; he’s drowned. Go, look after him.
CLOWNHe is but mad yet, madonna; and the fool shall look to the madman.
Exit Clown.
Enter Malvolio.
MALVOLIOMadam, 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.
OLIVIATell him, he shall not speak with me.
MALVOLIOHas 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.
OLIVIAWhat kind o’ man is he?
MALVOLIOWhy, of mankind.
OLIVIAWhat manner of man?
MALVOLIOOf very ill manner; he’ll speak with you, will you or no.
OLIVIAOf what personage and years is he?
MALVOLIONot 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-favoured, and he speaks very shrewishly. One would think his
mother’s milk were scarce out of him.
OLIVIALet him approach. Call in my gentlewoman.
MALVOLIOGentlewoman, my lady calls.
Exit.
Enter Maria.
OLIVIAGive me my veil; come, throw it o’er my face.
We’ll once more hear Orsino’s embassy.
Enter Viola.
VIOLAThe honourable lady of the house, which is she?
OLIVIASpeak to me; I shall answer for her. Your will?
VIOLAMost 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 penned, 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.
OLIVIAWhence came you, sir?
VIOLAI 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.
OLIVIAAre you a comedian?
VIOLANo, 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?
OLIVIAIf I do not usurp myself, I am.
VIOLAMost 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.
OLIVIACome to what is important in’t: I forgive you the praise.
VIOLAAlas, I took great pains to study it, and ’tis poetical.
OLIVIAIt 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 mad, be gone; if you have reason, be
brief: ’tis not that time of moon with me to make one in so skipping a
dialogue.
MARIAWill you hoist sail, sir? Here lies your way.
VIOLANo, good swabber, I am to hull here a little longer. Some mollification
for your giant, sweet lady. Tell me your mind. I am a messenger.
OLIVIASure, you have some hideous matter to deliver, when the courtesy of it
is so fearful. Speak your office.
VIOLAIt 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.
OLIVIAYet you began rudely. What are you? What would you?
VIOLAThe rudeness that hath appeared in me have I learned from my
entertainment. What I am and what I would are as secret as maidenhead:
to your ears, divinity; to any other’s, profanation.
OLIVIAGive us the place alone: we will hear this divinity.
Exit Maria.
VIOLAMost sweet lady—
OLIVIAA comfortable doctrine, and much may be said of it. Where lies your
text?
VIOLAIn Orsino’s bosom.
OLIVIAIn his bosom? In what chapter of his bosom?
VIOLATo answer by the method, in the first of his heart.
OLIVIAO, I have read it; it is heresy. Have you no more to say?
VIOLAGood madam, let me see your face.
OLIVIAHave 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?
VIOLAExcellently 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 cruel’st she alive
If you will lead these graces to the grave,
And leave the world no copy.
OLIVIAO, 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
labelled 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?
VIOLAI 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!
OLIVIAHow does he love me?
VIOLAWith adorations, fertile tears,
With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire.
OLIVIAYour 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.
VIOLAIf 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.
OLIVIAWhy, what would you?
VIOLAMake 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;
Hallow your name to the reverberate hills,
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.
OLIVIAYou might do much.
What is your parentage?
VIOLAAbove my fortunes, yet my state is well:
I am a gentleman.
OLIVIAGet 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.
VIOLAI 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.
OLIVIAWhat 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!
Enter Malvolio.
MALVOLIOHere, madam, at your service.
OLIVIARun 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 tomorrow,
I’ll give him reasons for’t. Hie thee, Malvolio.
MALVOLIOMadam, I will.
Exit.
OLIVIAI 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
Enter Antonio and Sebastian.
ANTONIOWill you stay no longer? Nor will you not that I go with you?
SEBASTIANBy 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.
ANTONIOLet me know of you whither you are bound.
SEBASTIANNo, 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 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 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.
ANTONIOAlas the day!
SEBASTIANA 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.
ANTONIOPardon me, sir, your bad entertainment.
SEBASTIANO good Antonio, forgive me your trouble.
ANTONIOIf you will not murder me for my love, let me be your servant.
SEBASTIANIf 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.
ANTONIOThe 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.
Exit.
Scene II
Enter Viola; Malvolio at several doors.
MALVOLIOWere you not even now with the Countess Olivia?
VIOLAEven now, sir; on a moderate pace I have since arrived but hither.
MALVOLIOShe 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.
VIOLAShe took the ring of me: I’ll none of it.
MALVOLIOCome 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.
Exit.
VIOLAI 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
Enter Sir Toby and Sir Andrew.
SIR TOBYApproach, Sir Andrew; not to be abed after midnight, is to be up
betimes; and _diluculo surgere_, thou know’st.
SIR ANDREWNay, by my troth, I know not; but I know to be up late is to be up
late.
SIR TOBYA 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. Does not our lives consist of the
four elements?
SIR ANDREWFaith, so they say, but I think it rather consists of eating and
drinking.
SIR TOBYTh’art a scholar; let us therefore eat and drink.
Marian, I say! a stoup of wine.
Enter Clown.
SIR ANDREWHere comes the fool, i’ faith.
CLOWNHow now, my hearts? Did you never see the picture of “we three”?
SIR TOBYWelcome, ass. Now let’s have a catch.
SIR ANDREWBy 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?
CLOWNI 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 ANDREWExcellent! Why, this is the best fooling, when all is done. Now, a
song.
SIR TOBYCome on, there is sixpence for you. Let’s have a song.
SIR ANDREWThere’s a testril of me too: if one knight give a—
CLOWNWould you have a love-song, or a song of good life?
SIR TOBYA love-song, a love-song.
SIR ANDREWAy, 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._
SIR ANDREWExcellent good, i’ faith.
SIR TOBYGood, good.
CLOWN_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._
SIR ANDREWA mellifluous voice, as I am true knight.
SIR TOBYA contagious breath.
SIR ANDREWVery sweet and contagious, i’ faith.
SIR TOBYTo 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 ANDREWAnd you love me, let’s do’t: I am dog at a catch.
CLOWNBy’r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well.
SIR ANDREWMost 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.
SIR ANDREW’Tis not the first time I have constrained one to call me knave. Begin,
fool; it begins “Hold thy peace.”
CLOWNI shall never begin if I hold my peace.
SIR ANDREWGood, i’ faith! Come, begin.
Enter Maria.
MARIAWhat 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 TOBYMy 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”! _There dwelt a man in Babylon, Lady,
Lady._
CLOWNBeshrew me, the knight’s in admirable fooling.
SIR ANDREWAy, he does well enough if he be disposed, 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—_
MARIAFor the love o’ God, peace!
Enter Malvolio.
MALVOLIOMy 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 TOBYWe did keep time, sir, in our catches. Sneck up!
MALVOLIOSir Toby, I must be round with you. My lady bade me tell you that,
though she harbours you as her kinsman she’s nothing allied to your
disorders. If you can separate yourself and your 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._
MARIANay, good Sir Toby.
CLOWN[_Sings._] _His eyes do show his days are almost done._
MALVOLIOIs’t even so?
SIR TOBY[_Sings._] _But I will never die._
CLOWN[_Sings._] _Sir Toby, there you lie._
MALVOLIOThis is much credit to you.
SIR TOBY[_Sings._] _Shall I bid him go?_
CLOWN[_Sings._] _What and 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 TOBYOut 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?
CLOWNYes, by Saint Anne, and ginger shall be hot i’ the mouth too.
SIR TOBYTh’art i’ the right. Go, sir, rub your chain with crumbs. A stoup of
wine, Maria!
MALVOLIOMistress Mary, if you prized 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.
MARIAGo shake your ears.
SIR ANDREW’Twere as good a deed as to drink when a man’s a-hungry, to challenge
him the field, and then to break promise with him and make a fool of
him.
SIR TOBYDo’t, knight. I’ll write thee a challenge; or I’ll deliver thy
indignation to him by word of mouth.
MARIASweet Sir Toby, be patient for tonight. Since the youth of the Count’s
was today 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 TOBYPossess us, possess us, tell us something of him.
MARIAMarry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Puritan.
SIR ANDREWO, if I thought that, I’d beat him like a dog.
SIR TOBYWhat, for being a Puritan? Thy exquisite reason, dear knight?
SIR ANDREWI have no exquisite reason for’t, but I have reason good enough.
MARIAThe devil a Puritan that he is, or anything constantly but a
time-pleaser, an affectioned ass that cons state without book and
utters it by great swarths; the best persuaded of himself, so crammed
(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 TOBYWhat wilt thou do?
MARIAI 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 TOBYExcellent! I smell a device.
SIR ANDREWI have’t in my nose too.
SIR TOBYHe shall think, by the letters that thou wilt drop, that they come from
my niece, and that she is in love with him.
MARIAMy purpose is indeed a horse of that colour.
SIR ANDREWAnd your horse now would make him an ass.
MARIAAss, I doubt not.
SIR ANDREWO ’twill be admirable!
MARIASport 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 TOBYGood night, Penthesilea.
SIR ANDREWBefore me, she’s a good wench.
SIR TOBYShe’s a beagle true bred, and one that adores me. What o’ that?
SIR ANDREWI was adored once too.
SIR TOBYLet’s to bed, knight. Thou hadst need send for more money.
SIR ANDREWIf I cannot recover your niece, I am a foul way out.
SIR TOBYSend for money, knight; if thou hast her not i’ th’ end, call me cut.
SIR ANDREWIf I do not, never trust me, take it how you will.
SIR TOBYCome, come, I’ll go burn some sack, ’tis too late to go to bed now.
Come, knight, come, knight.
Exeunt.
Scene IV
Enter Duke, Viola, Curio and others.
DUKEGive 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.
CURIOHe is not here, so please your lordship, that should sing it.
DUKEWho was it?
CURIOFeste, the jester, my lord, a fool that the Lady Olivia’s father took
much delight in. He is about the house.
DUKESeek him out, and play the tune the while.
Exit Curio. Music plays.
VIOLAIt gives a very echo to the seat
Where love is throned.
DUKEThou dost speak masterly.
My life upon’t, young though thou art, thine eye
Hath stayed upon some favour that it loves.
Hath it not, boy?
VIOLAA little, by your favour.
DUKEWhat kind of woman is’t?
VIOLAOf your complexion.
DUKEShe is not worth thee, then. What years, i’ faith?
VIOLAAbout your years, my lord.
DUKEToo 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 worn,
Than women’s are.
VIOLAI think it well, my lord.
DUKEThen let thy love be younger than thyself,
Or thy affection cannot hold the bent:
For women are as roses, whose fair flower
Being once display’d, doth fall that very hour.
VIOLAAnd so they are: alas, that they are so;
To die, even when they to perfection grow!
Enter Curio and Clown.
DUKEO, 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.
CLOWNAre you ready, sir?
DUKEAy; prithee, sing.
The Clown’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 sighs to save,
Lay me, O, where
Sad true lover never find my grave,
To weep there._
DUKEThere’s for thy pains.
CLOWNNo pains, sir; I take pleasure in singing, sir.
DUKEI’ll pay thy pleasure, then.
CLOWNTruly sir, and pleasure will be paid one time or another.
DUKEGive me now leave to leave thee.
CLOWNNow the melancholy god protect thee, and the tailor make thy doublet of
changeable taffeta, for thy mind is a very opal. I would have men of
such constancy put to sea, that their business might be everything, and
their intent everywhere, for that’s it that always makes a good voyage
of nothing. Farewell.
Exit Clown.
DUKELet all the rest give place.
Exeunt Curio and Attendants.
VIOLABut if she cannot love you, sir?
DUKEI cannot be so answer’d.
VIOLASooth, but you must.
Say that some lady, as perhaps there is,
Hath for your love as great a pang of heart
As you have for Olivia: you cannot love her;
You tell her so. Must she not then be answer’d?
DUKEThere is no woman’s sides
Can bide the beating of so strong a passion
As love doth give my heart: no woman’s heart
So big, to hold so much; they lack retention.
Alas, their love may be called appetite,
No motion of the liver, but the palate,
That suffer surfeit, cloyment, and revolt;
But mine is all as hungry as the sea,
And can digest as much. Make no compare
Between that love a woman can bear me
And that I owe Olivia.
VIOLAAy, but I know—
DUKEWhat dost thou know?
VIOLAToo well what love women to men may owe.
In faith, they are as true of heart as we.
My father had a daughter loved a man,
As it might be perhaps, were I a woman,
I should your lordship.
DUKEAnd what’s her history?
VIOLAA blank, my lord. She never told her love,
But let concealment, like a worm i’ th’ bud,
Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought,
And with a green and yellow melancholy
She sat like patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed?
We men may say more, swear more, but indeed,
Our shows are more than will; for still we prove
Much in our vows, but little in our love.
DUKEBut died thy sister of her love, my boy?
VIOLAI am all the daughters of my father’s house,
And all the brothers too: and yet I know not.
Sir, shall I to this lady?
DUKEAy, that’s the theme.
To her in haste. Give her this jewel; say
My love can give no place, bide no denay.
Exeunt.
Scene V
Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew and Fabian.
SIR TOBYCome thy ways, Signior Fabian.
FABIANNay, I’ll come. If I lose a scruple of this sport, let me be boiled to
death with melancholy.
SIR TOBYWouldst thou not be glad to have the niggardly rascally sheep-biter
come by some notable shame?
FABIANI would exult, man. You know he brought me out o’ favour with my lady
about a bear-baiting here.
SIR TOBYTo anger him we’ll have the bear again, and we will fool him black and
blue, shall we not, Sir Andrew?
SIR ANDREWAnd we do not, it is pity of our lives.
Enter Maria.
SIR TOBYHere comes the little villain. How now, my metal of India?
MARIAGet ye all three into the box-tree. Malvolio’s coming down this walk;
he has been yonder i’ the sun practising behaviour to his own shadow
this half hour: observe him, for the love of mockery; for I know this
letter will make a contemplative idiot of him. Close, in the name of
jesting! [_The men hide themselves._] Lie thou there; [_Throws down a
letter_] for here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling.
Exit Maria.
Enter Malvolio.
MALVOLIO’Tis but fortune, all is fortune. Maria once told me she did affect me,
and I have heard herself come thus near, that should she fancy, it
should be one of my complexion. Besides, she uses me with a more
exalted respect than anyone else that follows her. What should I think
on’t?
SIR TOBYHere’s an overweening rogue!
FABIANO, peace! Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock of him; how he jets
under his advanced plumes!
SIR ANDREW’Slight, I could so beat the rogue!
SIR TOBYPeace, I say.
MALVOLIOTo be Count Malvolio.
SIR TOBYAh, rogue!
SIR ANDREWPistol him, pistol him.
SIR TOBYPeace, peace.
MALVOLIOThere is example for’t. The lady of the Strachy married the yeoman of
the wardrobe.
SIR ANDREWFie on him, Jezebel!
FABIANO, peace! now he’s deeply in; look how imagination blows him.
MALVOLIOHaving been three months married to her, sitting in my state—
SIR TOBYO for a stone-bow to hit him in the eye!
MALVOLIOCalling my officers about me, in my branched velvet gown; having come
from a day-bed, where I have left Olivia sleeping.
SIR TOBYFire and brimstone!
FABIANO, peace, peace.
MALVOLIOAnd then to have the humour of state; and after a demure travel of
regard, telling them I know my place as I would they should do theirs,
to ask for my kinsman Toby.
SIR TOBYBolts and shackles!
FABIANO, peace, peace, peace! Now, now.
MALVOLIOSeven of my people, with an obedient start, make out for him. I frown
the while, and perchance wind up my watch, or play with some rich
jewel. Toby approaches; curtsies there to me—
SIR TOBYShall this fellow live?
FABIANThough our silence be drawn from us with cars, yet peace!
MALVOLIOI extend my hand to him thus, quenching my familiar smile with an
austere regard of control—
SIR TOBYAnd does not Toby take you a blow o’ the lips then?
MALVOLIOSaying ‘Cousin Toby, my fortunes having cast me on your niece, give me
this prerogative of speech—’
SIR TOBYWhat, what?
MALVOLIO‘You must amend your drunkenness.’
SIR TOBYOut, scab!
FABIANNay, patience, or we break the sinews of our plot.
MALVOLIO‘Besides, you waste the treasure of your time with a foolish knight—’
SIR ANDREWThat’s me, I warrant you.
MALVOLIO‘One Sir Andrew.’
SIR ANDREWI knew ’twas I, for many do call me fool.
MALVOLIO[_Taking up the letter._] What employment have we here?
FABIANNow is the woodcock near the gin.
SIR TOBYO, peace! And the spirit of humours intimate reading aloud to him!
MALVOLIOBy my life, this is my lady’s hand: these be her very C’s, her U’s, and
her T’s, and thus makes she her great P’s. It is in contempt of
question, her hand.
SIR ANDREWHer C’s, her U’s, and her T’s. Why that?
MALVOLIO[_Reads._] _To the unknown beloved, this, and my good wishes._ Her very
phrases! By your leave, wax. Soft! and the impressure her Lucrece, with
which she uses to seal: ’tis my lady. To whom should this be?
FABIANThis wins him, liver and all.
MALVOLIO_ Jove knows I love,
But who?
Lips, do not move,
No man must know._
‘No man must know.’ What follows? The numbers alter’d! ‘No man must
know.’—If this should be thee, Malvolio?
SIR TOBYMarry, hang thee, brock!
MALVOLIO_ I may command where I adore,
But silence, like a Lucrece knife,
With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore;
M.O.A.I. doth sway my life._
FABIANA fustian riddle!
SIR TOBYExcellent wench, say I.
MALVOLIO‘M.O.A.I. doth sway my life.’—Nay, but first let me see, let me see,
let me see.
FABIANWhat dish o’ poison has she dressed him!
SIR TOBYAnd with what wing the staniel checks at it!
MALVOLIO‘I may command where I adore.’ Why, she may command me: I serve her,
she is my lady. Why, this is evident to any formal capacity. There is
no obstruction in this. And the end—what should that alphabetical
position portend? If I could make that resemble something in me!
Softly! ‘M.O.A.I.’—
SIR TOBYO, ay, make up that:—he is now at a cold scent.
FABIANSowter will cry upon’t for all this, though it be as rank as a fox.
MALVOLIO‘M’—Malvolio; ‘M!’ Why, that begins my name!
FABIANDid not I say he would work it out? The cur is excellent at faults.
MALVOLIO‘M’—But then there is no consonancy in the sequel; that suffers under
probation: ‘A’ should follow, but ‘O’ does.
FABIANAnd ‘O’ shall end, I hope.
SIR TOBYAy, or I’ll cudgel him, and make him cry ‘O!’
MALVOLIOAnd then ‘I’ comes behind.
FABIANAy, and you had any eye behind you, you might see more detraction at
your heels than fortunes before you.
MALVOLIO‘M.O.A.I.’ This simulation is not as the former: and yet, to crush this
a little, it would bow to me, for every one of these letters are in my
name. Soft, here follows prose.
[_Reads._] _If this fall into thy hand, revolve. In my stars I am above
thee, but be not afraid of greatness. Some are born great, some achieve
greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon ’em. Thy fates open
their hands, let thy blood and spirit embrace them. And, to inure
thyself to what thou art like to be, cast thy humble slough and appear
fresh. Be opposite with a kinsman, surly with servants. Let thy tongue
tang arguments of state; put thyself into the trick of singularity. She
thus advises thee that sighs for thee. Remember who commended thy
yellow stockings, and wished to see thee ever cross-gartered. I say,
remember. Go to, thou art made, if thou desir’st to be so. If not, let
me see thee a steward still, the fellow of servants, and not worthy to
touch Fortune’s fingers. Farewell. She that would alter services with
thee,
The Fortunate Unhappy._
Daylight and champian discovers not more! This is open. I will be
proud, I will read politic authors, I will baffle Sir Toby, I will wash
off gross acquaintance, I will be point-device, the very man. I do not
now fool myself, to let imagination jade me; for every reason excites
to this, that my lady loves me. She did commend my yellow stockings of
late, she did praise my leg being cross-gartered, and in this she
manifests herself to my love, and with a kind of injunction, drives me
to these habits of her liking. I thank my stars, I am happy. I will be
strange, stout, in yellow stockings, and cross-gartered, even with the
swiftness of putting on. Jove and my stars be praised!—Here is yet a
postscript. [_Reads._] _Thou canst not choose but know who I am. If
thou entertain’st my love, let it appear in thy smiling; thy smiles
become thee well. Therefore in my presence still smile, dear my sweet,
I prithee._ Jove, I thank thee. I will smile, I will do everything that
thou wilt have me.
Exit.
FABIANI will not give my part of this sport for a pension of thousands to be
paid from the Sophy.
SIR TOBYI could marry this wench for this device.
SIR ANDREWSo could I too.
SIR TOBYAnd ask no other dowry with her but such another jest.
Enter Maria.
SIR ANDREWNor I neither.
FABIANHere comes my noble gull-catcher.
SIR TOBYWilt thou set thy foot o’ my neck?
SIR ANDREWOr o’ mine either?
SIR TOBYShall I play my freedom at tray-trip, and become thy bond-slave?
SIR ANDREWI’ faith, or I either?
SIR TOBYWhy, thou hast put him in such a dream, that when the image of it
leaves him he must run mad.
MARIANay, but say true, does it work upon him?
SIR TOBYLike aqua-vitae with a midwife.
MARIAIf you will then see the fruits of the sport, mark his first approach
before my lady: he will come to her in yellow stockings, and ’tis a
colour she abhors, and cross-gartered, a fashion she detests; and he
will smile upon her, which will now be so unsuitable to her
disposition, being addicted to a melancholy as she is, that it cannot
but turn him into a notable contempt. If you will see it, follow me.
SIR TOBYTo the gates of Tartar, thou most excellent devil of wit!
SIR ANDREWI’ll make one too.
Exeunt.
Act III
Scene I
Enter Viola and Clown with a tabor.
VIOLASave thee, friend, and thy music. Dost thou live by thy tabor?
CLOWNNo, sir, I live by the church.
VIOLAArt thou a churchman?
CLOWNNo such matter, sir. I do live by the church, for I do live at my
house, and my house doth stand by the church.
VIOLASo thou mayst say the king lies by a beggar, if a beggar dwell near
him; or the church stands by thy tabor, if thy tabor stand by the
church.
CLOWNYou have said, sir. To see this age! A sentence is but a chev’ril glove
to a good wit. How quickly the wrong side may be turned outward!
VIOLANay, that’s certain; they that dally nicely with words may quickly make
them wanton.
CLOWNI would, therefore, my sister had had no name, sir.
VIOLAWhy, man?
CLOWNWhy, sir, her name’s a word; and to dally with that word might make my
sister wanton. But indeed, words are very rascals, since bonds
disgraced them.
VIOLAThy reason, man?
CLOWNTroth, sir, I can yield you none without words, and words are grown so
false, I am loath to prove reason with them.
VIOLAI warrant thou art a merry fellow, and car’st for nothing.
CLOWNNot so, sir, I do care for something. But in my conscience, sir, I do
not care for you. If that be to care for nothing, sir, I would it would
make you invisible.
VIOLAArt not thou the Lady Olivia’s fool?
CLOWNNo, indeed, sir; the Lady Olivia has no folly. She will keep no fool,
sir, till she be married, and fools are as like husbands as pilchards
are to herrings, the husband’s the bigger. I am indeed not her fool,
but her corrupter of words.
VIOLAI saw thee late at the Count Orsino’s.
CLOWNFoolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun; it shines
everywhere. I would be sorry, sir, but the fool should be as oft with
your master as with my mistress. I think I saw your wisdom there.
VIOLANay, and thou pass upon me, I’ll no more with thee. Hold, there’s
expenses for thee.
CLOWNNow Jove, in his next commodity of hair, send thee a beard!
VIOLABy my troth, I’ll tell thee, I am almost sick for one, though I would
not have it grow on my chin. Is thy lady within?
CLOWNWould not a pair of these have bred, sir?
VIOLAYes, being kept together, and put to use.
CLOWNI would play Lord Pandarus of Phrygia, sir, to bring a Cressida to this
Troilus.
VIOLAI understand you, sir; ’tis well begged.
CLOWNThe matter, I hope, is not great, sir, begging but a beggar: Cressida
was a beggar. My lady is within, sir. I will conster to them whence you
come; who you are and what you would are out of my welkin. I might say
“element”, but the word is overworn.
Exit.
VIOLAThis fellow is wise enough to play the fool,
And to do that well, craves a kind of wit:
He must observe their mood on whom he jests,
The quality of persons, and the time,
And like the haggard, check at every feather
That comes before his eye. This is a practice
As full of labour as a wise man’s art:
For folly, that he wisely shows, is fit;
But wise men, folly-fall’n, quite taint their wit.
Enter Sir Toby and Sir Andrew.
SIR TOBYSave you, gentleman.
VIOLAAnd you, sir.
SIR ANDREW_Dieu vous garde, monsieur._
VIOLA_Et vous aussi; votre serviteur._
SIR ANDREWI hope, sir, you are, and I am yours.
SIR TOBYWill you encounter the house? My niece is desirous you should enter, if
your trade be to her.
VIOLAI am bound to your niece, sir, I mean, she is the list of my voyage.
SIR TOBYTaste your legs, sir, put them to motion.
VIOLAMy legs do better understand me, sir, than I understand what you mean
by bidding me taste my legs.
SIR TOBYI mean, to go, sir, to enter.
VIOLAI will answer you with gait and entrance: but we are prevented.
Enter Olivia and Maria.
SIR ANDREWThat youth’s a rare courtier. ‘Rain odours,’ well.
VIOLAMy matter hath no voice, lady, but to your own most pregnant and
vouchsafed ear.
SIR ANDREW‘Odours,’ ‘pregnant,’ and ‘vouchsafed.’—I’ll get ’em all three ready.
OLIVIALet the garden door be shut, and leave me to my hearing.
Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir Andrew and Maria.
VIOLAMy duty, madam, and most humble service.
OLIVIAWhat is your name?
VIOLACesario is your servant’s name, fair princess.
OLIVIAMy servant, sir! ’Twas never merry world,
Since lowly feigning was call’d compliment:
Y’are servant to the Count Orsino, youth.
VIOLAAnd he is yours, and his must needs be yours.
Your servant’s servant is your servant, madam.
OLIVIAFor him, I think not on him: for his thoughts,
Would they were blanks rather than fill’d with me!
VIOLAMadam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts
On his behalf.
OLIVIAO, by your leave, I pray you.
I bade you never speak again of him.
But would you undertake another suit,
I had rather hear you to solicit that
Than music from the spheres.
VIOLADear lady—
OLIVIAGive me leave, beseech you. I did send,
After the last enchantment you did here,
A ring in chase of you. So did I abuse
Myself, my servant, and, I fear me, you.
Under your hard construction must I sit;
To force that on you in a shameful cunning,
Which you knew none of yours. What might you think?
Have you not set mine honour at the stake,
And baited it with all th’ unmuzzled thoughts
That tyrannous heart can think? To one of your receiving
Enough is shown. A cypress, not a bosom,
Hides my heart: so let me hear you speak.
VIOLAI pity you.
OLIVIAThat’s a degree to love.
VIOLANo, not a grize; for ’tis a vulgar proof
That very oft we pity enemies.
OLIVIAWhy then methinks ’tis time to smile again.
O world, how apt the poor are to be proud!
If one should be a prey, how much the better
To fall before the lion than the wolf! [_Clock strikes._]
The clock upbraids me with the waste of time.
Be not afraid, good youth, I will not have you.
And yet, when wit and youth is come to harvest,
Your wife is like to reap a proper man.
There lies your way, due west.
VIOLAThen westward ho!
Grace and good disposition attend your ladyship!
You’ll nothing, madam, to my lord by me?
OLIVIAStay:
I prithee tell me what thou think’st of me.
VIOLAThat you do think you are not what you are.
OLIVIAIf I think so, I think the same of you.
VIOLAThen think you right; I am not what I am.
OLIVIAI would you were as I would have you be.
VIOLAWould it be better, madam, than I am?
I wish it might, for now I am your fool.
OLIVIAO what a deal of scorn looks beautiful
In the contempt and anger of his lip!
A murd’rous guilt shows not itself more soon
Than love that would seem hid. Love’s night is noon.
Cesario, by the roses of the spring,
By maidhood, honour, truth, and everything,
I love thee so, that maugre all thy pride,
Nor wit nor reason can my passion hide.
Do not extort thy reasons from this clause,
For that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause;
But rather reason thus with reason fetter:
Love sought is good, but given unsought is better.
VIOLABy innocence I swear, and by my youth,
I have one heart, one bosom, and one truth,
And that no woman has; nor never none
Shall mistress be of it, save I alone.
And so adieu, good madam; never more
Will I my master’s tears to you deplore.
OLIVIAYet come again: for thou perhaps mayst move
That heart, which now abhors, to like his love.
Exeunt.
Scene II
Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew and Fabian.
SIR ANDREWNo, faith, I’ll not stay a jot longer.
SIR TOBYThy reason, dear venom, give thy reason.
FABIANYou must needs yield your reason, Sir Andrew.
SIR ANDREWMarry, I saw your niece do more favours to the Count’s servingman than
ever she bestowed upon me; I saw’t i’ th’ orchard.
SIR TOBYDid she see thee the while, old boy? Tell me that.
SIR ANDREWAs plain as I see you now.
FABIANThis was a great argument of love in her toward you.
SIR ANDREW’Slight! will you make an ass o’ me?
FABIANI will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the oaths of judgment and reason.
SIR TOBYAnd they have been grand-jurymen since before Noah was a sailor.
FABIANShe did show favour to the youth in your sight only to exasperate you,
to awake your dormouse valour, to put fire in your heart and brimstone
in your liver. You should then have accosted her, and with some
excellent jests, fire-new from the mint, you should have banged the
youth into dumbness. This was looked for at your hand, and this was
balked: the double gilt of this opportunity you let time wash off, and
you are now sailed into the north of my lady’s opinion; where you will
hang like an icicle on Dutchman’s beard, unless you do redeem it by
some laudable attempt, either of valour or policy.
SIR ANDREWAnd’t be any way, it must be with valour, for policy I hate; I had as
lief be a Brownist as a politician.
SIR TOBYWhy, then, build me thy fortunes upon the basis of valour. Challenge me
the Count’s youth to fight with him. Hurt him in eleven places; my
niece shall take note of it, and assure thyself there is no love-broker
in the world can more prevail in man’s commendation with woman than
report of valour.
FABIANThere is no way but this, Sir Andrew.
SIR ANDREWWill either of you bear me a challenge to him?
SIR TOBYGo, write it in a martial hand, be curst and brief; it is no matter how
witty, so it be eloquent and full of invention. Taunt him with the
licence of ink. If thou ‘thou’st’ him some thrice, it shall not be
amiss, and as many lies as will lie in thy sheet of paper, although the
sheet were big enough for the bed of Ware in England, set ’em down. Go
about it. Let there be gall enough in thy ink, though thou write with a
goose-pen, no matter. About it.
SIR ANDREWWhere shall I find you?
SIR TOBYWe’ll call thee at the cubiculo. Go.
Exit Sir Andrew.
FABIANThis is a dear manikin to you, Sir Toby.
SIR TOBYI have been dear to him, lad, some two thousand strong, or so.
FABIANWe shall have a rare letter from him; but you’ll not deliver it.
SIR TOBYNever trust me then. And by all means stir on the youth to an answer. I
think oxen and wainropes cannot hale them together. For Andrew, if he
were opened and you find so much blood in his liver as will clog the
foot of a flea, I’ll eat the rest of th’ anatomy.
FABIANAnd his opposite, the youth, bears in his visage no great presage of
cruelty.
Enter Maria.
SIR TOBYLook where the youngest wren of nine comes.
MARIAIf you desire the spleen, and will laugh yourselves into stitches,
follow me. Yond gull Malvolio is turned heathen, a very renegado; for
there is no Christian that means to be saved by believing rightly can
ever believe such impossible passages of grossness. He’s in yellow
stockings.
SIR TOBYAnd cross-gartered?
MARIAMost villainously; like a pedant that keeps a school i’ th’ church. I
have dogged him like his murderer. He does obey every point of the
letter that I dropped to betray him. He does smile his face into more
lines than is in the new map with the augmentation of the Indies. You
have not seen such a thing as ’tis. I can hardly forbear hurling
things at him. I know my lady will strike him. If she do, he’ll smile
and take’t for a great favour.
SIR TOBYCome, bring us, bring us where he is.
Exeunt.
Scene III
Enter Sebastian and Antonio.
SEBASTIANI would not by my will have troubled you,
But since you make your pleasure of your pains,
I will no further chide you.
ANTONIOI could not stay behind you: my desire,
More sharp than filed steel, did spur me forth;
And not all love to see you, though so much,
As might have drawn one to a longer voyage,
But jealousy what might befall your travel,
Being skilless in these parts; which to a stranger,
Unguided and unfriended, often prove
Rough and unhospitable. My willing love,
The rather by these arguments of fear,
Set forth in your pursuit.
SEBASTIANMy kind Antonio,
I can no other answer make but thanks,
And thanks, and ever thanks; and oft good turns
Are shuffled off with such uncurrent pay.
But were my worth, as is my conscience, firm,
You should find better dealing. What’s to do?
Shall we go see the relics of this town?
ANTONIOTomorrow, sir; best first go see your lodging.
SEBASTIANI am not weary, and ’tis long to night;
I pray you, let us satisfy our eyes
With the memorials and the things of fame
That do renown this city.
ANTONIOWould you’d pardon me.
I do not without danger walk these streets.
Once in a sea-fight, ’gainst the Count his galleys,
I did some service, of such note indeed,
That were I ta’en here, it would scarce be answer’d.
SEBASTIANBelike you slew great number of his people.
ANTONIOTh’ offence is not of such a bloody nature,
Albeit the quality of the time and quarrel
Might well have given us bloody argument.
It might have since been answered in repaying
What we took from them, which for traffic’s sake,
Most of our city did. Only myself stood out,
For which, if I be lapsed in this place,
I shall pay dear.
SEBASTIANDo not then walk too open.
ANTONIOIt doth not fit me. Hold, sir, here’s my purse.
In the south suburbs, at the Elephant,
Is best to lodge. I will bespeak our diet
Whiles you beguile the time and feed your knowledge
With viewing of the town. There shall you have me.
SEBASTIANWhy I your purse?
ANTONIOHaply your eye shall light upon some toy
You have desire to purchase; and your store,
I think, is not for idle markets, sir.
SEBASTIANI’ll be your purse-bearer, and leave you for an hour.
ANTONIOTo th’ Elephant.
SEBASTIANI do remember.
Exeunt.
Scene IV
Enter Olivia and Maria.
OLIVIAI have sent after him. He says he’ll come;
How shall I feast him? What bestow of him?
For youth is bought more oft than begg’d or borrow’d.
I speak too loud.—
Where’s Malvolio?—He is sad and civil,
And suits well for a servant with my fortunes;
Where is Malvolio?
MARIAHe’s coming, madam:
But in very strange manner. He is sure possessed, madam.
OLIVIAWhy, what’s the matter? Does he rave?
MARIANo, madam, he does nothing but smile: your ladyship were best to have
some guard about you if he come, for sure the man is tainted in ’s
wits.
OLIVIAGo call him hither. I’m as mad as he,
If sad and merry madness equal be.
Enter Malvolio.
MALVOLIOSweet lady, ho, ho!
OLIVIASmil’st thou? I sent for thee upon a sad occasion.
MALVOLIOSad, lady? I could be sad: this does make some obstruction in the
blood, this cross-gartering. But what of that? If it please the eye of
one, it is with me as the very true sonnet is: ‘Please one and please
all.’
OLIVIAWhy, how dost thou, man? What is the matter with thee?
MALVOLIONot black in my mind, though yellow in my legs. It did come to his
hands, and commands shall be executed. I think we do know the sweet
Roman hand.
OLIVIAWilt thou go to bed, Malvolio?
MALVOLIOTo bed? Ay, sweetheart, and I’ll come to thee.
OLIVIAGod comfort thee! Why dost thou smile so, and kiss thy hand so oft?
MARIAHow do you, Malvolio?
MALVOLIOAt your request? Yes, nightingales answer daws!
MARIAWhy appear you with this ridiculous boldness before my lady?
MALVOLIO‘Be not afraid of greatness.’ ’Twas well writ.
OLIVIAWhat mean’st thou by that, Malvolio?
MALVOLIO‘Some are born great’—
OLIVIAHa?
MALVOLIO‘Some achieve greatness’—
OLIVIAWhat say’st thou?
MALVOLIO‘And some have greatness thrust upon them.’
OLIVIAHeaven restore thee!
MALVOLIO‘Remember who commended thy yellow stockings’—
OLIVIAThy yellow stockings?
MALVOLIO‘And wished to see thee cross-gartered.’
OLIVIACross-gartered?
MALVOLIO‘Go to: thou art made, if thou desir’st to be so:’—
OLIVIAAm I made?
MALVOLIO‘If not, let me see thee a servant still.’
OLIVIAWhy, this is very midsummer madness.
Enter Servant.
SERVANTMadam, the young gentleman of the Count Orsino’s is returned; I could
hardly entreat him back. He attends your ladyship’s pleasure.
OLIVIAI’ll come to him.
Exit Servant.
Exeunt Olivia and Maria.
MALVOLIOO ho, do you come near me now? No worse man than Sir Toby to look to
me. This concurs directly with the letter: she sends him on purpose,
that I may appear stubborn to him; for she incites me to that in the
letter. ‘Cast thy humble slough,’ says she; ‘be opposite with a
kinsman, surly with servants, let thy tongue tang with arguments of
state, put thyself into the trick of singularity,’ and consequently,
sets down the manner how: as, a sad face, a reverend carriage, a slow
tongue, in the habit of some sir of note, and so forth. I have limed
her, but it is Jove’s doing, and Jove make me thankful! And when she
went away now, ‘Let this fellow be looked to;’ ‘Fellow!’ not
‘Malvolio’, nor after my degree, but ‘fellow’. Why, everything adheres
together, that no dram of a scruple, no scruple of a scruple, no
obstacle, no incredulous or unsafe circumstance. What can be said?
Nothing that can be can come between me and the full prospect of my
hopes. Well, Jove, not I, is the doer of this, and he is to be thanked.
Enter Sir Toby, Fabian and Maria.
SIR TOBYWhich way is he, in the name of sanctity? If all the devils of hell be
drawn in little, and Legion himself possessed him, yet I’ll speak to
him.
FABIANHere he is, here he is. How is’t with you, sir? How is’t with you, man?
MALVOLIOGo off, I discard you. Let me enjoy my private. Go off.
MARIALo, how hollow the fiend speaks within him! Did not I tell you? Sir
Toby, my lady prays you to have a care of him.
MALVOLIOAh, ha! does she so?
SIR TOBYGo to, go to; peace, peace, we must deal gently with him. Let me alone.
How do you, Malvolio? How is’t with you? What, man! defy the devil!
Consider, he’s an enemy to mankind.
MALVOLIODo you know what you say?
MARIALa you, an you speak ill of the devil, how he takes it at heart! Pray
God he be not bewitched.
FABIANCarry his water to th’ wise woman.
MARIAMarry, and it shall be done tomorrow morning, if I live. My lady would
not lose him for more than I’ll say.
MALVOLIOHow now, mistress!
MARIAO Lord!
SIR TOBYPrithee hold thy peace, this is not the way. Do you not see you move
him? Let me alone with him.
FABIANNo way but gentleness, gently, gently. The fiend is rough, and will not
be roughly used.
SIR TOBYWhy, how now, my bawcock? How dost thou, chuck?
MALVOLIOSir!
SIR TOBYAy, biddy, come with me. What, man, ’tis not for gravity to play at
cherry-pit with Satan. Hang him, foul collier!
MARIAGet him to say his prayers, good Sir Toby, get him to pray.
MALVOLIOMy prayers, minx?
MARIANo, I warrant you, he will not hear of godliness.
MALVOLIOGo, hang yourselves all! You are idle, shallow things. I am not of your
element. You shall know more hereafter.
Exit.
SIR TOBYIs’t possible?
FABIANIf this were played upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an
improbable fiction.
SIR TOBYHis very genius hath taken the infection of the device, man.
MARIANay, pursue him now, lest the device take air and taint.
FABIANWhy, we shall make him mad indeed.
MARIAThe house will be the quieter.
SIR TOBYCome, we’ll have him in a dark room and bound. My niece is already in
the belief that he’s mad. We may carry it thus for our pleasure, and
his penance, till our very pastime, tired out of breath, prompt us to
have mercy on him, at which time we will bring the device to the bar,
and crown thee for a finder of madmen. But see, but see!
Enter Sir Andrew.
FABIANMore matter for a May morning.
SIR ANDREWHere’s the challenge, read it. I warrant there’s vinegar and pepper
in’t.
FABIANIs’t so saucy?
SIR ANDREWAy, is’t, I warrant him. Do but read.
SIR TOBYGive me. [_Reads._] _Youth, whatsoever thou art, thou art but a scurvy
fellow._
FABIANGood, and valiant.
SIR TOBY_Wonder not, nor admire not in thy mind, why I do call thee so, for I
will show thee no reason for’t._
FABIANA good note, that keeps you from the blow of the law.
SIR TOBY_Thou comest to the Lady Olivia, and in my sight she uses thee kindly:
but thou liest in thy throat; that is not the matter I challenge thee
for._
FABIANVery brief, and to exceeding good sense—less.
SIR TOBY_I will waylay thee going home; where if it be thy chance to kill me—_
FABIANGood.
SIR TOBY_Thou kill’st me like a rogue and a villain._
FABIANStill you keep o’ th’ windy side of the law. Good.
SIR TOBY_Fare thee well, and God have mercy upon one of our souls! He may have
mercy upon mine, but my hope is better, and so look to thyself. Thy
friend, as thou usest him, and thy sworn enemy,
Andrew Aguecheek._
If this letter move him not, his legs cannot. I’ll give’t him.
MARIAYou may have very fit occasion for’t. He is now in some commerce with
my lady, and will by and by depart.
SIR TOBYGo, Sir Andrew. Scout me for him at the corner of the orchard, like a
bum-baily. So soon as ever thou seest him, draw, and as thou draw’st,
swear horrible, for it comes to pass oft that a terrible oath, with a
swaggering accent sharply twanged off, gives manhood more approbation
than ever proof itself would have earned him. Away.
SIR ANDREWNay, let me alone for swearing.
Exit.
SIR TOBYNow will not I deliver his letter, for the behaviour of the young
gentleman gives him out to be of good capacity and breeding; his
employment between his lord and my niece confirms no less. Therefore
this letter, being so excellently ignorant, will breed no terror in the
youth. He will find it comes from a clodpole. But, sir, I will deliver
his challenge by word of mouth, set upon Aguecheek notable report of
valour, and drive the gentleman (as I know his youth will aptly receive
it) into a most hideous opinion of his rage, skill, fury, and
impetuosity. This will so fright them both that they will kill one
another by the look, like cockatrices.
Enter Olivia and Viola.
FABIANHere he comes with your niece; give them way till he take leave, and
presently after him.
SIR TOBYI will meditate the while upon some horrid message for a challenge.
Exeunt Sir Toby, Fabian and Maria.
OLIVIAI have said too much unto a heart of stone,
And laid mine honour too unchary on’t:
There’s something in me that reproves my fault:
But such a headstrong potent fault it is,
That it but mocks reproof.
VIOLAWith the same ’haviour that your passion bears
Goes on my master’s griefs.
OLIVIAHere, wear this jewel for me, ’tis my picture.
Refuse it not, it hath no tongue to vex you.
And I beseech you come again tomorrow.
What shall you ask of me that I’ll deny,
That honour sav’d, may upon asking give?
VIOLANothing but this, your true love for my master.
OLIVIAHow with mine honour may I give him that
Which I have given to you?
VIOLAI will acquit you.
OLIVIAWell, come again tomorrow. Fare thee well;
A fiend like thee might bear my soul to hell.
Exit.
Enter Sir Toby and Fabian.
SIR TOBYGentleman, God save thee.
VIOLAAnd you, sir.
SIR TOBYThat defence thou hast, betake thee to’t. Of what nature the wrongs are
thou hast done him, I know not, but thy intercepter, full of despite,
bloody as the hunter, attends thee at the orchard end. Dismount thy
tuck, be yare in thy preparation, for thy assailant is quick, skilful,
and deadly.
VIOLAYou mistake, sir; I am sure no man hath any quarrel to me. My
remembrance is very free and clear from any image of offence done to
any man.
SIR TOBYYou’ll find it otherwise, I assure you. Therefore, if you hold your
life at any price, betake you to your guard, for your opposite hath in
him what youth, strength, skill, and wrath, can furnish man withal.
VIOLAI pray you, sir, what is he?
SIR TOBYHe is knight, dubbed with unhatched rapier, and on carpet
consideration, but he is a devil in private brawl. Souls and bodies
hath he divorced three, and his incensement at this moment is so
implacable that satisfaction can be none but by pangs of death and
sepulchre. Hob, nob is his word; give’t or take’t.
VIOLAI will return again into the house and desire some conduct of the lady.
I am no fighter. I have heard of some kind of men that put quarrels
purposely on others to taste their valour: belike this is a man of that
quirk.
SIR TOBYSir, no. His indignation derives itself out of a very competent injury;
therefore, get you on and give him his desire. Back you shall not to
the house, unless you undertake that with me which with as much safety
you might answer him. Therefore on, or strip your sword stark naked,
for meddle you must, that’s certain, or forswear to wear iron about
you.
VIOLAThis is as uncivil as strange. I beseech you, do me this courteous
office, as to know of the knight what my offence to him is. It is
something of my negligence, nothing of my purpose.
SIR TOBYI will do so. Signior Fabian, stay you by this gentleman till my
return.
Exit Sir Toby.
VIOLAPray you, sir, do you know of this matter?
FABIANI know the knight is incensed against you, even to a mortal
arbitrement, but nothing of the circumstance more.
VIOLAI beseech you, what manner of man is he?
FABIANNothing of that wonderful promise, to read him by his form, as you are
like to find him in the proof of his valour. He is indeed, sir, the
most skilful, bloody, and fatal opposite that you could possibly have
found in any part of Illyria. Will you walk towards him? I will make
your peace with him if I can.
VIOLAI shall be much bound to you for’t. I am one that had rather go with
sir priest than sir knight: I care not who knows so much of my mettle.
Exeunt.
Enter Sir Toby and Sir Andrew.
SIR TOBYWhy, man, he’s a very devil. I have not seen such a firago. I had a
pass with him, rapier, scabbard, and all, and he gives me the stuck-in
with such a mortal motion that it is inevitable; and on the answer, he
pays you as surely as your feet hits the ground they step on. They say
he has been fencer to the Sophy.
SIR ANDREWPox on’t, I’ll not meddle with him.
SIR TOBYAy, but he will not now be pacified: Fabian can scarce hold him yonder.
SIR ANDREWPlague on’t, an I thought he had been valiant, and so cunning in fence,
I’d have seen him damned ere I’d have challenged him. Let him let the
matter slip, and I’ll give him my horse, grey Capilet.
SIR TOBYI’ll make the motion. Stand here, make a good show on’t. This shall end
without the perdition of souls. [_Aside._] Marry, I’ll ride your horse
as well as I ride you.
Enter Fabian and Viola.
FABIANHe is as horribly conceited of him, and pants and looks pale, as if a
bear were at his heels.
SIR TOBYThere’s no remedy, sir, he will fight with you for’s oath sake. Marry,
he hath better bethought him of his quarrel, and he finds that now
scarce to be worth talking of. Therefore, draw for the supportance of
his vow; he protests he will not hurt you.
VIOLA[_Aside._] Pray God defend me! A little thing would make me tell them
how much I lack of a man.
FABIANGive ground if you see him furious.
SIR TOBYCome, Sir Andrew, there’s no remedy, the gentleman will for his
honour’s sake have one bout with you. He cannot by the duello avoid it;
but he has promised me, as he is a gentleman and a soldier, he will not
hurt you. Come on: to’t.
SIR ANDREW[_Draws._] Pray God he keep his oath!
Enter Antonio.
VIOLA[_Draws._] I do assure you ’tis against my will.
ANTONIOPut up your sword. If this young gentleman
Have done offence, I take the fault on me.
If you offend him, I for him defy you.
SIR TOBYYou, sir? Why, what are you?
ANTONIO[_Draws._] One, sir, that for his love dares yet do more
Than you have heard him brag to you he will.
SIR TOBY[_Draws._] Nay, if you be an undertaker, I am for you.
Enter Officers.
FABIANO good Sir Toby, hold! Here come the officers.
SIR TOBY[_To Antonio._] I’ll be with you anon.
VIOLA[_To Sir Andrew._] Pray, sir, put your sword up, if you please.
SIR ANDREWMarry, will I, sir; and for that I promised you, I’ll be as good as my
word. He will bear you easily, and reins well.
FIRST OFFICERThis is the man; do thy office.
SECOND OFFICERAntonio, I arrest thee at the suit
Of Count Orsino.
ANTONIOYou do mistake me, sir.
FIRST OFFICERNo, sir, no jot. I know your favour well,
Though now you have no sea-cap on your head.—
Take him away, he knows I know him well.
ANTONIOI must obey. This comes with seeking you;
But there’s no remedy, I shall answer it.
What will you do? Now my necessity
Makes me to ask you for my purse. It grieves me
Much more for what I cannot do for you,
Than what befalls myself. You stand amaz’d,
But be of comfort.
SECOND OFFICERCome, sir, away.
ANTONIOI must entreat of you some of that money.
VIOLAWhat money, sir?
For the fair kindness you have show’d me here,
And part being prompted by your present trouble,
Out of my lean and low ability
I’ll lend you something. My having is not much;
I’ll make division of my present with you.
Hold, there’s half my coffer.
ANTONIOWill you deny me now?
Is’t possible that my deserts to you
Can lack persuasion? Do not tempt my misery,
Lest that it make me so unsound a man
As to upbraid you with those kindnesses
That I have done for you.
VIOLAI know of none,
Nor know I you by voice or any feature.
I hate ingratitude more in a man
Than lying, vainness, babbling, drunkenness,
Or any taint of vice whose strong corruption
Inhabits our frail blood.
ANTONIOO heavens themselves!
SECOND OFFICERCome, sir, I pray you go.
ANTONIOLet me speak a little. This youth that you see here
I snatch’d one half out of the jaws of death,
Reliev’d him with such sanctity of love;
And to his image, which methought did promise
Most venerable worth, did I devotion.
FIRST OFFICERWhat’s that to us? The time goes by. Away!
ANTONIOBut O how vile an idol proves this god!
Thou hast, Sebastian, done good feature shame.
In nature there’s no blemish but the mind;
None can be call’d deform’d but the unkind.
Virtue is beauty, but the beauteous evil
Are empty trunks, o’erflourished by the devil.
FIRST OFFICERThe man grows mad, away with him. Come, come, sir.
ANTONIOLead me on.
Exeunt Officers with Antonio.
VIOLAMethinks his words do from such passion fly
That he believes himself; so do not I.
Prove true, imagination, O prove true,
That I, dear brother, be now ta’en for you!
SIR TOBYCome hither, knight; come hither, Fabian. We’ll whisper o’er a couplet
or two of most sage saws.
VIOLAHe nam’d Sebastian. I my brother know
Yet living in my glass; even such and so
In favour was my brother, and he went
Still in this fashion, colour, ornament,
For him I imitate. O if it prove,
Tempests are kind, and salt waves fresh in love!
Exit.
SIR TOBYA very dishonest paltry boy, and more a coward than a hare. His
dishonesty appears in leaving his friend here in necessity, and denying
him; and for his cowardship, ask Fabian.
FABIANA coward, a most devout coward, religious in it.
SIR ANDREW’Slid, I’ll after him again and beat him.
SIR TOBYDo, cuff him soundly, but never draw thy sword.
SIR ANDREWAnd I do not—
Exit.
FABIANCome, let’s see the event.
SIR TOBYI dare lay any money ’twill be nothing yet.
Exeunt.
Act IV
Scene I
Enter Sebastian and Clown.
CLOWNWill you make me believe that I am not sent for you?
SEBASTIANGo to, go to, thou art a foolish fellow.
Let me be clear of thee.
CLOWNWell held out, i’ faith! No, I do not know you, nor I am not sent to
you by my lady, to bid you come speak with her; nor your name is not
Master Cesario; nor this is not my nose neither. Nothing that is so, is
so.
SEBASTIANI prithee vent thy folly somewhere else,
Thou know’st not me.
CLOWNVent my folly! He has heard that word of some great man, and now
applies it to a fool. Vent my folly! I am afraid this great lubber, the
world, will prove a cockney. I prithee now, ungird thy strangeness, and
tell me what I shall vent to my lady. Shall I vent to her that thou art
coming?
SEBASTIANI prithee, foolish Greek, depart from me.
There’s money for thee; if you tarry longer
I shall give worse payment.
CLOWNBy my troth, thou hast an open hand. These wise men that give fools
money get themselves a good report—after fourteen years’ purchase.
Enter Sir Andrew, Sir Toby and Fabian.
SIR ANDREWNow sir, have I met you again? There’s for you.
SEBASTIANWhy, there’s for thee, and there, and there.
Are all the people mad?
SIR TOBYHold, sir, or I’ll throw your dagger o’er the house.
CLOWNThis will I tell my lady straight. I would not be in some of your coats
for twopence.
Exit Clown.
SIR TOBYCome on, sir, hold!
SIR ANDREWNay, let him alone, I’ll go another way to work with him. I’ll have an
action of battery against him, if there be any law in Illyria. Though I
struck him first, yet it’s no matter for that.
SEBASTIANLet go thy hand!
SIR TOBYCome, sir, I will not let you go. Come, my young soldier, put up your
iron: you are well fleshed. Come on.
SEBASTIANI will be free from thee. What wouldst thou now?
If thou dar’st tempt me further, draw thy sword.
SIR TOBYWhat, what? Nay, then, I must have an ounce or two of this malapert
blood from you.
Enter Olivia.
OLIVIAHold, Toby! On thy life I charge thee hold!
SIR TOBYMadam.
OLIVIAWill it be ever thus? Ungracious wretch,
Fit for the mountains and the barbarous caves,
Where manners ne’er were preach’d! Out of my sight!
Be not offended, dear Cesario.
Rudesby, be gone!
Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir Andrew and Fabian.
SEBASTIANWhat relish is in this? How runs the stream?
Or I am mad, or else this is a dream.
Let fancy still my sense in Lethe steep;
If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep!
OLIVIANay, come, I prithee. Would thou’dst be ruled by me!
SEBASTIANMadam, I will.
OLIVIAO, say so, and so be!
Exeunt.
Scene II
Enter Maria and Clown.
MARIANay, I prithee, put on this gown and this beard; make him believe thou
art Sir Topas the curate. Do it quickly. I’ll call Sir Toby the whilst.
Exit Maria.
CLOWNWell, I’ll put it on, and I will dissemble myself in’t, and I would I
were the first that ever dissembled in such a gown. I am not tall
enough to become the function well, nor lean enough to be thought a
good student, but to be said, an honest man and a good housekeeper goes
as fairly as to say, a careful man and a great scholar. The competitors
enter.
Enter Sir Toby and Maria.
SIR TOBYJove bless thee, Master Parson.
CLOWN_Bonos dies_, Sir Toby: for as the old hermit of Prague, that never saw
pen and ink, very wittily said to a niece of King Gorboduc, ‘That that
is, is’: so I, being Master Parson, am Master Parson; for what is
‘that’ but ‘that’? and ‘is’ but ‘is’?
SIR TOBYTo him, Sir Topas.
CLOWNWhat ho, I say! Peace in this prison!
SIR TOBYThe knave counterfeits well. A good knave.
Malvolio within.
MALVOLIOWho calls there?
CLOWNSir Topas the curate, who comes to visit Malvolio the lunatic.
MALVOLIOSir Topas, Sir Topas, good Sir Topas, go to my lady.
CLOWNOut, hyperbolical fiend! how vexest thou this man? Talkest thou nothing
but of ladies?
SIR TOBYWell said, Master Parson.
MALVOLIOSir Topas, never was man thus wronged. Good Sir Topas, do not think I
am mad. They have laid me here in hideous darkness.
CLOWNFie, thou dishonest Satan! I call thee by the most modest terms, for I
am one of those gentle ones that will use the devil himself with
courtesy. Say’st thou that house is dark?
MALVOLIOAs hell, Sir Topas.
CLOWNWhy, it hath bay windows transparent as barricadoes, and the
clerestories toward the south-north are as lustrous as ebony; and yet
complainest thou of obstruction?
MALVOLIOI am not mad, Sir Topas. I say to you this house is dark.
CLOWNMadman, thou errest. I say there is no darkness but ignorance, in which
thou art more puzzled than the Egyptians in their fog.
MALVOLIOI say this house is as dark as ignorance, though ignorance were as dark
as hell; and I say there was never man thus abused. I am no more mad
than you are. Make the trial of it in any constant question.
CLOWNWhat is the opinion of Pythagoras concerning wildfowl?
MALVOLIOThat the soul of our grandam might haply inhabit a bird.
CLOWNWhat think’st thou of his opinion?
MALVOLIOI think nobly of the soul, and no way approve his opinion.
CLOWNFare thee well. Remain thou still in darkness. Thou shalt hold the
opinion of Pythagoras ere I will allow of thy wits, and fear to kill a
woodcock, lest thou dispossess the soul of thy grandam. Fare thee well.
MALVOLIOSir Topas, Sir Topas!
SIR TOBYMy most exquisite Sir Topas!
CLOWNNay, I am for all waters.
MARIAThou mightst have done this without thy beard and gown. He sees thee
not.
SIR TOBYTo him in thine own voice, and bring me word how thou find’st him. I
would we were well rid of this knavery. If he may be conveniently
delivered, I would he were, for I am now so far in offence with my
niece that I cannot pursue with any safety this sport to the upshot.
Come by and by to my chamber.
Exeunt Sir Toby and Maria.
CLOWN_Hey, Robin, jolly Robin,
Tell me how thy lady does._
MALVOLIOFool!
CLOWN_My lady is unkind, perdy._
MALVOLIOFool!
CLOWN_Alas, why is she so?_
MALVOLIOFool, I say!
CLOWN_She loves another_—
Who calls, ha?
MALVOLIOGood fool, as ever thou wilt deserve well at my hand, help me to a
candle, and pen, ink, and paper. As I am a gentleman, I will live to be
thankful to thee for’t.
CLOWNMaster Malvolio?
MALVOLIOAy, good fool.
CLOWNAlas, sir, how fell you besides your five wits?
MALVOLIOFool, there was never man so notoriously abused. I am as well in my
wits, fool, as thou art.
CLOWNBut as well? Then you are mad indeed, if you be no better in your wits
than a fool.
MALVOLIOThey have here propertied me; keep me in darkness, send ministers to
me, asses, and do all they can to face me out of my wits.
CLOWNAdvise you what you say: the minister is here. [_As Sir Topas_]
Malvolio, Malvolio, thy wits the heavens restore. Endeavour thyself to
sleep, and leave thy vain bibble-babble.
MALVOLIOSir Topas!
CLOWN[_As Sir Topas_] Maintain no words with him, good fellow. [_As
himself_] Who, I, sir? not I, sir. God buy you, good Sir Topas. [_As
Sir Topas_] Marry, amen. [_As himself_] I will sir, I will.
MALVOLIOFool, fool, fool, I say!
CLOWNAlas, sir, be patient. What say you, sir? I am shent for speaking to
you.
MALVOLIOGood fool, help me to some light and some paper. I tell thee I am as
well in my wits as any man in Illyria.
CLOWNWell-a-day that you were, sir!
MALVOLIOBy this hand, I am. Good fool, some ink, paper, and light, and convey
what I will set down to my lady. It shall advantage thee more than ever
the bearing of letter did.
CLOWNI will help you to’t. But tell me true, are you not mad indeed? or do
you but counterfeit?
MALVOLIOBelieve me, I am not. I tell thee true.
CLOWNNay, I’ll ne’er believe a madman till I see his brains. I will fetch
you light, and paper, and ink.
MALVOLIOFool, I’ll requite it in the highest degree: I prithee be gone.
CLOWN_I am gone, sir, and anon, sir,
I’ll be with you again,
In a trice, like to the old Vice,
Your need to sustain;
Who with dagger of lath, in his rage and his wrath,
Cries ‘ah, ha!’ to the devil:
Like a mad lad, ‘Pare thy nails, dad.
Adieu, goodman devil.’_
Exit.
Scene III
Enter Sebastian.
SEBASTIANThis is the air; that is the glorious sun,
This pearl she gave me, I do feel’t and see’t,
And though ’tis wonder that enwraps me thus,
Yet ’tis not madness. Where’s Antonio, then?
I could not find him at the Elephant,
Yet there he was, and there I found this credit,
That he did range the town to seek me out.
His counsel now might do me golden service.
For though my soul disputes well with my sense
That this may be some error, but no madness,
Yet doth this accident and flood of fortune
So far exceed all instance, all discourse,
That I am ready to distrust mine eyes
And wrangle with my reason that persuades me
To any other trust but that I am mad,
Or else the lady’s mad; yet if ’twere so,
She could not sway her house, command her followers,
Take and give back affairs and their dispatch,
With such a smooth, discreet, and stable bearing
As I perceive she does. There’s something in’t
That is deceivable. But here the lady comes.
Enter Olivia and a Priest.
OLIVIABlame not this haste of mine. If you mean well,
Now go with me and with this holy man
Into the chantry by: there, before him
And underneath that consecrated roof,
Plight me the full assurance of your faith,
That my most jealous and too doubtful soul
May live at peace. He shall conceal it
Whiles you are willing it shall come to note,
What time we will our celebration keep
According to my birth. What do you say?
SEBASTIANI’ll follow this good man, and go with you,
And having sworn truth, ever will be true.
OLIVIAThen lead the way, good father, and heavens so shine,
That they may fairly note this act of mine!
Exeunt.
Act V
Scene I
Enter Clown and Fabian.
FABIANNow, as thou lov’st me, let me see his letter.
CLOWNGood Master Fabian, grant me another request.
FABIANAnything.
CLOWNDo not desire to see this letter.
FABIANThis is to give a dog, and in recompense desire my dog again.
Enter Duke, Viola, Curio and Lords.
DUKEBelong you to the Lady Olivia, friends?
CLOWNAy, sir, we are some of her trappings.
DUKEI know thee well. How dost thou, my good fellow?
CLOWNTruly, sir, the better for my foes, and the worse for my friends.
DUKEJust the contrary; the better for thy friends.
CLOWNNo, sir, the worse.
DUKEHow can that be?
CLOWNMarry, sir, they praise me, and make an ass of me. Now my foes tell me
plainly I am an ass: so that by my foes, sir, I profit in the knowledge
of myself, and by my friends I am abused. So that, conclusions to be as
kisses, if your four negatives make your two affirmatives, why then,
the worse for my friends, and the better for my foes.
DUKEWhy, this is excellent.
CLOWNBy my troth, sir, no; though it please you to be one of my friends.
DUKEThou shalt not be the worse for me; there’s gold.
CLOWNBut that it would be double-dealing, sir, I would you could make it
another.
DUKEO, you give me ill counsel.
CLOWNPut your grace in your pocket, sir, for this once, and let your flesh
and blood obey it.
DUKEWell, I will be so much a sinner to be a double-dealer: there’s
another.
CLOWN_Primo, secundo, tertio_, is a good play, and the old saying is, the
third pays for all; the triplex, sir, is a good tripping measure; or
the bells of Saint Bennet, sir, may put you in mind—one, two, three.
DUKEYou can fool no more money out of me at this throw. If you will let
your lady know I am here to speak with her, and bring her along with
you, it may awake my bounty further.
CLOWNMarry, sir, lullaby to your bounty till I come again. I go, sir, but I
would not have you to think that my desire of having is the sin of
covetousness: but as you say, sir, let your bounty take a nap, I will
awake it anon.
Exit Clown.
Enter Antonio and Officers.
VIOLAHere comes the man, sir, that did rescue me.
DUKEThat face of his I do remember well.
Yet when I saw it last it was besmear’d
As black as Vulcan, in the smoke of war.
A baubling vessel was he captain of,
For shallow draught and bulk unprizable,
With which such scathful grapple did he make
With the most noble bottom of our fleet,
That very envy and the tongue of loss
Cried fame and honour on him. What’s the matter?
FIRST OFFICEROrsino, this is that Antonio
That took the _Phoenix_ and her fraught from Candy,
And this is he that did the _Tiger_ board
When your young nephew Titus lost his leg.
Here in the streets, desperate of shame and state,
In private brabble did we apprehend him.
VIOLAHe did me kindness, sir; drew on my side,
But in conclusion, put strange speech upon me.
I know not what ’twas, but distraction.
DUKENotable pirate, thou salt-water thief,
What foolish boldness brought thee to their mercies,
Whom thou, in terms so bloody and so dear,
Hast made thine enemies?
ANTONIOOrsino, noble sir,
Be pleased that I shake off these names you give me:
Antonio never yet was thief or pirate,
Though, I confess, on base and ground enough,
Orsino’s enemy. A witchcraft drew me hither:
That most ingrateful boy there by your side
From the rude sea’s enraged and foamy mouth
Did I redeem; a wreck past hope he was.
His life I gave him, and did thereto add
My love, without retention or restraint,
All his in dedication. For his sake
Did I expose myself, pure for his love,
Into the danger of this adverse town;
Drew to defend him when he was beset;
Where being apprehended, his false cunning
(Not meaning to partake with me in danger)
Taught him to face me out of his acquaintance,
And grew a twenty years’ removed thing
While one would wink; denied me mine own purse,
Which I had recommended to his use
Not half an hour before.
VIOLAHow can this be?
DUKEWhen came he to this town?
ANTONIOToday, my lord; and for three months before,
No int’rim, not a minute’s vacancy,
Both day and night did we keep company.
Enter Olivia and Attendants.
DUKEHere comes the Countess, now heaven walks on earth.
But for thee, fellow, fellow, thy words are madness.
Three months this youth hath tended upon me;
But more of that anon. Take him aside.
OLIVIAWhat would my lord, but that he may not have,
Wherein Olivia may seem serviceable?
Cesario, you do not keep promise with me.
VIOLAMadam?
DUKEGracious Olivia—
OLIVIAWhat do you say, Cesario? Good my lord—
VIOLAMy lord would speak, my duty hushes me.
OLIVIAIf it be aught to the old tune, my lord,
It is as fat and fulsome to mine ear
As howling after music.
DUKEStill so cruel?
OLIVIAStill so constant, lord.
DUKEWhat, to perverseness? You uncivil lady,
To whose ingrate and unauspicious altars
My soul the faithfull’st off’rings hath breathed out
That e’er devotion tender’d! What shall I do?
OLIVIAEven what it please my lord that shall become him.
DUKEWhy should I not, had I the heart to do it,
Like to the Egyptian thief at point of death,
Kill what I love?—a savage jealousy
That sometime savours nobly. But hear me this:
Since you to non-regardance cast my faith,
And that I partly know the instrument
That screws me from my true place in your favour,
Live you the marble-breasted tyrant still.
But this your minion, whom I know you love,
And whom, by heaven I swear, I tender dearly,
Him will I tear out of that cruel eye
Where he sits crowned in his master’s spite.—
Come, boy, with me; my thoughts are ripe in mischief:
I’ll sacrifice the lamb that I do love,
To spite a raven’s heart within a dove.
VIOLAAnd I, most jocund, apt, and willingly,
To do you rest, a thousand deaths would die.
OLIVIAWhere goes Cesario?
VIOLAAfter him I love
More than I love these eyes, more than my life,
More, by all mores, than e’er I shall love wife.
If I do feign, you witnesses above
Punish my life for tainting of my love.
OLIVIAAh me, detested! how am I beguil’d!
VIOLAWho does beguile you? Who does do you wrong?
OLIVIAHast thou forgot thyself? Is it so long?
Call forth the holy father.
Exit an Attendant.
DUKE[_To Viola._] Come, away!
OLIVIAWhither, my lord? Cesario, husband, stay.
DUKEHusband?
OLIVIAAy, husband. Can he that deny?
DUKEHer husband, sirrah?
VIOLANo, my lord, not I.
OLIVIAAlas, it is the baseness of thy fear
That makes thee strangle thy propriety.
Fear not, Cesario, take thy fortunes up.
Be that thou know’st thou art, and then thou art
As great as that thou fear’st.
Enter Priest.
PRIESTA contract of eternal bond of love,
Confirmed by mutual joinder of your hands,
Attested by the holy close of lips,
Strengthen’d by interchangement of your rings,
And all the ceremony of this compact
Sealed in my function, by my testimony;
Since when, my watch hath told me, toward my grave,
I have travelled but two hours.
DUKEO thou dissembling cub! What wilt thou be
When time hath sowed a grizzle on thy case?
Or will not else thy craft so quickly grow
That thine own trip shall be thine overthrow?
Farewell, and take her; but direct thy feet
Where thou and I henceforth may never meet.
VIOLAMy lord, I do protest—
OLIVIAO, do not swear.
Hold little faith, though thou has too much fear.
Enter Sir Andrew.
SIR ANDREWFor the love of God, a surgeon! Send one presently to Sir Toby.
OLIVIAWhat’s the matter?
SIR ANDREW’Has broke my head across, and has given Sir Toby a bloody coxcomb too.
For the love of God, your help! I had rather than forty pound I were at
home.
OLIVIAWho has done this, Sir Andrew?
SIR ANDREWThe Count’s gentleman, one Cesario. We took him for a coward, but he’s
the very devil incardinate.
DUKEMy gentleman, Cesario?
SIR ANDREW’Od’s lifelings, here he is!—You broke my head for nothing; and that
that I did, I was set on to do’t by Sir Toby.
VIOLAWhy do you speak to me? I never hurt you:
You drew your sword upon me without cause,
But I bespake you fair and hurt you not.
Enter Sir Toby, drunk, led by the Clown.
SIR ANDREWIf a bloody coxcomb be a hurt, you have hurt me. I think you set
nothing by a bloody coxcomb. Here comes Sir Toby halting, you shall
hear more: but if he had not been in drink, he would have tickled you
othergates than he did.
DUKEHow now, gentleman? How is’t with you?
SIR TOBYThat’s all one; ’has hurt me, and there’s th’ end on’t. Sot, didst see
Dick Surgeon, sot?
CLOWNO, he’s drunk, Sir Toby, an hour agone; his eyes were set at eight i’
th’ morning.
SIR TOBYThen he’s a rogue, and a passy measures pavin. I hate a drunken rogue.
OLIVIAAway with him. Who hath made this havoc with them?
SIR ANDREWI’ll help you, Sir Toby, because we’ll be dressed together.
SIR TOBYWill you help? An ass-head, and a coxcomb, and a knave, a thin-faced
knave, a gull?
OLIVIAGet him to bed, and let his hurt be looked to.
Exeunt Clown, Fabian, Sir Toby and Sir Andrew.
Enter Sebastian.
SEBASTIANI am sorry, madam, I have hurt your kinsman;
But had it been the brother of my blood,
I must have done no less with wit and safety.
You throw a strange regard upon me, and by that
I do perceive it hath offended you.
Pardon me, sweet one, even for the vows
We made each other but so late ago.
DUKEOne face, one voice, one habit, and two persons!
A natural perspective, that is, and is not!
SEBASTIANAntonio, O my dear Antonio!
How have the hours rack’d and tortur’d me
Since I have lost thee.
ANTONIOSebastian are you?
SEBASTIANFear’st thou that, Antonio?
ANTONIOHow have you made division of yourself?
An apple cleft in two is not more twin
Than these two creatures. Which is Sebastian?
OLIVIAMost wonderful!
SEBASTIANDo I stand there? I never had a brother:
Nor can there be that deity in my nature
Of here and everywhere. I had a sister,
Whom the blind waves and surges have devoured.
Of charity, what kin are you to me?
What countryman? What name? What parentage?
VIOLAOf Messaline: Sebastian was my father;
Such a Sebastian was my brother too:
So went he suited to his watery tomb.
If spirits can assume both form and suit,
You come to fright us.
SEBASTIANA spirit I am indeed,
But am in that dimension grossly clad,
Which from the womb I did participate.
Were you a woman, as the rest goes even,
I should my tears let fall upon your cheek,
And say, ‘Thrice welcome, drowned Viola.’
VIOLAMy father had a mole upon his brow.
SEBASTIANAnd so had mine.
VIOLAAnd died that day when Viola from her birth
Had numbered thirteen years.
SEBASTIANO, that record is lively in my soul!
He finished indeed his mortal act
That day that made my sister thirteen years.
VIOLAIf nothing lets to make us happy both
But this my masculine usurp’d attire,
Do not embrace me till each circumstance
Of place, time, fortune, do cohere and jump
That I am Viola; which to confirm,
I’ll bring you to a captain in this town,
Where lie my maiden weeds; by whose gentle help
I was preserv’d to serve this noble count.
All the occurrence of my fortune since
Hath been between this lady and this lord.
SEBASTIAN[_To Olivia._] So comes it, lady, you have been mistook.
But nature to her bias drew in that.
You would have been contracted to a maid;
Nor are you therein, by my life, deceived:
You are betroth’d both to a maid and man.
DUKEBe not amazed; right noble is his blood.
If this be so, as yet the glass seems true,
I shall have share in this most happy wreck.
[_To Viola._] Boy, thou hast said to me a thousand times
Thou never shouldst love woman like to me.
VIOLAAnd all those sayings will I over-swear,
And all those swearings keep as true in soul
As doth that orbed continent the fire
That severs day from night.
DUKEGive me thy hand,
And let me see thee in thy woman’s weeds.
VIOLAThe captain that did bring me first on shore
Hath my maid’s garments. He, upon some action,
Is now in durance, at Malvolio’s suit,
A gentleman and follower of my lady’s.
OLIVIAHe shall enlarge him. Fetch Malvolio hither.
And yet, alas, now I remember me,
They say, poor gentleman, he’s much distract.
Enter Clown, with a letter and Fabian.
CLOWNTruly, madam, he holds Belzebub at the stave’s end as well as a man in
his case may do. Has here writ a letter to you. I should have given it
you today morning, but as a madman’s epistles are no gospels, so it
skills not much when they are delivered.
OLIVIAOpen ’t, and read it.
CLOWNLook then to be well edified, when the fool delivers the madman. _By
the Lord, madam,—_
OLIVIAHow now, art thou mad?
CLOWNNo, madam, I do but read madness: an your ladyship will have it as it
ought to be, you must allow _vox_.
OLIVIAPrithee, read i’ thy right wits.
CLOWNSo I do, madonna. But to read his right wits is to read thus; therefore
perpend, my princess, and give ear.
OLIVIA[_To Fabian._] Read it you, sirrah.
FABIAN[_Reads._] _By the Lord, madam, you wrong me, and the world shall know
it. Though you have put me into darkness and given your drunken cousin
rule over me, yet have I the benefit of my senses as well as your
ladyship. I have your own letter that induced me to the semblance I put
on; with the which I doubt not but to do myself much right or you much
shame. Think of me as you please. I leave my duty a little unthought
of, and speak out of my injury.
The madly-used Malvolio._
OLIVIADid he write this?
CLOWNAy, madam.
DUKEThis savours not much of distraction.
OLIVIASee him delivered, Fabian, bring him hither.
Exit Fabian.
DUKEMadam, I am most apt t’ embrace your offer.
[_To Viola._] Your master quits you; and for your service done him,
So much against the mettle of your sex,
So far beneath your soft and tender breeding,
And since you call’d me master for so long,
Here is my hand; you shall from this time be
Your master’s mistress.
OLIVIAA sister? You are she.
Enter Fabian and Malvolio.
DUKEIs this the madman?
OLIVIAAy, my lord, this same.
How now, Malvolio?
MALVOLIOMadam, you have done me wrong,
Notorious wrong.
OLIVIAHave I, Malvolio? No.
MALVOLIOLady, you have. Pray you peruse that letter.
You must not now deny it is your hand,
Write from it, if you can, in hand, or phrase,
Or say ’tis not your seal, not your invention:
You can say none of this. Well, grant it then,
And tell me, in the modesty of honour,
Why you have given me such clear lights of favour,
Bade me come smiling and cross-garter’d to you,
To put on yellow stockings, and to frown
Upon Sir Toby, and the lighter people;
And acting this in an obedient hope,
Why have you suffer’d me to be imprison’d,
Kept in a dark house, visited by the priest,
And made the most notorious geck and gull
That e’er invention played on? Tell me why?
OLIVIAAlas, Malvolio, this is not my writing,
Though I confess, much like the character:
But out of question, ’tis Maria’s hand.
And now I do bethink me, it was she
First told me thou wast mad; then cam’st in smiling,
And in such forms which here were presuppos’d
Upon thee in the letter. Prithee, be content.
This practice hath most shrewdly pass’d upon thee.
But when we know the grounds and authors of it,
Thou shalt be both the plaintiff and the judge
Of thine own cause.
FABIANGood madam, hear me speak,
And let no quarrel, nor no brawl to come,
Taint the condition of this present hour,
Which I have wonder’d at. In hope it shall not,
Most freely I confess, myself and Toby
Set this device against Malvolio here,
Upon some stubborn and uncourteous parts
We had conceiv’d against him. Maria writ
The letter, at Sir Toby’s great importance,
In recompense whereof he hath married her.
How with a sportful malice it was follow’d
May rather pluck on laughter than revenge,
If that the injuries be justly weigh’d
That have on both sides passed.
OLIVIAAlas, poor fool, how have they baffled thee!
CLOWNWhy, ‘some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have
greatness thrown upon them.’ I was one, sir, in this interlude, one Sir
Topas, sir, but that’s all one. ‘By the Lord, fool, I am not mad.’ But
do you remember? ‘Madam, why laugh you at such a barren rascal? And you
smile not, he’s gagged’? And thus the whirligig of time brings in his
revenges.
MALVOLIOI’ll be revenged on the whole pack of you.
Exit.
OLIVIAHe hath been most notoriously abus’d.
DUKEPursue him, and entreat him to a peace:
He hath not told us of the captain yet.
When that is known, and golden time convents,
A solemn combination shall be made
Of our dear souls.—Meantime, sweet sister,
We will not part from hence.—Cesario, come:
For so you shall be while you are a man;
But when in other habits you are seen,
Orsino’s mistress, and his fancy’s queen.
Exeunt.
Exit.