Page images

Mar. Sweet Sir Toby, be patient for to-night; since the youth of the count's was to-day with my lady, she is much out of quiet. For monsieur Malvolio, let me alone with him: if I do not gull him into a 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 To. Possess us, possess us; tell us something of him.

Mar. Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Puritan.

Sir And. O, if I thought that, I'd beat him like a dog.

Sir To. What, for being a Puritan ? thy exquisite reason, dear knight?

, Sir And. I have no exquisite reason for't, but I have reason good enough.

Mar. The devil a Puritan that he is, or any thing constantly but a time pleaser; an affectioned? ass, that cons state without book, and utters it by great swaths: the best persuaded of himself, so crammed, as he thinks, with excellences, that it is his ground 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 To. What wilt thou do?

Mar. I will drop in his way some obscure epistles of love ; wherein, by the color of his beard, the shape of his leg, the manner of his gait, the expressure of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he shall find himself most feelingly personated : I can write very like my lady, your niece; on a forgotten matter we can hardly make distinction of our hands.

Sir To. Excellent! I smell a device.
Sir And. I have't in my nose too.

Sir To. He shall think, by the letters that thou wilt drop, that they come from my niece, and that she is in love with him.

Mar. My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that color.


1 By-word.

2 Affected.

Sir And. And your horse now would make him an ass.

Mar. Ass, I doubt not.
Sir And. O, 'twill be admirable.

Mar. Sport royal, I warrant you: I know, my physic will work with him. I will plant you two, and let the fool make a third, where he shall find the letter; observe his construction of it. For this night, to bed, and dream on the event. Farewell.

[Exit. Sir To. Good night, Penthesilea. Sir And. Before me, she's a good wench.

Sir To. She's a beagle, true bred, and one that adores me : What o' that?

Sir And. I was adored once, too.

Sir To. Let's to bed, knight.—Thou hadst need send for more money.

Sir And. If I cannot recover your niece, I am a foul way out.

Sir To. Send for money, knight; if thou hast her not i’ the end, call me Cut.

Sir And. If I do not, never trust me, take it how

you will.

Sir To. Come, come;


go burn some sack; 'tis too late to go to bed now : come, knight; _come, knight.


SCENE IV. A Room in the Duke's Palace.


Enter DUKE, VIOLA, Curio, and others.
Duke. Give me some music:-Now, good morrow,

friends :-
Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song,
That old and antique song we heard last night;
Methought, it did relieve my passion much,
More than light airs and recollected terms,
Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times:
Come, but one verse.

li e.. Call me a gelding: this was a common expression of reproach:

Cur. He is not here, so please your lordship, that should sing it.

Duke. Who was it ?

Cur. Feste, the jester, my lord; a fool, that the lady Olivia's father took much delight in: he is about the house. Duke. Seek him out, and play the tune the while.

[Exit Curio.-Music.
Come hither, boy : If ever thou shalt love,
In the sweet pangs of it, remember me;
For, such as I am, all true lovers are ;
Unstaid and skittish in all motions else,
Save in the constant image of the creature
That is beloved.—How dost thou like this tune?

Vio. It gives a very echo to the seat
Where Love is throned.

Thou dost speak masterly:
My life upon't, young though thou art, thine eye
Hath stayed upon some favor that it loves;
Hath it not, boy?

A little, by your favor.
Duke. What kind of woman is't?

Of your complexion. Duke. She is not worth thee, then. What years,

Vio. About your years, my lord. .

Duke. Too old, by heaven: Let still the woman take
An elder than herself; so wears she to him,
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.

I think it well, my lord. Duke. Then let thy love be younger than thyself, Or thy affection cannot hold the bent: For women are as roses; whose fair flower, Being once displayed, doth fall that very hour.

1 i. e. consumed, worn out.

Vio. And so they are: alas, that they are so; To die, even when they to perfection grow!

Re-enter CURIO and Clown.


Duke. O fellow, come, the song we had last night:
Mark it, Cesario ; it is old, and plain :
The spinsters and the knitters in the sun,
And the freel maids that weave their thread with

Do use to chant it; it is silly sooth,”
And dallies with the innocence of love,
Like the old age.

Clo. Are you ready, sir?
Duke. Ay; pr’ythee, sing.




Clo. 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 yeu,

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 lei 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, 0, where
Sad true-love never find my grave,

To weep


Duke. There's for thy pains.
Clo. No pains, sir; I take pleasure in singing, sir.
Duke. I'll pay thy pleasure, then.

I Merry, gay:

2 Silly sooth is simple truth. 3 The old age is the ages past, times of simplicity.

Clo. Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid one time or another.

Duke. Give me now leave to leave thee.?

Clo. Now, the melancholy god protect thee; and the tailor make thy doublet of changeable taffeta, for thy mind is a very opal.2—I would have men of such constancy put to sea, that their business might be every thing, and their intent every where ; for that's it, that always makes a good voyage of nothing.–Farewell.

[Exit Clown. Duke. Let all the rest give place.

[Exeunt Curio and Attendants.

Once more, Cesario, Get thee to yon’ same sovereign cruelty : Tell her, my love, more noble than the world, Prizes not quantity of dirty lands; The parts that fortune hath bestowed upon her, Tell her, I hold as giddily as fortune; But 'tis that miracle, and



gems, That nature pranks her in, attracts my soul.

Vio. But, if she cannot love you, sir ?
Duke. I cannot be so answered.

Sooth, 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 answered ?

Duke. There 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

1 This is probably an error of the press, and should read, “ I give thee now leave to leave me."

? The opal is a gem which varies its hues, as it is viewed in different lights.

« PreviousContinue »