Sir And. 'Faith, I can cut a caper.. Mar. A good lenten answer: I can tell thee where that saying was born, of, I fear no colors. Clo. Where, good mistress Mary? Mar. In the wars; and that may you be bold to in your foolery. say and those that are fools, let them use their talents. Clo. Well, God give them wisdom, that have it; absent: or, be turned away; is not that as good as Mar. Yet you will be hanged, for being so long hanging to you? Sir To. Wherefore are these things hid? wherefore have these gifts a curtain before them? are they like to take dust, like mistress Mall's picture? Why dost thou not go to church in a galliard, and come home in a coranto! My very walk should be 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 ex-riage; and, for turning away, let summer bear it out. Clo. Many a good hanging prevents a bad marcellent constitution of thy leg, it was formed under the star of a galliard. Sir And. Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a flame-colored stock. Shall we set about some revels! Sir To. What shall we do else? were we not born under Taurus? Sir And. Taurus! that's sides and heart. Sir To. No, sir: it is legs and thighs. Let me see thee caper: ha! higher: ha, ha!-excellent! [Exeunt. SCENE IV.- A Room in the Duke's Palace. Enter VALENTINE and VIOLA in man's attire. Val. If the duke continue these favors towards you, Cesario, you are like to be much advanced; he hath known you but three days, and already you are no stranger. Vio. You either fear his humor, or my negligence, that you call in question the continuance of his love: Is he inconstant, sir, in his favors? Val. No, believe me. Enter Duke, CURIO, and Attendants. Vio. I thank you. Here comes the count. Vio. On your attendance, my lord; here. Vio. Sure, my noble lord, Vio. Say, I do speak with her, my lord: What then? a Mar. You are resolute then! Clo. Not so neither; but I am resolved on two points. Mar. That, if one break, the other will hold; or, if both break, your gaskins fall. Clo. Apt, in good faith; very apt! Well, go thy way; if sir Toby would leave drinking, thou wert as witty a piece of Eve's flesh as any in Illyria. Mar. Peace, you rogue, no more o' that; here comes my lady: make your excuse wisely, you were best. [Exit. Enter OLIVIA, and MALVOLIO. Clo. Wit, and't be thy will, put me into good fooling! Those wits, that think they have thee, do very oft prove fools; and I, that am sure I lack Quinapalus! Better a witty fool, than a foolish thee, may pass for a wise man: For what says God bless thee, lady! Oli. Take the fool away. wit. Clo. Do you not hear, fellows? Take away the lady. Oli. Go to, you're a dry fool: I'll no more of you: besides, you grow dishonest. Clo. Two faults, madonna, that drink and good counsel will amend: for give the dry fool drink, then is the fool not dry; bid the dishonest man mend himself; if he mend, he is no longer dishonest; if he cannot, let the botcher mend him: any thing, 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. Oli. Sir, I bade them take away you. Clo. Misprision in the highest degree! - Lady, Cucullus non facit monachum; that's as much as to say, I wear not motley in my brain. Good madonna, give me leave to prove you a fool. Oli. Can you do it? Clo. Dexterously, good madonna. Clo. must catechise you for it, madonna; good my mouse of virtue, answer me. Oli. Well, sir, for want of other idleness, I'll 'bide Duke. O, then unfold the passion of my love, I know, thy constellation is right apt For this affair:-Some four, or five, attend him; Vio. SCENE V-A Room in Olivia's House. Enter MARIA and Clown. Mar. Nay, either tell me where thou hast been, or I will not open my lips so wide as a bristle may enter, in way of thy excuse: my lady will hang thee for thy absence. Clo. Let her hang me: he, that is well-hanged in this world, needs to fear no colors. Mar. Make that good. Clo. He shall see none to fear. • Cinque-pace, the name of a dance. & Stocking. Full of impediments. Clo. Good madonna, why mourn'st thou? Clo. The more fool you, madonna, to mourn for your brother's soul being in heaven.-Take away the fool, gentlemen. Oli. What think you of this fool, Malvolio? doth he not mend? Mal. Yes: and shall do, till the pangs of death shake him. Infirmity, that decays the wise, doth ever make the better fool. Clo. God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for the better increasing your folly! Sir Toby will be sworn, that I am no fox; but he will not pass his word for two-pence that you are no fool. Oli. How say you to that, Malvolio? Mal. I marvel your ladyship takes delight in such a barren rascal; I saw him put down the other day with an ordinary fool, that has no more brain than a stone. Look you now, he's out of his guard already; unless you laugh and minister occasion to him, he's gagged. I protest, I take these wise men, that crow so at these set kind of fools, no better than the fools' zanies." Oli. O, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and Short and spare. Fools' baubles. Italian, mistress, dame. 66 TWELFTH NIGHT: 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 icol, though he do nothing but rail; nor no railing in a known discreet man, though he do nothing but reprove. Clo. Now Mercury endue thee with leasing, for thou speakest well of fools. Re-enter MARIA. Mar. Madam, there is at the gate a young gentleman, much desires to speak with you. Oli. From the count Orsino, is it? Mar. I know not, madam; 'tis a fair young man and well attended. Oli. Who of my people hold him in delay? Mar. Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman. Oli. Fetch him off, I pray you; he speaks nothing but madman: Fye on him! [Exit MARIA.] Go you, Malvolio; if it be a suit from the count, I am sick, or not at home; what you will, to dismiss it. [Exit MALVOLIO.] Now you see, sir, how your fooling grows old, and people dislike it. Clo. Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy eldest son should be a fool: whose skull Jove cram with brains, for here comes one of thy kin, has a most weak pia mater.s Enter Sir TOBY BELCH. Oli. By mine honor, half drunk.- What is he at the gate, cousin? Sir To. A gentleman. Oli. A gentleman! What gentleman? Oli. Speak to me, I shall answer for her. Your will? Vio. Most radiant, exquisite, and unmatchable beauty,-I pray you, tell me, if this be the lady of the house, for I never saw her: I would be loth to cast away my speech; for, besides that it is excellently well penn'd, I have taken great pains to con it. Good beauties, let me sustain no scorn: I am very comptible, even to the least sinister usage. Oli. Whence came you, sir? Vio. I can say little more than I have studied, and that question's out of my part. Good gentle one, give me modest assurance, if you be the lady of the house, that I may proceed in my speech. Oli. Are you a comedian? Vio. No, my profound heart: and yet, by the very fangs of malice, I swear, I am not that I play. Are you the lady of the house? Oli. If I do not usurp myself. I am. Vio. Most certain, if you are she, you do usurp yourself; for what is yours to bestow, is not yours to reserve. But this is from my commission: will on with my speech in your praise, and then show you the heart of my message. Oli. Come to what is important in't: I forgive you the praise. Vio. Alas, I took great pains to study it, and 'tis poetical. Oli. It is the more like to be 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 not mad, Sir To Tis a gentleman here - A plague o' these be gone; if you have reason, be brief; 'tis not that pickle-herrings! How now, sot. Clo. Good sir Toby, Oii. Cousin, cousin, how have you come so early by this lethargy? Sir To. Lechery! I defy lechery: there's one at the gate. Oli. Ay, marry; what is he? Sir To. Let him be the devil, an he will, I care not give me faith, say I. Well, its all one. [Exit. Oli. What's a drunken man like, fool? Clo. Like a drown'd man, a fool, and a madman: one draught above heat makes him a fool; the second mads him; and a third drowns him. Oli. Go thou and seek the coroner, and let him sit o' my coz; for he's in the third degree of drink, he's drown'd: go, look after him. Clo. He is but mad yet, madonna; and the fool [Exit CLOWN. shall look to the madman. Re-enter MALVOLIO. Mal. Madam, yond' young fellow swears he will speak with you. I told him you were sick; he takes on him to understand so much, and therefore comes to speak with you: I told him you were asleep: be seems to have a fore-knowledge of that too, and therefore comes to speak with you. What is to be said to him, lady? he's fortified against any denia!. Oli. Tell him, he shall not speak with me. Mal. He has 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. Oli. What kind of a man is he! Mal. Why, of man kind. Oli. What manner of man? Mal. Of very ill manner; he'll speak with you, will you, or no. Ol. Of what personage, and years, is he? Mal. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy; as a squash is before 'tis a peascod, or a codling when 'tis almost an apple; 'tis with him e'en standing water, between boy and man. He is very well favored, and he speaks very shrewishly; one would think, his mother's milk were scarce out of him. Oi. Let him approach: Call in my gentlewoman. Re-enter MARIA. time of moon with me, to make one in so skipping a dialogue. Mar. Will you hoist sail, sir? here lies your way. Vio. No, good swabber; I am to hull here a little longer.- Some mollification for your giant, sweet lady. Oli. Tell me your mind. Vio. I am a messenger. Oli. Sure, you have some hideous matter to deliver, when the courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak your office. Vio. It alone concerns your ear. I bring no overture of war, no taxation of homage; I hold the olive in my hand: my words are as full of peace as matter. Oli. Yet you began rudely. What are you? what would you? Vio. The rudeness, that hath appear'd in me, have I learn'd from my entertainment. What I am, and what I would, are as secret as maidenhead: to Oli. Give us the place alone: we will hear this your ears, divinity; to any other's, profanation. divinity. [Exit MARIA.] Now, sir, what is your text? Vio. Most sweet lady, Oli. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be said of it. Where lies your text? Vio. In Orsino's bosom. Oli. In his bosom? In what chapter of his bosom? Vio. To answer by the method, in the first of his heart. Oli. O, I have read it; it is heresy. Have you no more to say! Vio. Good madam, let me see your face. Oli. Have you any commission from your lord to negotiate with my face? you are now out of your text: but we will draw the curtain, and show you the picture. Look you, sir, such a one as I was [Unveiling. this present: Ist not well done? Vio. Excellently done, if God did all. Vio. 'Tis beauty truly blent,whose red and white Oli. O, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted; I will Oli. Give me my veil: come, throw it o'er my give out divers schedules of my beauty: It shall be face; We'll once more hear Orsino's embassy. Enter VIOLA. Vio. The honourable lady of the house, which is she? Short arrows. ⚫ Lying. The cover of the brain. Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble, Vio. If I did love you in my master's flame, Oli. You might do much: What is your parentage? Vio. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well: I am a gentleman. Oli. Get you to your lord; I cannot love him: let him send no more; Above my fortunes, yet my state is well: Unless the master were the man.- How now! ACT II. SCENE I.- The Sea-coast. Enter ANTONIO and SEBASTIAN. Ant. Will you stay no longer? nor will you not, that I go with you? Seb. By your patience, no: my stars shine darkly over me; the malignancy of my fate might, perhaps, distemper yours; therefore I shall crave of you your leave, that I may bear my evils alone: It were a bad recompense for your love, to lay any of them on you. Ant. Let me yet know of you whither you are bound. Seb. No, 'sooth, sir; my determinate voyage is mere extravagancy. But I perceive in you so excellent a touch of modesty, that you will not extort from me what I am willing to keep in; therefore it charges me in manners the rather to express myself. You must know of me then, Antonio, my name is Sebastian, which I called Rodorigo: My father was that Sebastian of Messaline, whom, I know, you have heard of: he left behind him, myself, and a sister, both born in an hour. If the heavens had been pleas'd, would we had so ended! but you, sir, alterd that: for, some hour before you took me from the breach of the sea, was my sister drowned. Ant. Alas, the day! 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. Ant. The gentleness of all the gods go with thee: I have many enemies in Orsino's court, Else would I very shortly see thee there: But come what may, I do adore thee so, That danger shall seem sport, and I will go. [Exit. SCENE II.- A Street. Enter VIOLA; MALVOLIO following. Mal. Were not you even now with the countess Olivia? Vio. Even now, sir; on a moderate pace I have since arrived but hither. Mal. She returns this ring to you, sir; you might have saved me many 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. Seb. A lady, sir, though it was said she much re- Vio. She took the ring of me; I'll none of it. sembled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful: Mal. Come, sir, you peevishly threw it to her; and but, though I could not, with such estimable won-her will is, it should be so returned if it be worth der, overfar believe that, yet thus far I will boldly stooping for, there it lies in your eye; if not, be it publish her, she bore a mind that envy could not his that finds it. call fair: she is drowned already, sir, with salt water, though I seem to drown her remembrance again with more. Ant. Pardon me, sir, your bad entertainment. Seb, O, good Antonio, forgive me your trouble. Ant. If you will not murder me for my love, let me be your servant. Seb. If you will not undo what you have done, Exit. Vio. I left no ring with her: What means this Fortune forbid, my outside have not charm'd her! I am the man;- If it be so, (as 'tis,) In women's waxen hearts to set their forms! How will this fadge? My master loves her dearly; As I am woman, now alas the day! What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe! Exit. SCENE III.- A Room in Olivia's House. Enter Sir TOBY BELCH, and Sir ANDREW AGUE CHEEK. Sir To. Approach, sir Andrew: not to be a-bed after midnight, is to be up betimes; and diluculo surgere, thou know'st, Sir And. An you love me, let's do't; I am dog at a catch. Clo. By'r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well Sir And. Most certain: let our catch be, Thou knave. Clo. Hold thy peace, thou knave, knight! I shall be constrain'd in't to call thee knave, knight. Sir And. 'Tis not the first time I have constrain'd one to call me knave. Begin, fool; it begins, Hold thy peace. Clo. I shall never begin, if I hold my peace. Sir And. Good, i' faith! Come, begin. [They sing a catch. Enter MARIA. Mar. What a caterwauling do you keep here! If my lady have not called up her steward, Malvolio, and bid him turn you out of doors, never trust me. Sir To. My lady's Cataian, we are politicians: Malvolio's a Peg-a-Ramsey, and Three merry men we be. Am not I consanguineous? am I not of her blood! Tilly-valley, lady! There dwelt a man [Singing. in Babylon, lady, lady! Clo. Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable fooling. Sir And. Nay, by my troth, I know not: but I know, to be up late, is to be up late. Sir And. Ay, he does well enough, if he be disSir To. A false conclusion: I hate it as an un-posed, and so do I too; he does it with a better To be up after midnight, and to go to grace, but I do it more natural. bed then, is early; so that, to go to bed after midnight, is to go to bed betimes. Do not our lives consist of the four elements! filled can: Sir And. Faith, so they say; but, I think, it rather consists of eating and drinking. Sir To. Thou art a scholar; let us therefore eat and drink.-Maria, I say!-a stoop of wine! Enter Clown. Sir And. Here comes the fool. Sir To. O the twelfth day of December,-[Singing. Mar. For the love of God, peace. Mal. My masters, are you mad? or what are you? Have you no wit, manners, nor honesty, but to gabble like tinkers at this time of night! do ye make an ale-house of my lady's house, that ye squeak out your coziers' catches without any mit Clo. How now, my hearts! Did you never see igation or remorse of voice? Is there no respect of the picture of we three? Sir To. Welcome, ass. Now let's have a catch. Sir And. By my troth, the fool has an excellent breast. I had rather than forty shillings I had such a leg; and so sweet a breath to sing, as the fool has. In sooth, thou wast in very gracious fooling last night, when thou spokest of Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians passing, the equinoctial of Queubus; 'twas very good, 'i faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy leman: hadst it! Clo. I did impeticos thy gratillity; for Malvolio's nose is no whipstock: my lady has a white hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses. Sir And. Excellent! Why, this is the best fooling, when all is done. Now, a song. Sir To. Come on; there is a sixpence for you: let's have a song. Sir And. There's a testril of me too; if one knight give a Clo. Would you have a love-song, or a song of good life! Sir To. A love-song, a love-song. Sir And. Ay, ay; I care not for good life. SONG. Clo. O mistress mine, where are you roaming? Every wise man's son doth know. Clo. What is love? 'tis not hereafter; In delay there lies no plenty; Sir And. A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight. Sir And. Very sweet and contagious, i' faith. Sir To. To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion. But shall we make the welkin dance indeed? Shall we rouse the night-owl in a catch, that will draw three souls out of one weaver? Shall we do that? place, persons, nor time, in you? Sir To. We did keep time, sir, in our catches. Sneck up! Mul. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My lady bade me tell you, that, though she harbors you as her kinsman, she's nothing allied to your disorders. If you can separate yourself and your misdemeanors, you are welcome to the house; if not, an it would please you to take leave of her, she is very willing to bid you farewell. Sir To. Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs be gone. Mar. Nay, good sir Toby. Clo. His eyes do show his days are almost done. Sir To. But I will never die. [Singing. Sir To. Shall I bid him go, and spare not ? Sir To. Out o' time! sir, ye lie. Art any more than a steward! Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale! Clo. Yes, by saint Anne; and ginger shall be hot i' the mouth too. Sir To. Thou'rt i' the right.-Go, sir, rub your chain with cruis:-A stoop of wine, Maria! Mal. Mistress Mary, if you prized my lady's favor at any thing more than contempt, you would not give means for this uncivil rule; she shall know of it, by this hand. Mar. Go shake your ears. Sir And. 'Twere as good a deed as to drink when a man's a hungry, to challenge him to the field; and then to break promise with him, and make a fool of him. Sir To. Do't, knight; I'll write thee a challenge; or I'll deliver my indignation to him by word or mouth. 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 nay-word, and make him a common recrea tion, do not think I have wit enough to lie straight in my bed: I know I can do it. Romancer. 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 swarths: the best persuaded of himself, so crammed, as he thinks, with excellencies, 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 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. 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; I'll go burn some sack, 'tis too late to go to bed now: come, knight; come, knight. [Exeunt. 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, 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 that constant image of the creature That is belov'd.- How dost thou like this tune? Vio. It gives a very echo to the seat Where love is thron'd. Hath stay'd upon some favor that it loves; Vio. About your years, my lord. Duke. Too old, by heaven; Let still the woman take Vio. An elder than herself; so wears she to him, Duke. O, fellow, come, the song we had last night: Mark it, Cesario; it is old, and plain: Do use to chaunt it; it is silly sooth, Clo. Are you ready, sir? Clo. Come away, come away, death, And in sad cypress let me be laid; Fly away, fly away, breath; [Music. I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My part of death, no one so true Did share it. Not a flower, not a flower sweet, My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown · Sad true lover ne'er find my grave, Duke. There's for thy pains. Clo. No pains, sir; I take pleasure in singing, sir. Duke. I'll pay thy pleasure, then. 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.-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.- Get thee to yon' same sovereign cruelty: • Decks. |
