SCENE I. ACT I. · An Apartment in the Duke's palace. Enter Duke, CURIO, Lords; Musicians attending. Duke. If musick 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 south, That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing, and giving odour. — Enough; no more; 'Tis not so sweet now, as it was before. Enter VALENTINE. Val. So please my lord, I might not be admitted, But from her handmaid do return this answer : The element itself, till seven years' heat, Shall not behold her face at ample view; But, like a cloistress, she will veiled walk, And water once a day her chamber round With eye offending brine: all this, to season A brother's dead love, which she would keep fresh, And lasting, in her sad remembrance. Duke. O, she, that hath a heart of that fine frame, SCENE II. The Sea Coast. Illyria, lady Vio. And what should I do in Illyria? ACT I. SCENE II. TWELFTH NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL. My brother he is in Elysium. sailors? Cap. It is perchance, that you yourself were saved. Vio. O my poor brother! and so, perchance, may he be. Cap. True, madam: and to comfort you with Assure yourself, after our ship did split, (Courage and hope both teaching him the practice) I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves, Vio. SCENE III. A Room in Olivia's House. Enter Sir TOBY BELCH, and MARIA, 65 Sir To. What a plague means my niece, to take the death of her brother thus? I am sure, care's an enemy to life. Mar. By troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o'nights; your cousin, my lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours. Sir To. Why, let her except before excepted. Mar. Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modest limits of order. Sir To. Confine! I'll confine myself no finer than I am these clothes are good enough to drink in, and so be these boots too; an they be not, let them hang themselves in their own straps. Mar. That quaffing and drinking will undo you : For saying so, there's gold: I heard my lady talk of it yesterday; and of a foolish knight, that you brought in one night here, to be her wooer. Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope, As in his name. A noble duke, in nature, Cap. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count Vio. Cap. Vio. There is a fair behaviour in thee, captain; I will believe, thou hast a mind that suits Cap. Be you his page, and I your mute will be: [Exeunt. Sir To. Who? Sir Andrew Ague-cheek? Sir To. He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria. Sir To. Why, he has three thousand ducats a year. Mar. Ay, but he'll have but a year in all these ducats; he's a very fool, and a prodigal, viol-de gambo, and speaks three or four languages Sir To. Fye, that you'll say so! he plays o' the word for word without book, and hath all the good gifts of nature. Mar. He hath, indeed, - almost natural: for, besides that he's a fool, he's a great quarreller; and but that he hath the gift of a coward to allay the gust he hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought among the prudent, he would quickly have the gift of a grave. Sir To. By this hand, they are scoundrels, and substractors, that say so of him. Who are they? Mar. They that add moreover, he's drunk nightly in your company. Sir To. With drinking healths to my niece; I'll drink to her, as long as there is a passage in my throat, and drink in Illyria: He's a coward, and a coystril, that will not drink to my niece, till his brains turn o' the toe like a parish-top. comes Sir Andrew Ague-face. Enter Sir ANDREW AGUE-cheek. Here Sir And. Sir Toby Belch! how now, Sir Toby Belch? Sir To. Sweet Sir Andrew ! Sir And. Bless you, fair shrew. Mar. And you too, sir. Sir To. Accost, sir Andrew, accost. Sir And. What's that? Sir To. My niece's chamber-maid. Sir And. Good mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance. Mar. My name is Mary, sir. Sir And. Good mistress Mary Accost, Sir To. You mistake, knight: accost, is, front her, board her, woo her, assail her. Sir And. Is that the meaning of accost? Sir To. An thou let part so, sir Andrew, 'would thou might'st never draw sword again. Sir And. And you part so, mistress, I would I 1 Keystril, a bastard hawk. F might never draw sword again. Fair lady, do you he hath known you but three days, and already you think you have fools in hand? Mar. Sir, I have not you by the hand. Sir And. Marry, but you shall have; and here's my hand. Mar. Now, sir, thought is free: I pray you, bring your hand to the buttery-bar, and let it drink. Sir And. Wherefore, sweet heart? what's your metaphor? Mar. Its dry, sir. Sir And. Why, I think so; I am ass, but I can keep my hand dry. your jest? Mar. A dry jest, sir. Sir And. Are you full of them? not such an But what's Mar. Ay, sir; I have them at my fingers' ends. [Exit MARIA. Sir To. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of canary: When did I see thee so put down? Sir And. Never in your life, I think; unless you see canary put me down: Methinks, sometimes I have no more wit than an ordinary man has: but I am a great eater of beef, and, I believe, that does harm to my wit. Sir To. No question. Sir And. An I thought that, I'd forswear it. I'll ride home to-morrow, sir Toby. Sir To. Pourquoy, my dear knight? I Sir And. What is pourquoy? do or not do? 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 To. Then hadst thou had an excellent head of hair. Sir And. Why, would that have mended my hair? Sir To. Past question; for thou seest, it will not curl by nature. Sir And. But it becomes me well enough, does't not? Sir To. Excellent; it hangs like flax on a distaff. Sir And. I'll home to-morrow, sir Toby: your niece will not be seen; or, if she be, it's four to one she'll none of me: the count himself, here hard by, wooes her. Sir To. She'll none o' the count; she'll not match above her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit; I have heard her swear it. Tut, there's life in't, man. Sir And. I'll stay a month longer. I am a fellow o' the strangest mind i' the world; I delight in masques and revels sometimes altogether. Sir To. Art thou good at these kick-shaws, knight? Sir And. As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be, under the degree of my betters; and yet I will not compare with an old man. Sir To. What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight? Sir And. I can cut a caper. Sir To. And I can cut the mutton to't. Sir And. Shall we set about some revels? Sir To. What shall we do else? Let me see thee caper: ha! higher: ha, ha! -excellent! [Exeunt. are no stranger. Vio. You either fear his humour, or my negli- Enter Duke, CURIO, and Attendants. Vio. On your attendance, my lord; here. Vio. Sure, my noble lord, If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow As it is spoke, she never will admit me. Duke. Be clamorous, and leap all civil bounds, Rather than make unprofited return. Vio. Say, I do speak with her, my lord: What then? Duke. O, then unfold the passion of my love, Dear lad, believe it; Vio. I'll do my best, To woo your lady: yet, [Aside.] a barful strife! Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife. [Exeunt. 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 colours. Mar. Make that good. Clo. He shall see none to fear. Mar. A good lenten 3 answer: I can tell thee where that saying was born, of, I fear no colours. Clo. Where, good mistress Mary? Mar. In the wars; and that may you be bold to say in your foolery. Clo. Well, Heaven give them wisdom, that have it; and those that are fools, let them use their talents. Mar. Yet you will be hanged, for being so long absent: or, to be turned away; is not that as good as a hanging to you? Clo. Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage; and, for turning away, let summer bear it out. 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. 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 [Erit. best. 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 4, 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. 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. 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. Heaven 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 is 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 taste with a distempered appetite. To be generous, guiltless, and of free disposition, is to take those things for bird-bolts 6, 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. Clo. Now Mercury endue thee with leasing 7, for thou speakest well of fools. 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.8 Enter Sir TOBY BELCH. Oli. By mine honour, half drunk. at the gate, cousin? Sir To. A gentleman. What is he Oli. A gentleman! What gentleman? Sir To. 'Tis a gentleman here- A plague o' these pickle-herrings! How now, sot? Clo. Good sir Toby, Sir To. There's one at the gate. Sir To. Let him be the devil, an he will, I care not give me faith, say I. Well, it's all one. [Erit. Oli. What's a drunken man like, fool? Clo. Like a drown'd man, a fool, and a madman: cond mads him: and a third drowns him. one draught above heat makes him a fool; the se 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 shall look to the madman. [Exit CLOWN. Re-enter MALVOLIO. Mal. Madam, yond' young fellow swears he will speak with you. I told him you were sick; he takes on him to understand so much, and therefore comes to speak with you: I told him you were asleep; he seems to have a fore-knowledge of that too, and therefore comes to speak with you. What is to be said to him, lady? he's fortified against any denial. Oli. Tell him, he shall not speak with me. Mal. He has been told so; and he says, he'll 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 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. 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 9, 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: I 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, be gone; if you have reason, be brief: 'tis not that 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. 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 this present?: Is't not well done? [Unveiling. Vio. Excellently done, if nature did all. Oli. 'Tis in grain, sir; 'twill endure wind and weather. Vio. '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. Oli. O, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted; I will give out divers schedules of my beauty: It shall be inventoried; and every particle, and utensil, 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? Vio. I see you what you are: you are too proud; But, if you were the devil, you are fair. My lord and master loves you; O, such love Could be but recompens'd, though you were crown'd The nonpareil of beauty! Oli. How does he love me? Vio. With adorations, with fertile tears, Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble, Vio. If I did love you in my master's flame, Oli. Vio. The rudeness, that hath appear'd in me, Oli. You might do much: What is your parentage? have I learn'd from my entertainment. What I Vio. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well: am, and what I would, are to your ears, divinity; I am a gentleman, to any other's profanation. Oli. Give us the place alone: we will hear this 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. Get you to your lord; Oli. In his bosom? In what chapter of his bosom? And let your fervour, like my master's, be Plac'd in contempt! Farewell, fair cruelty. [Exit. 3 Well spoken of by the world. 2 Presents. 4 Cantos, verses. |