TWELFTH NIGHT

ACT THE FIRST.

SCENE I.

The Street.

Enter VIOLA, and a CAPTAIN.

Viola. What country, friend, is this?
Capt. This is Illyria, lady.

Viola. And what should I do in Illyria?
My brother, he is in Elysium-

Perchance he is not drown'd.

Capt. It is perchance, that you yourself were sav'd. Viola. O my poor brother! and so, perchance, may he be.

Capt. True, madam: and, to comfort you with chance,

Assure yourself, after our ship did split,

When you, and that poor number sav'd with you,
Hung on our driving boat: I saw your brother,
Most provident in peril, bind himself

To a strong mast, that liv'd upon the sea;

Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back,

I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves,
So long as I could see.

Viola. Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope,
Whereto thy speech serves for authority,

The like of him. Know'st thou this country?
Capt. Ay, madam, well: for I was bred and born,
Not three hours travel from this very place.

Viola. Who governs here?

Capt. A noble duke in nature, as in name.
Viola. What is his name?

Capt. Orsino.

Viola. Orsino! I have heard my father name him : He was a bachelor then.

Capt. And so is now, or was so very late:
For but a month ago I went from hence,
And then 'twas fresh in murmur,

That he did seek the love of fair Olivia.
Viola. What's she?

Capt. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count, That died some twelve months 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 sight

And company

of men.

Viola. Oh, that I serv'd that lady,

And might not be deliver'd to the world,
Till I had made my own occasion mellow

What my estate is!

Capt. That were hard to compass; Because she will admit no kind of suitNo, not the Duke's.

Viola. There is a fair behaviour in thee, Captain;
And though that nature with a beauteous wall,
Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee,

I will believe, thou hast a mind that suits
With this thy fair and outward character,

I 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 a page unto 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.

Capt. Be thou his page, and your mute I will be: When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see. Viola. I thank thee; lead me on.

[Exeunt,

SCENE II.

The DUKE's Palace.

Enter the DUKE, CURIO, and LORDS.

Soft Music.

Duke. If music be the food of love, play on; Give me excess of it; that, surfeiting,

The appetite may sicken, and so die.

[Music.

That strain again; it had a dying fall:

Oh, it came o'er my ear, like the sweet south,

That breathes upon a bank of violets,

'Tis not so sweet now, as it was before.

Stealing, and giving odour.

Enough-no more;

O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou!

That, notwithstanding thy capacity

Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there,

[Music.

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.

Curio. Will you go hunt, my lord?

Duke. What, Curio?

Curio. The hart.

Duke. Why, so I do, the noblest that I have:
Oh, when my 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.

Val. So please my lord, I might not be admitted, But from her hand-maid do return this answer; The element itself, till seven years hence, 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. Oh, 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 supply'd, and fill'd, (Her sweet perfections) with one self-same king! Away before me, to sweet beds of flowers; Love-thoughts lie rich, when canopy'd with bowers. [Exeunt,

SCENE III.

OLIVIA'S House.

Enter SIR TOBY BELCH, and MARIA.

Sir T. What a plague means my niece, to take the death of her brother thus? I am sure, care's an enemy to life.

Maria. By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier a-nights! your cousin, my lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours.

Sir T. Why, let her except, before excepted.

Maria. Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modest limits of order.

Sir T. Confine? 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.

Maria. That quaffing and drinking will undo you: I heard my lady talk of it yesterday, and of a foolish knight, that you brought here to be her wooer. Sir T. Who? Sir Andrew Ague-cheek?

Maria. Ay, he.

Sir T. He's as tall a man as any in Illyria.
Maria. What's that to the purpose!

Sir T. Why, he has three thousand ducats a-year. Maria. Ay, but he'll have but a year in all these ducats he's a very fool, and a prodigal.

:

Sir T. Fie, that you'll say so! he plays o' the violde-gambo, and speaks three or four languages, word for word, without book, and hath all the good gifts of

nature.

Maria. He hath, indeed—almost natural: for, be