Enter MALVOLIO. 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 alehouse 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 To. We did keep time, sir, in our catches. Snick up. 2 Mal. Sir 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, 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. [Singing.* Mar. Nay, good sir Toby. Clo. "His eyes do show his days are almost done." Mal. Is 't even so? Sir To. "But I will never die." Clo. Sir Toby, there you lie. Clo. "What an if you do?" [Singing. Sir To. "Shall I bid him go, and spare not ?" Clo. "O! no, no, no, no, you dare not.” Sir To. Out 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 ?" 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 crumbs.-A stoop of wine, Maria! Mal. Mistress Mary, if you prized my lady's favour 1 Botchers'. 2 The derivation of this is not known; it means, "Go, and be hanged." The ballad from which this is taken is in Percy's Reliques, Vol. I. 4 5 Not in f. e. 6 So the old copies; Theobald reads: time. 7 These dainties were eaten on Saints' days, greatly to the horror of the Puritans, for whose benefit the passage may have been intended. 8 Stewards wore gold chains, which were cleaned with crumbs. at any thing more than contempt, you would not give means for this uncivil rulé: she shall know of it, by this hand. Mar. Go shake your ears. [Exit. Sir And. 'T were 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 thy indignation to him by word of mouth. Mar. Sweet sir Toby, be patient for to-night. Since that 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. [him. Sir To. Possess us, possess us: tell us something of 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 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 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 To. Excellent! I smell a device. Sir To. He shall think, by the letter that thou wilt drop, that it comes from my niece, and that she is in love with him. 1 By-word, a laughing-stock. 2 Affected.] Mar. My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour. Sir And. And your horse, now, would made him an ass. Mar. Ass I doubt not. Sir And. O! 't will 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, 't is 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. [Music.2]-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. 1 Curtail horse. Not in f. e. times: in f. e. Duke. Seek him out, and play the tune the while. [Exit CURIO.-Music again.1 Come hither, boy: if ever thou shalt love, [To VIOLA.2 In the sweet pangs of it remember me; Save in the 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. Duke. Thou dost speak masterly. My life upon 't, young though thou art, thine eye Vio. Duke. What kind of woman is 't? Vio. A little, by your favour. Of your complexion Duke. She is not worth thee, then. What years i' faith? 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 won, Than women's are. Vio. 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 display'd, doth fall that very hour. 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 free* maids, that weave their thread with bones, Do use to chaunt it: it is silly sooth, And dallies with the innocence of love, Like the old age. Clo. Are you ready, sir? 1 Music: in f. e. 2 Not in f. e. Countenance. Chaste, pure, Duke. Ay, pr'ythee, sing. Clo. THE SONG. [Music. Come away, come away, death, My part of death no one so true Оп Not a flower, not a flower sweet, my black coffin let there be strown; Not a friend, not a friend greet My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown: Sad true lover never find my grave, Duke. There's for thy pains. [Giving him money.1 Clo. Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid, one time or another. Duke. I give thee now leave to leave me.2 Clo. Now, the melancholy god protect thee, and the tailor make thy doublet of changeable taffata, 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 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. Get thee to yond' same sovereign cruelty: The parts that fortune hath bestow'd upon her, 1 Not in f. e. 2 Give me now leave to leave thee in f. e. |