With this thy fair and outward character. Cap. Be you his eunuch, and your mute I'll be: SCENE III-A Room in 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. Mar. By my 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: I heard my lady talk of it yesterday; and of a foolish knight, that you brought in one night here to be her wooer. 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. Sir To. Fye, that you'll say so! he plays o'the viol-de-gambo, and speaks three or four languages 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 theI 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. What, wench? Castillano vulgo; for here comes sir Andrew Ague-face. Enter Sir ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK. Sir And. Bless you, fair shrew. Sir To. Accost, sir Andrew, accost. Sir To. My niece's chamber-maid. [quaintance. Sir And. Good mistress Mary AccostSir To. You mistake, knight; accost, is, front her, board her, woo her, assail her. Sir And. By my troth, I would not undertake her in this company. Is that the meaning of accost? Mar. Fare you well, gentlemen. Sir To. An thou let part so, sir Andrew, 'would thou might'st never draw sword again. Sir And. An you part so, mistress, I would I might never draw sword again. Fair lady, do 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 Mar. It's dry, sir. [metaphor? Sir And. Why, I think so; I am not such an ass, but I can keep my hand dry. But what's your jest? Mar. A dry jest, sir. Sir And. Are you full of them? Mar. Ay, sir; I have them at my fingers' ends: marry, now I let go your hand, I am barren. [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 yo see canary put me down: methinks, sometimes 1 have no more wit than a Christian, or an ordinary lieve, that does harm to my wit. man has but I am a great eater of beef, and, I be : Sir To. No question. ride home to-morrow, sir Toby. Sir And. An I thought that, I'd forswear it. I Sir To. Pourquoy, my dear knight! of ba Sir To. Then hadst thou had an excellent bead Sir And.Why, would that have mended my bar Sir To. Past question; for thou seest, it will curl by nature. Sir And. But it becomes me well enough, does Sir To. Excellent! it hangs like flax on a dista and I hope to see a housewife take thee between be legs, and spin it off. Sir And. 'Faith, I'll home to-morrow, sir Toby your niece will not be seen; or, if she be, it's f to one she'll none of me: the count himself, hard by, wooes her. above her degree, neither in estate, years, nor w be, Sir To. What is thy excellence in a galliard, knig Sir To. And I can cut the mutton to't. Sir To. Wherefore are these things hid? when fore have these gifts a curtain before them a they like to take dust, like mistress Mail's p ture? why dost thou not go to church in a galliard and come home in a coranto? My very walk sho be a jig! I would not so much as make water, b in a sink-a-pace. What dost thou mean? is it world to hide virtues in? I did think, by the exce lent constitution of thy leg, it was formed under star of a galliard. Sir And. Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indiffere well in a flame-coloured stock. Shall we set abo some revels? Lander Taurus Sir To. What shall we do else? were we not bor Sir And. Taurus? that's sides and heart. Sir To. No sir; it is legs and thighs. Let see thee caper: ha! higher: ha, ha!-excellent! 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 Vio. Say, I do speak with her, my lord; what then? It shall become thee well to act my woes; Than in a nuncio of more grave aspect. s not more smooth and rubious; thy small pipe For this affair:-Some four, or five, attend him; Vio. I'll do my best, SCENE V. -A Room in Olivia's house. Enter MARIA and Clown. Mar. Nay, either tell me where thou hast been, I will not open my lips so wide as a bristle may er in way of thy excuse: my lady will hang thee for thy absence. Clo. Let her hang me! he, that is well hanged in L's world, needs to fear no colours. Mar. Make that good. Clo. He shall see none to fear. Enter OLIVIA and MALVOLIO. Clo. Wit, an'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 thee, may pass for a wise man: for what says Quinapalus Y Better a witty fool, than a foolish wit. -God bless thee, lady! Oli. Take the fool away. [lady. Clo. Do you not hear, fellows? Take away the 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 monacum; 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. Oli. Make your proof. Clo. I must catechise you for it, madonna; good my mouse of virtue, answer me. Oli. Well, sir, for want of other idleness, I'll 'bide your proof. 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. Ol. 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; Mar. A good lenten answer. I can tell thee where unless you laugh and minister occasion to him, he is 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 your foolery, Clo. Well, God 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? Cio. 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 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, 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, for thou speakest well of fools. Re-enter MARIA. Mar. Madam, there is at the gate a young geltleman, much desires to speak with you. Oli. From the count Orsiuo, 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: fie 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 he comes, one of thy kin, has a most weak pia mater. Enter Sir TOBY Belch. 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: I will on with my speech in your praise, and then shew you Oli. By mine honour, half drunk.--What is he at the heart of my message. the gate, consin? Sir To. A gentleman. Oli. A gentleman? What gentleman? Sir To. Tis a gentleman here--A plague o' these pickle-herrings!-How now, sot? Clo. Good Sir Toby, Oli. Cousin, cousin, how have you come so early by this lethargy? [the gate. Sir To. Lechery! I defy lechery: there's one at 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, it's all one. [Exit. Ol. 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 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. Oli. Of what personage, and years, is he? Oli. Let him approach: call in my gentlewoman. Re-enter MARIA. [Exit. Oli. Come to what is important in't: I forgive you the praise. [poetical Vio. Alas, I took great pains to study it, and 'tis Oli. It is the more like to be feigned; I pray you, keep it in. I heard you were sancy 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 Oli. Tell me your mind. Vio. I am a messenger. [lady. 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 m 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 appeared in me. have I learn'd from my entertainment. What I am and what I would, are as secret as maidenhead: to your ears, divinity; 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. In his bosom? In what chapter of his boson Vio. Excellently done, if God did all. [weather Oli. O, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted; I will Oliv. Give me my veil: come, throw it o'er my give out divers schedules of my beauty: it shall face; we'll once more hear Orsino's embassy. Enter VIOLA. Vio. The honourable lady of the house, which is she? (will? Oli. Speak to me, I shall answer for her; your 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 loath to cast away my speech; for, besides that it is excellently well penn'd, I have taken great pains to con be inventoried; and every particle, and utensil Vio. I see you what you are: you are too proad: Oli. How does he love me Fio. With adorations, with fertile tears, Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble, Vio. If I did love you in my master's flame, : [age? Oh. You might do much what is your parentVio. 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; Do [Exit. Here, madam, at your service. Ou. Run after that same peevish messenger, The county's man: he left this ring behind him, Would I, or not; tell him, I'll none of it. Desire him not to flatter with his lord, Nor hold him up with hopes; I am not for him: If that the youth will come this way to-morrow, Live him reasons for't. Hie thee, Malvolio. Mal. Madam, I will. [Exit. Out. I do I know not what; and fear to find Moe eye too great a flatterer for my mind. Fate, shew thy force: ourselves we do not owe; What is decreed, must be ; and be this so! [Exit. ACT II. SCENE I.-The Sea-coast. Ant. Will you stay no longer? nor will you not that I go with you? Seb. By your patience, no: my stars shine darkly ever me; the malignancy of my fate might, peras, distemper yours; therefore I shall crave of you yur leave, that I may bear my evils alone: it were a bad recompense for your love, to lay any of them [bound. Ant. Let me yet know of you, whither you are Seb. No, 'sooth, sir; my determinate voyage is mere extravagancy. But I perceive in you so ex 00 100. cellent 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 Roderigo; my father was that Sebastian of Messaline, whom, know, you have heard of: he left behind him, myself, and a sister, both born in an hour. If the heavens had been pleased, 'would we had so ended! but, you, sir, altered that; for, some hour before you took me from the breach of the sea, was my sister Ant. Alas, the day! [drown'd. Seb. A lady, sir, though it was said she much resembled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful; but, though I could not, with such estimable wonder, overfar believe that, yet thus far I will boldly publish her, she bore a mind that envy could not but 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, 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 my 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. : Vio. She took the ring of me: I'll none of it. Mal. Come, sir, you peevishly threw it to her; and her will is, it should be so returned: if it be worth stooping for, there it lies in your eye; if not, [Exit. be it his that finds it. : Vio. I left no ring with her what means this lady? Fortune forbid, my outside have not charm'd her! 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. Nay, by my troth, I know not but I know, to be up late, is to be up late. Sir To. A false conclusion; I hate it as an unfilled can: to be up after midnight, and to go to 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? 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.-Marian, I say!- -a stoop of wine! Enter Clown. Sir And. Here comes the fool, i'faith. Clo. How now, my hearts? Did you never see 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 sixpence for you : let's have a song. Sir And. There's a testril of me too: if one knight give a[good life? Clo. Would you have a love-song, or a song of 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? Clo. What is love? 'tis not hereafter; What's to come, is still unsure: In delay there lies no plenty; Sir And. A mellifluous voice, as I am a 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 ronse the night-owl in a catch, that will draw three souls out of one weaver? shall we do that ? [a catch. Sir And. An you love me, let's do't: I am a dog at 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 catterwauling do you keep here. If my lady have not called up her steward, Mal volio, and bid him turn you out of doors, never trust me. Sir To. My lady's a Cataian, we are politicians: Malvolio's a Peg-a-Ramsay, and Three merry men be we. Am not I consanguineous? am I not of her blood? Tilly-vally, lady! There dwelt a man in Babylon, lady, lady ! (Singing.) | fooling. Clo. Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable Sir And. Ay, he does well enough, if he be disposed, and so do I too; he does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural. Sir To. O, the twelfth day of December,Mar. For the love o' God, peace. Enter MALVOLIO. (Singing. 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? [Sneck up! Sir To. We did keep time, sir, in our catches. lady bade me tell you, that, though she harbours you Mal. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My 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. [needs be gone. Sir To. Farewell, dear heart, since I must Mar. Nay, good sir Toby. Clo. His eyes do shew his days are almost done. Mal. Is't even so? Sir To. But I will never die Clo. Sir Toby, there you lie. Mal. This is much credit to yon. Sir To. Shall I bid him go? (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, rab your chain with crums:-A stoop of wine, Maria! Mal. Mistress Mary, if you priz'd my lady's favour 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. [Exit. 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 thy indignation to him by word or month. Mar. Sweet sir Toby, be patient for to-night; lady, she is much out of quiet. For monsieur Mal since the youth of the count's was to-day with my volio, 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't. Sir To. Possess us, possess us; tell us something of him. Mar. Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Paritan. [dog. Sir And. O, if I thought that, I'd beat him like a |