Imagens das páginas
PDF
ePub

jades' tricks; which are their own right by the law of [Exit.

nature.

Laf. A shrewd knave, and an unhappy.

Count. So he is. My lord, that's gone, made himself much sport out of him by his authority he remains here, which he thinks is a patent for his sauciness; and, indeed, he has no pace, but runs where he will.

Laf. I like him well; 'tis not amiss. And I was about to tell you, since I heard of the good lady's death, and that my lord your son was upon his return home, I moved the king my master to speak in the behalf of my daughter; which, in the minority of them both, his majesty, out of a self-gracious remembrance, did first. propose: his highness hath promised me to do it; and, to stop up the displeasure he hath conceived against your son, there is no fitter matter. How does your ladyship like it?

Count. With very much content, my lord, and I wish it happily effected.

Laf. His highness comes post from Marseilles, of as able body as when he numbered thirty; he will be here to-morrow, or I am deceived by him that in such intelligence hath seldom failed.

Count. It rejoices me, that I hope I shall see him ere I die. I have letters that my son will be there tonight: I shall beseech your lordship to remain with me till they meet together.

Laf. Madam, I was thinking with what manners I might safely be admitted.

Count. You need but plead your honourable privilege. Laf. Lady, of that I have made a bold charter; but, I thank my God, it holds yet.

Re-enter Clown.

Clo. O Madam, yonder's my lord your son with a patch of velvet on's face: whether there be a scar under it, or no, the velvet knows; but 'tis a goodly patch of velvet his left cheek is a cheek of two pile and a half, but his right cheek is worn bare.

Laf. A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good livery of honour; so belike is that.

Clo. But it is your carbonadoed-face.

Laf. Let us go see your son, I pray you; I long to talk with the young noble soldier.

Clo. Faith, there's a dozen of 'em, with delicate fine hats, and most courteous feathers, which bow the head, and nod at every man.

[blocks in formation]

[Exeunt.

Enter HELENA, Widow, and DIANA, with two

Attendants.

Hel. But this exceeding posting, day and night, Must wear your spirits low; we cannot help it: But, since you have made the days and nights as one, To wear your gentle limbs in my affairs,

Be bold you do so grow in my requital,

As nothing can unroot you. In happy time;-
Enter a gentle Astringer.

This man may help me to his majesty's ear,
If he would spend his power.-God save you, Sir.
Gent. And you.

Hel. Sir, I have seen you in the court of France.
Gent. I have been sometimes there.

Hel. I do presume, Sir, that you are not fallen
From the report that goes upon your goodness;
And therefore, goaded with most sharp occasions,
Which lay nice manners by, I put you to
The use of your own virtues, for the which
I shall continue thankful.

[blocks in formation]

Since you are like to see the king before me,
Commend the paper to his gracious hand;
Which, I presume, shall render you no blame,
But rather make you thank your pains for it.
I will come after you, with what good speed
Our means will make us means.

Gent. This I'll do for you.

Hel. And you shall find yourself to be well thank'd, Whate'er falls more.-We must to horse again :Go, go, provide.

SCENE II.-ROUSILLON.

[Exeunt.

The inner Court of the
COUNTESS'S Palace.

Enter Clown and PAROLLES.

Par. Good monsieur Lavatch, give my lord Lafeu this letter: I have ere now. Sir, been better known to you, when I have held familiarity with fresher clothes; but I am now, Sir, muddied in fortune's moat, and smell somewhat strong of her strong displeasure.

Clo. Truly, fortune's displeasure is but sluttish, if it smell so strong as thou speakest of: I will henceforth eat no fish of fortune's buttering. Pr'ythee, allow the wind.

Par. Nay, you need not stop your nose, Sir; I spake but by a metaphor.

Clo. Indeed, Sir, if your metaphor stink, I will stop my nose; or against any man's metaphor. Prythee, get thee further.

Par. Pray you, Sir, deliver me this paper.

Clo. Foh! prythee, stand away: a paper from fortune's close-stool to give to a nobleman! Look, here he comes himself.

Enter LAFET.

Here is a pur of fortune's, Sir, or of fortune's cat, (but not a musk-cat,) that has fallen into the unclean fishpond of her displeasure, and, as he says, is muddied withal: pray you, Sir, use the carp as you may; for he looks like a poor, decayed, ingenious, foolish, rascally knave. I do pity his distress in my smiles of comfort, and leave him to your lordship. [Exit Clown.

Par. My lord, I am a man whom fortune hath cruelly scratched.

Laf. And what would you have me to do? 'tis too late to pare her nails now. Wherein have you played the knave with fortune, that she should scratch you, who of herself is a good lady, and would not have knaves thrive long under her? There's a quart d'eru for you: let the justices make you and fortune friends; I am for other business.

Par. I beseech your honour to hear me one single word.

Laf. You beg a single penny more: come, you shall ha't save your word.

Par. My name, my good lord, is Parolles.

Laf. You beg more than one word then.-fox' my passion! give me your hand :-how does your drum? Par. O my good lord, you were the first that found me. Laf. Was I, in sooth? and I was the first that lost thee. Par. It lies in you, my lord, to bring me in some grace, for you did bring me out.

Laf. Out upon thee, knave! dost thou put upon me at once both the office of God and the devil? one brings thee in grace, and the other brings thee out. [Trumpé's sound. The king's coming, I know by his trumpets. Sirrah, inquire further after me; I had talk of you last night: though you are a fool and a knave, you shall eat; go to, follow.

[blocks in formation]

SCENE III.-The same. A Room in the COUNTESS's Palace.
Flourish. Enter KING, COUNTESS, LAFEU, Lords,
Gentlemen, Guards, de.

King. We lost a jewel of her; and our esteem
Was made much poorer by it: but your son,
As mad in folly, lack'd the sense to know
Her estimation home.

Count. 'Tis past, my liege:

And I beseech your majesty to make it
Natural rebellion, done i' the blaze of youth;
When oil and fire, too strong for reason's force,
O'erbears it, and burns on.

King. My honour'd lady,

I have forgiven and forgotten all;

Though my revenges were high bent upon him,
And watch'd the time to shoot.

Laf. This I must say,

But first I beg my pardon,-the young lord
Did to his majesty, his mother, and his lady,

Offence of mighty note; but to himself

[blocks in formation]

Laf. He looks well on 't.

King. I am not a day of season,

For thou mayst see a sunshine and a hail

[sent me,

In me at once: but to the brightest beams Distracted clouds give way; so stand thou forth, The time is fair again.

Ber. My high-repented blames,
Dear sovereign, pardon to me.
King. All is whole;

Not one word more of the consumed time.
Let's take the instant by the forward top;
For we are old, and on our quick'st decrees
The inaudible and noiseless foot of time
Steals ere we can effect them. You remember
The daughter of this lord?

Ber. Admiringly, my liege: at first

I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart
Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue:
Where the impression of mine eye infixing,
Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me,
Which warp'd the line of every other favour;
Scorn'd a fair colour, or express'd it stol'n;
Extended or contracted all proportions,
To a most hideous object: thence it came,

That she whom all men praised, and whom myself,
Since I have lost, have loved, was in mine eye
The dust that did offend it.

King. Well excused:

That thou didst love her, strikes some scores away
From the great compt: but love that comes too late,
Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried,
To the great sender turns a sour offence,
Crying, That's good that's gone. Our rash faults
Make trivial price of serious things we have,
Not knowing them until we know their grave:
Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust,
Destroy our friends, and after weep their dust:
Our own love waking cries to see what's done,
While shameful hate sleeps out the afternoon.
Be this sweet Helen's knell, and now forget her.
Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin:
The main consents are had; and here we'll stay
To see our widower's second marriage-day.

Count. Which better than the first, O dear heaven, Or, ere they meet, in me, O nature, cesse!

[bless!

Laf. Come on, my son, in whom my house's name Must be digested, give a favour from you, To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter, That she may quickly come.-By my old beard, And every hair that's on 't, Helen, that's dead, Was a sweet creature; such a ring as this, The last that e'er I took her leave at court, I saw upon her finger.

Ber. Hers it was not.

King. Now, pray you, let me see it; for mine eye,
While I was speaking, oft was fasten'd to't.
This ring was mine; and, when I gave it Helen,

I bade her, if her fortunes ever stood
Necessitied to help, that by this token

I would relieve her. Had you that craft to reave her

Of what should stead her most?

Ber. My gracious sovereign,

Howe'er it pleases you to take it so,

The ring was never hers.

Count. Son, on my life,

I have seen her wear it; and she reckon'd it

At her life's rate.

Laf. I am sure I saw her wear it.

Ber. You are deceived, my lord; she never saw it; In Florence was it from a casement thrown me,

Wrapp'd in a paper, which contain'd the name
Of her that threw it: noble she was, and thought
I stood ingaged: but when I had subscribed
To mine own fortune, and inform'd her fully,
I could not answer in that course of honour
As she had made the overture, she ceased,
In heavy satisfaction, and would never
Receive the ring again.

King. Plutus himself,

That knows the tinct and multiplying medicine,
Hath not in nature's mystery more science,

Than I have in this ring: 'twas mine, 'twas Helen's,
Whoever gave it you. Then, if you know
That you are well acquainted with yourself,
Confess 'twas hers, and by what rough enforcement
You got it from her; she call'd the saints to surety,
That she would never put it from her finger,
Unless she gave it to yourself in bed,

(Where you have never come,) or sent it us
Upon her great disaster.

Ber. She never saw it.

King. Thou speak'st it falsely, as I love mine honour;
And mak'st conjectural fears to come into me,
Which I would fain shut out. If it should prove
That thou art so inhuman,-'twill not prove so;-
And yet I know not:-thou didst hate her deadly,
And she is dead; which nothing, but to close
Her eyes myself, could win me to believe,
More than to see this ring.-Take him away.-
[Guards seize BERTRAM

My fore-past proofs, howe'er the matter fall,
Shall tax my fears of little vanity,
Having vainly fear'd too little.-Away with him!--
We'll sift this matter further.

[blocks in formation]

King. I am wrapp'd in dismal thinkings.
Gent. Gracious sovereign,

Whether I have been to blame, or no, I know not-
Here's a petition from a Florentine,

Who hath, for four or five removes, come short
To tender it herself. I undertook it,
Vanquish'd thereto by the fair grace and speech
Of the poor suppliant, who by this, I know,
Is here attending: her business looks in her
With an importing visage; and she told me,
In a sweet verbal brief, it did concern
Your highness with herself.

King. [Reads. "Upon his many protestations to marry me when his wife was dead, I blush to say it, he won me. Now is the count Rousillon a widower; his vows are forfeited to me, and my honour's paid to him. He stole from Florence, taking no leave, and I follow him to his country for justice: grant it me, O king! in you it best lies; otherwise a seducer flourishes, and a poor maid is undone. DIANA CAPULET.”

Laf. I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, and toll him for this, I'll none of him.

King. The heavens have thought well on thee,
Lafeu,

To bring forth this discovery.-Seck these suitors:
Go speedily, and bring again the count.

[Exeunt Gentleman, and some Attendants I am afeard the life of Helen, lady,

Was foully snatch'd.

Count. Now, justice on the doers!

Enter BERTRAM, guarded.

King. I wonder, Sir, since wives are monsters to you,
And that you fly them as you swear them lordship,
Yet you desire to marry.-What woman's that?

Re-enter Gentleman, with Widow and DIANA.
Dia. I am, my lord, a wretched Florentine,
Derived from the ancient Capulet;
My suit, as I do understand, you know,
And therefore know how far I may be pitied.

Wid. I am her mother, Sir, whose age and honour
Both suffer under this complaint we bring,
And both shall cease without your remedy.

King. Come hither, count; do you know these women!
Ber. My lord, I neither can nor will deny

But that I know them: do they charge me further!
Dia. Why do you look so strange upon your wife?
Ber. She's none of mine, my lord.
Dia. If you shall marry,

You give away this hand, and that is mine;

You give away heaven's vows, and those are mine;

[ocr errors]

You give away myself, which is known mine; For I by vow am so embodied yours,

King. As thou art a knave, and no knave.What an equivocal companion is this? Par. I am a poor man, and at your majesty's command.

That she which marries you must marry me-
Either both or none.

Laf. Your reputation [To BERTRAM.] comes too short for my daughter; you are no husband for her.

Ber. My lord, this is a fond and desperate creature, Whom sometime I have laugh'd with: let your highness Lay a more noble thought upon mine honour, Than for to think that I would sink it here.

King. Sir, for my thoughts, you have them ill to friend,

Till your deeds gain them: fairer prove your honour, Than in my thought it lies.

Dia. Good my lord,

Ask him, upon his oath, if he does think

He had not my virginity.

King. What say'st thou to her?

Ber. She's impudent, my lord; ̧

And was a common gamester to the camp.

Dia. He does me wrong, my lord; if I were so,

He might have bought me at a common price;

Do not believe him: 0, behold this ring,
Whose high respect and rich validity
Did lack a parallel; yet, for all that,

He gave it to a commoner o' the camp,
If I be one.

Count. He blushes, and 'tis it:

Of six preceding ancestors, that gem

Conferr'd by testament to the sequent issue,
Hath it been owed and worn. This is his wife;
That ring's a thousand proofs.

King. Methought you said

You saw one here in court could witness it.
Dia. I did, my lord, but loath am to produce
So bad an instrument; his name's Parolles.
Laj. I saw the man to-day, if man he be.
King. Find him, and bring him hither.
Ber. What of him?

He's quoted for a most perfidious slave,

With all the spots o' the world tax'd and debosh'd;
Whose nature sickens but to speak a truth.
Am I or that, or this, for what he'll utter,
That will speak anything?

King. She hath that ring of yours.

Ber. I think she has: certain it is, I liked her, And boarded her i' the wanton way of youth: She knew her distance, and did angle for me, Madding my eagerness with her restraint, As all impediments in fancy's course Are motives of more fancy; and, in fine, Her insuit coming with her modern grace, Subdued me to her rate: she got the ring; And I had that, which any inferior might At market-price have bought.

Dia. I must be patient;

You, that turn'd off a first so noble wife,
May justly diet me. I pray you yet,

(Since you lack virtue, I will lose a husband,) Send for your ring, I will return it home,

And give me mine again.

Ber. I have it not.

King. What ring was yours, I pray you?
Dia. Sir, much like

The same upon your finger.

King. Know you this ring? this ring was his of late. Dia. And this was it I gave him, being a-bed.

King. The story then goes false, you threw it him Out of a casement.

Dia. I have spoke the truth.

Enter PAROLLES.

Ber. My lord, I do confess the ring was hers.

King. You boggle shrewdly, every feather starts Is this the man you speak of?

Dia. Ay, my lord.

[you.

King. Tell me, sirrah, but tell me true, I charge you, Not fearing the displeasure of your master, (Which, on your just proceeding, I'll keep off,) By him, and by this woman here, what know you? Par. So please your majesty, my master hath been an honourable gentleman; tricks he hath had in him, which gentlemen have.

King. Come, come, to the purpose: did he love this woman?

Par. 'Faith, Sir, he did love her. But how?

King. How, I pray you?

Par. He did love her, Sir, as a gentleman loves a

woman.

King. How is that?

Par. He loved her, Sir, and loved her not.

Laf. He's a good drum, my lord, but a naughty

orator.

Dia. Do you know he promised me marriage?
Par. 'Faith, I know more than I'll speak.

King. But wilt thou not speak all thou knowest? Par. Yes, so please your majesty. I did go between them, as I said; but more than that, he loved her,for, indeed, he was mad for her, and talked of Satan, and of limbo, and of furies, and I know not what: yet I was in that credit with them at that time, that I knew of their going to bed; and of other motions, as promising her marriage, and things that would derive me ill will to speak of; therefore I will not speak what I know, King. Thou hast spoken all already, unless thou canst say they are married: but thou art too fine in thy evidence; therefore stand aside.

This ring, you say, was yours?

Dia. Ay, my good lord.

King. Where did you buy it? or who gave it you? Dia. It was not given me, nor I did not buy it.

King. Who lent it you?

Dia. It was not lent me neither.

King. Where did you find it, then?

Dia. I found it not.

King. If it were yours by none of all these ways, How could you give it him?

Dia. I never gave it him.

Laf. This woman's an easy glove, my lord; she goes off and on at pleasure.

King. This ring was mine; I gave it his first wife.
Dia. It might be yours, or hers, for aught I know.
King. Take her away, I do not like her now;

To prison with her: and away with him.-
Unless thou tell'st me where thou hadst this ring,
Thou diest within this hour.

Dia. I'll never tell you.

King. Take her away.

Dia. I'll put in bail, my llege.

King. I think thee now some common customer.
Dia. By Jove, if ever I knew man, 'twas you
King. Wherefore hast thou accused him all this

while?

Dia. Because he's guilty, and he is not guilty:
He knows I am no maid, and he'll swear to't:
I'll swear I am a maid, and he knows not.
Great king, I am no strumpet, by my life;

I am either maid, or else this old man's wife.

(Pointing to LAFEU. King. She does abuse our ears; to prison with her. Dia. Good mother, fetch my bail.-Stay, royal Sir; [Exit Widow.

The jeweller that owes the ring is sent for,
And he shall surety me. But for this lord,
Who hath abused me, as he knows himself,
Though yet he never harm'd me, here I quit him:
He knows himself my bed he hath defiled;
And at that time he got his wife with child:
Dead though she be, she feels her young one kick;
So there's my riddle,-One that's dead is quick:
And now behold the meaning.

Re-enter Widow, with HELENA.

King. Is there no exorcist

Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes?
Is 't real that I see?

Hel. No, my good lord;

'Tis but the shadow of a wife you see, The name, and not the thing.

Ber. Both, both :-0, pardon!

Hel. O my good lord, when I was like this maid,
There is your ring,

I found you wondrous kind.
And, look you, here's your letter; this it says,
"When from my finger you can get this ring,
And are by me with child," &c.-This is done:
Will you be mine, now you are doubly won?

Ber. If she, my liege, can make me know this clearly I'll love her dearly, ever, ever dearly.

Hel. If it appear not plain, and prove untrue, Deadly divorce step between me and you!

O my dear mother, do I see you living? Laf. Mine eyes smell onions, I shall weep anon:Good Tom Drum, [To PAROLLES.] lend me a handkerchief: so, I thank thee; wait on me home, I'll make sport with thee: let thy courtesies alone, they are scurvy ones.

King. Let us from point to point this story know, To make the even truth in pleasure flow.—

If thou be'st yet a fresh uncropped flower, [TO DIANA
Choose thou thy husband, and I'll pay thy dower;
For I can guess, that by thy honest aid,
Thou kept'st a wife herself, thyself a maid.—-

Of that, and all the progress, more or less,
Resolvedly more leisure shall express:
All yet seems well; and if it end so meet,

The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet. [Flourish.

[Advancing.]

"The king's a beggar, now the play is done: All is well ended, if this suit be won, That you express content; which we will pay, With strife to please you, day exceeding day: Ours be your patience then, and yours our parts; Your gentle hands lend us, and take our hearts." [Exeunt.

THE TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL.

[blocks in formation]

SCENE I.-An Apartment in the Duke's Palace. Enter Duke, CURIO, Lords; Musicians attending. Duke. If music 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. O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou! That, notwithstanding thy capacity Receiveth as the sea, naught enters there, 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.

Cur. Will you go hunt, my lord?
Duke. What, Curio?

Cur. The hart.

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

O, when mine eyes did see Olivia first,

Methought she purged 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 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, 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 supplied and fill'd (Her sweet perfections) with one self king!Away before me to sweet beds of flowers; Love-thoughts lie rich, when canopied with bowers.

[blocks in formation]

[Exeunt.

My brother he is in Elysium.
[sailors?
Perchance he is not drown'd:-what think you,
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 chance, Assure yourself, after our ship did split,

When you, and that poor number saved with you,
Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother,

Most provident in peril, bind himself

(Courage and hope both teaching him the practice;
To a strong mast, that lived 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.

Vio. For saying so, there's gold:
Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope,
Whereto thy speech serves for authority,

The like of him. Know'st thou this country?

Cap. Ay, Madam, well; for I was bred and born Not three hours' travel from this very place.

Vio. Who governs here?

Cap. A noble duke, in nature

As in name.

Vio. What is his name?

Cap. Orsino.

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

Cap. And so is now,

Or was so very late; for but a month

Ago I went from hence; and then 'twas fresh

In murmur (as, you know, what great ones do,

The less will prattle of) that he did seck
The love of fair Olivia.

Vio. What's she?

Cap. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a cornt That died some twelvemonth since; then icaving her In the protection of his son, her brother, Who shortly also died: for whose dear love, They say, she hath abjured the company And sight of men.

Vio. O that I served that lady!

And might not be deliver'd to the world,
Till I had mine own occasion mellow,
What my estate is.

Cap. That were hard to compass;
Because she will admit no kind-of suit;
No, not the duke's.

Vio. 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 eunuch to 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.

Cap. Be you his eunuch, and your mute I'll be: When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see. Vio. I thank thee: lead me on.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III-A Room in OLIVIA'S House.

Enter Sir TOBY BELCH and MARIA.

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 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?

Mar. Ay, he.

Sir To. He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria.
Mar. What's that to the purpose?

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. 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. 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 subtractors 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? Castiliano vuigo; for here comes Sir Andrew Ague-face.

Enter Sir ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK.

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. 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 mightst 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 me taphor?

Mar. It's dry, Sir.

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 lackest 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 a Christian, or 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?

Sir And. What is pourquoy? do or not do? I 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!

[ocr errors]

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; and I hope to see a housewife take thee between her 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 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 kickshaws, 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. 'Faith, I can cut a caper.

Sir To. And I can cut the mutton to 't.

Sir And. And I think I have the back-trick, simply as strong as any man in Illyria.

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 excellent 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-coloured stock. Shall we set about some revels?

Sir To. What shall we do else? were we not born under Taurus?

Let me see

Sir And. Taurus! that's sides and heart. Sir To. No, Sir; it is legs and thighs 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 favours 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 humour or my negligence, that you call in question the continuance of his love: is he inconstant, Sir, in his favours? Val. No, believe me.

Enter Duke, CURIO, and Attendants.
Vio. I thank you. Here comes the count.
Duke. Who saw Cesario? ho!

Vio. On your attendance, my lord; here.
Duke. Stand you a while aloof.—Cesario,
Thou know'st no less but all; I have unclasp'd
To thee the book even of my secret soul:
Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her;
Be not denied access, stand at her doors,
And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow
Till thou have audience.

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?

« AnteriorContinuar »