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? Better a witty fool, than a foolish wit.-God bless thee, lady! Oli. Take the fool away. Clo. Do you not hear, fellows? take away the lady. Re-enter Maria. Mar. Madam, there is at the gate a young gen. Oli. Who of my people hold him in delay ? 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, sick, or not at home; what you will, to dismiss it. Clo. Two faults, madonna,' that drink and good [Exit Malvolio.] Now you see, sir, how your foolounsel will amend: for give the dry fool drink, ing grows old, and people dislike it. Oli. Go to, you are a dry fool; I'll no more of you: besides, you grow dishonest. then is the fool not dry; bid the dishonest mend Clo. Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy himself; if he mend, he is no longer dishonest; if eldest son should be a fool: whose skull Jove cram he cannot, let the botcher mend him: any thing, with brains, for here he comes, one of thy kin has that's mended, is but patched: virtue, that trans- a most weak pia mater. gresses, 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, at 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 monachum; that's as much as 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. Enter Sir Toby Belch. Oli. By mine honour, half drunk.-What is he the gate, cousin? Sir To. A gentleman. Oli. A gentleman? What gentleman ? these pickle-herrings !-How now, sot? Sir To. Tis a gentleman here-A plague o Clo. Good sir Toby, Oli. Cousin, cousin, how have you come so carly by this lethargy? Sir To. Lechery! I defy lechery: there's one at the gate. Oli. Ay, marry; what is he? Sir To. Let him be the devil, an he will, I Oli. Well, sir, for want of other idleness, I'll not: give me faith, say I. Well, it's all one. '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. 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. 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: 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.2 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! (1) Italian, mistress, dame. (2) Fools' baubles. Short arrows. (4) Lying. 4 I care [Exit. Oli. 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 hin he's drown'd go, look after him. sit o' my coz; for he's in the third degree of drink, shall look to the madman. Clo. He is but mad yet, madonna; and the fool [Exit Clown. Re-enter Malvolio. Mal. Madam, yond young fellow swears he wil 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'l 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? Mal. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy; as a squash is before 'tis a peas cod, or a codling when 'tis almost an apple: 'tis with him e'en standing water, between boy and man. He is very well-favoured, and he speaks very shrewishly; one would think, his m'her' milk were scarce out of him. (5) The cover of the brain. Oli. Let him approach: call in my gentlewoman.| Re-enter Maria. Oli. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be Oli. In his bosom? In what chapter of his bosom? Oli. Give me my veil: come, throw it o'er my his heart. face; We'll once more hear Orsino's embassy Enter Viola. Vio. The honourable lady of the house, is she? Oli. Speak to me, I shall answer for her. 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 negociate with my face? you are now out of your which 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 God did all. Oli. "Tis in grain, sir; 'twill endure wind and weather. Your will ? 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 . 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? Vio. 'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and 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: Oli. If I do not usurp myself, I am. Vio. Most certain, if you are she, you do usurp yourself; for what yours to bestow, is not yours to reserve. But this is from my conmission: I will on with my speech in your praise, and then show The nonpareil of beauty! you the heart of my message. Oli. How does he love me? Vio. With adorations, with fertile tears, With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire. Oli. Your lord does know my mind, I cannot love him: 9. 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 Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble, keep it in. I heard, you were saucy at my gates: Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth; and allowed your approach, rather to wonder at In voices well divulg'd, free, learn'd, and valiant, you than to hear you. If you be not mad, be And, in dimension, and the shape of nature, gone; if you have reason, be brief: 'tis not that A gracious person but yet I cannot love him; time of moon with me, to make one in so skipping He might have took his answer long ago. a dialogue. Vio. If I did love you in my master's flame, Mar. Will you hoist sail, sir? here lies your way. With such a suffering, such a deadly life, Vio. No, good swabber: I am to hull here a In your denial I would find no sense, little longer. Some mollification for your giam,21 would not understand it. sweet lady. Oli. Tell me your mind. Gi. Why, what would you Vio. Make me a willow cabin at your gate, Vio. I am a messenger. And call upon my soul within the house; Oli. Sure, you have some hideous matter to de- Write loyal cantonss of contemned love, liver, when the courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak And sing them loud even in the dead of night, your office. Holla your name to the reverberate" hilis, Vio. It alone concerns your ear. I bring no And make the babbling gossip of the air overture of war, no taxation of homage; I hold Cry out, Olivia! O, you should not rest the olive in my hand: my words are as full of peace Between the elements of air and earth, But you should pity me. is matter. Oli. Yet you began rudely. What are you? what would you? I Oli. You might do much: What is your parentage? Vio. Above my fortunes, yet my state is we!: am a gentleman. Get you to your lord; Vio. The rudeness that hath appear'd in me, have I learn'd from my entertainment. What I am, and what I would, are as secret as maidenhead: to Oli. vour ears, divinity; to any other's, profanation. I cannot love him: let him send no more; Oli. Give us the place alone: we will hear this Unless, perchance, you come to me again, livinity.[Exit Maria.]Now; sir, what is your text? To tell me how he takes it. Fare you well. Vio. Most sweet lady, (1) Accountable. (2) It appears from several parts of this play, that the original actress of Maria was very short. (3) Presents. (4) Blended, mixed togethes (5) Well spoken of by the world. (6) Cantos, verses. (7) Echoing. I thank you for your pains: spend this for me. bove my fortunes, yet my state is well: Unless the master were the man.-How now? To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be.- SCENE 1.-The sea-coast. Enter Antonio and Ant. Will you stay no longer? nor will you not, that I go with you? [not but call fair: she is drowned already, sir, with salt water, though I seem to drown her remem brance 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, Ant. The gentleness of all the gods go with thee' That danger shall seem sport, and I will go. [Exil. 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 be it his that finds it. [Exit. Vio. I left no ring with her: what means this lady? Fortune forbid, my outside have not charm'd her! She made good view of me; indeed, so much, That, sure, methought, her eyes had lost her tongue, Seb. By your patience, no: my stars shine darkly over me: the malignancy of my fate might, For she did speak in starts distractedly. perhaps, distemper yours; therefore I shall crave She loves me, sure; the cunning of her passion of you your leave, that I may bear my evils alone: Invites me in this churlish messenger. it were a bad recompense for your love, to lay any of them on you. Ant. Let me yet know of you, whither you are bound. I None of my lord's ring! why, he sent her none. am the man;-if it be so (as 'tis,) Poor lady, she were better love a dream. Disguise, I see, thou art a wickedness, Seb. No, 'sooth, sir; my determinate voyage is Wherein the pregnant enemy does much. mere extravagancy. But I perceive in you so ex- How easy is it, for the proper-false" cellent a touch of modesty, that you will not extort In women's waxen hearts to set their forms ' from me what I am willing to keep in; therefore Alas! our frailty is the cause, not we; it charges me in manners the rather to express For, such as we are made of, such we be. myself. You must know of me then, Antonio, my How will this fadge ? My master loves her dearly. name is Sebastian, which I called Rodrigo; my And I, poor monster, fond as much on him; father was that Sebastian of Messaline, whom I And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me: know, you have heard of: he left behind him, What will become of this! As I am man, myself, and a sister, both born in an hour. If the My state is desperate for my master's love; heavens had been pleased, 'would we had so As I am woman, now alas the day! ended! but you, sir, altered that; for, some hour What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe? before you took me from the breach of the sea, was my sister drowned. Ant. Alas, the day! time, thou must untangle this, not I; It is too hard a knot for me to untic. [Exit. SCENE III-A room in Olivia's house. Enter Seb. A lady, sir, though it was said she much Sir Toby Belch, and Sir Andrew Aguc-check. resembled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful: but, though I could not, with such estimable Sir To. Approach, sir Andrew: not to be a-bed wonder, overfar believe that, yet thus far I will after midnight, is to be up betimes; and dilucuk boldly publish her, she bore a mind that envy could surgere, thou know'st,— (1) Messenger. (3) Count. (2) Proclamation of gentility. (4) Own, possess. (5) Reveal. (6) Dexterous, ready fiend. (8) Suit. 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.-Maria, 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 And. Most certain: let our catch be, Thou knave. Clo. Hold thy peace, thou knave, knight? I shal 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, Malvolio, and bid him turn you out of doors, never trust me. Sir To. Welcome, ass. Now let's have a catch. Sir To. My lady's a Cataian," we are politicians; Sir And. By my troth, the fool has an excellent Malvolio's a Peg-a-Ramsey,' and Three merry men breast. I had rather than forty shillings I had such we be. Am not I consanguineous ? am I not of her a leg; and so sweet a breath to sing, as the fool blood? Tilly-valley, lady! There dwelt a man in has. In sooth, thou wast in very gracious fooling Babylon, lady, lady! [Singing. last night, when thou spokest of Pigrogromitus, of Clo. Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable the Vapians passing the equinoctial of Queubus; fooling. 'twas very good, i'faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy leman hadst it? Clo. I did impeticos thy gratillity; for Malvoio'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's 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 Clo. Would you have a love-song, or a song of good life? 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? Every wise man's son doth know. Clo. What is love? 'tis not hereafter; In delay there lies no plenty; Then come kiss me sweet-and-twenty, Sir And. A mellifluous voice, as I am a true knight. Sir To. A contagious breath. Str 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 rouse the night-owl in a catch, that will draw three souls out of one weaver? shall we do that? Sir And. An you love me, let's do't: I am dog at a catch. Clo. By'r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well. (1) Loggerheads be. (2) Voice. (3) Mistress, (4) I did impetticoat thy gratuity. (5) Drink till the sky turns round. 6) Romancer. (7) Name of an old song. 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,- 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 ale-house 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. Sneck up!10 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. 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. Mal. This is much credit to you. Sir To. Shall I bid him go? [Singing Sir To. Shall I bid him go, and spare not? Sir To. Out of time? sir, ye lic.-Art any mort than a steward? Dost thou think, because thou ar virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale? Clo. Yes, by Saint Anne; and ginger shall b hot i' the mouth too. Sir To. Thou'rt i' the right.-Go, sir, rub your chain" with crums:-a stoop of wine, Maria! Mal. Mistress Mary, if you prized my lady's fa vour at any thing more than contempt, you would (8) Equivalent to filly fally, shilly shally. (9) Cobblers. (10) Hang yourself. (11) Stewards anciently wore a chain. not give means for this uncivil rule; she shall know of it, by this hand. Sir To. Send for money, knight; if thou hast [Exit. her not i' the end, call me Cut." Sir And. If I do not, never trust me, take it how Mar. Go shake your ears. Sir And. "Twere as good a deed as to drink you will. 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. Sir To. Come, come; I'll go burn some sack, SCENE IV.A room in the Duke's palace. Er Mar. Sweet sir Toby, be patient for to-night; since the youth of the count's was to-day with my lady, she is much out of quiet. For monsieur Mal-Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song, volio, let me alone with him: if I do not gull him Methought, it did relieve my passion much; That old and antique song we heard last night; into a nay-word, and make him a common recrea- More than light airs and recollected terms, tion, do not think I have wit enough to lie straight of these most brisk and giddy-paced times :in my bed: I know I can do it. Come, but one verse. Sir To. Possess us,' possess us; tell us something of him. Mar. Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Pu ritan. 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 have reason good enough." I Cur. He is not here, so please your lordship, that should sing it. Duke. Who was it? lady Olivia's father took much delight in: he is Cur. Feste, the jester, my lord; a fool, that the about the house. Duke. Seek him out, and play the tune the while. Come hither, boy; If ever thou shalt love, [Exit Curio.-Music. Mar The devil a Puritan that he is, or any thing For, such as I am, all true lovers are; In the sweet pangs of it remember me: constantly but a time-pleaser; an affectioned ass, Unstaid and skittish in all motions else, that cons state without book, and utters it by great Save, in the constant image of the creature swarths: the best persuaded of himself, so cram-That is belov'd.-How dost thou like this tune? med, as he thinks, with excellencies, that it is his Vio. It gives a very echo to the seat ground of faith, that all that look on him, love him; Where love is thron'd. 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 And. I hav't in my nose too. Sir To. He shall think, by the letters that thou wilt drop, that they come from my niece, and that she is in love with him. Mar. My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour. Sir And. And your horse now would make him an ass. Duke. Thou dost speak masterly: My life upon't, young though thou art, thine eye Vio. Vio. About your years, my lord. Duke. Too old, by heaven; Let still the womar take An elder than herself; so wears she to him, So sways she level in her husband's heart; Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, Than women's are. More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn, Vio. I think it well, my lord. Duke. Then let thy love be younger than thyself, Sir And. O, 'twill be admirable. Mar. Sport royal, I warrant you: I know, my For women are as roses; whose fair flower, Or thy affection cannot hold the bent: physic will work with him. I will plant you two, Being once display'd, doth fall that very hour. and let the fool make a third, where he shall find Vio. And so they are: alas, that they are so; the letter; observe his construction of t. For this To die, even when they to perfection grow! night, to bed, and dream on the event. Farewell. Mar. Ass, I doubt not. Re-enter Curio, and Clown. Duke. O fellow, come, the song we rad .as! night : Sir To. She's a beagle, true-bred, and one that Mark it, Cesario; it is old and plain : adores me; What o' that? |