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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.
55O, it came o’er my ear like the sweet sound
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing and giving odor. Enough; no more.
’Tis not so sweet now as it was before.
O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou,
1010That, notwithstanding thy capacity
Receiveth as the sea, naught enters there,
Of what validity and pitch soe’er,
But falls into abatement and low price
Even in a minute. So full of shapes is fancy
1515That it alone is high fantastical.
Will you go hunt, my lord?
What, Curio?
The hart.
Why, so I do, the noblest that I have.
2020O, when mine eyes did see Olivia first,
Methought she purged the air of pestilence.
That instant was I turned into a hart,
And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds,
E’er since pursue me.
Enter Valentine.
2525How now, what news from her?
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,
3030But like a cloistress she will veilèd 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.
3535O, 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 killed the flock of all affections else
That live in her; when liver, brain, and heart,
4040These sovereign thrones, are all supplied, and filled
Her sweet perfections with one self king!
Away before me to sweet beds of flowers!
Love thoughts lie rich when canopied with bowers.
What country, friends, is this?
45This is Illyria, lady.
And what should I do in Illyria?
My brother he is in Elysium.
5Perchance he is not drowned.—What think you,
sailors?
50It is perchance that you yourself were saved.
O, my poor brother! And so perchance may he be.
True, madam. And to comfort you with chance,
10Assure yourself, after our ship did split,
When you and those poor number saved with you
55Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother,
Most provident in peril, bind himself
(Courage and hope both teaching him the practice)
15To a strong mast that lived upon the sea,
Where, like Arion on the dolphin’s back,
60I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves
So long as I could see.
For saying so, there’s gold.
20Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope,
Whereto thy speech serves for authority,
65The like of him. Know’st thou this country?
Ay, madam, well, for I was bred and born
Not three hours’ travel from this very place.
25Who governs here?
A noble duke, in nature as in name.
70What is his name?
Orsino.
Orsino. I have heard my father name him.
30He was a bachelor then.
And so is now, or was so very late;
75For 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)
35That he did seek the love of fair Olivia.
What’s she?
80A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count
That died some twelvemonth since, then leaving her
In the protection of his son, her brother,
40Who shortly also died, for whose dear love,
They say, she hath abjured the sight
85And company of men.
O, that I served that lady,
And might not be delivered to the world
45Till I had made mine own occasion mellow,
What my estate is.
90That were hard to compass
Because she will admit no kind of suit,
No, not the Duke’s.
50There is a fair behavior in thee, captain,
And though that nature with a beauteous wall
95Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee
I will believe thou hast a mind that suits
With this thy fair and outward character.
55I prithee—and I’ll pay thee bounteously—
Conceal me what I am, and be my aid
100For such disguise as haply shall become
The form of my intent. I’ll serve this duke.
Thou shalt present me as an eunuch to him.
60It may be worth thy pains, for I can sing
And speak to him in many sorts of music
105That will allow me very worth his service.
What else may hap, to time I will commit.
Only shape thou thy silence to my wit.
65Be you his eunuch, and your mute I’ll be.
When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see.
110I thank thee. Lead me on.
They exit.
What a plague means my niece to take the death
of her brother thus? I am sure care’s an enemy to
life.
By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier
5115o’ nights. Your cousin, my lady, takes great exceptions
to your ill hours.
Why, let her except before excepted!
Ay, but you must confine yourself within the
modest limits of order.
10120Confine? 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!
That quaffing and drinking will undo you. I
15125heard my lady talk of it yesterday, and of a foolish
knight that you brought in one night here to be her
wooer.
Who, Sir Andrew Aguecheek?
Ay, he.
20130He’s as tall a man as any ’s in Illyria.
What’s that to th’ purpose?
Why, he has three thousand ducats a year!
Ay, but he’ll have but a year in all these ducats.
He’s a very fool and a prodigal.
25135Fie that you’ll say so! He plays o’ th’ viol-de-gamboys
and speaks three or four languages word
for word without book, and hath all the good gifts of
nature.
He hath indeed, almost natural, for, besides
30140that he’s a fool, he’s a great quarreler, and, but that
he hath the gift of a coward to allay the gust he hath
in quarreling, ’tis thought among the prudent he
would quickly have the gift of a grave.
By this hand, they are scoundrels and substractors
35145that say so of him. Who are they?
They that add, moreover, he’s drunk nightly in
your company.
With drinking healths to my niece. I’ll drink to
her as long as there is a passage in my throat and
40150drink in Illyria. He’s a coward and a coistrel that
will not drink to my niece till his brains turn o’ th’
toe like a parish top. What, wench! Castiliano vulgo,
for here comes Sir Andrew Agueface.
Sir Toby Belch! How now, Sir Toby Belch?
45155Sweet Sir Andrew!
Bless you, fair shrew.
And you too, sir.
Accost, Sir Andrew, accost!
What’s that?
50160My niece’s chambermaid.
Good Mistress Accost, I desire better
acquaintance.
My name is Mary, sir.
Good Mistress Mary Accost—
55165You mistake, knight. “Accost” is front her, board
her, woo her, assail her.
By my troth, I would not undertake her in
this company. Is that the meaning of “accost”?
Fare you well, gentlemen.
She begins to exit.
60170An thou let part so, Sir Andrew, would thou
mightst never draw sword again.
An you part so, mistress, I would I might
never draw sword again. Fair lady, do you think you
have fools in hand?
65175Sir, I have not you by th’ hand.
Marry, but you shall have, and here’s my
hand.
Now sir, thought is free. I
pray you, bring your hand to th’ butt’ry bar and let
70180it drink.
Wherefore, sweetheart? What’s your
metaphor?
It’s dry, sir.
Why, I think so. I am not such an ass but I
75185can keep my hand dry. But what’s your jest?
A dry jest, sir.
Are you full of them?
Ay, sir, I have them at my fingers’ ends. Marry,
now I let go your hand, I am barren.
80190O knight, thou lack’st a cup of canary! When did
I see thee so put down?
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
85195has. But I am a great eater of beef, and I believe that
does harm to my wit.
No question.
An I thought that, I’d forswear it. I’ll ride
home tomorrow, Sir Toby.
90200Pourquoi, my dear knight?
What is “pourquoi”? Do, or not do? I would I
had bestowed that time in the tongues that I have in
fencing, dancing, and bearbaiting. O, had I but
followed the arts!
95205Then hadst thou had an excellent head of hair.
Why, would that have mended my hair?
Past question, for thou seest it will not curl by
nature.
But it becomes me well enough, does ’t not?
100210Excellent! It hangs like flax on a distaff, and I
hope to see a huswife take thee between her legs
and spin it off.
Faith, I’ll home tomorrow, Sir Toby. Your
niece will not be seen, or if she be, it’s four to one
105215she’ll none of me. The Count himself here hard by
woos her.
She’ll none o’ th’ Count. She’ll not match above
her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit. I have
heard her swear ’t. Tut, there’s life in ’t, man.
110220I’ll stay a month longer. I am a fellow o’ th’
strangest mind i’ th’ world. I delight in masques
and revels sometimes altogether.
Art thou good at these kickshawses, knight?
As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be,
115225under the degree of my betters, and yet I will not
compare with an old man.
What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight?
Faith, I can cut a caper.
And I can cut the mutton to ’t.
120230And I think I have the back-trick simply as
strong as any man in Illyria.
Wherefore are these things hid? Wherefore have
these gifts a curtain before ’em? Are they like to
take dust, like Mistress Mall’s picture? Why dost
125235thou 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
130240leg, it was formed under the star of a galliard.
Ay, ’tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a
dun-colored stock. Shall we set about some
revels?
What shall we do else? Were we not born under
135245Taurus?
Taurus? That’s sides and heart.
No, sir, it is legs and thighs. Let me see thee
caper. Sir Andrew dances. Ha, higher! Ha, ha,
excellent!
250If the Duke continue these favors towards
you, Cesario, you are like to be much advanced. He
hath known you but three days, and already you
are no stranger.
5You either fear his humor or my negligence, that
255you call in question the continuance of his love. Is
he inconstant, sir, in his favors?
No, believe me.
I thank you.
Enter Orsino, Curio, and Attendants.
10Here comes the Count.
260Who saw Cesario, ho?
On your attendance, my lord, here.
Stand you awhile aloof.—Cesario,
Thou know’st no less but all. I have unclasped
15To thee the book even of my secret soul.
265Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her.
Be not denied access. Stand at her doors
And tell them, there thy fixèd foot shall grow
Till thou have audience.
20Sure, my noble lord,
270If she be so abandoned to her sorrow
As it is spoke, she never will admit me.
Be clamorous and leap all civil bounds
Rather than make unprofited return.
25Say I do speak with her, my lord, what then?
275O, then unfold the passion of my love.
Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith.
It shall become thee well to act my woes.
She will attend it better in thy youth
30Than in a nuncio’s of more grave aspect.
280I think not so, my lord.
Dear lad, believe it;
For they shall yet belie thy happy years
That say thou art a man. Diana’s lip
35Is not more smooth and rubious, thy small pipe
285Is as the maiden’s organ, shrill and sound,
And all is semblative a womans part.
I know thy constellation is right apt
For this affair.—Some four or five attend him,
40All, if you will, for I myself am best
290When least in company.—Prosper well in this
And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord,
To call his fortunes thine.
I’ll do my best
45To woo your lady. Aside. Yet a barful strife!
295Whoe’er I woo, myself would be his wife.
Nay, either tell me where thou hast been, or I
will not open my lips so wide as a bristle may enter
in way of thy excuse. My lady will hang thee for thy
absence.
5300Let her hang me. He that is well hanged in this
world needs to fear no colors.
Make that good.
He shall see none to fear.
A good Lenten answer. I can tell thee where
10305that saying was born, of “I fear no colors.”
Where, good Mistress Mary?
In the wars; and that may you be bold to say in
your foolery.
Well, God give them wisdom that have it, and
15310those that are Fools, let them use their talents.
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?
Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage,
20315and, for turning away, let summer bear it out.
You are resolute, then?
Not so, neither, but I am resolved on two points.
That if one break, the other will hold, or if both
break, your gaskins fall.
25320Apt, in good faith, very apt. Well, go thy way. If Sir
Toby would leave drinking, thou wert as witty a
piece of Eve’s flesh as any in Illyria.
Peace, you rogue. No more o’ that. Here comes
my lady. Make your excuse wisely, you were best.
30325Wit, 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
35330thee, lady!
Take the Fool away.
Do you not hear, fellows? Take away the Lady.
Go to, you’re a dry Fool. I’ll no more of you.
Besides, you grow dishonest.
40335Two 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. Anything that’s
45340mended 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.
50345The Lady bade take away the Fool. Therefore, I say
again, take her away.
Sir, I bade them take away you.
Misprision in the highest degree! Lady, cucullus
non facit monachum. That’s as much to say as, I
55350wear not motley in my brain. Good madonna, give
me leave to prove you a fool.
Can you do it?
Dexteriously, good madonna.
Make your proof.
60355I must catechize you for it, madonna. Good my
mouse of virtue, answer me.
Well, sir, for want of other idleness, I’ll bide
your proof.
Good madonna, why mourn’st thou?
65360Good Fool, for my brother’s death.
I think his soul is in hell, madonna.
I know his soul is in heaven, Fool.
The more fool, madonna, to mourn for your
brother’s soul, being in heaven. Take away the fool,
70365gentlemen.
What think you of this Fool, Malvolio? Doth he
not mend?
Yes, and shall do till the pangs of death
shake him. Infirmity, that decays the wise, doth
75370ever make the better Fool.
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
twopence that you are no fool.
80375How say you to that, Malvolio?
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
85380already. 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.
O, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and taste
90385with 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
95390man, though he do nothing but reprove.
Now Mercury endue thee with leasing, for thou
speak’st well of Fools!
Madam, there is at the gate a young gentleman
much desires to speak with you.
100395From the Count Orsino, is it?
I know not, madam. ’Tis a fair young man, and
well attended.
Who of my people hold him in delay?
Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman.
105400Fetch him off, I pray you. He speaks nothing
but madman. Fie on him! Maria exits. Go you,
Malvolio. If it be a suit from the Count, I am sick,
or not at home; what you will, to dismiss it. (Malvolio
exits.) Now you see, sir, how your fooling
110405grows old, and people dislike it.
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.
115410By mine honor, half drunk!—What is he at the
gate, cousin?
A gentleman.
A gentleman? What gentleman?
’Tis a gentleman here—a plague o’ these pickle
120415herring!—How now, sot?
Good Sir Toby.
Cousin, cousin, how have you come so early by
this lethargy?
Lechery? I defy lechery. There’s one at the gate.
125420Ay, marry, what is he?
Let him be the devil an he will, I care not. Give
me faith, say I. Well, it’s all one.
What’s a drunken man like, Fool?
Like a drowned man, a fool, and a madman. One
130425draught above heat makes him a fool, the second
mads him, and a third drowns him.
Go thou and seek the crowner and let him sit o’
my coz, for he’s in the third degree of drink: he’s
drowned. Go look after him.
135430He is but mad yet, madonna, and the Fool shall
look to the madman.
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
140435comes to speak with you. I told him you were
asleep; he seems to have a foreknowledge of that
too, and therefore comes to speak with you. What is
to be said to him, lady? He’s fortified against any
denial.
145440Tell him he shall not speak with me.
Has been told so, and he says he’ll stand at
your door like a sheriff’s post and be the supporter
to a bench, but he’ll speak with you.
What kind o’ man is he?
150445Why, of mankind.
What manner of man?
Of very ill manner. He’ll speak with you,
will you or no.
Of what personage and years is he?
155450Not yet old enough for a man, nor young
enough for a boy—as a squash is before ’tis a
peascod, or a codling when ’tis almost an apple. ’Tis
with him in standing water, between boy and man.
He is very well-favored, and he speaks very shrewishly.
160455One would think his mother’s milk were
scarce out of him.
Let him approach. Call in my gentlewoman.
Gentlewoman, my lady calls.
He exits.Enter Maria.
Give me my veil. Come, throw it o’er my face.
Olivia veils.
165460We’ll once more hear Orsino’s embassy.
The honorable lady of the house, which is she?
Speak to me. I shall answer for her. Your will?
Most radiant, exquisite, and unmatchable
beauty—I pray you, tell me if this be the lady of the
170465house, for I never saw her. I would be loath to cast
away my speech, for, besides that it is excellently
well penned, I have taken great pains to con it. Good
beauties, let me sustain no scorn. I am very comptible
even to the least sinister usage.
175470Whence came you, sir?
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.
180475Are you a comedian?
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?
If I do not usurp myself, I am.
185480Most 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 show you
the heart of my message.
190485Come to what is important in ’t. I forgive you
the praise.
Alas, I took great pains to study it, and ’tis
poetical.
It is the more like to be feigned. I pray you,
195490keep it in. I heard you were saucy at my gates, and
allowed your approach rather to wonder at you than
to hear you. If you be not mad, begone; if you have
reason, be brief. ’Tis not that time of moon with me
to make one in so skipping a dialogue.
200495Will you hoist sail, sir? Here lies your way.
No, good swabber, I am to hull here a little
longer.—Some mollification for your giant, sweet
lady.
Tell me your mind.
205500I am a messenger.
Sure you have some hideous matter to deliver
when the courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak your
office.
It alone concerns your ear. I bring no overture
210505of war, no taxation of homage. I hold the olive in
my hand. My words are as full of peace as matter.
Yet you began rudely. What are you? What
would you?
The rudeness that hath appeared in me have I
215510learned from my entertainment. What I am and
what I would are as secret as maidenhead: to your
ears, divinity; to any other’s, profanation.
Give us the place alone. We will hear this
divinity. Maria and Attendants exit. Now, sir, what
220515is your text?
Most sweet lady—
A comfortable doctrine, and much may be said
of it. Where lies your text?
In Orsino’s bosom.
225520In his bosom? In what chapter of his bosom?
To answer by the method, in the first of his heart.
O, I have read it; it is heresy. Have you no more
to say?
Good madam, let me see your face.
230525Have you any commission from your lord to
negotiate with my face? You are now out of your
text. But we will draw the curtain and show you the
picture. She removes her veil. Look you, sir, such a
one I was this present. Is ’t not well done?
235530Excellently done, if God did all.
’Tis in grain, sir; ’twill endure wind and
weather.
’Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white
Nature’s own sweet and cunning hand laid on.
240535Lady, you are the cruel’st she alive
If you will lead these graces to the grave
And leave the world no copy.
O, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted! I will give
out divers schedules of my beauty. It shall be
245540inventoried and every particle and utensil labeled
to my will: as, item, two lips indifferent red; item,
two gray eyes with lids to them; item, one neck, one
chin, and so forth. Were you sent hither to praise
me?
250545I see you what you are. You are too proud.
But if you were the devil you are fair.
My lord and master loves you. O, such love
Could be but recompensed though you were
crowned
255550The nonpareil of beauty.
How does he love me?
With adorations, fertile tears,
With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire.
Your lord does know my mind. I cannot love him.
260555Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble,
Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth;
In voices well divulged, free, learned, and valiant,
And in dimension and the shape of nature
A gracious person. But yet I cannot love him.
265560He might have took his answer long ago.
If I did love you in my master’s flame,
With such a suff’ring, such a deadly life,
In your denial I would find no sense.
I would not understand it.
270565Why, what would you?
Make me a willow cabin at your gate
And call upon my soul within the house,
Write loyal cantons of contemnèd love
And sing them loud even in the dead of night,
275570Hallow your name to the reverberate hills
And make the babbling gossip of the air
Cry out “Olivia!” O, you should not rest
Between the elements of air and earth
But you should pity me.
280575You might do much.
What is your parentage?
Above my fortunes, yet my state is well.
I am a gentleman.
Get you to your lord.
285580I cannot love him. Let him send no more—
Unless perchance you come to me again
To tell me how he takes it. Fare you well.
I thank you for your pains. Spend this for me.
I am no fee’d post, lady. Keep your purse.
290585My master, not myself, lacks recompense.
Love make his heart of flint that you shall love,
And let your fervor, like my master’s, be
Placed in contempt. Farewell, fair cruelty.
“What is your parentage?”
295590“Above my fortunes, yet my state is well.
I am a gentleman.” I’ll be sworn thou art.
Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit
Do give thee fivefold blazon. Not too fast! Soft,
soft!
300595Unless the master were the man. How now?
Even so quickly may one catch the plague?
Methinks I feel this youth’s perfections
With an invisible and subtle stealth
To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be.—
305600What ho, Malvolio!
Here, madam, at your service.
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.
She hands him a ring.
310605Desire 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 tomorrow,
I’ll give him reasons for ’t. Hie thee, Malvolio.
Madam, I will.
He exits.
315610I do I know not what, and fear to find
Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind.
Fate, show thy force. Ourselves we do not owe.
What is decreed must be, and be this so.
Will you stay no longer? Nor will you not that
615I go with you?
By your patience, no. My stars shine darkly
over me. The malignancy of my fate might perhaps
5distemper yours. Therefore I shall crave of you your
leave that I may bear my evils alone. It were a bad
620recompense for your love to lay any of them on you.
Let me yet know of you whither you are
bound.
10No, sooth, sir. My determinate voyage is
mere extravagancy. But I perceive in you so excellent
625a 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.
15You must know of me, then, Antonio, my name
is Sebastian, which I called Roderigo. My father was
630that Sebastian of Messaline whom I know you have
heard of. He left behind him myself and a sister,
both born in an hour. If the heavens had been
20pleased, would we had so ended! But you, sir,
altered that, for some hour before you took me
635from the breach of the sea was my sister drowned.
Alas the day!
A lady, sir, though it was said she much
25resembled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful.
But though I could not with such estimable
640wonder 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,
30though I seem to drown her remembrance again
with more.
645Pardon me, sir, your bad entertainment.
O good Antonio, forgive me your trouble.
If you will not murder me for my love, let me
35be your servant.
If you will not undo what you have done—
650that is, kill him whom you have recovered—desire
it not. Fare you well at once. My bosom is full of
kindness, and I am yet so near the manners of my
40mother that, upon the least occasion more, mine
eyes will tell tales of me. I am bound to the Count
655Orsino’s court. Farewell.
The gentleness of all the gods go with thee!
I have many enemies in Orsino’s court,
45Else would I very shortly see thee there.
But come what may, I do adore thee so
660That danger shall seem sport, and I will go.
Were not you even now with the Countess
Olivia?
Even now, sir. On a moderate pace I have since
arrived but hither.
5665She 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
10670hardy to come again in his affairs unless it be to
report your lord’s taking of this. Receive it so.
She took the ring of me. I’ll none of it.
Come, sir, you peevishly threw it to her, and
her will is it should be so returned. He throws
down the ring. 15675If it be worth stooping for, there it
lies in your eye; if not, be it his that finds it.
I left no ring with her. What means this lady?
She picks up the ring.
Fortune forbid my outside have not charmed her!
She made good view of me, indeed so much
20680That methought her eyes had lost her tongue,
For she did speak in starts distractedly.
She loves me, sure! The cunning of her passion
Invites me in this churlish messenger.
None of my lord’s ring? Why, he sent her none!
25685I am the man. If it be so, as ’tis,
Poor lady, she were better love a dream.
Disguise, I see thou art a wickedness
Wherein the pregnant enemy does much.
How easy is it for the proper false
30690In women’s waxen hearts to set their forms!
Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we,
For such as we are made of, such we be.
How will this fadge? My master loves her dearly,
And I, poor monster, fond as much on him,
35695And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me.
What will become of this? As I am man,
My state is desperate for my master’s love.
As I am woman (now, alas the day!),
What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe!
40700O Time, thou must untangle this, not I.
It is too hard a knot for me t’ untie.
Approach, Sir Andrew. Not to be abed after
midnight is to be up betimes, and “diluculo surgere,”
thou know’st—
705Nay, by my troth, I know not. But I know to
5be up late is to be up late.
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
710betimes. Does not our lives consist of the four
10elements?
Faith, so they say, but I think it rather consists
of eating and drinking.
Thou ’rt a scholar. Let us therefore eat and
715drink. Marian, I say, a stoup of wine!
15Here comes the Fool, i’ faith.
How now, my hearts? Did you never see the
picture of ?
Welcome, ass! Now let’s have a catch.
720By my troth, the Fool has an excellent breast.
20I 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 spok’st of Pigrogromitus of the Vapians
725passing the equinoctial of Queubus. ’Twas very
25good, i’ faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy leman.
Hadst it?
I did impeticos thy gratillity, for Malvolio’s nose
is no whipstock, my lady has a white hand, and the
730Myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses.
30Excellent! Why, this is the best fooling when
all is done. Now, a song!
Come on, there is
sixpence for you. Let’s have a song.
735There’s a testril of
35me, too. If one knight give a—
Would you have a love song or a song of good
life?
A love song, a love song.
740Ay, ay, I care not for good life.
40O mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O, stay and hear! Your truelove’s coming,
That can sing both high and low.
Trip no further, pretty sweeting.
745Journeys end in lovers meeting,
45Every wise man’s son doth know.
Excellent good, i’ faith!
Good, good.
What is love? ’Tis not hereafter.
750Present mirth hath present laughter.
50What’s to come is still unsure.
In delay there lies no plenty,
Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty.
Youth’s a stuff will not endure.
755A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight.
55A contagious breath.
Very sweet and contagious, i’ faith.
To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion.
But shall we make the welkin dance indeed? Shall
760we rouse the night owl in a catch that will draw
60three souls out of one weaver? Shall we do that?
An you love me, let’s do ’t. I am dog at a
catch.
By ’r Lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well.
765Most certain. Let our catch be “Thou
65Knave.”
“Hold thy peace, thou knave,” knight? I shall be
constrained in ’t to call thee “knave,” knight.
’Tis not the first time I have constrained one
770to call me “knave.” Begin, Fool. It begins “Hold
70thy peace.”
I shall never begin if I hold my peace.
Good, i’ faith. Come, begin.
Catch sung.Enter Maria.
What a caterwauling do you keep here! If my
775lady have not called up her steward Malvolio and
75bid him turn you out of doors, never trust me.
My lady’s a Cataian, we are politicians, Malvolio’s
a Peg-a-Ramsey, and Sings. Three merry men be
we. Am not I consanguineous? Am I not of her
780blood? Tillyvally! “Lady”! Sings. There dwelt a man
80in Babylon, lady, lady.
Beshrew me, the knight’s in admirable fooling.
Ay, he does well enough if he be disposed,
and so do I, too. He does it with a better grace, but
785I do it more natural.
85O’ the twelfth day of December—
For the love o’ God, peace!
Enter Malvolio.
My masters, are you mad? Or what are you?
Have you no wit, manners, nor honesty but to
790gabble like tinkers at this time of night? Do you
90make an ale-house of my lady’s house, that you
squeak out your coziers’ catches without any mitigation
or remorse of voice? Is there no respect of
place, persons, nor time in you?
795We did keep time, sir, in our catches. Sneck up!
95Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My lady
bade me tell you that, though she harbors you as her
kinsman, she’s nothing allied to your disorders. If
you can separate yourself and your misdemeanors,
800you are welcome to the house; if not, an it would
100please you to take leave of her, she is very willing to
bid you farewell.
Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs be gone.
Nay, good Sir Toby.
805His eyes do show his days are almost done.
105Is ’t even so?
But I will never die.
Sir Toby, there you lie.
This is much credit to you.
810Shall I bid him go?
110What an if you do?
Shall I bid him go, and spare not?
O no, no, no, no, you dare not.
Out o’ tune, sir? You lie. Art any more than a
815steward? Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous,
115there shall be no more cakes and ale?
Yes, by Saint Anne, and ginger shall be hot i’ th’
mouth, too.
Thou ’rt i’ th’ right.—Go, sir, rub your chain
820with crumbs.—A stoup of wine, Maria!
120Mistress Mary, if you prized my lady’s favor
at anything more than contempt, you would not give
means for this uncivil rule. She shall know of it, by
this hand.
825Go shake your ears!
125’Twere as good a deed as to drink when a
man’s a-hungry, to challenge him the field and
then to break promise with him and make a fool of
him.
830Do ’t, knight. I’ll write thee a challenge. Or I’ll
130deliver thy indignation to him by word of mouth.
Sweet Sir Toby, be patient for tonight. Since the
youth of the Count’s was today with my lady, she is
much out of quiet. For Monsieur Malvolio, let me
835alone with him. If I do not gull him into a nayword
135and make him a common recreation, do not think I
have wit enough to lie straight in my bed. I know I
can do it.
Possess us, possess us, tell us something of him.
840Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of puritan.
140O, if I thought that, I’d beat him like a dog!
What, for being a puritan? Thy exquisite reason,
dear knight?
I have no exquisite reason for ’t, but I have
845reason good enough.
145The devil a puritan that he is, or anything
constantly but a time-pleaser; an affectioned ass
that cons state without book and utters it by great
swaths; the best persuaded of himself, so crammed,
850as he thinks, with excellencies, that it is his grounds
150of faith that all that look on him love him. And on
that vice in him will my revenge find notable cause
to work.
What wilt thou do?
855I will drop in his way some obscure epistles of
155love, wherein by the color 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
860lady your niece; on a forgotten matter, we can
160hardly make distinction of our hands.
Excellent! I smell a device.
I have ’t in my nose, too.
He shall think, by the letters that thou wilt drop,
865that they come from my niece, and that she’s in
165love with him.
My purpose is indeed a horse of that color.
And your horse now would make him an ass.
Ass, I doubt not.
870O, ’twill be admirable!
170Sport 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,
875and dream on the event. Farewell.
175Good night, Penthesilea.
She exits.Before me, she’s a good wench.
She’s a beagle true bred, and one that adores
me. What o’ that?
880I was adored once, too.
180Let’s to bed, knight. Thou hadst need send for
more money.
If I cannot recover your niece, I am a foul way
out.
885Send for money, knight. If thou hast her not i’
185th’ end, call me “Cut.”
If I do not, never trust me, take it how you
will.
Come, come, I’ll go burn some sack. ’Tis too
890late to go to bed now. Come, knight; come, knight.
Give me some music. Music plays. Now, good
morrow, friends.—
Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song,
That old and antique song we heard last night.
5895Methought it did relieve my passion much,
More than light airs and recollected terms
Of these most brisk and giddy-pacèd times.
Come, but one verse.
He is not here, so please your Lordship, that
10900should sing it.
Who was it?
Feste the jester, my lord, a Fool that the Lady
Olivia’s father took much delight in. He is about
the house.
15905Seek him out Curio exits, and play the tune the
while.Music plays.
To Viola. Come hither, boy. If ever thou shalt love,
In the sweet pangs of it remember me,
For such as I am, all true lovers are,
20910Unstaid and skittish in all motions else
Save in the constant image of the creature
That is beloved. How dost thou like this tune?
It gives a very echo to the seat
Where love is throned.
25915Thou dost speak masterly.
My life upon ’t, young though thou art, thine eye
Hath stayed upon some favor that it loves.
Hath it not, boy?
A little, by your favor.
30920What kind of woman is ’t?
Of your complexion.
She is not worth thee, then. What years, i’ faith?
About your years, my lord.
Too old, by heaven. Let still the woman take
35925An 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 worn,
40930Than women’s are.
I think it well, my lord.
Then let thy love be younger than thyself,
Or thy affection cannot hold the bent.
For women are as roses, whose fair flower,
45935Being once displayed, doth fall that very hour.
And so they are. Alas, that they are so,
To die even when they to perfection grow!
O, fellow, come, the song we had last night.—
Mark it, Cesario. It is old and plain;
50940The spinsters and the knitters in the sun
And the free maids that weave their thread with
bones
Do use to chant it. It is silly sooth,
And dallies with the innocence of love
55945Like the old age.
Are you ready, sir?
Ay, prithee, sing.
Music.
Come away, come away, death,
And in sad cypress let me be laid.
60950Fly away, fly away, breath,
I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
My shroud of white, stuck all with yew,
O, prepare it!
My part of death, no one so true
65955Did share it.
Not a flower, not a flower sweet
On my black coffin let there be strown;
Not a friend, not a friend greet
My poor corpse where my bones shall be thrown.
70960A thousand thousand sighs to save,
Lay me, O, where
Sad true lover never find my grave
To weep there.
There’s for thy pains.
75965No pains, sir. I take pleasure in singing, sir.
I’ll pay thy pleasure, then.
Truly sir, and pleasure will be paid, one time or
another.
Give me now leave to leave thee.
80970Now the melancholy god protect thee and the
tailor make thy doublet of changeable taffeta, 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 everywhere, for that’s it
85975that always makes a good voyage of nothing.
Farewell.
Let all the rest give place.
All but Orsino and Viola exit.
Once more, Cesario,
Get thee to yond same sovereign cruelty.
90980Tell her my love, more noble than the world,
Prizes not quantity of dirty lands.
The parts that Fortune hath bestowed upon her,
Tell her, I hold as giddily as Fortune.
But ’tis that miracle and queen of gems
95985That nature pranks her in attracts my soul.
But if she cannot love you, sir—
I cannot be so answered.
Sooth, but you must.
Say that some lady, as perhaps there is,
100990Hath for your love as great a pang of heart
As you have for Olivia. You cannot love her;
You tell her so. Must she not then be answered?
There is no woman’s sides
Can bide the beating of so strong a passion
105995As love doth give my heart; no woman’s heart
So big, to hold so much; they lack retention.
Alas, their love may be called appetite,
No motion of the liver but the palate,
That suffer surfeit, cloyment, and revolt;
1101000But mine is all as hungry as the sea,
And can digest as much. Make no compare
Between that love a woman can bear me
And that I owe Olivia.
Ay, but I know—
1151005What dost thou know?
Too well what love women to men may owe.
In faith, they are as true of heart as we.
My father had a daughter loved a man
As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman,
1201010I should your Lordship.
And what’s her history?
A blank, my lord. She never told her love,
But let concealment, like a worm i’ th’ bud,
Feed on her damask cheek. She pined in thought,
1251015And with a green and yellow melancholy
She sat like Patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed?
We men may say more, swear more, but indeed
Our shows are more than will; for still we prove
1301020Much in our vows but little in our love.
But died thy sister of her love, my boy?
I am all the daughters of my father’s house,
And all the brothers, too—and yet I know not.
Sir, shall I to this lady?
1351025Ay, that’s the theme.
To her in haste. Give her this jewel. Say
My love can give no place, bide no denay.
Come thy ways, Signior Fabian.
Nay, I’ll come. If I lose a scruple of this sport,
1030let me be boiled to death with melancholy.
Wouldst thou not be glad to have the niggardly
5rascally sheep-biter come by some notable shame?
I would exult, man. You know he brought me
out o’ favor with my lady about a bearbaiting here.
1035To anger him, we’ll have the bear again, and we
will fool him black and blue, shall we not, Sir
10Andrew?
An we do not, it is pity of our lives.
Enter Maria.
Here comes the little villain.—How now, my
1040metal of India?
Get you all three into the boxtree. Malvolio’s
15coming down this walk. He has been yonder i’ the
sun practicing behavior to his own shadow this half
hour. Observe him, for the love of mockery, for I
1045know this letter will make a contemplative idiot of
him. Close, in the name of jesting! They hide. Lie
20thou there putting down the letter, for here comes
the trout that must be caught with tickling.
’Tis but fortune, all is fortune. Maria once
1050told me she did affect me, and I have heard herself
come thus near, that should she fancy, it should be
25one of my complexion. Besides, she uses me with a
more exalted respect than anyone else that follows
her. What should I think on ’t?
1055Here’s an overweening rogue.
O, peace! Contemplation makes a rare
30turkeycock of him. How he jets under his advanced
plumes!
’Slight, I could so beat the rogue!
1060Peace, I say.
To be Count Malvolio.
35Ah, rogue!
Pistol him, pistol him!
Peace, peace!
1065There is example for ’t. The lady of the
Strachy married the yeoman of the wardrobe.
40Fie on him, Jezebel!
O, peace, now he’s deeply in. Look how
imagination blows him.
1070Having been three months married to her,
sitting in my state—
45O, for a stone-bow, to hit him in the eye!
Calling my officers about me, in my
branched velvet gown, having come from a daybed
1075where I have left Olivia sleeping—
Fire and brimstone!
50O, peace, peace!
And then to have the humor of state; and
after a demure travel of regard, telling them I
1080know my place, as I would they should do theirs, to
ask for my kinsman Toby—
55Bolts and shackles!
O, peace, peace, peace! Now, now.
Seven of my people, with an obedient start,
1085make out for him. I frown the while, and perchance
wind up my watch, or play with my—some
60rich jewel. Toby approaches; curtsies there to me—
Shall this fellow live?
Though our silence be drawn from us
1090with cars, yet peace!
I extend my hand to him thus, quenching
65my familiar smile with an austere regard of
control—
And does not Toby take you a blow o’ the
1095lips then?
Saying, “Cousin Toby, my fortunes, having
70cast me on your niece, give me this prerogative of
speech—”
What, what?
1100“You must amend your drunkenness.”
Out, scab!
75Nay, patience, or we break the sinews
of our plot!
“Besides, you waste the treasure of your
1105time with a foolish knight—”
That’s me, I warrant you.
80“One Sir Andrew.”
I knew ’twas I, for many do call me
fool.
1110What employment have
we here?
85Now is the woodcock near the gin.
O, peace, and the spirit of humors intimate
reading aloud to him.
1115By my life, this is my
lady’s hand! These be her very ’s, her ’s, and her
90’s, and thus she makes her great ’s. It is in
contempt of question her hand.
Her ’s, her ’s, and her ’s. Why that?
1120To the unknown beloved, this, and my
good wishes—Her very phrases! By your leave, wax.
95Soft. And the impressure her Lucrece, with which
she uses to seal—’tis my lady! He opens the letter.
To whom should this be?
1125This wins him, liver and all.
Jove knows I love,
100But who?
Lips, do not move;
No man must know.
1130“No man must know.” What follows? The numbers
altered. “No man must know.” If this should be
105thee, Malvolio!
Marry, hang thee, brock!
I may command where I adore,
1135But silence, like a Lucrece knife,
With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore;
110M.O.A.I. doth sway my life.
A fustian riddle!
Excellent wench, say I.
1140“M.O.A.I. doth sway my life.” Nay, but first
let me see, let me see, let me see.
115What dish o’ poison has she dressed
him!
And with what wing the staniel checks
1145at it!
“I may command where I adore.” Why, she
120may command me; I serve her; she is my lady. Why,
this is evident to any formal capacity. There is no
obstruction in this. And the end—what should that
1150alphabetical position portend? If I could make that
resemble something in me! Softly! “M.O.A.I.”—
125O, ay, make up that.—He is now at a cold
scent.
Sowter will cry upon ’t for all this,
1155though it be as rank as a fox.
“M”—Malvolio. “M”—why, that begins
130my name!
Did not I say he would work it out? The
cur is excellent at faults.
1160“M.” But then there is no consonancy in
the sequel that suffers under probation. “A” should
135follow, but “O” does.
And “O” shall end, I hope.
Ay, or I’ll cudgel him and make him cry
1165“O.”
And then “I” comes behind.
140Ay, an you had any eye behind you, you
might see more detraction at your heels than fortunes
before you.
1170“M.O.A.I.” This simulation is not as the
former, and yet to crush this a little, it would bow
145to me, for every one of these letters are in my name.
Soft, here follows prose.
He reads. If this fall into thy hand, revolve. In my
1175stars I am above thee, but be not afraid of greatness.
Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and
150some have greatness thrust upon ’em. Thy fates open
their hands. Let thy blood and spirit embrace them.
And, to inure thyself to what thou art like to be, cast
1180thy humble slough and appear fresh. Be opposite with
a kinsman, surly with servants. Let thy tongue tang
155arguments of state. Put thyself into the trick of singularity.
She thus advises thee that sighs for thee.
Remember who commended thy yellow stockings and
1185wished to see thee ever cross-gartered. I say, remember.
Go to, thou art made, if thou desir’st to be so. If
160not, let me see thee a steward still, the fellow of
servants, and not worthy to touch Fortune’s fingers.
Farewell. She that would alter services with thee,
1190The Fortunate-Unhappy.
Daylight and champian discovers not more! This is
165open. I will be proud, I will read politic authors, I
will baffle Sir Toby, I will wash off gross acquaintance,
I will be point-devise the very man. I do not
1195now fool myself, to let imagination jade me; for
every reason excites to this, that my lady loves me.
170She did commend my yellow stockings of late, she
did praise my leg being cross-gartered, and in this
she manifests herself to my love and, with a kind of
1200injunction, drives me to these habits of her liking. I
thank my stars, I am happy. I will be strange, stout,
175in yellow stockings, and cross-gartered, even with
the swiftness of putting on. Jove and my stars be
praised! Here is yet a postscript.
1205He reads. Thou canst not choose but know who I
am. If thou entertain’st my love, let it appear in thy
180smiling; thy smiles become thee well. Therefore in my
presence still smile, dear my sweet, I prithee.
Jove, I thank thee! I will smile. I will do everything
1210that thou wilt have me.
I will not give my part of this sport for a
185pension of thousands to be paid from the Sophy.
I could marry this wench for this device.
So could I too.
1215And ask no other dowry with her but such
another jest.
190Nor I neither.
Enter Maria.Here comes my noble gull-catcher.
Wilt thou set thy foot o’ my neck?
1220Or o’ mine either?
Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip and become
195thy bondslave?
I’ faith, or I either?
Why, thou hast put him in such a dream that
1225when the image of it leaves him he must run mad.
Nay, but say true, does it work upon him?
200Like aqua vitae with a midwife.
If you will then see the fruits of the sport,
mark his first approach before my lady. He will
1230come to her in yellow stockings, and ’tis a color
she abhors, and cross-gartered, a fashion she detests;
205and he will smile upon her, which will now
be so unsuitable to her disposition, being addicted
to a melancholy as she is, that it cannot
1235but turn him into a notable contempt. If you will
see it, follow me.
210To the gates of Tartar, thou most excellent devil
of wit!
I’ll make one, too.
They exit.
1240Save thee, friend, and thy music. Dost thou live
by thy tabor?
No, sir, I live by the church.
Art thou a churchman?
5No such matter, sir. I do live by the church, for I
1245do live at my house, and my house doth stand by the
church.
So thou mayst say the king lies by a beggar if a
beggar dwell near him, or the church stands by thy
10tabor if thy tabor stand by the church.
1250You have said, sir. To see this age! A sentence is
but a chev’ril glove to a good wit. How quickly the
wrong side may be turned outward!
Nay, that’s certain. They that dally nicely with
15words may quickly make them wanton.
1255I would therefore my sister had had no name,
sir.
Why, man?
Why, sir, her name’s a word, and to dally with
20that word might make my sister wanton. But,
1260indeed, words are very rascals since bonds disgraced
them.
Thy reason, man?
Troth, sir, I can yield you none without words,
25and words are grown so false I am loath to prove
1265reason with them.
I warrant thou art a merry fellow and car’st for
nothing.
Not so, sir. I do care for something. But in my
30conscience, sir, I do not care for you. If that be to
1270care for nothing, sir, I would it would make you
invisible.
Art not thou the Lady Olivia’s Fool?
No, indeed, sir. The Lady Olivia has no folly. She
35will keep no Fool, sir, till she be married, and Fools
1275are as like husbands as pilchers are to herrings: the
husband’s the bigger. I am indeed not her Fool but
her corrupter of words.
I saw thee late at the Count Orsino’s.
40Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the
1280sun; it shines everywhere. I would be sorry, sir, but
the Fool should be as oft with your master as with
my mistress. I think I saw your Wisdom there.
Nay, an thou pass upon me, I’ll no more with
45thee. Hold, there’s expenses for thee. Giving a
coin.
1285Now Jove, in his next commodity of hair, send
thee a beard!
By my troth I’ll tell thee, I am almost sick for
one, aside though I would not have it grow on my
50chin.—Is thy lady within?
1290Would not a pair of these have bred, sir?
Yes, being kept together and put to use.
I would play Lord Pandarus of Phrygia, sir, to
bring a Cressida to this Troilus.
55I understand you, sir. ’Tis well begged. Giving
another coin.
1295The matter I hope is not great, sir, begging but a
beggar: Cressida was a beggar. My lady is within, sir.
I will conster to them whence you come. Who you
are and what you would are out of my welkin—I
60might say “element,” but the word is overworn.
1300This fellow is wise enough to play the Fool,
And to do that well craves a kind of wit.
He must observe their mood on whom he jests,
The quality of persons, and the time,
65And, like the haggard, check at every feather
1305That comes before his eye. This is a practice
As full of labor as a wise man’s art:
For folly that he wisely shows is fit;
But wise men, folly-fall’n, quite taint their wit.
70Save you, gentleman.
1310And you, sir.
Dieu vous garde, monsieur.
Et vous aussi. Votre serviteur!
I hope, sir, you are, and I am yours.
75Will you encounter the house? My niece is
1315desirous you should enter, if your trade be to her.
I am bound to your niece, sir; I mean, she is the
list of my voyage.
Taste your legs, sir; put them to motion.
80My legs do better understand me, sir, than I
1320understand what you mean by bidding me taste my
legs.
I mean, to go, sir, to enter.
I will answer you with gait and entrance—but
85we are prevented.
Enter Olivia, and Maria, her Gentlewoman.
1325Most excellent accomplished lady, the heavens rain
odors on you!
That youth’s a rare courtier. “Rain
odors,” well.
90My matter hath no voice, lady, but to your own
1330most pregnant and vouchsafed ear.
“Odors,” “pregnant,” and “vouchsafed.”
I’ll get ’em all three all ready.
Let the garden door be shut, and leave me to
95my hearing.Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Maria exit.
1335Give me your hand, sir.
My duty, madam, and most humble service.
What is your name?
Cesario is your servant’s name, fair princess.
100My servant, sir? ’Twas never merry world
1340Since lowly feigning was called compliment.
You’re servant to the Count Orsino, youth.
And he is yours, and his must needs be yours.
Your servant’s servant is your servant, madam.
105For him, I think not on him. For his thoughts,
1345Would they were blanks rather than filled with me.
Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts
On his behalf.
O, by your leave, I pray you.
110I bade you never speak again of him.
1350But would you undertake another suit,
I had rather hear you to solicit that
Than music from the spheres.
Dear lady—
115Give me leave, beseech you. I did send,
1355After the last enchantment you did here,
A ring in chase of you. So did I abuse
Myself, my servant, and, I fear me, you.
Under your hard construction must I sit,
120To force that on you in a shameful cunning
1360Which you knew none of yours. What might you
think?
Have you not set mine honor at the stake
And baited it with all th’ unmuzzled thoughts
125That tyrannous heart can think? To one of your
1365receiving
Enough is shown. A cypress, not a bosom,
Hides my heart. So, let me hear you speak.
I pity you.
130That’s a degree to love.
1370No, not a grize, for ’tis a vulgar proof
That very oft we pity enemies.
Why then methinks ’tis time to smile again.
O world, how apt the poor are to be proud!
135If one should be a prey, how much the better
1375To fall before the lion than the wolf.Clock strikes.
The clock upbraids me with the waste of time.
Be not afraid, good youth, I will not have you.
And yet when wit and youth is come to harvest,
140Your wife is like to reap a proper man.
1380There lies your way, due west.
Then westward ho!
Grace and good disposition attend your Ladyship.
You’ll nothing, madam, to my lord by me?
145Stay. I prithee, tell me what thou think’st of me.
1385That you do think you are not what you are.
If I think so, I think the same of you.
Then think you right. I am not what I am.
I would you were as I would have you be.
150Would it be better, madam, than I am?
1390I wish it might, for now I am your fool.
O, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful
In the contempt and anger of his lip!
A murd’rous guilt shows not itself more soon
155Than love that would seem hid. Love’s night is
1395noon.—
Cesario, by the roses of the spring,
By maidhood, honor, truth, and everything,
I love thee so, that, maugre all thy pride,
160Nor wit nor reason can my passion hide.
1400Do not extort thy reasons from this clause,
For that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause;
But rather reason thus with reason fetter:
Love sought is good, but given unsought is better.
165By innocence I swear, and by my youth,
1405I have one heart, one bosom, and one truth,
And that no woman has, nor never none
Shall mistress be of it, save I alone.
And so adieu, good madam. Nevermore
170Will I my master’s tears to you deplore.
1410Yet come again, for thou perhaps mayst move
That heart, which now abhors, to like his love.
No, faith, I’ll not stay a jot longer.
Thy reason, dear venom, give thy reason.
You must needs yield your reason, Sir Andrew.
1415Marry, I saw your niece do more favors to the
5Count’s servingman than ever she bestowed upon
me. I saw ’t i’ th’ orchard.
Did she see thee the while, old boy? Tell me
that.
1420As plain as I see you now.
10This was a great argument of love in her toward
you.
’Slight, will you make an ass o’ me?
I will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the oaths of
1425judgment and reason.
15And they have been grand-jurymen since before
Noah was a sailor.
She did show favor to the youth in your sight
only to exasperate you, to awake your dormouse
1430valor, to put fire in your heart and brimstone in
20your liver. You should then have accosted her, and
with some excellent jests, fire-new from the mint,
you should have banged the youth into dumbness.
This was looked for at your hand, and this was
1435balked. The double gilt of this opportunity you let
25time wash off, and you are now sailed into the north
of my lady’s opinion, where you will hang like an
icicle on a Dutchman’s beard, unless you do redeem
it by some laudable attempt either of valor or
1440policy.
30An ’t be any way, it must be with valor, for
policy I hate. I had as lief be a Brownist as a
politician.
Why, then, build me thy fortunes upon the basis
1445of valor. Challenge me the Count’s youth to fight
35with him. Hurt him in eleven places. My niece shall
take note of it, and assure thyself there is no
love-broker in the world can more prevail in man’s
commendation with woman than report of valor.
1450There is no way but this, Sir Andrew.
40Will either of you bear me a challenge to him?
Go, write it in a martial hand. Be curst and
brief. It is no matter how witty, so it be eloquent
and full of invention. Taunt him with the license of
1455ink. If thou -est him some thrice, it shall not
45be amiss, and as many lies as will lie in thy sheet of
paper, although the sheet were big enough for the
bed of Ware in England, set ’em down. Go, about it.
Let there be gall enough in thy ink, though thou
1460write with a goose-pen, no matter. About it.
50Where shall I find you?
We’ll call thee at the cubiculo. Go.
Sir Andrew exits.This is a dear manikin to you, Sir Toby.
I have been dear to him, lad, some two thousand
1465strong or so.
55We shall have a rare letter from him. But you’ll
not deliver ’t?
Never trust me, then. And by all means stir on
the youth to an answer. I think oxen and wainropes
1470cannot hale them together. For Andrew, if he were
60opened and you find so much blood in his liver as
will clog the foot of a flea, I’ll eat the rest of th’
anatomy.
And his opposite, the youth, bears in his visage
1475no great presage of cruelty.
65Look where the youngest wren of mine comes.
If you desire the spleen, and will laugh yourselves
into stitches, follow me. Yond gull Malvolio is
turned heathen, a very renegado; for there is no
1480Christian that means to be saved by believing rightly
70can ever believe such impossible passages of grossness.
He’s in yellow stockings.
And cross-gartered?
Most villainously, like a pedant that keeps a
1485school i’ th’ church. I have dogged him like his
75murderer. He does obey every point of the letter
that I dropped to betray him. He does smile his face
into more lines than is in the new map with the
augmentation of the Indies. You have not seen such
1490a thing as ’tis. I can hardly forbear hurling things at
80him. I know my lady will strike him. If she do, he’ll
smile and take ’t for a great favor.
Come, bring us, bring us where he is.
They all exit.
I would not by my will have troubled you,
1495But, since you make your pleasure of your pains,
I will no further chide you.
I could not stay behind you. My desire,
5More sharp than filèd steel, did spur me forth;
And not all love to see you, though so much
1500As might have drawn one to a longer voyage,
But jealousy what might befall your travel,
Being skill-less in these parts, which to a stranger,
10Unguided and unfriended, often prove
Rough and unhospitable. My willing love,
1505The rather by these arguments of fear,
Set forth in your pursuit.
My kind Antonio,
15I can no other answer make but thanks,
And thanks, and ever thanks; and oft good turns
1510Are shuffled off with such uncurrent pay.
But were my worth, as is my conscience, firm,
You should find better dealing. What’s to do?
20Shall we go see the relics of this town?
Tomorrow, sir. Best first go see your lodging.
1515I am not weary, and ’tis long to night.
I pray you, let us satisfy our eyes
With the memorials and the things of fame
25That do renown this city.
Would you’d pardon me.
1520I do not without danger walk these streets.
Once in a sea fight ’gainst the Count his galleys
I did some service, of such note indeed
30That were I ta’en here it would scarce be answered.
Belike you slew great number of his people?
1525Th’ offense is not of such a bloody nature,
Albeit the quality of the time and quarrel
Might well have given us bloody argument.
35It might have since been answered in repaying
What we took from them, which, for traffic’s sake,
1530Most of our city did. Only myself stood out,
For which, if I be lapsèd in this place,
I shall pay dear.
40Do not then walk too open.
It doth not fit me. Hold, sir, here’s my purse.
Giving him money.
1535In the south suburbs, at the Elephant,
Is best to lodge. I will bespeak our diet
Whiles you beguile the time and feed your
45knowledge
With viewing of the town. There shall you have me.
1540Why I your purse?
Haply your eye shall light upon some toy
You have desire to purchase, and your store,
50I think, is not for idle markets, sir.
I’ll be your purse-bearer and leave you
1545For an hour.
To th’ Elephant.
I do remember.
They exit in different directions.
I have sent after him. He says he’ll come.
How shall I feast him? What bestow of him?
1550For youth is bought more oft than begged or
borrowed.
5I speak too loud.—
Where’s Malvolio? He is sad and civil
And suits well for a servant with my fortunes.
1555Where is Malvolio?
He’s coming, madam, but in very strange manner.
10He is sure possessed, madam.
Why, what’s the matter? Does he rave?
No, madam, he does nothing but smile. Your
1560Ladyship were best to have some guard about you if
he come, for sure the man is tainted in ’s wits.
15Go call him hither. Maria exits. I am as mad as he,
If sad and merry madness equal be.
Enter Maria with Malvolio.
How now, Malvolio?
1565Sweet lady, ho, ho!
Smil’st thou? I sent for thee upon a sad
20occasion.
Sad, lady? I could be sad. This does make
some obstruction in the blood, this cross-gartering,
1570but what of that? If it please the eye of one, it is
with me as the very true sonnet is: “Please one, and
25please all.”
Why, how dost thou, man? What is the matter
with thee?
1575Not black in my mind, though yellow in my
legs. It did come to his hands, and commands shall
30be executed. I think we do know the sweet Roman
hand.
Wilt thou go to bed, Malvolio?
1580To bed? “Ay, sweetheart, and I’ll come to
thee.”
35God comfort thee! Why dost thou smile so, and
kiss thy hand so oft?
How do you, Malvolio?
1585At your request? Yes, nightingales answer
daws!
40Why appear you with this ridiculous boldness
before my lady?
“Be not afraid of greatness.” ’Twas well
1590writ.
What mean’st thou by that, Malvolio?
45“Some are born great—”
Ha?
“Some achieve greatness—”
1595What sayst thou?
“And some have greatness thrust upon
50them.”
Heaven restore thee!
“Remember who commended thy yellow
1600stockings—”
Thy yellow stockings?
55“And wished to see thee cross-gartered.”
Cross-gartered?
“Go to, thou art made, if thou desir’st to be
1605so—”
Am I made?
60“If not, let me see thee a servant still.”
Why, this is very midsummer madness!
Enter Servant.
Madam, the young gentleman of the Count
1610Orsino’s is returned. I could hardly entreat him
back. He attends your Ladyship’s pleasure.
65I’ll come to him. Servant exits. Good Maria, let
this fellow be looked to. Where’s my Cousin Toby?
Let some of my people have a special care of him. I
1615would not have him miscarry for the half of my
dowry.
70O ho, do you come near me now? No worse
man than Sir Toby to look to me. This concurs
directly with the letter. She sends him on purpose
1620that I may appear stubborn to him, for she incites
me to that in the letter: “Cast thy humble slough,”
75says she. “Be opposite with a kinsman, surly with
servants; let thy tongue tang with arguments of
state; put thyself into the trick of singularity,” and
1625consequently sets down the manner how: as, a sad
face, a reverend carriage, a slow tongue, in the habit
80of some Sir of note, and so forth. I have limed her,
but it is Jove’s doing, and Jove make me thankful!
And when she went away now, “Let this fellow be
1630looked to.” “Fellow!” Not “Malvolio,” nor after my
degree, but “fellow.” Why, everything adheres together,
85that no dram of a scruple, no scruple of a
scruple, no obstacle, no incredulous or unsafe
circumstance—what can be said? Nothing that can
1635be can come between me and the full prospect of
my hopes. Well, Jove, not I, is the doer of this, and
90he is to be thanked.
Which way is he, in the name of sanctity? If all
the devils of hell be drawn in little, and Legion
1640himself possessed him, yet I’ll speak to him.
Here he is, here he is.—How is ’t with you, sir?
95How is ’t with you, man?
Go off, I discard you. Let me enjoy my
private. Go off.
1645Lo, how hollow the fiend speaks
within him! Did not I tell you? Sir Toby, my lady
100prays you to have a care of him.
Aha, does she so?
Go to, go to! Peace, peace.
1650We must deal gently with him. Let me alone.—How
do you, Malvolio? How is ’t with you? What, man,
105defy the devil! Consider, he’s an enemy to mankind.
Do you know what you say?
La you, an you speak ill of the devil,
1655how he takes it at heart! Pray God he be not
bewitched!
110Carry his water to th’ wisewoman.
Marry, and it shall be done tomorrow morning
if I live. My lady would not lose him for more than
1660I’ll say.
How now, mistress?
115O Lord!
Prithee, hold thy peace. This is not the way. Do
you not see you move him? Let me alone with
1665him.
No way but gentleness, gently, gently. The
120fiend is rough and will not be roughly used.
Why, how now, my bawcock? How
dost thou, chuck?
1670Sir!
Ay, biddy, come with me.—What, man, ’tis not
125for gravity to play at cherry-pit with Satan. Hang
him, foul collier!
Get him to say his prayers, good Sir Toby; get
1675him to pray.
My prayers, minx?
130No, I warrant you, he will not hear of
godliness.
Go hang yourselves all! You are idle, shallow
1680things. I am not of your element. You shall
know more hereafter.
135Is ’t possible?
If this were played upon a stage now, I could
condemn it as an improbable fiction.
1685His very genius hath taken the infection of the
device, man.
140Nay, pursue him now, lest the device take air
and taint.
Why, we shall make him mad indeed.
1690The house will be the quieter.
Come, we’ll have him in a dark room and
145bound. My niece is already in the belief that he’s
mad. We may carry it thus, for our pleasure and his
penance, till our very pastime, tired out of breath,
1695prompt us to have mercy on him, at which time we
will bring the device to the bar and crown thee for a
150finder of madmen. But see, but see!
More matter for a May morning.
Here’s the challenge.
1700Read it. I warrant there’s vinegar and pepper in ’t.
Is ’t so saucy?
155Ay, is ’t. I warrant him. Do but read.
Give me. He reads. Youth, whatsoever thou art,
thou art but a scurvy fellow.
1705Good, and valiant.
Wonder not nor admire not in thy mind
160why I do call thee so, for I will show thee no reason
for ’t.
A good note, that keeps you from the blow of
1710the law.
Thou com’st to the Lady Olivia, and in my
165sight she uses thee kindly. But thou liest in thy throat;
that is not the matter I challenge thee for.
Very brief, and to exceeding good sense—less.
1715I will waylay thee going home, where if it be
thy chance to kill me—
170Good.
Thou kill’st me like a rogue and a villain.
Still you keep o’ th’ windy side of the law.
1720Good.
Fare thee well, and God have mercy upon
175one of our souls. He may have mercy upon mine, but
my hope is better, and so look to thyself. Thy friend, as
thou usest him, and thy sworn enemy,
1725Andrew Aguecheek.
If this letter move him not, his legs cannot. I’ll
180give ’t him.
You may have very fit occasion for ’t. He is now
in some commerce with my lady and will by and
1730by depart.
Go, Sir Andrew. Scout me for him at the corner
185of the orchard like a bum-baily. So soon as ever
thou seest him, draw, and as thou draw’st, swear
horrible, for it comes to pass oft that a terrible oath,
1735with a swaggering accent sharply twanged off, gives
manhood more approbation than ever proof itself
190would have earned him. Away!
Nay, let me alone for swearing.
He exits.
Now will not I deliver his letter, for the behavior
1740of the young gentleman gives him out to be of good
capacity and breeding; his employment between
195his lord and my niece confirms no less. Therefore,
this letter, being so excellently ignorant, will breed
no terror in the youth. He will find it comes from a
1745clodpoll. But, sir, I will deliver his challenge by
word of mouth, set upon Aguecheek a notable
200report of valor, and drive the gentleman (as I know
his youth will aptly receive it) into a most hideous
opinion of his rage, skill, fury, and impetuosity. This
1750will so fright them both that they will kill one
another by the look, like cockatrices.
205Here he comes with your niece. Give them
way till he take leave, and presently after him.
I will meditate the while upon some horrid
1755message for a challenge.
I have said too much unto a heart of stone
210And laid mine honor too unchary on ’t.
There’s something in me that reproves my fault,
But such a headstrong potent fault it is
1760That it but mocks reproof.
With the same ’havior that your passion bears
215Goes on my master’s griefs.
Here, wear this jewel for me. ’Tis my picture.
Refuse it not. It hath no tongue to vex you.
1765And I beseech you come again tomorrow.
What shall you ask of me that I’ll deny,
220That honor, saved, may upon asking give?
Nothing but this: your true love for my master.
How with mine honor may I give him that
1770Which I have given to you?
I will acquit you.
225Well, come again tomorrow. Fare thee well.
A fiend like thee might bear my soul to hell.
Gentleman, God save thee.
1775And you, sir.
That defense thou hast, betake thee to ’t. Of what
230nature the wrongs are thou hast done him, I know
not, but thy intercepter, full of despite, bloody as
the hunter, attends thee at the orchard end. Dismount
1780thy tuck, be yare in thy preparation, for thy
assailant is quick, skillful, and deadly.
235You mistake, sir. I am sure no man hath any
quarrel to me. My remembrance is very free and
clear from any image of offense done to any man.
1785You’ll find it otherwise, I assure you. Therefore,
if you hold your life at any price, betake you to your
240guard, for your opposite hath in him what youth,
strength, skill, and wrath can furnish man withal.
I pray you, sir, what is he?
1790He is knight dubbed with unhatched rapier and
on carpet consideration, but he is a devil in private
245brawl. Souls and bodies hath he divorced three, and
his incensement at this moment is so implacable
that satisfaction can be none but by pangs of death
1795and sepulcher. “Hob, nob” is his word; “give ’t or
take ’t.”
250I will return again into the house and desire
some conduct of the lady. I am no fighter. I have
heard of some kind of men that put quarrels purposely
1800on others to taste their valor. Belike this is a
man of that quirk.
255Sir, no. His indignation derives itself out of a very
competent injury. Therefore get you on and give
him his desire. Back you shall not to the house,
1805unless you undertake that with me which with as
much safety you might answer him. Therefore on,
260or strip your sword stark naked, for meddle you
must, that’s certain, or forswear to wear iron about
you.
1810This is as uncivil as strange. I beseech you, do
me this courteous office, as to know of the knight
265what my offense to him is. It is something of my
negligence, nothing of my purpose.
I will do so.—Signior Fabian, stay you by this
1815gentleman till my return.
Pray you, sir, do you know of this matter?
270I know the knight is incensed against you even
to a mortal arbitrament, but nothing of the circumstance
more.
1820I beseech you, what manner of man is he?
Nothing of that wonderful promise, to read
275him by his form, as you are like to find him in the
proof of his valor. He is indeed, sir, the most skillful,
bloody, and fatal opposite that you could possibly
1825have found in any part of Illyria. Will you walk
towards him? I will make your peace with him if I
280can.
I shall be much bound to you for ’t. I am one
that had rather go with Sir Priest than Sir Knight, I
1830care not who knows so much of my mettle.
Why, man, he’s a very devil. I have not seen such
285a firago. I had a pass with him, rapier, scabbard,
and all, and he gives me the stuck-in with such
a mortal motion that it is inevitable; and on the
1835answer, he pays you as surely as your feet hits the
ground they step on. They say he has been fencer
290to the Sophy.
Pox on ’t! I’ll not meddle with him.
Ay, but he will not now be pacified. Fabian can
1840scarce hold him yonder.
Plague on ’t! An I thought he had been
295valiant, and so cunning in fence, I’d have seen him
damned ere I’d have challenged him. Let him let
the matter slip, and I’ll give him my horse, gray
1845Capilet.
I’ll make the motion. Stand here, make a good
300show on ’t. This shall end without the perdition of
souls. Aside. Marry, I’ll ride your horse as well as I
ride you.
Enter Fabian and Viola.
Toby crosses to meet them.
1850Aside to Fabian. I have his horse to take up the
quarrel. I have persuaded him the youth’s a devil.
305He is as horribly conceited of
him, and pants and looks pale as if a bear were at his
heels.
1855There’s no remedy, sir; he will fight
with you for ’s oath sake. Marry, he hath better
310bethought him of his quarrel, and he finds that now
scarce to be worth talking of. Therefore, draw for
the supportance of his vow. He protests he will not
1860hurt you.
Pray God defend me! Aside. A little thing
315would make me tell them how much I lack of a
man.
Give ground if you see him furious.
Toby crosses to Andrew.
1865Come, Sir Andrew, there’s no remedy. The
gentleman will, for his honor’s sake, have one bout
320with you. He cannot by the duello avoid it. But he
has promised me, as he is a gentleman and a soldier,
he will not hurt you. Come on, to ’t.
1870Pray God he keep his
oath!
325I do assure you ’tis against my will.
Put up your sword. If this young gentleman
Have done offense, I take the fault on me.
1875If you offend him, I for him defy you.
You, sir? Why, what are you?
330One, sir, that for his love dares yet do more
Than you have heard him brag to you he will.
Nay, if you be an undertaker, I am for you.
1880O, good Sir Toby, hold! Here come the officers.
I’ll be with you anon.
335Pray, sir, put your sword up, if
you please.
Marry, will I, sir. And for that I promised
1885you, I’ll be as good as my word. He will bear you
easily, and reins well.
340This is the man. Do thy office.
Antonio, I arrest thee at the suit of
Count Orsino.
1890You do mistake me, sir.
No, sir, no jot. I know your favor well,
345Though now you have no sea-cap on your head.—
Take him away. He knows I know him well.
I must obey. To Viola. This comes with seeking
1895you.
But there’s no remedy. I shall answer it.
350What will you do, now my necessity
Makes me to ask you for my purse? It grieves me
Much more for what I cannot do for you
1900Than what befalls myself. You stand amazed,
But be of comfort.
355Come, sir, away.
I must entreat of you some of that money.
What money, sir?
1905For the fair kindness you have showed me here,
And part being prompted by your present trouble,
360Out of my lean and low ability
I’ll lend you something. My having is not much.
I’ll make division of my present with you.
1910Hold, there’s half my coffer.
Will you deny me now?
365Is ’t possible that my deserts to you
Can lack persuasion? Do not tempt my misery,
Lest that it make me so unsound a man
1915As to upbraid you with those kindnesses
That I have done for you.
370I know of none,
Nor know I you by voice or any feature.
I hate ingratitude more in a man
1920Than lying, vainness, babbling drunkenness,
Or any taint of vice whose strong corruption
375Inhabits our frail blood—
O heavens themselves!
Come, sir, I pray you go.
1925Let me speak a little. This youth that you see here
I snatched one half out of the jaws of death,
380Relieved him with such sanctity of love,
And to his image, which methought did promise
Most venerable worth, did I devotion.
1930What’s that to us? The time goes by. Away!
But O, how vile an idol proves this god!
385Thou hast, Sebastian, done good feature shame.
In nature there’s no blemish but the mind;
None can be called deformed but the unkind.
1935Virtue is beauty, but the beauteous evil
Are empty trunks o’erflourished by the devil.
390The man grows mad. Away with him.—Come,
come, sir.
Lead me on.
Antonio and Officers exit.
1940Methinks his words do from such passion fly
That he believes himself; so do not I.
395Prove true, imagination, O, prove true,
That I, dear brother, be now ta’en for you!
Come hither, knight; come hither, Fabian. We’ll
1945whisper o’er a couplet or two of most sage saws.
He named Sebastian. I my brother know
400Yet living in my glass. Even such and so
In favor was my brother, and he went
Still in this fashion, color, ornament,
1950For him I imitate. O, if it prove,
Tempests are kind, and salt waves fresh in love!
405A very dishonest, paltry boy, and more a coward
than a hare. His dishonesty appears in leaving his
friend here in necessity and denying him; and for
1955his cowardship, ask Fabian.
A coward, a most devout coward, religious
410in it.
’Slid, I’ll after him again and beat him.
Do, cuff him soundly, but never draw thy
1960sword.
An I do not—
415Come, let’s see the event.
I dare lay any money ’twill be nothing yet.
They exit.
Will you make me believe that I am not sent for
1965you?
Go to, go to, thou art a foolish fellow. Let
me be clear of thee.
5Well held out, i’ faith. No, I do not know you, nor
I am not sent to you by my lady to bid you come
1970speak with her, nor your name is not Master
Cesario, nor this is not my nose neither. Nothing
that is so is so.
10I prithee, vent thy folly somewhere else.
Thou know’st not me.
1975Vent my folly? He has heard that word of some
great man and now applies it to a Fool. Vent my
folly? I am afraid this great lubber the world will
15prove a cockney. I prithee now, ungird thy strangeness
and tell me what I shall vent to my lady. Shall I
1980vent to her that thou art coming?
I prithee, foolish Greek, depart from me.
There’s money for thee. Giving money. If you
20tarry longer, I shall give worse payment.
By my troth, thou hast an open hand. These wise
1985men that give Fools money get themselves a good
report—after fourteen years’ purchase.
Now, sir, have I met you again?
25There’s for you.
Why, there’s for thee,
1990and there, and there.—Are all the people mad?
Hold, sir, or I’ll throw your dagger o’er the
house.
30This will I tell my lady straight. I would
not be in some of your coats for twopence.
1995Come on, sir, hold!
Nay, let him alone. I’ll go another way to
work with him. I’ll have an action of battery against
35him, if there be any law in Illyria. Though I struck
him first, yet it’s no matter for that.
2000Let go thy hand!
Come, sir, I will not let you go. Come, my young
soldier, put up your iron. You are well fleshed.
40Come on.
I will be free from thee.
He pulls free and draws his sword.
2005What wouldst thou now?
If thou dar’st tempt me further, draw thy sword.
What, what? Nay, then, I must have an ounce or
45two of this malapert blood from you.
Hold, Toby! On thy life I charge thee, hold!
2010Madam.
Will it be ever thus? Ungracious wretch,
Fit for the mountains and the barbarous caves,
50Where manners ne’er were preached! Out of my
sight!—
2015Be not offended, dear Cesario.—
Rudesby, begone!Toby, Andrew, and Fabian exit.
I prithee, gentle friend,
55Let thy fair wisdom, not thy passion, sway
In this uncivil and unjust extent
2020Against thy peace. Go with me to my house,
And hear thou there how many fruitless pranks
This ruffian hath botched up, that thou thereby
60Mayst smile at this. Thou shalt not choose but go.
Do not deny. Beshrew his soul for me!
2025He started one poor heart of mine, in thee.
What relish is in this? How runs the stream?
Or I am mad, or else this is a dream.
65Let fancy still my sense in Lethe steep;
If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep!
2030Nay, come, I prithee. Would thou ’dst be ruled by
me!
Madam, I will.
70O, say so, and so be!
They exit.
Nay, I prithee, put on this gown and this beard;
2035make him believe thou art Sir Topas the curate. Do
it quickly. I’ll call Sir Toby the whilst.
Well, I’ll put it on and I will dissemble myself in
5’t, and I would I were the first that ever dissembled
in such a gown. He puts on gown and beard. I am
2040not tall enough to become the function well, nor
lean enough to be thought a good student, but to be
said an honest man and a good housekeeper goes as
10fairly as to say a careful man and a great scholar.
The competitors enter.
2045Jove bless thee, Master Parson.
Bonos dies, Sir Toby; for, as the old hermit of
Prague, that never saw pen and ink, very wittily said
15to a niece of King Gorboduc “That that is, is,” so I,
being Master Parson, am Master Parson; for what is
2050“that” but “that” and “is” but “is”?
To him, Sir Topas.
What ho, I say! Peace in this
20prison!
The knave counterfeits well. A good knave.
Malvolio within.2055Who calls there?
Sir Topas the curate, who comes to visit Malvolio
the lunatic.
25Sir Topas, Sir Topas, good Sir Topas, go to
my lady—
2060Out, hyperbolical fiend! How vexest thou this
man! Talkest thou nothing but of ladies?
Well said, Master Parson.
30Sir Topas, never was man thus wronged.
Good Sir Topas, do not think I am mad. They have
2065laid me here in hideous darkness—
Fie, thou dishonest Satan! I call thee by the most
modest terms, for I am one of those gentle ones
35that will use the devil himself with courtesy. Sayst
thou that house is dark?
2070As hell, Sir Topas.
Why, it hath bay windows transparent as barricadoes,
and the clerestories toward the south-north
40are as lustrous as ebony; and yet complainest
thou of obstruction?
2075I am not mad, Sir Topas. I say to you this
house is dark.
Madman, thou errest. I say there is no darkness
45but ignorance, in which thou art more puzzled than
the Egyptians in their fog.
2080I say this house is as dark as ignorance,
though ignorance were as dark as hell. And I say
there was never man thus abused. I am no more
50mad than you are. Make the trial of it in any
constant question.
2085What is the opinion of Pythagoras concerning
wildfowl?
That the soul of our grandam might haply
55inhabit a bird.
What thinkst thou of his opinion?
2090I think nobly of the soul, and no way
approve his opinion.
Fare thee well. Remain thou still in darkness.
60Thou shalt hold th’ opinion of Pythagoras ere I will
allow of thy wits, and fear to kill a woodcock lest
2095thou dispossess the soul of thy grandam. Fare thee
well.
Sir Topas, Sir Topas!
65My most exquisite Sir Topas!
Nay, I am for all waters.
2100Thou mightst have done this without thy beard
and gown. He sees thee not.
To him in thine own voice, and bring me word
70how thou find’st him. I would we were well rid
of this knavery. If he may be conveniently delivered,
2105I would he were, for I am now so far in
offense with my niece that I cannot pursue with
any safety this sport the upshot. Come by and by
75to my chamber.
Hey, Robin, jolly Robin,
2110Tell me how thy lady does.
Fool!
My lady is unkind, perdy.
80Fool!
Alas, why is she so?
2115Fool, I say!
She loves another—
Who calls, ha?
85Good fool, as ever thou wilt deserve well at
my hand, help me to a candle, and pen, ink, and
2120paper. As I am a gentleman, I will live to be thankful
to thee for ’t.
Master Malvolio?
90Ay, good Fool.
Alas, sir, how fell you besides your five wits?
2125Fool, there was never man so notoriously
abused. I am as well in my wits, Fool, as thou art.
But as well? Then you are mad indeed, if you be
95no better in your wits than a Fool.
They have here propertied me, keep me in
2130darkness, send ministers to me—asses!—and do
all they can to face me out of my wits.
Advise you what you say. The minister is here.
100In the voice of Sir Topas. Malvolio, Malvolio, thy
wits the heavens restore. Endeavor thyself to sleep
2135and leave thy vain bibble-babble.
Sir Topas!
Maintain no words with him, good
105fellow. As Fool. Who, I, sir? Not I, sir! God buy
you, good Sir Topas. As Sir Topas. Marry, amen.
2140As Fool. I will, sir, I will.
Fool! Fool! Fool, I say!
Alas, sir, be patient. What say you, sir? I am
110shent for speaking to you.
Good Fool, help me to some light and some
2145paper. I tell thee, I am as well in my wits as any
man in Illyria.
Welladay that you were, sir!
115By this hand, I am. Good Fool, some ink,
paper, and light; and convey what I will set down to
2150my lady. It shall advantage thee more than ever the
bearing of letter did.
I will help you to ’t. But tell me true, are you not
120mad indeed, or do you but counterfeit?
Believe me, I am not. I tell thee true.
2155Nay, I’ll ne’er believe a madman till I see his
brains. I will fetch you light and paper and ink.
Fool, I’ll requite it in the highest degree. I
125prithee, begone.
I am gone, sir, and anon, sir,
2160I’ll be with you again,
In a trice, like to the old Vice,
Your need to sustain.
130Who with dagger of lath, in his rage and his wrath,
Cries “aha!” to the devil;
2165Like a mad lad, “Pare thy nails, dad!
Adieu, goodman devil.”
This is the air; that is the glorious sun.
This pearl she gave me, I do feel ’t and see ’t.
And though ’tis wonder that enwraps me thus,
2170Yet ’tis not madness. Where’s Antonio, then?
5I could not find him at the Elephant.
Yet there he was; and there I found this credit,
That he did range the town to seek me out.
His counsel now might do me golden service.
2175For though my soul disputes well with my sense
10That this may be some error, but no madness,
Yet doth this accident and flood of fortune
So far exceed all instance, all discourse,
That I am ready to distrust mine eyes
2180And wrangle with my reason that persuades me
15To any other trust but that I am mad—
Or else the lady’s mad. Yet if ’twere so,
She could not sway her house, command her
followers,
2185Take and give back affairs and their dispatch
20With such a smooth, discreet, and stable bearing
As I perceive she does. There’s something in ’t
That is deceivable. But here the lady comes.
Blame not this haste of mine. If you mean well,
2190Now go with me and with this holy man
25Into the chantry by. There, before him
And underneath that consecrated roof,
Plight me the full assurance of your faith,
That my most jealous and too doubtful soul
2195May live at peace. He shall conceal it
30Whiles you are willing it shall come to note,
What time we will our celebration keep
According to my birth. What do you say?
I’ll follow this good man and go with you,
2200And, having sworn truth, ever will be true.
35Then lead the way, good father, and heavens so
shine
That they may fairly note this act of mine.
Now, as thou lov’st me, let me see his letter.
2205Good Master Fabian, grant me another request.
Anything.
Do not desire to see this letter.
5This is to give a dog and in recompense desire
my dog again.
2210Belong you to the Lady Olivia, friends?
Ay, sir, we are some of her trappings.
I know thee well. How dost thou, my good fellow?
10Truly, sir, the better for my foes and the worse
for my friends.
2215Just the contrary: the better for thy friends.
No, sir, the worse.
How can that be?
15Marry, sir, they praise me and make an ass of me.
Now my foes tell me plainly I am an ass; so that by
2220my foes, sir, I profit in the knowledge of myself, and
by my friends I am abused. So that, conclusions to
be as kisses, if your four negatives make your two
20affirmatives, why then the worse for my friends and
the better for my foes.
2225Why, this is excellent.
By my troth, sir, no—though it please you to be
one of my friends.
25Thou shalt not be the worse for me; there’s gold.
But that it would be double-dealing, sir, I would
2230you could make it another.
O, you give me ill counsel.
Put your grace in your pocket, sir, for this once,
30and let your flesh and blood obey it.
Well, I will be so much a sinner to be a
2235double-dealer: there’s another.He gives a coin.
Primo, secundo, tertio is a good play, and the old
saying is, the third pays for all. The triplex, sir, is a
35good tripping measure, or the bells of Saint Bennet,
sir, may put you in mind—one, two, three.
2240You can fool no more money out of me at this
throw. If you will let your lady know I am here to
speak with her, and bring her along with you, it
40may awake my bounty further.
Marry, sir, lullaby to your bounty till I come
2245again. I go, sir, but I would not have you to think
that my desire of having is the sin of covetousness.
But, as you say, sir, let your bounty take a nap. I
45will awake it anon.
Here comes the man, sir, that did rescue me.
2250That face of his I do remember well.
Yet when I saw it last, it was besmeared
As black as Vulcan in the smoke of war.
50A baubling vessel was he captain of,
For shallow draught and bulk unprizable,
2255With which such scatheful grapple did he make
With the most noble bottom of our fleet
That very envy and the tongue of loss
55Cried fame and honor on him.—What’s the matter?
Orsino, this is that Antonio
2260That took the and her fraught from Candy,
And this is he that did the board
When your young nephew Titus lost his leg.
60Here in the streets, desperate of shame and state,
In private brabble did we apprehend him.
2265He did me kindness, sir, drew on my side,
But in conclusion put strange speech upon me.
I know not what ’twas but distraction.
65Notable pirate, thou saltwater thief,
What foolish boldness brought thee to their mercies
2270Whom thou, in terms so bloody and so dear,
Hast made thine enemies?
Orsino, noble sir,
70Be pleased that I shake off these names you give
me.
2275Antonio never yet was thief or pirate,
Though, I confess, on base and ground enough,
Orsino’s enemy. A witchcraft drew me hither.
75That most ingrateful boy there by your side
From the rude sea’s enraged and foamy mouth
2280Did I redeem; a wrack past hope he was.
His life I gave him and did thereto add
My love, without retention or restraint,
80All his in dedication. For his sake
Did I expose myself, pure for his love,
2285Into the danger of this adverse town;
Drew to defend him when he was beset;
Where, being apprehended, his false cunning
85(Not meaning to partake with me in danger)
Taught him to face me out of his acquaintance
2290And grew a twenty years’ removèd thing
While one would wink; denied me mine own purse,
Which I had recommended to his use
90Not half an hour before.
How can this be?
2295When came he to this town?
Today, my lord; and for three months before,
No int’rim, not a minute’s vacancy,
95Both day and night did we keep company.
Here comes the Countess. Now heaven walks on
2300Earth!—
But for thee, fellow: fellow, thy words are madness.
Three months this youth hath tended upon me—
100But more of that anon. To an Officer. Take him
aside.
2305What would my lord, but that he may not have,
Wherein Olivia may seem serviceable?—
Cesario, you do not keep promise with me.
105Madam?
Gracious Olivia—
2310What do you say, Cesario?—Good my lord—
My lord would speak; my duty hushes me.
If it be aught to the old tune, my lord,
110It is as fat and fulsome to mine ear
As howling after music.
2315Still so cruel?
Still so constant, lord.
What, to perverseness? You, uncivil lady,
115To whose ingrate and unauspicious altars
My soul the faithful’st off’rings have breathed out
2320That e’er devotion tendered—what shall I do?
Even what it please my lord that shall become him.
Why should I not, had I the heart to do it,
120Like to th’ Egyptian thief at point of death,
Kill what I love?—a savage jealousy
2325That sometime savors nobly. But hear me this:
Since you to nonregardance cast my faith,
And that I partly know the instrument
125That screws me from my true place in your favor,
Live you the marble-breasted tyrant still.
2330But this your minion, whom I know you love,
And whom, by heaven I swear, I tender dearly,
Him will I tear out of that cruel eye
130Where he sits crownèd in his master’s spite.—
Come, boy, with me. My thoughts are ripe in
2335mischief.
I’ll sacrifice the lamb that I do love
To spite a raven’s heart within a dove.
135And I, most jocund, apt, and willingly,
To do you rest a thousand deaths would die.
2340Where goes Cesario?
After him I love
More than I love these eyes, more than my life,
140More by all mores than e’er I shall love wife.
If I do feign, you witnesses above,
2345Punish my life for tainting of my love.
Ay me, detested! How am I beguiled!
Who does beguile you? Who does do you wrong?
145Hast thou forgot thyself? Is it so long?—
Call forth the holy father.
2350Come, away!
Whither, my lord?—Cesario, husband, stay.
Husband?
150Ay, husband. Can he that deny?
Her husband, sirrah?
2355No, my lord, not I.
Alas, it is the baseness of thy fear
That makes thee strangle thy propriety.
155Fear not, Cesario. Take thy fortunes up.
Be that thou know’st thou art, and then thou art
2360As great as that thou fear’st.
Enter Priest.
O, welcome, father.
Father, I charge thee by thy reverence
160Here to unfold (though lately we intended
To keep in darkness what occasion now
2365Reveals before ’tis ripe) what thou dost know
Hath newly passed between this youth and me.
A contract of eternal bond of love,
165Confirmed by mutual joinder of your hands,
Attested by the holy close of lips,
2370Strengthened by interchangement of your rings,
And all the ceremony of this compact
Sealed in my function, by my testimony;
170Since when, my watch hath told me, toward my
grave
2375I have traveled but two hours.
O thou dissembling cub! What wilt thou be
When time hath sowed a grizzle on thy case?
175Or will not else thy craft so quickly grow
That thine own trip shall be thine overthrow?
2380Farewell, and take her, but direct thy feet
Where thou and I henceforth may never meet.
My lord, I do protest—
180O, do not swear.
Hold little faith, though thou hast too much fear.
2385For the love of God, a surgeon! Send one
presently to Sir Toby.
What’s the matter?
185Has broke my head across, and has given Sir
Toby a bloody coxcomb too. For the love of God,
2390your help! I had rather than forty pound I were at
home.
Who has done this, Sir Andrew?
190The Count’s gentleman, one Cesario. We took
him for a coward, but he’s the very devil
2395incardinate.
My gentleman Cesario?
’Od’s lifelings, here he is!—You broke my
195head for nothing, and that that I did, I was set on to
do ’t by Sir Toby.
2400Why do you speak to me? I never hurt you.
You drew your sword upon me without cause,
But I bespake you fair and hurt you not.
200If a bloody coxcomb be a hurt, you have hurt
me. I think you set nothing by a bloody coxcomb.
Enter Toby and Feste, the Fool.
2405Here comes Sir Toby halting. You shall hear
more. But if he had not been in drink, he would
have tickled you othergates than he did.
205How now, gentleman? How is ’t with you?
That’s all one. Has hurt me, and there’s th’ end
2410on ’t. To Fool. Sot, didst see Dick Surgeon, sot?
O, he’s drunk, Sir Toby, an hour agone; his eyes
were set at eight i’ th’ morning.
210Then he’s a rogue and a passy-measures pavin. I
hate a drunken rogue.
2415Away with him! Who hath made this havoc
with them?
I’ll help you, Sir Toby, because we’ll be
215dressed together.
Will you help?—an ass-head, and a coxcomb,
2420and a knave, a thin-faced knave, a gull?
Get him to bed, and let his hurt be looked to.
I am sorry, madam, I have hurt your kinsman,
220But, had it been the brother of my blood,
I must have done no less with wit and safety.
2425You throw a strange regard upon me, and by that
I do perceive it hath offended you.
Pardon me, sweet one, even for the vows
225We made each other but so late ago.
One face, one voice, one habit, and two persons!
2430A natural perspective, that is and is not!
Antonio, O, my dear Antonio!
How have the hours racked and tortured me
230Since I have lost thee!
Sebastian are you?
2435Fear’st thou that, Antonio?
How have you made division of yourself?
An apple cleft in two is not more twin
235Than these two creatures. Which is Sebastian?
Most wonderful!
2440Do I stand there? I never had a brother,
Nor can there be that deity in my nature
Of here and everywhere. I had a sister
240Whom the blind waves and surges have devoured.
Of charity, what kin are you to me?
2445What countryman? What name? What parentage?
Of Messaline. Sebastian was my father.
Such a Sebastian was my brother too.
245So went he suited to his watery tomb.
If spirits can assume both form and suit,
2450You come to fright us.
A spirit I am indeed,
But am in that dimension grossly clad
250Which from the womb I did participate.
Were you a woman, as the rest goes even,
2455I should my tears let fall upon your cheek
And say “Thrice welcome, drownèd Viola.”
My father had a mole upon his brow.
255And so had mine.
And died that day when Viola from her birth
2460Had numbered thirteen years.
O, that record is lively in my soul!
He finishèd indeed his mortal act
260That day that made my sister thirteen years.
If nothing lets to make us happy both
2465But this my masculine usurped attire,
Do not embrace me till each circumstance
Of place, time, fortune, do cohere and jump
265That I am Viola; which to confirm,
I’ll bring you to a captain in this town,
2470Where lie my maiden weeds; by whose gentle help
I was preserved to serve this noble count.
All the occurrence of my fortune since
270Hath been between this lady and this lord.
So comes it, lady, you have been mistook.
2475But nature to her bias drew in that.
You would have been contracted to a maid.
Nor are you therein, by my life, deceived:
275You are betrothed both to a maid and man.
Be not amazed; right noble is his blood.
2480If this be so, as yet the glass seems true,
I shall have share in this most happy wrack.—
Boy, thou hast said to me a thousand times
280Thou never shouldst love woman like to me.
And all those sayings will I overswear,
2485And all those swearings keep as true in soul
As doth that orbèd continent the fire
That severs day from night.
285Give me thy hand,
And let me see thee in thy woman’s weeds.
2490The Captain that did bring me first on shore
Hath my maid’s garments. He, upon some action,
Is now in durance at Malvolio’s suit,
290A gentleman and follower of my lady’s.
He shall enlarge him.
Enter Feste, the Fool with a letter, and Fabian.
2495Fetch Malvolio hither.
And yet, alas, now I remember me,
They say, poor gentleman, he’s much distract.
295A most extracting frenzy of mine own
From my remembrance clearly banished his.
2500To the Fool. How does he, sirrah?
Truly, madam, he holds Beelzebub at the stave’s
end as well as a man in his case may do. Has here
300writ a letter to you. I should have given ’t you today
morning. But as a madman’s epistles are no gospels,
2505so it skills not much when they are delivered.
Open ’t and read it.
Look then to be well edified, when the Fool
305delivers the madman. He reads. By the Lord,
madam—
2510How now, art thou mad?
No, madam, I do but read madness. An your
Ladyship will have it as it ought to be, you must
310allow vox.
Prithee, read i’ thy right wits.
2515So I do, madonna. But to read his right wits is to
read thus. Therefore, perpend, my princess, and
give ear.
315Read it you, sirrah.
By the Lord, madam, you wrong me, and
2520the world shall know it. Though you have put me into
darkness and given your drunken cousin rule over
me, yet have I the benefit of my senses as well as your
320Ladyship. I have your own letter that induced me to
the semblance I put on, with the which I doubt not but
2525to do myself much right or you much shame. Think of
me as you please. I leave my duty a little unthought of
and speak out of my injury.
325The madly used Malvolio.
Did he write this?
2530Ay, madam.
This savors not much of distraction.
See him delivered, Fabian. Bring him hither.
Fabian exits.
330To Orsino. My lord, so please you, these things
further thought on,
2535To think me as well a sister as a wife,
One day shall crown th’ alliance on ’t, so please
you,
335Here at my house, and at my proper cost.
Madam, I am most apt t’ embrace your offer.
2540To Viola. Your master quits you; and for your
service done him,
So much against the mettle of your sex,
340So far beneath your soft and tender breeding,
And since you called me “master” for so long,
2545Here is my hand. You shall from this time be
Your master’s mistress.
A sister! You are she.
Enter Malvolio and Fabian.
345Is this the madman?
Ay, my lord, this same.—
2550How now, Malvolio?
Madam, you have done me
wrong,
350Notorious wrong.
Have I, Malvolio? No.
2555Lady, you have. Pray you peruse that letter.
You must not now deny it is your hand.
Write from it if you can, in hand or phrase,
355Or say ’tis not your seal, not your invention.
You can say none of this. Well, grant it then,
2560And tell me, in the modesty of honor,
Why you have given me such clear lights of favor?
Bade me come smiling and cross-gartered to you,
360To put on yellow stockings, and to frown
Upon Sir Toby and the lighter people?
2565And, acting this in an obedient hope,
Why have you suffered me to be imprisoned,
Kept in a dark house, visited by the priest,
365And made the most notorious geck and gull
That e’er invention played on? Tell me why.
2570Alas, Malvolio, this is not my writing,
Though I confess much like the character.
But out of question, ’tis Maria’s hand.
370And now I do bethink me, it was she
First told me thou wast mad; then cam’st in smiling,
2575And in such forms which here were presupposed
Upon thee in the letter. Prithee, be content.
This practice hath most shrewdly passed upon thee.
375But when we know the grounds and authors of it,
Thou shalt be both the plaintiff and the judge
2580Of thine own cause.
Good madam, hear me speak,
And let no quarrel nor no brawl to come
380Taint the condition of this present hour,
Which I have wondered at. In hope it shall not,
2585Most freely I confess, myself and Toby
Set this device against Malvolio here,
Upon some stubborn and uncourteous parts
385We had conceived against him. Maria writ
The letter at Sir Toby’s great importance,
2590In recompense whereof he hath married her.
How with a sportful malice it was followed
May rather pluck on laughter than revenge,
390If that the injuries be justly weighed
That have on both sides passed.
2595Alas, poor fool, how have they baffled thee!
Why, “some are born great, some achieve greatness,
and some have greatness thrown upon them.”
395I was one, sir, in this interlude, one Sir Topas, sir,
but that’s all one. “By the Lord, Fool, I am not
2600mad”—but, do you remember “Madam, why laugh
you at such a barren rascal; an you smile not, he’s
gagged”? And thus the whirligig of time brings in
400his revenges.
I’ll be revenged on the whole pack of you!
2605He hath been most notoriously abused.
Pursue him and entreat him to a peace.Some exit.
He hath not told us of the Captain yet.
405When that is known, and golden time convents,
A solemn combination shall be made
2610Of our dear souls.—Meantime, sweet sister,
We will not part from hence.—Cesario, come,
For so you shall be while you are a man.
410But when in other habits you are seen,
Orsino’s mistress, and his fancy’s queen.
2615When that I was and a little tiny boy,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
A foolish thing was but a toy,
415For the rain it raineth every day.
But when I came to man’s estate,
2620With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
’Gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gate,
For the rain it raineth every day.
420But when I came, alas, to wive,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
2625By swaggering could I never thrive,
For the rain it raineth every day.
But when I came unto my beds,
425With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
With tosspots still had drunken heads,
2630For the rain it raineth every day.
A great while ago the world begun,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
430But that’s all one, our play is done,
And we’ll strive to please you every day.