you were asleep; he seems to have a fore-knowledge of that too, and therefore comes to speak with you. What is to be said to him, lady? he's fortified against any denial. Oli. Tell him he shall not speak with me. Mal. He has been told so; and he says, he'll stand at your door like a sheriff's post, and be the supporter of a bench, but he'll speak with you. Oli. What kind of man is he? Mal. Of very ill manuer; he'll speak with you, will you or no. Oli. Of what personage and years is he? Mal. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy; as a squash is before 'tis a pease-cod, or a codling when 'tis almost an apple : 'tis with him e'en standing water, between boy and man. He is very well-favoured, and he speaks very shrewishly; one would think, his mother's milk were scarce out of him. Oli. Let him approach: Call in ny gentle deliver, when the courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak your office. Vio. It alone concerns your ear. I bring no overture of war, no taxation of homage; I hold the olive in my hand: my words are as full of peace as matter. Oli. Yet you began rudely. What are you? what would you? Vio. The rudeness, that hath appear'd in me, have I learu'd from my entertainment. What i am, and what I would, are as secret as maidenhead to your ears, divinity; to any other's, profanation. Oli. Give us the place alone: we will hear this divinity. [Exit MARIA.] Now, Sir, what is your text? Vio. Most sweet lady, Oli. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be said of it. Where lies your text? Vio. In Orsino's bosom. Oli. In his bosom? In what chapter of his boso.n? Vio. To answer by the method, in the first of his heart. Oli. Oh! I have read it; it is heresy. Have you no more to say? Vio. Good madam, let me see your face. Oct. Give me my veil: come, throw it o'er lord to negociate with my face? you are now my face; We'll once more hear Orsino's embassy. Enter VIOLA. Vio. The honourable lady of the house, which is she? Oli. Speak to me, I shall answer for her. Your will? Vio. Most radiant, exquisite, and unmatchable beauty, I pray you, tell me, if this be the lady of the house, for I never saw her: I would be loath to cast away my speech; for, besides that it is excellently well pean'd, I have taken great pains to con it. Good beanties, let me sustain no scorn; I am very comptible, even to the least sinister usage. Oli. Whence came you, Sir? Vio. I can say little more than I have studied, and that question's out of my part. Good gentle one, give me modest assurance, if you be the lady of the house, that I may proceed in my speech. Oli. Are you a comedian? Vio. No, my profound heart and yet, by the very fangs of malice, I swear, I am not that I play. Are you the lady of the house? Oli. If I do not usurp myself, I am. Vio. Most certain, if you are she, you do usurp yourself; for what is your's to bestow, is not your's 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. Oli. Come to what is important in't: I forgive you the praise. Vio. Alas, I took great pains to study it, and 'tis poetical. Oli. It is the more likely to be feigned; I pray you, keep it in. I heard, you were sancy at my gates; and allowed your approach, rather to wonder at you than to hear you. If you be not mad, be gone; if you have reason, be brief: 'tis not that time of moon with me, to make one in so skipping a dialogue. Mar. Will you hoist sail, Sir? here lies your way. Vio. No, good swabber: I am to hull here a little longer. Some mollification for your giant,+ sweet lady. Oli. Tell me your mind. Vio. I am a messenger. out of your text; but we will draw the curtain, and show you the picture. Look you, Sir, such a one as I was this present: Is't not well done? [Unveiling. Vio. Excellently done, if God did all. Oli. 'Tis in grain, Sir; 'twill endure wind and weather. Vio. 'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on : Oli. O Sir, I will not be so hard-hearted; I will give out divers schedules of my beauty: It shall be inventoried; and every particle, and utensil, labelled to my will: as, item, two lips indifferent red; item, two grey eyes, with lids to them; item, one neck, one chin, and so forth. Were you sent hither to 'praise me? Vio. I see you what you are: you are too But, if you were the devil, you are fair. The nonpareil of beauty! Oli. How does he love me? Vio. With adorations, with fertile tears, With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire. Oli. Your lord does know my mind, I cannot Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble, And, in dimension, and the shape of nature, Vio. If I did love you in my master's flame, Oli. Why, what would you? Vio. Make me a willow cabin at your gate, Oli. Sure, you have some hideous matter to Cry out, Olivia! Oh! you should not rest • Accountable. It appears from several parts of this play that the Driginal actress of Maria was very short. • Presents. + Blended, mixed together. t Well spoken of by the world. Cantos, verses. ¡ Echoing. Oli. What is your parentage? Above my fortune, 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 five-fold blazon: +-Not too fast :soft! soft! Unless the master were the man.-How now? SCENE 1.-The Sea-coast. Enter ANTONIO and SEBASTIAN. Ant. Will you stay no longer? nor will you not that I go with you? Seb. By your patience, no: my stars shine darkly over me; the malignancy of my fate might, perhaps, distemper your's; therefore shall crave of you your leave, that I may bear my evils alone: It were a bad recompense for your love to lay any of them on you. Ant. Let me yet know of you, whither you are bound. Seb. No, 'sooth, Sir; my determinate voyage is mere extravagancy. But I perceive in you so excellent a touch of modesty, that you will not extort from me what I am willing to keep in; therefore it charges me in manners the rather to express myself. You must know of me then, Antonio, my name is Sebastian, which I called Rodorigo; My father was that 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 pleased, 'would we had so ended! but, you, Sir, altered that; for, some hour before you took me from the breach of the sea, was my sister drowned. Ant. Alas, the day! Seb. A lady, Sir, though it was said she much resembled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful: but, though I could not, with such estimable wonder, overfar believe that, yet thus far I will boldly publish her, she bore a mind that envy could not but call fair: she is drowned already, Sir, with salt water, though I seem to drown her remembrance again with more. Ant. Pardon me Sir, your bad entertainment. Seb. & good Autonio, forgive me your trou ble. Enter VIOLA; MALVOLIO following. Mal. Were not you even now with the count. ess Olivia? Vio. Even now, Sir; on a moderate pace I have since arrived but hither. Mal. She returns this ring to you, Sir; you might have saved me my pains, to have taken it away yourself. She adds moreover, that you she will none of him: And one thing more; that should put your lord into a desperate assurance you be never so hardy to come again in his affairs, unless it be to report your lord's taking of this. Receive it so. Vio. She took the ring of me; I'll none of it. Mal. Come, Sir, you peevishly threw it to her; and her will is, it should be so returned: if it be worth stooping for, there it lies in your eye; if not, be it his that finds it. [Exit. Vio. I left no ring with her: What incans this lady? Fortune forbid, my outside have not charm'd her ! She made good view of me; indeed, so much, That, sure, methought, her eyes had lost her tongue, For she did speak in starts distractedly. In women's waxen hearts to set their forms! And I, poor monster, fond as much on him; [Exit, SCENE 111I.-A Room in OLIVIA's House. Clo. By'r lady, Sir, and some dogs will catch Enter Sir TOBY BELCH, and Sir ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK. Sir To. Approach, Sir Andrew not to be a-bed after midnight, is to be up betimes; and diluculo surgere, thou know'st, Sir And. Nay, by my troth, I know not: but I know, to be up late, is to be up late. Sir To. A false conclusion; I hate it as an unfilled can: To be up after midnight, and to go to bed then, is early; so that, to go to bed after midnight, is to go to bed betimes. Do not our lives consist of the four elements? Sir And. 'Faith, so they say; but, I think, it rather consists of eating and drinking. Sir To. Thou art a scholar; let us therefore eat and drink.-Marian, I say a stoop of wine! Enter CLOWN. Sir And. Here comes the fool, i' faith. Clo. How now, my hearts? Did you never see the picture of we three? Sir To. Welcome, ass. Now let's have a catch. Sir And. By my troth, the fool has an excelleut breast. + I had rather than forty shillings I had such a leg; and so sweet a breath to sing, as the fool bas. In sooth, thou wast in very gracious fooling last night, when thou spokest of Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians pass ing the equinoctial of Queubus; 'twas very good, i' faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy leman: ‡ Hadst it? Clo. I did impeticos thy gratillity; for Malvolio's nose is no whipstock: My lady has a white hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses. Sir And. Excellent; Why, this is the best fooling, when all is done. Now, a song. Sir To. Come on; there is sixpence for you: let's have a song. Sir And. There's a testril of me too: if one knight give a-- Clo. Would you have a love-song, or a song of good life? Sir To. A love-song, a love-song. Sir And. Ay, ay; I care not for good life. That can sing both high and low: Every wise man's son doth know. Sir And. Excellent good, i' faith! Clo. What is love? 'tis not hereafter; In delay there lies no plenty; Sir To. A contageous breath. Sir And. Very sweet and contageous, i' faith. Sir To. To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion. But shall we make the welkin dance || indeed? Shall we rouse the night-owl in a catch, that will draw three souls T out of one weaver ? shall we do that? Sir And, An you love me, let's do't: I am dog at a catch. well. Mal. My masters, are you mad? or what are you? Have you no wit, manners, nor honesty, but to gabble like tinkers at this time of night? Do ye make an alehouse of my lady's house, that ye squeak out your coziers' catches without any mitigation or remorse of voice? Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time, in you? Sir To. We did keep time, Sir, in our catches. Sneck up! Mal. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My lady bade me tell you, that, though she harbours you as her kinsman, she's nothing allied to your disorders. If you can separate yourself and your misdemeanors, you are welcome to the house ; if not, an it would please you to take leave of her, she is very willing to bid you farewell. Sir To. Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs be gone. Mar. Nay, good Sir Toby. Clo. His eyes do show his days are almost done. Mal. Is't even so ? Sir To. But I will never die. Clo. Sir Toby, there you lie. [Singing. Sir To. Shall I bid him go, and spare not ? Clo. O no, no, no, no, you dare not. Sir To. Out o'time? Sir, ye lie.-Art any more than a steward? Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale? Clo. Yes, by Saint Anne; and ginger shall be hot i'the mouth too. Sir To. Thou'rt i'the right.-Go, Sir, rub your chain with crums :-A stoop of wine, Maria! Mal. Mistress Mary, if you prized my lady's favour at any thing more than contempt, you would not give means for this uncivil rule; ** she shall know of it, by this band. [Exit. Mar. Go shake your ears. • Romancer. § Coblers. Method of life. when a man's a hungry, to challenge him to the field; and then to break promise with him, and make a fool of him. Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song, That old and antique song we heard last night; Methought, it did relieve my passion much; Sir To. Do't, knight; I'll write thee a chal-More than light airs and recollected terms, lenge; or I'll deliver thy indignation to him by Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times :Come, but one verse. word of mouth. Mar. Sweet Sir Toby, be patient for to night; since the youth of the count's was to-day with my lady, she is much out of quiet. For monsieur Malvolio, let me alone with him; if I do not gull him into a nay-word, and make him a common recreation, do not think I have wit enough to lie straight in my bed: I know, I can do it. + Sir To. Possess us, † possess us; tell us something of him. Mar. Marry, Sir, sometimes he is a kind of Puritan. Sir And. Oh! if I thought that, I'd beat him like a dog. Sir To. What, for being a Puritan? thy exquisite reason, dear knight? Sir And. I have no exquisite reason for't, but I have reason good enough. Mar. The devil a Puritan that he is, or any thing constantly but a time pleaser; an affectioned ass, that cons state without book, and utters it by great swarths: the best persuaded of himself, so cranimed as he thinks with excellences, that it is his ground of faith, that all, that look on him, love him; and on that vice in him will my revenge find notable cause to work. Sir To. What wilt thou do? Mar. I will drop in his way some obscure epistles of love; wherein, by the colour of his beard, the shape of his leg, the manner of his gait, the expressure of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he shall find himself most feelingly personated: I can write very like my lady your niece; on a forgotten matter we can hardly make distinction of our hands. Sir To. Excellent! I smell a device. Sir And. I have't in my nose too. Sir To. He shall think, by the letters that thou wilt drop, that they come from my niece, and that she is in love with him. Mar. My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour. Sir And. And your horse now would make him an ass. Mar. Ass, I doubt not. Sir And. Oh! 'twill be admirable. Mar. Sport royal, I warrant you: I know, my physic will work with him. I will plant you two, and let the fool make a third, where he shall find the letter; observe his construction of it. this night, to bed, and dream on the event. Farewell. [Exit. For Sir To. Good night, Penthesilea. Sir And. Before me, she's a good wench. Sir To. She's a beagle, true-bred, and one that adores me; What o' that? Sir And. I was adored once too. Sir To. Let's to bed, knight.-Thou hadst need send for more money. Sir And. If I cannot recover your niece, I am a foul way out. Sir To. Send for money, knight; if thou hast her not i' the end, call me Cut. ¶ Sir And. If I do not, never trust me, take it how you will. Sir To. Come, come; I'll go burn some sack, 'tis too late to go to bed now: come, knight; come, knight. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-A Room in the DUKE's Palace. Enter DUKE, VIOLA, CURIO, and others. Duke. Give me some music :-Now, good morrow, friends : Cur. He is not here, so please your lordship, that should sing it. Duke. Who was it? Cur. Festo, the jester, my lord; a fool, that the lady Olivia's father took much delight in he is about the house. Duke. Seek him out, and play the tune the while. [Exit CURIO.-Music. 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; Unstaid and skittish in all motions else, Save in the constant image of the creature That is belov'd.-How dost thou like this tune? Vio. It gives a very echo to the seat Where Love is thron'd. Duke. Thou dost speak masterly: My life upon't, young though thou art, thine eye Hath stay'd upon some favour that it loves; Hath it not, boy? Vio. A little, by your favour. Duke. What kind of woman is't? Duke. She is not worth thee then. years, i'faith? What Vio. About your years, my lord. An elder than herself; so wears she to him, Vio. I think it well, my lord. Duke. Then let thy love be younger than thyself, Or thy affection cannot hold the bent: Re-enter CURIO, and CLOWN. Duke. O fellow, come, the song we had last night : Mark it, Cesario; it is old and plain : Do use to chaunt it; it is silly sooth, Clo. Are you ready, Sir? SONG. Clo. Come away, come away, death, And in sad cypress let me be laid; Fly away, fly away, breath; [Music. I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My part of death no one so true Not a flower, not a flower sweet, thrown: A thousand thousand sighs to save, Duke. There's for thy pains. Clo. No pains, Sir; I take pleasure in singing, Sr. Duke. I'll pay thy pleasure then. Clo. Truly, Sir, and pleasure will be paid, one time or another. Duke. Give me now leave to leave thee. Clo. Now, the melancholy god protect thee; and the tailor make thy doublet of changeable taffata, for thy mind is a very opal. •—I would have men of such constancy put to sea, that their business might be every thing, and their intent every where; for that's it, that always makes a good voyage of nothing.-Farewell. [Exit CLOWN. Duke. Let all the rest give place.-[Exeunt CURIO and Attendants. Once more, Cesario, Get thee to yon' same sovereign cruelty: The parts that fortune hath bestow'd upon her, Say, that some lady, as, perhaps, there is, Can bide the beating of so strong a passion And can digest as much: make no compare Vio. Ay, but I know, Duke. What dost thou know? Sir To. Would'st thou not be glad to have the niggardly rascally sheep-biter come by some notable shame ? Fab. I would exult, man: you know, he brought me out of favour with my lady, about a bear-baiting here. Sir To. To anger him, we'll have the bear again; and we will fool him black and blue :Shall we not, Sir Andrew? Sir And. An we do not, it is pity of our lives. Enter MARIA. Sir To. Here comes the little villain :-How now, my nettle of India? Mar. Get ye all three into the box-tree: Malvolio's coming down this walk; he has been youder i'the sun, practising behaviour to his own shadow this half hour: observe him, for the love of mockery; for I know this letter will make a contemplative ideot of him. Close, in the name of jesting! [The men hide themselves.] Lie thou there; [throws down a letter.] for here comes the treat that must be caught with tickling. [Exit MARIA. Enter MAIVOLIO. Mal. 'Tis but fortune; all is fortune. Maria once told me, she did affect me and I have heard herself come thus near, that, should she fancy, it should be one of my complexion. Besides, she uses me with a more exalted respect than any one else that follows her. What should I think on't ? Sir To. Here's an over-weening rogue ! Fab. O peace! Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock of him; how he jets + under his advanced plumes! Sir And. 'Slight, I could so beat the rogue :Sir To. Peace, I say. Mal. To be Count Malvolio ; Sir To. Ah! rogue! Sir And. Pistol him, pistol him. Sir To. Peace, prace! Mal. There is example for't; the lady of the Vio. Too well what love women to men may strachy married the yeoman of the wardrobe. owe: In faith, they are as true of heart as we. My father had a daughter lov'd a man, Duke. And what's her history? Vio. A blank, my lord: She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i'the bud, Our shows are more than will; for still prove Sir And. Fie on him, Jezebel ! Fab. O peace! now he's deeply in; look, how imagination blows him. Mal. Having been three months married to her, sitting in my state, § Sir To. Oh! for a stone bow, to hit him iu the eye. Mal. Calling my officers about me, in my branched velvet gown having come from a daybed, where I left Olivia sleeping: Sir To. Fire and brimstone ! Mal. And then to have the humour of state : in-and after a demure travel of regard,-telling them, I know my place, as I would they should do their's,-to ask for my kinsman Toby: we Much in our vows, but little in our love. Duke. But died thy sister of her love, my boy? Vio. I am all the daughters of my father's house, [not: And all the brothers too ;-and yet I know Sir, shall I to this lady? Duke. Ay, that's the theme. To her in haste; give her this jewel; say, [Exeunt. Sir To. Bolts and shackles! Fab. O peace, peace, peace! now, now. start, make out for him: I frown the while; Mal. Seven of my people, with an obedient and, perchance, wind up my watch, or play with some rich jewel. Toby approaches; court'sies there to me: Sir To. Shall this fellow live? Fab. Though our silence be drawn from us Iwith ears, yet peace. Mal. I extend my hand to him thus, quenching my familiar smile with an austere regard of control: Sir To. And does not Toby take you a blow o'the lips then? Mal. Saying, Cousin Toby, my fortunes hav. ing cast me on your niece, give me this prerogative of speech: Sir To. What, what? |
