Page images
PDF
EPUB

for this: I'll none of him.

Dia.

in you it best lies; otherwise a seducer flourishes, | And I had that which any inferior might and a poor maid is undone. DIANA CAPULET.' At market-price have bought. Laf. I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, and toll you, that have turn'd off a first so noble wife, I must be patient; May justly diet me. I pray you yet, (Since you lack virtue I will lose a husband,) Send for your ring, I will return it home, Ber. I have it not. And give me mine again. King. What ring was yours, I pray you? Dia, Sir, much like the same upon your finger. King. Know you this ring? this ring was his of late.

[Lafeu, King. The heavens have thought well on thee, To bring forth this discovery.-Seek these suitors: Go speedily, and bring again the count. [Exeunt the Astringer and some Attendants. I am afeard the life of Helen, lady, Was foully snatch'd. Count.

Now, justice on the doers! Enter Bertram, guarded.

King. I wonder, sir, since wives are monsters to you,

And that you fly them as you swear them lordship,
Yet you desire to marry.-What woman 's that?
Re-enter the Astringer, with Widow, and Diana.
Dia. I am, my lord, a wretched Florentine,
Derived from the ancient Capulet;
My suit, as I do understand, you know,
And therefore know how far I may be pitied.
Wid. I am her mother, sir, whose age and honour
Both suffer under this complaint we bring,
And both shall cease, without your remedy.
King, Come hither, count: Do you know these
Ber. My lord, I neither can nor will deny [women?
But that I know them: Do they charge me further?
Dia. Why do you look so strange upon your wife?
Ber. She's none of mine, my lord.
Dia.
If you shall marry,
You give away this hand, and that is mine;
You give away heaven's vows, and those are mine;
You give away myself, which is known mine;
For by vow am so embodied yours,
That she which marries you must marry me,
Either both or none.

Laf. Your reputation [to Bertram] comes too short
for my daughter: you are no husband for her.
Ber. My lord, this is a fond and desperate creature,
Whom sometime I have laugh'd with: let your high-

ness

Lay a more noble thought upon mine honour,
Than for to think that I would sink it here. [friend,
King. Sir, for my thoughts, you have them ill to
Till your deeds gain them: Fairer prove your honour,
Than in my thought it lies! Dia. Good my lord,
Ask him upon his oath, if he does think
He had not my virginity.
King. What say'st thou to her?
Ber.
She 's impudent, my lord;
And was a common gamester to the camp.
Dia. He does ine wrong, iny lord; if I were so
He might have bought me at a common price:
Do not believe him: O, behold this ring,
Whose high respect, and rich validity,
Did lack a parallel; yet, for all that,
He gave it to a commoner o' the camp,
If I be one.

Count. He blushes, and 't is his:
Of six preceding ancestors, that gem
Conferr'd by testament to the sequent issue,
Hath it been ow'd and worn. This is his wife;
That ring's a thousand proofs.
King.

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

What of him?

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

King
She hath that ring of yours.
Ber. I think she has certain it is I lik'd her,
And boarded her i' the wanton way of youth:
She knew her distance, and did angle for me,
Madding my eagerness with her restraint,
As all impediments in fancy's course
Are motives of more fancy; and, in fine,
Her insuit coming with her modern grace,
Subdued me to her rate: she got the ring;

Dia. And this was it I gave him, being a-bed. King. The story then goes false, you threw it him Out of a casement. Dia. I have spoke the truth.

Enter Parolles.

Ber. My lord, I do confess the ring was hers. King. You boggle shrewdly, every feather starts Is this the man you speak of? [you.Dia. Ay, my lord. King. Tell me, sirrah, but tell me true, I charge Not fearing the displeasure of your master, [you, (Which, on your just proceeding I'll keep off,) By him, and by this woman here, what know you? Par. So please your majesty, my master hath been an honourable gentleman; tricks he hath had in him which gentlemen have.

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

[woman.

Par. 'Faith, sir, he did love her But how?
King. How, I pray you?
Par. He did love her, sir, as a gentleman loves a
King. How is that?

Par. He loved her, sir, and loved her not.
King. As thou art a knave, and no knave :-What
an equivocal companion is this!

Par. I am a poor man, and at your majesty's command. [orator. Laf. He's a good drum, my lord, but a naughty Dia. Do you know he promised me marriage? Par. 'Faith, I know more than I'll speak. King. But wilt thou not speak all thou know'st? Par. Yes, so please your majesty: I did go between them, as I said; but more than that, he loved her,-for, indeed, he was mad for her, and talked of Satan, and of limbo, and of furies, and I know not what yet I was in that credit with them at that time, that I knew of their going to bed; and of other motions, as promising her marriage, and things which would derive me ill will to speak of, therefore I will not speak what I know.

King. Thou hast spoken all already, unless thou canst say they are married: But thou art too fine in thy evidence; therefore stand aside.-This ring, you say, was yours?

Dia. Ay, my good lord.

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

Dia.
It was not lent me neither.
King. Where did you find it then?
Dia.
I found it not.
King. If it were yours by none of all these ways,
How could you give it him?
Dia.
I never gave it him.
Laf. This woman 's an easy glove, my lord; she
goes off and on at pleasure.

king. This ring was mine, I gave it his first wife.
Dia. It might be yours, or hers, for aught I know.
King. Take her away, I do not like her now;
To prison with her: and away with him.-
Unless thou tell'st me where thou hadst this ring,
Thou diest within this hour.
Dia.

I'll never tell you.

King. Take her away.
Dia.
I'll put in bail, my liege.
King. I think thee now some common customer.
Dia. By Jove, if ever I knew man, 't was you.
King. Wherefore hast thou accus'd him all this

while?

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

I am either maid, or else this old man's wife.
[Pointing to Lafeu.
King. She does abuse our ears; to prison with her.
Dia. Good mother, fetch my bail.-Stay, royal sir:
[Exit Widow.
The jeweller that owes the ring is sent for,
And he shall surety me. But for this lord,
Who hath abus'd me, as he knows himself,
Though yet he never harm'd me, here I quit him:
He knows himself my bed he hath defil'd;
And at that time he got his wife with child:
Dead though she be, she feels her young one kick;
So there's my riddle, One, that 's dead, is quick;
And now behold the meaning.

King

Re-enter Widow, with Helena.

Is there no exorcist Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes? Is 't real that I see? Hel. No, my good lord; 'T is but the shadow of a wife you see, The naine, and not the thing. Ber.

Both, both; O, pardon! Hel. O, my good lord, when I was like this maid, I found you wond'rous kind. There is your ring, And, look you, here 's your letter; This it says, 'When from my finger you can get this ring, And are by me with child,' &c.-This is done: Will you be mine, now you are doubly won? Ber. If she,iny liege, can make me know this clearly,

I'll love her dearly, ever, ever dearly.
Hel. If it appear not plain, and prove untrue,
Deadly divorce step between me and you!--
O, my dear mother, do I see you living?
Laf Mine eyes smell onions, I shall weep anon :--
Good Tom Drum, [to Parolles] lend me a handker-
chief: So, I thank thee; wait on me home, I'll
make sport with thee: Let thy courtesies alone.
they are scurvy ones.

King. Let us from point to point this story know,
To make the even truth in pleasure flow:-
If thou be'st yet a fresh uncropped flower,
[To Diana.
Choose thou thy husband, and I'll pay thy dower;
For I can guess, that, by thy honest aid,
Thou kep'st a wife herself, thyself a maid.-
Of that and all the progress, more and less,
Resolvedly more leisure shall express:
All yet seems well; and, if it end so meet,
The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet.
[Flourish.

(Advancing.)

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

TWELFTH NIGHT;
OR, WHAT YOU WILL.

ORSINO, Duke of Illyria. SEBASTIAN, a young gentleman, brother to Viola.

ANTONIO, a sea-captain, friend to Sebastian.

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

Sir TOBY BELCH, uncle of Olivia. | MARIA, Olivia's woman.
Sir ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK.
MALVOLIO, steward to Olivia.
FABIAN,

Clown, } servants to Olivia.

A sea-captain, friend to Viola.
VALENTINE, gentlemen attend-OLIVIA, a rich Countess.
CURIO, Jing on the Duke. VIOLA, in love with the Duke.

ACT I.

SCENE I.-An Apartment in the Duke's Palace.
Enter Duke, Curio, Lords; Musicians attending.
Duke. If music be the food of love, play on.
Give me excess of it; that surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.
That strain again;-it had a dying fall:
O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing, and giving odour.-Enough;
'T is not so sweet now as it was before.
O, spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou!
That, notwithstanding thy capacity
Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there,

Of what validity and pitch soe'er,

But falls into abatement and low price,

no more;

[blocks in formation]

Lords, Priests, Sailors, Officers, Musicians, and other Attend

ants.

SCENE.-A City in ILLYRIA, and the Sea-coast near it.

The element itself, till seven years' heat,
Shall not behold her face at ample view;
But, like a cloistress, she will veiled walk,
And water once a day her chamber round
With eye-offending brine: all this, to season
A brother's dead love, which she would keep fresh
And lasting, in her sad remembrance.

Duke. O, she that hath a heart of that fine frame,
To pay this debt of love but to a brother,
How will she love, when the rich golden shaft
Hath kill'd the flock of all affections else
That live in her! when liver, brain, and heart,
Those sovereign thrones, are all supplied, and fill'd
(Her sweet perfections,) with one self king!-
Away before me to sweet beds of flowers;
Love-thoughts lie rich, when canopied with bowers.
[Exeunt.

SCENE II.The Sea-coast.
Enter Viola, Captain, and Sailors.
Vio. What country, friends, is this?
Cap.

[sailors?

This is Illyria, lady. Vio. And what should I do in Illyria? My brother he is in Elysium. Perchance he is not drown'd:-What think you, Cap. It is perchance that you yourself were sav'd. Vio. O my poor brother! and so, perchance, may he be. [chance,

Cap. True, madam; and, to comfort you with Assure yourself, after our ship did split, When you, and those poor number sav'd with you,

Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother,
Most provident in peril, bind himself
(Courage and hope both teaching him the practice)
To a strong mast, that liv'd upon the sea;
Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back,
I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves,
So long as I could see.

Vio.
For saying so, there's gold:
Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope,
Whereto thy speech serves for authority,
The like of him. Know'st thou this country?
Cap. Ay, madam, well; for I was bred and born,
Not three hours' travel from this very place.
Vio. Who governs here?

Cap. A noble duke, in nature as in name.
Vio. What is his name? Cap. Orsino.

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

Cap. And so is now, or was so very late:
For but a month ago I went from hence;

And then 't was fresh in murmur, (as, you know,
What great ones do, the less will prattle of,)
That he did seek the love of fair Ólivia.

Vio. What 's she?

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

Vio. O, that I serv'd that lady: And might not be deliver'd to the world, Till I had made mine own occasion mellow What my estate is. Cap. That were hard to compass; Because she will admit no kind of suit, No, not the duke's.

Vio. There is a fair behaviour in thee, captain; And though that nature with a beauteous wall Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee

I will believe thou hast a mind that suits
With this thy fair and outward character.
I prithee, and I'll pay thee bounteously,
Conceal me what I am; and be my aid
For such disguise as, haply, shall become
The form of my intent. I'll serve this duke;
Thou shalt present me as an eunuch to him,
It may be worth thy pains; for I can sing,
And speak to him in many sorts of music,
That will allow me very worth his service.
What else may hap, to time I will commit;
Only shape thou thy silence to my wit.
Cap. Be you his eunuch, and your mute I'll be;
When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see!
Vio. I thank thee: Lead me on.
[Exeunt.

SCENE III.-A Room in Olivia's House.
Enter Sir Toby Belch and Maria.

Sir To. What a plague means my niece, to take the death of her brother thus? I am sure care 's an enemy to life.

Mar. By my troth, sir Toby, you must come in earlier o' nights; your cousin, my lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours.

Sir To. Why, let her except before excepted. Mar. Ay, but you must confine yourself within the

modest limits of order.

Sir To. Confine? I'll confine myself no finer than I am: these clothes are good enough to drink in, and so be these boots too; an they be not, let them hang themselves in their own straps. Mar. That quaffing and drinking will undo you: I heard my lady talk of it yesterday; and of a foolish knight, that you brought in one night here, to be her wooer.

Sir To. Who? Sir Andrew Ague-cheek?
Mar. Ay, he.

Sir To. He's as tall a man as any 's in Illyria.
Mar, What 's that to the purpose?
Sir To. Why, he has three thousand ducats a year.
Mar. Ay, but he 'll have but a year in all these
ducats; he's a very fool, and a prodigal.

Sir To. Fie, that you 'll say so! he plays o' the viol-de-gamboys, and speaks three or four languages

|word for word without book, and hath all the good gifts of nature.

Mar. He hath, indeed, almost natural: for besides that he 's a fool, he's a great quarreller; and but that he hath the gift of a coward to allay the gust he hath in quarrelling, 't is thought among the prudent he would quickly have the gift of a grave. Sir To. By this hand, they are scoundrels and subtractors that say so of him. Who are they? Mar. They that add, moreover, he's drunk nightly in your company.

Sir To. With drinking healths to my niece: I'll drink to her as long as there is a passage in my throat, and drink in Illyria. He's a coward, and a coystril, that will not drink to my niece till his brains turn o' the toe like a parish-top. What, wench? Castiliano-vulgo; for here comes sir Andrew Ague

face.

Enter Sir Andrew Ague-cheek.

Sir And. Sir Toby Belch! how now, sir Toby
Sir To. Sweet sir Andrew!
[Belch?

Sir And. Bless you, fair shrew.
Mar. And you too, sir.

Sir To. Accost, sir Andrew, accost.
Sir And. What 's that?

Sir To. My niece's chamber-maid.

Sir And. Good mistress Accost, I desire better Mar. My name is Mary, sir.

facquaintance.

Sir And. Good mistress Mary Accost,Sir To. You mistake, knight; accost is, front her, board her, woo her, assail her.

Sir And. By my troth, I would not undertake her in this company. Is that the meaning of accost? Mar. Fare you well, gentlemen.

Sir To. An thou let part so, sir Andrew, 'would thou might'st never draw sword again.

Sir And. An you part so, mistress, I would I might never draw sword again. Fair lady, do you think you have fools in hand?

Mar. Sir, I have not you by the hand. [my hand. Sir And. Marry, but you shall have; and here's Mar. Now, sir, thought is free: I pray you, bring your hand to the buttery-bar, and let it drink. Sir And. Wherefore, sweetheart? what 's your Mar. It's dry, sir. [metaphor?

Sir And. Why, I think so; I am not such an ass but I can keep my hand dry. But what 's your jest? Mar. A dry jest, sir.

Sir And. Are you full of them? Mar. Ay, sir; I have them at my fingers' ends: marry, now I let go your hand I am barren.

[Exit Maria. Sir To. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of canary: When did I see thee so put down?

Sir And. Never in your life, I think; unless you see canary put me down: Methinks sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian, or an ordinary man has: but I am a great eater of beef, and I believe that does harm to my wit. Sir To. No question.

Sir And. An I thought that, I'd forswear it. I'll ride home to-morrow, sir Toby. Sir To. Pourquoy, my dear knight? Sir And. What is pourquoy? do or not do? I would I had bestowed that time in the tongues that I have in fencing, dancing, and bear-baiting: O, had I but followed the arts!

[hair.

Sir To. Then hadst thou had an excellent head of Sir And. Why, would that have mended my hair? Sir To. Past question; for thou seest it will not curl by nature.

[not?

Sir And. But it becomes me well enough, does 't Sir To. Excellent; it hangs like flax on a distaff; and I hope to see a housewife take thee between her legs, and spin it off.

Sir And. 'Faith, I'll home to-morrow, sir Toby; your niece will not be seen; or, if she be, it 's four to one she 'll none of me: the count himself, here hard by, woos her.

Sir To. She 'll none o' the count; she 'll not match above her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit; I have heard her swear it. Tut, there's life in 't, man.

Sir And. I'll stay a month longer. I am a fellow

o' the strangest mind i' the world; I delight in masques and revels sometimes altogether.

Sir To. Art thou good at these kickshaws, knight? Sir And. As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be, under the degree of my betters; and yet I will not compare with an old man.

Sir To. What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight? Sir And. 'Faith, I can cut a caper. Sir To. And I can cut the mutton to 't. Sir And. And, I think, I have the back-trick, simply as strong as any man in Illyria. Sir To. Wherefore are these things hid? wherefore have these gifts a curtain before them? are they like to take dust, like mistress Mall's picture? why dost thou not go to church in a galliard, and come home in a coranto? My very walk should be a jig; I would not so much as make water but in a sink-a-pace. What dost thou mean? is it a world to hide virtues in? I did think, by the excellent constitution of thy leg, it was formed under the star of a galliard.

Sir And. Ay, 't is strong, and it does indifferent well in a damask-coloured stock. Shall we set about some revels?

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

Sir And. Taurus? that 's sides and heart. Sir To. No, sir; it is legs and thighs. Let me see thee caper: ha! higher: ha, ha!-excellent! [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.-A Room in the Duke's Palace. Enter Valentine, and Viola in man's attire. Val. If the duke continue these favours towards you, Cesario, you are like to be much advanced; he hath known you but three days, and already you

are no stranger.

Vio. You either fear his humour, or my negligence, that you call in question the continuance of his love: Is he inconstant, sir, in his favours? Val. No, believe me.

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

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

Vio.

[then?

Sure, my noble lord If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow As it is spoke, she never will admit me. Duke. Be clamorous, and leap all civil bounds, Rather than make unprofited return. Vio. Say, I do speak with her, my lord: What Duke. O, then unfold the passion of my love; Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith: It shall become thee well to act my wocs; She will attend it better in thy youth, Than in a nuncio of more grave aspect. Vio. I think not so, my lord. Duke. Dear lad, believe it; For they shall yet belie thy happy years That say, thou art a man: Diana's lip Is not more smooth and rubious; thy small pipe Is as the maiden's organ, shrill and sound, And all is semblative a woman's part.

I know thy constellation is right apt

For this affair:-Some four, or five, attend him;
All, if you will; for I myself am best
When least in company:- Prosper well in this,
And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord,
To call his fortunes thine. Vio. I'll do my best
To woo your lady: yet, [Aside] a barful strife!
Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife. [Exeunt.

SCENE V.-A Room in Olivia's House.

Enter Maria and Clown. Mar. 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 theo for thy absence.

Clo. Let her hang me: he that is well hanged in this world needs to fear no colours. Mar. Make that good.

Clo. He shall see none to fear.

Mar. A good lenten answer: I can tell thee where that saying was born, of, I fear no colours. Clo. Where, good mistress Mary?

Mar. In the wars; and that may you be bold to say in your foolery.

Clo. Well, God give them wisdom that have it; and those that are fools let them use their talents. Mar. Yet you will be hanged, for being so long absent; or, to be turned away: is not that as good as a hanging to you? Clo. Many a good hanging prevents a bad mar. riage; and, for turning away, let summer bear it out. Mar. You are resolute, then?

Clo. Not so, neither; but I am resolved on two points. Mar. That if one break the other will hold; or, it both break your gaskins fall.

Clo. Apt, 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. Mar. Peace, you rogue, no more o' that: here comes my lady: make your excuse wisely, you were best. [Exit.

Enter Olivia and Malvolio.

Clo. Wit, and 't be thy will, put me into good fooling! Those wits that think they have thee do very oft prove fools; and I, that am sure I lack thee, may pass for a wise man: For what says Quinapalus? Better a witty fool, than a foolish wit.-God bless thee, lady! Oli. Take the fool away. [lady. Clo. Do you not hear, fellows? Take away the Oli. Go to, you 're a dry fool; I'll no more of you: besides, you grow dishonest.

Clo. Two faults, madonna, that drink and good counsel will amend: for give the dry fool drink,then is the fool not dry; bid the dishonest man mend himself, if he mend, he is no longer dishonest; if he cannot, let the botcher mend him: Anything that 's mended is but patched: virtue that transgresses is but patched with sin; and sin that amends is but patched with virtue: If that this simple syllogism will serve, so; if it will not, What remedy? As there is no true cuckold but calamity, so beauty's a flower:-the lady bade take away the fool; therefore, I say again, take her away. Oli. Sir, I bade them take away you.

Clo. Misprision in the highest degree!-Lady, Cucullus non facit monachum; that 's as much as to say, I wear not motley in my brain. Good madonna, give me leave to prove you a fool. Oli. Can you do it?

Clo. Dexteriously, good madonna.
Oli. Make your proof.

Clo. I must catechize you for it, madonna: Good
my mouse of virtue, answer me. [your proof.
Öli. Well, sir, for want of other idleness, I'll 'bide
Clo. Good madonna, why mourn'st thou?
Oli. Good fool, for my brother's death.
Clo. I think his soul is in hell, madonna.
Oli. I know his soul is in heaven, fool.

Clo. The more fool, madonna, to mourn for your brother's soul being in heaven.-Take away the fool, gentlemen.

Oli. What think you of this fool, Malvolio? doth he not mend?

Mal. Yes; and shall do, till the pangs of death shake him Infirmity, that decays the wise, doth ever make the better fool.

better increasing your folly! Sir Toby will be sworn Clo. God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for the that I am no fox; but he will not pass his word for two-pence that you are no fool.

Oli. How say you to that, Malvolio?

Mal. I marvel your ladyship takes delight in such a barren rascal: I saw him put down the other day with an ordinary fool, that has no more brain than a stone. Look you now, he's out of his guard

already; unless you laugh and minister occasion to him, he is gagged. I protest I take these wise men, that crow so at these set kind of fools, no better than the fools' zanies.

Oli. O, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and taste with a distempered appetite. To be generous, guiltless, and of free disposition, is to take those things for bird-bolts that you deem cannon-bullets: There is no slander in an allowed fool, though he do nothing but rail; nor no railing in a known discreet man, though he do nothing but reprove. Clo. Now Mercury endue thee with leasing, for thou speakest well of fools!

Re-enter Maria.

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 penn'd 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. 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,

Mar. Madam, there is at the gate a young gentle- give me modest assurance if you be the lady of the man much desires to speak with you. Oli. From the count Osino, is it?

Mar. I know not, madam; 't is a fair young man, and well attended.

Oli. Who of my people hold him in delay? Mar. Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman. Oli. Fetch him off, I pray you; he speaks nothing but madman: Fie on him! [Exit Maria.] Go you, Malvolio: if it be a suit from the count, I am sick, or not at home; what you will, to dismiss it. [Exit Malvolio.] Now you see, sir, how your fooling grows old, and people dislike it.

Cio. Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy eldest son should be a fool; whose skull Jove cram with brains! for here he comes, one of thy kin, has a most weak pia mater.

Enter Sir Toby Belch.

house, that I may proceed in my speech.

Oli. Are you a comedian?

Vio. No, my profound heart; and yet, by the very fangs of malice I swear I am not that I play. Are you the lady of the house?

Vio. Most certain, if you are she you do usurp Oli. If I do not usurp myself, I am. yourself; for what is yours to bestow is not yours to reserve. But this is from my commission: I will you the heart of my message. on with my speech in your praise, and then show Oli. Come to what is important in 't: I forgive you the praise. [poetical. Vio. Alas, I took great pains to study it, and 't is Oli. It is the more like to be feigned; I pray you, keep it in. I heard you were saucy at my gates; and allowed your approach, rather to wonder at you

Oli. By mine honour, half drunk.-What is he at than to hear you. If you be not mad, be gone; if the gate, cousin? Sir To. A gentleman. Oli. A gentleman? what gentleman?

Sir To. T is a gentleman here-A plague o' these pickle-herrings!-How now, sot?

Clo. Good sir Toby,

Oli. Cousin, cousin, how have you come so early by this lethargy?

Sir To. Lechery! I defy lechery: There 's one at the gate Oli. Ay, marry; what is he? Sir To. Let him be the devil, an he will, I care not give me faith, say I. Well, it's all one. [Exit. Oli. What's a drunken man like, fool?

Clo. Like a drowned man, a fool, and a madman: one draught above heat makes him a fool; the second mads him; and a third drowns him. Oli. Go thou and seek the crowner, and let him sit o' my coz; for he 's in the third degree of drink, he 's drown'd: go, look after him. Clo. He is but mad yet, madonna; and the fool shall look to the madman. [Exit Clown.

Re-enter Malvolio.

Mal. Madam, yond young fellow swears he will speak with you. I told him you were sick; he takes on him to understand so much, and therefore comes to speak with you: I told him you were asleep; he seems to have a 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. Oli. Tell him he shall not speak with me. Mal. He has been told so; and he says, he 'll stand at your door like a sheriff's post, and be the supporter of a bench, but he 'll speak with you. Oli. What kind of man is he?

Mal. Why, of mankind.

Oli. What manner of man?

Mal. Of very ill manner; he 'll speak with you, will you, or no.

Oli. Of what personage, and years, is he? Mal. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy; as a squash is before 't is a peascod, or a codling when 't is almost an apple: 't is with him in standing water, between boy and man. He is very well-favoured, and he speaks very shrew. ishly; one would think his mother's milk was scarce

out of him.

Oli. Let him approach: Call in my gentlewoman. Mal. Gentlewoman, my lady calls. [Exit.

Re-enter Maria.

Oli. Give me my veil: come, throw it o'er my face. We'll once more hear Orsino's embassy.

you have reason, be brief: 't is not that time of moon with me to make one in so skipping a dialogue. Mar. Will you hoist sail, sir? here lies your way. Vio. No, good swabber; I am to hull here a little longer.-Some mollification for your giant, sweet Oli. Tell me your mind. [lady:

Vio. I am a messenger.

Oli. Sure, you have some hideous matter to deliver, when the courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak your office.

Vio. It alone concerns your ear. I bring 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 appeared in me, have I learned 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 bosom? io. To answer by the method, in the first of his heart. Oli. O, I have read it; it is heresy. Have you no more to say?

Vio. Good madam, let me see your face.

Oli. Have you any commission from your lord to negociate with my face? you are now out of your text: but we will draw the curtain, and show you the picture. [Unveiling.] Look you, sir, such a one I was this present: Is 't not well done?

Vio. Excellently done, if God did all. [weather. Oli. T is in grain, sir; 't will endure wind and Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on: Vio. 'T is beauty truly blent, whose red and white Lady, you are the cruell'st she alive, If you will lead these graces to the grave, And leave the world no copy.

give out divers schedules of my beauty: It shall be Oli. O, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted; I will belled to my will: as, item, two lips indifferent red; inventoried; and every particle, and utensil, laitem, two grey eyes, with lids to them; item, one neck, one chin, and so forth. Were you sent hither to praise me?

Vio. I see you what you are: you are too proud;

« PreviousContinue »