« PreviousContinue »
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 shew his days are almost done.
Sir To. But I will never die.
Clo. Sir Toby, there you lie.
Mal. This is much credit to you.
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.
Str To. Thou'rt i'the right.
Go, sir, rub your chain with crums: - A stoop of wine, Maria! Mal. Mistress Mary, if you priz'd 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 hand.
Mar. Go shake your ears.
Sir And. 'Twere as good a deed as to drink when a man's a hungry, to challenge him to the field; and then to break promise with him, and make a fool of him.
Sir To. Do't knight; I'll write thee a challenge; or I'll deliver thy indignation to him by word of mouth.
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 nayword, 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
Mar. Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Puritan.
of love; wherein, by the colour of his beard, the
Sir Te. 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
Mar. Ass, I doubt not.
Sir And. O, 'twill be adinirable.
Mar. Sport royal, I warrant you: I know my physick 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, and dream on the event. Farewell. [Exit. 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 What o' that? Sir And. I was adored once too.
Sir To. Let's to bed, knight.-Thou hadst need send for more money.
foul way out.
Sir To. Send for money, knight; if thou hast her not 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, 'us too late to go to bed now: come, knight; come knight. [Exeunt.
Cur. Feste, the jester, my lord; a fool, that the lady Olivia's father took much delight in: he is
Sir And. O, if I thought that, I'd beat him like about the house. 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 affection'd ass, that cons state without book, and utters it by great swarths: the best persuaded of himself, so crammed, as he thinks, with excellencies, 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?
3. I will drop in his way some obscure epistles
Duke. Seek him out, and play the tune the whi e.
Come hither, boy; If ever thou shalt love,
Duke. Thou dost speak masterly:
Mark it, Cesario; it is old and plain :
The spinsters and the knitters in the sun,
And the free maids, that weave their thread with
Do use to chaunt it; it is silly sooth,
And dallies with the innocence of love,
Clo. Are you ready, sir?
Clo. Come away, come away, death,
I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
My part of death no one so true
Did share it.
Not a flower, not a flower sweet,
Not a friend, not a friend greet
Tell her, my love, more noble than the world,
'Sooth, but you must.
Can bide the beating of so strong a passion
Ay, but I know, ⋅
Vio. Too well what love women to men may owe:
My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown:
Duke. There's for thy pains.
Clo. No pains, sir; I take pleasure in singing, sir.
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. [Erit Clown.
Duke. Let all the rest give place. ·
[Exeunt CURIO and Attendants. Once more, Cesario, Get thee to yon' same sovereign cruelty:
SCENE V.- Olivia's Garden.
Enter Sir TOBY BELCH, Sir ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK, and FABIAN.
Sir To. Come thy ways, signior Fabian. Fab. Nay, I'll come; if I lose a scruple of this sport, let me be boiled to death with melancholy.
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, abouta bear-baiting here.
Sin 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.
Sir To. Here comes the little villain: Flow now, my nettle of India?
Mar. Get ye all three into the box-tree: Malvolio's coming down this walk; he has been yonder 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 trout that must be caught with tickling. [Exit MARIA.
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.
Mal. There is example for't; the lady of the strachy married the yeoman of the wardrobe.
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. O, for a stone-bow, to hit him in the eye! Mal. Calling my officers about me, in my branched velvet gown; having come from a day-bed, where I left Olivia sleeping.
Sir To. Fire and brimstone!
Mal. And then to have the humour of state: and after a demure travel of regard, -telling them, I know my place, as I would they should do theirs, to ask for my kinsman Toby:
Sir To. Bolts and shackles!
Fab. O, peace, peace, peace! now, now.
Mal. Seven of my people, with an obedient start, make out for him: I frown the while; 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 with cars, 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 hips then?
Mal. Saying, Cousin Toby, my fortunes having east me on your niece, give me this prerogative of speech:
Sir To What, what?
Sir To. Out, scab !
Mal. Lou must amend your drunkenness.
Sir To. Excellent wench, say I. Mal. M, O, A, I, doth sway my life. - Nay, but first, let me see, let me see,- let me see. Fab. What a dish of poison hath she dressed him! Sir To. And with what wing the stannyel checks at it!
Mal. I may command where I adore. Why, she may 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 alphabetical position portend? if I could make that resemble something in me, — Softly! - M, O, A, I. —
Sir To. O, ay! make up that he is now at a cold scent.
Fab. Sowter will cry upon't, for all this, though it be as rank as a fox.
Mal. M, 0, 4, I;- This simulation is not as the former: and yet, to crush this a little, it would Fab. Nay, patience, or we break the sinews of bow to me, for every one of these letters are in my our plot. name. Soft; here follows prose. -If this fall into Mal. Besides, you waste the treasure of your time thy hand, revolve. In my stars I am above thee; but with a foolish knight;
Sir And. That's me, I warrant you.
Mal. One Sir Andrew:
Sir And I knew. 'was I; for many do call in fool
be not afraid of greatness: Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them. Thy fates open their hands; let thy blood and spirit embrace them. And, to inure
thyself to what thou art like to be, cast thy humble slough, and appear fresh. Be opposite with a kinsman, surty with servants: let thy tongue tang arguments of state; put thyself into the trick of singularity: She thus advises thee, that sighs for thee. Remember who commended thy yellow stockings; and wished to see thee ever cross-gartered: I say, remember. Go to; thou art made, if thou desirest to be ; if not, 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,
The fortunate unhappy. Day-light and champian discovers not more: this is open. I will be proud, I will read politick authors, I will baffle Sir Toby, I will wash off gross acquaintance, will be point-de-vice, the very man. I do not now fool myself, to let imagination jade me; for every reason excites to this, that my lady loves me. She 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 injunction, drives me to these habits of her liking. I thank my stars, I am happy. I will be strange, stout, in yellow stockings, and cross-gartered, even with the swiftness of putting on. Jove, and my stars be praised! Here is yet a postcript. Thou canst not choose but know who I am. If thou entertainest my love, let it appear in thy smiling; thy smiles become thee well: therefore in my presence still smile, dear my sweet, I pr'ythee. Jove, I thank thee. I will smile: I will do every thing that thou wilt have me.
Fab. I will not give my part of this sport for a pension of thousands to be paid from the Sophy. Sir To. I could marry this wench for this device: Sir And. So could I too.
Sir To. And ask no other dowry with her, but such another jest.
Sir And. Nor I neither.
Fab. Here comes my noble gull-catcher.
Sir To. Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip and become thy bond-slave?
Sir And. I'faith, or I either?
Sir To. Why, thou hast put him in such a dream, that, when the image of it leaves him, he must run mad.
Mar. Nay, but say true; does it work upon him? Sir To. Like aqua-vitæ with a midwife. Mar. If you will then see the fruits of the sport, mark his first approach before my lady: he will come to her in yellow stockings, and 'tis a colour she abhors; and cross-gartered, a fashion she detests; and 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 but turn him into a notable contempt: if you will see it, follow me.
Sir To. To the gates of Tartar, thou most excellent devil of wit!
Sir And. I'll make one too.
Vio. Save thee, friend, and thy musick: Dost thou live by thy tabor?
Clo. No, sir, I live by the church.
Vio. Art thou a churchman?
Clo. No such matter, sir; I do live by the church; for I do live at my house, and my house doth stand by the church.
Vio. So thou may'st say, the king lies by a beggar, if a beggar dwell near him; or the church stands by thy tabor, if thy tabor stand by the church.
Clo. You have said, sir. To see this age! A sentence is but a cheveril glove to a good wit; How quickly the wrong side may be turned outward !
Vio. Nay, that's certain; they, that dally nicely with words, may quickly make them wanton. Clo. I would therefore, my sister had had no name, sir.
Clo. Not so, sir, I do care for something: but in my conscience, sir, I do not care for you; if · that be to care for nothing, sir, I would it would make you invisible.
Vio. Art not thou the lady Olivia's fool?
Clo. No, indeed, sir; the lady Olivia has no folly she will keep no fool, sir, till she be married; and fools are as like husbands, as pilchards are to herrings, the husband's the bigger; I am, indeed, not her fool, but her corrupter of words.
Vio. I saw thee late at the count Orsino's. Clo. Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb, like the sun; it shines every where. 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
Vio. Nay, an thou pass upon me, I'll no more with thee. Hold, there's expences for thee.
Clo. Now Jove, in his next commodity of hair, send thee a beard!
Vio. By my troth, I'll tell thee; I am almost sick for one; though I would not have it grow on my chin. Is thy lady within?
Clo. Would not a pair of these have bred, sir? Vio. Yes, being kept together, and put to use. Clo. I would play lord Pandarus of Phrygia, sir, to bring a Cressida to this Troilus.
Vio. I understand you, sir; 'tis well begg'd. Clo. The matter, I hope, is not great, sir, begging but a beggar: Cressida was a beggar. My lady is within, sir. I will construe to them whence you come; who you are, and what you would, are
ut of my welkin: I might say, element; but the
Enter Sir TOBY BELCH and Sir ANDREW
Sir To. Save you, gentleman.
Vio. And you, sir.
Sir And. Dieu vous garde, monsieur.
Vio. Et vous aussi; votre serviteur.
Sir And. I hope, sir, you are; and I am yours. Sir To. Will you encounter the house? my niece is desirous should enter, you if your trade be to her. Vio. I am bound to your niece, sir: I mean, she is the list of my voyage.
Sir To. Taste your legs, sir, put them to motion. Vio. My legs do better understand me, sir, than I understand what you mean by bidding me taste iny legs.
Sir To. I mean to go, sir, to enter.
Vio. I will answer you with gait and entrance: But we are prevented.
Enter OLIVIA and MARIA.
Most excellent accomplished lady, the heavens rain odours on you!
Sir And. That youth's a rare courtier ! Rain dours! well.
Vio. My matter hath no voice, lady, but to your own most pregnant and vouchsafed ear.
Sir And. Odours, pregnant, and vouchsafed: I'll get 'em all three ready.
Oli. Let the garden door be shut, and leave me to my hearing.
[Exeunt Sir TOBY, Sir ANDREW, and MARIA. Give me your hand, sir.
Vio. My duty, madam, and most humble service. Oli. What is your name?
Vio. Cesario is your servant's name, fair princess. Oli. My servant, sir! 'Twas never merry world, Since lowly feigning was call'd compliment: You are servant to the count Orsino, youth.
Vio. And he is yours, and his must needs be yours;
Your servant's servant is your servant, madam.
Oli. For him, I think not on him: for his thoughts,
Would they were blanks, rather than fill'd with me!
Oli. Give me leave, I beseech you: I did send After 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, To forcat on you, in a shameful cunning,
Which you knew none of yours: What might you think?
Have you not set mine honour at the stake,
Enough is shown; a cyprus, not a bosom,
Oli. That's a degree to love.
Vio. No, not a grise; for 'tis a vulgar proof, That very oft we pity enemies.
Oli. Why, then, methinks, 'tis time to smile again: O world, how apt the poor are to be proud! If one should be a prey, how much the better To 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, Your wife is like to reap a proper man: There lies your way, due west.
I pr'ythee, tell me, what thou think'st of me.
I wish it might; for now I am your fool.
A murd'rous guilt shows not itself more soon
By maidhood, honour, truth, and every thing,
Oli. Yet come again: for thou, perhaps, may'st