Scene IV.

not give means for this uncivil rule;' she shall know of it, by this hand.

Mar. Go shake your ears.

Sir To. Send for money, knight; if thou hast
[Exit. her not i' the end, call me Cut."
Sir And. If I do not, never trust me, take it how

Sir To. Come, come; I'll go burn some sack,
Sir And. Twere as good a deed as to drink you will.
[Exeunt.
when a man's a hungry, to challenge him to the
knight.
field; and then to break promise with him, and 'tis too late to go to bed now: come, knight; come,

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.

SCENE IV.-A rooni in the Duke's palace. En-
ter Duke, Viola, Curio, and others.
Duke. Give me some music: Now, good mor
row, friends:-

Mar. Sweet sir Toby, be patient for to-night;
since the youth of the count's was to-day with my
That old and antique song we heard last night;
lady, she is much out of quiet. For monsieur Mal-Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song,
volio, let me alone with him: if I do not gull him Methought, it did relieve my passion much;
into a nay-word, and make him a common recrea- More than light airs and recollected terms,
tion, do not think I have wit enough to lie straight of these most brisk and giddy-paced times:-
in my bed: I know I can do it.

Sir To. Possess us,' possess us; tell us something of him.

Mar. Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Puritan.

Sir And. O, if I thought that, I'd beat him like a dog.

Sir To. What, for being a Puritan? thy exquisite reason, dear knight?

Sir And. I have no exquisite reason for't, but have reason good enough.

I

Come, but one verse.

Cur. He is not here, so please your lordship, that should sing it.

Duke. Who was it?

Cur. Feste, 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: Mar. The devil a Puritan that he is, or any thing For, such as I am, all true lovers are; constantly but a time-pleaser; an affectioned ass, Unstaid and skittish in all motions else, that cons state without book, and utters it by great Save, in the constant image of the creature swarths: the best persuaded of himself, so cram-That is belov'd.-How dost thou like this tune? med, as he thinks, with excellencies, that it is his 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.

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;

Vio.
A little, by your favour.
Duke. What kind of woman is't?
Vio.
Of your complexion.
Duke. She is not worth thee then. What years,

Sir To. What wilt thou do? Mar. I will drop in his way some obscure epis-Hath it not, boy? tles of love; wherein, by the colour of his beard, the shape of his leg, the manner of his gait, the expressure of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he shall find himself most feelingly personated: I can write very like my lady, your niece; on a forgotten matter we can hardly make distinction of our hands. Sir To. Excellent! I smell a device.

Sir And. I hav't in my nose too.

Sir To. He shall think, by the letters that thou wilt drop, that they come from my niece, and that she is in love with him.

Mar. My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour.

Sir And. And your horse now would make him

an ass.

Mar. Ass, I doubt not.

Sir And. O, '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. For this night, to bed, and dream on the event. Farewell.

Sir To. Good night, Penthesilea.

[Exit.

i'faith?

Vio. About your years, my lord.

Duke. Too old, by heaven; Let still the woman

take

An 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,
Than women's are.
I think it well, my lord.
Vio.
Duke. Then let thy love be younger than thyself,
Or thy affection cannot hold the bent:
For women are as roses; whose fair flower,
Being once display'd, doth fall that very hour.
Vio. And so they are: alas, that they are so ;
To die, even when they to perfection grow!

Re-enter Curio, and Clown.

Duke. O fellow, come, the song we had last night: :

Sir And. Before me, she's a good wench. Sir To. She's a beagle, truc-bred, and one that Mark it, Cesario; it is old and plain: 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 foul way out.

a

The spinsters and the knitters in the sun,
And the free maids, that weave their thread with
bones,9

Do use to chaunt it; it is silly sooth, 10
And dallies with the innocence of love,
Like the old age."

(6) Amazon. (7) Horse. (8) Countenance.
Lace makers. (10) Simple truth.
(11) Times of simplicity.

And what's her history?

Duke.
Vio. A blank, my lord: She never told her love,
But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud,
Feed on her damask cheek: she pin'd in thought;
And, 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
Much in our vows, but little in our love.

Clo. Come away, come away, death,
And in sad cypress let me be laid;
Fly 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

Did share it.

Not a flower, not a flower sweet,

On black coffin let there be strown;

my

Not a friend, not a friend greet

Duke. But died thy sister of her love, my boy?
Vio. 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?"
Duke.

Ay, that's the theme.
My poor corpse, where my bones shall be To her in haste; give her this jewel; say,
My love can give no place, bide no denay.

thrown;

A thousand thousand sighs to save,

Lay me, O, where

Sad true lover ne'er find my grave,
To weep there.

Duke. There's for thy pains.

Clo. No pains, sir; I take pleasure in singing, sir.
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.

[Exeunt. 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, 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

Sir And. An we do not, it is pity of our lives.

Clo. Now, 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 every thing, and their intent every where; for that's it, that always makes a good not, sir Andrew? 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: Tell her, my love, more noble than the world, Prizes not quantity of dirty lands; The parts that fortune hath bestow'd upon her, Tell her, I hold as giddily as fortune; But 'tis that miracle, and queen of gems, That nature pranks her in, attracts my soul. Vio. But, if she cannot love you, sir? Duke. I cannot be so answer'd.

Vio.

'Sooth, but you must.
Say, that some lady, as, perhaps, there is,
Hath 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 answer'd?
Duke. There's is no woman's sides,
Can 'bide the beating of so strong a passion
As love doth give my heart: no woman's heart
So big, to hold so much; they lack retention.
Alas, their love may be call'd appetite,-
No motion of the liver, but the palate,-
That suffer surfeit, cloyment, and revolt;
But 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.

Vio.

Ay, but I know,

Duke. What dost thou know?

Vio. Too well what love women to men may

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 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 idiot 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.

Enter Malvolio.

[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 ad-
vanced 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, peace!

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!

Scene V.

TWELFTH-NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL,

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!
Fab. O, peace, peace!

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 their's -to ask for my kinsman Toby:

Sir To. Bolts and shackles!

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 has 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

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, per- it be as rank as a fox. chance, 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 lips then?

Mal. Saying, Cousin Toby, my fortunes having cast me on your niece, give me this prerogative of speech:

(1) State-chair.
(3) Badger.

(2) Couch. (4) Hawk.

(5) Flies at it.

The fortunate-unhappy; Day light and champain discovers not more: this I will baffle sir Toby, I will wash off gross acis open. I will be proud, I will read politic authors, quaintance, I 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 her liking. I thank my stars, I am happy. I will a kind of injunction, drives me to these habits of be strange, stout, in yellow stockings, and crossgartered, even with the swiftness of putting on. Jove, and my stars be praised!-Here is yet a postscript. 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 prythee.

(6) Name of a hound.
(8) Open country.

Vio. I warrant, thou art a merry fellow, and carest for nothing.

Jove, I thank thee.-I will smile; I will do every
thing that thou wilt have me.
[Exit.
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 de-be
vice.

Sir And. So could I too.

Sir To. And ask no other dowry with her, but such another jest.

Enter Maria.

Sir And. Nor I neither.

Fab. Here comes my noble gull-catcher.
Sir To. Wilt thou set thy foot o' my neck?
Sir And. Or o' mine either?

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.

Clo. Not so, sir, I do care for something: but in my conscience, sir, I do not care for you; if that 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 there.

Vio. Nay, an thou pass upon me, I'll no more with thee. Hold, there's expenses 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?

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 to 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.

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,
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 Sir To. To the gates of Tartar, thou most excel-you come: who you are, and what you would, are lent devil of wit! out of my welkin: I might say, element; but the [Exeunt. word is over-worn. [Exit. Vio. This fellow's 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;

Sir And. I'll make one too.

ACT III.

SCENE I.--Olivia's Garden. Enter Viola, and And, like the haggard, check at every feather

Clown with a tabor.

That comes before his eye. This is a practice,
As full of labour as a wise man's art:

Vio. Save thee, friend, and thy music: Dost For folly, that he wisely shows, is fit;

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 cheveril3 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.

Vio. Why, man?

Clo. Why, sir, her name's a word; and to dally with that word, might make my sister wanton: But, indeed, words are very rascals, since bonds disgraced them.

Pio. Thy reason, man?

Clo. Troth, sir, I can yield you none without words; and words are grown so false, I am loath to prove reason with them.

(1) A boy's diversion three and tip.
(2) Dwells.
(3) Kid.

But wise men, folly-fallen, quite taint their wit.
Enter Sir Toby Belch and Sir Andrew Ague-
cheek.

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 you should enter, 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 understand what you mean by bidding me taste my legs.

I

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 odours! well.

(4) See the play of Troilus and Cressida.
(5) A hawk not well trained. (6) Bound, limit.

Scene II.

TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL.

Vio. My matter hath no voice, lady, but to your A murd'rous guilt shows not itself more soon 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. Cæsario 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,

Than love that would seem hid: love's night is noon.
Cesario, by the roses of the spring,

I

By maidhood, honour, truth, and every thing,
love thee so, that, maugre all thy príde,
Nor wit, nor reason, can my passion hide.
Do 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.
Vio. By innocence I swear, and by my youth,
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; never more
Will I my master's tears to you deplore.
Oli. Yet come again: for thou, perhaps, may'st

I

move

Would they were blanks, rather than fill'd with me! That heart, which now abhors, to like his love.
Vio. Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts
On his behalf:-

Oli.

O, by your leave, I pray you;
I bade you never speak again of him:
But, would you undertake another suit,
I had rather hear you to solicit that,
Than music from the spheres.

Vio.

Dear lady,

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 force that 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,
And baited it with all the unmuzzled thoughts
That tyrannous heart can think? To one of your

receiving2

Enough is shown; a cyprus, not a bosom,
Hides my poor heart: So let me hear you speak.
Vio. I pity you.

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.

Vio.

Then westward-hoe:

Grace, and good disposition 'tend your ladyship!
You'll nothing, madam, to my lord by me?
Oli. Stay:

I pr'ythee, tell me, what thou think'st of me.
Vio. That you do think, you are not what you

are.

Oli. If I think so, I think the same of you.
Vio. Then think you right; I am not what I am.
Oli. I would, you were as I would have you be!
Vio. Would it be better, madam, than I am,
I wish it might; for now I am your fool.

Oli. O, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful
In the contempt and anger of his lip!

(1) Ready. (2) Ready apprehension. (3) Step.
(4) In spite of.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II-A Room in Olivia's house. Enter
Sir Toby Belch, Sir Andrew Ague-cheek, and
Fabian.

Sir And. No, faith, I'll not stay a jot longer.
Sir To. Thy reason, dear venom, give thy rea-

son.

Fab. You must need yield your reason, sir Andrew.

Sir And. Marry, I saw your niece do more favours to the count's serving-man, than ever she bestowed upon me; I saw'ti' the orchard.

Sir To. Did she see thee the while, old boy? tell me that.

Sir And. As plain as I see you now.

Fab. This was a great argument of love in her toward you.

Sir And. 'Slight! will you make an ass o' me? Fab. I will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the oaths of judgment and reason.

Sir To. And they have been grand jury-men, since before Noah was a sailor.

Fab. She did show favour to the youth in your

sight, only to exasperate you, to awake your dorstone in your liver: You should then have accosted mouse valour, to put fire in your heart, and brimher; and with some excellent jest, fire-new from the mint, you should have banged the youth into dumbness. This was looked for at your hand, and this was baulked: the double gilt of this opportunity you let time 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 valour, or policy,

Sir And. And't be any way, it must be with Brownist, as a politician. valour; for policy I hate: I had as lief be a

Sir To. Why then, build me thy fortunes upon the basis of valour. Challenge me the count's my niece shall take note of it: and assure thyself, youth to fight with him; hurt him in eleven places; there is no love-broker in the world can more prevail in man's commendation with woman, than report of valour.

Fab. There is no way but this, sir Andrew.

Sir And. Will either of you bear me a chal lenge to him?

Sir To. Go, write it in a martial hand; be curst and brief; it is no matter how witty, so it be

(5) Separatists in queen Elizabeth's reign. (6) Crabbed.