death of her brother thus? I am sure care's an enemie to
life
Mar. By my troth sir Toby, you must come in earlyer
a nights: your Cosin, my Lady, takes great exceptions
to your ill houres
To. Why let her except, before excepted
Ma. I, but you must confine your selfe within the
modest limits of order
To. Confine? Ile confine my selfe no finer then I am:
these cloathes are good enough to drinke in, and so bee
these boots too: and they be not, let them hang themselues
in their owne straps
Ma. That quaffing and drinking will vndoe you: I
heard my Lady talke of it yesterday: and of a foolish
knight that you brought in one night here, to be hir woer
To. Who, Sir Andrew Ague-cheeke?
Ma. I he
To. He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria
Ma. What's that to th' purpose?
To. Why he ha's three thousand ducates a yeare
Ma. I, but hee'l haue but a yeare in all these ducates:
He's a very foole, and a prodigall
To. Fie, that you'l say so: he playes o'th Viol-de-gamboys,
and speaks three or four languages word for word
without booke, & hath all the good gifts of nature
Ma. He hath indeed, almost naturall: for besides that
he's a foole, he's a great quarreller: and but that hee hath
the gift of a Coward, to allay the gust he hath in quarrelling,
'tis thought among the prudent, he would quickely
haue the gift of a graue
Tob. By this hand they are scoundrels and substractors
that say so of him. Who are they?
Ma. They that adde moreour, hee's drunke nightly
in your company
To. With drinking healths to my Neece: Ile drinke
to her as long as there is a passage in my throat, & drinke
in Illyria: he's a Coward and a Coystrill that will not
drinke to my Neece, till his braines turne o'th toe, like a
parish top. What wench? Castiliano vulgo: for here coms
Sir Andrew Agueface.
Enter Sir Andrew.
And. Sir Toby Belch. How now sir Toby Belch?
To. Sweet sir Andrew
And. Blesse you faire Shrew
Mar. And you too sir
Tob. Accost Sir Andrew, accost
And. What's that?
To. My Neeces Chamber-maid
Ma. Good Mistris accost, I desire better acquaintance
Ma. My name is Mary sir
And. Good mistris Mary, accost
To, You mistake knight: Accost, is front her, boord
her, woe her, assayle her
And. By my troth I would not vndertake her in this
company. Is that the meaning of Accost?
Ma. Far you well Gentlemen
To. And thou let part so Sir Andrew, would thou
mightst neuer draw sword agen
And. And you part so mistris, I would I might neuer
draw sword agen: Faire Lady, doe you thinke you haue
fooles in hand?
Ma. Sir, I haue not you by'th hand
An. Marry but you shall haue, and heeres my hand
Ma. Now sir, thought is free: I pray you bring your
hand to'th Buttry barre, and let it drinke
An. Wherefore (sweet-heart?) What's your Metaphor?
Ma. It's dry sir
And. Why I thinke so: I am not such an asse, but I
can keepe my hand dry. But what's your iest?
Ma. A dry iest Sir
And. Are you full of them?
Ma. I Sir, I haue them at my fingers ends: marry now
I let go your hand, I am barren.
Exit Maria
To. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of Canarie: when did
I see thee so put downe?
An. Neuer in your life I thinke, vnlesse you see Canarie
put me downe: mee thinkes sometimes I haue no
more wit then a Christian, or an ordinary man ha's: but I
am a great eater of beefe, and I beleeue that does harme
to my wit
To. No question
An. And I thought that, I'de forsweare it. Ile ride
home to morrow sir Toby
To. Pur-quoy my deere knight?
An. What is purquoy? Do, or not do? I would I had
bestowed that time in the tongues, that I haue in fencing
dancing, and beare-bayting: O had I but followed the
Arts
To. Then hadst thou had an excellent head of haire
An. Why, would that haue mended my haire?
To. Past question, for thou seest it will not coole my nature
An. But it becoms me wel enough, dost not?
To. Excellent, it hangs like flax on a distaffe: & I hope
to see a huswife take thee between her legs, & spin it off
An. Faith Ile home to morrow sir Toby, your niece wil
not be seene, or if she be it's four to one, she'l none of me:
the Count himselfe here hard by, wooes her
To. Shee'l none o'th Count, she'l not match aboue hir
degree, neither in estate, yeares, nor wit: I haue heard her
swear't. Tut there's life in't man
And. Ile stay a moneth longer. I am a fellow o'th
strangest minde i'th world: I delight in Maskes and Reuels
sometimes altogether
To. Art thou good at these kicke-chawses Knight?
And. As any man in Illyria, whatsoeuer he be, vnder
the degree of my betters, & yet I will not compare with
an old man
To. What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight?
And. Faith, I can cut a caper
To. And I can cut the Mutton too't
And. And I thinke I haue the backe-tricke, simply as
strong as any man in Illyria
To. Wherefore are these things hid? Wherefore haue
these gifts a Curtaine before 'em? Are they like to take
dust, like mistris Mals picture? Why dost thou not goe
to Church in a Galliard, and come home in a Carranto?
My verie walke should be a Iigge: I would not so much
as make water but in a Sinke-a-pace: What dooest thou
meane? Is it a world to hide vertues in? I did thinke by
the excellent constitution of thy legge, it was form'd vnder
the starre of a Galliard
And. I, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a
dam'd colour'd stocke. Shall we sit about some Reuels?
To. What shall we do else: were we not borne vnder
Taurus?
And. Taurus? That sides and heart
To. No sir, it is leggs and thighes: let me see thee caper.
Ha, higher: ha, ha, excellent.
Exeunt.
Scena Quarta.
Enter Valentine, and Viola in mans attire.
Val. If the Duke continue these fauours towards you
Cesario, you are like to be much aduanc'd, he hath known
you but three dayes, and already you are no stranger
Vio. You either feare his humour, or my negligence,
that you call in question the continuance of his loue. Is
he inconstant sir, in his fauours
Val. No beleeue me.
Enter Duke, Curio, and Attendants.
Vio. I thanke you: heere comes the Count
Duke. Who saw Cesario hoa?
Vio. On your attendance my Lord heere
Du. Stand you a-while aloofe. Cesario,
Thou knowst no lesse, but all: I haue vnclasp'd
To thee the booke euen of my secret soule.
Therefore good youth, addresse thy gate vnto her,
Be not deni'de accesse, stand at her doores,
And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow
Till thou haue audience
Vio. Sure my Noble Lord,
If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow
As it is spoke, she neuer will admit me
Du. Be clamorous, and leape all ciuill bounds,
Rather then make vnprofited returne,
Vio. Say I do speake with her (my Lord) what then?
Du. O then, vnfold the passion of my loue,
Surprize her with discourse of my deere faith;
It shall become thee well to act my woes:
She will attend it better in thy youth,
Then in a Nuntio's of more graue aspect
Vio. I thinke not so, my Lord
Du. Deere Lad, beleeue it;
For they shall yet belye thy happy yeeres,
That say thou art a man: Dianas lip
Is not more smooth, and rubious: thy small pipe
Is as the maidens organ, shrill, and sound,
And all is semblatiue a womans part.
I know thy constellation is right apt
For this affayre: some foure or fiue attend him,
All if you will: for I my selfe am best
When least in companie: prosper well in this,
And thou shalt liue as freely as thy Lord,
To call his fortunes thine
Vio. Ile do my best
To woe your Lady: yet a barrefull strife,
Who ere I woe, my selfe would be his wife.
Exeunt.
Scena Quinta.
Enter Maria, and Clowne.
Ma. Nay, either tell me where thou hast bin, or I will
not open my lippes so wide as a brissle may enter, in way
of thy excuse: my Lady will hang thee for thy absence
Clo. Let her hang me: hee that is well hang'de in this
world, needs to feare no colours
Ma. Make that good
Clo. He shall see none to feare
Ma. A good lenton answer: I can tell thee where y
saying was borne, of I feare no colours
Clo. Where good mistris Mary?
Ma. In the warrs, & that may you be bolde to say in
your foolerie
Clo. Well, God giue them wisedome that haue it: &
those that are fooles, let them vse their talents
Ma. Yet you will be hang'd for being so long absent,
or to be turn'd away: is not that as good as a hanging to
you?
Clo. Many a good hanging, preuents a bad marriage:
and for turning away, let summer beare it out
Ma. You are resolute then?
Clo. Not so neyther, but I am resolu'd on two points
Ma. That if one breake, the other will hold: or if both
breake, your gaskins fall
Clo. Apt in good faith, very apt: well go thy way, if
sir Toby would leaue drinking, thou wert as witty a piece
of Eues flesh, as any in Illyria
Ma. Peace you rogue, no more o'that: here comes my
Lady: make your excuse wisely, you were best.
Enter Lady Oliuia, with Maluolio.
Clo. Wit, and't be thy will, put me into good fooling:
those wits that thinke they haue thee, doe very oft proue
fooles: and I that am sure I lacke thee, may passe for a
wise man. For what saies Quinapalus, Better a witty foole,
then a foolish wit. God blesse thee Lady
Ol. Take the foole away
Clo. Do you not heare fellowes, take away the Ladie
Ol. Go too, y'are a dry foole: Ile no more of you: besides
you grow dis-honest
Clo. Two faults Madona, that drinke & good counsell
wil amend: for giue the dry foole drink, then is the foole
not dry: bid the dishonest man mend himself, if he mend,
he is no longer dishonest; if hee cannot, let the Botcher
mend him: any thing that's mended, is but patch'd: vertu
that transgresses, is but patcht with sinne, and sin that amends,
is but patcht with vertue. If that this simple
Sillogisme will serue, so: if it will not, what remedy?
As there is no true Cuckold but calamity, so beauties a
flower; The Lady bad take away the foole, therefore I
say againe, take her away
Ol. Sir, I bad them take away you
Clo. Misprision in the highest degree. Lady, Cucullus
non facit monachum: that's as much to say, as I weare not
motley in my braine: good Madona, giue mee leaue to
proue you a foole
Ol. Can you do it?
Clo. Dexteriously, good Madona
Ol. Make your proofe
Clo. I must catechize you for it Madona, Good my
Mouse of vertue answer mee
Ol. Well sir, for want of other idlenesse, Ile bide your
proofe
Clo. Good Madona, why mournst thou?
Ol. Good foole, for my brothers death
Clo. I thinke his soule is in hell, Madona
Ol. I know his soule is in heauen, foole
Clo. The more foole (Madona) to mourne for your
Brothers soule, being in heauen. Take away the Foole,
Gentlemen
Ol. What thinke you of this foole Maluolio, doth he
not mend?
Mal. Yes, and shall do, till the pangs of death shake
him: Infirmity that decaies the wise, doth euer make the
better foole
Clow. God send you sir, a speedie Infirmity, for the
better increasing your folly: Sir Toby will be sworn that
I am no Fox, but he wil not passe his word for two pence
that you are no Foole
Ol. How say you to that Maluolio?
Mal. I maruell your Ladyship takes delight in such
a barren rascall: I saw him put down the other day, with
an ordinary foole, that has no more braine then a stone.
Looke you now, he's out of his gard already: vnles you
laugh and minister occasion to him, he is gag'd. I protest
I take these Wisemen, that crow so at these set kinde of
fooles, no better then the fooles Zanies
Ol. O you are sicke of selfe-loue Maluolio, and taste
with a distemper'd appetite. To be generous, guiltlesse,
and of free disposition, is to take those things for Bird-bolts,
that you deeme Cannon bullets: There is no slander
in an allow'd foole, though he do nothing but rayle;
nor no rayling, in a knowne discreet man, though hee do
nothing but reproue
Clo. Now Mercury indue thee with leasing, for thou
speak'st well of fooles.
Enter Maria.
Mar. Madam, there is at the gate, a young Gentleman,
much desires to speake with you
Ol. From the Count Orsino, is it?
Ma I know not (Madam) 'tis a faire young man, and
well attended
Ol. Who of my people hold him in delay?
Ma. Sir Toby Madam, your kinsman
Ol. Fetch him off I pray you, he speakes nothing but
madman: Fie on him. Go you Maluolio; If it be a suit
from the Count, I am sicke, or not at home. What you
will, to dismisse it.
Exit Maluo.
Now you see sir, how your fooling growes old, & people
dislike it
Clo. Thou hast spoke for vs (Madona) as if thy eldest
sonne should be a foole: whose scull, Ioue cramme with
braines, for heere he comes.
Enter Sir Toby.
One of thy kin has a most weake Pia-mater
Ol. By mine honor halfe drunke. What is he at the
gate Cosin?
To. A Gentleman
Ol. A Gentleman? What Gentleman?
To. 'Tis a Gentleman heere. A plague o'these pickle
herring: How now Sot
Clo. Good Sir Toby
Ol. Cosin, Cosin, how haue you come so earely by
this Lethargie?
To. Letcherie, I defie Letchery: there's one at the
gate
Ol. I marry, what is he?
To. Let him be the diuell and he will, I care not: giue
me faith say I. Well, it's all one.
Exit
Ol. What's a drunken man like, foole?
Clo. Like a drown'd man, a foole, and a madde man:
One draught aboue heate, makes him a foole, the second
maddes him, and a third drownes him
Ol. Go thou and seeke the Crowner, and let him sitte
o'my Coz: for he's in the third degree of drinke: hee's
drown'd: go looke after him
Clo. He is but mad yet Madona, and the foole shall
looke to the madman.
Enter Maluolio.
Mal. Madam, yond young fellow sweares hee will
speake with you. I told him you were sicke, he takes on
him to vnderstand so much, and therefore comes to speak
with you. I told him you were asleepe, he seems to haue
a fore knowledge of that too, and therefore comes to
speake with you. What is to be said to him Ladie, hee's
fortified against any deniall
Ol. Tell him, he shall not speake with me
Mal. Ha's beene told so: and hee sayes hee'l stand at
your doore like a Sheriffes post, and be the supporter to
a bench, but hee'l speake with you
Ol. What kinde o'man is he?
Mal. Why of mankinde
Ol. What manner of man?
Mal. Of verie ill manner: hee'l speake with you, will
you, or no
Ol. Of what personage, and yeeres is he?
Mal. Not yet old enough for a man, nor yong enough
for a boy: as a squash is before tis a pescod, or a Codling
when tis almost an Apple: Tis with him in standing water,
betweene boy and man. He is verie well-fauour'd,
and he speakes verie shrewishly: One would thinke his
mothers milke were scarse out of him
Ol. Let him approach: Call in my Gentlewoman
Mal. Gentlewoman, my Lady calles.
Enter.
Enter Maria.
Ol. Giue me my vaile: come throw it ore my face,
Wee'l once more heare Orsinos Embassie.
Enter Violenta.
Vio. The honorable Ladie of the house, which is she?
Ol. Speake to me, I shall answer for her: your will
Vio. Most radiant, exquisite, and vnmatchable beautie.
I pray you tell me if this bee the Lady of the house,
for I neuer saw her. I would bee loath to cast away my
speech: for besides that it is excellently well pend, I haue
taken great paines to con it. Good Beauties, let mee sustaine
no scorne; I am very comptible, euen to the least
sinister vsage
Ol. Whence came you sir?
Vio. I can say little more then I haue studied, & that
question's out of my part. Good gentle one, giue mee
modest assurance, if you be the Ladie of the house, that | I
may proceede in my speech
Ol. Are you a Comedian?
Vio. No my profound heart: and yet (by the verie
phangs of malice, I sweare) I am not that I play. Are you
the Ladie of the house?
Ol. If I do not vsurpe my selfe, I am
Vio. Most certaine, if you are she, you do vsurp your
selfe: for what is yours to bestowe, is, not yours to reserue.
But this is from my Commission: I will on with
my speech in your praise, and then shew you the heart of
my message
Ol. Come to what is important in't: I forgiue you
the praise
Vio. Alas, I tooke great paines to studie it, and 'tis
Poeticall
Ol. It is the more like to be feigned, I pray you keep
it in. I heard you were sawcy at my gates, & allowd your
approach rather to wonder at you, then to heare you. If
you be not mad, be gone: if you haue reason, be breefe:
'tis not that time of Moone with me, to make one in so
skipping a dialogue
Ma. Will you hoyst sayle sir, here lies your way
Vio. No good swabber, I am to hull here a little longer.
Some mollification for your Giant, sweete Ladie;
tell me your minde, I am a messenger
Ol. Sure you haue some hiddeous matter to deliuer,
when the curtesie of it is so fearefull. Speake your office
Vio. It alone concernes your eare: I bring no ouerture
of warre, no taxation of homage; I hold the Olyffe
in my hand: my words are as full of peace, as matter
Ol. Yet you began rudely. What are you?
What would you?
Vio. The rudenesse that hath appear'd in mee, haue I
learn'd from my entertainment. What I am, and what I
would, are as secret as maiden-head: to your eares, Diuinity;
to any others, prophanation
Ol. Giue vs the place alone,
We will heare this diuinitie. Now sir, what is your text?
Vio. Most sweet Ladie
Ol. A comfortable doctrine, and much may bee saide
of it. Where lies your Text?
Vio. In Orsinoes bosome
Ol. In his bosome? In what chapter of his bosome?
Vio. To answer by the method, in the first of his hart
Ol. O, I haue read it: it is heresie. Haue you no more
to say?
Vio. Good Madam, let me see your face
Ol. Haue you any Commission from your Lord, to
negotiate with my face: you are now out of your Text:
but we will draw the Curtain, and shew you the picture.
Looke you sir, such a one I was this present: Ist not well
done?
Vio. Excellently done, if God did all
Ol. 'Tis in graine sir, 'twill endure winde and weather
Vio. Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white,
Natures owne sweet, and cunning hand laid on:
Lady, you are the cruell'st shee aliue,
If you will leade these graces to the graue,
And leaue the world no copie
Ol. O sir, I will not be so hard-hearted: I will giue
out diuers scedules of my beautie. It shalbe Inuentoried
and euery particle and vtensile labell'd to my will: As,
Item two lippes indifferent redde, Item two grey eyes,
with lids to them: Item, one necke, one chin, & so forth.
Were you sent hither to praise me?
Vio. I see you what you are, you are too proud:
But if you were the diuell, you are faire:
My Lord, and master loues you: O such loue
Could be but recompenc'd, though you were crown'd
The non-pareil of beautie
Ol. How does he loue me?
Vio. With adorations, fertill teares,
With groanes that thunder loue, with sighes of fire
Ol. Your Lord does know my mind, I cannot loue him
Yet I suppose him vertuous, know him noble,
Of great estate, of fresh and stainlesse youth;
In voyces well divulg'd, free, learn'd, and valiant,
And in dimension, and the shape of nature,
A gracious person; But yet I cannot loue him:
He might haue tooke his answer long ago
Vio. If I did loue you in my masters flame,
With such a suffring, such a deadly life:
In your deniall, I would finde no sence,
I would not vnderstand it
Ol. Why, what would you?
Vio. Make me a willow Cabine at your gate,
And call vpon my soule within the house,
Write loyall Cantons of contemned loue,
And sing them lowd euen in the dead of night:
Hallow your name to the reuerberate hilles,
And make the babling Gossip of the aire,
Cry out Oliuia: O you should not rest
Betweene the elements of ayre, and earth,
But you should pittie me
Ol. You might do much:
What is your Parentage?
Vio. Aboue my fortunes, yet my state is well:
I am a Gentleman
Ol. Get you to your Lord:
I cannot loue him: let him send no more,
Vnlesse (perchance) you come to me againe,
To tell me how he takes it: Fare you well:
I thanke you for your paines: spend this for mee
Vio. I am no feede poast, Lady; keepe your purse,
My Master, not my selfe, lackes recompence.
Loue make his heart of flint, that you shal loue,
And let your feruour like my masters be,
Plac'd in contempt: Farwell fayre crueltie.
Exit
Ol. What is your Parentage?
Aboue my fortunes, yet my state is well;
I am a Gentleman. Ile be sworne thou art,
Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbes, actions, and spirit,
Do giue thee fiue-fold blazon: not too fast: soft, soft,
Vnlesse the Master were the man. How now?
Euen so quickly may one catch the plague?
Me thinkes I feele this youths perfections
With an inuisible, and subtle stealth
To creepe in at mine eyes. Well, let it be.
What hoa, Maluolio.
Enter Maluolio.
Mal. Heere Madam, at your seruice
Ol. Run after that same peeuish Messenger
The Countes man: he left this Ring behinde him
Would I, or not: tell him, Ile none of it.
Desire him not to flatter with his Lord,
Nor hold him vp with hopes, I am not for him:
If that the youth will come this way to morrow,
Ile giue him reasons for't: hie thee Maluolio
Mal. Madam, I will.
Enter.
Ol. I do I know not what, and feare to finde
Mine eye too great a flatterer for my minde:
Fate, shew thy force, our selues we do not owe,
What is decreed, must be: and be this so.
Finis, Actus primus.
Actus Secundus, Scaena prima.
Enter Antonio & Sebastian.
Ant. Will you stay no longer: nor will you not that
I go with you
Seb. By your patience, no: my starres shine darkely
ouer me; the malignancie of my fate, might perhaps distemper
yours; therefore I shall craue of you your leaue,
that I may beare my euils alone. It were a bad recompence
for your loue, to lay any of them on you
An. Let me yet know of you, whither you are bound
Seb. No sooth sir: my determinate voyage is meere
extrauagancie. But I perceiue in you so excellent a touch
of modestie, that you will not extort from me, what I am
willing to keepe in: therefore it charges me in manners,
the rather to expresse my selfe: you must know of mee
then Antonio, my name is Sebastian (which I call'd Rodorigo)
my father was that Sebastian of Messaline, whom I
know you haue heard of. He left behinde him, my selfe,
and a sister, both borne in an houre: if the Heauens had
beene pleas'd, would we had so ended. But you sir, alter'd
that, for some houre before you tooke me from the
breach of the sea, was my sister drown'd
Ant. Alas the day
Seb. A Lady sir, though it was said shee much resembled
me, was yet of many accounted beautiful: but thogh
I could not with such estimable wonder ouer-farre beleeue
that, yet thus farre I will boldly publish her, shee
bore a minde that enuy could not but call faire: Shee is
drown'd already sir with salt water, though I seeme to
drowne her remembrance againe with more
Ant. Pardon me sir, your bad entertainment
Seb. O good Antonio, forgiue me your trouble
Ant. If you will not murther me for my loue, let mee
be your seruant
Seb. If you will not vndo what you haue done, that is
kill him, whom you haue recouer'd, desire it not. Fare
ye well at once, my bosome is full of kindnesse, and I
am yet so neere the manners of my mother, that vpon the
least occasion more, mine eyes will tell tales of me: I am
bound to the Count Orsino's Court, farewell.
Exit
Ant. The gentlenesse of all the gods go with thee:
I haue many enemies in Orsino's Court,
Else would I very shortly see thee there:
But come what may, I do adore thee so,
That danger shall seeme sport, and I will go.
Enter.
Scaena Secunda.
Enter Viola and Maluolio, at seuerall doores.
Mal. Were not you eu'n now, with the Countesse Oliuia?
Vio. Euen now sir, on a moderate pace, I haue since ariu'd
but hither
Mal. She returnes this Ring to you (sir) you might
haue saued mee my paines, to haue taken it away your
selfe. She adds moreouer, that you should put your Lord
into a desperate assurance, she will none of him. And one
thing more, that you be neuer so hardie to come againe
in his affaires, vnlesse it bee to report your Lords taking
of this: receiue it so
Vio. She tooke the Ring of me, Ile none of it
Mal. Come sir, you peeuishly threw it to her: and
her will is, it should be so return'd: If it bee worth stooping
for, there it lies, in your eye: if not, bee it his that
findes it.
Enter.
Vio. I left no Ring with her: what meanes this Lady?
Fortune forbid my out-side haue not charm'd her:
She made good view of me, indeed so much,
That me thought her eyes had lost her tongue,
For she did speake in starts distractedly.
She loues me sure, the cunning of her passion
Inuites me in this churlish messenger:
None of my Lords Ring? Why he sent her none;
I am the man, if it be so, as tis,
Poore Lady, she were better loue a dreame:
Disguise, I see thou art a wickednesse,
Wherein the pregnant enemie does much.
How easie is it, for the proper false
In womens waxen hearts to set their formes:
Alas, O frailtie is the cause, not wee,
For such as we are made, if such we bee:
How will this fadge? My master loues her deerely,
And I (poore monster) fond asmuch on him:
And she (mistaken) seemes to dote on me:
What will become of this? As I am man,
My state is desperate for my maisters loue:
As I am woman (now alas the day)
What thriftlesse sighes shall poore Oliuia breath?
O time, thou must vntangle this, not I,
It is too hard a knot for me t' vnty.
Scoena Tertia.
Enter Sir Toby, and Sir Andrew.