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Oli. What is your parentage?'



Above my fortunes, yet my state is well:
I am a gentleman.' I'll be sworn thou art :
Thy tongue,thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit,
Do give thee five-fold blazon. Not too fast
soft! soft!

Unless the master were the man. How now!
Even so quickly may one catch the plague?
Methinks I feel this youth's perfections
With an invisible and subtle stealth
To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be.
What, ho! Malvolio.


Re-enter MALVOLIO.


Here, madam, at your service. Oli. Run after that same peevish messenger, The county's man: he left this ring behind him, Would I or not tell him I'll noue of it. Desire him not to flatter with his lord, Nor hold him up with hopes: I am not for him. If that the youth will come this way to-morrow, I'll give him reasons for 't. Hie thee, Malvolio. Mal. Madam, I will.


Oli. I do I know not what, and fear to find Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind. Fate, show thy force: ourselves we do not What is decreed must be, and be this so.



owe; Exit.

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Seb. No, sooth, sir: my determinate voyage is mere extravagancy. But I perceive in you so excellent a touch of modesty that you will not extort from me what I am willing to keep in; therefore it charges me in manners the rather to express myself. You must know of me then, Antonio, my name is Sebastian, which I called Roderigo. My father was that Sebastian of Messaline, whom I know you have heard of. He left behind him myself and a sister, both born in an hour: if the heavens had been pleased, would we had so ended! but you, sir, altered that; for some hour before you took me from the breach of the sea was my sister drowned. :4 Ant. Alas the day!

Seb. A lady, sir, though it was said she much resembled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful: but, though I could not with such estimable wonder overfar believe that, yet thus far I will boldly publish her: she bore a mind that envy could not but call fair. She is drowned already, sir, with salt water, though I seem to drown her remembrance again with more.


Ant. Pardon me, sir, your bad entertainment. Seb. O good Antonio! forgive me your trouble. Ant. If you will not murder me for my love, let me be your servant.

it not.

Seb. If you will not undo what you have done, that is, kill him whom you have recovered, desire Fare ye well at once: my bosom is full of kindness; and I am yet so near the manners of my mother, that upon the least occasion more mine eyes will tell tales of me. I am bound to the Count Orsino's court: farewell. Exit, 4

Ant. The gentleness of all the gods go with thee!

I have 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 seem sport, and I will go.

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Mal. She returns this ring to you, sir: you might have saved me my pains, to have taken it should put your lord into a desperate assurance away yourself. She adds, moreover, that you she will none of him. And one thing more; that you be never so hardy to come again in his affairs, unless it be to report your lord's taking of this. Receive it so.


Tio. She took the ring of me; I'll none of it. Mal. Come, sir, you peevishly threw it to her and her will is it should be so returned: if it be worth stooping for, there it lies in your eye; if

not, be it his that finds it.

Erit. lio. I left no ring with her; what means this lady?

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Fortune forbid my outside have not charm'd her!
She made good view of me; indeed so much, 20
That sure methought her eyes had lost her

For she did speak in starts distractedly.
She loves me, sure; the cunning of her passion
Invites me in this churlish messenger.

None of my lord's ring! why, he sent her none.
I am the man: if it be so, as 'tis,

Poor lady, she were better love a dream.
Disguise, I see thou art a wickedness,
Wherein the pregnant enemy does much.
How easy is it for the proper-false

In women's waxen hearts to set their forms!
Alas! our frailty is the cause, not wc,
For such as we are made of, such we be.


How will this fadge? My master loves her

And I, poor monster, fond as much on him;
And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me.
As I am man,
What will become of this?
My state is desperate for my master's love;
As I am woman, now alas the day!
What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe!
O time! thou must untangle this, not I;
It is too hard a knot for me to untie.

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A Room in OLIVIA'S House.



Sir To. Approach, Sir Andrew: not to be a-bed after midnight is to be up betimes; and diluculo surgere, thou knowest,—

Sir And. Nay, by my troth, I know not; but I know, to be up late is to be up late.

Sir To. A false conclusion; I hate it as an unfilled can. To be up after midnight and to go to bed then, is early; so that to go to bed after midnight is to go to bed betimes. Does not our life consist of the four elements?


Sir And. Faith, so they say; but I think it Sir To. Thou 'rt a scholar; let us therefore eat and drink. Marian, I say! a stoup of wine! rather consists of eating and drinking.

Enter Clown.

Sir And. Here comes the fool, i' faith. Clo. How now, my hearts! Did you never see the picture of 'we three'?

Clo. Would you have a love-song, or a song of good life?

Sir To. A love-song, a love-song.


Sir And. Ay, ay; I care not for good life.
Clo. O mistress mine! where are you roaming?
O! stay and hear; your true love's coming,
That can sing both high and low.
Trip no further, pretty sweeting;
Journeys end in lovers mecting,

Every wise man's son doth know.

Sir And. Excellent good, i' faith.
Sir To. Good, good.

Clo. What is love? 'tis not hereafter;
Present mirth hath present laughter;
What's to come is still unsure:
In delay there lies no plenty ;
Then come kiss me, sweet-and-twenty,
Youth's a stuff will not endure.


Sir And. A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight.

Sir To. A contagious breath.

Sir And. Very sweet and contagious, i' faith. Sir To. To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion. But shall we make the welkin dance indeed? shall we rouse the night owl in a catch that will draw three souls out of one weaver? shall we do that?


Sir And. An you love me, let's do 't: I am dog at a catch.

Clo. By 'r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well.

Sir And. Most certain. Let our catch be, "Thou knave.'

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Clo. Hold thy peace, thou knave,' knight? I shall be constrained in 't to call thee knave, knight.


Sir And. 'Tis not the first time I have constrained one to call me knave. Begin, fool: it begins Hold thy peace.'

Clo. I shall never begin if I hold my peace.
Sir And. Good, i' faith. Come, begin.
They sing a catch.

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Sir To. Welcome, ass. Now let's have a catch. Sir And. By my troth, the fool has an excellent breast. I had rather than forty shillings I had such a leg, and so sweet a breath to sing, as the, fool has. In sooth, thou wast in very gracious fooling last night, when thou spokest of Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians passing the equinoctial I sent Sir And. Ay, he does well enough if he be disof Queubus: 'twas very good, i' faith. thee sixpence for thy leman: hadst it? Clo. I did impeticos thy gratillity, for Mal-posed, and so do I too: he does it with a better

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that ye squeak out your coziers' catches without any mitigation or remorse of voice? Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time in you? 100 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 misdemeanours, 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.


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Mar. I will drop in his way some obscure epistles of love; wherein, by the colour of his beard, the shape of his leg, the manner of his gait, the expressure of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he shall find himself most feelingly personated. I can write very like my lady your niece: on a forgotten matter we can hardly make distinction of our hands.

Sir To. Excellent! I smell a device.
Sir And. I have 't in my nose too.

Sir To. He shall think, by the letters that thou wilt drop, that they come from my niece,

His eyes do show his days are almost and that she's in love with him.

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Sir To. Out o' time! Sir, ye lie. Art any more than a steward? Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?

Clo. Yes, by Saint Anne; and ginger shall be hot i' the mouth too.

Sir To. Thou 'rt i' the right. Go, sir, rub your chain with crumbs. A stoup of wine, Maria!

Mal. Mistress Mary, if you prized my lady's favour at any thing more than contempt, you would not give means for this uncivil rule: she shall know of it, by this hand. Exit. 133

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.


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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. Exit. 192

Sir To. Good night, Penthesilea.

Sir And. Before me, she's a good wench. Sir To. She's a beagle, true-bred, and one that adores me: what o' that?

Sir And. I was adored once too.

Sir To. Let's to bed, knight. Thou hadst need send for more money.

Sir And. If I cannot recover your niece, I am a foul way out.


Sir To. Send for money, knight: if thou hast her not i' the end, call me cut.

Sir And. If I do not, never trust me, take it how you will.

Sir To. Come, come: I'll go burn some sack; 'tis too late to go to bed now. Come, knight; come, knight. Excunt.

SCENE IV. A Room in the DUKE's Palace.
Enter DUKE, VIOLA, CURIO, and Others.
Duke. Give me some music. Now, good
morrow, friends.

Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song,
That old and antique song we heard last night;
Methought it did relieve my passion much,
More than light airs and recollected terms
Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times:
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
Exit CURIO. Music.
Come hither, boy if ever thou shalt love,
In the sweet pangs of it remember me;
For such as I am all true lovers are:

Unstaid and skittish in all motions else

Save in the constant image of the creature
That is belov'd. How dost thou like this tune?
Vio. It gives a very echo to the seat
Where love is thron'd.


Thou dost speak masterly.
My life upon 't, young though thou art, thine eye
Hath stay'd upon some favour that it loves;
Hath it not, boy?
A little, by your favour.
Duke. What kind of woman is 't?

Of your complexion. Duke. She is not worth thee then. What years, i' faith?

Vio. About your years, my lord.
Duke. Too old, by heaven. Let still the woman

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. Duke. Then let thy love be younger than thyself,


Mark it, Cesario; it is old and plain;



Do use to chant it: it is silly sooth,
And dallies with the innocence of love,
Like the old age.

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 And that I owe Olivia.

The spinsters and the knitters in the sun,

And the free maids that weave their thread with

Clo. Are you ready, sir?

Duke. Ay; prithee, sing.


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.

Music. 50

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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 voyage of nothing. Farewell.
Exit. 80
Duke. Let all the rest give place.
Exeunt CURIO and Attendants.
Once more, Cesario,
Get thee to yond 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.
Sooth, but you must. 90
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 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


Ay, but I know-
Duke. What dost thou know?
Vio. Too well what love women to men may


In faith, they are as true of heart as we.
My father had a daughter lov'd a man,
As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman,
I should your lordship.
Vio. A blank, my lord.
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.


And what's her history?
She never told her


Duke. But died thy sister of her love, my boy?
Vio. I am all the daughters of my father's

And all the brothers too; and yet I know not.
Sir, shall I to this lady?

Av, that's the theme.
To her in haste; give her this jewel; say
My love can give no place, bide no denay.




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 o' favour with my lady about a bearbaiting here.

Sir To. To anger him we'll have the bear again, and we will fool him black and blue; shall we not, Sir Andrew?


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

Enter MARIA.

Sir To. Here comes the little villain. How now, my metal 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! Lie thou there: Throws down a letter. for here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling. Exit.


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Fab. Thongh 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,

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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,'-

Sir To. What, what?

Mal. You must amend your drunkenness.
Sir To. Out, scab!


Fab. Nay, patience, or we break the sinews of our plot.


Mal. Besides, you waste the treasure of your time with a foolish knight,'

Sir And. That's me, I warrant you.

Mal. One Sir Andrew,'


Sir And. I knew 'twas I; for many do call me fool.

Mal. Seeing the letter. What employment have we here?


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