« PreviousContinue »
Oli. What is your parentage?'
Above my fortunes, yet my state is well:
Unless the master were the man. How now!
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.
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.
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,
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?
Fortune forbid my outside have not charm'd her!
For she did speak in starts distractedly.
None of my lord's ring! why, he sent her none.
Poor lady, she were better love a dream.
In women's waxen hearts to set their forms!
How will this fadge? My master loves her
And I, poor monster, fond as much on him;
A Room in OLIVIA'S House.
Enter Sir TOBY BELCH and Sir ANDREW
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.
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.
Every wise man's son doth know.
Sir And. Excellent good, i' faith.
Clo. What is love? 'tis not hereafter;
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.'
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 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
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.
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 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.
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.
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.
Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song,
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
Unstaid and skittish in all motions else
Save in the constant image of the creature
Thou dost speak masterly.
Of your complexion. Duke. She is not worth thee then. What years, i' faith?
Vio. About your years, my lord.
An elder than herself, so wears she to him,
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,
Or thy affection cannot hold the bent;
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,
I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
and the tailor make thy doublet of changeable
Can bide the beating of so strong a passion
In faith, they are as true of heart as we.
And what's her history?
Duke. But died thy sister of her love, my boy?
And all the brothers too; and yet I know not.
SCENE V.-OLIVIA'S Garden.
Enter Sir TOBY BELCH, Sir ANDREW AGUE-
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.
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.
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,
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.
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?