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In voices well divulg'd, free, learn'd, and valiant; | might, perhaps, distemper yours; therefore I
And in dimension and the shape of nature
A gracious person; but yet I cannot love him :
He might have took his answer long ago.

shall crave of you your leave that I may bear
my evils alone. It were a bad recompense for
your love to lay any of them on you.

Ant. Let me yet know of you whither you are bound.

Vio. If I did love you in my master's flame,
With such a suffering, such a deadly life,
In your denial I would find no sense;
I would not understand it.




Why, what would you?
Vio. Make m a willow cabin at your gate,
And call upon my soul within the house;
Write loyal cantous of contemned love,
And sing them loud even in the dead of night;
Holla your name to the reverberate hills,
And make the babbling gossip of the air
Cry out Olivia!' O! you should not rest
Between the elements of air and earth,
But you should pity me.

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!

Oli. You might do much. What is your parentage?

Vio. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well: I am a gentleman.


Get you to your lord :
I cannot love him. Let him send no more,
Unless, perchance, you come to me again,
To tell me how he takes it. Fare you well:
I thank you for your pains: spend this for me.
Vio. I am no fee'd post, lady; keep your purse:
My master, not myself, lacks recompense.
Love make his heart of flint that you shall love,
And let your fervour, like my master's, be
Plac'd in contempt! Farewell, fair cruelty.

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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.


SCENE I.-The Sea-coast.


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Seb. A lady, sir, though it was said she much resembled me, was yet of many accounted beau tiful: 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.

SCENE II-A Street.

Enter VIOLA; MALVOLIO following.
Mal. Were not you even
now with the
Countess Olivia?

Vio. Even now, sir; on a moderate pace I have since arrived but hither.

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. Vio. left no ring with her : what means this lady?

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SCENE III. 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?

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


Sir And. Excellent! Why, this is the best fooling, when all is done. Now, a song.

Sir To. Come on; there is sixpence for you: let's have a song. Sir And. There's a testril of me too: if one knight give a

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

Sir And. Ay, ay; I care not for good life. 40
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 meeting,

Every wise man's son doth know.
Sir And. Excellent good, i' faith.
Sir To. Good, good.

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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 And. Good, i' faith. Come, begin.
They sing a catch.


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 MARIA.

Enter Clown.

Sir And. Here comes the fool, i' faith.

Mar. What a caterwauling do you keep here! If my lady have not called up her steward Malvolio and bid him turn you out of doors, never trust me.

Clo. How now, my hearts! Did you never see the picture of 'we three'?


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 of Queubus: 'twas very good, i' faith. I sent Sir And. Ay, he does well enough if he be disthee 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 volio's nose is no whipstock: my lady has a white hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottleale houses.

Sir To. My lady's a Cataian; we are politicians; Malvolio's a Peg-a-Ramsey, and 'Three Am not I consanguineous? merry men be we.' am I not of her blood? Tillyvally; lady! There dwelt a man in Babylon, lady, lady! Clo. Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable fooling.

but I do it more natural.



Sir To. O! the twelfth day of December,——

Mar. For the love o' God, peace!


Mal. My masters, are you mad? or what are you? Have you no wit, manners, nor honesty, but to gabble like tinkers at this time of night? Do ye make an alehouse of my lady's house,


be gone.


that ye squeak out your eoziers' catches without of himself; so crammed, as he thinks, with any mitigation or remorse of voice? Is there excellencies, that it is his ground of faith that all no respect of place, persons, nor time in you ? 100 that look on him love him ; and on that vice in

Sir To. We did keep time, sir, in our catches. him will iny revenge find notable cause to work. Sneck up!

Sir To. What wilt thou do? Mal. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. Mar. I will drop in his way some obscure My lady bade me tell you, that, though she epistles of love; wherein, by the colour of his harbours you as her kinsman, she's nothing beard, the shape of his leg, the manner of his allied to your disorders. If you can separate gait, the expressure of his eye, forehead, and yourself and your misdemeanours, you are wel. complexion, he shall find himself most feelingly come to the house; if not, an it would please personated. I can write very like my lady your you to take leave of her, she is very willing to niece: on a forgotten matter we can hardly make bid you farewell.

110 distinction of our hands. Sir To. Parewell, dear heart, since I must needs

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 Mar. Nay, good Sir Toby.

thou wilt drop, that they come from my niece, Clo. His eyes do show his days are almost and that she's in love with him. done.

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

colour. Mal. Is 't even so ?

Sir And. And your horse now would make Sir To. But I will never dic.

him an ass. Clo. Sir Toby, there you lie.

Mar. Ass, I doubt not. Mal. This is much credit to you.

Sir And. O! 'twill be admirable.

Mar. Sport royal, I warrant you : I know my Sir To. Shall I bid him go!

physic will work with him. I will plant you Clo. What an if you do?

two, and let the fool make a third, where he Sir To. Shall I bid him


anıl spare not? shall find the letter : observe his construction Clo. 0! no, no, no, no, you dare not.

of it. For this night, to bed, and dream on the Sir To. Out o' time! Sir, ye lie. Art any

event. Farewell.

Erit. 192 more than a steward? Dost thou think, because Sir To. Good night, Penthesilea. thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes Sir And. Before me, she's a good wench. and ale ?

Sir To. She's a beagle, true-bred, and one that Clo. Yes, by Saint Anne; and ginger shall be adores me: what o' that? hot i' the mouth too.

Sir And. I was adored once too. Sir To. Thou 'rt i’ the right. Go, sir, rub Sir To. Let 's to bed, knight. Thou hadst need chain with crumbs. A stoup of wine, Maria!

send for more money. Mal. Mistress Mary, if you prized my lady's Sir And. If I cannot recover your niece, I am favour at any thing more than contempt, you a foul way out. would not give means for this uncivil rule : she Sir To. Send for money, knight : if thou hast shall know of it, by this hand.

her not i' the end, call me cut. Mar. Go shake your ears.

Sir And. If I do not, never trust me, take Sir And. "Twere as good a deed as to drink it how you will. when a man 's a-hungry, to challenge him to the Sir To. Come, come: I 'll go burn some sack; fiekl, and then to break promise with him and 'tis too late to go to bed now. Come, knight; make a fool of him.

come, knight.

Eciunt. 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 Room in the Duke's Palace. Mar. Sweet Sir Toby, be patient for to-night :

Enter DUKE, VIOLA, Curio, and Others. since the youth of the count's was to-day with my lady, she is much out of quiet. For Monsieur Duke. Give me some music. Now, good Malvolio, let me alone with him : if I do not gull morrow,

friends. him into a payword, and make him a common Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song, recreation, do not think I have wit enough to That old and antique song we heard last night; lie straight in my bed. I know I can do it. Methonght it did relieve my passion much,

Sir To. Possess us, possess us: tell us some- More than light airs and recollected terms thing of him.

150 Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times : Mar. Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Come; but one verse. puritan.

Cur. He is not here, so please your lordship, Sir And. O! if I thought that, I 'a beat him that should sing it. like a dog.

Duke. Who was it? Sir To. What, for being a puritan? thy Cur. Feste, the jester, my lord ; a fool that exquisite reason, dear knight?

the Lady Olivia's father took much delight in. Sir And. I have no exquisite reason for 't, but He is about the house. I have reason good enough.

Duke. Seek him out, and play the tune the Mar. The devil a puritan that he is, or any while.

Exit CURIO. Music. thing constantly but a time-pleaser ; an affec- Come hither, boy : if ever thou shalt love, tioned ass, that cons state without book, and in the sweet pangs of it remember me; utters it by great swarths: the best persuaded | For such as I am all true lovers are :




Exit. 133


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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