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TWELFTH-NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL.
SCENE 1.-A Room in the DUKE'S Palace.
Enter DUKE, CURIO, Lords; Musicians attending.
Duke. O she that hath a heart of that fine frame
To pay this debt of love but to a brother,
Her sweet perfections with one self king.
SCENE II.-The Sea-coast. Enter VIOLA, Captain, and Sailors. Vio. What country, friends, is this? Cap. This is Illyria, lady.
Vio. And what should I do in Illyria? My brother he is in Elysium.
Perchance he is not drown'd: what think you, sailors?
Cap. It is perchance that you yourself were sav'd.
Vio. O my poor brother! and so perchance may he be.
Cap. True, madam: and, to comfort you with chance,
Assure yourself, after our ship did split,
I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves
Cap. Ay, madam, well; for I was bred and born
Cap. A noble duke, in nature as in name.
Vio. Orsino! I have heard my father name him: He was a bachelor then.
Cap. And so is now, or was so very late ; For but a month ago I went from hence, And then 'twas fresh in murmur, as you know What great ones do the less will prattle of, That he did seek the love of fair Olivia.
Vio. What's she?
Cap. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count That died some twelvemonth since; then leaving her
In the protection of his son, her brother,
Sir To. With drinking healths to my niece. I'll drink to her as long as there is a passage in
O! that I serv'd that lady, 40 my throat and drink in Illyria. He's a coward And might not be deliver'd to the world, Till I had made mine own occasion mellow,
What my estate is.
Cap. That were hard to compass, Because she will admit no kind of suit, No, not the duke's.
Vio. There is a fair behaviour in thee, captain; And though that nature with a beauteous wall Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee
I will believe thou hast a mind that suits
Cap. Be you his eunuch, and your mute I'll be: When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see. Vio. I thank thee: lead me on. Exeunt.
SCENE III.-A Room in OLIVIA'S House.
Enter Sir TOBY BELCH and MARIA. Sir To. What a plague means my niece, to take the death of her brother thus? I am sure care's an enemy to life.
Mar. By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o' nights: your cousin, my lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours.
Sir To. Why, let her except before excepted. Mar. Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modest limits of order.
Sir To. Confine! I'll confine myself no finer than I am. These clothes are good enough to drink in, and so be these boots too: an they be not, let them hang themselves in their own straps. Mar. That quaffing and drinking will undo you: I heard my lady talk of it yesterday; and of a foolish knight that you brought in one night here to be her wooer.
Sir To. Who? Sir Andrew Aguecheek?
Sir To. He's as tall a man as any 's in Illyria.
and a coystril that will not drink to my niece till his brains turn o' the toe like a parish-top. What, wench! Castiliano vulgo for here comes Sir Andrew Agueface.
Enter Sir ANDREW AGUECHEEK.
Sir And. Sir Toby Belch! how now, Sir Toby Belch!
Sir To. Sweet Sir Andrew!
Sir And. Bless you, fair shrew.
Mar. And you too, sir.
Sir To. Accost, Sir Andrew, accost.
Sir And. What's that?
Sir To. My niece's chambermaid.
Sir And. Never in your life, I think; unless you see canary put me down. Methinks sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian or an ordinary man has; but I am a great eater of beef, and I believe that does harm to my wit. 92 Sir To. No question.
Sir And. An I thought that, I'd forswear it. I'll ride home to-morrow, Sir Toby.
Sir To. Pourquoi, my dear knight?
Sir And. What is 'pourquoi? do or not do? I would I had bestowed that time in the tongues that I have in fencing, dancing, and bear-baiting. 0 had I but followed the arts. 100
Sir To. Then hadst thou had an excellent head
Sir To. Excellent; it hangs like flax on a distaff, and I hope to see a housewife take thee between her legs, and spin it off.
Sir And. Faith, I'll home to-morrow, Sir Toby your niece will not be seen; or if she be, it's four to one she 'll none of me. The count himself here hard by woos her.
Sir To. She'll none o' the count; she 'll not match above her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit; I have heard her swear it. Tut, there's life in 't, man.
Sir And. I'll stay a month longer. I am a fellow o' the strangest mind i' the world; I delight in masques and revels sometimes altogether. Sir To. Art thou good at these kickshawses, knight?
Sir And. As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be, under the degree of my betters: and yet I will not compare with an old man.
Sir To. What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight?
Sir And. Faith, I can cut a caper. Sir To. And I can cut the mutton to 't. Sir And. And I think I have the back-trick simply as strong as any man in Illyria.
Sir To. Wherefore are these things hid? wherefore have these gifts a curtain before 'em? are they like to take dust, like Mistress Mall's picture? why dost thou not go to church in a galliard, and come home in a coranto? My very walk should be a jig: I would not so much as make water but in a sink-a-pace. What dost thou mean? Is it a world to hide virtues in? I did think, by the excellent constitution of thy leg, it was formed under the star of a galliard. 142
Sir And. Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a flame-coloured stock. Shall we set about some revels?
Sir To. What shall we do else? were we not born under Taurus ?
Sir And. Taurus! that's sides and heart. Sir To. No, sir, it is legs and thighs. Let me see thee caper. Ha! higher: ha, ha excellent! Exeunt.
SCENE IV. A Room in the DUKE'S Palace. Enter VALENTINE, and VIOLA in man's attire. Val. If the duke continue these favours towards you, Cesario, you are like to be much advanced :
Duke. Be clamorous and leap all civil bounds Rather than make unprofited return.
Vio. Say I do speak with her, my lord, what then?
Duke. O! then unfold the passion of my love; Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith: It shall become thee well to act my woes; She will attend it better in thy youth Than in a nuncio of more grave aspect. Vio. I think not so, my lord. Duke.
Dear lad, believe it;
I know thy constellation is right apt
Enter MARIA and Clown.
Mar. Nay, either tell me where thou hast been, or I will not open my lips so wide as a bristle may enter in way of thy excuse. My lady will hang thee for thy absence.
Clo. Let her hang me: he that is well hanged in this world needs to fear no colours. Mar. Make that good.
Clo. He shall see none to fear.
Mar. A good lenten answer: I can tell thee where that saying was born, of 'I fear no colours.' Clo. Where, good Mistress Mary?
Mar. In the wars; and that may you be bold to say in your foolery.
Clo. Well, God give them wisdom that have it; and those that are fools, let them use their talents.
Mar. Yet you will be hanged for being so
Mar. Peace, you rogue, no more o' that. Here comes my lady: make your excuse wisely, you were best. Exit. Clo. Wit, an 't be thy will, put me into good fooling! Those wits that think they have thee, do very oft prove fools; and I, that am sure I lack thee, may pass for a wise man: for what says Quinapalus? Better a witty fool than a foolish wit.'
Enter OLIVIA with MALVOLIO.
God bless thee, lady!
Oli. Take the fool away.
Clo. Do you not hear, fellows? Take away the lady.
Oli. Go to, you 're a dry fool; I'll no more of you: besides, you grow dishonest.
Clo. Two faults, madonna, that drink and good counsel will amend: for give the dry fool drink, then is the fool not dry; bid the dishonest man mend himself if he mend, he is no longer dishonest; if he cannot, let the botcher mend him. Any thing that 's mended is but patched : virtue that transgresses is but patched with sin; and sin that amends is but patched with virtue. If that this simple syllogism will serve, so; if it will not, what remedy? As there is no true cuckold but calamity, so beauty 's a flower. The lady bade take away the fool; therefore, I say again, take her away.
Oli. Sir, I bade them take away you. · Clo. Misprision in the highest degree! cucullus non facit monachum: that's as much to say as I wear not motley in my brain. Good madonna, give me leave to prove you a fool. Oli. Can you do it?
Clo. Dexteriously, good madonna.
Oli. Make your proof.
Clo. I must catechize you for it, madonna: good my mouse of virtue, answer me.
Oli. Well, sir, for want of other idleness, I'll bide your proof.
Clo. Good madonna, why mournest thou? Oli. Good fool, for my brother's death. Clo. I think his soul is in hell, madonna. Oli. I know his soul is in heaven, fool. Clo. The more fool, madonna, to mourn for your brother's soul being in heaven. Take away the fool, gentlemen.
Oli. What think you of this fool, Malvolio? doth he not mend?
Mal. Yes; and shall do till the pangs of death shake him infirmity, that decays the wise, doth ever make the better fool.
Clo. God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for the better increasing your folly! Sir Toby
Mar. Madam, there is at the gate a young gentleman much desires to speak with you. Oli. From the Count Orsino, is it? Mar. I know not, madam: 'tis a fair young man, and well attended.
Oli. Who of my people hold him in delay? Mar. Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman. Oli. Fetch him off, I pray you he speaks nothing but madman. Fie on him!
Exit MARIA. Go you, Malvolio: if it be a suit from the count, I am sick, or not at home; what you will, to dismiss it. Exit MALVOLIO. 129 Now you see, sir, how your fooling grows old, and people dislike it.
Clo. Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy eldest son should be a fool; whose skull Jove cram with brains! for here he comes, one of thy kin has a most weak pia mater.
Enter Sir TOBY BELCH.
Oli. By mine honour, half drunk. What is he at the gate, cousin?
Sir To. A gentleman.
Oli. A gentleman! What gentleman? Sir To. Tis a gentleman here,-a plague o' these pickle-herring! How now, sot! Clo. Good Sir Toby!
Oli. Cousin, cousin, how have you come so early by this lethargy?
Sir To. Lechery! I defy lechery. There's one at the gate.
Oli. Ay, marry; what is he?
Sir To. Let him be the devil, an he will, I care not give me faith, say I. Well, it's all one. 100
Oli. What's a drunken man like, fool? Clo. Like a drowned man, a fool, and a madman: one draught above heat makes him a fool, the second mads him, and a third drowns him.
Oli. Go thou and seek the crowner, and let him sit o' my coz; for he's in the third degree of drink, he's drowned: go, look after him.
Clo. He is but mad yet, madonna; and the fool shall look to the madman. Exit.
Mal. Madam, yond young fellow swears he will speak with you. I told him you were sick : he takes on him to understand so much, and therefore comes to speak with you. I told him you were asleep: he seems to have a foreknowledge of that too, and therefore comes to speak with you. What is to be said to him, lady? he's fortified against any denial.
Oli. Tell him he shall not speak with me. Mal. Ha's been told so; and he says, he'll stand at your door like a sheriff's post, and be the supporter to a bench, but he'll speak with you. Oli. What kind o' man is he? Mal. Why, of mankind. Oli. What manner of man?
Oli. Speak to me; I shall answer for her. Your will?
Vio. Most radiant, exquisite, and unmatchable beauty, I pray you, tell me if this be the lady of the house, for I never saw her: I would be loath to cast away my speech; for besides that it is excellently well penned, I have taken great pains to con it. Good beauties, let me sustain no scorn; I am very comptible, even to the least sinister usage.
Oli. Whence came you, sir?
Vio. Excellently done, if God did all. Oli. "Tis in grain, sir; 'twill endure wind and weather.
Vio. "Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on : Lady, you are the cruell'st she alive, If you will lead these graces to the grave And leave the world no copy.
Oli. O sir, I will not be so hard-hearted; I will give out divers schedules of my beauty: it shall be inventoried, and every particle and utensil labelled to my will; as, Item, Two lips indifferent_red; Item, Two grey eyes with lids to them; Item, One neck, one chin, and so forth. Were you sent hither to praise me?
Vio. I see you what you are: you are too proud;
The nonpareil of beauty.
Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble,