authors, I will baffle air Toby, I will wash off gross acquaintance, I will be point-de-vice, the very man. I do not now fool myself, to let imagination jade me, for every reason excites to this, that my lady loves me. She did commend my yellow stockings of late, she did praise my leg being cross-gartered; and in this she manifests herself to my love, and, with a kind of injunction, drives me to these habits of her liking. I thank my stars, I am happy. I will be strange, stout, in yellow stockings, and cross-gartered, even with the swiftness of putting on. Jove, and my stars, be praised! Here is yet a postscript. Thou canst not choose but know who I am. If thou entertainest my love, let it appear in thy smiling; thy smiles become thee well; therefore in my presence still smile, dear my sweet, I pr'ythice. Jove, I thank thee.-I will smile; I will do every thing that thou wilt have me. [exit. Fab. I will not give my part of this sport for a pension of thousands to be paid from the Sophy. Sir To. I could marry this wench for this device. Sir And. So could I too. Sir To. And ask no other dowry with her, but such another jest. Enter Maria. Sir And. Nor I neither. Sir To. Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip and become thy bond slave? Sir And. I'faith, or I either. Sir To. Why, thou hast put him in such a dream, that when the image of it leaves him, he must run mad. Mar. Nay, but say true; does it work upon him? Sir To. Like aqua-vitæ with a midwife. Mar. If you will then see the fruits of the sport, mark his first approach before my lady: he will come to her in yellow stockings, and 'tis a colour she abhors; and cross-gartered, a fashion she detests; and he will smile upon her, which will now be so unsuitable to her disposition, being addicted to a melancholy as she is, that it cannot but turn him into a notable contempt: if you will see it, follow me. Sir To. To the gates of Tartar, thou most excellent devil of wit! Sir And. I'll make one too. ACT III. SCENE I. OLIVIA'S GARDEN. Clo. No, sir, I live by the church. Clo. No such matter, sir; I do live by the church: for I do live at my house, and my house doth stand by the church. Vio. So thou may'st say, the king lies by a beggar, if a beggar dwell near him: or the church stands by thy tabor, if thy tabor stand by the church. Clo. You have said, sir.-To see this age!-A sentence is but a cheveril glove to a good wit; how quickly the wrong side may be turned outward! Vio. Nay, that's certain; they, that dally nicely with words, may quickly make them wanton. Clo. I would, therefore, my sister had no name, sir. Vio. Thy reason, man? Clo. Troth, sir, I can yield you none without words; and words are grown so false, I am loth to prove reason with them. Vio. I warrant, thou art a merry fellow, and carest for nothing. Clo. Not so, sir, I do care for something, but in my conscience, sir, I do not care for you; if that be to care for nothing, sir, I would it would make you invisible. Vio. Art not thou the lady Olivia's fool? : [exeunt. folly she will keep no fool, sir, till she be mar. ried and fools are as like husbands, as pilchards are to herrings, the husband's the bigger: I am, indeed, not her fool, but her corrupter of words. Vio. I saw thee late at the count Orsino's. Clo. Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb, like the sun; it shines every where. I would be sorry, sir, but the fool should be as oft with your master, as with my mistress: I think, I saw your wisdom there. Vio. Nay, an thou pass upon me, I'll no more with thee. Hold, there's expenses for thee. Clo. Now Jove, in his next commodity of hair, send thee a beard! Vio. By my troth, I'll tell thee, I am almost sick for one; though I would not have it grow on my chin. Is thy lady within? Clo. Would not a pair of these have bred, sir? Vio. Yes, being kept together, and put to use. Clo. I would play Lord Pandarus of Phrygia sir, to bring a Cressida to this Troilus. Vio. I understand you, sir; 'tis well begged. Clo. The matter, I hope, is not great, sir, begging but a beggar; Cressida was a beggar. My lady is within, sir, I will construe to them whence you come; who you are, and what you would, are out of my welkin; I might say, element; but the word is over-worn. [exit. Vio. This fellow's wise enough to play the fool; And, to do that well, craves a kind of wit: He must observe their mood on whom he jests, The quality of persons, and the time; And, like the haggard, check at every feather That comes before his eye. This is a practice, As full of labour as a wise man's art: For folly, that he wisery shows, is fit; But wise men, folly-fallen, quite taint their wit Enter Sir Toby Belch and Sir Andrew Ague-cheek.! Vio. And you, sir. Sir And. Dieu vous garde, monsieur. Sir And. I hope, sir, you are; and I am yours. Sir To. Will you encounter the house? my niece is desirous you should enter, if your trade be to her. Vio. I am bound to your niece, sir: I mean, she is the list of my voyage. Sir To. Taste your legs, sir, put them to motion. Vio. My legs do better understand me, sir, than I understand what you mean by bidding me taste my legs. Sir To. I mean, to go, sir, to enter. Vio. I will answer you with gait and entrance: but we are prevented. Enter Olivia and Maria. Most excellent accomplished lady, the heavens rain odours on you! Sir And. That youth's a rare courtier! rain odours! well. Vio. My matter hath no voice, lady, but to your own most pregnant and vouchsafed ear. Sir And. Odours, pregnant and vouchsafed:— I'll get 'em all three ready. Oli. Let the garden door be shut, and leave me to my hearing. [exeunt Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Maria.] Give me your hand, sir. Vio. My duty, madam, and most humble service. Oli. What is your name? Vio. Cesario is your servant's name, fair princess. Oli. My servant, sir! 'Twas never merry world, Since lowly feigning was called compliment: You are servant to the count Orsino, youth. Vio. And he is yours, and his must needs be yours; Your servant's servant is your servant, madam. Oli. For him, I think not on him: for his thoughts, [me! Vio. No, not a grise; for 'tis a vulgar proof, That very oft we pity enemies. [again; Oli. Why then, methinks, 'tis time to smile O world, how apt the poor are to be proud! If one should be a prey, how much the better To fall before the lion,than the wolf? [clock strikes. The clock upbraids me with the waste of time.Be not afraid, good youth, I will not have you: And yet, when wit and youth is come to harvest, Your wife is like to reap a proper man: There lies your way, due west. Vio. Then westward-hoe : Grace, and good disposition 'tend your ladyship! I pr'ythee, tell me, what thou think'st of me. [arc. Oli. O, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful Vio. By innocence I swear, and by my youth, I have one heart, one bosom, and one truth, And that no woman has; nor never none Shall mistress be of it, save I alone. And so adieu, good madam; never more Will I my master's tears to you deplore. Oli. Yet come again: for thou, perhaps, may'st move Would they were blanks, rather than filled with On his behalf: Oli. O, by your leave, I pray you: I bade you never speak again of him: But, would you undertake another suit, I had rather hear you to solicit that, Than music from the spheres. Vio. Dear lady, [exeunt. Fab. You must needs yield your reason, sir Oli. Give me leave, I beseech you: I did send Andrew. A ring in chase of you; so did I abuse Enough is shown; a cypress, not a bosom, Oli. That's a degree to love. Sir And. Marry, I saw your nicce do more favours to the count's serving man, than ever ske bestowed upon me; I saw't i'the orchard Sir To. Did she see thee the while, old buy? tell me that. Sir And. As plain as I see you now. Fab. This was a great argument of love in her toward you. Sir And. 'Slight! will you make an ass o’me? Fab. I will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the oaths of judgment and reason. Sir To. And they have been grand jury-men since before Noah was a sailor. Fab. She did show favour to the youth in you sight, only to exasperate you, to awake your dormouse valour, to put fire in your heart, and brimstone in your liver: you should then have accosted her; and with some excellent jests, fire-new from the mint, you should have banged the youth into dumbness. This was looked for at your hand, and this was baulked: the double gilt of this opportunity you let time wash off, and you are now sailed into the north of my lady's opinion; where you will hang like an icicle on a Dutchman's beard, unless you do redeem it by some laudable attempt, either of valour, or policy. Sir And. And't be any way, it must be with valour; for policy I hate: I had as lief be a Brownist as a politician. Sir To. Why then, build me thy fortunes upon the basis of valour. Challenge me the count's youth to fight with him; hurt him in eleven places: my niece shall take note of it and assure thyself, there is no love-broker in the world can more prevail in man's commendation with woman, than report of valour. Fab. There is no way but this, Sir Andrew. Sir And. Will either of you bear me a challenge to him! Sir To. Go, write it in a martial hand: be curst and brief; it is no matter how witty, so it be eloquent, and full of invention: taunt him with the licence of ink: if thou thou'st him some thrice, it shall not be amiss; and as many lies as will lie in thy sheet of paper, although the sheet were big enough for the bed of Ware in England, set 'em down: go, about it. Let there be gall enough in thy ink; though thou write with a goose-pen, no matter: about it. Sir And. Where shall I find you Sir To. We'll call thee at the cubiculo go. [exit sir Andrew. Fab. This is a dear manakin to you, sir Toby. Sir To. I have been dear to him, lad; some two thousand strong, or so. Fab. We shall have a rare letter from him: but you'll not deliver it. Sir To. Never trust me then; and by all means stir on the youth to an answer. I think, oxen and wain-ropes cannot hale them together. For Andrew, if he were opened, and you find so much blood in his liver as will clog the foot of a flea, I'll eat the rest of the anatomy. Fab. And his opposite, the youth, bears in his visage no great presage of cruelty. Enter Maria. Sir To. Look, where the youngest wren of nine comes. Mar. If you desire the spleen, and will laugh yourselves into stitches, follow me: yon gull Malvolio is turned heathen, a very renegado; for there is no Christian that means to be saved by believing rightly, can ever believe such impossible passages of grossness. He's in yellow stockings. Sir To. And cross-gartered! Mar. Most villainously; like a pedant that keeps a school i'the church.-I have dogged him, like his murderer: he does obey every point of the letter that I dropped to betray him. He does mile his face into more lines, than are in the new map, with the augmentation of the Indies, you have not seen such a thing as it .s; I can hardly forbear hurling things at him. I know, my lady will strike him; if she do, he'll smile, and take't for a great favour. Sir To. Come, bring us bring us where he is. [exeunt. SCENE III. A STREET. Enter Antonio and Sebastian. Sir. I would not, by my will, have troubled you; But since you make your pleasure of your pains, I will no further chide you. Ant. I could not stay behind you; my desire, More sharp than filed steel, did spur me forth; And not all love to see you, (though so much, As might have drawn one to a longer voyage,) But jealousy what might befall your travel Being skilless in these parts; which to a stranger, Unguided, and unfriended, often prove Rough and unhospitable: my willing love, The rather by these arguments of fear, Set forth in your pursuit. Seb. My kind Antonio, I can no other answer make, but thanks, Seb. I am not weary, and 'tis long to night; Ant. 'Would, you'd pardon me; I do not without danger walk these streets: people. Ant. The offence is not of such a bloody nature; Most of our city did: only myself stood out; Seb. Do not then walk too open. [me. With viewing of the town; there shall you have Seb. Why I your purse? Ant. Haply, your eye shall light upon some toy You have desire to purchase; and your store, I think, is not for idle markets, sir. Seb. I'll be your purse-bearer, and leave you for An hour. Ant. To the Elephant.Seb. I do remember. SCENE IV. OLIVIA'S GARDEN. Enter Olivia and Maria. Oli. I have sent after him: he says he'll come? Where is Malvolio ?-he is sad, and civil, Mar. He's coming, madam; But in strange manner. He is sure possess'd. He does nothing but smile: your ladyship Oli. Go call him hither.-I'm as mad as he, Enter Malvolio. How now, Malvolio? Where's my Maria, let this fellow be looked to. Mal. Sweet lady, ho, ho. [smiles fantastically. no dram of a scruple, no scruple of a scruple, no I sent for thee upon a sad occasion. Mal. Sad, lady? I could be sad: this does make some obstruction in the blood, this cross-gartering: but what of that, if it please the eye of one, it is with me as the very true sonnet is: please one and please all. obstacle, no incredulous or unsafe circumstance, Re-enter Maria, with Sir Toby Belch and Fabian. Oli. Why, how dost thou, man? what is the If all the devils in hell be drawn in little, and matter with thee? Mal. Not black in my mind, though yellow in Oli. Wilt thou go to bed, Malvolio? [thee. Mar. How do you, Malvolio? Mar. Why appear you with this ridiculous Oli. Ha? Legion himself possessed him, yet I'll speak of him. Fab. Here he is, here he is:-how is't with you, sir? how is't with you, man? Mal. Go off; I discard you; let me enjoy my private; go off. Mar. Lo, how hollow the fiend speaks within him! did not I tell you?-sir Toby, my lady prays you to have a care of him. Mal. Ah, ha! does she so? Sir To. Go to, go to; peace, peace, we must deal gently with him; let me alone. How do you, Malvolio? how is't with you? what, man! defy the devil! consider, he's an enemy to mankind. Mal. Do you know what you say? Mar. La you, an you speak ill of the devil, how he takes it at heart! pray God, he be not bewitched! Fab. Carry his water to the wise woman. Mar. Marry, and it shall be done to-morrow morning, if I live. My lady would not lose him for more than I'll say. Mal. How now, mistress? Sir To. Pr'ythee, hold thy peace; this is not the way do you not see you move him? let me alone with him. Fab. No way but gentleness; gently, gently: the fiend is rough, and will not be roughly used. Sir To. Why, how now, my bawcock? how dost thou, chuck? Mal. Go, hang yourselves all! you are idle shallow things: I am not of your element; you shall know more hereafter. [erit. Sir To. Is't possible? Fub. If this were played upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an improbable fiction. Sir To. His very genius hath taken the infection of the device, man. Mar. Nay, pursue him now; lest the device take air, and taint. Fab. Why, we shall make him mad, indeed. Sir To. Come, we'll have him in a dark room, and bound. My niece is already in the belief, that he is mad; we may carry it thus, for our pleasure, and his penance, till our very pastime, tired out of breath, prompt us to have mercy on him at which time, we will bring the device to the bar, and crown thee for a finder of madmen. But see, but see. Enter Sir Andrew Ague-check. Fab. More matter for a May morning. upon Ague-cheek a notable report of valour; and drive the gentleman (as, I know, his youth will aptly receive it,) into a most hideous opinion of his rage, skill, fury, and impetuosity. This will so fright them both, that they will kill one another by the look, like cockatrices. Enter Olivia and Viola. Fab. Here he comes with your niece: give them way, till he take leave, and presently after him. Sir To. I will meditate the while upon some horrid message for a challenge. [exeunt Sir Toby, Fabian, and Maria. Oli. I have said too much unto a heart of stone, And laid mine honour too unchary out: There's something in me, that reproves my fault; But such a headstrong potent fault it is, That it but mocks reproof. [bears. Vio. With the same 'haviour that your passion Go on my master's griefs. Oli. Here, wear this jewel for me, 'tis my picture; Refuse it not, it hath no tongue to vex yon: Sir And. Here's the challenge, read it; I war- And, I beseech you, come again to-morrow. tant, there's vinegar and pepper in't. Fab. Is't so saucy? Sir And. Ay, is it, I warrant him: do but read. Sir To. Give me. [Reads] Youth, whatsoever thou art, thou art but a scurvy fellow. Fab. Good, and valiant. Sir To. Wonder not, nor admire not in thy mind, why I do call thee so, for I will show thee no reason for't. Fab. A good note: that keeps you from the blow of the law. Sir To. Thou comest to the lady Olivia, and in my sight she uses thee kindly; but thou liest in thy throat, that is not the matter I challenge thee for. Fab. Very brief, and exceeding good sense-less. Sir To. I will way-lay thee going home; where if it be thy chance to kill me, Fab, Good. Sir To. Thou killest me like a rogue and a villain. Fab. Still you keep o'the windy side of the law: good. Sir To. Fare thee well; and God have mercy upon one of our souls! He may have mercy upon mine; but my hope is better, and so look to thyself. Thy friend, as thou usest him, and thy sworn enemy. Andrew Ague-Cheek. Sir To. If this letter move him not, his legs cannot I'll give't him. Mar. You may have very fit occasion for't; he is now in some commerce with my lady, and will by and by depart. Sir To. Go, sir Andrew; scout me for him at the corner of the orchard, like a bum-bailiff: so soon as ever thou seest him, draw; and, as thou drawest, swear horrible; for it comes to pass oft, that a terrible oath, with a swaggering accent sharply twanged off, gives manhood more approbation than ever proof itself would have earned him. Away. Sir And. Nay, let me alone for swearing. [exit. Sir To. Now will not I deliver his letter: for the behaviour of the young gentleman gives him out to be of good capacity and breeding; his employment between his lord and my niece confirms no less; therefore this letter, being so excellently Ignorant, will breed no terror in the youth, he will find it comes from a clodpole. But, sir, I vil deliver his challenge by word of mouth; set What shall you ask of me, that I'll deny; Vio. Nothing but this, your true love for my master. Oli. How with mine honour may I give him that. Which I have given to you? Vio. I will acquit you. Oli. Well, come again to-morrow: fare thee well: A fiend, like thee, might bear my soul to hell. [exit. Re-enter Sir Toby Belch and Fabian. Sir To. Gentlemen, God save thee. Sir To. That defence thou hast, betake thee to't: of what nature the wrongs are thou hast done him, I know not; but thy intercepter, full of despight, bloody as the hunter, attends thee at the orchard end: dismount thy tuck, be yare in thy preparation, for thy assailant is quick, skilful, and deadly. Vio. You mistake, sir; I am sure, no man hath any quarrel to me; my remembrance is very free and clear from any image of offence done to any man. Sir To. You'll find it otherwise, I assure you: therefore, if you hold your life at any price, betake you to your guard; for your opposite hath in him what youth, strength, skill, and wrath, can fur nish man withal. Vio. I pray you, sir, what is he? Sir To. He is knight, dubbed with unhacked rapier, and on carpet consideration; but he is a devil in private brawl: souls and bodies hath he divorced three; and his incensement at this moment is so implacable, that satisfaction can be none but by pangs of death, and sepulchre: hob, nob, is his word; giv't, or tak't. Vio. I will return again into the house, and desire some conduct of the lady. I am no fighter. I have heard of some kind of men, that put quarrels purposely on others, to taste their valour: belike, this is a man of that quirk. Sir To. Sir, no; his indignation derives itself out of a very competent injury; therefore, get you |