Go to; thou art made, if thou desirest to be so; if not, let me see thee a steward still, the fellow of servants, and not worthy to touch fortune's fingers. Farewell. She, that would alter services with thee, The fortunate unhappy. Day-light and champian discovers not more: this is open. I will be proud, I will read politick authors, I will baffle Sir 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'ythee. 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. Fab. Here comes my noble gull-catcher. 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. [Exeunt, SCENE I.-Olivia's garden. ACT III. Enter VIOLA, and Clown with a tabor. Vio. Save thee, friend, and thy musick: Dost thou live by thy tabor? 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. Troth, sir, I can yield you none withoutwords; and words are grown so false, I am loath 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? Clo. No, indeed, sir; the lady Olivia has no Clo. You have said, sir.-To see this age!-folly: she will keep no fool, sir, till she be marA 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 had no name, sir. Vio. Why, man? 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 Clo. Why, sir, her name's a word; and to saw your wisdom there. Vio. Nay, an thou pass upon me, I'll no more with thee. Hold, there's expences 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 begg❜d. 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 wisely shows, is fit; Oli. Give me leave, I beseech you: I did send, But wise men, folly-fallen, quite taint their wit. After the last enchantment you did here, Enter Sir TOBY BELCH and Sir ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK. Sir To. Save you, gentleman. 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. your A ring in chase of you; so did I abuse Have you not set mine honour at the stake, Enough is shown; a cyprus, not a bosom, Hides my poor heart: So let me hear you speak. Vio. I pity you. Oli. That's a degree to love. Vio. No, not a grise; for 'tis a vulgar proof, That very oft we pity enemies. Oli. Why, then, methinks, 'tis time to smile again: 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! You'll nothing, madam, to my lord by me? I pr'ythee, tell me, what thou think'st of me. are. Oli. If I think so, I think the same of you. Vio. Then think you right; I am not whatI am. Oli. I would, you were as I would have you be! Vio. Would it be better, madam, than I am, I wish it might; for now I am your fool. Oli. O, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful In the contempt and anger of his lip! A murd'rous guilt shows not itself more soon Than love, that would seem hid: love's night is noon. Cesario, by the roses of the spring, By maidhood, honour, truth, and every thing, Oli. Yet come again: for thou, perhaps, may'st move That heart, which now abhors, to like his love. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-A room in Olivia's house. Enter Sir TOBY BELCH, Sir ANDREW AGUECHEEK, and FABIAN. Sir And. No, faith, I'll not stay a jot longer. Sir To. Thy reason, dear venom, give thy reason. Fab. You must needs yield your reason, sir Andrew. Sir And. Marry, I saw your niece do more favours to the count's serving man, than ever she bestowed upon me; I saw't i'the orchard. Sir To. Did she see thee the while, old boy? 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 your 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, firenew 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 wainropes 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 smile 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 'tis; ! 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. Seb. 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, And thanks, and ever thanks: Often good turns Ant. To-morrow, sir; best, first, go see your lodging. Seb. I am not weary, and 'tis long to night; I pray you, let us satisfy our eyes With the memorials, and the things of fame, That do renown this city. Ant. 'Would, you'd pardon me; I do not without danger walk these streets : Seb. Belike, you slew great number of his people. Ant. The offence is not of such a bloody na | I speak too loud. Where is Malvolio?-he is sad and civil, Mar. He's coming, madam; He is sure possess'd. Oli. Why, what's the matter? does he rave? Mar. No, madam, He does nothing but smile: your ladyship How now, Malvolio? Oli. Smil'st thou ? [Smiles fantastically. I sent for thee upon a sad occasion. Mal. Sad, lady? I could be sad: This does make some obstruction in the blood, this crossgartering: 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. Oli. Why, how dost thou, man? what is the matter with thee? Mal. Not black in my mind, though yellow in my legs: It did come to his hands, and commands shall be executed. I think, we do know the sweet Roman hand. Oli. Wilt thou go to bed, Malvolio? Mal. To bed? ay, sweetheart; and I'll come to thee. Oli. God comfort thee! Why dost thou smile so, and kiss thy hand so oft? Mar. How do you, Malvolio? Mal. At your request? Yes; Nightingales answer daws. Mar. Why appear you with this ridiculous boldness before my lady? Mal. Be not afraid of greatness :-'Twas well writ. Oli. What meanest thou by that, Malvolio? Mal. Some are born great,— Oli. Ha? Mal. Some achieve greatness,— Mal. And some have greatness thrust upon them. Oli. Heaven restore thee! you, Malvolio? how is't with you? What, man! Mal. Remember, who commended thy yellow defy the devil: consider, he's an enemy to manstockings: Oli. I'll come to him. [Exit Servant. Good Maria, let this fellow be looked to. Where's my cousin Toby? Let some of my people have a special care of him; I would not have him miscarry for the half of my dowry. [Exeunt Olivia and Maria. Mal. Oh, ho! do you come near me now? no worse man than sir Toby to look to me? This concurs directly with the letter: she sends him on purpose, that I may appear stubborn to him; for she incites me to that in the letter. Cast thy humble slough, says she;-be opposite with a kinsman, surly with servants,-let thy tongue tang arguments of state, put thyself into the trick of singularity;-and, consequently, sets down the manner how; as, a sad face, a reverend carriage, a slow tongue, in the habit of some sir of note, and so forth. I have limed her; but it is Jove's doing, and Jove make me thankful! And, when she went away now, Let this fellow be looked to: Fellow! not Malvolio, nor after my degree, but fellow. Why every thing adheres together; that no dram of a scruple, no scruple of a scruple, no obstacle, no incredulous or unsafe circumstance,-What can be said? Nothing, that can be, can come between me and the full prospect of my hopes. Well, Jove, not I, is the doer of this, and he is to be thanked. kind. 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. Sir? Sir To. Ay, Biddy, come with me. What, man! 'tis not for gravity to play at cherry-pit with Satan: Hang him, foul collier! Mar. Get him to say his prayers; good sir Toby, get him to pray. Mal. My prayers, minx? Mar. No, I warrant you, he will not hear of godliness. 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? Fab. If this were played upon a stage now, 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. Mar. The house will be the quieter. I 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 Re-enter MARIA, with Sir TOBY BELCH, and to the bar, and crown thee for a finder of madhim at which time, we will bring the device FABIAN. Sir To. Which way is he, in the name of sanctity? If all the devils in hell be drawn in little, and Legion himself possessed him, yet I'll speak to 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.-Ilow do men. But see, but see. Enter Sir ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK. Fab. More matter for a May morning. Sir And. Here's the challenge, read it; I warrant, 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. |