SCENE 11.. OR, WHAT YOU WILL, 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. Sweet sir Toby, be patient for to-night: since the youth of the count's was to-day with my For monsieur lady, she is much out of quiet. Malvolio, let me alone with him: if I do not gull him into a nay-word, and make him a common recreation, do not I think I have wit enough to lie straight in my bed: I know, I can do it. Sir To. Possess us 7, possess us; tell us something of him. Mar. Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Puritan. Sir And. O, if I thought that, I'd beat him like a dog. Sir To. What, for being a Puritan? thy exquisite reason, dear knight? have no exquisite reason for't, but I Sir And. have reason good enough. Mar. The devil a Puritan that he is, or any thing constantly but a time-pleaser; an affectioned ass, that cons state without book, and utters it by great swarths: the best persuaded of himself, so crammed, as he thinks, with excellencies, that it is his ground of faith, that all, that look on him, love him; and on that vice in him will my revenge find notable cause to work. Sir To. What wilt thou do? 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, and that she is in love with him. Mar. My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour. Sir And. O, 'twill be admirable. [Exit. Sir To. Good night, Penthesilea. 9 Sir And. I was adored once too. 71 Sir To. Come, come; I'll go burn some sack, [Exeunt. 'tis too late to go to bed now: come, knight; come, knight. A Room in the Duke's Palace. Enter DUKE, VIOLA, CURIO, and others. Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song, Cur. He is not here, so please your lordship, that 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 while. Duke. Thou dost speak masterly: A little, by your favour. Vio. About your years, my lord. I think it well, my lord. Re-enter CURIO, and Clown. Duke. O fellow, come, the song we had last night: - -Thou hadst need Mark it, Cesario; it is old, and plain : 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. 1 Sir And. If I do not, never trust me, take it how you will. 7 Inform us. 1 Fool. Lay me, 0, where Sad true lover ne'er find my grave, Duke. There's for thy pains. Clo. No pains, sir; I take pleasure in singing, sir. Duke. I'll pay thy pleasure, then. Clo. Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid, one time or another. Duke. Give me now leave to leave thee. Clo. Now, the melancholy god protect thee; and the tailor make thy doublet of changeable taffata, 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 Clown. Duke. Let all the rest give place. [Exeunt CURIO and Attendants. Once more, Cesario, Get thee to yon' 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, Can bide the beating of so strong a passion She sat like patience on a monument, Duke. But died thy sister of her love, my boy? Vio. I am all the daughters of my father's house, And all the brothers too; and yet I know not: Sir, shall I to this lady? Duke. Ay, that's the theme. To her in haste; give her this jewel; say, My love can give no place, bide no denay. 4 Sir To. Here comes the little villain: - How now, my nettle of India? Mar. Get ye all three into the box-tree: Mal-volio'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! [The men hide themselves.] Lie thou there; [Throws down a letter,] for here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling. [Exit MARIA, Enter MALVOLIO. Mal. 'Tis but fortune; all is fortune. Maria once told me, she did affect me: and I have heard herself come thus near, that, should she fancy, it should be one of my complexion. Besides, she uses me with a more exalted respect than any one else that follows her. What should I think on't? Sir To. Here's an overweening rogue! Fab. O, peace! Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock of him; how he jets 5 under his advanced plumes! Sir And. 'Slight, I could so beat the rogue: — Sir To. Peace, I say. Mal. To be count Malvolio; Sir To. Ah, rogue! Sir And. Pistol him, pistol him. Sir To. Peace, peace! Mal. There is example for't; the lady of the strachy married the yeoman of the wardrobe. Sir And. Fie on him, Jezebel ! Fab. O, peace! now he's deeply in, look, how imagination blows him. Mal. Having been three months married to her, sitting in my state, 4 Denial. • Struts Sir To. O, for a stone-bow, to hit him in the eye! Mal. Calling my officers about me, in my branched velvet gown; having come from a day-bed, where I left Olivia sleeping. Sir To. Fire and brimstone ! Mal. And then to have the humour of state: and after a demure travel of regard, telling them, I know my place, as I would they should do theirs,to ask for my kinsman Toby: Sir To. Bolts and shackles! Fab. O, peace, peace, peace! now, now. Mal. Seven of my people, with an obedient start, make out for him: I frown the while; and, perchance, wind up my watch, or play with some rich jewel. Toby approaches; court'sies there to me: Sir To. Shall this fellow live? Fab. Though 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 iips 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. Mal. And then I comes behind; Fab. Ay, an you had any eye behind you, you might see more detraction at your heels, than fortunes before you. - Mal. M, O, A, I;- This simulation is not as the former :- and yet, to crush this a little, it would bow to me, for every one of these letters are in my name. Soft; here follows prose. If this fall into thy hand, revolve. In my stars I am above thee; but be not afraid of greatness: Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them. Thy fates open their hands; let thy blood and spirit embrace them. And, to inure thyself to what thou art like to be, cast thy humble slough, and appear fresh. Be opposite with a kinsman, surly with servants: let thy tongue tang arguments of state; put thyself into the trick of singularity: she thus advises thee, that sighs for thee. Remember who commended thy yellow stockings; and wished to see thee ever cross-gartered: I say, remember. 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 3, 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 crossgartered; 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 will smile; I I prythee. Jove, I thank thee. will do every thing that thou wilt have me. [Exit. 9 Name of a hound. 2 Open country. 3 Utmost exactness. 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. Wilt thou set thy foot o'my neck? Sir And. Or o'mine either? that, when the image of it leaves him, he must run mad. Mar. Nay, but say true; does it work upon him? Mar. If you will then see the fruits of the sport, Imark 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, Sir To. Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip 4, follow me. and become thy bond slave? Sir And. I'faith, or I either. Sir To. Why, thou hast put him in such a dream, Sir To. To the gates of Tartar, thou most excellent devil of wit! Sir And. I'll make one too. [Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE I.— Olivia's Garden. 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. Vio. Art thou a churchman? 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! sentence is but a cheveril glove to a good wit; How quickly the wrong side may be turned out ward! 6 A 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 folly: she will keep no fool, sir, till she be married; 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 expences for thee. Is thy lady within? Clo. My lady is within, sir. I will construe to her 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 For folly, that he wisely shows, is fit; But wise men, folly-fallen, quite taint their wit. Enter Sir TOBY BELCH and Sir ANDREW AGUE- Sir To. Save you, gentleman. 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 desirous you should enter, if your trade be to her. is the list of my voyage. Vio. I am bound to your niece, sir; I mean, she is I Sir To. Taste your legs, sir, put them to motion. Vio. My legs do better understand me, sir, than 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 9 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 servant's name, your fair princess. Oli. My servant, sir! 'Twas never merry world, Since lowly feigning was call'd 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. Have you not set mine honour at the stake, Enough is shown; a cyprus, not a bosom, 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? Oli. Stay: I pr'ythee, tell me, what thou think'st of me. 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 noon. 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. SCENE II. - A Room in Olivia's House. Enter Sir TOBY BELCH, Sir ANDREW AGUE-cheek, 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 Aud. '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, 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 3, 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 4 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 6: 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 |