TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. ACT I. SCENE I. An Apartment in the Duke's Palace. The appetite may sicken, and so die. Stealing, and giving odor. -Enough; no more; O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou! Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there, But falls into abatement and low price, Cur. Will you go hunt, my lord? Duke. Cur. What, Curio? The hart. Duke. Why, so I do, the noblest that I have: And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds, How now? what news from her? Enter VALENTINE. Val. So please my lord, I might not be admitted, But from her handmaid do return this answer: The element itself, till seven years heat, Duke. O, she that hath a heart of that fine frame, To pay this debt of love but to a brother, How will she love, when the rich golden shaft That live in her! when liver, brain, and heart, [Exeunt. SCENE II. The Sea-coast. Enter VIOLA, Captain, and Sailors. Vio. What country, friends, is this? Cap. Perchance he is not drowned: -What think you, sailors? When you, and that poor number saved with you, (Courage and hope both teaching him the practice) I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves, Vio. Whereto thy speech serves for authority, The like of him. Know'st thou this country? 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 Cap. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count Vio. O that I served that lady; Cap. That were hard to compass; Because she will admit no kind of suit, Vio. There is a fair behavior in thee, captain; Cap. Be you his eunuch, and your mute I'll be: 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'm 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; and 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 Ague-cheek? Mar. Ay, he. Sir To. He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria. Sir To. Why, he has three thousand ducats a year. Mar. Ay, but he'll have but a year in all these ducats; he's a very fool and a prodigal. Sir To. Fie, that you'll say so! he plays o' the viol-degambo, and speaks three or four languages word for word without book, and hath all the good gifts of nature. Mar. He hath, indeed,—almost natural: for, besides that he's a fool, he's a great quarreller; and, but that he hath the gift of a coward to allay the gust he hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought among the prudent, he would quickly have the gift of a grave. Sir To. By this hand, they are scoundrels, and subtracters, that say so of him. Who are they? Mar. They that add moreover, he's drunk nightly in your company. Sir To. With drinking healths to my niece; I'll drink to her as long as there is a passage in my throat, and drink in Illyria: He's a coward, and a coystril, that will not drink to my niece, till his brains turn o' the toe like a parish-top What, wench? Castiliano volto; for here comes Sir Andrew Ague-face. Enter SIR ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK. 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 chamber-maid. Sir And. Good mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance. Mar. My name is Mary, sir. Sir And. Good mistress Mary Accost, Sir To. You mistake, knight: accost is, front her, board her, woo her, assail her. Sir And. By my troth, I would not undertake her in this company. Is that the meaning of accost? Mar. Fare you well, gentlemen. Sir To. An thou let part so, Sir Andrew, 'would thou night'st never draw sword again. Sir And. An you part so, mistress, I would 'I might never draw sword again. Fair lady, do you think you have fools in hand? Mar. Sir, I have not you by the hand. Sir And. Marry, but you shall have; and here's my hand. Mar. Now, sir, thought is free: I pray you, bring your nand to the buttery-bar, and let it drink. Sir And. Wherefore, sweetheart? what's your metaphor? Mar. It's dry, sir. Sir And. Why, I think so; I am not such an ass, but I can keep my hand dry. But what's your jest? Mar. A dry jest, sir. Sir And. Are you full of them? Mar. Ay, sir; I have them at my fingers' ends: marry, now I let go your hand, I am barren. [Exit MARIA. Sir. To. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of canary: When did I see thee so put down? 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 & great eater of beef, and, I believe, that does harm to my wit. Sir To. No question. Sir And. An I thought that, I'd forswear it. I'll ride home to-morrow, Sir Toby. Sir To. Pourquoy, my dear knight? Sir And. What is pourquoy? do or not do? I would I |