{"collection":"sks","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/browse/sks/ff/twn.htm","path":"sks/ff/twn.htm","source_url":"https://sacred-texts.com/sks/ff/twn.htm","text":"Actus Primus, Scaena Prima.\nEnter Orsino Duke of Illyria, Curio, and other Lords.\nDuke. If Musicke be the food of Loue, play on,\nGiue me excesse of it: that surfetting,\nThe appetite may sicken, and so dye.\nThat straine agen, it had a dying fall:\nO, it came ore my eare, like the sweet sound\nThat breathes vpon a banke of Violets;\nStealing, and giuing Odour. Enough, no more,\n'Tis not so sweet now, as it was before.\nO spirit of Loue, how quicke and fresh art thou,\nThat notwithstanding thy capacitie,\nReceiueth as the Sea. Nought enters there,\nOf what validity, and pitch so ere,\nBut falles into abatement, and low price\nEuen in a minute; so full of shapes is fancie,\nThat it alone, is high fantasticall\nCu. Will you go hunt my Lord?\nDu. What Curio?\nCu. The Hart\nDu. Why so I do, the Noblest that I haue:\nO when mine eyes did see Oliuia first,\nMe thought she purg'd the ayre of pestilence;\nThat instant was I turn'd into a Hart,\nAnd my desires like fell and cruell hounds,\nEre since pursue me. How now what newes from her?\nEnter Valentine.\nVal. So please my Lord, I might not be admitted,\nBut from her handmaid do returne this answer:\nThe Element it selfe, till seuen yeares heate,\nShall not behold her face at ample view:\nBut like a Cloystresse she will vailed walke,\nAnd water once a day her Chamber round\nWith eye-offending brine: all this to season\nA brothers dead loue, which she would keepe fresh\nAnd lasting, in her sad remembrance\nDu. O she that hath a heart of that fine frame\nTo pay this debt of loue but to a brother,\nHow will she loue, when the rich golden shaft\nHath kill'd the flocke of all affections else\nThat liue in her. When Liuer, Braine, and Heart,\nThese soueraigne thrones, are all supply'd and fill'd\nHer sweete perfections with one selfe king:\nAway before me, to sweet beds of Flowres,\nLoue-thoughts lye rich, when canopy'd with bowres.\nExeunt.\nScena Secunda.\nEnter Viola, a Captaine, and Saylors.\nVio. What Country (Friends) is this?\nCap. This is Illyria Ladie\nVio. And what should I do in Illyria?\nMy brother he is in Elizium,\nPerchance he is not drown'd: What thinke you saylors?\nCap. It is perchance that you your selfe were saued\nVio. O my poore brother, and so perchance may he be\nCap. True Madam, and to comfort you with chance,\nAssure your selfe, after our ship did split,\nWhen you, and those poore number saued with you,\nHung on our driuing boate: I saw your brother\nMost prouident in perill, binde himselfe,\n(Courage and hope both teaching him the practise)\nTo a strong Maste, that liu'd vpon the sea:\nWhere like Orion on the Dolphines backe,\nI saw him hold acquaintance with the waues,\nSo long as I could see\nVio. For saying so, there's Gold:\nMine owne escape vnfoldeth to my hope,\nWhereto thy speech serues for authoritie\nThe like of him. Know'st thou this Countrey?\nCap. I Madam well, for I was bred and borne\nNot three houres trauaile from this very place\nVio. Who gouernes heere?\nCap. A noble Duke in nature, as in name\nVio. What is his name?\nCap. Orsino\nVio. Orsino: I haue heard my father name him.\nHe was a Batchellor then\nCap. And so is now, or was so very late:\nFor but a month ago I went from hence,\nAnd then 'twas fresh in murmure (as you know\nWhat great ones do, the lesse will prattle of,)\nThat he did seeke the loue of faire Oliuia\nVio. What's shee?\nCap. A vertuous maid, the daughter of a Count\nThat dide some tweluemonth since, then leauing her\nIn the protection of his sonne, her brother,\nWho shortly also dide: for whose deere loue\n(They say) she hath abiur'd the sight\nAnd company of men\nVio. O that I seru'd that Lady,\nAnd might not be deliuered to the world\nTill I had made mine owne occasion mellow\nWhat my estate is\nCap. That were hard to compasse,\nBecause she will admit no kinde of suite,\nNo, not the Dukes\nVio. There is a faire behauiour in thee Captaine,\nAnd though that nature, with a beauteous wall\nDoth oft close in pollution: yet of thee\nI will beleeue thou hast a minde that suites\nWith this thy faire and outward charracter.\nI prethee (and Ile pay thee bounteously)\nConceale me what I am, and be my ayde,\nFor such disguise as haply shall become\nThe forme of my intent. Ile serue this Duke,\nThou shalt present me as an Eunuch to him,\nIt may be worth thy paines: for I can sing,\nAnd speake to him in many sorts of Musicke,\nThat will allow me very worth his seruice.\nWhat else may hap, to time I will commit,\nOnely shape thou thy silence to my wit\nCap. Be you his Eunuch, and your Mute Ile bee,\nWhen my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see\nVio. I thanke thee: Lead me on.\nExeunt.\nScaena Tertia.\nEnter Sir Toby, and Maria.\nSir To. What a plague meanes my Neece to take the\ndeath of her brother thus? I am sure care's an enemie to\nlife\nMar. By my troth sir Toby, you must come in earlyer\na nights: your Cosin, my Lady, takes great exceptions\nto your ill houres\nTo. Why let her except, before excepted\nMa. I, but you must confine your selfe within the\nmodest limits of order\nTo. Confine? Ile confine my selfe no finer then I am:\nthese cloathes are good enough to drinke in, and so bee\nthese boots too: and they be not, let them hang themselues\nin their owne straps\nMa. That quaffing and drinking will vndoe you: I\nheard my Lady talke of it yesterday: and of a foolish\nknight that you brought in one night here, to be hir woer\nTo. Who, Sir Andrew Ague-cheeke?\nMa. I he\nTo. He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria\nMa. What's that to th' purpose?\nTo. Why he ha's three thousand ducates a yeare\nMa. I, but hee'l haue but a yeare in all these ducates:\nHe's a very foole, and a prodigall\nTo. Fie, that you'l say so: he playes o'th Viol-de-gamboys,\nand speaks three or four languages word for word\nwithout booke, & hath all the good gifts of nature\nMa. He hath indeed, almost naturall: for besides that\nhe's a foole, he's a great quarreller: and but that hee hath\nthe gift of a Coward, to allay the gust he hath in quarrelling,\n'tis thought among the prudent, he would quickely\nhaue the gift of a graue\nTob. By this hand they are scoundrels and substractors\nthat say so of him. Who are they?\nMa. They that adde moreour, hee's drunke nightly\nin your company\nTo. With drinking healths to my Neece: Ile drinke\nto her as long as there is a passage in my throat, & drinke\nin Illyria: he's a Coward and a Coystrill that will not\ndrinke to my Neece, till his braines turne o'th toe, like a\nparish top. What wench? Castiliano vulgo: for here coms\nSir Andrew Agueface.\nEnter Sir Andrew.\nAnd. Sir Toby Belch. How now sir Toby Belch?\nTo. Sweet sir Andrew\nAnd. Blesse you faire Shrew\nMar. And you too sir\nTob. Accost Sir Andrew, accost\nAnd. What's that?\nTo. My Neeces Chamber-maid\nMa. Good Mistris accost, I desire better acquaintance\nMa. My name is Mary sir\nAnd. Good mistris Mary, accost\nTo, You mistake knight: Accost, is front her, boord\nher, woe her, assayle her\nAnd. By my troth I would not vndertake her in this\ncompany. Is that the meaning of Accost?\nMa. Far you well Gentlemen\nTo. And thou let part so Sir Andrew, would thou\nmightst neuer draw sword agen\nAnd. And you part so mistris, I would I might neuer\ndraw sword agen: Faire Lady, doe you thinke you haue\nfooles in hand?\nMa. Sir, I haue not you by'th hand\nAn. Marry but you shall haue, and heeres my hand\nMa. Now sir, thought is free: I pray you bring your\nhand to'th Buttry barre, and let it drinke\nAn. Wherefore (sweet-heart?) What's your Metaphor?\nMa. It's dry sir\nAnd. Why I thinke so: I am not such an asse, but I\ncan keepe my hand dry. But what's your iest?\nMa. A dry iest Sir\nAnd. Are you full of them?\nMa. I Sir, I haue them at my fingers ends: marry now\nI let go your hand, I am barren.\nExit Maria\nTo. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of Canarie: when did\nI see thee so put downe?\nAn. Neuer in your life I thinke, vnlesse you see Canarie\nput me downe: mee thinkes sometimes I haue no\nmore wit then a Christian, or an ordinary man ha's: but I\nam a great eater of beefe, and I beleeue that does harme\nto my wit\nTo. No question\nAn. And I thought that, I'de forsweare it. Ile ride\nhome to morrow sir Toby\nTo. Pur-quoy my deere knight?\nAn. What is purquoy? Do, or not do? I would I had\nbestowed that time in the tongues, that I haue in fencing\ndancing, and beare-bayting: O had I but followed the\nArts\nTo. Then hadst thou had an excellent head of haire\nAn. Why, would that haue mended my haire?\nTo. Past question, for thou seest it will not coole my nature\nAn. But it becoms me wel enough, dost not?\nTo. Excellent, it hangs like flax on a distaffe: & I hope\nto see a huswife take thee between her legs, & spin it off\nAn. Faith Ile home to morrow sir Toby, your niece wil\nnot be seene, or if she be it's four to one, she'l none of me:\nthe Count himselfe here hard by, wooes her\nTo. Shee'l none o'th Count, she'l not match aboue hir\ndegree, neither in estate, yeares, nor wit: I haue heard her\nswear't. Tut there's life in't man\nAnd. Ile stay a moneth longer. I am a fellow o'th\nstrangest minde i'th world: I delight in Maskes and Reuels\nsometimes altogether\nTo. Art thou good at these kicke-chawses Knight?\nAnd. As any man in Illyria, whatsoeuer he be, vnder\nthe degree of my betters, & yet I will not compare with\nan old man\nTo. What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight?\nAnd. Faith, I can cut a caper\nTo. And I can cut the Mutton too't\nAnd. And I thinke I haue the backe-tricke, simply as\nstrong as any man in Illyria\nTo. Wherefore are these things hid? Wherefore haue\nthese gifts a Curtaine before 'em? Are they like to take\ndust, like mistris Mals picture? Why dost thou not goe\nto Church in a Galliard, and come home in a Carranto?\nMy verie walke should be a Iigge: I would not so much\nas make water but in a Sinke-a-pace: What dooest thou\nmeane? Is it a world to hide vertues in? I did thinke by\nthe excellent constitution of thy legge, it was form'd vnder\nthe starre of a Galliard\nAnd. I, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a\ndam'd colour'd stocke. Shall we sit about some Reuels?\nTo. What shall we do else: were we not borne vnder\nTaurus?\nAnd. Taurus? That sides and heart\nTo. No sir, it is leggs and thighes: let me see thee caper.\nHa, higher: ha, ha, excellent.\nExeunt.\nScena Quarta.\nEnter Valentine, and Viola in mans attire.\nVal. If the Duke continue these fauours towards you\nCesario, you are like to be much aduanc'd, he hath known\nyou but three dayes, and already you are no stranger\nVio. You either feare his humour, or my negligence,\nthat you call in question the continuance of his loue. Is\nhe inconstant sir, in his fauours\nVal. No beleeue me.\nEnter Duke, Curio, and Attendants.\nVio. I thanke you: heere comes the Count\nDuke. Who saw Cesario hoa?\nVio. On your attendance my Lord heere\nDu. Stand you a-while aloofe. Cesario,\nThou knowst no lesse, but all: I haue vnclasp'd\nTo thee the booke euen of my secret soule.\nTherefore good youth, addresse thy gate vnto her,\nBe not deni'de accesse, stand at her doores,\nAnd tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow\nTill thou haue audience\nVio. Sure my Noble Lord,\nIf she be so abandon'd to her sorrow\nAs it is spoke, she neuer will admit me\nDu. Be clamorous, and leape all ciuill bounds,\nRather then make vnprofited returne,\nVio. Say I do speake with her (my Lord) what then?\nDu. O then, vnfold the passion of my loue,\nSurprize her with discourse of my deere faith;\nIt shall become thee well to act my woes:\nShe will attend it better in thy youth,\nThen in a Nuntio's of more graue aspect\nVio. I thinke not so, my Lord\nDu. Deere Lad, beleeue it;\nFor they shall yet belye thy happy yeeres,\nThat say thou art a man: Dianas lip\nIs not more smooth, and rubious: thy small pipe\nIs as the maidens organ, shrill, and sound,\nAnd all is semblatiue a womans part.\nI know thy constellation is right apt\nFor this affayre: some foure or fiue attend him,\nAll if you will: for I my selfe am best\nWhen least in companie: prosper well in this,\nAnd thou shalt liue as freely as thy Lord,\nTo call his fortunes thine\nVio. Ile do my best\nTo woe your Lady: yet a barrefull strife,\nWho ere I woe, my selfe would be his wife.\nExeunt.\nScena Quinta.\nEnter Maria, and Clowne.\nMa. Nay, either tell me where thou hast bin, or I will\nnot open my lippes so wide as a brissle may enter, in way\nof thy excuse: my Lady will hang thee for thy absence\nClo. Let her hang me: hee that is well hang'de in this\nworld, needs to feare no colours\nMa. Make that good\nClo. He shall see none to feare\nMa. A good lenton answer: I can tell thee where y\nsaying was borne, of I feare no colours\nClo. Where good mistris Mary?\nMa. In the warrs, & that may you be bolde to say in\nyour foolerie\nClo. Well, God giue them wisedome that haue it: &\nthose that are fooles, let them vse their talents\nMa. Yet you will be hang'd for being so long absent,\nor to be turn'd away: is not that as good as a hanging to\nyou?\nClo. Many a good hanging, preuents a bad marriage:\nand for turning away, let summer beare it out\nMa. You are resolute then?\nClo. Not so neyther, but I am resolu'd on two points\nMa. That if one breake, the other will hold: or if both\nbreake, your gaskins fall\nClo. Apt in good faith, very apt: well go thy way, if\nsir Toby would leaue drinking, thou wert as witty a piece\nof Eues flesh, as any in Illyria\nMa. Peace you rogue, no more o'that: here comes my\nLady: make your excuse wisely, you were best.\nEnter Lady Oliuia, with Maluolio.\nClo. Wit, and't be thy will, put me into good fooling:\nthose wits that thinke they haue thee, doe very oft proue\nfooles: and I that am sure I lacke thee, may passe for a\nwise man. For what saies Quinapalus, Better a witty foole,\nthen a foolish wit. God blesse thee Lady\nOl. Take the foole away\nClo. Do you not heare fellowes, take away the Ladie\nOl. Go too, y'are a dry foole: Ile no more of you: besides\nyou grow dis-honest\nClo. Two faults Madona, that drinke & good counsell\nwil amend: for giue the dry foole drink, then is the foole\nnot dry: bid the dishonest man mend himself, if he mend,\nhe is no longer dishonest; if hee cannot, let the Botcher\nmend him: any thing that's mended, is but patch'd: vertu\nthat transgresses, is but patcht with sinne, and sin that amends,\nis but patcht with vertue. If that this simple\nSillogisme will serue, so: if it will not, what remedy?\nAs there is no true Cuckold but calamity, so beauties a\nflower; The Lady bad take away the foole, therefore I\nsay againe, take her away\nOl. Sir, I bad them take away you\nClo. Misprision in the highest degree. Lady, Cucullus\nnon facit monachum: that's as much to say, as I weare not\nmotley in my braine: good Madona, giue mee leaue to\nproue you a foole\nOl. Can you do it?\nClo. Dexteriously, good Madona\nOl. Make your proofe\nClo. I must catechize you for it Madona, Good my\nMouse of vertue answer mee\nOl. Well sir, for want of other idlenesse, Ile bide your\nproofe\nClo. Good Madona, why mournst thou?\nOl. Good foole, for my brothers death\nClo. I thinke his soule is in hell, Madona\nOl. I know his soule is in heauen, foole\nClo. The more foole (Madona) to mourne for your\nBrothers soule, being in heauen. Take away the Foole,\nGentlemen\nOl. What thinke you of this foole Maluolio, doth he\nnot mend?\nMal. Yes, and shall do, till the pangs of death shake\nhim: Infirmity that decaies the wise, doth euer make the\nbetter foole\nClow. God send you sir, a speedie Infirmity, for the\nbetter increasing your folly: Sir Toby will be sworn that\nI am no Fox, but he wil not passe his word for two pence\nthat you are no Foole\nOl. How say you to that Maluolio?\nMal. I maruell your Ladyship takes delight in such\na barren rascall: I saw him put down the other day, with\nan ordinary foole, that has no more braine then a stone.\nLooke you now, he's out of his gard already: vnles you\nlaugh and minister occasion to him, he is gag'd. I protest\nI take these Wisemen, that crow so at these set kinde of\nfooles, no better then the fooles Zanies\nOl. O you are sicke of selfe-loue Maluolio, and taste\nwith a distemper'd appetite. To be generous, guiltlesse,\nand of free disposition, is to take those things for Bird-bolts,\nthat you deeme Cannon bullets: There is no slander\nin an allow'd foole, though he do nothing but rayle;\nnor no rayling, in a knowne discreet man, though hee do\nnothing but reproue\nClo. Now Mercury indue thee with leasing, for thou\nspeak'st well of fooles.\nEnter Maria.\nMar. Madam, there is at the gate, a young Gentleman,\nmuch desires to speake with you\nOl. From the Count Orsino, is it?\nMa I know not (Madam) 'tis a faire young man, and\nwell attended\nOl. Who of my people hold him in delay?\nMa. Sir Toby Madam, your kinsman\nOl. Fetch him off I pray you, he speakes nothing but\nmadman: Fie on him. Go you Maluolio; If it be a suit\nfrom the Count, I am sicke, or not at home. What you\nwill, to dismisse it.\nExit Maluo.\nNow you see sir, how your fooling growes old, & people\ndislike it\nClo. Thou hast spoke for vs (Madona) as if thy eldest\nsonne should be a foole: whose scull, Ioue cramme with\nbraines, for heere he comes.\nEnter Sir Toby.\nOne of thy kin has a most weake Pia-mater\nOl. By mine honor halfe drunke. What is he at the\ngate Cosin?\nTo. A Gentleman\nOl. A Gentleman? What Gentleman?\nTo. 'Tis a Gentleman heere. A plague o'these pickle\nherring: How now Sot\nClo. Good Sir Toby\nOl. Cosin, Cosin, how haue you come so earely by\nthis Lethargie?\nTo. Letcherie, I defie Letchery: there's one at the\ngate\nOl. I marry, what is he?\nTo. Let him be the diuell and he will, I care not: giue\nme faith say I. Well, it's all one.\nExit\nOl. What's a drunken man like, foole?\nClo. Like a drown'd man, a foole, and a madde man:\nOne draught aboue heate, makes him a foole, the second\nmaddes him, and a third drownes him\nOl. Go thou and seeke the Crowner, and let him sitte\no'my Coz: for he's in the third degree of drinke: hee's\ndrown'd: go looke after him\nClo. He is but mad yet Madona, and the foole shall\nlooke to the madman.\nEnter Maluolio.\nMal. Madam, yond young fellow sweares hee will\nspeake with you. I told him you were sicke, he takes on\nhim to vnderstand so much, and therefore comes to speak\nwith you. I told him you were asleepe, he seems to haue\na fore knowledge of that too, and therefore comes to\nspeake with you. What is to be said to him Ladie, hee's\nfortified against any deniall\nOl. Tell him, he shall not speake with me\nMal. Ha's beene told so: and hee sayes hee'l stand at\nyour doore like a Sheriffes post, and be the supporter to\na bench, but hee'l speake with you\nOl. What kinde o'man is he?\nMal. Why of mankinde\nOl. What manner of man?\nMal. Of verie ill manner: hee'l speake with you, will\nyou, or no\nOl. Of what personage, and yeeres is he?\nMal. Not yet old enough for a man, nor yong enough\nfor a boy: as a squash is before tis a pescod, or a Codling\nwhen tis almost an Apple: Tis with him in standing water,\nbetweene boy and man. He is verie well-fauour'd,\nand he speakes verie shrewishly: One would thinke his\nmothers milke were scarse out of him\nOl. Let him approach: Call in my Gentlewoman\nMal. Gentlewoman, my Lady calles.\nEnter.\nEnter Maria.\nOl. Giue me my vaile: come throw it ore my face,\nWee'l once more heare Orsinos Embassie.\nEnter Violenta.\nVio. The honorable Ladie of the house, which is she?\nOl. Speake to me, I shall answer for her: your will\nVio. Most radiant, exquisite, and vnmatchable beautie.\nI pray you tell me if this bee the Lady of the house,\nfor I neuer saw her. I would bee loath to cast away my\nspeech: for besides that it is excellently well pend, I haue\ntaken great paines to con it. Good Beauties, let mee sustaine\nno scorne; I am very comptible, euen to the least\nsinister vsage\nOl. Whence came you sir?\nVio. I can say little more then I haue studied, & that\nquestion's out of my part. Good gentle one, giue mee\nmodest assurance, if you be the Ladie of the house, that | I\nmay proceede in my speech\nOl. Are you a Comedian?\nVio. No my profound heart: and yet (by the verie\nphangs of malice, I sweare) I am not that I play. Are you\nthe Ladie of the house?\nOl. If I do not vsurpe my selfe, I am\nVio. Most certaine, if you are she, you do vsurp your\nselfe: for what is yours to bestowe, is, not yours to reserue.\nBut this is from my Commission: I will on with\nmy speech in your praise, and then shew you the heart of\nmy message\nOl. Come to what is important in't: I forgiue you\nthe praise\nVio. Alas, I tooke great paines to studie it, and 'tis\nPoeticall\nOl. It is the more like to be feigned, I pray you keep\nit in. I heard you were sawcy at my gates, & allowd your\napproach rather to wonder at you, then to heare you. If\nyou be not mad, be gone: if you haue reason, be breefe:\n'tis not that time of Moone with me, to make one in so\nskipping a dialogue\nMa. Will you hoyst sayle sir, here lies your way\nVio. No good swabber, I am to hull here a little longer.\nSome mollification for your Giant, sweete Ladie;\ntell me your minde, I am a messenger\nOl. Sure you haue some hiddeous matter to deliuer,\nwhen the curtesie of it is so fearefull. Speake your office\nVio. It alone concernes your eare: I bring no ouerture\nof warre, no taxation of homage; I hold the Olyffe\nin my hand: my words are as full of peace, as matter\nOl. Yet you began rudely. What are you?\nWhat would you?\nVio. The rudenesse that hath appear'd in mee, haue I\nlearn'd from my entertainment. What I am, and what I\nwould, are as secret as maiden-head: to your eares, Diuinity;\nto any others, prophanation\nOl. Giue vs the place alone,\nWe will heare this diuinitie. Now sir, what is your text?\nVio. Most sweet Ladie\nOl. A comfortable doctrine, and much may bee saide\nof it. Where lies your Text?\nVio. In Orsinoes bosome\nOl. In his bosome? In what chapter of his bosome?\nVio. To answer by the method, in the first of his hart\nOl. O, I haue read it: it is heresie. Haue you no more\nto say?\nVio. Good Madam, let me see your face\nOl. Haue you any Commission from your Lord, to\nnegotiate with my face: you are now out of your Text:\nbut we will draw the Curtain, and shew you the picture.\nLooke you sir, such a one I was this present: Ist not well\ndone?\nVio. Excellently done, if God did all\nOl. 'Tis in graine sir, 'twill endure winde and weather\nVio. Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white,\nNatures owne sweet, and cunning hand laid on:\nLady, you are the cruell'st shee aliue,\nIf you will leade these graces to the graue,\nAnd leaue the world no copie\nOl. O sir, I will not be so hard-hearted: I will giue\nout diuers scedules of my beautie. It shalbe Inuentoried\nand euery particle and vtensile labell'd to my will: As,\nItem two lippes indifferent redde, Item two grey eyes,\nwith lids to them: Item, one necke, one chin, & so forth.\nWere you sent hither to praise me?\nVio. I see you what you are, you are too proud:\nBut if you were the diuell, you are faire:\nMy Lord, and master loues you: O such loue\nCould be but recompenc'd, though you were crown'd\nThe non-pareil of beautie\nOl. How does he loue me?\nVio. With adorations, fertill teares,\nWith groanes that thunder loue, with sighes of fire\nOl. Your Lord does know my mind, I cannot loue him\nYet I suppose him vertuous, know him noble,\nOf great estate, of fresh and stainlesse youth;\nIn voyces well divulg'd, free, learn'd, and valiant,\nAnd in dimension, and the shape of nature,\nA gracious person; But yet I cannot loue him:\nHe might haue tooke his answer long ago\nVio. If I did loue you in my masters flame,\nWith such a suffring, such a deadly life:\nIn your deniall, I would finde no sence,\nI would not vnderstand it\nOl. Why, what would you?\nVio. Make me a willow Cabine at your gate,\nAnd call vpon my soule within the house,\nWrite loyall Cantons of contemned loue,\nAnd sing them lowd euen in the dead of night:\nHallow your name to the reuerberate hilles,\nAnd make the babling Gossip of the aire,\nCry out Oliuia: O you should not rest\nBetweene the elements of ayre, and earth,\nBut you should pittie me\nOl. You might do much:\nWhat is your Parentage?\nVio. Aboue my fortunes, yet my state is well:\nI am a Gentleman\nOl. Get you to your Lord:\nI cannot loue him: let him send no more,\nVnlesse (perchance) you come to me againe,\nTo tell me how he takes it: Fare you well:\nI thanke you for your paines: spend this for mee\nVio. I am no feede poast, Lady; keepe your purse,\nMy Master, not my selfe, lackes recompence.\nLoue make his heart of flint, that you shal loue,\nAnd let your feruour like my masters be,\nPlac'd in contempt: Farwell fayre crueltie.\nExit\nOl. What is your Parentage?\nAboue my fortunes, yet my state is well;\nI am a Gentleman. Ile be sworne thou art,\nThy tongue, thy face, thy limbes, actions, and spirit,\nDo giue thee fiue-fold blazon: not too fast: soft, soft,\nVnlesse the Master were the man. How now?\nEuen so quickly may one catch the plague?\nMe thinkes I feele this youths perfections\nWith an inuisible, and subtle stealth\nTo creepe in at mine eyes. Well, let it be.\nWhat hoa, Maluolio.\nEnter Maluolio.\nMal. Heere Madam, at your seruice\nOl. Run after that same peeuish Messenger\nThe Countes man: he left this Ring behinde him\nWould I, or not: tell him, Ile none of it.\nDesire him not to flatter with his Lord,\nNor hold him vp with hopes, I am not for him:\nIf that the youth will come this way to morrow,\nIle giue him reasons for't: hie thee Maluolio\nMal. Madam, I will.\nEnter.\nOl. I do I know not what, and feare to finde\nMine eye too great a flatterer for my minde:\nFate, shew thy force, our selues we do not owe,\nWhat is decreed, must be: and be this so.\nFinis, Actus primus.\nActus Secundus, Scaena prima.\nEnter Antonio & Sebastian.\nAnt. Will you stay no longer: nor will you not that\nI go with you\nSeb. By your patience, no: my starres shine darkely\nouer me; the malignancie of my fate, might perhaps distemper\nyours; therefore I shall craue of you your leaue,\nthat I may beare my euils alone. It were a bad recompence\nfor your loue, to lay any of them on you\nAn. Let me yet know of you, whither you are bound\nSeb. No sooth sir: my determinate voyage is meere\nextrauagancie. But I perceiue in you so excellent a touch\nof modestie, that you will not extort from me, what I am\nwilling to keepe in: therefore it charges me in manners,\nthe rather to expresse my selfe: you must know of mee\nthen Antonio, my name is Sebastian (which I call'd Rodorigo)\nmy father was that Sebastian of Messaline, whom I\nknow you haue heard of. He left behinde him, my selfe,\nand a sister, both borne in an houre: if the Heauens had\nbeene pleas'd, would we had so ended. But you sir, alter'd\nthat, for some houre before you tooke me from the\nbreach of the sea, was my sister drown'd\nAnt. Alas the day\nSeb. A Lady sir, though it was said shee much resembled\nme, was yet of many accounted beautiful: but thogh\nI could not with such estimable wonder ouer-farre beleeue\nthat, yet thus farre I will boldly publish her, shee\nbore a minde that enuy could not but call faire: Shee is\ndrown'd already sir with salt water, though I seeme to\ndrowne her remembrance againe with more\nAnt. Pardon me sir, your bad entertainment\nSeb. O good Antonio, forgiue me your trouble\nAnt. If you will not murther me for my loue, let mee\nbe your seruant\nSeb. If you will not vndo what you haue done, that is\nkill him, whom you haue recouer'd, desire it not. Fare\nye well at once, my bosome is full of kindnesse, and I\nam yet so neere the manners of my mother, that vpon the\nleast occasion more, mine eyes will tell tales of me: I am\nbound to the Count Orsino's Court, farewell.\nExit\nAnt. The gentlenesse of all the gods go with thee:\nI haue many enemies in Orsino's Court,\nElse would I very shortly see thee there:\nBut come what may, I do adore thee so,\nThat danger shall seeme sport, and I will go.\nEnter.\nScaena Secunda.\nEnter Viola and Maluolio, at seuerall doores.\nMal. Were not you eu'n now, with the Countesse Oliuia?\nVio. Euen now sir, on a moderate pace, I haue since ariu'd\nbut hither\nMal. She returnes this Ring to you (sir) you might\nhaue saued mee my paines, to haue taken it away your\nselfe. She adds moreouer, that you should put your Lord\ninto a desperate assurance, she will none of him. And one\nthing more, that you be neuer so hardie to come againe\nin his affaires, vnlesse it bee to report your Lords taking\nof this: receiue it so\nVio. She tooke the Ring of me, Ile none of it\nMal. Come sir, you peeuishly threw it to her: and\nher will is, it should be so return'd: If it bee worth stooping\nfor, there it lies, in your eye: if not, bee it his that\nfindes it.\nEnter.\nVio. I left no Ring with her: what meanes this Lady?\nFortune forbid my out-side haue not charm'd her:\nShe made good view of me, indeed so much,\nThat me thought her eyes had lost her tongue,\nFor she did speake in starts distractedly.\nShe loues me sure, the cunning of her passion\nInuites me in this churlish messenger:\nNone of my Lords Ring? Why he sent her none;\nI am the man, if it be so, as tis,\nPoore Lady, she were better loue a dreame:\nDisguise, I see thou art a wickednesse,\nWherein the pregnant enemie does much.\nHow easie is it, for the proper false\nIn womens waxen hearts to set their formes:\nAlas, O frailtie is the cause, not wee,\nFor such as we are made, if such we bee:\nHow will this fadge? My master loues her deerely,\nAnd I (poore monster) fond asmuch on him:\nAnd she (mistaken) seemes to dote on me:\nWhat will become of this? As I am man,\nMy state is desperate for my maisters loue:\nAs I am woman (now alas the day)\nWhat thriftlesse sighes shall poore Oliuia breath?\nO time, thou must vntangle this, not I,\nIt is too hard a knot for me t' vnty.\nScoena Tertia.\nEnter Sir Toby, and Sir Andrew.\nTo. Approach Sir Andrew: not to bee a bedde after\nmidnight, is to be vp betimes, and Deliculo surgere, thou\nknow'st\nAnd. Nay by my troth I know not: but I know, to\nbe vp late, is to be vp late\nTo. A false conclusion: I hate it as an vnfill'd Canne.\nTo be vp after midnight, and to go to bed then is early:\nso that to go to bed after midnight, is to goe to bed betimes.\nDoes not our liues consist of the foure Elements?\nAnd. Faith so they say, but I thinke it rather consists\nof eating and drinking\nTo. Th'art a scholler; let vs therefore eate and drinke\nMarian I say, a stoope of wine.\nEnter Clowne.\nAnd. Heere comes the foole yfaith\nClo. How now my harts: Did you neuer see the Picture\nof we three?\nTo. Welcome asse, now let's haue a catch\nAnd. By my troth the foole has an excellent breast. I\nhad rather then forty shillings I had such a legge, and so\nsweet a breath to sing, as the foole has. Insooth thou wast\nin very gracious fooling last night, when thou spok'st of\nPigrogromitus, of the Vapians passing the Equinoctial of\nQueubus: 'twas very good yfaith: I sent thee sixe pence\nfor thy Lemon, hadst it?\nClo. I did impeticos thy gratillity: for Maluolios nose\nis no Whip-stocke. My Lady has a white hand, and the\nMermidons are no bottle-ale houses\nAn. Excellent: Why this is the best fooling, when\nall is done. Now a song\nTo. Come on, there is sixe pence for you. Let's haue\na song\nAn. There's a testrill of me too: if one knight giue a\nClo. Would you haue a loue-song, or a song of good\nlife?\nTo. A loue song, a loue song\nAn. I, I. I care not for good life\nClowne sings .\nO Mistris mine where are you roming?\nO stay and heare, your true loues coming,\nThat can sing both high and low.\nTrip no further prettie sweeting.\nIourneys end in louers meeting,\nEuery wise mans sonne doth know\nAn. Excellent good, ifaith\nTo. Good, good\nClo. What is loue, tis not heereafter,\nPresent mirth, hath present laughter:\nWhat's to come, is still vnsure.\nIn delay there lies no plentie,\nThen come kisse me sweet and twentie:\nYouths a stuffe will not endure\nAn. A mellifluous voyce, as I am true knight\nTo. A contagious breath\nAn. Very sweet, and contagious ifaith\nTo. To heare by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion.\nBut shall we make the Welkin dance indeed? Shall wee\nrowze the night-Owle in a Catch, that will drawe three\nsoules out of one Weauer? Shall we do that?\nAnd. And you loue me, let's doo't: I am dogge at a\nCatch\nClo. Byrlady sir, and some dogs will catch well\nAn. Most certaine: Let our Catch be, Thou Knaue\nClo. Hold thy peace, thou Knaue knight. I shall be constrain'd\nin't, to call thee knaue, Knight\nAn. 'Tis not the first time I haue constrained one to\ncall me knaue. Begin foole: it begins, Hold thy peace\nClo. I shall neuer begin if I hold my peace\nAn. Good ifaith: Come begin.\nCatch sung\nEnter Maria.\nMar. What a catterwalling doe you keepe heere? If\nmy Ladie haue not call'd vp her Steward Maluolio, and\nbid him turne you out of doores, neuer trust me\nTo. My Lady's a Catayan, we are politicians, Maluolios\na Peg-a-ramsie, and Three merry men be wee. Am not I\nconsanguinious? Am I not of her blood: tilly vally. Ladie,\nThere dwelt a man in Babylon, Lady, Lady\nClo. Beshrew me, the knights in admirable fooling\nAn. I, he do's well enough if he be dispos'd, and so\ndo I too: he does it with a better grace, but I do it more\nnaturall\nTo. O the twelfe day of December\nMar. For the loue o' God peace.\nEnter Maluolio.\nMal. My masters are you mad? Or what are you?\nHaue you no wit, manners, nor honestie, but to gabble\nlike Tinkers at this time of night? Do yee make an Alehouse\nof my Ladies house, that ye squeak out your Coziers\nCatches without any mitigation or remorse of voice?\nIs there no respect of place, persons, nor time in you?\nTo. We did keepe time sir in our Catches. Snecke vp\nMal. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My Lady\nbad me tell you, that though she harbors you as her kinsman,\nshe's nothing ally'd to your disorders. If you can\nseparate your selfe and your misdemeanors, you are welcome\nto the house: if not, and it would please you to take\nleaue of her, she is very willing to bid you farewell\nTo. Farewell deere heart, since I must needs be gone\nMar. Nay good Sir Toby\nClo. His eyes do shew his dayes are almost done\nMal. Is't euen so?\nTo. But I will neuer dye\nClo. Sir Toby there you lye\nMal. This is much credit to you\nTo. Shall I bid him go\nClo. What and if you do?\nTo. Shall I bid him go, and spare not?\nClo. O no, no, no, no, you dare not\nTo. Out o' tune sir, ye lye: Art any more then a Steward?\nDost thou thinke because thou art vertuous, there\nshall be no more Cakes and Ale?\nClo. Yes by S[aint]. Anne, and Ginger shall bee hotte y'th\nmouth too\nTo. Th'art i'th right. Goe sir, rub your Chaine with\ncrums. A stope of Wine Maria\nMal. Mistris Mary, if you priz'd my Ladies fauour\nat any thing more then contempt, you would not giue\nmeanes for this vnciuill rule; she shall know of it by this\nhand.\nExit\nMar. Go shake your eares\nAn. 'Twere as good a deede as to drink when a mans\na hungrie, to challenge him the field, and then to breake\npromise with him, and make a foole of him\nTo. Doo't knight, Ile write thee a Challenge: or Ile\ndeliuer thy indignation to him by word of mouth\nMar. Sweet Sir Toby be patient for to night: Since\nthe youth of the Counts was to day with my Lady, she is\nmuch out of quiet. For Monsieur Maluolio, let me alone\nwith him: If I do not gull him into a nayword, and make\nhim a common recreation, do not thinke I haue witte enough\nto lye straight in my bed: I know I can do it\nTo. Possesse vs, possesse vs, tell vs something of him\nMar. Marrie sir, sometimes he is a kinde of Puritane\nAn. O, if I thought that, Ide beate him like a dogge\nTo. What for being a Puritan, thy exquisite reason,\ndeere knight\nAn. I haue no exquisite reason for't, but I haue reason\ngood enough\nMar. The diu'll a Puritane that hee is, or any thing\nconstantly but a time-pleaser, an affection'd Asse, that\ncons State without booke, and vtters it by great swarths.\nThe best perswaded of himselfe: so cram'd (as he thinkes)\nwith excellencies, that it is his grounds of faith, that all\nthat looke on him, loue him: and on that vice in him, will\nmy reuenge finde notable cause to worke\nTo. What wilt thou do?\nMar. I will drop in his way some obscure Epistles of\nloue, wherein by the colour of his beard, the shape of his\nlegge, the manner of his gate, the expressure of his eye,\nforehead, and complection, he shall finde himselfe most\nfeelingly personated. I can write very like my Ladie\nyour Neece, on a forgotten matter wee can hardly make\ndistinction of our hands\nTo. Excellent, I smell a deuice\nAn. I hau't in my nose too\nTo. He shall thinke by the Letters that thou wilt drop\nthat they come from my Neece, and that shee's in loue\nwith him\nMar. My purpose is indeed a horse of that colour\nAn. And your horse now would make him an Asse\nMar. Asse, I doubt not\nAn. O twill be admirable\nMar. Sport royall I warrant you: I know my Physicke\nwill worke with him, I will plant you two, and let\nthe Foole make a third, where he shall finde the Letter:\nobserue his construction of it: For this night to bed, and\ndreame on the euent: Farewell.\nExit\nTo. Good night Penthisilea\nAn. Before me she's a good wench\nTo. She's a beagle true bred, and one that adores me:\nwhat o'that?\nAn. I was ador'd once too\nTo. Let's to bed knight: Thou hadst neede send for\nmore money\nAn. If I cannot recouer your Neece, I am a foule way\nout\nTo. Send for money knight, if thou hast her not i'th\nend, call me Cut\nAn. If I do not, neuer trust me, take it how you will\nTo. Come, come, Ile go burne some Sacke, tis too late\nto go to bed now: Come knight, come knight.\nExeunt.\nScena Quarta.\nEnter Duke, Viola, Curio, and others\nDu. Giue me some Musick; Now good morow frends.\nNow good Cesario, but that peece of song,\nThat old and Anticke song we heard last night;\nMe thought it did releeue my passion much,\nMore then light ayres, and recollected termes\nOf these most briske and giddy-paced times.\nCome, but one verse\nCur. He is not heere (so please your Lordshippe) that\nshould sing it?\nDu. Who was it?\nCur. Feste the Iester my Lord, a foole that the Ladie\nOliuiaes Father tooke much delight in. He is about the\nhouse\nDu. Seeke him out, and play the tune the while.\nMusicke playes.\nCome hither Boy, if euer thou shalt loue\nIn the sweet pangs of it, remember me:\nFor such as I am, all true Louers are,\nVnstaid and skittish in all motions else,\nSaue in the constant image of the creature\nThat is belou'd. How dost thou like this tune?\nVio. It giues a verie eccho to the seate\nWhere loue is thron'd\nDu. Thou dost speake masterly,\nMy life vpon't, yong though thou art, thine eye\nHath staid vpon some fauour that it loues:\nHath it not boy?\nVio. A little, by your fauour\nDu. What kinde of woman ist?\nVio. Of your complection\nDu. She is not worth thee then. What yeares ifaith?\nVio. About your yeeres my Lord\nDu. Too old by heauen: Let still the woman take\nAn elder then her selfe, so weares she to him;\nSo swayes she leuell in her husbands heart:\nFor boy, howeuer we do praise our selues,\nOur fancies are more giddie and vnfirme,\nMore longing, wauering, sooner lost and worne,\nThen womens are\nVio. I thinke it well my Lord\nDu. Then let thy Loue be yonger then thy selfe,\nOr thy affection cannot hold the bent:\nFor women are as Roses, whose faire flowre\nBeing once displaid, doth fall that verie howre\nVio. And so they are: alas, that they are so:\nTo die, euen when they to perfection grow.\nEnter Curio & Clowne.\nDu. O fellow come, the song we had last night:\nMarke it Cesario, it is old and plaine;\nThe Spinsters and the Knitters in the Sun,\nAnd the free maides that weaue their thred with bones,\nDo vse to chaunt it: it is silly sooth,\nAnd dallies with the innocence of loue,\nLike the old age\nClo. Are you ready Sir?\nDuke. I prethee sing.\nMusicke.\nThe Song.\nCome away, come away death,\nAnd in sad cypresse let me be laide.\nFye away, fie away breath,\nI am slaine by a faire cruell maide:\nMy shrowd of white, stuck all with Ew, O prepare it.\nMy part of death no one so true did share it.\nNot a flower, not a flower sweete\nOn my blacke coffin, let there be strewne:\nNot a friend, not a friend greet\nMy poore corpes, where my bones shall be throwne:\nA thousand thousand sighes to saue, lay me o where\nSad true louer neuer find my graue, to weepe there\nDu. There's for thy paines\nClo. No paines sir, I take pleasure in singing sir\nDu. Ile pay thy pleasure then\nClo. Truely sir, and pleasure will be paide one time, or\nanother\nDu. Giue me now leaue, to leaue thee\nClo. Now the melancholly God protect thee, and the\nTailor make thy doublet of changeable Taffata, for thy\nminde is a very Opall. I would haue men of such constancie\nput to Sea, that their businesse might be euery thing,\nand their intent euerie where, for that's it, that alwayes\nmakes a good voyage of nothing. Farewell.\nExit\nDu. Let all the rest giue place: Once more Cesario,\nGet thee to yond same soueraigne crueltie:\nTell her my loue, more noble then the world\nPrizes not quantitie of dirtie lands,\nThe parts that fortune hath bestow'd vpon her:\nTell her I hold as giddily as Fortune:\nBut 'tis that miracle, and Queene of Iems\nThat nature prankes her in, attracts my soule\nVio. But if she cannot loue you sir\nDu. It cannot be so answer'd\nVio. Sooth but you must.\nSay that some Lady, as perhappes there is,\nHath for your loue as great a pang of heart\nAs you haue for Oliuia: you cannot loue her:\nYou tel her so: Must she not then be answer'd?\nDu. There is no womans sides\nCan bide the beating of so strong a passion,\nAs loue doth giue my heart: no womans heart\nSo bigge, to hold so much, they lacke retention.\nAlas, their loue may be call'd appetite,\nNo motion of the Liuer, but the Pallat,\nThat suffer surfet, cloyment, and reuolt,\nBut mine is all as hungry as the Sea,\nAnd can digest as much, make no compare\nBetweene that loue a woman can beare me,\nAnd that I owe Oliuia\nVio. I but I know\nDu. What dost thou knowe?\nVio. Too well what loue women to men may owe:\nIn faith they are as true of heart, as we.\nMy Father had a daughter lou'd a man\nAs it might be perhaps, were I a woman\nI should your Lordship\nDu. And what's her history?\nVio. A blanke my Lord: she neuer told her loue,\nBut let concealment like a worme i'th budde\nFeede on her damaske cheeke: she pin'd in thought,\nAnd with a greene and yellow melancholly,\nShe sate like Patience on a Monument,\nSmiling at greefe. Was not this loue indeede?\nWe men may say more, sweare more, but indeed\nOur shewes are more then will: for still we proue\nMuch in our vowes, but little in our loue\nDu. But di'de thy sister of her loue my Boy?\nVio. I am all the daughters of my Fathers house,\nAnd all the brothers too: and yet I know not.\nSir, shall I to this Lady?\nDu. I that's the Theame,\nTo her in haste: giue her this Iewell: say,\nMy loue can giue no place, bide no denay.\nExeunt.\nScena Quinta.\nEnter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian.\nTo. Come thy wayes Signior Fabian\nFab. Nay Ile come: if I loose a scruple of this sport,\nlet me be boyl'd to death with Melancholly\nTo. Wouldst thou not be glad to haue the niggardly\nRascally sheepe-biter, come by some notable shame?\nFa. I would exult man: you know he brought me out\no' fauour with my Lady, about a Beare-baiting heere\nTo. To anger him wee'l haue the Beare againe, and\nwe will foole him blacke and blew, shall we not sir Andrew?\nAn. And we do not, it is pittie of our liues.\nEnter Maria.\nTo. Heere comes the little villaine: How now my\nMettle of India?\nMar. Get ye all three into the box tree: Maluolio's\ncomming downe this walke, he has beene yonder i'the\nSunne practising behauiour to his own shadow this halfe\nhoure: obserue him for the loue of Mockerie: for I know\nthis Letter wil make a contemplatiue Ideot of him. Close\nin the name of ieasting, lye thou there: for heere comes\nthe Trowt, that must be caught with tickling.\nExit\nEnter Maluolio.\nMal. 'Tis but Fortune, all is fortune. Maria once\ntold me she did affect me, and I haue heard her self come\nthus neere, that should shee fancie, it should bee one of\nmy complection. Besides she vses me with a more exalted\nrespect, then any one else that followes her. What\nshould I thinke on't?\nTo. Heere's an ouer-weening rogue\nFa. Oh peace: Contemplation makes a rare Turkey\nCocke of him, how he iets vnder his aduanc'd plumes\nAnd. Slight I could so beate the Rogue\nTo. Peace I say\nMal. To be Count Maluolio\nTo. Ah Rogue\nAn. Pistoll him, pistoll him\nTo. Peace, peace\nMal. There is example for't: The Lady of the Strachy,\nmarried the yeoman of the wardrobe\nAn. Fie on him Iezabel\nFa. O peace, now he's deepely in: looke how imagination\nblowes him\nMal. Hauing beene three moneths married to her,\nsitting in my state\nTo. O for a stone-bow to hit him in the eye\nMal. Calling my Officers about me, in my branch'd\nVeluet gowne: hauing come from a day bedde, where I\nhaue left Oliuia sleeping\nTo. Fire and Brimstone\nFa. O peace, peace\nMal. And then to haue the humor of state: and after\na demure trauaile of regard: telling them I knowe my\nplace, as I would they should doe theirs: to aske for my\nkinsman Toby\nTo. Boltes and shackles\nFa. Oh peace, peace, peace, now, now\nMal. Seauen of my people with an obedient start,\nmake out for him: I frowne the while, and perchance\nwinde vp my watch, or play with my some rich Iewell:\nToby approaches; curtsies there to me\nTo. Shall this fellow liue?\nFa. Though our silence be drawne from vs with cars,\nyet peace\nMal. I extend my hand to him thus: quenching my\nfamiliar smile with an austere regard of controll\nTo. And do's not Toby take you a blow o'the lippes,\nthen?\nMal. Saying, Cosine Toby, my Fortunes hauing cast\nme on your Neece, giue me this prerogatiue of speech\nTo. What, what?\nMal. You must amend your drunkennesse\nTo. Out scab\nFab. Nay patience, or we breake the sinewes of our\nplot?\nMal. Besides you waste the treasure of your time,\nwith a foolish knight\nAnd. That's mee I warrant you\nMal. One sir Andrew\nAnd. I knew 'twas I, for many do call mee foole\nMal. What employment haue we heere?\nFa. Now is the Woodcocke neere the gin\nTo. Oh peace, and the spirit of humors intimate reading\naloud to him\nMal. By my life this is my Ladies hand: these bee her\nvery C's, her V's, and her T's, and thus makes shee her\ngreat P's. It is in contempt of question her hand\nAn. Her C's, her V's, and her T's: why that?\nMal. To the vnknowne belou'd, this, and my good Wishes:\nHer very Phrases: By your leaue wax. Soft, and the impressure\nher Lucrece, with which she vses to seale: tis my\nLady: To whom should this be?\nFab. This winnes him, Liuer and all\nMal. Ioue knowes I loue, but who, Lips do not mooue, no\nman must know. No man must know. What followes?\nThe numbers alter'd: No man must know,\nIf this should be thee Maluolio?\nTo. Marrie hang thee brocke\nMal. I may command where I adore, but silence like a Lucresse\nknife:\nWith bloodlesse stroke my heart doth gore, M.O.A.I. doth\nsway my life\nFa. A fustian riddle\nTo. Excellent Wench, say I\nMal. M.O.A.I. doth sway my life. Nay but first\nlet me see, let me see, let me see\nFab. What dish a poyson has she drest him?\nTo. And with what wing the stallion checkes at it?\nMal. I may command, where I adore: Why shee may\ncommand me: I serue her, she is my Ladie. Why this is\neuident to any formall capacitie. There is no obstruction\nin this, and the end: What should that Alphabeticall position\nportend, if I could make that resemble something\nin me? Softly, M.O.A.I\nTo. O I, make vp that, he is now at a cold sent\nFab. Sowter will cry vpon't for all this, though it bee\nas ranke as a Fox\nMal. M. Maluolio, M. why that begins my name\nFab. Did not I say he would worke it out, the Curre\nis excellent at faults\nMal. M. But then there is no consonancy in the sequell\nthat suffers vnder probation: A. should follow, but O.\ndoes\nFa. And O shall end, I hope\nTo. I, or Ile cudgell him, and make him cry O\nMal. And then I. comes behind\nFa. I, and you had any eye behinde you, you might\nsee more detraction at your heeles, then Fortunes before\nyou\nMal. M,O,A,I. This simulation is not as the former:\nand yet to crush this a little, it would bow to mee, for euery\none of these Letters are in my name. Soft, here followes\nprose: If this fall into thy hand, reuolue. In my stars\nI am aboue thee, but be not affraid of greatnesse: Some\nare become great, some atcheeues greatnesse, and some\nhaue greatnesse thrust vppon em. Thy fates open theyr\nhands, let thy blood and spirit embrace them, and to invre\nthy selfe to what thou art like to be: cast thy humble\nslough, and appeare fresh. Be opposite with a kinsman,\nsurly with seruants: Let thy tongue tang arguments of\nstate; put thy selfe into the tricke of singularitie. Shee\nthus aduises thee, that sighes for thee. Remember who\ncommended thy yellow stockings, and wish'd to see thee\neuer crosse garter'd: I say remember, goe too, thou art\nmade if thou desir'st to be so: If not, let me see thee a steward\nstill, the fellow of seruants, and not woorthie to\ntouch Fortunes fingers Farewell, Shee that would alter\nseruices with thee, the fortunate vnhappy daylight and\nchampian discouers not more: This is open, I will bee\nproud, I will reade politicke Authours, I will baffle Sir\nToby, I will wash off grosse acquaintance, I will be point\ndeuise, the very man. I do not now foole my selfe, to let\nimagination iade mee; for euery reason excites to this,\nthat my Lady loues me. She did commend my yellow\nstockings of late, shee did praise my legge being crosse-garter'd,\nand in this she manifests her selfe to my loue, &\nwith a kinde of iniunction driues mee to these habites of\nher liking. I thanke my starres, I am happy: I will bee\nstrange, stout, in yellow stockings, and crosse Garter'd,\neuen with the swiftnesse of putting on. Ioue, and my\nstarres be praised. Heere is yet a postscript. Thou canst\nnot choose but know who I am. If thou entertainst my loue, let\nit appeare in thy smiling, thy smiles become thee well. Therefore\nin my presence still smile, deero my sweete, I prethee. Ioue\nI thanke thee, I will smile, I wil do euery thing that thou\nwilt haue me.\nExit\nFab. I will not giue my part of this sport for a pension\nof thousands to be paid from the Sophy\nTo. I could marry this wench for this deuice\nAn. So could I too\nTo. And aske no other dowry with her, but such another\niest.\nEnter Maria.\nAn. Nor I neither\nFab. Heere comes my noble gull catcher\nTo. Wilt thou set thy foote o'my necke\nAn. Or o'mine either?\nTo. Shall I play my freedome at tray-trip, and becom\nthy bondslaue?\nAn. Ifaith, or I either?\nTob. Why, thou hast put him in such a dreame, that\nwhen the image of it leaues him, he must run mad\nMa. Nay but say true, do's it worke vpon him?\nTo. Like Aqua vite with a Midwife\nMar. If you will then see the fruites of the sport, mark\nhis first approach before my Lady: hee will come to her\nin yellow stockings, and 'tis a colour she abhorres, and\ncrosse garter'd, a fashion shee detests: and hee will smile\nvpon her, which will now be so vnsuteable to her disposition,\nbeing addicted to a melancholly, as shee is, that it\ncannot but turn him into a notable contempt: if you wil\nsee it follow me\nTo. To the gates of Tartar, thou most excellent diuell\nof wit\nAnd. Ile make one too.\nExeunt.\nFinis Actus secundus\nActus Tertius, Scaena prima.\nEnter Viola and Clowne.\nVio. Saue thee Friend and thy Musick: dost thou liue\nby thy Tabor?\nClo. No sir, I liue by the Church\nVio. Art thou a Churchman?\nClo. No such matter sir, I do liue by the Church: For,\nI do liue at my house, and my house dooth stand by the\nChurch\nVio. So thou maist say the Kings lyes by a begger, if a\nbegger dwell neer him: or the Church stands by thy Tabor,\nif thy Tabor stand by the Church\nClo. You haue said sir: To see this age: A sentence is\nbut a cheu'rill gloue to a good witte, how quickely the\nwrong side may be turn'd outward\nVio. Nay that's certaine: they that dally nicely with\nwords, may quickely make them wanton\nClo. I would therefore my sister had had no name Sir\nVio. Why man?\nClo. Why sir, her names a word, and to dallie with\nthat word, might make my sister wanton: But indeede,\nwords are very Rascals, since bonds disgrac'd them\nVio. Thy reason man?\nClo. Troth sir, I can yeeld you none without wordes,\nand wordes are growne so false, I am loath to proue reason\nwith them\nVio. I warrant thou art a merry fellow, and car'st for\nnothing\nClo. Not so sir, I do care for something: but in my conscience\nsir, I do not care for you: if that be to care for nothing\nsir, I would it would make you inuisible\nVio. Art not thou the Lady Oliuia's foole?\nClo. No indeed sir, the Lady Oliuia has no folly, shee\nwill keepe no foole sir, till she be married, and fooles are\nas like husbands, as Pilchers are to Herrings, the Husbands\nthe bigger, I am indeede not her foole, but hir corrupter\nof words\nVio. I saw thee late at the Count Orsino's\nClo. Foolery sir, does walke about the Orbe like the\nSun, it shines euery where. I would be sorry sir, but the\nFoole should be as oft with your Master, as with my Mistris:\nI thinke I saw your wisedome there\nVio. Nay, and thou passe vpon me, Ile no more with\nthee. Hold there's expences for thee\nClo. Now Ioue in his next commodity of hayre, send\nthee a beard\nVio. By my troth Ile tell thee, I am almost sicke for\none, though I would not haue it grow on my chinne. Is\nthy Lady within?\nClo Would not a paire of these haue bred sir?\nVio. Yes being kept together, and put to vse\nClo. I would play Lord Pandarus of Phrygia sir, to bring\na Cressida to this Troylus\nVio. I vnderstand you sir, tis well begg'd\nClo. The matter I hope is not great sir; begging, but a\nbegger: Cressida was a begger. My Lady is within sir. I\nwill conster to them whence you come, who you are, and\nwhat you would are out of my welkin, I might say Element,\nbut the word is ouer-worne.\nExit\nVio. This fellow is wise enough to play the foole,\nAnd to do that well, craues a kinde of wit:\nHe must obserue their mood on whom he iests,\nThe quality of persons, and the time:\nAnd like the Haggard, checke at euery Feather\nThat comes before his eye. This is a practice,\nAs full of labour as a Wise-mans Art:\nFor folly that he wisely shewes, is fit;\nBut wisemens folly falne, quite taint their wit.\nEnter Sir Toby and Andrew.\nTo. Saue you Gentleman\nVio. And you sir\nAnd. Dieu vou guard Monsieur\nVio. Et vouz ousie vostre seruiture\nAn. I hope sir, you are, and I am yours\nTo. Will you incounter the house, my Neece is desirous\nyou should enter, if your trade be to her\nVio. I am bound to your Neece sir, I meane she is the\nlist of my voyage\nTo. Taste your legges sir, put them to motion\nVio. My legges do better vnderstand me sir, then I vnderstand\nwhat you meane by bidding me taste my legs\nTo. I meane to go sir, to enter\nVio. I will answer you with gate and entrance, but we\nare preuented.\nEnter Oliuia, and Gentlewoman.\nMost excellent accomplish'd Lady, the heauens raine Odours\non you\nAnd. That youth's a rare Courtier, raine odours, wel\nVio. My matter hath no voice Lady, but to your owne\nmost pregnant and vouchsafed eare\nAnd. Odours, pregnant, and vouchsafed: Ile get 'em\nall three already\nOl. Let the Garden doore be shut, and leaue mee to\nmy hearing. Giue me your hand sir\nVio. My dutie Madam, and most humble seruice\nOl. What is your name?\nVio. Cesario is your seruants name, faire Princesse\nOl. My seruant sir? 'Twas neuer merry world,\nSince lowly feigning was call'd complement:\nY'are seruant to the Count Orsino youth\nVio. And he is yours, and his must needs be yours:\nYour seruants seruant, is your seruant Madam\nOl. For him, I thinke not on him: for his thoughts,\nWould they were blankes, rather then fill'd with me\nVio. Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts\nOn his behalfe\nOl. O by your leaue I pray you.\nI bad you neuer speake againe of him;\nBut would you vndertake another suite\nI had rather heare you, to solicit that,\nThen Musicke from the spheares\nVio. Deere Lady\nOl. Giue me leaue, beseech you: I did send,\nAfter the last enchantment you did heare,\nA Ring in chace of you. So did I abuse\nMy selfe, my seruant, and I feare me you:\nVnder your hard construction must I sit,\nTo force that on you in a shamefull cunning\nWhich you knew none of yours. What might you think?\nHaue you not set mine Honor at the stake,\nAnd baited it with all th' vnmuzled thoughts\nThat tyrannous heart can think? To one of your receiuing\nEnough is shewne, a Cipresse, not a bosome,\nHides my heart: so let me heare you speake\nVio. I pittie you\nOl. That's a degree to loue\nVio. No not a grize: for tis a vulgar proofe\nThat verie oft we pitty enemies\nOl. Why then me thinkes 'tis time to smile agen:\nO world, how apt the poore are to be proud?\nIf one should be a prey, how much the better\nTo fall before the Lion, then the Wolfe?\nClocke strikes.\nThe clocke vpbraides me with the waste of time:\nBe not affraid good youth, I will not haue you,\nAnd yet when wit and youth is come to haruest,\nYour wife is like to reape a proper man:\nThere lies your way, due West\nVio. Then Westward hoe:\nGrace and good disposition attend your Ladyship:\nYou'l nothing Madam to my Lord, by me:\nOl. Stay: I prethee tell me what thou thinkst of me?\nVio. That you do thinke you are not what you are\nOl. If I thinke so, I thinke the same of you\nVio. Then thinke you right: I am not what I am\nOl. I would you were, as I would haue you be\nVio. Would it be better Madam, then I am?\nI wish it might, for now I am your foole\nOl. O what a deale of scorne, lookes beautifull?\nIn the contempt and anger of his lip,\nA murdrous guilt shewes not it selfe more soone,\nThen loue that would seeme hid: Loues night, is noone.\nCesario, by the Roses of the Spring,\nBy maid-hood, honor, truth, and euery thing,\nI loue thee so, that maugre all thy pride,\nNor wit, nor reason, can my passion hide:\nDo not extort thy reasons from this clause,\nFor that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause:\nBut rather reason thus, with reason fetter;\nLoue sought, is good: but giuen vnsought, is better\nVio. By innocence I sweare, and by my youth,\nI haue one heart, one bosome, and one truth,\nAnd that no woman has, nor neuer none\nShall mistris be of it, saue I alone.\nAnd so adieu good Madam, neuer more,\nWill I my Masters teares to you deplore\nOl. Yet come againe: for thou perhaps mayst moue\nThat heart which now abhorres, to like his loue.\nExeunt.\nScoena Secunda.\nEnter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian.\nAnd. No faith, Ile not stay a iot longer:\nTo. Thy reason deere venom, giue thy reason\nFab. You must needes yeelde your reason, Sir Andrew?\nAnd. Marry I saw your Neece do more fauours to the\nCounts Seruing-man, then euer she bestow'd vpon mee:\nI saw't i'th Orchard\nTo. Did she see the while, old boy, tell me that\nAnd. As plaine as I see you now\nFab. This was a great argument of loue in her toward\nyou\nAnd. S'light; will you make an Asse o'me\nFab. I will proue it legitimate sir, vpon the Oathes of\niudgement, and reason\nTo. And they haue beene grand Iurie men, since before\nNoah was a Saylor\nFab. Shee did shew fauour to the youth in your sight,\nonely to exasperate you, to awake your dormouse valour,\nto put fire in your Heart, and brimstone in your Liuer:\nyou should then haue accosted her, and with some excellent\niests, fire-new from the mint, you should haue bangd\nthe youth into dumbenesse: this was look'd for at your\nhand, and this was baulkt: the double gilt of this opportunitie\nyou let time wash off, and you are now sayld into\nthe North of my Ladies opinion, where you will hang\nlike an ysickle on a Dutchmans beard, vnlesse you do redeeme\nit, by some laudable attempt, either of valour or\npolicie\nAnd. And't be any way, it must be with Valour, for\npolicie I hate: I had as liefe be a Brownist, as a Politician\nTo. Why then build me thy fortunes vpon the basis of\nvalour. Challenge me the Counts youth to fight with him\nhurt him in eleuen places, my Neece shall take note of it,\nand assure thy selfe, there is no loue-Broker in the world,\ncan more preuaile in mans commendation with woman,\nthen report of valour\nFab. There is no way but this sir Andrew\nAn. Will either of you beare me a challenge to him?\nTo. Go, write it in a martial hand, be curst and briefe:\nit is no matter how wittie, so it bee eloquent, and full of\ninuention: taunt him with the license of Inke: if thou\nthou'st him some thrice, it shall not be amisse, and as many\nLyes, as will lye in thy sheete of paper, although the\nsheete were bigge enough for the bedde of Ware in England,\nset 'em downe, go about it. Let there bee gaulle enough\nin thy inke, though thou write with a Goose-pen,\nno matter: about it\nAnd. Where shall I finde you?\nTo. Wee'l call thee at the Cubiculo: Go.\nExit Sir Andrew.\nFa. This is a deere Manakin to you Sir Toby\nTo. I haue beene deere to him lad, some two thousand\nstrong, or so\nFa. We shall haue a rare Letter from him; but you'le\nnot deliuer't\nTo. Neuer trust me then: and by all meanes stirre on\nthe youth to an answer. I thinke Oxen and waine-ropes\ncannot hale them together. For Andrew, if he were open'd\nand you finde so much blood in his Liuer, as will clog the\nfoote of a flea, Ile eate the rest of th' anatomy\nFab. And his opposit the youth beares in his visage no\ngreat presage of cruelty.\nEnter Maria.\nTo. Looke where the youngest Wren of mine comes\nMar. If you desire the spleene, and will laughe your\nselues into stitches, follow me; yond gull Maluolio is turned\nHeathen, a verie Renegatho; for there is no christian\nthat meanes to be saued by beleeuing rightly, can euer\nbeleeue such impossible passages of grossenesse. Hee's in\nyellow stockings\nTo. And crosse garter'd?\nMar. Most villanously: like a Pedant that keepes a\nSchoole i'th Church: I haue dogg'd him like his murtherer.\nHe does obey euery point of the Letter that I dropt,\nto betray him: He does smile his face into more lynes,\nthen is in the new Mappe, with the augmentation of the\nIndies: you haue not seene such a thing as tis: I can hardly\nforbeare hurling things at him, I know my Ladie will\nstrike him: if shee doe, hee'l smile, and take't for a great\nfauour\nTo. Come bring vs, bring vs where he is.\nExeunt. Omnes.\nScaena Tertia.\nEnter Sebastian and Anthonio.\nSeb. I would not by my will haue troubled you,\nBut since you make your pleasure of your paines,\nI will no further chide you\nAnt. I could not stay behinde you: my desire\n(More sharpe then filed steele) did spurre me forth,\nAnd not all loue to see you (though so much\nAs might haue drawne one to a longer voyage)\nBut iealousie, what might befall your trauell,\nBeing skillesse in these parts: which to a stranger,\nVnguided, and vnfriended, often proue\nRough, and vnhospitable. My willing loue,\nThe rather by these arguments of feare\nSet forth in your pursuite\nSeb. My kinde Anthonio,\nI can no other answer make, but thankes,\nAnd thankes: and euer oft good turnes,\nAre shuffel'd off with such vncurrant pay:\nBut were my worth, as is my conscience firme,\nYou should finde better dealing: what's to do?\nShall we go see the reliques of this Towne?\nAnt. To morrow sir, best first go see your Lodging?\nSeb. I am not weary, and 'tis long to night\nI pray you let vs satisfie our eyes\nWith the memorials, and the things of fame\nThat do renowne this City\nAnt. Would youl'd pardon me:\nI do not without danger walke these streetes.\nOnce in a sea-fight 'gainst the Count his gallies,\nI did some seruice, of such note indeede,\nThat were I tane heere, it would scarse be answer'd\nSeb. Belike you slew great number of his people\nAnt. Th' offence is not of such a bloody nature,\nAlbeit the quality of the time, and quarrell\nMight well haue giuen vs bloody argument:\nIt might haue since bene answer'd in repaying\nWhat we tooke from them, which for Traffiques sake\nMost of our City did. Onely my selfe stood out,\nFor which if I be lapsed in this place\nI shall pay deere\nSeb. Do not then walke too open\nAnt. It doth not fit me: hold sir, here's my purse,\nIn the South Suburbes at the Elephant\nIs best to lodge: I will bespeake our dyet,\nWhiles you beguile the time, and feed your knowledge\nWith viewing of the Towne, there shall you haue me\nSeb. Why I your purse?\nAnt. Haply your eye shall light vpon some toy\nYou haue desire to purchase: and your store\nI thinke is not for idle Markets, sir\nSeb. Ile be your purse-bearer, and leaue you\nFor an houre\nAnt. To th' Elephant\nSeb. I do remember.\nExeunt.\nScoena Quarta.\nEnter Oliuia and Maria.\nOl. I haue sent after him, he sayes hee'l come:\nHow shall I feast him? What bestow of him?\nFor youth is bought more oft, then begg'd, or borrow'd.\nI speake too loud: Where's Maluolio, he is sad, and ciuill,\nAnd suites well for a seruant with my fortunes,\nWhere is Maluolio?\nMar. He's comming Madame:\nBut in very strange manner. He is sure possest Madam\nOl. Why what's the matter, does he raue?\nMar. No Madam, he does nothing but smile: your Ladyship\nwere best to haue some guard about you, if hee\ncome, for sure the man is tainted in's wits\nOl. Go call him hither.\nEnter Maluolio.\nI am as madde as hee,\nIf sad and merry madnesse equall bee.\nHow now Maluolio?\nMal. Sweet Lady, ho, ho\nOl. Smil'st thou? I sent for thee vpon a sad occasion\nMal. Sad Lady, I could be sad:\nThis does make some obstruction in the blood:\nThis crosse-gartering, but what of that?\nIf it please the eye of one, it is with me as the very true\nSonnet is: Please one, and please all\nMal. Why how doest thou man?\nWhat is the matter with thee?\nMal. Not blacke in my minde, though yellow in my\nlegges: It did come to his hands, and Commaunds shall\nbe executed. I thinke we doe know the sweet Romane\nhand\nOl. Wilt thou go to bed Maluolio?\nMal. To bed? I sweet heart, and Ile come to thee\nOl. God comfort thee: Why dost thou smile so, and\nkisse thy hand so oft?\nMar. How do you Maluolio?\nMaluo. At your request:\nYes Nightingales answere Dawes\nMar. Why appeare you with this ridiculous boldnesse\nbefore my Lady\nMal. Be not afraid of greatnesse: 'twas well writ\nOl. What meanst thou by that Maluolio?\nMal. Some are borne great\nOl. Ha?\nMal. Some atcheeue greatnesse\nOl. What sayst thou?\nMal. And some haue greatnesse thrust vpon them\nOl. Heauen restore thee\nMal. Remember who commended thy yellow stockings\nOl. Thy yellow stockings?\nMal. And wish'd to see thee crosse garter'd\nOl. Crosse garter'd?\nMal. Go too, thou art made, if thou desir'st to be so\nOl. Am I made?\nMal. If not, let me see thee a seruant still\nOl. Why this is verie Midsommer madnesse.\nEnter Seruant.\nSer. Madame, the young Gentleman of the Count\nOrsino's is return'd, I could hardly entreate him backe: he\nattends your Ladyships pleasure\nOl. Ile come to him.\nGood Maria, let this fellow be look'd too. Where's my\nCosine Toby, let some of my people haue a speciall care\nof him, I would not haue him miscarrie for the halfe of\nmy Dowry.\nExit\nMal. Oh ho, do you come neere me now: no worse\nman then sir Toby to looke to me. This concurres directly\nwith the Letter, she sends him on purpose, that I may\nappeare stubborne to him: for she incites me to that in\nthe Letter. Cast thy humble slough sayes she: be opposite\nwith a Kinsman, surly with seruants, let thy tongue\nlanger with arguments of state, put thy selfe into the\ntricke of singularity: and consequently setts downe the\nmanner how: as a sad face, a reuerend carriage, a slow\ntongue, in the habite of some Sir of note, and so foorth.\nI haue lymde her, but it is Ioues doing, and Ioue make me\nthankefull. And when she went away now, let this Fellow\nbe look'd too: Fellow? not Maluolio, nor after my\ndegree, but Fellow. Why euery thing adheres togither,\nthat no dramme of a scruple, no scruple of a scruple, no\nobstacle, no incredulous or vnsafe circumstance: What\ncan be saide? Nothing that can be, can come betweene\nme, and the full prospect of my hopes. Well Ioue, not I,\nis the doer of this, and he is to be thanked.\nEnter Toby, Fabian, and Maria.\nTo. Which way is hee in the name of sanctity. If all\nthe diuels of hell be drawne in little, and Legion himselfe\npossest him, yet Ile speake to him\nFab. Heere he is, heere he is: how ist with you sir?\nHow ist with you man?\nMal. Go off, I discard you: let me enioy my priuate:\ngo off\nMar. Lo, how hollow the fiend speakes within him;\ndid not I tell you? Sir Toby, my Lady prayes you to haue\na care of him\nMal. Ah ha, does she so?\nTo. Go too, go too: peace, peace, wee must deale\ngently with him: Let me alone. How do you Maluolio?\nHow ist with you? What man, defie the diuell: consider,\nhe's an enemy to mankinde\nMal. Do you know what you say?\nMar. La you, and you speake ill of the diuell, how\nhe takes it at heart. Pray God he be not bewitch'd\nFab. Carry his water to th' wise woman\nMar. Marry and it shall be done to morrow morning\nif I liue. My Lady would not loose him for more then ile\nsay\nMal. How now mistris?\nMar. Oh Lord\nTo. Prethee hold thy peace, this is not the way: Doe\nyou not see you moue him? Let me alone with him\nFa. No way but gentlenesse, gently, gently: the Fiend\nis rough, and will not be roughly vs'd\nTo. Why how now my bawcock? how dost y chuck?\nMal. Sir\nTo. I biddy, come with me. What man, tis not for\ngrauity to play at cherrie-pit with sathan Hang him foul\nColliar\nMar. Get him to say his prayers, good sir Toby gette\nhim to pray\nMal. My prayers Minx\nMar. No I warrant you, he will not heare of godlynesse\nMal. Go hang your selues all: you are ydle shallowe\nthings, I am not of your element, you shall knowe more\nheereafter.\nExit\nTo. Ist possible?\nFa. If this were plaid vpon a stage now, I could condemne\nit as an improbable fiction\nTo. His very genius hath taken the infection of the\ndeuice man\nMar. Nay pursue him now, least the deuice take ayre,\nand taint\nFa. Why we shall make him mad indeede\nMar. The house will be the quieter\nTo. Come, wee'l haue him in a darke room & bound.\nMy Neece is already in the beleefe that he's mad: we may\ncarry it thus for our pleasure, and his pennance, til our very\npastime tyred out of breath, prompt vs to haue mercy\non him: at which time, we wil bring the deuice to the bar\nand crowne thee for a finder of madmen: but see, but see.\nEnter Sir Andrew.\nFa. More matter for a May morning\nAn. Heere's the Challenge, reade it: I warrant there's\nvinegar and pepper in't\nFab. Ist so sawcy?\nAnd. I, ist? I warrant him: do but read\nTo. Giue me.\nYouth, whatsoeuer thou art, thou art but a scuruy fellow\nFa. Good, and valiant\nTo. Wonder not, nor admire not in thy minde why I doe call\nthee so, for I will shew thee no reason for't\nFa. A good note, that keepes you from the blow of y Law\nTo. Thou comst to the Lady Oliuia, and in my sight she vses\nthee kindly: but thou lyest in thy throat, that is not the matter\nI challenge thee for\nFa. Very breefe, and to exceeding good sence-lesse\nTo. I will way-lay thee going home, where if it be thy chance\nto kill me\nFa. Good\nTo. Thou kilst me like a rogue and a villaine\nFa. Still you keepe o'th windie side of the Law: good\nTob. Fartheewell, and God haue mercie vpon one of our\nsoules. He may haue mercie vpon mine, but my hope is better,\nand so looke to thy selfe. Thy friend as thou vsest him, & thy\nsworne enemie, Andrew Ague-cheeke\nTo. If this Letter moue him not, his legges cannot:\nIle giu't him\nMar. You may haue verie fit occasion for't: he is now\nin some commerce with my Ladie, and will by and by\ndepart\nTo. Go sir Andrew: scout mee for him at the corner\nof the Orchard like a bum-Baylie: so soone as euer thou\nseest him, draw, and as thou draw'st, sweare horrible: for\nit comes to passe oft, that a terrible oath, with a swaggering\naccent sharpely twang'd off, giues manhoode more\napprobation, then euer proofe it selfe would haue earn'd\nhim. Away\nAnd. Nay let me alone for swearing.\nExit\nTo. Now will not I deliuer his Letter: for the behauiour\nof the yong Gentleman, giues him out to be of good\ncapacity, and breeding: his employment betweene his\nLord and my Neece, confirmes no lesse. Therefore, this\nLetter being so excellently ignorant, will breed no terror\nin the youth: he will finde it comes from a Clodde-pole.\nBut sir, I will deliuer his Challenge by word of mouth;\nset vpon Ague-cheeke a notable report of valor, and driue\nthe Gentleman (as I know his youth will aptly receiue it)\ninto a most hideous opinion of his rage, skill, furie, and\nimpetuositie. This will so fright them both, that they wil\nkill one another by the looke, like Cockatrices.\nEnter Oliuia and Viola.\nFab. Heere he comes with your Neece, giue them way\ntill he take leaue, and presently after him\nTo. I wil meditate the while vpon some horrid message\nfor a Challenge\nOl. I haue said too much vnto a hart of stone,\nAnd laid mine honour too vnchary on't:\nThere's something in me that reproues my fault:\nBut such a head-strong potent fault it is,\nThat it but mockes reproofe\nVio. With the same hauiour that your passion beares,\nGoes on my Masters greefes\nOl. Heere, weare this Iewell for me, tis my picture:\nRefuse it not, it hath no tongue, to vex you:\nAnd I beseech you come againe to morrow.\nWhat shall you aske of me that Ile deny,\nThat honour (sau'd) may vpon asking giue\nVio. Nothing but this, your true loue for my master\nOl. How with mine honor may I giue him that,\nWhich I haue giuen to you\nVio. I will acquit you\nOl. Well, come againe to morrow: far-thee-well,\nA Fiend like thee might beare my soule to hell.\nEnter Toby and Fabian.\nTo. Gentleman, God saue thee\nVio. And you sir\nTo. That defence thou hast, betake the too't: of what\nnature the wrongs are thou hast done him, I knowe not:\nbut thy intercepter full of despight, bloody as the Hunter,\nattends thee at the Orchard end: dismount thy tucke,\nbe yare in thy preparation, for thy assaylant is quick, skilfull,\nand deadly\nVio. You mistake sir I am sure, no man hath any quarrell\nto me: my remembrance is very free and cleere from\nany image of offence done to any man\nTo. You'l finde it otherwise I assure you: therefore, if\nyou hold your life at any price, betake you to your gard:\nfor your opposite hath in him what youth, strength, skill,\nand wrath, can furnish man withall\nVio. I pray you sir what is he?\nTo. He is knight dubb'd with vnhatch'd Rapier, and\non carpet consideration, but he is a diuell in priuate brall,\nsoules and bodies hath he diuorc'd three, and his incensement\nat this moment is so implacable, that satisfaction\ncan be none, but by pangs of death and sepulcher: Hob,\nnob, is his word: giu't or take't\nVio. I will returne againe into the house, and desire\nsome conduct of the Lady. I am no fighter, I haue heard\nof some kinde of men, that put quarrells purposely on others,\nto taste their valour: belike this is a man of that\nquirke\nTo. Sir, no: his indignation deriues it selfe out of a very\ncomputent iniurie, therefore get you on, and giue him\nhis desire. Backe you shall not to the house, vnlesse you\nvndertake that with me, which with as much safetie you\nmight answer him: therefore on, or strippe your sword\nstarke naked: for meddle you must that's certain, or forsweare\nto weare iron about you\nVio. This is as vnciuill as strange. I beseech you doe\nme this courteous office, as to know of the Knight what\nmy offence to him is: it is something of my negligence,\nnothing of my purpose\nTo. I will doe so. Signiour Fabian, stay you by this\nGentleman, till my returne.\nExit Toby.\nVio. Pray you sir, do you know of this matter?\nFab. I know the knight is incenst against you, euen to\na mortall arbitrement, but nothing of the circumstance\nmore\nVio. I beseech you what manner of man is he?\nFab. Nothing of that wonderfull promise to read him\nby his forme, as you are like to finde him in the proofe of\nhis valour. He is indeede sir, the most skilfull, bloudy, &\nfatall opposite that you could possibly haue found in anie\npart of Illyria: will you walke towards him, I will make\nyour peace with him, if I can\nVio. I shall bee much bound to you for't: I am one,\nthat had rather go with sir Priest, then sir knight: I care\nnot who knowes so much of my mettle.\nExeunt.\nEnter Toby and Andrew.\nTo. Why man hee s a verie diuell, I haue not seen such\na firago: I had a passe with him, rapier, scabberd, and all:\nand he giues me the stucke in with such a mortall motion\nthat it is ineuitable: and on the answer, he payes you as\nsurely, as your feete hits the ground they step on. They\nsay, he has bin Fencer to the Sophy\nAnd. Pox on't, Ile not meddle with him\nTo. I but he will not now be pacified,\nFabian can scarse hold him yonder\nAn. Plague on't, and I thought he had beene valiant,\nand so cunning in Fence, I'de haue seene him damn'd ere\nI'de haue challeng'd him. Let him let the matter slip, and\nIle giue him my horse, gray Capilet\nTo. Ile make the motion: stand heere, make a good\nshew on't, this shall end without the perdition of soules,\nmarry Ile ride your horse as well as I ride you.\nEnter Fabian and Viola.\nI haue his horse to take vp the quarrell, I haue perswaded\nhim the youths a diuell\nFa. He is as horribly conceited of him: and pants, &\nlookes pale, as if a Beare were at his heeles\nTo. There's no remedie sir, he will fight with you for's\noath sake: marrie hee hath better bethought him of his\nquarrell, and hee findes that now scarse to bee worth talking\nof: therefore draw for the supportance of his vowe,\nhe protests he will not hurt you\nVio. Pray God defend me: a little thing would make\nme tell them how much I lacke of a man\nFab. Giue ground if you see him furious\nTo. Come sir Andrew, there's no remedie, the Gentleman\nwill for his honors sake haue one bowt with you:\nhe cannot by the Duello auoide it: but hee has promised\nme, as he is a Gentleman and a Soldiour, he will not hurt\nyou. Come on, too't\nAnd. Pray God he keepe his oath.\nEnter Antonio.\nVio. I do assure you tis against my will\nAnt. Put vp your sword: if this yong Gentleman\nHaue done offence, I take the fault on me:\nIf you offend him, I for him defie you\nTo. You sir? Why, what are you?\nAnt. One sir, that for his loue dares yet do more\nThen you haue heard him brag to you he will\nTo. Nay, if you be an vndertaker, I am for you.\nEnter Officers.\nFab. O good sir Toby hold: heere come the Officers\nTo. Ile be with you anon\nVio. Pray sir, put your sword vp if you please\nAnd. Marry will I sir: and for that I promis'd you Ile\nbe as good as my word. Hee will beare you easily, and\nraines well\n1.Off. This is the man, do thy Office\n2.Off. Anthonio, I arrest thee at the suit of Count Orsino\nAn. You do mistake me sir\n1.Off. No sir, no iot: I know your fauour well:\nThough now you haue no sea-cap on your head:\nTake him away, he knowes I know him well\nAnt. I must obey. This comes with seeking you:\nBut there's no remedie, I shall answer it:\nWhat will you do: now my necessitie\nMakes me to aske you for my purse. It greeues mee\nMuch more, for what I cannot do for you,\nThen what befals my selfe: you stand amaz'd,\nBut be of comfort\n2.Off. Come sir away\nAnt. I must entreat of you some of that money\nVio. What money sir?\nFor the fayre kindnesse you haue shew'd me heere,\nAnd part being prompted by your present trouble,\nOut of my leane and low ability\nIle lend you something: my hauing is not much,\nIle make diuision of my present with you:\nHold, there's halfe my Coffer\nAnt. Will you deny me now,\nIst possible that my deserts to you\nCan lacke perswasion. Do not tempt my misery,\nLeast that it make me so vnsound a man\nAs to vpbraid you with those kindnesses\nThat I haue done for you\nVio. I know of none,\nNor know I you by voyce, or any feature:\nI hate ingratitude more in a man,\nThen lying, vainnesse, babling drunkennesse,\nOr any taint of vice, whose strong corruption\nInhabites our fraile blood\nAnt. Oh heauens themselues\n2.Off. Come sir, I pray you go\nAnt. Let me speake a little. This youth that you see heere,\nI snatch'd one halfe out of the iawes of death,\nReleeu'd him with such sanctitie of loue;\nAnd to his image, which me thought did promise\nMost venerable worth, did I deuotion\n1.Off. What's that to vs, the time goes by: Away\nAnt. But oh, how vilde an idoll proues this God:\nThou hast Sebastian done good feature, shame.\nIn Nature, there's no blemish but the minde:\nNone can be call'd deform'd, but the vnkinde.\nVertue is beauty, but the beauteous euill\nAre empty trunkes, ore-flourish'd by the deuill\n1.Off. The man growes mad, away with him:\nCome, come sir\nAnt. Leade me on.\nExit\nVio. Me thinkes his words do from such passion flye\nThat he beleeues himselfe, so do not I:\nProue true imagination, oh proue true,\nThat I deere brother, be now tane for you\nTo. Come hither Knight, come hither Fabian: Weel\nwhisper ore a couplet or two of most sage sawes\nVio. He nam'd Sebastian: I my brother know\nYet liuing in my glasse: euen such, and so\nIn fauour was my Brother, and he went\nStill in this fashion, colour, ornament,\nFor him I imitate: Oh if it proue,\nTempests are kinde, and salt waues fresh in loue\nTo. A very dishonest paltry boy, and more a coward\nthen a Hare, his dishonesty appeares, in leauing his frend\nheere in necessity, and denying him: and for his cowardship\naske Fabian\nFab. A Coward, a most deuout Coward, religious in\nit\nAnd. Slid Ile after him againe, and beate him\nTo. Do, cuffe him soundly, but neuer draw thy sword\nAnd. And I do not\nFab. Come, let's see the euent\nTo. I dare lay any money, twill be nothing yet.\nExit\nActus Quartus, Scaena prima.\nEnter Sebastian and Clowne\nClo. Will you make me beleeue, that I am not sent for\nyou?\nSeb. Go too, go too, thou art a foolish fellow,\nLet me be cleere of thee\nClo. Well held out yfaith: No, I do not know you,\nnor I am not sent to you by my Lady, to bid you come\nspeake with her: nor your name is not Master Cesario,\nnor this is not my nose neyther: Nothing that is so, is so\nSeb. I prethee vent thy folly some-where else, thou\nknow'st not me\nClo. Vent my folly: He has heard that word of some\ngreat man, and now applyes it to a foole. Vent my folly:\nI am affraid this great lubber the World will proue a\nCockney: I prethee now vngird thy strangenes, and tell\nme what I shall vent to my Lady? Shall I vent to hir that\nthou art comming?\nSeb. I prethee foolish greeke depart from me, there's\nmoney for thee, if you tarry longer, I shall giue worse\npaiment\nClo. By my troth thou hast an open hand: these Wisemen\nthat giue fooles money, get themselues a good report,\nafter foureteene yeares purchase.\nEnter Andrew, Toby, and Fabian.\nAnd. Now sir, haue I met you again: ther's for you\nSeb. Why there's for thee, and there, and there,\nAre all the people mad?\nTo. Hold sir, or Ile throw your dagger ore the house\nClo. This will I tell my Lady straight, I would not be\nin some of your coats for two pence\nTo. Come on sir, hold\nAn. Nay let him alone, Ile go another way to worke\nwith him: Ile haue an action of Battery against him, if\nthere be any law in Illyria: though I stroke him first, yet\nit's no matter for that\nSeb. Let go thy hand\nTo. Come sir, I will not let you go. Come my yong\nsouldier put vp your yron: you are well flesh'd: Come\non\nSeb. I will be free from thee. What wouldst y now?\nIf thou dar'st tempt me further, draw thy sword\nTo. What, what? Nay then I must haue an Ounce or\ntwo of this malapert blood from you.\nEnter Oliuia.\nOl. Hold Toby, on thy life I charge thee hold\nTo. Madam\nOl. Will it be euer thus? Vngracious wretch,\nFit for the Mountaines, and the barbarous Caues,\nWhere manners nere were preach'd: out of my sight.\nBe not offended, deere Cesario:\nRudesbey be gone. I prethee gentle friend,\nLet thy fayre wisedome, not thy passion sway\nIn this vnciuill, and vniust extent\nAgainst thy peace. Go with me to my house,\nAnd heare thou there how many fruitlesse prankes\nThis Ruffian hath botch'd vp, that thou thereby\nMayst smile at this: Thou shalt not choose but goe:\nDo not denie, beshrew his soule for mee,\nHe started one poore heart of mine, in thee\nSeb. What rellish is in this? How runs the streame?\nOr I am mad, or else this is a dreame:\nLet fancie still my sense in Lethe steepe,\nIf it be thus to dreame, still let me sleepe\nOl. Nay come I prethee, would thoud'st be rul'd by me\nSeb. Madam, I will\nOl. O say so, and so be.\nExeunt.\nScoena Secunda.\nEnter Maria and Clowne.\nMar. Nay, I prethee put on this gown, & this beard,\nmake him beleeue thou art sir Topas the Curate, doe it\nquickly. Ile call sir Toby the whilst\nClo. Well, Ile put it on, and I will dissemble my selfe\nin't, and I would I were the first that euer dissembled in\nin such a gowne. I am not tall enough to become the\nfunction well, nor leane enough to bee thought a good\nStudient: but to be said an honest man and a good houskeeper\ngoes as fairely, as to say, a carefull man, & a great\nscholler. The Competitors enter.\nEnter Toby.\nTo. Ioue blesse thee M[aster]. Parson\nClo. Bonos dies sir Toby: for as the old hermit of Prage\nthat neuer saw pen and inke, very wittily sayd to a Neece\nof King Gorbodacke, that that is, is: so I being M[aster]. Parson,\nam M[aster]. Parson; for what is that, but that? and is, but is?\nTo. To him sir Topas\nClow. What hoa, I say, Peace in this prison\nTo. The knaue counterfets well: a good knaue.\nMaluolio within.\nMal. Who cals there?\nClo. Sir Topas the Curate, who comes to visit Maluolio\nthe Lunaticke\nMal. Sir Topas, sir Topas, good sir Topas goe to my\nLadie\nClo. Out hyperbolicall fiend, how vexest thou this\nman? Talkest thou nothing but of Ladies?\nTob. Well said M[aster]. Parson\nMal. Sir Topas, neuer was man thus wronged, good\nsir Topas do not thinke I am mad: they haue layde mee\nheere in hideous darknesse\nClo. Fye, thou dishonest sathan: I call thee by the\nmost modest termes, for I am one of those gentle ones,\nthat will vse the diuell himselfe with curtesie: sayst thou\nthat house is darke?\nMal. As hell sir Topas\nClo. Why it hath bay Windowes transparant as baricadoes,\nand the cleere stores toward the South north, are\nas lustrous as Ebony: and yet complainest thou of obstruction?\nMal. I am not mad sir Topas, I say to you this house is\ndarke\nClo. Madman thou errest: I say there is no darknesse\nbut ignorance, in which thou art more puzel'd then the\naegyptians in their fogge\nMal. I say this house is as darke as Ignorance, thogh\nIgnorance were as darke as hell; and I say there was neuer\nman thus abus'd, I am no more madde then you are,\nmake the triall of it in any constant question\nClo. What is the opinion of Pythagoras concerning\nWilde-fowle?\nMal. That the soule of our grandam, might happily\ninhabite a bird\nClo. What thinkst thou of his opinion?\nMal. I thinke nobly of the soule, and no way aproue\nhis opinion\nClo. Fare thee well: remaine thou still in darkenesse,\nthou shalt hold th' opinion of Pythagoras, ere I will allow\nof thy wits, and feare to kill a Woodcocke, lest thou dispossesse\nthe soule of thy grandam. Fare thee well\nMal. Sir Topas, sir Topas\nTob. My most exquisite sir Topas\nClo. Nay I am for all waters\nMar. Thou mightst haue done this without thy berd\nand gowne, he sees thee not\nTo. To him in thine owne voyce, and bring me word\nhow thou findst him: I would we were well ridde of this\nknauery. If he may bee conueniently deliuer'd, I would\nhe were, for I am now so farre in offence with my Niece,\nthat I cannot pursue with any safety this sport the vppeshot.\nCome by and by to my Chamber.\nExit\nClo. Hey Robin, iolly Robin, tell me how thy Lady\ndoes\nMal. Foole\nClo. My Lady is vnkind, perdie\nMal. Foole\nClo. Alas why is she so?\nMal. Foole, I say\nClo. She loues another. Who calles, ha?\nMal. Good foole, as euer thou wilt deserue well at\nmy hand, helpe me to a Candle, and pen, inke, and paper:\nas I am a Gentleman, I will liue to bee thankefull to thee\nfor't\nClo. M[aster]. Maluolio?\nMal. I good Foole\nClo. Alas sir, how fell you besides your fiue witts?\nMall. Foole, there was neuer man so notoriouslie abus'd:\nI am as well in my wits (foole) as thou art\nClo. But as well: then you are mad indeede, if you be\nno better in your wits then a foole\nMal. They haue heere propertied me: keepe mee in\ndarkenesse, send Ministers to me, Asses, and doe all they\ncan to face me out of my wits\nClo. Aduise you what you say: the Minister is heere.\nMaluolio, Maluolio, thy wittes the heauens restore: endeauour\nthy selfe to sleepe, and leaue thy vaine bibble\nbabble\nMal. Sir Topas\nClo. Maintaine no words with him good fellow.\nWho I sir, not I sir. God buy you good sir Topas: Marry\nAmen. I will sir, I will\nMal. Foole, foole, foole I say\nClo. Alas sir be patient. What say you sir, I am shent\nfor speaking to you\nMal. Good foole, helpe me to some light, and some\npaper, I tell thee I am as well in my wittes, as any man in\nIllyria\nClo. Well-a-day, that you were sir\nMal. By this hand I am: good foole, some inke, paper,\nand light: and conuey what I will set downe to my\nLady: it shall aduantage thee more, then euer the bearing\nof Letter did\nClo. I will help you too't. But tel me true, are you not\nmad indeed, or do you but counterfeit\nMal. Beleeue me I am not, I tell thee true\nClo. Nay, Ile nere beleeue a madman till I see his brains\nI will fetch you light, and paper, and inke\nMal. Foole, Ile requite it in the highest degree:\nI prethee be gone\nClo. I am gone sir, and anon sir,\nIle be with you againe:\nIn a trice, like to the old vice,\nyour neede to sustaine.\nWho with dagger of lath, in his rage and his wrath,\ncries ah ha, to the diuell:\nLike a mad lad, paire thy nayles dad,\nAdieu good man diuell.\nExit\nScaena Tertia.\nEnter Sebastian.\nThis is the ayre, that is the glorious Sunne,\nThis pearle she gaue me, I do feel't, and see't,\nAnd though tis wonder that enwraps me thus,\nYet 'tis not madnesse. Where's Anthonio then,\nI could not finde him at the Elephant,\nYet there he was, and there I found this credite,\nThat he did range the towne to seeke me out,\nHis councell now might do me golden seruice,\nFor though my soule disputes well with my sence,\nThat this may be some error, but no madnesse,\nYet doth this accident and flood of Fortune,\nSo farre exceed all instance, all discourse,\nThat I am readie to distrust mine eyes,\nAnd wrangle with my reason that perswades me\nTo any other trust, but that I am mad,\nOr else the Ladies mad; yet if 'twere so,\nShe could not sway her house, command her followers,\nTake, and giue backe affayres, and their dispatch,\nWith such a smooth, discreet, and stable bearing\nAs I perceiue she do's: there's something in't\nThat is deceiueable. But heere the Lady comes.\nEnter Oliuia, and Priest.\nOl. Blame not this haste of mine: if you meane well\nNow go with me, and with this holy man\nInto the Chantry by: there before him,\nAnd vnderneath that consecrated roofe,\nPlight me the full assurance of your faith,\nThat my most iealious, and too doubtfull soule\nMay liue at peace. He shall conceale it,\nWhiles you are willing it shall come to note,\nWhat time we will our celebration keepe\nAccording to my birth, what do you say?\nSeb. Ile follow this good man, and go with you,\nAnd hauing sworne truth, euer will be true\nOl. Then lead the way good father, & heauens so shine,\nThat they may fairely note this acte of mine.\nExeunt.\nFinis Actus Quartus.\nActus Quintus. Scena Prima.\nEnter Clowne and Fabian.\nFab. Now as thou lou'st me, let me see his Letter\nClo. Good M[aster]. Fabian, grant me another request\nFab. Any thing\nClo. Do not desire to see this Letter\nFab. This is to giue a dogge, and in recompence desire\nmy dogge againe.\nEnter Duke, Viola, Curio, and Lords.\nDuke. Belong you to the Lady Oliuia, friends?\nClo. I sir, we are some of her trappings\nDuke. I know thee well: how doest thou my good\nFellow?\nClo. Truely sir, the better for my foes, and the worse\nfor my friends\nDu. Iust the contrary: the better for thy friends\nClo. No sir, the worse\nDu. How can that be?\nClo. Marry sir, they praise me, and make an asse of me,\nnow my foes tell me plainly, I am an Asse: so that by my\nfoes sir, I profit in the knowledge of my selfe, and by my\nfriends I am abused: so that conclusions to be as kisses, if\nyour foure negatiues make your two affirmatiues, why\nthen the worse for my friends, and the better for my foes\nDu. Why this is excellent\nClo. By my troth sir, no: though it please you to be\none of my friends\nDu. Thou shalt not be the worse for me, there's gold\nClo. But that it would be double dealing sir, I would\nyou could make it another\nDu. O you giue me ill counsell\nClo. Put your grace in your pocket sir, for this once,\nand let your flesh and blood obey it\nDu. Well, I will be so much a sinner to be a double\ndealer: there's another\nClo. Primo, secundo, tertio, is a good play, and the olde\nsaying is, the third payes for all: the triplex sir, is a good\ntripping measure, or the belles of S[aint]. Bennet sir, may put\nyou in minde, one, two, three\nDu. You can foole no more money out of mee at this\nthrow: if you will let your Lady know I am here to speak\nwith her, and bring her along with you, it may awake my\nbounty further\nClo. Marry sir, lullaby to your bountie till I come agen.\nI go sir, but I would not haue you to thinke, that\nmy desire of hauing is the sinne of couetousnesse: but as\nyou say sir, let your bounty take a nappe, I will awake it\nanon.\nExit\nEnter Anthonio and Officers.\nVio. Here comes the man sir, that did rescue mee\nDu. That face of his I do remember well,\nYet when I saw it last, it was besmear'd\nAs blacke as Vulcan, in the smoake of warre:\nA bawbling Vessell was he Captaine of,\nFor shallow draught and bulke vnprizable,\nWith which such scathfull grapple did he make,\nWith the most noble bottome of our Fleete,\nThat very enuy, and the tongue of losse\nCride fame and honor on him: What's the matter?\n1.Offi. Orsino, this is that Anthonio\nThat tooke the Phoenix, and her fraught from Candy,\nAnd this is he that did the Tiger boord,\nWhen your yong Nephew Titus lost his legge;\nHeere in the streets, desperate of shame and state,\nIn priuate brabble did we apprehend him\nVio. He did me kindnesse sir, drew on my side,\nBut in conclusion put strange speech vpon me,\nI know not what 'twas, but distraction\nDu. Notable Pyrate, thou salt-water Theefe,\nWhat foolish boldnesse brought thee to their mercies,\nWhom thou in termes so bloudie, and so deere\nHast made thine enemies?\nAnt. Orsino: Noble sir,\nBe pleas'd that I shake off these names you giue mee:\nAnthonio neuer yet was Theefe, or Pyrate,\nThough I confesse, on base and ground enough\nOrsino's enemie. A witchcraft drew me hither:\nThat most ingratefull boy there by your side,\nFrom the rude seas enrag'd and foamy mouth\nDid I redeeme: a wracke past hope he was:\nHis life I gaue him, and did thereto adde\nMy loue without retention, or restraint,\nAll his in dedication. For his sake,\nDid I expose my selfe (pure for his loue)\nInto the danger of this aduerse Towne,\nDrew to defend him, when he was beset:\nWhere being apprehended, his false cunning\n(Not meaning to partake with me in danger)\nTaught him to face me out of his acquaintance,\nAnd grew a twentie yeeres remoued thing\nWhile one would winke: denide me mine owne purse,\nWhich I had recommended to his vse,\nNot halfe an houre before\nVio. How can this be?\nDu. When came he to this Towne?\nAnt. To day my Lord: and for three months before,\nNo intrim, not a minutes vacancie,\nBoth day and night did we keepe companie.\nEnter Oliuia and attendants.\nDu. Heere comes the Countesse, now heauen walkes\non earth:\nBut for thee fellow, fellow thy words are madnesse,\nThree monthes this youth hath tended vpon mee,\nBut more of that anon. Take him aside\nOl. What would my Lord, but that he may not haue,\nWherein Oliuia may seeme seruiceable?\nCesario, you do not keepe promise with me\nVio. Madam:\nDu. Gracious Oliuia\nOl. What do you say Cesario? Good my Lord\nVio. My Lord would speake, my dutie hushes me\nOl. If it be ought to the old tune my Lord,\nIt is as fat and fulsome to mine eare\nAs howling after Musicke\nDu. Still so cruell?\nOl. Still so constant Lord\nDu. What to peruersenesse? you vnciuill Ladie\nTo whose ingrate, and vnauspicious Altars\nMy soule the faithfull'st offrings haue breath'd out\nThat ere deuotion tender'd. What shall I do?\nOl. Euen what it please my Lord, that shal becom him\nDu. Why should I not, (had I the heart to do it)\nLike to th' Egyptian theefe, at point of death\nKill what I loue: (a sauage iealousie,\nThat sometime sauours nobly) but heare me this:\nSince you to non-regardance cast my faith,\nAnd that I partly know the instrument\nThat screwes me from my true place in your fauour:\nLiue you the Marble-brested Tirant still.\nBut this your Minion, whom I know you loue,\nAnd whom, by heauen I sweare, I tender deerely,\nHim will I teare out of that cruell eye,\nWhere he sits crowned in his masters spight.\nCome boy with me, my thoughts are ripe in mischiefe:\nIle sacrifice the Lambe that I do loue,\nTo spight a Rauens heart within a Doue\nVio. And I most iocund, apt, and willinglie,\nTo do you rest, a thousand deaths would dye\nOl. Where goes Cesario?\nVio. After him I loue,\nMore then I loue these eyes, more then my life,\nMore by all mores, then ere I shall loue wife.\nIf I do feigne, you witnesses aboue\nPunish my life, for tainting of my loue\nOl. Aye me detested, how am I beguil'd?\nVio. Who does beguile you? who does do you wrong?\nOl. Hast thou forgot thy selfe? Is it so long?\nCall forth the holy Father\nDu. Come, away\nOl. Whether my Lord? Cesario, Husband, stay\nDu. Husband?\nOl. I Husband. Can he that deny?\nDu. Her husband, sirrah?\nVio. No my Lord, not I\nOl. Alas, it is the basenesse of thy feare,\nThat makes thee strangle thy propriety:\nFeare not Cesario, take thy fortunes vp,\nBe that thou know'st thou art, and then thou art\nAs great as that thou fear'st.\nEnter Priest.\nO welcome Father:\nFather, I charge thee by thy reuerence\nHeere to vnfold, though lately we intended\nTo keepe in darkenesse, what occasion now\nReueales before 'tis ripe: what thou dost know\nHath newly past, betweene this youth, and me\nPriest. A Contract of eternall bond of loue,\nConfirm'd by mutuall ioynder of your hands,\nAttested by the holy close of lippes,\nStrengthned by enterchangement of your rings,\nAnd all the Ceremonie of this compact\nSeal'd in my function, by my testimony:\nSince when, my watch hath told me, toward my graue\nI haue trauail'd but two houres\nDu. O thou dissembling Cub: what wilt thou be\nWhen time hath sow'd a grizzle on thy case?\nOr will not else thy craft so quickely grow,\nThat thine owne trip shall be thine ouerthrow:\nFarewell, and take her, but direct thy feete,\nWhere thou, and I (henceforth) may neuer meet\nVio. My Lord, I do protest\nOl. O do not sweare,\nHold little faith, though thou hast too much feare.\nEnter Sir Andrew.\nAnd. For the loue of God a Surgeon, send one presently\nto sir Toby\nOl. What's the matter?\nAnd. H'as broke my head acrosse, and has giuen Sir\nToby a bloody Coxcombe too: for the loue of God your\nhelpe, I had rather then forty pound I were at home\nOl. Who has done this sir Andrew?\nAnd. The Counts Gentleman, one Cesario: we tooke\nhim for a Coward, but hee's the verie diuell, incardinate\nDu. My Gentleman Cesario?\nAnd. Odd's lifelings heere he is: you broke my head\nfor nothing, and that that I did, I was set on to do't by sir\nToby\nVio. Why do you speake to me, I neuer hurt you:\nYou drew your sword vpon me without cause,\nBut I bespake you faire, and hurt you not.\nEnter Toby and Clowne.\nAnd. If a bloody coxcombe be a hurt, you haue hurt\nme: I thinke you set nothing by a bloody Coxecombe.\nHeere comes sir Toby halting, you shall heare more: but if\nhe had not beene in drinke, hee would haue tickel'd you\nother gates then he did\nDu. How now Gentleman? how ist with you?\nTo. That's all one, has hurt me, and there's th' end on't:\nSot, didst see Dicke Surgeon, sot?\nClo. O he's drunke sir Toby an houre agone: his eyes\nwere set at eight i'th morning\nTo. Then he's a Rogue, and a passy measures pauyn: I\nhate a drunken rogue\nOl. Away with him? Who hath made this hauocke\nwith them?\nAnd. Ile helpe you sir Toby, because we'll be drest together\nTo. Will you helpe an Asse-head, and a coxcombe, &\na knaue: a thin fac'd knaue, a gull?\nOl. Get him to bed, and let his hurt be look'd too.\nEnter Sebastian.\nSeb. I am sorry Madam I haue hurt your kinsman:\nBut had it beene the brother of my blood,\nI must haue done no lesse with wit and safety.\nYou throw a strange regard vpon me, and by that\nI do perceiue it hath offended you:\nPardon me (sweet one) euen for the vowes\nWe made each other, but so late ago\nDu. One face, one voice, one habit, and two persons,\nA naturall Perspectiue, that is, and is not\nSeb. Anthonio: O my deere Anthonio,\nHow haue the houres rack'd, and tortur'd me,\nSince I haue lost thee?\nAnt. Sebastian are you?\nSeb. Fear'st thou that Anthonio?\nAnt. How haue you made diuision of your selfe,\nAn apple cleft in two, is not more twin\nThen these two creatures. Which is Sebastian?\nOl. Most wonderfull\nSeb. Do I stand there? I neuer had a brother:\nNor can there be that Deity in my nature\nOf heere, and euery where. I had a sister,\nWhom the blinde waues and surges haue deuour'd:\nOf charity, what kinne are you to me?\nWhat Countreyman? What name? What Parentage?\nVio. Of Messaline: Sebastian was my Father,\nSuch a Sebastian was my brother too:\nSo went he suited to his watery tombe:\nIf spirits can assume both forme and suite,\nYou come to fright vs\nSeb. A spirit I am indeed,\nBut am in that dimension grossely clad,\nWhich from the wombe I did participate.\nWere you a woman, as the rest goes euen,\nI should my teares let fall vpon your cheeke,\nAnd say, thrice welcome drowned Viola\nVio. My father had a moale vpon his brow\nSeb. And so had mine\nVio. And dide that day when Viola from her birth\nHad numbred thirteene yeares\nSeb. O that record is liuely in my soule,\nHe finished indeed his mortall acte\nThat day that made my sister thirteene yeares\nVio. If nothing lets to make vs happie both,\nBut this my masculine vsurp'd attyre:\nDo not embrace me, till each circumstance,\nOf place, time, fortune, do cohere and iumpe\nThat I am Viola, which to confirme,\nIle bring you to a Captaine in this Towne,\nWhere lye my maiden weeds: by whose gentle helpe,\nI was preseru'd to serue this Noble Count:\nAll the occurrence of my fortune since\nHath beene betweene this Lady, and this Lord\nSeb. So comes it Lady, you haue beene mistooke:\nBut Nature to her bias drew in that.\nYou would haue bin contracted to a Maid,\nNor are you therein (by my life) deceiu'd,\nYou are betroth'd both to a maid and man\nDu. Be not amaz'd, right noble is his blood:\nIf this be so, as yet the glasse seemes true,\nI shall haue share in this most happy wracke,\nBoy, thou hast saide to me a thousand times,\nThou neuer should'st loue woman like to me\nVio. And all those sayings, will I ouer sweare,\nAnd all those swearings keepe as true in soule,\nAs doth that Orbed Continent, the fire,\nThat seuers day from night\nDu. Giue me thy hand,\nAnd let me see thee in thy womans weedes\nVio. The Captaine that did bring me first on shore\nHath my Maides garments: he vpon some Action\nIs now in durance, at Maluolio's suite,\na Gentleman, and follower of my Ladies\nOl. He shall inlarge him: fetch Maluolio hither,\nAnd yet alas, now I remember me,\nThey say poore Gentleman, he's much distract.\nEnter Clowne with a Letter, and Fabian.\nA most extracting frensie of mine owne\nFrom my remembrance, clearly banisht his.\nHow does he sirrah?\nCl. Truely Madam, he holds Belzebub at the staues end as\nwell as a man in his case may do: has heere writ a letter to\nyou, I should haue giuen't you to day morning. But as a\nmadmans Epistles are no Gospels, so it skilles not much\nwhen they are deliuer'd\nOl. Open't, and read it\nClo. Looke then to be well edified, when the Foole\ndeliuers the Madman. By the Lord Madam\nOl. How now, art thou mad?\nClo. No Madam, I do but reade madnesse: and your\nLadyship will haue it as it ought to bee, you must allow\nVox\nOl. Prethee reade i'thy right wits\nClo. So I do Madona: but to reade his right wits, is to\nreade thus: therefore, perpend my Princesse, and giue\neare\nOl. Read it you, sirrah\nFab. Reads. By the Lord Madam, you wrong me, and\nthe world shall know it: Though you haue put mee into\ndarkenesse, and giuen your drunken Cosine rule ouer me,\nyet haue I the benefit of my senses as well as your Ladieship.\nI haue your owne letter, that induced mee to the\nsemblance I put on; with the which I doubt not, but to\ndo my selfe much right, or you much shame: thinke of\nme as you please. I leaue my duty a little vnthought of,\nand speake out of my iniury. The madly vs'd Maluolio\nOl. Did he write this?\nClo. I Madame\nDu. This sauours not much of distraction\nOl. See him deliuer'd Fabian, bring him hither:\nMy Lord, so please you, these things further thought on,\nTo thinke me as well a sister, as a wife,\nOne day shall crowne th' alliance on't, so please you,\nHeere at my house, and at my proper cost\nDu. Madam, I am most apt t' embrace your offer:\nYour Master quits you: and for your seruice done him,\nSo much against the mettle of your sex,\nSo farre beneath your soft and tender breeding,\nAnd since you call'd me Master, for so long:\nHeere is my hand, you shall from this time bee\nYour Masters Mistris\nOl. A sister, you are she.\nEnter Maluolio.\nDu. Is this the Madman?\nOl. I my Lord, this same: How now Maluolio?\nMal. Madam, you haue done me wrong,\nNotorious wrong\nOl. Haue I Maluolio? No\nMal. Lady you haue, pray you peruse that Letter.\nYou must not now denie it is your hand,\nWrite from it if you can, in hand, or phrase,\nOr say, tis not your seale, not your inuention:\nYou can say none of this. Well, grant it then,\nAnd tell me in the modestie of honor,\nWhy you haue giuen me such cleare lights of fauour,\nBad me come smiling, and crosse-garter'd to you,\nTo put on yellow stockings, and to frowne\nVpon sir Toby, and the lighter people:\nAnd acting this in an obedient hope,\nWhy haue you suffer'd me to be imprison'd,\nKept in a darke house, visited by the Priest,\nAnd made the most notorious gecke and gull,\nThat ere inuention plaid on? Tell me why?\nOl. Alas Maluolio, this is not my writing,\nThough I confesse much like the Charracter:\nBut out of question, tis Marias hand.\nAnd now I do bethinke me, it was shee\nFirst told me thou wast mad; then cam'st in smiling,\nAnd in such formes, which heere were presuppos'd\nVpon thee in the Letter: prethee be content,\nThis practice hath most shrewdly past vpon thee:\nBut when we know the grounds, and authors of it,\nThou shalt be both the Plaintiffe and the Iudge\nOf thine owne cause\nFab. Good Madam heare me speake,\nAnd let no quarrell, nor no braule to come,\nTaint the condition of this present houre,\nWhich I haue wondred at. In hope it shall not,\nMost freely I confesse my selfe, and Toby\nSet this deuice against Maluolio heere,\nVpon some stubborne and vncourteous parts\nWe had conceiu'd against him. Maria writ\nThe Letter, at sir Tobyes great importance,\nIn recompence whereof, he hath married her:\nHow with a sportfull malice it was follow'd,\nMay rather plucke on laughter then reuenge,\nIf that the iniuries be iustly weigh'd,\nThat haue on both sides past\nOl. Alas poore Foole, how haue they baffel'd thee?\nClo. Why some are borne great, some atchieue greatnesse,\nand some haue greatnesse throwne vpon them. I\nwas one sir, in this Enterlude, one sir Topas sir, but that's\nall one: By the Lord Foole, I am not mad: but do you remember,\nMadam, why laugh you at such a barren rascall,\nand you smile not he's gag'd: and thus the whirlegigge\nof time, brings in his reuenges\nMal. Ile be reueng'd on the whole packe of you?\nOl. He hath bene most notoriously abus'd\nDu. Pursue him, and entreate him to a peace:\nHe hath not told vs of the Captaine yet,\nWhen that is knowne, and golden time conuents\nA solemne Combination shall be made\nOf our deere soules. Meane time sweet sister,\nWe will not part from hence. Cesario come\n(For so you shall be while you are a man:)\nBut when in other habites you are seene,\nOrsino's Mistris, and his fancies Queene.\nExeunt.\nClowne sings .\nWhen that I was and a little tine boy,\nwith hey, ho, the winde and the raine:\nA foolish thing was but a toy,\nfor the raine it raineth euery day.\nBut when I came to mans estate,\nwith hey ho, &c.\nGainst Knaues and Theeues men shut their gate,\nfor the raine, &c.\nBut when I came alas to wiue,\nwith hey ho, &c.\nBy swaggering could I neuer thriue,\nfor the raine, &c.\nBut when I came vnto my beds,\nwith hey ho, &c.\nWith tospottes still had drunken heades,\nfor the raine, &c.\nA great while ago the world begon,\nhey ho, &c.\nBut that's all one, our Play is done,\nand wee'l striue to please you euery day.\nFINIS. Twelfe Night, Or what you will.","title":"Twelfe Night, Or what you will","type":"page"}