introductory Remarke SEVERAL of the conjectural chronologists of the plays of Shakspeare assign a very late date to the first appearance of the "TWELFTH NIGHT;" considering it, indeed, to have been the lastwritten of all his wondrous dramas: and, certainly, of his many marvelous works, there is not one upon which the seal of that consummate perfection for which even the most exalted genius must stand indebted to all-maturing Time, is more lovelily and vividly set. But the truth is, little is positively known as to the actual order in which the plays of Shakspeare were either written or acted: and of his numerous commentators, the figural labors have been equally futile and superfluous with the great bulk of their verbal ingenuities. The story of the serious portions of this fine play, "the right happy and copious industry" (as his contemporary Webster somewhat sneeringly phrases it) of its great author may have derived from one of Belleforest's "HISTOIRES TRAGIQUES," or from its Italian original, the thirty-sixth novel of the second part of the "TALES OF BANDELLO;" a novelist in whose rich mine all the dramatists of the age of Elizabeth wrought deeply for the materials of their incessant gorgeous poetic coinage; from one of the "EGLOGS" of Barnaby Googe, whose poems were published in 1563; or from the "HISTORY OF APPOLLONIUS AND SILLA," which was printed in 1583, in a miscellany entitled, "RICH, HIS FAREWELL TO MILITARY PROFESSION." It was, however, the mere form of which Shakspeare availed himself: the subtle spirit of the work is his, and his alone; and the exquisitely comic characters of the drama that prince-royal of joyous topers, Sir Toby Belch, a joker worthy to have been the intimate of Sir John Falstaff; the foolish, prodigal, conceited, quarrelsome, cowardly, super-silly fortune-hunter, Sir Andrew Aguecheek (a distant cousin, we have always thought, of Master Abraham Slender), who "harms his wit" by his "great eating of beef;" who has "an excellent head of hair," that "hangs like flax on a distaff;" who, in dancing, has the back-trick simply as strong as any man in Illyria;" and who " delights in masks and revels sometimes altogether:" the exuberantly witty Clown, Festo the Jester, "a fool that the lady Olivia's father took much delight in," and whose veriest freedoms are, therefore, rendered permissive, and even sacred, to the lady Olivia: he, the pathetic vocalist, who "takes pleasure in singing;" Malvolio, the fantastic, ill-natured, self-admiring, and sadly but deservedly betricked steward: and the vivacious little Maria, "the youngest wren of nine," the "nettle of India:" - these admirable creations are Shakspeare, soul, body, and all! 66 As we abandon ourselves to the poetry of this play, the sweetest spirit of love floats balmily over the heart and imagination, "Like the sweet south, That breathes upon a bank of violets, The sense is saturated with it. We are " canopied with bowers," under the fragrant beauty of which our lovethoughtslie rich" beyond richness. By the "rich golden shaft" of the heavenliest of human passions, are killed "the flock of all affections else that live in us;" and in its sole and omnipotent power we are chained, entranced, spell-bound: "It gives a very echo to the seat and one which, in the mysterious distance, we hear calling to us alluringly for ever. T. W. Twelfth Night: or, What You Will. ACT I. SCENE I. — An Apartment in the DUKE's Palace. O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou! Even in a minute! so full of shapes is fancy, That it alone is high-fantastical. Cur. Will you go hunt, my lord? Cur. What, Curio? The hart. Duke. Why, so I do, the noblest that I have: O, when mine eyes did see Olivia first, Methought she purged the air of pestilence; That instant was I turned into a hart; And my desires, like fell and cruel bounds, E'er since pursue me:- How now? what news from her? Enter VALENTINE. Val. So please, my lord, I might not be admitted, But from her handmaid do return this answer: Vio. O my poor brother! and so, perchance, may he be. Vio. There is a fair behavior in thee, captain; And though that nature with a beauteous wall Cap. True, madam: and, to comfort you with Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee I will believe thou hast a mind that suits Cap. Be you his eunuch, and your mute I'll be; Cap. Ay, madam, well; for I was bred and When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not SCENE III.- A Room in OLIVIA's house. Enter SIR TOBY BELCH and MARIA. Sir Toby. What a plague means my niece, to take the death of her brother thus? I am sure care 's an enemy to life. Mar. By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o' nights; your cousin, my lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours. Sir Toby. Why, let her except before excepted. Mar. Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modest limits of order. Sir Toby. Confine! I'll confine myself no finer than I am; these clothes are good enough to drink in, and so be these boots too! an' they be not, let them hang themselves in their own straps. Mar. That quaffing and drinking will undo you: I heard my lady talk of it yesterday; and of a foolish knight, that you brought in one night here to be her wooer. Sir Toby. Who? Sir Andrew Aguecheek? Sir Toby. He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria. Mar. What's that to the purpose? Sir Toby. Why, he has three thousand ducats might never draw sword again. Fair lady, do you think you have fools in hand? a-year. Sir Toby. By this hand, they are scoundrels and subtractors that say so of him. Who are they? Mar. They that add, moreover, he's drunk nightly in your company. Sir Toby. With drinking healths to my niece; I'll drink to her as long as there is a passage in my throat, and drink in Illyria: He's a coward and a coystril that will not drink to my niece till his brains turn o' the toe like a parish top. What, wench? Castiliano vulgo; for here comes Sir Andrew Agueface. Enter SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK. Sir Toby. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of canary: When did I see thee so put down? Sir And. Never in your life, I think unless you see canary put me down: Methinks, sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian, or an ordinary man has: but I am a great eater of beef, and I believe that does harm to my wit. Sir Toby. No question. Sir And. An' I thought that, I'd forswear it. Sir And. Sir Toby Belch! how now, Sir Toby I'll ride home to-morrow, Sir Toby. Belch? Sir Toby. Sweet Sir Andrew! Sir And. Bless you, fair shrew. Mar. And you too, sir. Sir Toby. Accost, Sir Andrew, accost. Sir Toby. My niece's chambermaid. Sir And. Good Mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance. Mar. My name is Mary, sir. Sir And. Good Mistress Mary Accost, Sir Toby. You mistake, knight; accost is, front her, board her, woo her, assail her. Sir And. By my troth, I would not undertake her in this company. Is that the meaning of accost? Mar. Fare you well, gentlemen. Sir Toby. An' thou let part so, Sir Andrew, 'would thou mightst never draw sword again. Sir Toby. Pourquoy, my dear knight! Sir And. What is pourquoy? do or not do? I would I had bestowed that time in the tongues, that I have in fencing, dancing, and bear-baiting: O, had I but followed the arts! Sir Toby. Then hadst thou had an excellent head of hair. Sir And. Why, would that have mended my hair? Sir Toby. Past question; for thou seest it will not curl by nature. Sir And. But it becomes me well enough, does 't not? Sir Toby. Excellent! it hangs like flax on a distaff; and I hope to see a housewife take thee between her legs, and spin it off. Sir And. 'Faith, I'll home to-morrow, Sir Toby: your niece will not be seen; or, if she be, it's four to one she 'll none of me: the count himself, here Sir And. An' you part so, mistress, I would I hard by, wooes her. |
