SCENE I. The Sea-coast. Enter ANTONIO and SEBASTIAN. АСТ II. that is, kill him whom you have recovered, desire it not. Fare ye well at once my bosom is full of kindness; and I am yet so near the manners of Ant. Will you stay no longer? nor will you not my mother, that upon the least occasion more, that I with you? go Seb. By your patience, no: my stars shine darkly over me; the malignancy of my fate might, perhaps, distemper yours; therefore I shall crave of you your leave, that I may bear my evils alone: It were a bad recompense for your love, to lay any of them on you. Ant. Let me yet know of you, whither you are bound. Seb. No 'sooth, sir; my determinate voyage is mere extravagancy. But I perceive in you so excellent a touch of modesty, that you will not extort from me what I am willing to keep in; therefore it charges me in manners the rather to express myself. You must know of me, then, Antonio, my name is Sebastian, which I called Roderigo; my father was that Sebastian of Messaline, whom I know you have heard of: he left behind him, myself, and a sister, both born in an hour. If the heavens had been pleased, 'would we had so ended! but you, sir, altered that; for, some hour before you took me from the breach of the sea, was my sister drowned. Ant. Alas, the day! Seb. A lady, sir, though it was said she much resembled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful; but though I could not, with such estimable wonder, overfar believe that, yet thus far I will boldly publish her, she bore a mind that envy could not but call fair: she is drowned already, sir, with salt water, though I seem to drown her remembrance again with more. Ant. Pardon me, sir, your bad entertainment. Seb. O, good Antonio, forgive me your trouble. Ant. If you will not murder me for my love, let me be your servant. mine eyes will tell tales of me. I am bound to the Count Orsino's court: farewell. [Exit. Ant. The gentleness of all the gods go with thee. SCENE II. A Street. Enter VIOLA; MALVOLIO following. Vio. Even now, sir; on a moderate pace I have since arrived but hither. Mal. She returns this ring to you, sir; you might have saved me my pains, to have taken it away yourself. She adds moreover, that you should put your lord into a desperate assurance she will none of him: and one thing more; that you be never so hardy to come again in his affairs, unless it be to report your lord's taking of this. Receive it so. Vio. She took the ring of me: I'll none of it. Mal. Come, sir, you peevishly threw it to her; and her will is, it should be so returned: if it be worth stooping for, there it lies in your eye; if not, be it his that finds it. [Exit. Vio. I left no ring with her: What means this Fortune forbid my outside have not charmed her! She loves me, sure; the cunning of her passion Seb. If you will not undo what you have done, Invites me in this churlish messenger. None of my lord's ring! why, he sent her none. In women's waxen hearts to set their forms! [Exit. SCENE III.- A Room in OLIVIA's house. Enter SIR TOBY BELCH and SIR ANDREW AGUE CHEEK. Sir Toby. Approach, Sir Andrew not to be abed after midnight, is to be up betimes and diluculo surgere, thou know'st Sir And. Nay, by my troth, I know not but I know, to be up late, is to be up late. Sir Toby. A false conclusion; I hate it as an unfilled can: To be up after midnight, and to go to bed then, is early so that, to go to bed after midnight, is to go to bed betimes. Do not our lives consist of the four elements? Sir And. 'Faith, so they say; but I think it rather consists of eating and drinking. Sir Toby. Thou art a scholar; let us therefore eat and drink.-Marian, I say! wine! Enter Clown. a stoop of Sir And. Here comes the fool, i' faith. such a leg, and so sweet a breath to sing, as the fool has. In sooth, thou wast in very gracious fooling last night, when thou spokest of Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians passing the equinoctial of Queubus: 't was very good, i' faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy leman hadst it? Clo. I did impeticos thy gratillity; for Malvolio's nose is no whipstock: My lady has a white hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottle alehouses. Sir And. Excellent! Why, this is the best fooling, when all is done. Now a song. Sir Toby. Come on; let's have a song. there is sixpence for you: Sir And. There's a testril of me too: if one knight gives a Clo. Would you have a love-song, or a song of good life? Sir Toby. A love-song, a love-song. Sir And. Ay, ay; I care not for good life. Clown sings. O mistress mine, where are you roaming? Every wise man's son doth know. Sir And. Excellent good, i' faith! Sir Toby. Good, good. Clown sings. What is love? 't is not hereafter: In delay there lies no plenty; Then come kiss me, sweet-and-twenty, Sir And. A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight. Sir Toby. A contagious breath. Sir And. Very sweet and contagious, i' faith. Sir Toby. To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in Clo. How now, my hearts? Did you never see contagion. But shall we make the welkin dance the picture of we three. Sir Toby. Welcome, ass. catch. indeed? Shall we rouse the night-owl in a catch Now let's have a that will draw three souls out of one weaver? shall we do that? Sir And. An you love me, let's do it: I am lent breast. I had rather than forty shillings I had dog at a catch. Clo. By 'r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch misdemeanors, you are welcome to the house; if well. not, an it would please you to take leave of her, she Sir And. Most certain: let our catch be, is very willing to bid you farewell. "Thou knave." Clo. "Hold thy peace, thou knave," knight? I shall be constrained in 't to call thee knave, knight. Sir And. 'Tis not the first time I have constrained one to call me knave. Begin, fool; it be gins, "Hold thy peace." Clo. I shall never begin if I hold my peace. Enter MARIA. Mar. What a catterwauling do you keep here! If my lady have not called up her steward, Malvolio, and bid him turn you out of doors, never trust me Sir Toby. "Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs be gone." Mar. Nay, good Sir Toby. Clo. "His eyes do shew his days are almost done." Mal. Is't even so? Sir Toby. "But I will never die." Sir Toby. "Shall I bid him go?" [Singing. Sir Toby. "Shall I bid him go, and spare not?" Clo. "O no, no, no, no, you dare not." Sir Toby. Out o' time? sir, ye lie.- Art any more than a steward? Dost thou think, because Sir Toby. My lady's a Cataian; we are politi-thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and cian's; Malvolio's a Peg-a-Ramsay, and "Three ale? merry men be we." Am not I consanguineous? Clo. Yes, by Saint Anne; and ginger shall be am not I of her blood? Tilly-vally, lady! "There hot i' the mouth too. dwelt a man in Babylon, lady, lady!" [Singing. Clo. Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable fooling. Mal. My masters, are you mad? or what are you? Have you no wit, manners, nor honesty, but to gabble like tinkers at this time of night? Do ye make an alehouse of my lady's house, that ye squeak out your cozier's catches without any mitigation or remorse of voice? Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time, in you? Sir Toby. We did keep time, sir, in our catches. Sneck up! Mal. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My lady bade me tell you, that, though she harbors you as her kinsman, she 's nothing allied to your disorders. If you can separate yourself and your Sir Toby. Thou'rt i' the right. - Go, sir, rub your chain with crums: A stoop of wine, Maria. Mal. Mistress Mary, if you prized my lady's favor at any thing more than contempt, you would not give means for this uncivil rule; she shall know of it, by this hand. [Exit. Mar. Go shake your ears. Sir And. 'T were as good a deed as to drink when a man's a-hungry, to challenge him to the field; and then to break promise with him, and make a fool of him. Sir Toby. Do't knight; I'll write thee a challenge; or I'll deliver thy indignation to him by word of mouth. Mar. Sweet Sir Toby, be patient for to-night; since the youth of the count's was to-day with my lady, she is much out of quiet. For Monsieur Malvolio, let me alone with him if I do not gull him into a nay word, and make him a common recreation, do not think I have wit enough to lie straight in my bed: I know I can do 't. Sir Toby. Possess us; possess us; tell us something of him. Mar. Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Puritan. Sir And. O, if I thought that, I'd beat him like a dog. Sir Toby. What, for being a Puritan? thy exquisite reason, dear knight? Sir And. I have no exquisite reason for 't, but I have reason good enough. Mar. The devil a Puritan that he is, or anything constantly but a time-pleaser; an affectioned ass, that cons state without book, and utters it by great swarths: the best persuaded of himself, so crammed, as he thinks, with excellencies, that it is his ground of faith that all that look on him love him; and on that vice in him will my revenge find notable cause to work. Sir Toby. What wilt thou do? Mar. I will drop in his way some obscure epistles of love; wherein, by the color of his beard, the shape of his leg, the manner of his gait, the expressure of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he shall find himself most feelingly personated: I can write very like my lady, 7, your niece; on a forgotten matter we can hardly make distinction of our hands. Sir Toby. Excellent! I smell a device. Sir Toby. He shall think, by the letter that thou wilt drop, that they come from my niece, and that she is in love with him. Mar. My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that color. Sir Toby. And your horse now would make him Sir Toby. Send for money, knight; if thou hast her not in the end, call me Cut. Sir And. If I do not, never trust me, take it how you will. Sir Toby. Come, come; I'll go burn some sack, 't is too late to go to bed now: come, knight; come, knight. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. A Room in the DUKE's Palace. Enter DUKE, VIOLA, CURIO, and others. Duke. Give me some music:- Now, good morrow, friends: Now, good Cesario: But that piece of song, That old and antique song we heard last night; Methought it did relieve my passion much; More than light airs and recollected terms, Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times: Come, but one verse. Cur. He is not here, so please your lordship, that should sing it. Duke. Who was it? Cur. Feste, the jester, my lord; a fool that the Lady Olivia's father took much delight in; he is about the house. Duke. Seek him out, and play the tune the while. [Exit CURIO.-Music. Come hither, boy. If ever thou shalt love, In the sweet pangs of it remember me: For such as I am all true lovers are; Unstaid and skittish in all motions else, Save in the constant image of the creature That is beloved. How dost thou like this tune? Vio. It gives a very echo to the seat Where love is throned. Duke. Thou dost speak masterly: My life upon 't, young though thou art, thine eye Hath stayed upon some favor that it loves; Vio. A little, by your favor. Duke. What kind of woman is 't? So sways she level in her husband's heart. Vio. I think it well, my lord. Duke. Give me now leave to leave thee. Clo. Now, the melancholy god protect thee; and the tailor make thy doublet of changeable taffata, for thy mind is a very opal! — I would have men of such constancy put to sea, that their business might be every thing, and their intent every Duke. Then let thy love be younger than thy- where; for that's it that always makes a good voy self, Or thy affection cannot hold the bent: For women are as roses; whose fair flower, Being once displayed, doth fall that very hour. Re-enter CURIO and Clown. Once more, Cesario, Get thee to yon' same sovereign cruelty: The parts that fortune hath bestowed upon her, Duke. O fellow, come, the song we had last Tell her, I hold as giddily as fortune; night: But 't is that miracle and queen of gems 'Sooth, but you must. soul. Say that some lady, as perhaps there is, you have for Olivia: you cannot love her; You tell her so: Must she not then be answered? Can bide the beating of so strong a passion Clo. Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid, one But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, time or another. Feed on her damask check; she pined in thought; |
