Imágenes de páginas

She fat like patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed?
We men may say more, fwear more, but, indeed,
Our shows are more than will; for ftill we prove
Much in our vows, but little in our love.

Duke. But dy'd thy fifter of her love, my boy?
Vio. She's all the daughters of my father's house,
And I am all the fons, but yet I know not, -
Sir, fhall I to this lady?

Duke. Ay, that's the theme.

To her in hafte; give her this jewel: fay,
My love can give no place, bide no denay.



Olivia's garden.

Enter fir Toby, fir Andrew, and Fabian.

Sir To... Nay, I'll come; if I lofe a fcruple of this

OME thy fignior Fabian.

fport, let me be boil'd to death with melancholy.

Sir To. Would't thou not be glad to have the niggardly rafcally sheepbiter come by fome notable shame?

Fab. I would exult, man; you know, he brought me out of favour with my lady, about a bear-baiting here.

Sir To. To anger him, we'll have the bear again; and we will fool him black and blue, fhall we not, fir Andrew?

Sir And. An we do not, it's pity of our lives.

Enter Maria..

Sir To. Here comes the little villain: how now, my nettle of India?

Mar. Get ye all three into the box-tree: Malvolio's coming down this walk; he has been yonder i'th' fun practifing behaviour to his own fhadow, this half hour. Obferve him, for the love of


mockery; for, I know, this letter will make a contemplative ideot of him. Close, in the name of jesting; - lie thou there; [drops a letter.] for here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling. [Exit.


Enter Malvolio.

Mal. 'Tis but fortune; all is fortune. Maria once told me, fhe did affect me; and I have heard herself come thus near, that, fhould she fancy, it should be one of my complexion. Befides, she uses me with a more exalted respect, than any one else that follows her. What fhould I think on't?

Sir To. Here's an overweening rogue !

Fab. O, peace! comtemplation makes a rare turkey-cock of him; how he jets under his advanc'd plumes!

Sir And. 'Slife, I could fo beat the rogue!

Sir To. Peace! I fay.

Mal. To be count Malvolio.

Sir To. Ah, rogue!

Sir And. Piftol him, pistol him.

Sir To. Peace, peace!

Mal. There is example for't: the lady of the Strachy* married the yeoman of the wardrobe.

Sir And. Fie on him, Jezebel!

Fab. O, peace! now he's deeply in; look how imagination blows him.

Mal. Having been three months married to her, fitting in my ftate

Sir To. O for a stone-bow to hit him in the eye!

Mal. Calling my officers about me, in my branch'd velvet gown; having come from a day-bed, where I have left Olivia fleeping.

[ocr errors]

• This is a word mistaken in the copying or printing, but it is not easy to conjecture what the word hould be: perhaps, Stratarch, which (as well as Strategue) fignifies a general of an army, a commander in chief. Sir T. H. [See gloffary upon the word.]

[ocr errors][ocr errors]

Sir To. Fire and brimstone!

Fab. O, peace, peace!

Mal. And then to have the humour of ftate; and after a demure travel of regard, telling them, I know my place, as I would they should do theirs -to ask for my uncle Toby — Sir To. Bolts and fhackles !

Fab. O, peace, peace, peace! now, now.

Mal. Seven of my people with an obedient start make out for him: I frown the while; and, perchance, wind up my watch, or play with some rich jewel. Toby approaches, courtfies there to me. Sir To. Shall this fellow live?

Feb. Though our filence be drawn from us by th'ears, yet peace. Mal. I extend my hand to him thus; quenching my familiar fmile with an auftere regard of control.

Sir To. And does not Toby take you a blow o'th' lips then? Mal. Saying, uncle Toby, my fortunes having caft me on your niece, give me this prerogative of fpeech —

Sir To. What, what?

Mal. You must amend your drunkenness.

Sir To. Out, scab!

Fab. Nay, patience! or we break the finews of our plot. Mal. Befides, you wafte the treasure of your time with a foolish knight

Sir And. That's me, I warrant you.

Mal. One fir Andrew.

Sir And. I knew 'twas I; for many do call me fool.

Mal. What implement have we here? [taking up the letter.
Fab. Now is the woodcock near the gin.

Sir To. O, peace! now the spirit of humours intimate reading aloud to him!

Mal. By my life, this is my lady's hand: these be her very C's, her U's, and her T's, and thus makes fhe her great P's. It is, in contempt of question, her hand.

Sir And. Her C's, her U's, and her T's: why that?

Mal. To the unknown belov'd, this, and my good wishes: her very phrafes! By your leave, wax. Soft! and the impreffure her Lucrece,


Mm m

Lucrece, with which she uses to feal; 'tis my lady: to whom fhould this be?

Fab. This wins him, liver and all.

Mal. Jove knows I love; alas! but who?

Lips do not move; no man must know.

No man must know what follows? the numbers alter
man must know—if this fhould be thee, Malvolio?
Sir To. Marry hang thee, brock!

Mal. I may command where I adore;

[ocr errors]

But filence, like a Lucrece knife,
With bloodless ftroke my heart doth gore;
M. O. A. I. doth fway my life.

Fab. A fuftian riddle.

[ocr errors]

Sir To. Excellent wench, fay I.

Mal. M. O. A. I. doth fway my life—nay, but first, let me

fee-let me fee


Fab. What a dish of poison has she dress'd him!

Sir To. And with what wing the ftanyel checks at it! Mal. I may command where I adore. Why, she may command me: I serve her, she is my lady. Why, this is evident to any formal capacity. There is no obftruction in this—and the endwhat should that alphabetical pofition portend? if I could make that resemble something in me. Softly — M. O. A. I. —

Sir To. O, ay! make out that: he is now at a cold scent. Fab. Sowter will cry upon't for all this, though it ben't as rank as a fox.

Mal. M.-Malvolio

M.-why, that begins my name. Fab. Did not I fay, he would work it out? the cur is excellent at faults.

Sir To. Ay, or I'll cudgel him, and make him cry O.
Mal. And then I comes behind.

Mal. M. But then there is no confonancy in the sequel; that fuffers under probation: A should follow, but O does.

Fab. And O fhall end, I hope.

Fab. Ay, an you had any eye behind you, you might see more detraction at your heels than fortunes before you.


[ocr errors]



Mal. M. O. A. I. - this fimulation is not as the formerand yet to crush this a little, it would bow to me, for every one of these letters is in my name. Soft! here follows prose — Ïf this fall into thy hand, revolve. In my ftars I am above thee; but be not afraid of greatnefs: fome are born great, fome atchieve greatness, and fome have greatness thrust upon them. Thy fates open their hands; let thy blood and Spirit embrace them: and, to inure thyself to what thou art like to be, caft thy humble flough, and appear fresh. Be oppofite with a kinfman, furly with fervants: let thy tongue tang with arguments of flate; put thyself into the trick of fingularity. She thus advifes thee, that fighs for thee. Remember who commended thy yellow ftockings, and wifh'd to fee thee ever cross-garter'd: I fay, remember. Go to; thou art made, if thou defireft to be fo: if not, let me fee thee a steward ftill, the fellow of fervants, and not worthy to touch fortune's fingers. Farewel. She that would alter fervices with thee the fortunate and happy. Daylight and champian discover no more: this is open. I will be proud, I will read politick authors, I will baffle fir Toby, I will wash off grofs acquaintance, I will be point devise, the very man. I do not fool myself, to let imagination jade me; for every reafon excites to this, that my lady loves me. She did commend my yellow ftockings of late, she did praise my leg, being crofs-garter'd; and in this fhe manifefts herself to my love, and, with a kind of injunction, drives me to these habits of her liking. I thank my stars, I am happy. I will be ftrange, ftout, in yellow ftockings, and cross-garter'd, even with the swiftness of putting on. Jove, and my ftars, be praised! Here is yet a postscript. Thou canst not choose but know who I am: if thou entertaineft my love, let it appear in thy fmiling; thy Smiles become thee well: therefore in my prefence ftill fmile, dear my sweet, I pr'ythee. Jove, I thank thee: I will fmile; I will do every thing that thou wilt have me. [Exit.

Fab. I will not give my part of this sport for a pension of thousands to be pay'd from the fophy.

Sir To. I could marry this wench for this device.

Sir And. And fo could I too.

Sir To. And ask no other dowry with her, but fuch another jeft.

M m m 2


« AnteriorContinuar »