Sir To. A false conclusion; I hate it as an unfilled can: To be up after midnight, and to go to bed them, is early so that to go to bed after midnight, is to go to bed hetimes. 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 To. Thou art a scholar; let us therefore eat and drink.-Marian, I say!——a stoop of wine! in a catch, that will draw three souls out of one weaver? shall we do that? Sir And. An you love me, let's do't: I am dog at a catch. Člo. By'r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well. Sir And. Most certain: let our catch be, Thou knave. Clo. Hold thy peace, thou knave, knight? I shall be constrain'd in't to call thee knave, knight. Sir And. 'Tis not the first time I have constrain'd one to call me knave. Begin, fool; it begins, Hold thy peace. Clo. I shall never begin, if I hold my peace. Mar. What a catterwauling do you keep Sir And. By my troth, the fool has an excellent breast. I had rather than forty shillings I had 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; 'twas very good, i'faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy Clo. I did impeticos thy gratillity; for Mal-merry men be we. Am not I consanguineous ? volio's nose is no whip-stock: My lady has a There dwelt a man in Babylon, lady, lady! am I not of her blood? Tilly-valley, lady! white hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottle[Singing. ale houses. leman Hadst it? Sir And. Excellent! Why, this is the best fooling, when all is done. Now, a song. Sir To. Come on; there is sixpence for you: let's have a song. Sir And. There's a testril of me too: if one knight give a Clo. Would you have a love-song, or a song of good life? Sir To. A love-song, a love-song. Sir And. Ay, ay; I care not for good life. SONG. Clo. Omistress mine, where are you roaming? Sir And. Excellent good, i'faith! Clo. What is love? 'tis not hereafter; Sir And. A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight. Sir To. A contagious breath. Sir And. Very sweet and contagious, i'faith. Sir To. To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion. But, shall we make the welkin dance indeed? Shall we rouse the night-owl cians; Malvolio's a Peg-a-Ramsey, and Three Sir To. My lady's a Cataian, we are politi Clo. Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable fooling. disposed, and so do I too; he does it with a 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 you make an alehouse of my lady's house, that ye squeak out your coziers' catches without any mitigation or remorse of voice? Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time, in you? Sir To. 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 harbours you as her kinsman, she's nothing allied to your disorders. If you can separate yourself and your misdemeanours, you are welcome to the house; if not, an it would please you to take leave of her, she is very willing to bid you farewell. Sir To. Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs be gone. Mar. Nay, good sir Toby. Clo. His eyes do show his days are almost done. Mal. Is't even so? Sir To. But I will never die. Clo. Sir Toby, there you lie. [Singing. Sir To. Shall I bid him go? Clo. What an if you do? Sir To. Shall I bid him go, and spare not? Clo. O no, no, no, no, you dare not. Sir To. Out o'time? sir, ye lie.-Art any more than a steward? Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale? Clo. Yes, by Saint Anne: and ginger shall be hot i' the mouth too. Sir To. Thou'rt i' the right.-Go, sir, rub your chain with crumbs:-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. 'Twere 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 To. 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 it. Sir To. 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 To. 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 any thing constantly but a time pleaser; an affectioned ass, that cous 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 To. 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, your niece; on a forgotten matter we can hardly make distinction of our hands. Sir To. Excellent! I smell a device. Sir And. I have't in my nose too. Sir To. He shall think, by the letters 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 And. And your horse now would make him an ass. Mar. Ass, I doubt not. Sir And. O, 'twill be admirable. Mar. Sport royal, I warrant you: I know, my physic will work with him. I will plant you two, and let the fool make a third, where he shall find the letter; observe his construction of it. For this night, to bed, and dream on the event. Farewell. [Exit. Sir To. Good night, Penthesilea. Sir And. Before me, she's a good wench. Sir To. She's a beagle, true-bred, and one that adores me: What o' that? Sir And. I was adored once too. Sir To. Let's to bed, knight.-Thou hadst need send for more money. Sir And. If I cannot recover your niece, I am a foul way out. Sir To. Send for money, knight; if thou hast her not i' the end, call me Cut. Sir And. If I do not, never trust me, take it how you will. Sir To. Come, come; I'll go burn some sack, 'tis too late to go to bed now: come, knight; come, knight. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. A Room in the Duke's Palace. Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song, 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 stay'd upon some favour that it loves; Vio. About your years, my lord. Duke. Too old, by heaven: Let still the woman take An elder than herself; so wears she to him, Or thy affection cannot hold the bent: Duke. Let all the rest give place.- Get thee to yon same sovereign cruelty: Duke. O fellow, come, the song we had last As love doth give my heart; no woman's heart night: Mark it, Cesario; it is old, and plain: Do use to chaunt it; it is silly sooth, Clo. Are you ready, sir? SONG. [Music. Clo. Come away, come away, death, My part of death no one so true Not a flower, not a flower sweet, thrown: A thousand thousand sighs to save, Sad true lover ne'er find my grave, Duke. There's for thy pains. Clo. No pains, sir; I take pleasure in singing, sir. Duke. I'll pay thy pleasure then. Clo. Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid, one time or another. 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 where; for that's it, that always makes a good voyage of nothing.-Farewell. [Exit Clown. I So big, to hold so much; they lack retention. Vio. Too well what love women to men may owe: In faith, they are as true of heart as we. Duke. And what's her history? Vio. A blank, my lord: She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought; And, with a green and yellow melancholy, She sat like patience on a monument, Smiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed? We men may say more, swear more: but, indeed, Our shows are more than will; for still we prove Much in our vows, but little in our love. Duke. But died thy sister of her love, my boy? Vio. I am all the daughters of my father's house, And all the brothers too;—and yet I know not: Sir, shall I to this lady? SCENE V. Olivia's Garden. Sir To. Come thy ways, signior Fabian. Fab. Nay, I'll come; if I lose a scruple of this sport, let me be boiled to death with melancholy. Sir To. Wouldst thou not be glad to have the niggardly rascally sheep-biter come by some 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; -Shall we not, sir Andrew?' Sir And. An we do not, it is 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' the sun, practising behaviour to his own shadow, this half hour: observe him, for the love of mockery; for, I know, this letter will make a contemplative idiot of him. Close, in the name of jesting! [The men hide themselves.] Lie thou there; [throws down a letter.] for here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling. [Exit MARIA. Enter MALVOLIO. Mal. 'Tis but fortune; all is fortune. Maria once told me, she did affect me: and I have heard herself come thus near, that, should she fancy, it should be one of my complexion. Besides, she uses me with a more exalted respect, than any one else that follows her. What should I think on't? Sir To. Here's an over-weening rogue! Fab. O, peace! Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock of him; how he jets under his advanced plumes! Sir And. Slight, I could so beat the rogue:- Sir And. Pistol him, pistol him. Sir To. Peace, peace! Mal. There is example for't; the lady of the strachy married the yeoman of the ward'robe. 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, sitting in my state, Sir To. O, for a stone-bow, to hit him in the eye! Mal. Calling my officers branched velvet gown; having come from a Mal. And then to have the humor of state: and after a demure travel of regard,-telling them I know my place, as I would they should do theirs, to ask for my kinsman Toby: Sir To. Bolts and shackles !ate dich gened *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; court'sies there to me one of Sir To. Shall this fellow live? Fab. Though our silence be drawn from us with cars, yet peace. Mal. I extend my hand to him thus, quenching my familiar smile with an austere regard of control: Sir To. And does not Toby take you a blow o' the lips then? Mal. Saying, Cousin Toby, my fortunes having cast me on your niece, give me this prerogative of speech: Sir To. What, what? Mal. You must amend your drunkenness. Fab. Nay, patience, or we break the sinews of our plot. Mal. Besides, you waste the treasure of your time with a foolish knight; Sir And. That's me, I warrant you. Sir And. I knew, 'twas I; for many do call me fool. Mal. What employment have we here? [Taking up the letter. Fab. Now is the woodcock near the gin." Sir To. O, peace! and the spirit of humors 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 she 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. [reads] To the unknown beloved, this, and my good wishes: her very phrases!-By your leave, wax.-Soft!-and the impressure her Lucrece, with which she uses to seal: 'tis my lady: To whom should this be? Fab. This wins him, liver and all. Mal. [reads] Jove knows, I love: But who? Lips do not move, No man must know. No man must know. What follows? the numbers altered!-No man must know:-If this should be thee, Malvolio? Sir To. Marry, hang thee, brock! But silence, like a Lucrece knife, Sir To. Excellent wench, say I. Mal. M, O, A, I, doth sway my life.-Nay, but first, let me see,-let me see,-let me see. Fab. What a dish of poison has she dressed him! Sir To. And with what wing the stannyel checks at it! Mal. I may command, where I adore. Why, she may command me; I serve her, myself, to let imagination jade me; for every reason excites to this, that my lady loves me. She did commend my yellow stockings of late, she did praise my leg being cross-gar she is my lady. Why, this is evident to any formal capacity. There is no obstruction in this; And the end,-What should that alphabetical position portend? if I could make that resemble something in me,-Softly!-tered; and in this she manifests herself to M, 0, A, I.— Sir To. O, ay! make up that:-he is now at a cold scent. Fab. Sowter will cry upon't, for all this, though it be as rank as a fox. Mal. M,-Malvolio;-M,-why, that begins my name. Fab. Did not I say, he would work it out? the cur is excellent at faults. Mal. M,-But then there is no consonancy in the sequel; that suffers under probation: A should follow, but O does. Fab. And O shall end, I hope. my love, and, with a kind of injunction, drives me to these habits of her liking. Í thank my stars, I am happy. I will be strange, stout, in yellow stockings, and crossgartered, even with the swiftness of putting on. Jove, and my stara be praised! Here is yet a postscript. Thou canst not choose but know who I am. If thou entertainest my love, let it appear in thy smiling; thy smiles become thee well: therefore in my presence still smile, dear my sweet, I prithee. Jove, I thank thee.-I will smile; I will do every thing that thou wilt have Sir To. Ay, or I'll cudgel him, and make me. him cry, 0. Mal. And then I comes behind; Fab. Ay, an you had any eye behind you, you might see more detraction at your heels, than fortunes before you. Mal. M, O, A, I-This simulation is not as the former: and yet, to crush this a little, it would bow to me, for every one of these letters are in my name.-Soft; here follows prose. If this fall into thy hand, revolve. In my stars I am above thee; but be not afraid of greatness: Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some 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, cast thy humble slough, and appear fresh. Be opposite with a kinsman, surly with servants: let thy tongue tang arguments of state; put thy self into the trick of singularity: She thus advises thee, that sighs for thee. Remember who commended thy yellow stockings; and wished to see thee ever cross-gartered: I say, remember. Go to; thou art made, if thou desirest to be so; if not, let me see thee a steward still, the fellow of servants, and not worthy to touch fortune's fingers. Farewell. She that would alter services with thee, The fortunate-unhappy. Day-light and champian discovers not more: this is open. I will be proud, I will read politic authors, I will bathe Sir Toby, I will wash off gross acquaintance, I will be pointde-vice, the very man. I do not now fool [Exit. Fab. I will not give my part of this sport for a pension of thousands to be paid from the Sophy. Sir To. I could marry this wench for this device. Sir And. So could I too. Sir To. And ask no other dowry with her, but such another jest. Enter MARIA. Sir And. Nor I neither. Sir To. Shall I play my freedom at tray. trip, and become thy bond-slave? Sir And. I'faith, or I either? Sir To. Why, thou hast put him in such a dream, that, when the image of it leaves him, he must run mad. Mar. Nay, but say true; does it work upon him? Sir To. Like aqua-vitæ with a midwife. Mar. If you will then see the fruits of the sport, mark his first approach before my lady: he will come to her in yellow stockings, and 'tis a color she abhors; and crossgartered, a fashion she detests; and he will smile upon her, which will now be so unsuitable to her disposition, being addicted to a melancholy, as she is, that it cannot but turn him into a notable contempt: if you will see it, follow me." Sir To. To the gates of Tartar, thou most excellent devil of wit! Sir And. I'll make one too. ACT III. SCENE I. Olivia's Garden. Clo. No, sir, I live by the church. Vio. Art thou a churchman? [Exeunt. Clo. No such matter, sir; I do live by the church: for I do live at my house, and my house doth stand by the church. Vio. So thou mayst say, the king lies by a beggar, if a beggar dwell near him: or, the |