Twelfth Night

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Original text
Act I, Scene I
Enter Orsino Duke of Illyria, Curio, and other
Lords.

Duke.
IF Musicke be the food of Loue, play on,!
Giue me excesse of it: that surfetting,
The appetite may sicken, and so dye.
That straine agen, it had a dying fall:
O, it came ore my eare, like the sweet sound
That breathes vpon a banke of Violets;
Stealing, and giuing Odour. Enough, no more,
'Tis not so sweet now, as it was before.
O spirit of Loue, how quicke and fresh art thou,
That notwithstanding thy capacitie,
Receiueth as the Sea. Nought enters there,
Of what validity, and pitch so ere,
But falles into abatement, and low price
Euen in a minute; so full of shapes is fancie,
That it alone, is high fantasticall.

Cu.
Will you go hunt my Lord?

Du.
What Curio?

Cu.
The Hart.

Du.
Why so I do, the Noblest that I haue:
O when mine eyes did see Oliuia first,
Me thought she purg'd the ayre of pestilence;
That instant was I turn'd into a Hart,
And my desires like fell and cruell hounds,
Ere since pursue me.
Enter Valentine.
How now what newes from her?
So please my Lord, I might not be admitted,
But from her handmaid do returne this answer:
The Element it selfe, till seuen yeares heate,
Shall not behold her face at ample view:
But like a Cloystresse she will vailed walke,
And water once a day her Chamber round
With eye-offending brine: all this to season
A brothers dead loue, which she would keepe fresh
And lasting, in her sad remembrance.

Du.
O she that hath a heart of that fine frame
To pay this debt of loue but to a brother,
How will she loue, when the rich golden shaft
Hath kill'd the flocke of all affections else
That liue in her. When Liuer, Braine, and Heart,
These soueraigne thrones, are all supply'd and fill'd
Her sweete perfections with one selfe king:
Away before me, to sweet beds of Flowres,
Loue-thoughts lye rich, when canopy'd with bowres.
Exeunt
Original text
Act I, Scene II
Enter Viola, a Captaine, and Saylors.

Vio.
What Country (Friends) is this?

Cap.
This is Illyria Ladie.

Vio.
And what should I do in Illyria?
My brother he is in Elizium,
Perchance he is not drown'd: What thinke you saylors?

Cap.
It is perchance that you your selfe were saued.

Vio.
O my poore brother, and so perchance may he be.

Cap.
True Madam, and to comfort you with chance,
Assure your selfe, after our ship did split,
When you, and those poore number saued with you,
Hung on our driuing boate: I saw your brother
Most prouident in perill, binde himselfe,
(Courage and hope both teaching him the practise)
To a strong Maste, that liu'd vpon the sea:
Where like Orion on the Dolphines backe,
I saw him hold acquaintance with the waues,
So long as I could see.

Vio.
For saying so, there's Gold:
Mine owne escape vnfoldeth to my hope,
Whereto thy speech serues for authoritie
The like of him. Know'st thou this Countrey?

Cap.
I Madam well, for I was bred and borne
Not three houres trauaile from this very place:

Vio.
Who gouernes heere?

Cap.
A noble Duke in nature, as in name.

Vio.
What is his name?

Cap.
Orsino.

Vio,
Orsino: I haue heard my father name him.
He was a Batchellor then.

Cap.
And so is now, or was so very late:
For but a month ago I went from hence,
And then 'twas fresh in murmure (as you know
What great ones do, the lesse will prattle of,)
That he did seeke the loue of faire Oliuia.

Vio.
What's shee?

Cap.
A vertuous maid, the daughter of a Count
That dide some tweluemonth since, then leauing her
In the protection of his sonne, her brother,
Who shortly also dide: for whose deere loue
(They say) she hath abiur'd the sight
And company of men.

Vio.
O that I seru'd that Lady,
And might not be deliuered to the world
Till I had made mine owne occasion mellow
What my estate is.

Cap.
That were hard to compasse,
Because she will admit no kinde of suite,
No, not the Dukes.

Vio.
There is a faire behauiour in thee Captaine,
And though that nature, with a beauteous wall
Doth oft close in pollution: yet of thee
I will beleeue thou hast a minde that suites
With this thy faire and outward charracter.
I prethee (and Ile pay thee bounteously)
Conceale me what I am, and be my ayde,
For such disguise as haply shall become
The forme of my intent. Ile serue this Duke,
Thou shalt present me as an Eunuch to him,
It may be worth thy paines: for I can sing,
And speake to him in many sorts of Musicke,
That will allow me very worth his seruice.
What else may hap, to time I will commit,
Onely shape thou thy silence to my wit.

Cap.
Be you his Eunuch, and your Mute Ile bee,
When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see.

Vio.
I thanke thee: Lead me on.
Exeunt
Original text
Act I, Scene III
Enter Sir Toby, and Maria.

Sir To.
What a plague meanes my Neece to take the death
of her brother thus? I am sure care's an enemie to life.

Mar.
By my troth sir Toby you must come in earlyer
a nights: your Cosin, my Lady, takes great exceptions to
your ill houres.

To.
Why let her except, before excepted.

Ma.
I, but you must confine your selfe within the
modest limits of order.

To.
Confine? Ile confine my selfe no finer then I am:
these cloathes are good enough to drinke in, and so bee
these boots too: and they be not, let them hang themselues
in their owne straps.

Ma.
That quaffing and drinking will vndoe you: I heard
my Lady talke of it yesterday: and of a foolish knight that
you brought in one night here, to be hir woer.

To.
Who, Sir Andrew Ague-cheeke?

Ma.
I he.

To.
He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria.

Ma.
What's that to th'purpose?

To.
Why he ha's three thousand ducates a yeare.

Ma.
I, but hee'l haue but a yeare in all these ducates:
He's a very foole, and a prodigall.

To.
Fie, that you'l say so: he playes o'th Viol-de-ganboys,
and speaks three or four languages word for
word without booke, & hath all the good gifts of nature.

Ma.
He hath indeed, almost naturall: for besides that
he's a foole, he's a great quarreller: and but that hee hath
the gift of a Coward, to allay the gust he hath in quarrelling,
'tis thought among the prudent, he would quickely
haue the gift of a graue.

Tob.
By this hand they are scoundrels and substractors
that say so of him. Who are they?

Ma.
They that adde moreour, hee's drunke nightly in
your company.

To.
With drinking healths to my Neece: Ile drinke to
her as long as there is a passage in my throat, & drinke
in Illyria: he's a Coward and a Coystrill that will not
drinke to my Neece. till his braines turne o'th toe, like a
parish top. What wench? Castiliano vulgo : for here
coms Sir Andrew Agueface.
Enter Sir Andrew.

And.
Sir Toby Belch. How now sir Toby
Belch?

To.
Sweet sir Andrew.

And.
Blesse you faire Shrew.

Mar.
And you too sir.

Tob.
Accost Sir Andrew, accost.

And.
What's that?

To.
My Neeces Chamber-maid.

Ma.
Good Mistris accost, I desire better
acquaintance

Ma.
My name is Mary sir.

And.
Good mistris Mary, accost.

To,

You mistake knight: Accost, is front
her, boord her, woe her, assayle her.

And.

By my troth I would not vndertake
her in this company. Is that the meaning of Accost?

Ma.
Far you well Gentlemen.

To.

And thou let part so Sir Andrew, would
thou mightst neuer draw sword agen.

And.
And you part so mistris, I would I might
neuer draw sword agen: Faire Lady, doe you thinke you
haue fooles in hand?

Ma.
Sir, I haue not you by'th hand.

An.
Marry but you shall haue, and heeres my
hand.

Ma.
Now sir, thought is free: I pray you bring your
hand to'th Buttry barre, and let it drinke.

An.
Wherefore (sweet-heart?) What's your
Metaphor?

Ma.
It's dry sir.

And.
Why I thinke so: I am not such an asse, but
I can keepe my hand dry. But what's your iest?

Ma.
A dry iest Sir.

And.
Are you full of them?

Ma.
I Sir, I haue them at my fingers ends: marry
now I let go your hand, I am barren.
Exit Maria

To.
O knight, thou lack'st a cup of Canarie: when
did I see thee so put downe?

An.
Neuer in your life I thinke, vnlesse you see
Canarie put me downe: mee thinkes sometimes I haue no
more wit then a Christian, or an ordinary man ha's: but I
am a great eater of beefe, and I beleeue that does harme to
my wit.

To.
No question.

An.
And I thought that, I'de forsweare it. Ile ride
home to morrow sir Toby.

To.
Pur-quoy my deere knight?

An.
What is purquoy? Do, or not do? I would I
had bestowed that time in the tongues, that I haue in
fencing, dancing, and beare-bayting: O had I but followed
the Arts.

To.
Then hadst thou had an excellent head of haire.

An.
Why, would that haue mended my haire?

To.
Past question, for thou seest it will not coole my
nature.

An.
But it becoms we wel enough, dost not?

To.
Excellent, it hangs like flax on a distaffe: & I
hope to see a huswife take thee between her legs, &
spin it off.

An.
Faith Ile home to morrow sir Toby, your
niece wil not be seene, or if she be it's four to one, she'l
none of me: the Connt himselfe here hard by, wooes her.

To.
Shee'l none o'th Count, she'l not match aboue
hir degree, neither in estate, yeares, nor wit: I haue heard
her swear't. Tut there's life in't man.

And.
Ile stay a moneth longer. I am a fellow o'th
strangest minde i'th world: I delight in Maskes and
Reuels sometimes altogether.

To.
Art thou good at these kicke-chawses Knight?

And.
As any man in Illyria, whatsoeuer he be,
vnder the degree of my betters, & yet I will not compare
with an old man.

To.
What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight?

And.
Faith, I can cut a caper.

To.
And I can cut the Mutton too't.

And.
And I thinke I haue the backe-tricke, simply as
strong as any man in Illyria.

To.
Wherefore are these things hid? Wherefore
haue these gifts a Curtaine before 'em? Are they like to
take dust, like mistris Mals picture? Why dost thou
not goe to Church in a Galliard, and come home in a
Carranto? My verie walke should be a Iigge: I would not so
much as make water but in a Sinke-a-pace: What dooest thou
meane? Is it a world to hide vertues in? I did thinke by
the excellent constitution of thy legge, it was form'd vnder
the starre of a Galliard.

And.
I, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in
a dam'd colour'd stocke. Shall we sit about some Reuels?

To.
What shall we do else: were we not borne vnder
Taurus?

And.
Taurus? That sides and heart.

To.
No sir, it is leggs and thighes: let me see thee
caper. Ha, higher: ha, ha, excellent.
Exeunt
Original text
Act I, Scene IV
Enter Valentine, and Viola in mans attire.

Val.
If the Duke continue these fauours towards
you Cesario, you are like to be much aduanc'd, he hath
known you but three dayes, and already you are no
stranger.

Vio.
You either feare his humour, or my negligence, that
you call in question the continuance of his loue. Is he
inconstant sir, in his fauours.

Val.
No beleeue me.
Enter Duke, Curio, and Attendants.

Vio.
I thanke you: heere comes the Count.

Duke.
Who saw Cesario hoa?

Vio.
On your attendance my Lord heere.

Du.
Stand you a-while aloofe. Cesario,
Thou knowst no lesse, but all: I haue vnclasp'd
To thee the booke euen of my secret soule.
Therefore good youth, addresse thy gate vnto her,
Be not deni'de accesse, stand at her doores,
And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow
Till thou haue audience.

Vio.
Sure my Noble Lord,
If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow
As it is spoke, she neuer will admit me.

Du,
Be clamorous, and leape all ciuill bounds,
Rather then make vnprofited returne,

Vio.
Say I do speake with her (my Lord) what then?

Du.
O then, vnfold the passion of my loue,
Surprize her with discourse of my deere faith;
It shall become thee well to act my woes:
She will attend it better in thy youth,
Then in a Nuntio's of more graue aspect.

Vio.
I thinke not so, my Lord.

Du.
Deere Lad, beleeue it;
For they shall yet belye thy happy yeeres,
That say thou art a man: Dianas lip
Is not more smooth, and rubious: thy small pipe
Is as the maidens organ, shrill, and sound,
And all is semblatiue a womans part.
I know thy constellation is right apt
For this affayre: some foure or fiue attend him,
All if you will: for I my selfe am best
When least in companie: prosper well in this,
And thou shalt liue as freely as thy Lord,
To call his fortunes thine.

Vio.
Ile do my best
To woe your Lady: yet a barrefull strife,
Who ere I woe, my selfe would be his wife.
Exeunt.
Original text
Act I, Scene V
Enter Maria, and Clowne.

Ma.
Nay, either tell me where thou hast bin, or I will
not open my lippes so wide as a brissle may enter, in way of
thy excuse: my Lady will hang thee for thy absence.

Clo.
Let her hang me: hee that is well hang'de in this
world, needs to feare no colours.

Ma.
Make that good.

Clo.
He shall see none to feare.

Ma.
A good lenton answer: I can tell thee where yt
saying was borne, of I feare no colours.

Clo.
Where good mistris Mary?

Ma.
In the warrs, & that may you be bolde to say in
your foolerie.

Clo.
Well, God giue them wisedome that haue it: &
those that are fooles, let them vse their talents.

Ma.
Yet you will be hang'd for being so long absent,
or to be turn'd away: is not that as good as a hanging
to you?

Clo.
Many a good hanging, preuents a bad marriage:
and for turning away, let summer beare it out.

Ma.
You are resolute then?

Clo.
Not so neyther, but I am resolu'd on two points

Ma.
That if one breake, the other will hold: or if both
breake, your gaskins fall.

Clo.
Apt in good faith, very apt: well go thy way, if
sir Toby would leaue drinking, thou wert as witty a
piece of Eues flesh, as any in Illyria.

Ma.
Peace you rogue, no more o'that: here comes my
Lady: make your excuse wisely, you were best.
Enter Lady Oliuia, with Maluolio.

Clo.
Wit, and't be thy will, put me into good fooling:
those wits that thinke they haue thee, doe very oft proue
fooles: and I that am sure I lacke thee, may passe for a wise
man. For what saies Quinapalus, Better a witty foole,
then a foolish wit. God blesse thee Lady.

Ol.
Take the foole away.

Clo.
Do you not heare fellowes, take away the Ladie.

Ol.
Go too, y'are a dry foole: Ile no more of you: besides
you grow dis-honest.

Clo.
Two faults Madona, that drinke & good counsell
wil amend: for giue the dry foole drink, then is the foole
not dry: bid the dishonest man mend himself, if he
mend, he is no longer dishonest; if hee cannot, let the
Botcher mend him: any thing that's mended, is but
patch'd: vertu that transgresses, is but patcht with
sinne, and sin that amends, is but patcht with vertue. If
that this simple Sillogisme will serue, so: if it will not,
what remedy? As there is no true Cuckold but calamity,
so beauties a flower; The Lady bad take away the foole,
therefore I say againe, take her away.

Ol.
Sir, I bad them take away you.

Clo.
Misprision in the highest degree. Lady, Cucullus
non facit monachum: that's as much to say, as I weare not
motley in my braine: good Madona, giue mee leaue to
proue you a foole.

Ol.
Can you do it?

Clo.
Dexteriously, good Madona.

Ol.
Make your proofe.

Clo.
I must catechize you for it Madona, Good my
Mouse of vertue answer mee.

Ol.
Well sir, for want of other idlenesse, Ile bide your
proofe.

Clo.
Good Madona, why mournst thou?

Ol.
Good foole, for my brothers death.

Clo.
I thinke his soule is in hell, Madona.

Ol.
I know his soule is in heauen, foole.

Clo.
The more foole (Madona) to mourne for your
Brothers soule, being in heauen. Take away the Foole,
Gentlemen.

Ol.
What thinke you of this foole Maluolio, doth he
not mend?

Mal.
Yes, and shall do, till the pangs of death shake
him: Infirmity that decaies the wise, doth euer make the
better foole.

Clow.
God send you sir, a speedie Infirmity, for the better
increasing your folly: Sir Toby will be sworn that I am
no Fox, but he wil not passe his word for two pence that
you are no Foole.

Ol.
How say you to that Maluolio?

Mal.
I maruell your Ladyship takes delight in such a
barren rascall: I saw him put down the other day, with an
ordinary foole, that has no more braine then a stone. Looke
you now, he's out of his gard already: vnles you laugh
and minister occasion to him, he is gag'd. I protest I
take these Wisemen, that crow so at these set kinde of
fooles, no better then the fooles Zanies.

Ol.
O you are sicke of selfe-loue Maluolio, and taste
with a distemper'd appetite. To be generous, guitlesse,
and of free disposition, is to take those things for Bird-bolts,
that you deeme Cannon bullets: There is no slander
in an allow'd foole, though he do nothing but rayle; nor no
rayling, in a knowne discreet man, though hee do nothing
but reproue.

Clo.
Now Mercury indue thee with leasing, for thou
speak'st well of fooles.
Enter Maria.

Mar.
Madam, there is at the gate, a young Gentleman,
much desires to speake with you.

Ol.
From the Count Orsino, is it?

Ma
I know not (Madam) 'tis a faire young man, and
well attended.

Ol.
Who of my people hold him in delay:

Ma.
Sir Toby Madam, your kinsman.

Ol.
Fetch him off I pray you, he speakes nothing but
madman: Fie on him. Go you Maluolio; If it be a suit
from the Count, I am sicke, or not at home. What you
will, to dismisse it.
Exit Maluo.
Now you see sir, how your fooling growes old, & people
dislike it.

Clo.
Thou hast spoke for vs (Madona) as if thy eldest
sonne should be a foole: whose scull, Ioue cramme with braines,
for heere he comes.
Enter Sir Toby.
One of thy kin has a most weake Pia-mater.

Ol.
By mine honor halfe drunke. What is he at the
gate Cosin?

To.
A Gentleman.

Ol.
A Gentleman? What Gentleman?

To.
'Tis a Gentleman heere. A plague o'these
pickle herring: How now Sot.

Clo.
Good Sir Toby.

Ol.
Cosin, Cosin, how haue you come so earely by
this Lethargie?

To.
Letcherie, I defie Letchery: there's one at the
gate.

Ol.
I marry, what is he?

To.
Let him be the diuell and he will, I care not: giue
me faith say I. Well, it's all one.
Exit

Ol.
What's a drunken man like, foole?

Clo.
Like a drown'd man, a foole, and a madde man: One
draught aboue heate, makes him a foole, the second maddes
him, and a third drownes him.

Ol.
Go thou and seeke the Crowner, and let him sitte o'
my Coz: for he's in the third degree of drinke: hee's
drown'd: go looke after him.

Clo.
He is but mad yet Madona, and the foole shall looke
to the madman.
Enter Maluolio.

Mal.
Madam, yond young fellow sweares hee will
speake with you. I told him you were sicke, he takes on
him to vnderstand so much, and therefore comes to
speak with you. I told him you were asleepe, he seems to
haue a fore knowledge of that too, and therefore comes
to speake with you. What is to be said to him Ladie, hee's
fortified against any deniall.

Ol.
Tell him, he shall not speake with me.

Mal.
Ha's beene told so: and hee sayes hee'l stand at
your doore like a Sheriffes post, and be the supporter to a
bench, but hee'l speake with you.

Ol.
What kinde o'man is he?

Mal.
Why of mankinde.

Ol.
What manner of man?

Mal.
Of verie ill manner: hee'l speake with you, will
you, or no.

Ol.
Of what personage, and yeeres is he?

Mal.
Not yet old enough for a man, nor yong
enough for a boy: as a squash is before tis a pescod, or
a Codling when tis almost an Apple: Tis with him in
standing water, betweene boy and man. He is verie well-fauour'd,
and he speakes verie shrewishly: One would
thinke his mothers milke were scarse out of him.

Ol.
Let him approach: Call in my Gentlewoman.

Mal.
Gentlewoman, my Lady calles.
Exit.
Enter Maria.

Ol.
Giue me my vaile: come throw it ore my face,
Wee'l once more heare Orsinos Embassie.
Enter Violenta.

Vio.
The honorable Ladie of the house, which is she?

Ol.
Speake to me, I shall answer for her: your will.

Vio.
Most radiant, exquisite, and vnmatchable beautie.
I pray you tell me if this bee the Lady of the house, for I
neuer saw her. I would bee loath to cast away my speech:
for besides that it is excellently well pend, I haue
taken great paines to con it. Good Beauties, let mee sustaine
no scorne; I am very comptible, euen to the least sinister
vsage.

Ol.
Whence came you sir?

Vio.
I can say little more then I haue studied, & that
question's out of my part. Good gentle one, giue mee
modest assurance, if you be the Ladie of the house, that I
may proceede in my speech.

Ol.
Are you a Comedian?

Vio.
No my profound heart: and yet (by the verie phangs
of malice, I sweare) I am not that I play. Are you the Ladie
of the house?

Ol.
If I do not vsurpe my selfe, I am.

Vio.
Most certaine, if you are she, you do vsurp your selfe:
for what is yours to bestowe, is, not yours to reserue.
But this is from my Commission: I will on with my
speech in your praise, and then shew you the heart of
my message.

Ol.
Come to what is important in't: I forgiue you the
praise.

Vio.
Alas, I tooke great paines to studie it, and 'tis Poeticall.

Ol.
It is the more like to be feigned, I pray you keep it
in. I heard you were sawcy at my gates, & allowd your
approach rather to wonder at you, then to heare you. If
you be not mad, be gone: if you haue reason, be breefe:
'tis not that time of Moone with me, to make one in so
skipping a dialogue.

Ma.
Will you hoyst sayle sir,
here lies your way.

Vio.
No good swabber, I am to hull here a little longer.
Some mollification for your Giant, sweete Ladie; tell me
your minde, I am a messenger.

Ol.
Sure you haue some hiddeous matter to deliuer,
when the curtesie of it is so fearefull. Speake your office.

Vio.
It alone concernes your eare: I bring no ouerture of
warre, no taxation of homage; I hold the Olyffe in my hand:
my words are as full of peace, as matter.

Ol.
Yet you began rudely. What are you? What
would you?

Vio.
The rudenesse that hath appear'd in mee, haue I
learn'd from my entertainment. What I am, and what I
would, are as secret as maiden-head: to your eares, Diuinity;
to any others, prophanation.

Ol.
Giue vs the place alone,
We will heare this diuinitie. Now sir, what is your text?

Vio.
Most sweet Ladie.

Ol.
A comfortable doctrine, and much may bee saide of
it. Where lies your Text?

Vio.
In Orsinoes bosome.

Ol.
In his bosome? In what chapter of his bosome?

Vio.
To answer by the method, in the first of his hart.

Ol.
O, I haue read it: it is heresie. Haue you no more to
say?

Vio.
Good Madam, let me see your face.

Ol.
Haue you any Commission from your Lord, to negotiate
with my face: you are now out of your Text: but
we will draw the Curtain, and shew you the picture. Looke
you sir, such a one I was this present: Ist not well
done?

Vio.
Excellently done, if God did all.

Ol.
'Tis in graine sir, 'twill endure winde and weather.

Vio.
Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white,
Natures owne sweet, and cunning hand laid on:
Lady, you are the cruell'st shee aliue,
If you will leade these graces to the graue,
And leaue the world no copie.

Ol.
O sir, I will not be so hard-hearted: I will giue
out diuers scedules of my beautie. It shalbe Inuentoried
and euery particle and vtensile labell'd to my will:
As, Item two lippes indifferent redde, Item two grey eyes,
with lids to them: Item, one necke, one chin, & so forth.
Were you sent hither to praise me?

Vio.
I see you what you are, you are too proud:
But if you were the diuell, you are faire:
My Lord, and master loues you: O such loue
Could be but recompenc'd, though you were crown'd
The non-pareil of beautie.

Ol.
How does he loue me?

Vio.
With adorations, fertill teares,
With groanes that thunder loue, with sighes of fire.

Ol.
Your Lord does know my mind, I cannot loue him
Yet I suppose him vertuous, know him noble,
Of great estate, of fresh and stainlesse youth;
In voyces well divulg'd, free, learn'd, and valiant,
And in dimension, and the shape of nature,
A gracious person; But yet I cannot loue him:
He might haue tooke his answer long ago.

Vio.
If I did loue you in my masters flame,
With such a suffring, such a deadly life:
In your deniall, I would finde no sence,
I would not vnderstand it.

Ol.
Why, what would you?

Vio.
Make me a willow Cabine at your gate,
And call vpon my soule within the house,
Write loyall Cantons of contemned loue,
And sing them lowd euen in the dead of night:
Hallow your name to the reuerberate hilles,
And make the babling Gossip of the aire,
Cry out Oliuia: O you should not rest
Betweene the elements of ayre, and earth,
But you should pittie me.

Ol.
You might do much:
What is your Parentage?

Vio.
Aboue my fortunes, yet my state is well:
I am a Gentleman.

Ol.
Get you to your Lord:
I cannot loue him: let him send no more,
Vnlesse (perchance) you come to me againe,
To tell me how he takes it: Fare you well:
I thanke you for your paines: spend this for mee.

Vio.
I am no feede poast, Lady; keepe your purse,
My Master, not my selfe, lackes recompence.
Loue make his heart of flint, that you shal loue,
And let your feruour like my masters be,
Plac'd in contempt: Farwell fayre crueltie.
Exit

Ol.
What is your Parentage?
Aboue my fortunes, yet my state is well;
I am a Gentleman. Ile be sworne thou art,
Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbes, actions, and spirit,
Do giue thee fiue-fold blazon: not too fast: soft, soft,
Vnlesse the Master were the man. How now?
Euen so quickly may one catch the plague?
Me thinkes I feele this youths perfections
With an inuisible, and subtle stealth
To creepe in at mine eyes. Well, let it be.
What hoa, Maluolio.
Enter Maluolio.

Mal.
Heere Madam, at your seruice.

Ol.
Run after that same peeuish Messenger
The Countes man: he left this Ring behinde him
Would I, or not: tell him, Ile none of it.
Desire him not to flatter with his Lord,
Nor hold him vp with hopes, I am not for him:
If that the youth will come this way to morrow,
Ile giue him reasons for't: hie thee Maluolio.

Mal.
Madam, I will.
Exit.

Ol.
I do I know not what, and feare to finde
Mine eye too great a flatterer for my minde:
Fate, shew thy force, our selues we do not owe,
What is decreed, must be: and be this so.
Finis, Actus primus.
Modern text
Act I, Scene I
Music. Enter Orsino Duke of Illyria, Curio, and other
lords

ORSINO
If music be the food of love, play on,
Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.
That strain again! It had a dying fall.
O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing and giving odour. Enough, no more!
'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.
O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou,
That, notwithstanding thy capacity
Receiveth as the sea, naught enters there,
Of what validity and pitch soe'er,
But falls into abatement and low price
Even in a minute. So full of shapes is fancy
That it alone is high fantastical.

CURIO
Will you go hunt, my lord?

ORSINO
What, Curio?

CURIO
The hart.

ORSINO
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 hounds,
E'er since pursue me.
Enter Valentine
How now! What news from her?

VALENTINE
So please my lord, I might not be admitted,
But from her handmaid do return this answer:
The element itself, till seven years' heat,
Shall not behold her face at ample view,
But like a cloistress she will veiled walk,
And water once a day her chamber round
With eye-offending brine; all this to season
A brother's dead love, which she would keep fresh
And lasting, in her sad remembrance.

ORSINO
O, she that hath a heart of that fine frame
To pay this debt of love but to a brother –
How will she love, when the rich golden shaft
Hath killed the flock of all affections else
That live in her; when liver, brain, and heart,
These sovereign thrones, are all supplied and filled –
Her sweet perfections – with one self king!
Away before me to sweet beds of flowers!
Love thoughts lie rich when canopied with bowers.
Exeunt
Modern text
Act I, Scene II
Enter Viola, a Captain, and sailors

VIOLA
What country, friends, is this?

CAPTAIN
This is Illyria, lady.

VIOLA
And what should I do in Illyria?
My brother, he is in Elysium.
Perchance he is not drowned. What think you, sailors?

CAPTAIN
It is perchance that you yourself were saved.

VIOLA
O, my poor brother! and so perchance may he be.

CAPTAIN
True, madam, and to comfort you with chance,
Assure yourself, after our ship did split,
When you and those poor number saved with you
Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother,
Most provident in peril, bind himself –
Courage and hope both teaching him the practice –
To a strong mast, that lived upon the sea;
Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back,
I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves
So long as I could see.

VIOLA
For saying so, there's gold.
Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope,
Whereto thy speech serves for authority,
The like of him. Knowest thou this country?

CAPTAIN
Ay, madam, well, for I was bred and born
Not three hours' travel from this very place.

VIOLA
Who governs here?

CAPTAIN
A noble Duke, in nature as in name.

VIOLA
What is his name?

CAPTAIN
Orsino.

VIOLA
Orsino . . . I have heard my father name him.
He was a bachelor then.

CAPTAIN
And so is now, or was so, very late;
For but a month ago I went from hence,
And then 'twas fresh in murmur – as you know,
What great ones do, the less will prattle of –
That he did seek the love of fair Olivia.

VIOLA
What's she?

CAPTAIN
A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count
That died some twelvemonth since, then leaving her
In the protection of his son, her brother,
Who shortly also died; for whose dear love,
They say, she hath abjured the sight
And company of men.

VIOLA
O, that I served that lady,
And might not be delivered to the world –
Till I had made mine own occasion mellow –
What my estate is.

CAPTAIN
That were hard to compass,
Because she will admit no kind of suit,
No, not the Duke's.

VIOLA
There is a fair behaviour in thee, Captain,
And though that nature with a beauteous wall
Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee
I will believe thou hast a mind that suits
With this thy fair and outward character.
I prithee – and I'll pay thee bounteously –
Conceal me what I am, and be my aid
For such disguise as haply shall become
The form of my intent. I'll serve this Duke.
Thou shalt present me as an eunuch to him.
It may be worth thy pains, for I can sing
And speak to him in many sorts of music
That will allow me very worth his service.
What else may hap to time I will commit.
Only shape thou thy silence to my wit.

CAPTAIN
Be you his eunuch, and your mute I'll be.
When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see.

VIOLA
I thank thee. Lead me on.
Exeunt
Modern text
Act I, Scene III
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.

MARIA
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.

MARIA
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.

MARIA
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?

MARIA
Ay, he.

SIR TOBY
He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria.

MARIA
What's that to the purpose?

SIR TOBY
Why, he has three thousand ducats a year.

MARIA
Ay, but he'll have but a year in all these ducats.
He's a very fool and a prodigal.

SIR TOBY
Fie, that you'll say so. He plays o'the viol-de-gamboys,
and speaks three or four languages word for
word without book, and hath all the good gifts of nature.

MARIA
He hath indeed all, most natural; for besides that
he's a fool, he's a great quarreller; and but that he hath
the gift of a coward to allay the gust he hath in quarrelling,
'tis thought among the prudent he would quickly
have the gift of a grave.

SIR TOBY
By this hand, they are scoundrels and substractors
that say so of him. Who are they?

MARIA
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 coistrel 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 ANDREW
Sir Toby Belch! How now, Sir Toby
Belch?

SIR TOBY
Sweet Sir Andrew!

SIR ANDREW
Bless you, fair shrew.

MARIA
And you too, sir.

SIR TOBY
Accost, Sir Andrew, accost.

SIR ANDREW
What's that?

SIR TOBY
My niece's chambermaid.

SIR ANDREW
Good Mistress Accost, I desire better
acquaintance.

MARIA
My name is Mary, sir.

SIR ANDREW
Good Mistress Mary Accost –

SIR TOBY
(aside)
You mistake, knight. ‘ Accost ’ is front
her, board her, woo her, assail her.

SIR ANDREW
(aside)
By my troth, I would not undertake
her in this company. Is that the meaning of ‘ accost ’?

MARIA
Fare you well, gentlemen.

SIR TOBY
(aside)
An thou let part so, Sir Andrew, would
thou mightst never draw sword again.

SIR ANDREW
An you part so, mistress, I would I might
never draw sword again. Fair lady, do you think you
have fools in hand?

MARIA
Sir, I have not you by the hand.

SIR ANDREW
Marry, but you shall have, and here's my
hand.

MARIA
Now, sir, ‘ Thought is free.’ I pray you, bring your
hand to the buttery bar and let it drink.

SIR ANDREW
Wherefore, sweetheart? What's your
metaphor?

MARIA
It's dry, sir.

SIR ANDREW
Why, I think so. I am not such an ass, but
I can keep my hand dry. But what's your jest?

MARIA
A dry jest, sir.

SIR ANDREW
Are you full of them?

MARIA
Ay, sir. I have them at my fingers' ends. Marry,
now I let go your hand, I am barren.
Exit

SIR TOBY
O knight, thou lack'st a cup of canary. When
did I see thee so put down?

SIR ANDREW
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 ANDREW
An I thought that, I'd forswear it. I'll ride
home tomorrow, Sir Toby.

SIR TOBY
Pourquoi, my dear knight?

SIR ANDREW
What is pourquoi? 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 ANDREW
Why, would that have mended my hair?

SIR TOBY
Past question, for thou seest it will not curl by
nature.

SIR ANDREW
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 huswife take thee between her legs and
spin it off.

SIR ANDREW
Faith, I'll home tomorrow, 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 hard by, woos her.

SIR TOBY
She'll none o'the Count; she'll not match above
her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit. I have heard
her swear't. Tut, there's life in't, man.

SIR ANDREW
I'll stay a month longer. I am a fellow o'the
strangest mind i'the world. I delight in masques and
revels sometimes altogether.

SIR TOBY
Art thou good at these kickshawses, knight?

SIR ANDREW
As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be,
under the degree of my betters, and yet I will not compare
with an old man.

SIR TOBY
What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight?

SIR ANDREW
Faith, I can cut a caper.

SIR TOBY
And I can cut the mutton to't.

SIR ANDREW
And I think I have the back-trick, simply as
strong as any man in Illyria.

SIR TOBY
Wherefore are these things hid? Wherefore
have these gifts a curtain before 'em? Are they like to
take dust, like Mistress Mall's picture? Why dost thou
not go to church in a galliard and come home in a
coranto? My very walk should be a jig. I would not so
much as make water but in a sink-apace. What dost thou
mean? Is it a world to hide virtues in? I did think by
the excellent constitution of thy leg it was formed under
the star of a galliard.

SIR ANDREW
Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in
a dun-coloured stock. Shall we set about some revels?

SIR TOBY
What shall we do else? Were we not born under
Taurus?

SIR ANDREW
Taurus? That's sides and heart.

SIR TOBY
No, sir, it is legs and thighs. Let me see thee
caper. Ha! Higher! Ha! Ha! Excellent!
Exeunt
Modern text
Act I, Scene IV
Enter Valentine, and Viola in man's attire

VALENTINE
If the Duke continue these favours towards
you, Cesario, you are like to be much advanced. He hath
known you but three days, and already you are no
stranger.

VIOLA
You either fear his humour or my negligence, that
you call in question the continuance of his love. Is he
inconstant, sir, in his favours?

VALENTINE
No, believe me.
Enter Orsino, Curio, and attendants

VIOLA
I thank you. Here comes the Count.

ORSINO
Who saw Cesario, ho?

VIOLA
On your attendance, my lord, here.

ORSINO
(to Curio and attendants)
Stand you awhile aloof. (To Viola) Cesario,
Thou knowest no less but all. I have unclasped
To thee the book even of my secret soul.
Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her.
Be not denied access; stand at her doors,
And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow
Till thou have audience.

VIOLA
Sure, my noble lord,
If she be so abandoned to her sorrow
As it is spoke, she never will admit me.

ORSINO
Be clamorous and leap all civil bounds
Rather than make unprofited return.

VIOLA
Say I do speak with her, my lord, what then?

ORSINO
O, then unfold the passion of my love.
Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith.
It shall become thee well to act my woes;
She will attend it better in thy youth
Than in a nuncio's of more grave aspect.

VIOLA
I think not so, my lord.

ORSINO
Dear lad, believe it.
For they shall yet belie thy happy years
That say thou art a man. Diana's lip
Is not more smooth and rubious. Thy small pipe
Is as the maiden's organ, shrill and sound,
And all is semblative a woman's part.
I know thy constellation is right apt
For this affair. Some four or five attend him –
All, if you will; for I myself am best
When least in company. Prosper well in this,
And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord,
To call his fortunes thine.

VIOLA
I'll do my best
To woo your lady. (Aside) Yet, a barful strife!
Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife.
Exeunt
Modern text
Act I, Scene V
Enter Maria and Feste the Clown

MARIA
Nay, either tell me where thou hast been, or I will
not open my lips so wide as a bristle may enter, in way of
thy excuse. My lady will hang thee for thy absence.

FESTE
Let her hang me. He that is well hanged in this
world needs to fear no colours.

MARIA
Make that good.

FESTE
He shall see none to fear.

MARIA
A good lenten answer! I can tell thee where that
saying was born, of ‘ I fear no colours.’

FESTE
Where, good Mistress Mary?

MARIA
In the wars; and that may you be bold to say in
your foolery.

FESTE
Well, God give them wisdom that have it; and
those that are fools, let them use their talents.

MARIA
Yet you will be hanged for being so long absent;
or to be turned away – is not that as good as a hanging
to you?

FESTE
Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage;
and for turning away, let summer bear it out.

MARIA
You are resolute, then?

FESTE
Not so neither, but I am resolved on two points.

MARIA
That if one break, the other will hold; or if both
break, your gaskins fall.

FESTE
Apt, in good faith, very apt. Well, go thy way, if
Sir Toby would leave drinking, thou wert as witty a
piece of Eve's flesh as any in Illyria.

MARIA
Peace, you rogue, no more o' that. Here comes my
lady. Make your excuse wisely, you were best.
Exit
Enter Olivia with Malvolio and attendants

FESTE
Wit, an't be thy will, put me into good fooling.
Those wits that think they have thee do very oft prove
fools; and I that am sure I lack thee may pass for a wise
man. For what says Quinapalus? ‘ Better a witty fool
than a foolish wit.’ God bless thee, lady!

OLIVIA
Take the fool away.

FESTE
Do you not hear, fellows? Take away the lady.

OLIVIA
Go to, y' are a dry fool. I'll no more of you. Besides,
you grow dishonest.

FESTE
Two faults, madonna, that drink and good counsel
will amend. For give the dry fool drink, then is the fool
not dry. Bid the dishonest man mend himself: if he
mend, he is no longer dishonest; if he cannot, let the
botcher mend him. Anything that's mended, is but
patched: virtue that transgresses is but patched with
sin; and sin that amends is but patched with virtue. If
that this simple syllogism will serve, so; if it will not,
what remedy? As there is no true cuckold but calamity,
so beauty's a flower. The lady bade take away the fool;
therefore I say again – take her away!

OLIVIA
Sir, I bade them take away you.

FESTE
Misprision in the highest degree! Lady, cucullus
non facit monachum; that's as much to say as I wear not
motley in my brain. Good madonna, give me leave to
prove you a fool.

OLIVIA
Can you do it?

FESTE
Dexteriously, good madonna.

OLIVIA
Make your proof.

FESTE
I must catechize you for it, madonna. Good my
mouse of virtue, answer me.

OLIVIA
Well, sir, for want of other idleness, I'll bide your
proof.

FESTE
Good madonna, why mourn'st thou?

OLIVIA
Good fool, for my brother's death.

FESTE
I think his soul is in hell, madonna.

OLIVIA
I know his soul is in heaven, fool.

FESTE
The more fool, madonna, to mourn for your
brother's soul, being in heaven. Take away the fool,
gentlemen.

OLIVIA
What think you of this fool, Malvolio? Doth he
not mend?

MALVOLIO
Yes, and shall do, till the pangs of death shake
him. Infirmity, that decays the wise, doth ever make the
better fool.

FESTE
God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity for the better
increasing your folly. Sir Toby will be sworn that I am
no fox, but he will not pass his word for twopence that
you are no fool.

OLIVIA
How say you to that, Malvolio?

MALVOLIO
I marvel your ladyship takes delight in such a
barren rascal. I saw him put down the other day with an
ordinary fool that has no more brain than a stone. Look
you now, he's out of his guard already; unless you laugh
and minister occasion to him, he is gagged. I protest I
take these wise men, that crow so at these set kind of
fools, no better than the fools' zanies.

OLIVIA
O, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and taste
with a distempered appetite. To be generous, guiltless,
and of free disposition, is to take those things for bird-bolts
that you deem cannon bullets. There is no slander
in an allowed fool, though he do nothing but rail; nor no
railing in a known discreet man, though he do nothing
but reprove.

FESTE
Now Mercury endue thee with leasing, for thou
speak'st well of fools.
Enter Maria

MARIA
Madam, there is at the gate a young gentleman
much desires to speak with you.

OLIVIA
From the Count Orsino, is it?

MARIA
I know not, madam. 'Tis a fair young man, and
well attended.

OLIVIA
Who of my people hold him in delay?

MARIA
Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman.

OLIVIA
Fetch him off, I pray you, he speaks nothing but
madman. Fie on him! Go you, Malvolio. If it be a suit
from the Count, I am sick or not at home – what you
will, to dismiss it.
Exit Malvolio
Now you see, sir, how your fooling grows old and people
dislike it?

FESTE
Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy eldest
son should be a fool; whose skull Jove cram with brains,
for – here he comes –
(Enter Sir Toby)
one of thy kin has a most weak pia mater.

OLIVIA
By mine honour, half drunk! What is he at the
gate, cousin?

SIR TOBY
A gentleman.

OLIVIA
A gentleman! What gentleman?

SIR TOBY
'Tis a gentleman here – a plague o' these
pickle-herring! (To Feste) How now, sot!

FESTE
Good Sir Toby!

OLIVIA
Cousin, cousin, how have you come so early by
this lethargy?

SIR TOBY
Lechery! I defy lechery! There's one at the
gate.

OLIVIA
Ay, marry, what is he?

SIR TOBY
Let him be the devil an he will, I care not. Give
me faith, say I. Well, it's all one.
Exit Sir Toby, followed by Maria

OLIVIA
What's a drunken man like, fool?

FESTE
Like a drowned man, a fool, and a madman. One
draught above heat makes him a fool, the second mads
him, and a third drowns him.

OLIVIA
Go thou and seek the crowner, and let him sit o'
my coz, for he's in the third degree of drink – he's
drowned. Go, look after him.

FESTE
He is but mad yet, madonna, and the fool shall look
to the madman.
Exit
Enter Malvolio

MALVOLIO
Madam, yond young fellow swears he will
speak with you. I told him you were sick; he takes on
him to understand so much, and therefore comes to
speak with you. I told him you were asleep; he seems to
have a foreknowledge of that too, and therefore comes
to speak with you. What is to be said to him, lady? He's
fortified against any denial.

OLIVIA
Tell him, he shall not speak with me.

MALVOLIO
He's been told so; and he says he'll stand at
your door like a sheriff's post and be the supporter to a
bench, but he'll speak with you.

OLIVIA
What kind o' man is he?

MALVOLIO
Why, of mankind.

OLIVIA
What manner of man?

MALVOLIO
Of very ill manner; he'll speak with you, will
you or no.

OLIVIA
Of what personage and years is he?

MALVOLIO
Not yet old enough for a man, nor young
enough for a boy; as a squash is before 'tis a peascod, or
a codling when 'tis almost an apple. 'Tis with him in
standing water between boy and man. He is very well-favoured,
and he speaks very shrewishly. One would
think his mother's milk were scarce out of him.

OLIVIA
Let him approach. Call in my gentlewoman.

MALVOLIO
Gentlewoman, my lady calls.
Exit
Enter Maria

OLIVIA
Give me my veil. Come, throw it o'er my face.
We'll once more hear Orsino's embassy.
Enter Viola

VIOLA
The honourable lady of the house, which is she?

OLIVIA
Speak to me, I shall answer for her. Your will?

VIOLA
Most radiant, exquisite, and unmatchable beauty –
I pray you, tell me if this be the lady of the house, for I
never saw her. I would be loath to cast away my speech;
for besides that it is excellently well penned, I have
taken great pains to con it. Good beauties, let me sustain
no scorn. I am very comptible, even to the least sinister
usage.

OLIVIA
Whence came you, sir?

VIOLA
I can say little more than I have studied, and that
question's out of my part. Good gentle one, give me
modest assurance if you be the lady of the house, that I
may proceed in my speech.

OLIVIA
Are you a comedian?

VIOLA
No, my profound heart; and yet, by the very fangs
of malice, I swear I am not that I play. Are you the lady
of the house?

OLIVIA
If I do not usurp myself, I am.

VIOLA
Most certain, if you are she, you do usurp yourself;
for what is yours to bestow is not yours to reserve.
But this is from my commission. I will on with my
speech in your praise, and then show you the heart of
my message.

OLIVIA
Come to what is important in't. I forgive you the
praise.

VIOLA
Alas, I took great pains to study it, and 'tis poetical.

OLIVIA
It is the more like to be feigned; I pray you, keep it
in. I heard you were saucy at my gates, and allowed your
approach rather to wonder at you than to hear you. If
you be not mad, be gone; if you have reason, be brief.
'Tis not that time of moon with me, to make one in so
skipping a dialogue.

MARIA
(showing Viola the way out)
Will you hoist sail, sir?
Here lies your way.

VIOLA
No, good swabber, I am to hull here a little longer.
Some mollification for your giant, sweet lady! Tell me
your mind; I am a messenger.

OLIVIA
Sure, you have some hideous matter to deliver,
when the courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak your office.

VIOLA
It alone concerns your ear. I bring no overture of
war, no taxation of homage. I hold the olive in my hand;
my words are as full of peace as matter.

OLIVIA
Yet you began rudely. What are you? What
would you?

VIOLA
The rudeness that hath appeared in me have I
learned from my entertainment. What I am and what I
would are as secret as maidenhead; to your ears divinity,
to any others profanation.

OLIVIA
Give us the place alone.
Maria and attendants withdraw
We will hear this divinity. Now, sir, what is your text?

VIOLA
Most sweet lady –

OLIVIA
A comfortable doctrine, and much may be said of
it. Where lies your text?

VIOLA
In Orsino's bosom.

OLIVIA
In his bosom! In what chapter of his bosom?

VIOLA
To answer by the method, in the first of his heart.

OLIVIA
O, I have read it; it is heresy. Have you no more to
say?

VIOLA
Good madam, let me see your face.

OLIVIA
Have you any commission from your lord to negotiate
with my face? You are now out of your text; but
we will draw the curtain and show you the picture. Look
you, sir, such a one I was this present. Is't not well
done?

VIOLA
Excellently done – if God did all.

OLIVIA
'Tis in grain, sir, 'twill endure wind and weather.

VIOLA
'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white
Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on.
Lady, you are the cruellest she alive,
If you will lead these graces to the grave,
And leave the world no copy.

OLIVIA
O, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted. I will give
out divers schedules of my beauty. It shall be inventoried,
and every particle and utensil labelled to my will.
As, item: two lips, indifferent red; item: two grey eyes,
with lids to them; item: one neck, one chin, and so forth.
Were you sent hither to praise me?

VIOLA
I see you what you are, you are too proud.
But if you were the devil, you are fair.
My lord and master loves you – O, such love
Could be but recompensed, though you were crowned
The nonpareil of beauty!

OLIVIA
How does he love me?

VIOLA
With adorations, fertile tears,
With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire.

OLIVIA
Your lord does know my mind, I cannot love him.
Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble,
Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth,
In voices well divulged, free, learned, and valiant,
And in dimension and the shape of nature
A gracious person. But yet I cannot love him.
He might have took his answer long ago.

VIOLA
If I did love you in my master's flame,
With such a suffering, such a deadly life,
In your denial I would find no sense;
I would not understand it.

OLIVIA
Why, what would you?

VIOLA
Make me a willow cabin at your gate,
And call upon my soul within the house;
Write loyal cantons of contemned love
And sing them loud even in the dead of night;
Hallow your name to the reverberate hills
And make the babbling gossip of the air
Cry out ‘ Olivia!’ O, you should not rest
Between the elements of air and earth,
But you should pity me.

OLIVIA
You might do much.
What is your parentage?

VIOLA
Above my fortunes, yet my state is well.
I am a gentleman.

OLIVIA
Get you to your lord.
I cannot love him. Let him send no more –
Unless, perchance, you come to me again
To tell me how he takes it. Fare you well.
I thank you for your pains. Spend this for me.

VIOLA
I am no fee'd post, lady; keep your purse.
My master, not myself, lacks recompense.
Love make his heart of flint, that you shall love,
And let your fervour like my master's be
Placed in contempt. Farewell, fair cruelty!
Exit

OLIVIA
‘ What is your parentage?’
‘ Above my fortunes, yet my state is well.
I am a gentleman.’ I'll be sworn thou art.
Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit
Do give thee fivefold blazon. Not too fast! soft, soft –
Unless the master were the man. How now?
Even so quickly may one catch the plague?
Methinks I feel this youth's perfections,
With an invisible and subtle stealth,
To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be!
What ho, Malvolio!
Enter Malvolio

MALVOLIO
Here, madam, at your service.

OLIVIA
Run after that same peevish messenger,
The County's man. He left this ring behind him,
Would I or not. Tell him, I'll none of it.
Desire him not to flatter with his lord,
Nor hold him up with hopes; I am not for him.
If that the youth will come this way tomorrow,
I'll give him reasons for't. Hie thee, Malvolio!

MALVOLIO
Madam, I will.
Exit

OLIVIA
I do I know not what, and fear to find
Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind.
Fate, show thy force; ourselves we do not owe.
What is decreed must be, and be this so.
Exit
SHAKESPEARE'S WORDS © 2018 DAVID CRYSTAL & BEN CRYSTAL