Twelfth Night
coranto? My very walk should be a jig; I would not so much as make
water but in a sink-a-pace. 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 dam’d-colour’d
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._]
SCENE IV. A Room in the Duke’s Palace.
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 Duke, Curio and Attendants.
VIOLA.
I thank you. Here comes the Count.
DUKE.
Who saw Cesario, ho?
VIOLA.
On your attendance, my lord, here.
DUKE.
Stand you awhile aloof.—Cesario,
Thou know’st no less but all; I have unclasp’d
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 abandon’d to her sorrow
As it is spoke, she never will admit me.
DUKE.
Be clamorous and leap all civil bounds,
Rather than make unprofited return.
VIOLA.
Say I do speak with her, my lord, what then?
DUKE.
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.
DUKE.
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._]
SCENE V. A Room in Olivia’s House.
Enter Maria and 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.
CLOWN.
Let her hang me: he that is well hanged in this world needs to fear no
colours.
MARIA.
Make that good.
CLOWN.
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.
CLOWN.
Where, good Mistress Mary?
MARIA.
In the wars, and that may you be bold to say in your foolery.
CLOWN.
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?
CLOWN.
Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage; and for turning away, let
summer bear it out.
MARIA.
You are resolute then?
CLOWN.
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.
CLOWN.
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.
CLOWN.
Wit, and’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.
CLOWN.
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.
CLOWN.
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.
CLOWN.
Misprision in the highest degree! Lady, _cucullus non facit monachum:_
that’s as much to say, I wear not motley in my brain. Good madonna,
give me leave to prove you a fool.
OLIVIA.
Can you do it?
CLOWN.
Dexteriously, good madonna.
OLIVIA.
Make your proof.
CLOWN.
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.
CLOWN.
Good madonna, why mourn’st thou?
OLIVIA.
Good fool, for my brother’s death.
CLOWN.
I think his soul is in hell, madonna.
OLIVIA.
I know his soul is in heaven, fool.
CLOWN.
The more fool you, 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.
CLOWN.
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.
CLOWN.
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!
[_Exit Maria._]
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.
CLOWN.
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, one of thy kin
has a most weak _pia mater_.
Enter Sir Toby.
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-herrings! How now, sot?
CLOWN.
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._]
OLIVIA.
What’s a drunken man like, fool?
CLOWN.
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 coroner, and let him sit o’ my coz; for he’s in
the third degree of drink; he’s drowned. Go, look after him.
CLOWN.
He is but mad yet, madonna; and the fool shall look to the madman.
[_Exit Clown._]
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.
Has been told so; and he says he’ll stand at your door like a sheriff’s
post, and be the supporter of 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 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.