Twelfth Night
What is the opinion of Pythagoras concerning wildfowl?
MALVOLIO.
That the soul of our grandam might haply inhabit a bird.
CLOWN.
What think’st thou of his opinion?
MALVOLIO.
I think nobly of the soul, and no way approve his opinion.
CLOWN.
Fare thee well. Remain thou still in darkness. Thou shalt hold the
opinion of Pythagoras ere I will allow of thy wits, and fear to kill a
woodcock, lest thou dispossess the soul of thy grandam. Fare thee well.
MALVOLIO.
Sir Topas, Sir Topas!
SIR TOBY.
My most exquisite Sir Topas!
CLOWN.
Nay, I am for all waters.
MARIA.
Thou mightst have done this without thy beard and gown. He sees thee
not.
SIR TOBY.
To him in thine own voice, and bring me word how thou find’st him. I
would we were well rid of this knavery. If he may be conveniently
delivered, I would he were, for I am now so far in offence with my
niece that I cannot pursue with any safety this sport to the upshot.
Come by and by to my chamber.
[_Exeunt Sir Toby and Maria._]
CLOWN.
[_Singing._]
_Hey, Robin, jolly Robin,
Tell me how thy lady does._
MALVOLIO.
Fool!
CLOWN.
_My lady is unkind, perdy._
MALVOLIO.
Fool!
CLOWN.
_Alas, why is she so?_
MALVOLIO.
Fool, I say!
CLOWN.
_She loves another_—
Who calls, ha?
MALVOLIO.
Good fool, as ever thou wilt deserve well at my hand, help me to a
candle, and pen, ink, and paper. As I am a gentleman, I will live to be
thankful to thee for’t.
CLOWN.
Master Malvolio?
MALVOLIO.
Ay, good fool.
CLOWN.
Alas, sir, how fell you besides your five wits?
MALVOLIO.
Fool, there was never man so notoriously abused. I am as well in my
wits, fool, as thou art.
CLOWN.
But as well? Then you are mad indeed, if you be no better in your wits
than a fool.
MALVOLIO.
They have here propertied me; keep me in darkness, send ministers to
me, asses, and do all they can to face me out of my wits.
CLOWN.
Advise you what you say: the minister is here. [_As Sir Topas_]
Malvolio, Malvolio, thy wits the heavens restore. Endeavour thyself to
sleep, and leave thy vain bibble-babble.
MALVOLIO.
Sir Topas!
CLOWN.
[_As Sir Topas_] Maintain no words with him, good fellow. [_As
himself_] Who, I, sir? not I, sir. God buy you, good Sir Topas. [_As
Sir Topas_] Marry, amen. [_As himself_] I will sir, I will.
MALVOLIO.
Fool, fool, fool, I say!
CLOWN.
Alas, sir, be patient. What say you, sir? I am shent for speaking to
you.
MALVOLIO.
Good fool, help me to some light and some paper. I tell thee I am as
well in my wits as any man in Illyria.
CLOWN.
Well-a-day that you were, sir!
MALVOLIO.
By this hand, I am. Good fool, some ink, paper, and light, and convey
what I will set down to my lady. It shall advantage thee more than ever
the bearing of letter did.
CLOWN.
I will help you to’t. But tell me true, are you not mad indeed? or do
you but counterfeit?
MALVOLIO.
Believe me, I am not. I tell thee true.
CLOWN.
Nay, I’ll ne’er believe a madman till I see his brains. I will fetch
you light, and paper, and ink.
MALVOLIO.
Fool, I’ll requite it in the highest degree: I prithee be gone.
CLOWN.
[_Singing._]
_I am gone, sir, and anon, sir,
I’ll be with you again,
In a trice, like to the old Vice,
Your need to sustain;
Who with dagger of lath, in his rage and his wrath,
Cries ‘ah, ha!’ to the devil:
Like a mad lad, ‘Pare thy nails, dad.
Adieu, goodman devil.’_
[_Exit._]
SCENE III. Olivia’s Garden.
Enter Sebastian.
SEBASTIAN.
This is the air; that is the glorious sun,
This pearl she gave me, I do feel’t and see’t,
And though ’tis wonder that enwraps me thus,
Yet ’tis not madness. Where’s Antonio, then?
I could not find him at the Elephant,
Yet there he was, and there I found this credit,
That he did range the town to seek me out.
His counsel now might do me golden service.
For though my soul disputes well with my sense
That this may be some error, but no madness,
Yet doth this accident and flood of fortune
So far exceed all instance, all discourse,
That I am ready to distrust mine eyes
And wrangle with my reason that persuades me
To any other trust but that I am mad,
Or else the lady’s mad; yet if ’twere so,
She could not sway her house, command her followers,
Take and give back affairs and their dispatch,
With such a smooth, discreet, and stable bearing
As I perceive she does. There’s something in’t
That is deceivable. But here the lady comes.
Enter Olivia and a Priest.
OLIVIA.
Blame not this haste of mine. If you mean well,
Now go with me and with this holy man
Into the chantry by: there, before him
And underneath that consecrated roof,
Plight me the full assurance of your faith,
That my most jealous and too doubtful soul
May live at peace. He shall conceal it
Whiles you are willing it shall come to note,
What time we will our celebration keep
According to my birth. What do you say?
SEBASTIAN.
I’ll follow this good man, and go with you,
And having sworn truth, ever will be true.
OLIVIA.
Then lead the way, good father, and heavens so shine,
That they may fairly note this act of mine!
[_Exeunt._]
ACT V.
SCENE I. The Street before Olivia’s House.
Enter Clown and Fabian.
FABIAN.
Now, as thou lov’st me, let me see his letter.
CLOWN.
Good Master Fabian, grant me another request.
FABIAN.
Anything.
CLOWN.
Do not desire to see this letter.
FABIAN.
This is to give a dog, and in recompense desire my dog again.
Enter Duke, Viola, Curio and Lords.
DUKE.
Belong you to the Lady Olivia, friends?
CLOWN.
Ay, sir, we are some of her trappings.
DUKE.
I know thee well. How dost thou, my good fellow?
CLOWN.
Truly, sir, the better for my foes, and the worse for my friends.
DUKE.
Just the contrary; the better for thy friends.
CLOWN.
No, sir, the worse.
DUKE.
How can that be?
CLOWN.
Marry, sir, they praise me, and make an ass of me. Now my foes tell me
plainly I am an ass: so that by my foes, sir, I profit in the knowledge
of myself, and by my friends I am abused. So that, conclusions to be as
kisses, if your four negatives make your two affirmatives, why then,
the worse for my friends, and the better for my foes.
DUKE.
Why, this is excellent.
CLOWN.
By my troth, sir, no; though it please you to be one of my friends.
DUKE.
Thou shalt not be the worse for me; there’s gold.
CLOWN.
But that it would be double-dealing, sir, I would you could make it
another.
DUKE.
O, you give me ill counsel.
CLOWN.
Put your grace in your pocket, sir, for this once, and let your flesh
and blood obey it.
DUKE.
Well, I will be so much a sinner to be a double-dealer: there’s
another.
CLOWN.
_Primo, secundo, tertio_, is a good play, and the old saying is, the
third pays for all; the triplex, sir, is a good tripping measure; or
the bells of Saint Bennet, sir, may put you in mind—one, two, three.
DUKE.
You can fool no more money out of me at this throw. If you will let
your lady know I am here to speak with her, and bring her along with
you, it may awake my bounty further.
CLOWN.
Marry, sir, lullaby to your bounty till I come again. I go, sir, but I
would not have you to think that my desire of having is the sin of
covetousness: but as you say, sir, let your bounty take a nap, I will
awake it anon.
[_Exit Clown._]
Enter Antonio and Officers.
VIOLA.
Here comes the man, sir, that did rescue me.
DUKE.
That face of his I do remember well.
Yet when I saw it last it was besmear’d
As black as Vulcan, in the smoke of war.
A baubling vessel was he captain of,
For shallow draught and bulk unprizable,
With which such scathful grapple did he make
With the most noble bottom of our fleet,
That very envy and the tongue of loss
Cried fame and honour on him. What’s the matter?
FIRST OFFICER.
Orsino, this is that Antonio
That took the _Phoenix_ and her fraught from Candy,
And this is he that did the _Tiger_ board
When your young nephew Titus lost his leg.
Here in the streets, desperate of shame and state,
In private brabble did we apprehend him.
VIOLA.
He did me kindness, sir; drew on my side,
But in conclusion, put strange speech upon me.
I know not what ’twas, but distraction.
DUKE.
Notable pirate, thou salt-water thief,
What foolish boldness brought thee to their mercies,
Whom thou, in terms so bloody and so dear,
Hast made thine enemies?
ANTONIO.
Orsino, noble sir,
Be pleased that I shake off these names you give me:
Antonio never yet was thief or pirate,
Though, I confess, on base and ground enough,
Orsino’s enemy. A witchcraft drew me hither:
That most ingrateful boy there by your side
From the rude sea’s enraged and foamy mouth
Did I redeem; a wreck past hope he was.
His life I gave him, and did thereto add
My love, without retention or restraint,
All his in dedication. For his sake
Did I expose myself, pure for his love,
Into the danger of this adverse town;
Drew to defend him when he was beset;
Where being apprehended, his false cunning
(Not meaning to partake with me in danger)
Taught him to face me out of his acquaintance,
And grew a twenty years’ removed thing
While one would wink; denied me mine own purse,
Which I had recommended to his use
Not half an hour before.
VIOLA.
How can this be?
DUKE.
When came he to this town?
ANTONIO.
Today, my lord; and for three months before,
No int’rim, not a minute’s vacancy,
Both day and night did we keep company.
Enter Olivia and Attendants.
DUKE.
Here comes the Countess, now heaven walks on earth.
But for thee, fellow, fellow, thy words are madness.
Three months this youth hath tended upon me;
But more of that anon. Take him aside.
OLIVIA.
What would my lord, but that he may not have,
Wherein Olivia may seem serviceable?
Cesario, you do not keep promise with me.
VIOLA.
Madam?
DUKE.
Gracious Olivia—
OLIVIA.
What do you say, Cesario? Good my lord—
VIOLA.
My lord would speak, my duty hushes me.
OLIVIA.
If it be aught to the old tune, my lord,
It is as fat and fulsome to mine ear
As howling after music.
DUKE.
Still so cruel?
OLIVIA.
Still so constant, lord.
DUKE.
What, to perverseness? You uncivil lady,
To whose ingrate and unauspicious altars
My soul the faithfull’st off’rings hath breathed out
That e’er devotion tender’d! What shall I do?
OLIVIA.
Even what it please my lord that shall become him.
DUKE.
Why should I not, had I the heart to do it,
Like to the Egyptian thief at point of death,
Kill what I love?—a savage jealousy
That sometime savours nobly. But hear me this:
Since you to non-regardance cast my faith,
And that I partly know the instrument
That screws me from my true place in your favour,
Live you the marble-breasted tyrant still.
But this your minion, whom I know you love,
And whom, by heaven I swear, I tender dearly,
Him will I tear out of that cruel eye
Where he sits crowned in his master’s spite.—
Come, boy, with me; my thoughts are ripe in mischief:
I’ll sacrifice the lamb that I do love,
To spite a raven’s heart within a dove.
VIOLA.
And I, most jocund, apt, and willingly,
To do you rest, a thousand deaths would die.
OLIVIA.
Where goes Cesario?
VIOLA.
After him I love
More than I love these eyes, more than my life,
More, by all mores, than e’er I shall love wife.
If I do feign, you witnesses above
Punish my life for tainting of my love.
OLIVIA.
Ah me, detested! how am I beguil’d!
VIOLA.
Who does beguile you? Who does do you wrong?
OLIVIA.
Hast thou forgot thyself? Is it so long?
Call forth the holy father.
[_Exit an Attendant._]
DUKE.
[_To Viola._] Come, away!
OLIVIA.
Whither, my lord? Cesario, husband, stay.
DUKE.
Husband?
OLIVIA.
Ay, husband. Can he that deny?
DUKE.
Her husband, sirrah?