All language subtitles for Twelfth.Night.or.What.You.Will.1996_EN

♪ I'll tell thee a tale ♪

♪ now list' to me ♪

♪ With a hey ho ♪

♪ the wind and the rain ♪

♪ But merry or sad ♪

♪ which shall it be? ♪

♪ For the rain... it raineth every day ♪

Once upon "Twelfth Night",
or "What You Will"

Aboard a ship, bound home to Messaline

The festive company dressed
for mascarade and singing songs

each other to amuse

delight above the rest in two young twins

Twins: ♪ O Mistress mine where are you roaming? ♪

♪ O stay and hear, ♪

♪ your true love's ♪

♪ coming ♪

♪ That can sing both high and... ♪

* LOW *

♪ That can sing both high and... ♪

* LOW *

The storm has forced their
vessel from its course.

And now they strike upon submerging rocks.

Uncertain of what to
leave and what to save

A brother and sister, orphaned
since their father's death

have but themselves
alone in all the world.

Deep currents and the sinking bark above them
divide what naught had ever kept apart

The poor survivors reach an alien shore

for Messaline, with this
country, is at war.

What country, friends, is this?

This is Illyria, lady.

And what should I do in Illyria?

My brother, he is in Elysium.

Perchance he is not drown'd?

My Lady Viola... it is perchance
that you yourself were saved.

My poor brother!

Sebastian!

Sebastian!

The war between the merchants here and ours
too oft has given us bloody argument.

We must not be discovered in this place.

- Who governs here?
- The Duke. Orsino.

Orsino?

I heard my father name him.

- He was a bachelor then.
- So he is now. Or was so very late.

It is said no woman may approach his court

but a month ago 'twas fresh in murmur
that he did seek the love of fair Olivia.

- What's she?
- That same Olivia!

The daughter of a Count who died
some twelve months since.

Her brother has lately also died.

For whose dear love, they say, she hath abjured the sight and company of men.

O that I served that lady.

That were hard to compass, because
she will admit no kind of suit,

no, not the duke's.

I prithee...

Be my aid, for such disguise as haply
shall become the form of my intent.

I'll serve this duke, thou shall
present me as a boy to him.

It... 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.

Oh, I thank thee!

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.

- How now! what news of Olivia?
- 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..."

"...all this to season a
brother's dead love,"

"which she would keep fresh and
lasting in her sad remembrance."

O, she that hath a heart of that fine frame

to pay this debt of love but to a brother.

My Lord Orsino...

Here comes the Count!

- Who saw Cesario?
- On your attendance, my lord, here.

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.

Stand at her doors, and tell them, there thy
fixed foot shall grow till thou have audience.

Sure, my noble lord, if she
be so abandoned to her sorrow...

as it is spake,
she never will admit me.

Be clamorous and leap all civil bounds!

- Say I do speak with her, my lord, what then?
- Then unfold the passion of my love.

It shall become thee well to act my woes.

- She will attend it better in thy youth.
- I think not so, my Lord.

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 a woman's organ,
shrill and sound—

And all is semblative a woman's part.

I know thy constellation
is right apt for this affair.

Some three or four, attend him.

By my troth, Sir Toby, you
must come in earlier o'nights

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.

- Who, Sir Andrew Aguecheek?
- Ay, he.

- He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria.
- What's that to the purpose?

Why, he has three thousand ducats a year,

and speaks three or four languages
word for word without book!

He's a fool. He's a great quareller.

And but that he hath the gift of a coward
he would quickly have the gift of a grave.

Sir Toby Belch!

Sir Andrew Agueface!

- How now, Sir Toby Belch!
- Sweet Sir Andrew!

- God Bless you, fair shrew.
- And you too, sir.

- Accost, Sir Andrew? Accost?
- What's that?

- My niece's chambermaid.
- Oh good Mistress Accost...

- I desire better acquaintance.
- My name is Mary, Sir.

Good Mistress Mary Accost...

"Accost" is... is front her, board her,

woo her, assail her.

Fare you well, gentlemen.

Is that the meaning of "Accost"?

Mmm. Know it. When did I see thee so put down?

What a plague means my niece, to
take the death of her brother thus?

I am sure care's an enemy to life.

I ride home tomorrow, Sir Toby.

- "Pourquoi", my dear knight?
- What is "Pourquoi"? Do or not do?

I would I had bestowed that time in the
tongues that I have in fencing and dancing!

O, had I but followed the arts!

Faith, I am going 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.

She'll none o' the count, she'll not match
above her degree, I have heard her swear't.

Tut, there's life in't, man.

I'll stay a month longer. I am a fellow
o' the strangest mind in the world.

I delight in masques and
revels sometimes altogether.

- Art thou good at these kickshawses, knight?
- Faith, I can cut a caper.

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

Wherefore are these things hid?

Wherefore have these gifts
a curtain before 'em?

Why dost thou not go to church
in a galliard and come home...

in a coranto?

Is it a world to hide virtues in?
Excellent.

- My lady will hang thee for thy absence.
- Let her hang me, I fear no colours.

- I can tell thee where that saying was born.
- Where, good Mistress Mary?

In the war.

Well, God give them wisdom that have it,

and those that are fools,
let them use their talents.

- You are resolute, then?
- I am resolved on two points...

That if one break, the other will hold,

- or, if both break, your breeches fall.
- Well, go thy ways.

That if Sir Toby would leave drinking, thou wert as
witty a piece of Eve's flesh as any in Illyria.

Peace, you rogue,

No more o' that.

- God bless thee, lady!
- Take the fool away...

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

Go to: I'll no more of you, besides,
you grow dishonest.

Bid the dishonest man mend himself,
if he mend, he is no longer dishonest

if he cannot, let the botcher mend him!

Any thing that's mended is but patched...

virtue that transgresses
is but patched with sin,

and sin that amends, is
but patched with virtue.

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.
- Sir, I bade them take away you.

Misprision in the highest degree! Good
madonna, give me leave to prove you a fool.

- Can you do it?
- Dexterously, good madonna.

Make your proof.

I must catechise you for it, madonna.

Good my mouse of virtue, answer me.

Well, sir, for want of other idleness.

- Good madonna, why mournest thou?
- Good fool, for my brother's death.

- I think his soul is in hell, madonna.
- I know his soul is in heaven, fool.

The more fool, madonna, to mourn for
your brother's soul being in heaven.

Take away the fool, gentlemen.

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

Yes, and shall do till the
pangs of death shake him.

Infirmity, that decays the wise,
doth ever make the better fool.

God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity,
for the better increasing your folly!

How say you to that, gentle Malvolio?

I marvel your ladyship takes
delight in such a barren rascal...

Look you now, he's out
of his guard already.

Unless you laugh and minister
occasion to him, he is gagged.

Oh, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio,

and taste with a distempered appetite.

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.

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

- From the Count Orsino, is it?
- I know not, madam.

- Who of my people hold him in delay?
- Sir Toby, madam.

- He speaks nothing but madman.
- Go you, Malvolio.

If it be a suit from the count, I am sick, or
not at home. What you will, to dismiss it.

Now you see, sir, how
your fooling grows old...

and people dislike it.

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.

By mine honour, half drunk.

What is he at the gate, cousin?

A gentleman.

- What gentleman?
- T´is a gentleman...

A plague o'these
pickled herring.

- How now, sot!
- Good Sir Tobias!

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

Lechery! I defy lechery.

- There's umm... there's one at the gate.
- Ay, marry, what is he?

Oh, let him be the devil,
an he will, I care not.

Give me faith, say I.

Well, it's all one.

- What's a drunken man like?
- Like a drowned man, a fool and a mad man...

The first draught above heat makes
him a fool, the second mads him,

and a third drowns him.

Go thou and seek
the coroner.

He's drowned...

But, madam,
yon young fellow swears
he will speak with you.

I told him you were sick, I
told him you were asleep.

- Tell him he shall not speak with me.
- Has been told so,

and he says, he'll stand at your door like
a sheriff's post, but he'll speak with you.

- What kind o' man is he?
- Why, of mankind.

- What manner of man?
- Of very ill manner, he'll speak

with you, will you or no.

Of what personage and years is he?

Not yet old enough for a man,
nor young enough for a boy.

One would think his
mother's milk were
scarce out of him.

Let him approach, call in my gentlewoman.

Gentlewoman...

My lady calls.

We'll once more hear Orsino's embassy.

Give me my veil.

Uh... ya... the honourable
lady of the house...

which is she?

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

Most radiant, exquisite
and unmatched beauty...

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.

- I have taken great pains to learn it.
- Whence came you, sir?

That question's out of my part.
Good gentle one, give me

modest assurance if you
be the lady of the house.

- Are you a comedian?
- No, my profound heart!

- Are you the lady of the house?
- I am.

- I will on with my speech in your praise.
- Come to what is important in't.

I forgive you the praise.

Alas, I took great pains to study it,

- and 'tis poetical.
- It is just the more like to be feigned...

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.

Will you hoist sail, sir?
Here lies your way.

No, good swabber, I am to
hull here a little longer.

- Some mollification for your giant, sweet lady?
- Speak your office.

It alone concerns your ear.

I bring no overture of war,
my words are as full
of peace as matter.

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

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 other's, profanation.

Give us the place alone...

we will hear this divinity.

Now sir, what is your text?

- Most sweet lady...
- A comfortable doctrine,

much may be said of it.

- Where lies your text?
- In Orsino's bosom.

- In his bosom! In what chapter of his bosom?
- In the first of his heart.

O, I have read it, it is heresy.

- Have you no more to say?
- Good madam, let me see your face.

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?

Excellently done, if God did all.

'tis in grain, sir,
'twill endure wind
and weather.

'Tis beauty truly blent.

Lady, you are the cruel'st she alive.

If you will lead these graces to the
grave and leave the world no copy.

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 labeled as, item,
two lips, indifferent red,

item, two brown eyes, with lids to them,

item, one neck, one chin, and so forth.

I see you what you are, you are too proud,
but, though you were the devil, you are fair.

My lord and master loves you.

Such love could be but recompensed, though
you were crown'd the nonpareil of beauty!

How does he love me?

With adorations,

fertile tears,

With groans that thunder love,

with sighs of fire.

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, learn'd and valiant,

but yet I cannot love him.

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.

Why, what would you?

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.

Halloo your name to the reverberate hills
and make the babbling gossip of the air.

Cry out...

"Olivia"!

You should not rest between
the elements of air and earth,

but you should pity me!

You might do much.

What is your parentage?

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

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.

I am no fee'd post, lady, keep your purse.

My master, not myself, lacks recompense.

Farewell, fair cruelty.

"What is your parentage?" "Above
my fortunes, yet my state is well".

"I am a gentleman". I'll be sworn thou art.

Nay, 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!

Here, madam, at your service.

Eh, 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.
- Madam, I will.

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.

Were not you even now
with the Countess Olivia?

Even now, sir, on a moderate pace
I have since arrived but hither.

She returns this ring to you, sir.

You might have saved me my pains,
to have taken it away yourself.

She adds moreover, that
you should put your lord...

into a desperate assurance
she will none of him.

- Well, receive it so!
- She took the ring of me, I'll none of it.

Come, sir, you peevishly threw it to her,
and her will is, it should be so returned.

If it be worth stooping for, there it lies in
your eye, if not, be it his that finds it.

I left no ring with her!

What means this lady?

Fortune forbid my outside
have not charm'd her!

She made good view of me,

indeed, so much, methought her eyes had
lost her tongue, for she did speak in starts

distractedly.

She loves me!

Sure...

I am the man!

Will you stay no longer?

Let me yet know of you...

- whither you are bound!
- No. Sooth, sir.

You must know of me then, Antonio.

My name is Sebastian.

My father was that Sebastian of Messaline,
whom I know you have heard of.

He left behind him myself
and a sister... Viola.

Both born in an hour,
would we had so ended!

But you, sir, altered that...

Before you took me from the breach
of the sea was my sister drowned.

Alas the day!

A fair lady, sir, though it was
said she much resembled me...

was yet of many accounted beautiful.

Good Antonio, forgive me your trouble.

If you will not murder me for
my love, let me be your servant.

Desire it not!

Fare ye well at once!

I am bound to the Count
Orsino's court. Farewell.

The gentleness of all
the gods go with thee!

I have many enemies in Orsino's court,
else would I very shortly see thee there.

O, when mine eyes did see Olivia first, me
thought she purged the air of pestilence!

That instant was I turn'd
into a heart and my desires,

like fell and cruel hounds,
have since pursue me.

Approach! Sir Andrew! Sir Andrew!

Maria!

Maria!

Marian, I say! a stoup of wine!

Did you never see the
picture of "we three"?

Welcome, ass!

♪ Three merry men be we, three merry men be we, three merry men be we ♪

Sir Tobias!

Tillyvally. Lady!

Beshrew me, the knight's
in admirable fooling.

and Malvolio's a Peg-a-Ramsey!

Malvolio's nose is no whipstock, and
the Myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses.

Excellent!

Now a song!

Here comes, there is sixpence
for you, let's have a song.

That old and antique song
we heard last night.

Methought it did relieve my passion much.

He is not here,
so please your lordship,
who should sing it?

- Who was it?
- Feste, my lord.

A fool that the lady Olivia's
father took much delight in.

Would you have a love-song,
or a song of good life?

A love-song.

- A love-song!
- Ay, ay, I care not for good life.

♪ O mistress mine, where are you roaming? ♪

♪ O, stay and hear your,
true love's coming ♪

♪ That... ♪

How dost thou like this tune?

It gives a very echo to the
seat where love is throned.

Thou dost speak masterly.

- ♪ Every wise man's son doth know ♪
- Excellent good, I' faith!

Good! Good!

♪ What is love? 'tis not hereafter ♪

♪ Present mirth hath present laughter ♪

My life upon't, young though thou art, thine eye
hath stay'd upon some favour that it loves.

Hath it not, boy?

- A little, by your favour.
- What kind of woman is't, huh?

- Of your complexion.
- She is not worth thee, then.

What years, I' faith?

- Oh, about your years, my lord.
- Too old by heaven!

Let still the woman take an elder
than herself, so wears she to him.

For, boy... however we do praise ourselves,
our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, more

longing, wavering, sooner lost
and worn, than women's are.

- I think it well, my lord.
- Then let thy love be younger than thyself.

Women are... as roses,

whose fair flower, being once display'd,

doth fall that very hour.

And so they are.

Alas, that they are so.

- To die... even when they to perfection grow!
- ♪ What's to come is still unsure ♪

♪ What's to come is still unsure ♪

♪ In delay there lies no plenty ♪

♪ Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty ♪

♪ Youth's a stuff will not endure ♪

♪ Youth's a stuff will not endure
Youth's a stuff will not endure ♪

♪ Youth's a stuff will not endure ♪

A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight.

- A contagious breath.
- Very sweet and contagious, I' faith.

But...

shall we... shall we make
the welkin dance indeed?

Shall we do that?

♪ There lives a man in Babylon ♪

♪ There lives a man in Babylon
there lives a man in Babylon ♪

Well... ♪ "O, the twelfth
day of December," ♪

♪ my true love said to me... ♪

My masters... are you mad?

Have ye no wit, manners, nor honesty, but to
gabble like tinkers at this time of night?

Do ye make an ale-house
of my lady's house?

Is there no respect of place,
persons, nor time in you?

We did keep time, sir, in our catches.

Sneck up!

Sir Toby...

I must be round with you.

My mistress 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...

misdemeanors, you are
welcome to the house, if not...

she is very willing to bid you farewell.

♪ "Farewell, dear heart ♪

♪ since I must needs be gone" ♪

♪ "His eyes do show his
days are almost done" ♪

- ♪ "But I will never die" ♪
- ♪ Sir Toby, there you lie ♪

- This is much credit to you!
- ♪ "Shall I bid him go? what an if you do?" ♪

- ♪ "Shall I bid him go, and spare not?" ♪ -
"O no, no, no, no, no, no, no, you dare not."

Out o' tune, sir, ye lie.

Art any more than a steward?

Dost thou think, because
thou art virtuous...

there shall be no more cakes and ale?

Yes, by Saint Anne, and ginger
shall be hot I' the mouth too.

Thou'rt I' the right. Go, sir,
rub your chain with crumbs.

A stoup of wine, Maria!

Mistress Mary, if you
prized my lady's favour...

at any thing more than contempt,

you would not give means
for this uncivil rule.

She shall know of it...

by this hand!

Go shake your ears.

- Bolts and shackles!
- Be patient... for tonight!

For Monsieur Malvolio... if I do not
make him a common recreation...

Do not think I have wit enough to lie
straight in my bed. I know I can do it.

Possess us, possess us,
tell us something of him.

- Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of puritan.
- O, if I thought that I'ld beat him like a dog!

The devil a puritan that he is, or any
thing constantly, but a time-pleaser.

So crammed, as he thinks, with
excellencies, that it is his grounds

of faith that all that
look on him love him,

and on that vice in him will my
revenge find notable cause to work.

What wilt thou do?

I will drop in his way some
obscure epistles of love,

wherein 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.

- Excellent! I smell a device.
- I have't in my nose too.

But for this night...

To bed...

Dream on the event.

Farewell.

Good night, Penthesilea!

Before me, she's a good wench.

She's a beagle, true-bred.

And one that adores me...

what o' that?

I was adored once too.

Come, come, I'll go burn some sack,
'tis too late to go to bed now.

Disguise...

I see, thou art a wickedness,

wherein the pregnant enemy does much.

How will this fadge?

As I am man.

My state is desperate for my master's love.

As I am woman,

now alas the day! What thriftless
sighs shall poor Olivia breathe!

Come hither, boy!

Come, boy. Come!

How will she love, when the rich golden shaft
hath kill'd the flock of all affections else...

that live in her.

And when brain and heart
are all supplied
with one self king?

Sir, shall I to this lady?

Ay, that's the theme. To her in haste...

Tell her my love can give
no place, bide no denay.

Malvolio is coming down this walk!

Come thy ways, Signior Fabian. Wouldst thou
not be glad to have the niggardly rascally...

sheep-biter come by some notable shame?

You know, he brought me out o'favour with my lady about a bear-baiting here.

Get ye all three into the box-tree!

"My Lady..."

"My Lady. Countess..."

For here comes the trout that
must be caught with tickling.

'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...
- 'Slight, I could so beat the rogue!

- To be Count Malvolio!
- Ah, rogue!

Having been three months married to her,

- sitting in my state...
- O, for my stone-bow,
to hit him in the eye!

Calling my officers about me,
in my branched velvet gown...

Having come from a
day-bed, where I have left

Olivia sleeping...

and then, 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!

I frown the while, and perchance
wind up my watch or...

play with my...

some rich jewel.

Toby approaches, curtsies there
to me, I extend my hand to him...

thus saying, "Cousin Toby, you
must amend your drunkenness!"

Outch, scab!

What employment have we here?

By my life, this is my lady's hand!

"To the unknown... beloved"

"...this, and my good wishes."

By your leave, wax. Soft!

And the impressure her Lucrece,
with which she uses to seal.

'Tis my lady.

To whom should this be?

"Jove knows I love, but who?"

"Lips, do not move, no man must know."

"No man must know"?

If this should be thee, Malvolio?!

"I may command where I adore,
but silence, like a Lucrece knife"

"With bloodless stroke my heart doth
gore, M, O, A, I, doth sway my life."

- M.O.A.I...
- Excellent wench, say I.

Let me see... "M.O.A.I."

"I may command where I adore."

Why, she may command me,
I serve her, she is my lady.

And the end... what should that
alphabetical position portend? "M.O.A.I"?

Moai... Moa... I... M!

M... Malvolio, M... why,
that begins my name! M!

A should follow but O does. M.O.

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.

"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 'em..."

"Be opposite with a kinsman,

surly with servants, let thy
tongue tang arguments of state."

"put thyself into the trick of singularity,
she thus advises thee that sighs for thee."

"Remember who co..."

"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."

Daylight and champaign discovers not more.

I will be proud, I will baffle Sir Toby...

I will wash off gross acquaintance,
I will be point-devise the very man.

I do not now fool myself, to
let imagination jade me...

for every reason excites to this,

that my lady loves me.

Jove and my stars 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 everything
that thou wilt have me!

Jove, I thank thee!

Jove, I am happy!

- I will not give my part of this sport,

for a pension of thousands!
- I could marry this wench for this device!

- So could I too.

- Wilt thou set thy foot o' my neck?
- Or o' mine either?

- Nay, but say true, does it work upon him?
- Like aqua-vitae with a midwife.

Then, mark his first
approach before my lady,

he will come to her in yellow stockings,
and 'tis... and 'tis a colour she abhors!

Save thee, friend, dost
thou live by thy music?

- No, sir, I live by the church.
- Art thou a churchman?

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.

Hold, there's expenses for thee.

Now Jove, in his next commodity
of hair, send thee a beard!

By my troth, I'll tell thee,
I am almost sick for one,

But I would not have it grow on my chin.

Is thy lady within?

I would play Lord Pandarus of Phrygia,
sir, to bring a Cressida to this Troilus.

I understand you, sir, 'tis well begged.

The matter is not
great, sir, begging but a beggar.

Cressida was a beggar.

My lady is within, sir. I will
construe to her whence you come.

- God save you, gentleman.
- And you, sir.

- Dieu vous garde, monsieur.
- Et vous aussi, votre serviteur.

I hope, sir, you are, as I am yours.

My niece is desirous you should
enter, if your trade be to her.

Your niece, sir, is the list of my
voyage. But we are prevented.

Most excellent accomplished lady,
the heavens rain odours on you!

"Rain odours"? well. That
youth's a rare courtier.

My master hath no voice, Lady, but to your
own most pregnant and vouchsafed ear.

"Odours", "pregnant" and "vouchsafed".
I'll get 'em all three all ready.

Let the garden door be shut,
and leave me to my hearing.

- Give me your hand, sir.
- My duty, madam, and most humble service.

- What's your name?
- Cesario is your servant's name, fair princess.

- You're servant to the Count Orsino, youth.
- And he is yours, and his must needs be yours.

For him, I think not on him...

For his thoughts, would they were
blanks, rather than fill'd with me!

- I come to whet your thoughts on his behalf.
- Give me leave, beseech you.

I did send...

after the last
enchantment you did here...

a ring... in chase of you so did I abuse
myself, my servant and, I fear me, you.

And to force that on you, in a shameful
cunning, which you knew none of yours...

what might you think? Have you
not set mine honour at the stake?

- Let me hear you speak.
- I pity you.

- That's a degree to love.
- No, not a grise.

For 'tis a vulgar proof, that
very oft we pity enemies.

Why, then, methinks 'tis
time to smile again.

The clock upbraids me
with the waste of time.

Be not afraid, good youth,
I will not have you.

And yet, when wit and
youth is come to harvest...

your wife
is like to reap
a proper man.

There lies your way, due west.

Then westward-ho!

You'll nothing, madam, to my lord by me?

Stay!

- I prithee, tell me what thou thinkest of me.
- That you do think you are not what you are.

- If I think so, I think the same of you.
- Then think you right, I am not what I am.

I would you were
as I would have you be!

Would it be better, madam, than I am?
I wish it might, for now I am your fool.

O, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful
in the contempt and anger of his lip!

Grace and good disposition
attend your ladyship!

Cesario, by the roses of the spring, by
maidhood, honour, truth and every thing,

I love thee so, that, maugre all thy pride,
nor wit nor reason can my passion hide.

By innocence I swear, and by my youth I
have one heart, one bosom and one truth,

and that no woman has.

Nor never none shall mistress
be of it, save I alone.

And so...

Adieu, good madam...

Never more will I my master's
tears to you deplore.

Yet come again, for thou perhaps mayst move
that heart, which now abhors, to like his love.

- I could not stay behind you...
- My kind Antonio!

And not all love to see you, you
sir are a stranger to these parts...

I can no other answer make
but thanks, and thanks.

And never oft good turns are shuffled
off with such uncurrent pay.

I am not weary, and 'tis long to night.

I pray you, let us satisfy our
eyes with the memorials...

and the things of fame
that do renown this city.

I do not without danger
walk these streets...

Once, in a sea-fight, 'gainst Orsino
his galleys I did some service...

of such note indeed, that were I ta'en
here it would scarce be answer'd.

Belike you slew great number of his people?

For which, if I be lapsed in
this place, I shall pay dear.

- Do not then walk too open.
- You shall find me at the Elephant.

Why I your purse?

Haply your eye shall light upon some
toy you have desire to purchase

and your store, I think, is
not for idle markets, sir.

- At the Elephant.
- I do remember.

If ever thou shalt love, 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.

O, fellow, come, play that piece
of song we had last night.

Mark it, Cesario, it is old and plain.

The spinsters and the knitters in the
sun used to chant it. Prithee, sing.

♪ Come away ♪

♪ come away, death ♪

♪ And in sad cypress ♪

♪ let me be laid ♪

♪ Fly away breath ♪

♪ Fly away, fly away breath ♪

♪ I am slain ♪

♪ by a fair cruel maid ♪

♪ Not a friend ♪

♪ not a friend greet, my poor corpse ♪

♪ where my bones shall be thrown ♪

♪ A thousand thousand sighs to save ♪

♪ Lay me, O, where, sad true lover ♪

♪ never find my grave ♪

♪ to weep there! ♪

- There's for thy pains.
- No pains, sir, I take pleasure in singing, sir.

- I'll pay thy pleasure then.
- Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid,

one time or another.

Now, the melancholy god protect
you, for your mind is a very opal.

Farewell.

Once more, Cesario, get thee to
yond same sovereign cruelty!

- But if she cannot love you, sir?
- I cannot so be answer'd.

Sooth, but you must.

Say that some lady, as perhaps
there is, hath for your love...

a great a pang of heart
as you have for Olivia...

You cannot love her. You tell her so,
must she not then be answer'd?

There is no woman's sides can
bide the beating of so strong...

a passion as love doth give my heart.

No woman's heart so big, to hold
so much, they lack retention!

Alas, their love may be call'd appetite.

But mine is all as hungry as the
sea, and can digest as much.

Make no compare between that love a
woman can bear me and that I owe Olivia.

- Ay, but I know...
- What dost thou know?

Too well what love women to men may owe,
in faith, they are as true of heart as we.

My father had a daughter
loved a man, as it might be,

perhaps, were I a woman,
I should your lordship.

And what's her history?

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.

But died thy sister of her love, my boy?

I am all the daughters
of my father's house,

and all the brothers too.

And yet I know not.

I'll do my best to woo your lady...

Yet, a barful strife! Whoe'er I
woo, myself would be his wife.

No, faith, I'll not stay a jot longer.

Thy reason, dear venom, give thy reason.

Marry, I saw your niece...

do more favours to the count's serving
man than ever she bestowed upon me!

- I saw't I'th'garden.
- Uh... did she see thee the while,

old boy?
Tell me that.

As plain as I see you now.

This was a great argument
of love in her toward you.

'Slight, will you make an ass o' me?

She did show favour to the
youth in your sight only to

exasperate you, to awake
your dormouse valour.

You should then have accosted her,
and banged the youth into dumbness.

You are now sailed into the
north of my lady's opinion.

Unless you do redeem it by some laudable
attempt either of valour or policy.

It must be with valour, for policy I hate,
I had as lief be a puritan as a politician.

Why, then, challenge the
count's youth to fight with him.

Hurt him in eleven places, my
niece shall take note of it.

And there is no love-broker in the world
can more prevail with woman, than report of valour.

Will either of you bear
me a challenge to him?

Go, write it in a martial
hand, be curst and brief!

It is no matter how
witty, so it be eloquent.

About it!

Taunt him with the licence of ink!

- Where shall I find you?
- We'll call thee at thy cubiculum.

This is a dear manikin to you, Sir Toby.

I have been dear to him, lad,
some two thousand strong, or so.

Yond... yond gull Malvolio
is turned heathen.

- He... he's in yellow stockings.
- And cross-gartered?

- How now... Malvolio...?
- Sweet lady.

Smilest thou? I sent for
thee upon a sad occasion.

Sad, lady! I could be sad, this does make some
obstruction in the blood, this cross-gartering.

But what of that? if it
please the eye of one...

"Please one, and please all."

Why, how dost thou, man?
What is the matter with thee?

Not black in my mind...
though yellow in my legs.

It did come to his hands,

and commands shall be executed.

I think we do know the sweet Roman hand.

Wilt thou go to bed, Malvolio?

To bed?

Ay, sweet-heart.

And I'll come to thee.

God comfort thee! Why dost thou
smile so and kiss thy hand so oft?

How do you, Malvolio? Why appear you with
this ridiculous boldness before my lady?

"Be not afraid of greatness",
'twas well writ.

- What mean'st thou by that, Malvolio?
- "Some are born great,

"Some achieve greatness, and some
have greatness thrust upon them."

"Remember who commended thy yellow
stockings and wish see cross-gartered?"

"Go to thou art made, if thou desirest to be
so," "If not, let me see thee a servant still."

Why, this is very midsummer madness!

Madam, the young gentleman of
the Count Orsino's is returned.

I'll come to him.

Good Maria, let this fellow be looked to.

Where's my cousin Toby? Let some of
my people have a special care of him.

O, ho! do you come near me now?

No worse man than Sir Toby to look to me!

She sends him on purpose, that I may
appear stubborn to him, I have limed her!

But it is God's doing, and
God make me thankful!

And when she went away now,

"Let this fellow be looked to..."
Not Malvolio, nor after my degree, but fellow.

Why, every thing adheres together!

What can be said?

Nothing that can be...

can come between me and
the full prospect of my hopes.

In the name of sanctity, if all the devils of
hell possessed him, yet I'll speak to him.

- How is with you, sir?
- Go off, I discard you.

Sir Toby, my lady prays
you to have a care of him.

Ah! does she so?

- What, man! defy the devil!
- Do you know what you say?

Oh, la you, an you speak ill of the
devil, how he takes it at heart!

- Carry his water to the wise woman.
- It shall be done tomorrow morning.

My lady would not lose him

- for more than I'll say.
- How now, mistress!

Let me enjoy my private.

Get him to say his prayers, good Sir Toby.

- Get him to pray!
- My prayers, minx!

No, I warrant you, he will
not hear of godliness.

You are idle shallow things...

I am not of your element, you
shall know more hereafter.

Is't possible?

If this were played upon a stage now, I
could condemn it as an improbable fiction.

Come, we'll have him in
a dark room and bound.

- Why, we shall make him mad indeed.
- My niece is already in the belief that he's mad

we may carry it thus, for our
pleasure and his penance.

...Scurvy fellow.
...in thy throat.

More matter for a May morning.

Here's the challenge, read it.

- I warrant there's vinegar and pepper in't.
- Is't so saucy?

- Do it read.
- Give me!

"Youth, whatsoever thou art,
thou art but a scurvy fellow."

Good, and valiant.

"Thou comest to the lady Olivia, and
in my sight she uses thee kindly."

"but that is not the matter
I challenge thee for"

Very brief, and to exceeding good sense...

"I will waylay thee going home, where
if it be thy chance to kill me..."

Good!

"...thou killest me like
a rogue and a villain."

Still you keep o' the windy
side of the law, good.

"Fare thee well, and God have
mercy upon one of our souls!"

"He may have mercy upon
mine, but my hope is better"

"and so look to thyself."

"Thy friend..."

"...as thou usest him,
and thy sworn enemy."

ANDREW AGUECHEEK.

If this letter move him not, his
legs cannot! I'll give't him.

He is now in some commerce with
my lady, but will by and by depart.

Go, Sir Andrew, scout me for him at the
corner the orchard like a bum-baily.

So soon as thou seest him, draw thy sword,
and, as thou drawest swear horrible! Away!

Nay, let me alone for swearing!

I will deliver his challenge
by word of mouth.

And I beseech you come again tomorrow.
What shall you ask of me that I'll deny?

Nothing but this, your
true love for my master.

How with mine honour may I give
him that which I have given to you?

I will acquit you!

Thou art a foolish fellow...

Will you make me believe
that I am not sent for you?

- Go to, go to!
- Well, come again tomorrow, fare thee well!

A fiend like thee might
bear my soul to hell!

- Let me be clear of thee!
- Well held out.

- Gentleman, God save thee.
- And you, sir.

That defence thou hast, betake thee to't.

Of what nature the wrongs are thou hast
done him, I know not, but thy intercepter

bloody as the hunter, attends
thee at the orchard-end.

You mistake, sir, I am sure no
man hath any quarrel to me.

You'll find it otherwise, I assure you.

Therefore, if you hold your life at
any price, betake you to your guard

for your opposite hath in
him what youth, strength...

skill and wrath can furnish man withal.

- I beseech you, sir, what is he?
- He is a devil in private brawl.

Souls and bodies hath he divorced three.

I will return again into the house
and desire some conduct of the lady.

I am no fighter.

I beseech you to know what
my offence to him is,

it is something of my negligence,
nothing of my purpose.

Signior Fabian, stay you by
this gentleman till my return.

Pray you, sir, do you know of this matter?

I know the knight is incensed against
you, even to a mortal arbitrement...

Why, man, he's a very devil,
I have not seen such a firago.

Ah... I had a pass with him, and he gives me
the stuck in with such a mortal motion...

that it is... inevitable... they say he
has been fencer to the Shah of Persia.

- Pox on't, I'll not meddle with him.
- Ay, but he will not now be pacified.

- Fabian can scarce hold him yonder
- Plague on't!

Let him let the matter slip,
and I'll give him my horse.

Eh... I'll make the motion.

Stand here, make a good show on't.

I'll ride your horse as well as I ride you.

- I will make your peace with him if I can.
- I shall be much bound to you for't.

- I have persuaded him the youth's a devil.
- He is as horribly conceited of him.

There's no remedy, sir, he will
fight with you for's oath sake.

- Give ground, if you see him furious.
- Come, Sir Andrew, there's no remedy.

The gentleman will, for his honour's
sake, have one bout with you.

Come on...

To't!

Put up your sword!

If this young gentleman
have done offence...

- I take the fault on me.
- You, sir! why, what are you?

One, sir, that for his love
dares yet do more...

than you have heard him
brag to you he will.

Nay, if you be an undertaker, I am for you.

Hold! here come the officers.

I'll be with you anon.

Pray, sir,
put your sword up.

And, for that I promised you,
I'll be as good as my word.

- He will bear you easily and reins well.
- This is the man.

Antonio, I arrest thee at name of Orsino.

- You do mistake me, sir.
- No, sir, no jot.

I know your favour well.

Though now you have no
sea-cap on your head.

Take him away, he knows I know him well.

I must obey. This comes with seeking you.

What will you do, now my necessity
makes me to ask you for my purse?

- Come, sir, away.
- I must entreat of you some of that money.

What money, sir? For the fair kindness you
have show'd me here I'll lend you something...

Will you deny me now?

Come, sir,
I pray you, go.

This youth that you see here I snatch'd
one half out of the jaws of death.

What's that to us? Go tell my lord
Orsino, we will haul him here.

Lead me on.

A very dishonest paltry boy,
and more a coward than a hare.

Leaving his friend here in
necessity and denying him...

A coward, a most devout
coward, religious in it.

- 'Slid, I'll after him again and beat him.
- Do, cuff him soundly...

- But never draw thy sword.
- An I do not!

Malvolio: Thy wronged me!
Thy have put me into darkness!

The world shall know it!

No, I do not know you, nor I
am not sent to you by my lady!

Nor your name is not Master Cesario,
nor this is not my nose neither.

Nothing that is so is so.

I prithee, foolish Greek, vent thy folly
somewhere else, thou know'st not me.

"Vent my folly"! and tell me,
what I shall vent to my lady?

Shall I vent to her that thou art coming?

There's money for thee.

If you tarry any longer, I
shall give worse payment.

By my troth, thou hast an open hand!

Now, sir, have I met you
again? there's for you!

Why, there's for thee!

Are all the people mad?

Hold, sir, or I'll throw
your dagger o'er the house.

I would not be in some of
your coats for two pence.

- Hold, sir. Hold.
- I'll have an
action of battery against him,

though I struck him first,
yet it's no matter for that!

- Let go thy hand!
- I will not let you go, my young soldier!

I will be free from thee!

- What wouldst thou now?
- What, what?

Nay, then I must have an ounce or
two of this malapert blood from you.

Hold, Toby!

On thy life I charge thee, hold!

- Madam!
- Will it be ever thus?

Ungracious wretch, fit for the mountains
and the barbarous caves,

where manners ne'er were
preach'd! out of my sight!

Be not offended, dear Cesario.

Rudesby, be gone!

I prithee, gentle friend, go
with me to my house, and

hear thou there how many fruitless
pranks, this ruffian hath botch'd up...

that thou thereby mayst smile at this.
Thou shalt not choose but go, do not deny.

What relish is in this?
How runs the stream?

Or I am mad, or else this is a dream?

Let fancy still my sense in Lethe steep.

If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep!

Nay, come, I prithee, would
thou'dst be ruled by me!

Madam...

I will.

O, say so, and so be!

Prove true, imagination O...

prove true.

I would I were the first that
ever dissembled in such a gown.

- Jove bless thee, Master Parson.
- Bonos dies, Sir Toby.

For as the old hermit of Prague,

who never saw pen and ink, very wittily said
to a niece of King Gorboduc "That that is, is".

So I, being Master Parson,
am Master Parson, for,

- what is "that" but that, and "is" but is?
- To him, Master Topas.

What, ho, I say! peace in this prison!

Who calls there?

Master Topas, the curate, who comes
to visit Malvolio, the lunatic.

Good Master Topas, good
Master Topas, go to my lady...

Out, hyperbolical fiend! Talkest
thou nothing but of ladies?

The knave counterfeits well.

Good Master Topas, do not think I am mad.

They have laid me here
in hideous darkness...

- Sayest thou that house is dark?
- As Hell, Master Topas.

Why it hath bay windows
transparent as barricadoes

and the clearstores toward the south
north are as lustrous as ebony.

I am not mad.

This is the air...

that is the glorious sun

This pearl she gave me,
I do feel't and see't.

Yet doth this accident and flood
of fortune so far exceeds...

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...

- I am not... mad!
- You!

- Fare thee well.
- Master Topas!

I would we were well rid of this knavery...

I am now so far in offence with my niece...

that I cannot pursue with any safety.

Come by and by to my chamber.

♪ Jolly Robin... ♪

- ♪ Tell me how my lady does ♪
- Feste!

Feste! Feste!

Feste!

Feste! Good Feste! help me to a
candle, and pen, ink and paper.

Master Malvolio! Alas, sir, how fell
you besides your five wits?

Never was a man so notoriously abused!

They have here propertied me, kept
me in darkness, sent ministers to me!

I tell thee, I am
as well in my wits,
as any man in illyria.

- Well-a-day that you were, sir
- By this hand, I am!

Good Feste, some ink, paper and light, and
convey what I will set down to my lady.

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 as I perceive she does.

There's something in't that is...
deceiveable.

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, 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 do you say?

I'll follow this good man, and go with you.
And, having sworn truth, ever will be true.

But tell me true, are you not mad indeed?

Or do you but counterfeit?

Believe me, I am not.

I tell thee true.

Nay, I'll ne'er believe a
madman till I see his brains.

I will fetch you light and paper and ink.

- I'll requite it in the highest degree!
- ♪ 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, good man devil ♪

Fabian: Now,
as thou lov'st me,
show me his letter.

Belong you to the Lady Olivia, friends?

Ay, sir, we are some of her trappings.

If you will let your lady know...

I am here and bring her along with
you, it may awake my bounty further.

Marry, sir, lullaby to your
bounty till I come again.

This is the man, sir, that did rescue me.

- That face of his I do remember well...
- This is that Antonio, that took the Phoenix.

When your young cousin Titus lost his leg.

- He did me kindness, sir, drew on my side...
- 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?

Orsino, noble sir,

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.

His life I gave him! For his sake...

faced the danger of this adverse town!

- How can this be?
- When came he to this town?

Yesterday, and for three months before,
both day and night did we keep company.

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.

Bring him away.

What would my lord, but
that he may not have?

- Cesario, you do not keep promise with me.
- Madam.

- Gracious Olivia...
- What do you say, Cesario? Good my lord

My lord would speak, my duty hushes me.

If it be aught to the old tune, my lord

it is as fat and fulsome to mine
ear as howling after music.

- Still so cruel?
- Still so constant, lord.

What, to perverseness? You uncivil lady,

My soul the faithfull'st offerings hath
breathed out that e'er devotion tender'd!

What shall I do?

Even what it please my lord,
that shall become him.

Why should I not, in savage jealousy like to the
Egyptian thief at point of death, kill what I love?

But Madam, hear me this.

Since you to non-regardance cast my faith,
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.

And I, most jocund, apt and willingly, to
do you rest, a thousand deaths would die.

Come, boy, with me, my
thoughts are ripe in mischief.

- Where goes Cesario?
- 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.

Ay me, detested! how am I beguiled!

Who does beguile you?
Who does do you wrong?

Hast thou forgot thyself? is it so long?

- Call forth the holy father!
- Come, away!

Whither, my lord? Cesario, husband, stay!

- Husband!
- Ay, husband, can he that deny?

- Her husband, sirrah?
- No, my lord, not I.

Fear not, Cesario, take thy fortunes up!

O, welcome, father!

Father

I charge thee, by thy reverence, here to unfold,
though lately we intended to keep in darkness

what thou dost know hath newly
pass'd between this youth and me.

A contract of eternal bond of love...

Confirm'd by mutual joinder of your hands...
Strengthen'd by interchangement of your rings.

Seal'd in my function, by my testimony.

O thou dissembling cub!

What wilt thou be when time hath
sow'd a grizzle on thy case?

Farewell, and take her...

but direct thy feet where thou
and I henceforth may never meet.

- My lord, I do protest...
- O, do not swear!

Hold little faith, though
thou hast too much fear.

For the love of God, a surgeon!
Send one presently to Sir Toby!

For the love of God, your help!

What's the matter?

He has broke my head across and has
given Sir Toby a bloody coxcomb too.

I had rather than forty
pound I were at home!

Who has done this, Sir Andrew?

The count's gentleman, one Cesario,
he's the very devil incardinate.

- My gentleman, Cesario?
- 'Od's lifelings,
here he is!

You broke my head for nothing, and that that
I did, I was set on to do't by Sir Toby.

You didn't hurt by me, I never hurt you.
You drew your sword upon me without cause!

If a bloody coxcomb be a hurt, you have
hurt me. Here comes Sir Toby halting

If he had not been in drink, he would have
tickled you othergates than he did!

- How now, gentleman! how is't with you?
- That's all one: He's hurt me,

and there's the end on't.

- Sot, didst see Dick surgeon, sot?
- O, he's drunk, Sir Toby, an hour agone.

- I hate a drunken rogue.
- Away with him!

Who hath made this havoc with them?

I'll help you, Sir Toby, because
well be dressed together.

Will you help me?

An ass-head... and a coxcomb?
And a knave, a thin-faced knave!

A gull!

Get him to bed, and let
his hurt be look'd to.

I am sorry, madam, I
have hurt your kinsman.

But, had it been the brother of my blood, I
must have done no less with wit and safety.

Pardon me, sweet one, even for the vows
we made each other but so late ago.

Antonio!

O my dear Antonio! How have the hours rack'd
and tortured me, since I have lost thee!

- Sebastian... are you?
- Fear'st thou that, Antonio?

How have you made division of yourself?

Which is Sebastian?

Most wonderful!

Do I stand there?

I never had a brother,

but I had a sister, whom the blind
waves and surges have devour'd.

Of charity, what kin are you to me?

What countryman?

- What name? what parentage?
- Of Messaline, Sebastian was my father.

Such a Sebastian was my brother too.

So went he suited to his watery tomb.

Were you a woman, as the rest goes even,
I should my tears let fall upon your cheek,

and say:

"Thrice-welcome, drowned Viola!"

- My father had a mole upon his brow.
- And so had mine.

And died that day when
Viola from her birth...

That day that made my
sister thirteen years.

If nothing lets to make us happy both

but this my masculine usurp'd
attire, do not embrace me...

till each circumstance of place,
time, fortune, do cohere...

and jump that I am...

Viola...

Which to confirm, I'll
bring you to a captain

by whose gentle help I was preserved...

to serve this noble count.

So comes it, lady, you have been mistook

But nature to her bias drew in that.

You would have been contracted to a maid.

Nor are you therein, by my life, deceived.

You are betroth'd both to a maid and man.

If this be so, as yet the glass seems true,

I shall have share in
this most happy wreck.

Boy,

Thou hast said to me a thousand times
thou never shouldst love woman like to me.

And all those sayings will I overswear.

Give me thy hand.

Your master quits you,

and for your services done him, so
much against the mettle of your sex.

Here is my hand

you shall from this time be

Your master's mistress.

And let me see thee in thy woman's weeds.

A sister!
You are she.

From Malvolio?

What now? Malvolio?

Madam, you have done me
wrong, notorious wrong.

Have I, Malvolio? no.

Lady, you have. Pray
you, peruse that letter.

You must not now deny it is
your hand. well, grant it then!

And tell me, in the modesty of honour,

why you have given me
such clear lights of favour?

Bade me come smiling and
cross-garter'd to you.

And, acting this in an obedient hope.

Why have you suffer'd me to be
imprison'd, kept in a dark house,

visited by the priest, And made
the most notorious geck...

and gull that e'er invention
play'd on? tell me...

Why?

Alas, Malvolio, this is not my writing.

Though, I confess, much like the character.

But out of question 'tis Maria's hand.

And now I do bethink me, it was
she first told me thou wast mad.

This practise hath most
shrewdly pass'd upon thee.

Good madam, hear me speak.

Most freely I confess, Maria writ the
letter at Sir Toby's great importance.

In recompense whereof he hath married her.

Alas, poor fool, how
have they baffled thee!

"Why, some are born great..."

"...some achieve greatness..."

"...and some have greatness
thrown upon them."

I was one, sir, in this interlude...

one Master Topas.

"By the Lord, fool, I am not mad."

But do you remember?

"Madam, why laugh you at such a barren
rascal, an you smile not, he's gagged."

And thus the whirligig of time...

brings in his revenges.

I'll be revenged...

On the whole pack of you.

Pursue him and entreat him to a peace.

♪ When that I was and a little tiny boy,
with a hey, ho, the wind and the rain ♪

♪ A foolish thing was but a toy,
for the rain it raineth every day ♪

♪ But when I came to man's estate,
with a hey ho the wind and the rain ♪

♪ Gainst knaves and thieves
men shut their gate ♪

♪ for the rain it raineth every day ♪

- He hath been most notoriously abused.
- When that is done, and golden time convents,

A solemn combination shall
be made of our dear souls.

♪ But when I came, alas! to wive,
with a hey, ho, the wind and the rain ♪

♪ By swaggering could I never thrive, for
the rain, it wind and the rain, everyday ♪

♪ But when I came unto my beds ♪

♪ with a hey, ho, the wind and the rain ♪

♪ With toss-pots still had drunken heads ♪

♪ for the rain, and rain everyday ♪

♪ A great while ago the world begun,
with a hey, ho, the wind and the rain ♪

♪ but that's all one, my tale is done, and I'll strive to please you every day ♪

♪ And I'll strive to please you every day ♪

Every day

Every day