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[INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC PLAYING]

[TRUMPET PLAYING]

[INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC PLAYING]

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.

Oh, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound that

breathes upon a bank of violence stealing and giving the order.

Enough, no more.

It is not so sweet now as it was before.

Oh, spirit of love!

How quick and fresh art thou that not withstanding thy

capacity receiveth as the sea not 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.

Will you go hunt, my lord?

What Curio?

The hart.

Why, so I do... the noblest that I have.

Oh, when mine eyes did see Olivia first,

me thought she purged the air of pestilence.

That instant was I turned into a hart.

And my desires like fell into cruel hounds

ere since pursue me.

How now, what news from her?

So please, my Lord, I might not be admitted...

[INAUDIBLE]

...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 cloisteress, 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.

Oh, she that hath the heart of that fine frame,

to pay this debt of love but to a brother?

How will she love when the rich golden shaft have killed

the flock of all affections else that live in her... when

liver, brain, and heart, the sovereign thrones

are all supplied and filled, her sweet perfections

with oneself king?

Away before me to sweet beds of flowers.

Love-thoughts lie rich when canopied with bowers.

[INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC PLAYING]

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 drowned.

What think you, sailors?

It is perchance that you yourself was saved.

Oh, my poor brother!

And so perchance may he be.

True, madam.

And to comfort you a chance, assure yourself.

After our ship did split, when you and those poor numbers

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 practise...

to a strong mast that lived upon the sea.

Where, like Arion on a dolphin's back, I saw

him hold acquaintance with the waves so long as I could see.

For saying so, there's gold.

My own escape unfoldeth to my hope or to thy speech

serves for authority the like of him.

Knowest thou this country?

Ay, madam, well.

For I was bred and born not three hours

travel from this very place.

Who governs here?

A noble duke in nature as in name.

What is his name?

Orsino.

Orsino?

I have heard my father name him.

He was a bachelor then?

And so is now, or was so very late.

About 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.

What's she?

A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count

that died some 12 months 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 company and sight of men.

Oh, that I serve that lady and might not

be delivered to the world till I had made mine own occasion

mellow what my estate is.

That were hard to compass.

Because she will admit no kind of suit.

No, not the Duke's.

There is a fair behaviour in the, captain.

And though that nature with the 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 the 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 my 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.

Be you his eunuch, and your mute I'll be.

When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see.

I thank thee.

Lead me on.

[INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC PLAYING]

What a plague means my niece to take

the death of her brother thus?

I am sure care is an enemy to life.

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

Your cousin, my lady, takes great exception

to your ill hours.

Why. let her except before excepted.

Ay, but you must confine yourself

within the modest limits of order.

Confine?

I'll confine myself no finer than I am.

These clothes are good enough to drink in.

And so be these boots, too.

And they be not let them hang themselves in their own straps.

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 3,000 ducats a year!

Ay, but he'll have but a year in all these ducats.

He's a very fool and a prodigal.

Fie that you say so!

He plays in the viol-de-gamboys.

He speaks three or four languages word for word

without book and hath all the good gifts of nature.

He hath indeed all most natural.

For besides that he's a fool, he's a great quarreler.

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.

By this hand, they are scoundrels and subtractors

that say so of him.

Who are they?

They that add more over he's drunk nightly in your company.

With drinking health to my niece.

Oh, I'll drink to her as long as there's a passage in my throat

and drink in Illyria.

Oh, Toby.

He's got a coward and a coystrill that will not drink

to my niece till his brains turn of the toe like a parish-top?

What wench!

Oh, Castiliano vulgo!

Will For here comes Sir Andrew Agueface!

Sir Toby Belch!

How now, Sir Toby Belch!

Sweet Sir Andrew.

Oh, bless you, fair shrew.

And you, too, sir.

Accost, Sir Andrew, accost!

What's that?

My niece's chambermaid.

Good mistress, Accost.

I desire better acquaintance.

My name is Mary, sir.

Good mistress Mary Accost.

You mistake, knight.

Accost is front her, board her, woo her, assail her.

By my troth, I would not undertake her in this company.

Is that the meaning of accost?

Fare you well, gentlemen.

And thou let part so, Sir Andrew,

would thou might never draw sword again.

And you part so mistress, I would

I might never draw sword again.

Fair lady, do you think you have fools in hand?

Sir, I have not you by the hand.

Mary, but you shall have.

And here's my hand.

Now, sir, thought is free.

I pray you, bring your hand to the buttery-bar

and let it drink.

Wherefore, sweetheart?

What's your metaphor?

It's dry, sir.

Why, I think so.

I'm not such a fool, but I can keep my hand dry.

But what's your jest?

A dry jest, sir.

Are you full of them?

Ay, sir.

I have at my finger's ends.

Marry, now I let go your hand, I am barren.

Ah!

Oh, knight, thou lackest the cup of canary.

When did I see thee so put down?

Never in your life, I think.

Unless you see canary put me down.

Methinks sometimes I have no more wit

than a Christian or ordinary man had.

But I am a great eater of beef.

And I believe that does harm to my wits.

No question.

Hm, and I thought that I'd forswear it.

I'll 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, dancing, and bear-bating.

Oh, had I but followed the arts.

Then hadst thou had an excellent head of hair.

Why?

Wouldst that have mended my hair?

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

But it becomes me well enough, does't not?

Excellent!

It hangs like flax on a distaff.

And I hope to see hussy take thee between her legs

and spin it off.

Oh, faith, I'll home tomorrow, Sir Toby.

Your niece will not be seen.

And if she be, at four to one, she'll none of me.

The count himself hear her by woos her.

Oh, she'll none of that count.

She'll not match above her degree

neither in estate, years, nor wit.

I've heard her swear it.

Oh, tut, there's a life in it, man.

I'll stay a month longer.

Eh!

I am a fellow of the strangest mind in the world.

I delight in masks and revel, sometimes all together.

Art thou good at these kickshawses, knight?

As any man in Illyria whatsoever he be.

What is thy excellence in a galliard?

Faith, I can cut a caper.

And I can cut the mutton to it.

And I think I have the back trick simply as

strong as any man in Illyria.

Wherefore are these things heed?

Wherefore have these gifts a curtain before them?

Are they like to take dust like Mistress Mall's picture?

Why dost thou not go to church in the galliard

and come home in a coranto?

What does that mean?

Is this a world to hide virtues in?

I did think by the excellent constitution of the leg

that it was formed under the star of a galliard.

Ay, 'tis strong.

And it does indifferent well in a flame-colored stock.

Shall we set about some revels?

What shall we do else?

Were we are not born under Taurus?

Taurus, that's sides and heart.

No, sir.

It his legs and thighs.

Let me see the caper.

[INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC PLAYING]

Higher!

Whoa!

Excellent!

Whoa!

Hey, come on [INAUDIBLE].

[INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC PLAYING]

If the Duke continue these favours toward you, Cesario,

you are like to be much advanced.

He hath known you but three days,

and already you are no stranger.

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?

No.

Believe me.

I thank you.

Here comes the count.

Who saw Cesario, ho?

On your attendance, my lord, here!

[THUMP]

Oh.

Stand you while aloof, 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.

Sure, my noble lord.

If she be so abandoned to her sorrow, as it is spoke,

she never will admit me.

Oh, be clamorous.

And leap all civil bounds rather than make unprofitted returns.

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

Well, 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.

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 the maiden's organ,

shrill and sound.

And all is semblative a woman's part.

Heh, heh.

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.

I'll do my best to woo your lady, yet a barful strife.

Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife.

[INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC PLAYING]

Nay, either tell me where thou hast been, or I will not

open my lips so wide as a bristle

my enter in way of thy excuse.

My lady will hang thee for thy absence.

Let her hang me.

He that is well-hanged in this world is to fear no colours.

Make that good.

He shall see none to fear.

A good lenten answer.

I can tell you where that saying was born of I fear no colours.

Where, good Mistress Mary?

In the wars.

And that may you be bold to say in your foolery.

Well, god give them wisdom that have it.

And those that are fools, let them use their talent.

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?

Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage.

And for turning away, let summer bear it out.

You are resolute then?

Not so, neither.

But I am resolved on two points.

That if one break the other will hold.

Or if both break, your gaskins fall.

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.

Piece Peace, you rogue.

[BELL RINGING]

No more of that.

He comes my lady.

[BELL RINGING]

Make your excuse wisely your best.

[BELL RINGING]

Wit an't by thy will, put me in a good fooling.

Those wits that think they have thee do very oft prove fools.

And I that am sure I lack thee my pass for a wise man.

For what says Quinapalus?

"Better a witty fool than a foolish wit."

[INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC PLAYING]

God bless thee, lady.

Take the fool away.

Dear,

Do you not hear, fellows?

Take away the lady.

Go to, you're a dry fool.

I'll no more of you.

Besides, you grow dishonest.

To faults, madonna, that drink and good counsel will a amend.

For give the dry fool drink, then is the fool not dry.

And 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 is a flower.

And 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, 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.

Can you do it?

Dexterously, good madonna.

Make your... make your proof.

I must catechise you for it, madonna.

Good, my mouse of virtue.

Answer me.

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

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, gentleman.

What think you of this fool, Malvolio?

Doth he not mend?

Yes.

And shall do until the pangs of death shake him.

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

Oh, 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.

How say you to that, Malvolio?

I marvel that 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 brains 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.

Oh, 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.

Now Mercury endue thee with leasing.

For thou speakest well of fools.

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. 'Tis a fair young man and well attended.

Who of my people hold him in delay?

Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman.

Oh, 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'm sick, or not at home,

what you will to dismiss it.

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

And... and people dislike it.

Well, 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 own, half drunk.

What is he at the gate, cousin?

A gentleman.

A gentleman.

What gentleman?

Oh, 'tis a gentleman here...

ooh, ah.

Oh, no!

[GROANING] no, Toby!

[GROANING]

Help him!

Help him!

[INAUDIBLE]

Ah!

Oh!

Oh!

Oh!

Oh!

Oh!

A plague are these pickled herring.

How now, sot?

Good, Sir Toby.

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

Lechery!

I defy lechery.

There's... 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. A Well, it's all one.

What's a drunken man like, fool?

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.

Well, go thou and seek the crown.

And let him sit of my coz.

For he's in the third degree of drink.

He's drowned.

Go look after him.

He is but mad yet, madonna.

And the fool shall look to the madman.

Madam?

Um, yonder young fellow at the gate

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 full knowledge of that, too.

And therefore, comes to speak with you.

What's to be said to him, lady?

He's fortified against any denial.

Tell him he shall not speak with me.

Has been told so.

He says he'll stand at your gate like a sheriff's post

and be the supporter to a bench but he'll speak with you.

What kind of man is he?

Why, of mankind.

No.

What manner of man?

Very ill manner.

He'll speak with you will you or no.

Of what personage and years is he?

Ah, not yet old enough for a man nor young enough

for a boy...

as a squash is before 'tis a peascod or a coddling

when 'tis almost an apple.

'Tis with him in standing water between boy and man.

He's, um, very well favoured.

He speaks rather shrewishly.

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

Let him approach.

Call in my gentlewoman.

Um, gentlewoman, my lady calls.

Give me my veil.

Come, throw it o'er my face.

Sit, sit.

We'll... we'll once more hear Orsino's embassy.

The honourable lady of the house, which is she?

Sh!

Speak to me.

I shall answer for her.

Your will?

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.

[CHUCKLING]

Great pains to con it.

Good beauties, let me sustain no scorn.

I am very comptible even to the least sinister usage.

Whence came you, sir?

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.

Are you a comedian?

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?

If... if I do not usurp myself, I am.

Most certainly, 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.

Come to what is important in it.

I forgive you the praise.

Alas, I took great pains to study it.

And 'tis poetical.

'Tis the more like to be feigned.

I pray you, keep it in.

I heard you was 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.

Will you hoist sail, sir?

Here lies your way.

No, good swabber.

I am to hull here a little longer.

Some mollification for you giant, sweet lady.

Tell me your mind.

I am a messenger.

Sure, you have some hideous matter

to deliver when the courtesy of it is so fearful.

Speak your office.

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.

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 a secret as maidenhead...

to your ears, divinity, to any others, profanation.

Give us the place alone.

We will hear this divinity.

Now, sir, what is your text?

Most sweet lady...

A comfortable doctrine and much may be said of it.

Where lies your text?

In Orsino's bosom.

In his bosom.

In what chapter of his bosom?

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

Oh, I've read it.

It's 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.

Well, look you, sir, such a one I was this present.

Is't not well done?

Excellently done if God did all.

It is in grain, sir. 'Twill endure wind and weather.

'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white nature's own

sweet and cunning high and laid on.

Lady, you are the cruellest she alive if you

will leave these graces to the grave

and leave the world no copy.

Oh, 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?

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.

Oh, such love could be but recompense

though you were crowned the nonpareil of beauty.

How does he love me?

With adorations, fertile tears,

with groans that thunder love, with signs 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,

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 of took his answer long ago.

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 hour cry out, Olivia!

Oh, you should not rest between the elements of air and Earth,

but you should pity me.

You might do much..

What... what is your parentage?

Above my fortunes, yet my state is while.

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...

to... to tell me how he takes it.

Fair thee well.

[NON-VERBAL BABBLING]

I... I... I...

I thank you for your pains.

[NON-VERBAL BABBLING]

Here, spend this for me.

I am no feed post, lady.

Keep your purse.

No...

My... 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.

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

to give thee five fold 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 perfections

with an invisible and subtle stealth

to creep in at mine eyes.

Well let it be.

What... what ho, Malvolio?

Here, madam, at your service.

Oh, oh, run after that same peevish

messenger, the county's man.

He... um, he left this ring behind... 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 again tomorrow,

I'll give him reasons for it.

Hie thee, hie thee, Malvolio.

[INAUDIBLE]

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.

ANTONIO: Will you stay no longer?

Nor will you not that I go with you?

By your patience, no.

My stars shine darkly over me.

ANTONIO: Ah.

The malignancy of my fate might perhaps distemper yours.

Therefore, I shall crave of you your leave

that I may bear my evils alone.

It were a bad recompense for your love to lay any of them

on you.

Let me yet know of you wither you are bound.

No, sooth, sit.

My determinant voyage is mere extravagancy.

But I perceive in you so excellent

a touch of modesty that you will not extort from me what

I am willing to keep in.

Therefore, it charges me in manners the rather

to express myself.

You must know of me then, Antonio.

My name is Sebastian, which I called Roderigo.

My father was that Sebastian of Messaline...

Oh.

...Whom I know you have heard of.

He left behind him myself and a sister.

Both born in an hour.

If the heavens had been pleased would we had so ended.

But you, sir, altered that.

For some hour before you took me from the breach of the sea,

was my sister drowned.

Alas the day.

A lady, sir, though it was said

she much resembled me was yet, of have many accounted,

beautiful.

But though I could not with such estimable wonder overfar

believe that.

Yet, thus far, I will boldly publish her.

She bore a mind that envy could not but call fair.

She is drowned already, sir, with salt water.

Though, I seem to drown her remembrance again with more.

Pardon me, sir, your bad entertainment.

Oh, good Antonio, forgive me your trouble.

If you will not murder me for my love,

let me be your servant.

If you will not undo what you have done...

that is, kill him whom you have recovered...

desire it not.

Fare ye will at once.

My bosom is full of kindness.

And I'm yet so near the manners of my mother

that upon the least occasion more,

mine eyes will tell tales of me.

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.

Oh, but come what may.

I do adore thee so that danger shall seem sport,

and I will go.

[INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC PLAYING]

[COUGHING]

Were not... were not you even now with the Countess Olivia?

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

but hither.

Huh.

Well, she returns this ring to you, sir.

Huh?

You might have saved me my pains

to have taken it away yourself.

She adds, more over, that you are

to put your own lord into a desperate assurance she'll

none of him.

And one thing more...

that you be never so hardy as to come again in his affairs

unless it be to report his taking of this.

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 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 charmed her.

She made a good view of me.

Indeed, so much that me thought her eyes had lost her tongue.

For she did speak and starts, distractedly.

She loves me, sure.

The... the cunning of her passion invites me

in this churlish messenger.

None of my lord's ring?

Why, he sent her none.

I am the man.

If it be so as 'tis, poor lady, she would better love a dream.

Disguise, I see thou art a wickedness,

wherein the pregnant enemy does much.

How easy is it for the proper false in women's waxen hearts

to set their forms.

Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we.

For such as we are made of, such we be.

How will this fadge?

My master loves her dearly.

And I, poor monster, fond as much on him.

And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me.

What will become of this?

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?

Oh time, thou now must untangle this,

not I. It is too hard a knot for me to untie!

[INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC PLAYING]

Approach, Sir Andrew.

Not to be abed after midnight is to be up betimes.

And diluculo surgere thou knowest...

Nay, by my troth, I know not.

But I know to be up late is to be up late.

A false conclusion...

I hate it as an unfilled can.

Does not our lives consist of the four elements?

Faith, so they say.

But I think it rather consists of eating and drinking.

Thou art a scholar!

Let us, therefore, eat and...

oh.

Marian, I say... a stoup of wine!

Here comes the fool, I'faith.

How now, my hearts.

Did you never see the picture of the we three?

Hey!

Welcome, ass.

Now, let's have a catch.

By my troth, the fool has an excellent breast.

I had rather than 40 shillings I had

such a leg and so sweet a breath to sing as the fool has.

In faith, that was in very gracious fooling

last night when thou spokest of Pigrogromitus,

of the Vapians passing the equinoctial of Queubus.

Very good, I'faith.

I sent thee sixpence for thy leman.

Hadst it?

I did impeticos thy gratillity.

For Malvolio's nose is no whipstock.

My lady has a white hand.

And the Myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses.

[LAUGHING]

Excellent.

This is the best fooling, when all is done.

Now, a song.

Come on.

There's sixpence for you.

Let's have a song.

Yeh.

Now, here's a testril of me, too.

If one knight give a...

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.

(SINGING) Oh, mistress mine, where are you roaming?

Oh, mistress mine, where are you roaming?

Me Oh, stay and hear your true love's coming.

Oh, stay and hear your true love's coming that

can sing both high and low.

Trip no further pretty sweeting.

Journeys end in lovers meeting every wise man's son doth know.

Oh, excellent good I'faith.

Good, good.

(SINGING) What is love?

'Tis not hereafter.

What is love?

'Tis not hereafter.

Present mirth hath present laughter.

Present mirth hath present laughter.

What's to come is still unsure.

In delay, there lies no plenty.

Then come kiss me, sweet and 20.

Youth's a stuff will not endure.

A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight.

A contagious breath.

Uh, very sweet and contagious I'faith.

To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion.

Oh, but shall we make the welkin dance indeed?

Shall we rouse the night-owl in a catch that will draw

three souls out of one weaver?

Shall we do that?

By my troth, let's do it.

I am dog at a catch.

By our lady, sir, some dogs will catch well.

Most certain.

Let our catch be thou knave.

But hold thy peace, thou knave knight.

I shall be constrained in't to call thee knave, knight.

'Tis not the first time I have constrained one to call me

knave.

[LAUGHING]

Come, begin, fool.

It begins hold thy peace.

I shall never begin if I hold my peace.

[LAUGHING]

Good, I'faith.

Come, begin.

(SINGING IN ROUND) Hold thy peace.

And I pray thee hold thy peace.

Thou knave.

(SINGING) Hold thy peace.

And I pay thee hold thy peace.

(SINGING) Hold thy peace, thou knave.

(SINGING) Thou knave.

(SINGING) Thou knave.

Hold thy peace.

(SINGING) And I pray thee hold thy peace.

(SINGING) Hold thy peace, thou knave.

Thou knave.

(SINGING) Thou knave.

And I pray thee hold thy peace.

(SINGING) Hold thy peace thou knave.

(SINGING) Thou knave.

Thou knave.

(SINGING) Hold thy peace.

(SINGING) Hold thy peace thou knave.

(SINGING) Thou knave.

(SINGING) Thou knave.

(SINGING) Hold thy peace thou knave.

(SINGING) Thou knave.

(SINGING) Hold thy peace.

And I pray thee hold thy peace.

(SINGING) Hold thy peace.

(SINGING) Thou knave.

(SINGING) Thou knave.

(SINGING) Hold thy peace thou knave.

What a caterwauling do you keep here!

If My lady have not called up her steward Malvolio

and bid him turn you out of doors, never trust me.

(LOUDLY) My lady's a...

Sh!

(SOFTLY) My lady's a Cataian.

We are politicians.

Malvolio's a Peg-a-Ramsey.

(SINGING) And three marry men

(SINGING) Three marry men.

(SINGING) Three marry men were we!

Am not I consanguineous?

Am I not of her blood?

Oh, Tillyvally lady.

(SINGING) There dwelt a man in Babylon, lady, lady.

[LAUGHING]

Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable fooling.

Ay, he does well enough if he be disposed.

And so do I, too.

He does it with a better grace.

But I do it more natural.

(SINGING) We be soldiers three pardonne moi [INAUDIBLE] we

come forth of the low country with never a penny of money.

For the love of god, peace!

(SINGING) We be soldiers three.

Pardonne moi [INAUDIBLE] we come forth of the low country

with never a penny of money.

We be soldiers three...

(SINGING) Pardonne moi [INAUDIBLE] we come forth

of the low country with...

My masters, are you mad?

Or what are you?

Have you no wit, manners, nor honesty, but to gabble like

tinkers at this time of night?

Do you make an ale house of my lady's house

that you squeak out your cosiest catches without any mitigation

or remorse of voice?

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 lady bade me tell you that though she harbours you as her

kinsmen, she is nothing allied to your disorders.

If you are going to separate yourself

and your misdemeanours, you are welcome to the house.

If not and it will please you to take sleeve of her,

she is very willing to bid you farewell.

(SINGING) Farewell, dear heart,

since I must needs be gone.

Nay, good Sir Toby.

(SINGING) His eyes do show his days are almost done.

Is't even so?

(SINGING) But I will never die.

(SINGING) Sir Toby, there you lie.

This is much credit to you.

(SINGING) What and if you do?

(SINGING) Shall I bid him go and spare not?

(SINGING) Oh, no, no, no, no, no, You dare not.

Out of tune?

Sir, you 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 in the mouth, too.

Thou art in the right.

Go, sir.

Rub your chain with crumbs.

A stoup of wine, Maria?

Mistress Mary, if you prized my lady's favour at anything

more than contempt, you would not now give means for this

uncivil rule.

Well...

Ah, she shall know of it by this hand.

Go shake your ears.

'Twere as good a deed as to drink when a man's a-hungry

to challenge him the field and then to break promise with him

and so make a fool of him.

Do it, knight.

All write thee a challenge.

Or I'll deliver thy indignation to him by word of mouth.

Sweet, Sir Toby, be patient for tonight.

Since the youth of the count's was today with my lady,

she is much out of quiet.

For Monsieur Malvolio, let me alone with him.

If I do not gull him into nayword

and make him a common recreation,

do not think I have wit enough to lie straight in my bed.

I know I can do it.

Possess us!

Possess us!

Go tell us something of him.

Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Puritan.

Oh, if I thought that I'd beat him like a dog.

What, for being a Puritan?

Thy exquisitely reason dear knight?

Well, I have no exquisite reason for it.

But I have reason good enough.

The devil a Puritan that he is or anything constantly,

but a time-pleaser, an affectioned ass that cons state

without book and utters it by great swarths.

The best persuaded of himself, so

crammed as he thinks with excellencies,

that it is his 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 by the colour of his beard, the shape of his leg,

the manner of his gait, the expression of his eye,

forehead, and complexion, he shall find himself most

feelingly personated.

I can write very like my lady, your niece.

On a forgotten matter we can hardly

make distinction of our hands.

Excellent!

I smell a device!

I have't in my nose, too.

He shall think by the letters that thou

will drop that they come from my niece

and that she's in love with him!

My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour.

And your horse now would make him a ass.

Ass, I don't not.

Oh, 'twill be admirable!

Sport royal, a warrant you.

I know my physic will work with him.

I will plant you two, and let the fool make a third, where

he shall find the letter.

Observe his construction of it.

For this night, to bed.

And dream on the event.

Farewell.

Good night, Penthesilea.

[WHISTLING]

Before me, she's a good wench.

She's a beagle, true-bred, and one that adores me.

What of that?

I was adored once, too.

Let's to bed, knight.

All thou hadst need send for more money.

Oh, if I cannot recover your niece, I am a foul way out.

Oh, send for money, knight.

If thou hast her not at the end, call me cut.

And I do not, never trust me.

Take care how you will.

Come, come, I'll go burn some sack.

'Tis... 'tis too late to go to bed now.

Come, knight.

Come, knight.

Give me some music.

[INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC PLAYING]

Now, good morrow, friends.

Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song,

that old and antique song we heard last night.

We thought it did relieve my passion much.

More than light airs and recollected

terms of these most brisk and giddy-paced times.

Come, but one verse.

He is not here, so please your lordship that should sing it.

Who was it?

Feste, the jester, my Lord, a fool

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

He is about the house.

Well seek him out.

And play the tune the while.

[INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC PLAYING]

Come hither, boy.

If ever thou shalt love, in the sweet pangs of it, remember me.

Or such as I am, all true lovers are...

unstaid and skittish in all motions else

save in the constant image of the creature that is beloved.

How dost thou like this tune?

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

Thou dost speak masterly.

My life upon't, young though thou art,

thine eye hath stayed upon some favour that it loves.

Hath it not, boy?

A little, by your favour.

What kind of woman is't?

Of your complexion.

Oh, she is not worth thee then.

What years I'faith?

About your years, my lord.

Too old, by heaven.

Let still the woman take an elder than herself

or so wears she to him so sways she

level in her husband's heart.

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 my love be younger than thyself,

or thy affection cannot hold the bent.

For women are as roses whose fair

flower being once displayed, doth fall that very hour.

And so they are.

Alas, that they are so...

to die even when they to perfection grow.

How do you...?

Ah, fellow, come.

The song we had last night, mark it, Cesario.

It is old and plain.

The spinsters and the knitters and the sun

and the free maids that weave their thread with bones

do use to chant it...

it is silly sooth and dallies with the innocence of love,

like the old age.

Are you ready, sir?

Uh, I prithee sing.

[INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC PLAYING]

(SINGING) Come away, come away, death.

Come away, come away death.

And in sad Cyprus, in sad Cyprus let me be laid.

Fly away, fly away breath.

Fly away, fly away breath.

I am slain.

I am slain by a fair cruel maid.

My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, my shroud of white,

my shroud of white, oh, prepare it.

My part of death.

Now, I'm so true.

My part of death no one so true, no one so true did share it.

Not a flower, not a flower sweet.

Not a flower, not a flower sweet on my black coffin,

my black coffin, let there be strown.

Not a friend, not a friend greet.

Not a friend, not a friend greet my poor corpse, my poor corpse,

where my bones shall be thrown.

A thousand, thousand sighs, a thousand, thousand

sighs to save lay me, oh, where sad true lover never

find my grave to weep there.

A thousand, thousand sighs, a thousand, thousand

sighs to save, lay me, oh, 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, pleasure will be paid one time or another.

Give me now leave to leave thee.

Well, now the melancholy god protect thee

and the tailor make thy doublet of changeable taffeta.

For thy mind is a very opal.

I would have men of such constancy put to sea,

that their business might be everything, there

intent everywhere.

For that's it that always makes a good voyage of nothing.

Farewell.

Let all the rest give place.

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

Tell her my love, more noble than the world, prizes

not quantity of dirty lands.

The parts that fortune hath bestowed upon her, tell her,

I hold as giddily as fortune.

But 'tis that miracle and queen of gems

that nature pranks her in attracts my soul.

But if she cannot love you, sir?

I cannot be so answered.

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 answered?

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 called appetite.

No motion of the liver, but the palate that suffer

surfeit cloyment and revolt. But mine

is all as hungry as the sea and can digest as much.

Make no compare between that love a woman can bare me

and that I owe Olivia.

Ay, but I know.

What does 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 in 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.

Oh, aw.

Sir, shall I to this lady?

Ay.

That's the theme... to her in haste.

Give her this jewel.

Say my love can give no place.

Bide no delay.

[INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC PLAYING]

Come thy ways, Signor Fabian.

Nay, I'll come.

If I lose a scruple of this sport,

let me be boiled to death with melancholy.

Wouldst thou not be glad to have the niggardly rascally

sheep-biter come by some notable shame?

I would exult, man.

You know, he brought me out favour with my lady about

a bear-baiting here.

To anger him, we'll have the bear again.

And we will fool him black and blue.

Shall we not, Sir Andrew?

We And we do not, it is pity of our lives.

Here comes the little villain.

How now, my metal of India?

Get to you all three into the box tree!

What?

Malvolio's coming down this walk!

Oh.

He has been yonder in the sun practicing behaviour to his own

shadow this half hour.

Observe him, for the love of mockery.

For I know this letter will make a contemplative idiot of him.

Close, in the name of jesting!

Lie thou there, for here comes the trout that

must be caught with tickling.

[SIGHS]

'Tis but fortune.

All is fortune.

Maria once told me she did affect me.

And I've heard herself come thus near that should she fancy

it should be one of my complex.

Besides, she... she uses me with a more exalted respect

than anyone else that follows her.

What should I think on't?

Here's an overweening rogue!

Oh, peace.

Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock of him...

how he jets under his advanced plumes.

'Slight, I could so beat the rogue.

Peace, I say.

To be Count Malvolio.

Ah, rogue!

Pistol him!

Pistol him!

Peace, peace!

There is example for it.

The... the lady of the Strachy married

the yeoman of the wardrobe.

Fie on him, Jezebel!

Ay, peace.

But now is he deeply in.

Look how imagination blows him.

Having been three months married

to her sitting in my state...

Oh, for a stone bow to hit him in the eye!

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

having come from a day bed where I have left Olivia sleeping.

Fire and brimstone!

Oh, peace, peace!

And then to have the humour of state.

And after a demure travel of regard telling them

I know my place as I would they should do theirs,

to ask for my kinsmen Toby...

Bolts and shackles!

Oh, peace, peace, peace!

Now, now!

[MIMICKING BIRDSONG]

Seven of my people with an obedient start

make out for him.

I frown the while, perchance wind up my watch

or play with my...

Some rich jewel.

Toby approaches, curtsies there to me.

Shall this fellow live?

Though our silence be drawn from us with cars, yet peace.

I extend my hand to him thus, quenching my familiar smile

with an austere regard of control...

And does not Toby take you a blow of the lips then?

...Saying, Cousin Toby, my fortunes having cast me

on your niece, give me this prerogative of speech.

What?

What?

You must amend your drunkenness.

Out, scab!

Nay, patience or we break the sinews of our plot.

Besides, you... you waste the treasure of your time with

a foolish knight...

That's me, I warrant you.

...One Sir Andrew.

I knew it was I, for many do call me fool.

What employment have we here?

Now is the woodcock near the gin.

Hope Oh, peace!

And the spirit of humours intimate reading aloud to him.

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

These be very Cs, her Us, and her Ts and thus makes she

her great Ps.

It is in contempt of question her hand.

Her Cs, her Us, and her Ts, why that?

To the unknown beloved, this and my good wishes...

her very phrases!

By your leave, wax.

Soft!

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

It is my lady.

But, um, to whom should this be?

This wins him, liver and all.

Jove knows I love.

But who?

Lips do not move.

No man must know.

No man must know?

What follows?

I'm... No, the number's altered.

No man must know if this should be thee, Malvolio?

Marry, hang thee brock!

"I may command where I adore, but silence

like a Lucrece knife with bloodless

strokes my heart doth gore.

M-O-A-I doth sway my life."

A fustian riddle.

Excellent wench, say I.

M-O-A-I doth sway my life?

Nay but first, let me see.

Let me see.

Let me see.

What a dish of poison has she dressed him.

And with what wing the staniel checks at it!

I may command where I adore.

Why, she may command me.

I serve her.

She is my lady.

This is evident to any formal capacity.

There's no obstruction in this.

And the end, what should that alphabetical position portend?

If I could make that resemble something in me...

softly.

M-O-A-I.

Oh, ay, make up that.

He is now at a cold scent.

Ah, sowter will cry upon't for all this,

though it be as rank as a fox.

M... Malvolio!

M... why that begins my name!

Did not I say he would work it out?

The cur is excellent at faults.

M... but then there's no consonancy in the sequel.

That suffers under probation.

A should follow, but O does.

And O shall end, I hope.

Ay, or I'll cudgel him and make him cry, oh.

And then I comes behind.

Ay, and you had any eye behind you,

you might see more detraction at your heels

than fortunes before you.

M-O-A-I. This simulation is not as the former.

And yet to crush this a little, it

would bow to me, for every one of these letters

are in my name.

Soft.

Here... here follows prose.

"If this fall into thy hand, revolve.

In my stars, I am above thee.

But be not afraid of greatness.

Some are born great.

Some achieve greatness.

And some have greatness thrust upon them.

Thy fates open their hands.

Let thy blood and spirit embrace them.

And to inure thyself to what thou art like to be,

cast thy humble slough and appear fresh.

Be opposite with a kinsman, surly with servants.

Let thy tongue tang arguments of state.

Put thyself into the trick of singularity."

She thus advises thee that sighs for thee.

"Remember who commanded thy yellow stockings

and wish to see thee ever cross-gartered.

I say, remember.

Go to, thou art made if thou desires 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 champagne discovers not more.

This is open.

I will be proud.

I will read politic authors.

I will baffle Sir Toby.

I will wash off gross acquaintance.

I... I... I... I will be point-device the very man.

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

For every reason excites to this...

that my lady loves me.

She did commend my yellow stockings of late.

She did praise my leg being cross-gartered.

And in this, she manifests herself to my love

and with a kind of injunction drives

me to these habits of her liking.

I thank my stars.

I am happy.

I will be strange, stout, in yellow stockings,

and cross-gartered, even with the swiftness of putting on.

Jove and my stars be praised!

Oh.

No, no, 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.

Ty smiles become the well.

Therefore, in my presence, still smile, dear my sweet,

I prithee.

Jove, I thank you.

I will smile.

I will do everything that thou wilt have me.

[LAUGHING]

I'll not give my part of this sport

for a pension of thousands to be paid by the Sophy.

I could marry this wench for this device.

So could I, too.

And ask no other dowry with her, but such another jest.

Nor I neither.

Here comes my noble gull catcher.

Wilt thou set thy foot on my neck?

Or on mine either?

Shall I play my freedom at traytrip

and become thy bond slave?

I'faith, or I either.

Why, thou hast put him in such a dream

that when the image of it leaves him, he must run mad.

Nay, but say true.

Does it work upon him?

Like aquavitae with a midwife.

If you will then see the fruits of the sport,

mark his first approach before my lady.

He will come to her in yellow stockings...

and 'tis a color she abhors...

and cross-gartered, a fashion she detests.

And he will smile upon her, which will now be so unsuitable

to her disposition, being addicted to a melancholy as she

is, that it cannot but turn him into a notable contempt.

If you will see it, follow me.

To the gates of Tartar, thou most excellent devil of wit!

I... I... I...

I'll... I'll make one, too.

[INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC PLAYING]

[TRUMPET SOUNDING]

[INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC PLAYING]

(SINGING) Hey, robin, jolly robin.

Tell me how thy lady doth and thou shalt know of mine.

Hey, robin, jolly robin.

Tell me how thy lady doth and thou shalt know of mine.

Hey, robin, jolly robin.

Tell me how thy lady doth and thou shalt know of mine.

My lady is unkind perde.

Hey, robin.

Alack, why is she so?

Jolly, robin.

She loveth another better than me and that she will say no.

Tell me how my lady doth and thou shalt know of mine.

Hey, robin, jolly robin.

Tell me how thy lady doth and thou shalt know of mine.

[INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC PLAYING]

Save thee, friend, and thy music.

Dost thou live by thy tabor?

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.

So thou mayst say the king lies by a beggar

if a beggar dwell near him, or the church stands by the tabor

if thy tabor stand by the church.

You have said, sir.

To see this age!

A sentence is but a cheveril glove to a good wit.

How quickly the wrong side may be turned outward.

Nay, that's certain.

They that dally nicely with words

may quickly make them wanton.

I would therefore my sister had had no name, sir.

Why, man?

Why, sir, her name's a word.

And to dally with that word, might make my sister wanton.

But, indeed, words are very rascals since bonds

disgraced them.

Thy reason, man?

Oh, troth, sir.

I can yield you none without words.

And words are grown so false, I am

loath to prove reason with them.

I warrant thou art a marry fellow and carest for nothing.

Not so, sir.

I do care for something.

But in my conscience, sir, I do not care for you.

Now, if that be to care for nothing, sir,

I would it would make you invisible.

Art not thou the Lady Olivia's fool?

No, indeed, sir.

The Lady Olivia has no folly.

She will keep no fool, sir, till she be married.

And fools are as like husbands as pilchards are to herrings,

the husband's the bigger.

I'm, indeed, not a fool, sir, but a corrupter of words.

I saw thee late at the Count Orsino's.

Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun.

It shines everywhere.

I would be sorry, sir.

But the fool should be as oft with your master

as with my mistress.

I think I saw your wisdom there.

Nay, and thou pass upon me.

I'll no more with thee.

Hold, there's expenses for thee.

Well, 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, though I would not

have it grow on my chin.

Is thy lady within?

Would not a pair of these have bred, sir?

Yes, being kept together and put to use.

I would play Lord Pandarus of Phrygia, sir,

to bring a Cressida to this Troilus.

I understand you, sir.

'Tis well begged.

The matter, I hope, is not great, sir...

begging but a beggar.

Cressida was a beggar.

My lady is within, sir.

I will construe to them whence you come.

Who you are and what you would are out of my welkin.

I might say element, but the word is over-worn.

This fellow is wise enough to play the fool.

And to do that well, craves a kind of wit.

He must observe their mood on whom he jests,

the quality of persons, and the time and, like the haggard,

check at every feather that comes before his eye.

This is a practise as full of labour as a wise man's art.

For folly that he wisely shows is fit.

But wise men, folly fallen, quite taint their wit.

Save you, gentlemen.

And you, sir.

[SPEAKING FRENCH]

[SPEAKING FRENCH]

I hope, sir, you are.

And I am yours.

Will you encounter the house?

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

I am bound to your niece, sir.

I mean, she is the list of my voyage,

Taste your legs, sir.

Put them to motion.

My legs to better understand me, sir,

than I understand what you mean by bidding me taste my legs.

I mean, to go, sir, to enter.

I will answer you with gait and entrance.

But we are prevented.

Most excellent, accomplished lady, the heavens rain odours

on you.

That youth's a rare courtier.

Rain odours... well.

My matter hath no voice, lady, but to your own most

pregnant and vouchsafed ear.

Odours, pregnant, and vouchsafed...

I'll give them 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 is your name?

Cesario is your servant's name, fair princess.

My servant, sir.

'Twas never merry world since lowly feigning

was called complement.

You are servant to the Count Orsino, youth.

And he is yours.

And his must needs be yours.

Your servant's servant is your servant, madam.

For him, I think not on him.

For his thoughts would they were blanks rather than filled

with me.

Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts on his behalf.

Oh, by your leave, I pray you.

I bade you never speak again of him.

Oh.

But... but would you undertake another suit?

I had rather hear you to solicit that than music

from the spheres.

Dear lady...

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.

Under your hard construction must I sit 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 and baited it with

all the unmuzzled thoughts that tyrannous heart can think?

To one of your receiving, enough is shown.

A cypress, not a bosom, hides my heart.

So 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 pity enemies.

Why then, methinks 'tis time to smile again.

Oh, world, how apt the poor are to be proud.

If one should be a prey, how much the better to fall

before the lion then the wolf.

[CLOCK CHIMING]

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!

Grace and good disposition attend you ladyship.

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

Oh!

Oh!

Stay!

Oh!

Oh!

Oh!

Go!

Go!

Go!

I... I... 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 I think you right.

I am not what I am.

I... 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.

Oh, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful.

In the contempt and anger of his lip,

a murderous guilt shows not itself more soon

than love that would seem hid.

Love's night is noon.

Cesario, by the roses of the spring, by maidhood, honour,

truth, and...

and... and everything, I love thee so,

that maugre all thy pride, nor wit,

nor reason can my passion hide.

Do not extort thy reasons from this clause for that I

woo thou, therefore, has no cause, but rather

reason thus with reason fetter.

Loves sought is good, but given unsought is better.

By innocence I swear and by my youth

I have one heart, one bosom, and one truth...

Yes.

...And that no woman has, nor never none shall mistress be

of it save I alone.

[INAUDIBLE]

And so adieu, good madam, never more

will I my master's tears to you deplore.

Yet... yet come again!

For... for thou perhaps mayst move that heart which

now abhors to like his love.

[INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC PLAYING]

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

Thy reason, dear venom, give thy reason.

You must needs yield your reason, Sir Andrew.

Marry, I saw your niece do more favours

to the count's serving man than ever she bestowed upon me.

I saw it in the orchard.

Did she see thee the while, old boy?

Tell me that.

It's plain as I see you now.

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

'Slight, will you make an ass of me?

I will prove it legitimate, sire,

upon the oaths of judgement and reason.

And they've been grand-jury-men since before

Noah was a sailor.

She did show favour to the youth in your sight merely

to exasperate you, to awake your dormouse valour,

to put fire in your heart and brimstone in your liver.

You should then have accosted her.

And with some excellent jests, your fire new from the mint,

you should have banged the youth into dumbness.

But this was looked for at your own hand, and this was baulked.

The double gilt of this opportunity you let time

wash off.

And you're now sailed into the north of my lady's opinion

where you shall hang like an icicle on a Dutchman's beard,

unless...

unless you do redeem it by some laudable attempt either

of valour or policy.

An't be any way, it must be with valour, for policy I hate.

I had as lief be a Brownist as a politician.

Why then, build me thy fortunes upon the basis of that

valour.

Challenge me the count's youth to fight with him.

Hurt him in 11 places.

My niece shall take note of it.

And assure thyself, there is no love broker in the world can

more prevail in man's commendation with woman than

report of valour.

There is no way but this, Sir Andrew.

Will either of you bear me a challenge to him?

[CHEERING]

Go, write it in martial hand.

Be curst and brief.

'Tis no matter how witty, so it be eloquent and full

of invention.

Taunt him with the licence of ink.

If thou thou'st him some thrice, it shall not be amiss.

And as many lies as will lie in my sheet of paper,

although the sheet were big enough for the bed of Ware

in England, set 'em down.

[CHEERING]

Go about it!

Hah!

Yah!

Uh, where shall I find you?

Well, call thee at thy cubiculo.

[CHEERING]

This is a dear manikin to you, Sir Toby.

Oh, I've been dear to him lad, some 2000 strong or so.

Ah, well, we shall have a letter from him.

But you'll not deliver it?

Never trust me then.

And by all means, stir on the youth to an answer.

I think oxen and wainropes cannot hale them together.

For Andrew, if he were opened and you

find so much blood in his liver as

will clog the foot of a flea, I'll

eat the rest of the anatomy.

And his opposite, the youth, bears in his visage

no great presage of cruelty.

Look, what the youngest wren of nine comes.

If you desire the spleen and will laugh yourself

into stitches, follow me.

Yond gull Malvolio is turned heathen, a very renegado.

For there is no Christian that means

to be saved by believing rightly can ever

believe such impossible passages of grossness.

He's in yellow stockings.

And cross-gartered?

Most villainously... like a pedant that keeps a school

in the church.

I have dogged him like his murderer.

He doth obey every point of the letter

that I dropped to betray him.

He does smile on his face into more lines

than is in the new map with the augmentation of the Indies.

You have not seen such a thing as 'tis.

I... I can hardly forbear hurling things at him.

I... I know my lady will strike him If she do, he will smile.

And take it for a great favour.

Come, bring us, bring us where he is.

I would not by my will have troubled you.

But since you make your pleasure of your pains,

I will no further chide you.

I could not stay behind you.

Might desire, more sharp than filed steel did spur me forth.

And not all love to see you, though

so much as might have drawn one to a longer voyage.

But jealousy what might befall your travel

being skilless in these parts, which

to a stranger unguided and unfriended,

often prove rough and unhospitable.

My willing love the rather by these arguments of fear

set forth in your pursuit.

My kind Antonino, I can no other answer

make but thanks, and thanks, and ever thanks.

And oft, good turns are shuffled off with such uncurrent pay.

But were my worth as is my conscience firm,

you should find better dealing.

What's to do?

Should we go see the relics of this town?

Tomorrow, sir.

Best first go see your lodging.

Oh, I am not weary.

And 'tis long to night.

I pray you, let us satisfy with the memorials

and things of fame that do renown this city.

Would you pardon me...

I do not without danger walk the streets.

Once in a sea fight 'gainst the count his galleys,

I did some service of such note indeed that were I ta'en here,

it would scarce be answered.

Belike you slew great number of his people.

The offence is not of such a bloody nature.

Albeit the quality and the time of quarrel

might well have given us bloody argument.

It might have since been answered

in repaying what we took from them, which for traffic's sake,

most of our city did it.

Only myself stood out for which if I be lapsed in this place,

I shall pay dear.

Do not then walk too open.

It doth not fit me.

Hold, sir.

Here's my purse.

In the south suburbs at the Elephant is best to lodge.

I will bespeak our diet.

Whiles you beguile the time and feed your knowledge,

with viewing of the town, there shall you have me.

Why I your purse?

Haply your eye shall light upon some toy

you have desired to purchase.

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

I'll be your purse-bearer and leave you for an hour.

To the Elephant.

I do remember.

Here, here, put...

I... I have sent after him he says he'll come.

How shall I feast him?

Were bestow of him?

For youth is bought more oft than begged or borrowed.

I speak too loud.

Where is Malvolio?

He is sad and civil and suits well

for a servant with my fortunes.

Where is Malvolio?

He's coming, madam, but in very strange manner.

He is sure I possessed, madam.

Why, what's the matter?

Does he rave?

No, madam, he does nothing but smile.

Your ladyship were best have some guard about you

if he come.

For sure, the man is tainted in his wits.

Go call him hither.

I... I was mad as he if sad and merry madness equal be.

How... how now Malvoli...

oh.

Sweet lady, ho, ho, ho.

Smilest, thou?

I sent for thee upon a sad occasion.

Sad, lady?

I... I... I could be sad.

It does make some obstruction in the blood,

this cross-gartering.

But what of that?

If you please the eye of one, then 'tis with me as the very

true sonnet is...

please one, and please all.

Why... why...

why, how now, man?

What is the matter with thee?

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

It did come to his hand.

And commands shall be executed.

I think we do know the sweet Roman hand, hm?

Hm?

[CHUCKLING]

Wilt... wilt thou go to bed, Malvolio?

To bed?

Ay, sweetheart, and I'll come to thee.

God comfort thee!

Why dost So smile so and kiss thy hand so oft?

How do you Malvolio?

At your request.

Yes, nightingales answer daws.

Why appear you with this ridiculous boldness

before my lady?

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

What meanest thou by that, Malvolio?

"Some are born great."

Ha.

"Some achieve greatness"

What sayest thou?

"And some have greatness thrust upon them."

Heaven restore thee!

"Remember who commended thy yellow stockings."

Thy yellow stockings.

"And wished to see thee ever cross-gartered."

Cross-gartered.

I say, "go to thou art made if thou desirest to be so."

Am I made?

Oh.

Ah.

"If not let me see thee a servant still."

Why, why this is very midsummer madness.

Madam, the young gentlemen of the Count Orsino's

has returned.

I could hardly entreat him back.

He attends your ladyship's pleasure.

I'll... I'll come to him.

Good Maria, let... let this... this fellow be looked to.

Where's Cousin Toby?

Let some of my people have a special care of him.

I would not have him miscarry for the half of my dowry.

Oh, oh, ho.

Do you come near me now?

No worse man than Sir Toby to look to me.

Why this concurs directly with the letter.

She sends for him on purpose, that I may appear stubborn

with him.

For she incites me to that in the letter.

"Cast thy humble slough," says she.

"Be opposite with a kinsman, surly with servants,

let thy tongue tang with arguments of state,

put thyself into the trick of singularity,"

and consequently, sets down the manner how

as with a sad face, a reverent carriage,

a slow tongue in the habit of some sir of note and so forth.

I have limed her.

But it is Jove's doing.

And Jove, make me thankful.

When she went away now...

"let this fellow be looked to."

Fellow.

No, no, not Malvolio nor after my degree, but fellow.

Why everything adheres together, that no dram

of a scruple, no scruple of a scruple, no obstacle,

no incredulous or unsafe circumstance,

nothing that can be can come between me

and the full prospect of my hopes.

Well, Jove is the doer of this, not I. And he is to be thanked.

SIR TOBY: Which way is he, in the name of sanctity?

If all the devils of hell be drawn in little and Legion

himself possess him, yet I'll speak to him.

Here he is!

Here he is!

How is't with you, sir?

Oh, how is't with you, man?

Go off.

I discard you.

Let me enjoy my private.

Go off.

Lo, how hollow the fiend speaks within him.

Did not I tell you?

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

Ah, ha!

Does she so?

[SCREAMING]

Go to, go to, sh!

Peace!

Peace!

We must deal gently with him.

Let me alone.

How do you, Malvolio?

How is't with you?

Sssss!

[SCREAMING]

What, man!

Defy the devil.

Consider he's an enemy to mankind.

Do you know what you say?

Oh, la you.

When you speak ill of the devil, how he takes it at heart.

Pray God he be not bewitched.

Hey, carry his, um... his water to the wise woman.

Marry, and it shall be done tomorrow morning if I live.

My lady would not lose him for more than I'll say.

Ah, how now, mistress?

Oh, lord.

Prithee, hold thy peace.

This is not the way.

Do you not see you move him?

Let me alone with him.

No way but gentleness!

Gently, gently.

The fringes is rough and will not be roughly used.

How now, my bawcock.

How dost thou, chuck?

Sir!

Ay, Biddy, come with me.

What, man!

'Tis not for gravity to play cherry-pit with Satan.

Hang him, foul collier.

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.

[SCREAMING]

[INAUDIBLE]

Go hang yourselves, all.

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.

Why, his very genius have taken the infection

of the device, man.

Nay, pursue him now, lest the device take air and taint.

Why, we shall make him mad indeed.

The house will be the quieter.

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

Ugh.

My niece is already in the belief that he's mad.

We may carry it thus for our pleasure and his penance

till our very pastime, tired out of breath,

prompt us to have mercy on him.

At which time, we'll bring the device to the bar and crown

thee for a finder of madmen.

Oh, but see, but see...

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?

Ay, is't.

I warrant him.

Do but read.

Give me.

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

Good and valiant.

"Wonder not, nor admire not in thy mind why I do call thee so.

For I will show thee no reason for it.

It's a good note.

That keeps you from the blow of the law, hm?

"That comes to the Lady Olivia.

And in my sight, she uses the kindly.

But thou liest in my throat.

That is not the matter I challenge thee for."

Very brief and to exceeding good senseless.

"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 on 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.

My friend, as thou usest him, and thy

sworn enemy, Andrew Aguecheek.

[CHUCKLING]

If this letter move him not, his legs cannot.

I'll give it him.

You may have very fit occasion for it.

He is now in some commerce with my lady

and will by and by depart.

Go, Sir Andrew.

Scout me for him at the corner of the orchard

like a bum-baily.

So soon as ever thou seest him, draw.

And as thou drawest, swear horrible.

For he comes to pass oft that a terrible oath with a swaggering

accent sharply timed off gives manhood

more approbation than ever prove itself would have earned him.

Away!

Nay, let me alone for swearing.

[CHEERING]

Now, will not I deliver his letter.

For the behaviour the young gentleman given out to me

a good capacity and breedings.

His employment between his lord and my niece confirms no less.

Therefore, this letter, being so excellently ignorant,

will bring no terror in the youth.

He'll find it comes from a clodpole.

Oh.

Oh, but, sir, I will deliver his challenge by word of mouth,

That set upon Aguecheek a notable report of valour

and drive the gentleman, as I know his youth will aptly

receive it, into a most hideous opinion of his rage, skill,

fury, and impetuosity.

What This... this will so frighten them both,

they'll kill one another by the look like cockatrices.

Here he comes with your niece.

Give way till he take leave and presently after him.

I've... I've said too much unto a heart of stone and laid mine

honour too unchary out.

There's something in me that reproves my fault.

But such a headstrong potent fault it

is that it but mocks reprove.

With the same 'havior that your passion bears goes

on my master's grief.

Here, here, wear this jewel for me.

Oh, 'tis my picture.

Refuse... refuse it not.

It hath no tongue to vex you.

And I beseech you come again tomorrow.

What shall you ask of me that I'll deny,

which honour saved may upon asking give?

Nothing but this... your true love for my master.

How with mine honour may I give him that which I've given

to you?

I will acquit you.

Well, come again tomorrow.

Fare thee well.

A fiend like thee might bear my soul to hell.

Gentleman, God save thee.

And you, sir.

That defence thou hast betake thee to it.

Of what nature the wrongs are thou has done him, I know not.

But thy intercepter, full of despite, bloody as the hunter,

attends thee at orchard end.

Dismount thy tuck, be yare in they preparations.

For the assailant is quick, skillful, and deadly.

You mistake, sir.

I am sure no man have any quarrel to me.

My remembrance is very free and clear

from any image of offence done to any man.

You'll find it otherwise, I assure you.

Therefore, if you hold your life any price,

betake you to your guard.

For your opposite hath in him what youth,

strength, skill, and wrath can furnish man withal.

I pray you, sir, what is he?

He is knight, dubbed with unhatched rapier

and on carpet consideration.

But he's a devil in private brawl.

Souls and bodies hath he divorced three.

Three?

And his incensement at this moment

is so implacable that satisfaction can be none

but by pangs of death...

Ugh.

...And sepulchre.

Ugh.

Hob nob is his word.

Give it, or take it.

I will retire again into the house

and desire some conduct of the lady.

I am no fighter.

I have heard of some kind of men that quarrels purposely

on others to taste their valour.

Belike this is a man of that quirk.

Sir, no.

His indignation derives itself out of a very competent injury.

Therefore, get you on.

And give him his desire.

Back you shall not to the house, unless you

undertake that with me which with as much safety

you might answer him.

This is as uncivil as strange.

I beseech you, do me this courteous office

as to know of the knight what my offence to him is.

It is something of my negligence,

nothing of my purpose.

I will do so.

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

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

I know the youth is incensed against you, even

to a mortal arbitrament, but nothing

of the circumstance more.

I beseech you, what manner of man is he?

He's nothing of that wonderful promise to read him by his form

as you're like to find him in the proof of his valour.

He is indeed, sir, the most skillful, bloody,

and fatal opposite that you could possibly have

found in any part of Illyria.

Will you walk towards him?

Oh, I... I'll make your peace with him if I can.

I shall be much bound to you for it.

I am one that would rather go with sir priest

than sir knight.

I care not who knows so much of my mettle.

Why, man, he's a very devil.

I have not seen such a firago.

I had a pass with him... rapier scabbard and all.

And he gives me the stuck in with such a mortal

motion that it is inevitable.

And on the answer, he pays you as surely

as your feet hit the ground they step on.

They say he's been fencer to the Sophy.

A 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.

And I thought he'd been so valiant and cunning in fence,

I'd have seen him damned ere I'd have challenged him.

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

grey Capilet.

I'll make the motion.

Stand here.

Make a good show on it.

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

I have his horse to take up the quarrel.

I have persuaded him the youth's a devil.

He is horribly conceited of him

and pants and looks pale as if a bear were at his heels.

There's no remedy, sir.

He will fight with you for his oath's sake.

Oh, marry, he hath better bethought him of his quarrel

and he finds out now scarce to be worth talking of.

Therefore, draw for the supportance of his vow.

He protests he will not hurt you.

Pray God defend me.

A little thing would make me tell them

how much I lack of a man.

Come, give ground if you see him furious.

Oh!

Come, Sir Andrew.

There's no remedy.

[CRYING]

The gentlemen will, for his honour's sake,

have one bout with you.

He cannot by the duello avoid it.

But he has promised me, as he is a gentleman and a soldier,

he will not hurt you.

Come on, to it.

[GROANING AND CRYING]

Pray god he keep his oath.

I do assure you, sir. 'Tis against my will.

[SCREAMING]

[THUMP]

[SCREAMING]

[GROANING AND CRYING]

Put up your sword!

[SCREAMING]

If this young gentleman have done offence,

I take the fault on me.

If you offend him, I for him defy you.

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'm for you.

Oh, good Sir Toby, hold.

Here come the officers.

I'll be with you anon.

I pray, sir, put your sword up if you please.

Marry, will I, sir.

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

He will bear you easily and reins well.

This is the man.

Do thy office.

Antonio, I arrest thee at the suit of Count Orsino.

You 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.

But there's no remedy.

I shall answer it.

What will you do now my necessity makes

me to ask you for my purse?

It grieves me much more for what I cannot do for you than what

befalls myself.

You stand amazed.

But be of comfort.

Come, sir, away.

I must entreat of you some of that money.

What money, sir?

For the fair kindness you have shown me here

and part being prompted by your present trouble out

of my lean and low ability, I'll lend you something.

My having is not much.

I'll make division of my present with you.

Hold.

There's half my coffer.

Will you deny me now?

Is't possible that my deserts to you can lack persuasion?

Do not tempt my misery, lest that it

make me so unsound a man as to unbraid you with those

kindnesses that I have done for you.

I know of none.

Nor know I you by voice or any feature.

I hate ingratitude more in the man

than lying vainest, babbling drunkenness,

or any taint of vises whose strong corruption inhabits

our frail blood.

Oh, heavens themselves!

Come, sir.

I pray you, go.

Let me speak a little.

This youth that you see here I snatched one half out

of the jaws of death, relieved him with such sanctity of love

and to his image which methought did promise most venerable

worth did I devotion.

What's that to us?

The Time goes by.

Away!

But, oh, how vile an idol proves this god.

Thou hast, Sebastian, done good feature shame.

In nature, there's no blemish but the mind.

None can be called deformed but the unkind.

Virtue is beauty, but the beauty beauteous evil

are empty trunks o'erflourished by the devil.

The man grows mad.

Away with him!

Come.

Come!

Sir.

Lead me on.

Methinks his words do from such passion

fly that he believes himself.

So do not I?

Prove true, imagination.

Oh, prove true that I, dear brother, be now ta'en for you.

Come hither, knight.

Come hither, Fabian.

We'll whisper o'er a couplet or two of most sage saws.

He named Sebastian.

I my brother know yet living in my glass even such,

and so in favour with my brother.

And he went still in this fashion, colour, ornament,

for him I imitate.

Oh if it prove, tempests are kind and salt waves

fresh in love.

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

His dishonesty appears in leaving his friend here

in the necessity and denying him and for his cowardship

ask Fabian.

A coward, most devout coward...

religious in it.

'Slid, I'll after him again and beat him.

Do, cuff him soundly.

But never draw thy sword.

Oh, and I do not.

Come on, let's see the event.

I dare lay any money, 'twill be nothing yet.

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

To go, to go... thou art a foolish fellow.

Let me be clear of thee.

Well, held out, I'faith.

No.

I do not know you, nor I am not sent to you by my lady

to bid you come speak with her.

No, your name is not Master Cesario,

nor this is not my nose neither.

Nothing that is so is so.

I prithee, vent thy folly somewhere else.

Thou knowest not me.

Vent my folly?

Oh, he's heard that word of some great man

and now applies it to a fool...

vent my folly.

But I prithee now, ungird thy strangeness

and tell me what I shall vent to my lady?

Shall I vent to her that thou art coming?

I prithee, foolish Greek, depart from me.

There's money for thee.

If you tarry longer, I shall give worse payment.

By my troth, thou hast an open hand.

These wise men that give fools money

get themselves a good report after 14 years purchase.

Now, sir, have I met you again?

[WHISTLING]

[CLUCKING]

[WHISTLING]

Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw!

There's for you.

[CHEERING]

Why, there's for thee, and there, and there.

[GROANING]

Are all the people mad?

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

This will I tell my lady straight.

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

Come on, sir, hold.

Nay, let him alone.

I'll go another way to work with him.

I'll have an action of battery against him

if there be any law in Illyria.

Though I struck him first, it's no matter for that.

Let go thy hand.

Oh, come, sir.

I will not let you go.

Come, my young solider.

Put up your iron.

You're well-fleshed.

Come on.

I will be free from thee.

What wouldst thou now, huh?

If thou dares tempt me further, draw thy sword.

What?

What?

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

from you.

No!

No!

No!

Oh, Toby!

On thy life, I charge thee, hold!

Madam!

No!

No!

No!

Madam!

[SCREAMING]

[GROANING]

Will it be ever thus?

Ungracious wretch fit for the mountains and the barbarous

caves, where manners ne'er were breached.

Out of my sight!

Be not offended, dear Cesario.

Rudesby, be gone!

Oh My... Oh...

I prithee, gentle friend, let thy fair wisdom,

not thy passion, sway in this uncivil and unjust extent

against thy peace.

Go with me to my house and hear thou there

how many fruitless pranks this ruffian hath

botched up that thou thereby mayst smile at this.

Thou shalt not choose but go.

Do not deny.

Beshrew his soul for me.

He... he started one poor heart of mine in...

in thee.

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.

Oh, oh, oh, nay...

nay... nay... nay, prithee, come.

Would thou'ldst be ruled by me?

Madam, I will.

Oh.

Say so, and so be!

[INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC PLAYING]

Nay, I prithee, put on this beard and this gown.

Make him believe thou art Sir Topas the curate.

Do it quickly.

I'll call Sir Toby the whilst.

Well, well, well, well, well, I'll put it on.

I'll put it on.

And I will dissemble myself in it.

And I would I were the first that

ever dissembled in such a gown.

I'm not tall enough to become the function well,

nor lean enough to be thought a good student.

But to be said an honest man and a good housekeeper

goes as fairly as to say a careful man

and a great scholar.

The competitors enter.

Jove, bless thee master Parson.

Bonos dies, Sir Toby.

For as the old hermit of Prague that

never saw pen and ink, very wittily

said to a niece of King Gorboduc, "that that is, is."

So I, being master Parson, an master Parson.

For what is that but that and is but is?

To him, Sir Topas.

What ho, I say?

Peace in this prison.

MALVOLIO: Who calls there?

It's Sir Topas the curate who comes

to visit Malvolio the lunatic.

Sir... Sir Topas?

Sir Topas?

Good Sir Topas, go to my lady!

Out, hyperbolical fiend!

How vexest thou this man talkest thou nothing but of ladies?

Well said, master Parson.

To Sir Topas, never was man thus wronged.

Good Sir Topas, do not think I am mad.

They have laid me here in hideous darkness.

Fie thou dishonest Satan!

Sayest thou that house is dark

As hell, Sir Topas.

Why, it hath bay windows, transparent as barricadoes,

and the clerestories toward the south north

are as lustrous as ebony.

And yet complainest thou of obstruction?

I am not mad, Sir Topas.

I say to you this house is dark!

Madman, thou errest.

I say there is no darkness but ignorance

in which thou art more puzzled than the Egyptians

in their fog.

And I say this house is as dark as ignorant,

though ignorance were as dark as hell.

And I say there was never man thus abused.

I am no more mad than you are.

Make the trial of it in any constant question.

What is the opinion of Pythagoras

concerning wild fowl?

Ah... that the soul of our grandam might haply inhabit

a bird.

And what thinkest thou of his opinion?

I think nobly of the soul and no way approve his opinion.

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.

Ah, Sir Topas!

Sir Topas!

My most exquisite, Sir Topas.

Nay, I am for all waters.

Thou mightst have done this without my beard and gown.

He sees thee not.

To him in thine own voice and bring me

word how thou findest him.

I would we were well rid of this knavery.

If he may be conveniently delivered, I would he were.

For I am out 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.

[SCREAMING]

(SINGING) Hey, robin, jolly robin.

Tell me how thy lady does.

MALVOLIO: Fool?

(SINGING) My lady is unkind perde.

MALVOLIO: Fool?

(SINGING) Alas why is she so?

Fool, I say!

(SINGING) She loves another.

Who calls, ha?

Oh, 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 it.

Master Malvolio?

Ay, good fool.

Alas, sir.

How fell you beside your five wits?

Oh, fool, there was never a man so notoriously abused.

I am as well in my wits, fool, as thou art.

But as well?

Oh, then you are mad indeed if you be no better in your wits

than a fool.

They have here propertied me, keep me in darkness,

send ministers to me, asses, do all they

can to face me out of my wits.

Advise you what you say, sir.

The minister is here.

(HIGH CRACKLY VOICE) Malvolio!

Malvolio!

Thy wits the heavens restore!

Endeavour thyself to sleep and leave thy vain bibble babble.

Sir Topas!

(HIGH CRACKLY VOICE) Maintain no words with him good follow.

(LOW VOICE) Who, I, sir?

Not I, sir.

God by you.

Good, Sir Topas.

(HIGH CRACKLY VOICE) Merry, amen.

(LOW VOICE) I will, sir.

I will.

Fool, fool, fool, I say!

Alas, sir, be patient.

What say you sir?

I am shent for speaking to you.

Good fool, help me to some paper and some light.

I tell 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 fool, help me to a paper, ink, and light

and convey what I will set down to my lady.

And it shall advantage thee more than ever the bearing of letter

did.

I will help you to it.

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'll fetch you light and paper an ink.

Fool, I'll requite it thee in the highest degree.

Prithee, be gone.

(SINGING) Oh, I am gone, sir...

[SCREAMING]

...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 and his rage and his wrath

cries a-ha to the devil.

Like a mad lad, pare thy nails, dad.

Adieu, good man devil.

This is the air.

That is the glorious sun.

This pearl she gave me, I do feel it and see it.

And though 'tis wonder that enwraps me thus, yet 'tis not

madness.

Where's Antonino, 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 my 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.

Blame not this haste of mine.

If... 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 in peace.

He shall conceal it.

Once you are willing, it shall come

to note what time we will our celebration keep according

to my birth.

What... what do you?

I'll follow this good man and go with you.

Oh.

And having sworn truth, ever will be true.

Then lead the way, good father.

And heavens so shine that they may fairly

note this act of mine.

Now, as thou lovest me, let me see his letter.

Good Master Fabian, grant me another request.

Why, anything.

Do not desire to see this letter.

This is to give a dog and in recompense desire my dog again.

Belong you to the Lady Olivia, friends?

Ay, sir.

We are some of her trappings.

I know thee well.

How dost thou, my good fellow?

Truly, sir, the better for my foes and the worse

for my friends.

-

Just the contrary, the better for thy friends.

No, sir, the worse.

How can that be?

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.

Why, this is excellent.

By my troth sir, no.

Though it please you to be one of my friends.

Thou shalt not be the worse for me.

There's gold.

Now...

But that it would be double dealing, sir,

I would that you could make it another.

Oh, you give me ill counsel.

Put your grace in your pocket, sir, for this once.

And let your flesh and blood obey it.

Well, I would be so much a sinner to be a double dealer.

There's another.

Now...

Primo, secondo, tertio is a good play.

The old saying is the third pays for all.

The triplex, sir, is a good tripping measure.

Or the bells of Saint Bennett, sir, may put you in mind.

One, two, three, one...

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.

Marry, sir, a 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.

Will you just...

But as you say, sir.

You let your bounty take a nap.

I will awake it anon.

Here comes the man, sir, that did rescue me.

That face of his I do remember well.

Yet when I saw it last, it was besmeared as black as Vulcan

in the smoke of war.

A bawbling vessel was he captain of.

For shallow draft 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?

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.

He did me kindness, sir...

drew on my side, but in conclusion

put strange speech upon me.

I know not what 'twas, but distraction.

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, 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,

huh?

A witchcraft drew me hither, that most ungrateful 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 tension 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 20 years

removed thing while one would wink,

denied me mine own purse which I had

recommended to his use not half an hour before.

How can this be?

Ah, ta, ta, ta.

When came here to this town?

Today, my lord.

And for three months before no interim,

not a minute's vacancy, 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.

But more of that anon.

Take him aside.

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

Olivia may seem serviceable?

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, to whose ingrate

and unsuspicious altars, my soul the faithfullest offerings

hath breathed out that e'er devotion tendered.

What shall I do?

I mean...

Even what it please my lord that shall become him.

Oh.

But 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 sometimes 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 dove.

And I, most jocund apt and willingly, to do you

rest a thousand deaths would die.

What?

Where goes Cesario?

After him I love more than I love these eye,

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!

Ay my, 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!

Um, husband?

Ay, husband.

Can he that deny?

Her husband, sirrah?

No, my lord, not I.

Alas... alas, it is the baseness of thy fear that makes

thee strangle thy propriety.

Fear not, Cesario.

Take thy fortunes up.

Be that thou knowest thou art.

And then thou art as great as that thou fear'st.

Welcome, Father.

Father, I charge thee by thy reverence here to unfold.

Though... though, lately we intended

to keep in darkness what occasion now

reveals before 'tis ripe.

What... what thou dost know hath newly passed

between this youth and me.

A contract of eternal bond of love.

Confirmed by mutual joinder of your hands,

attested by the holy close of lips,

strengthened by interchangement of your rings.

And all the ceremony of this compact...

sealed in my function by my testimony.

Since when, my watch hath told me toward my grave I have

travelled but hours.

Oh, thou disembowelling cub.

What wilt thou be when time hath sowed a grizzle on thy case?

Or will not else thy craft so quickly

grow, that thine own trip shall be thine overthrow?

Farewell and take her.

But direct thy feet where thou and I henceforth

may never meet.

My lord, I do protest.

Oh, do not swear.

Hold little faith, though thou hast too much fear.

SIR ANDREW: Oh!

For the love of God, a surgeon!

Send one presently to Sir Toby.

What's the matter?

He has broke my head across and has given Sir Toby

a bloody coxcomb, too.

For the love of God, your help!

I'd rather than 40 pounds I were at home.

Who has done this Sir Andrew?

The count's gentleman, one Cesario.

We took him for a coward.

But 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 it by Sir Toby.

Why do you speak to me?

I never hurt you.

You drew your sword upon me without cause.

But... but I bespoke you fair and hurt you not.

If a bloody coxcomb be a hurt, you have hurt me.

I think you set nothing by a bloody coxcomb.

Here... here comes Sir Toby halting.

You shall hear more.

But if he had not been in drink, he

would have tickled you othergates than he did.

How now, gentleman.

How is't with you?

Oh, that's all one.

Has hurt me... there's the end on't.

Sot, didst see Dick surgeon, sot?

Oh, he's drunk, Sir Toby.

An hour gone.

His eyes were set at 8:00 in the morning.

Well, then he's a rogue and a passy measures panyn.

I hate a drunken rogue.

Away with him.

Who hath made this havoc with them?

I'll help you, Sir Toby.

Because we'll be dressed together.

Will you help?

An ass head and a coxcomb and a knave,

a thin-faced knave, a gull?

Get him to bed.

And let his hurt be looked to.

I'm 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.

You throw a strange regard upon me.

And by that, I do perceive it hath offended you.

Pardon me, sweet one, even for the vows we made to each other

but so late ago.

One face, one voice, one habit, and two persons.

A natural perspective that is and it not.

Antonio!

Oh, my dear Antonio!

How have the hours racked and tortured me

since I have lost thee.

Sebastian are you?

Fearest thou that, Antonio.

How have you made division of yourself?

An apple cleft in two is not more

twin than these two creatures.

Which is Sebastian?

Most wonderful!

Do

Do I stand there?

I never had a brother.

Nor can there be that deity in my nature

of here and everywhere.

I had a sister whom the blind waves and surges have devoured.

Of charity, what kin are you to me?

What countryman?

What name?

What parentage?

Hey!

Of Messaline, Sebastian was my father.

Such a Sebastian was my brother, too.

So went he suited to his watery tomb.

If spirits can assume both form and suit,

you come to fright us.

A spirit I am, indeed.

But am in that dimension grossly clad, which from the womb

I did participate.

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... My father had a mole upon his brow.

And so had mine.

And died that day when Viola from her birth

had numbered 13 years.

Oh, that record is lively in my soul.

He finished indeed his mortal act that day

that made my sister 13 years.

If nothing lets to make us happy both but this

my masculine usurped 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 in this town

where lie my maiden weeds by whose

gentle help I was preserved to serve this noble count.

All the occurrence of my fortune since

have been between this lady and this lord.

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 betrothed both to a maid and man.

Be not amazed.

Right noble is his blood.

Well, 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 1,000 times

thou never shouldst love woman like to me.

And all those sayings will I overswear.

And all those swearings keeps us true in soul as doth

that orbit continent the fire that severs day from night.

Give me thy hand.

And let me see in thy woman's weeds.

The captain that did bring me first on shore

hath my maids garments.

He upon some action is now in durance at Malvolio's suit...

a gentleman and follower of my lady's.

He shall deliver him.

Fetch Malvolio hither.

And yet now alas, I do remember me.

They say, poor gentleman, he's much distract.

A most extracting frenzy of mine own from my remembrance

clearly banished his.

How does he, sirrah?

Truly, madam, he holds Belzebub at the stave's end

as well as a man in his case may do...

has here writ a letter to you.

I should have given it you today morning.

But as a madam's epistles are no gospels,

so it skills not much when they're delivered.

Open't, and read it.

Look then to be well edified when

the fool delivers the madman.

(SCREAMING) "By the lord, madam, you wrong me and the world

shall know it!"

No!

No! no!

No, no!

[INAUDIBLE] No, come [INAUDIBLE]..

How now!

Are thou mad?

No, madam.

I do but read madness.

And your ladyship will have it as it ought to be.

You must allow vox.

I prithee, read in thy right wits.

Why, so I do, madonna.

But to read his right wits is to read thus.

Therefore, perpend, my princess, and give ear.

Read it you, sirrah.

"By the lord, madam, you wrong me.

And the world shall know it.

Though you have put me into darkness

and given your drunken cousin rule over me,

yet have I the benefit of my senses

as well as your ladyship.

I have your own letter that induced me

to the semblance I put on, with the which I doubt not

but to do myself much right or you much shame.

Think of me as you please.

I leave my duty a little unthought of

and speak out of my injury...

the madly-used Malvolio."

Did he write this?

Ay, madam.

Well, this savours not much of distraction.

See him delivered.

Fabian, go bring him hither.

My lord, so please you, these things further

on to think me as well a sister as a wife,

one day shall crown the alliance on't, so please you, here

at my house and at my proper cost.

Madam, I am most apt to embrace your offer.

Oh, your master quits you.

And for your service...

Your master quits you.

And for your service done him, so much against the mettle

of your sex, so far beneath your soft and tender breeding,

and since you called me master for so long, here is my hand.

You shall from this time be your master's mistress.

A sister!

You are she.

Is this the madman?

Ay, ay, my lord, this same.

How now, Malvolio!

Madam, you have done me wrong, notorious wrong.

Have I, Malvolio?

No.

Lady, you have.

I pray you, peruse that letter.

You must not now deny it is your hand.

Write from it if you can in hand or phrase,

or say 'tis not your seal nor your invention.

You can say none of this.

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-gartered to you, to put on yellow stockings

and to frown upon Sir Toby and the lighter people.

And acting this is in an obedient hope, why have you

suffered me to be imprisoned, kept in a dark house visited

by the priest and made the most notorious geck

and gull that e'er invention played on?

Tell me, why?

Alas, Malvolio.

This is not my writing, though I confess much

like the character.

But out of question, it is Maria's hand.

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

mad, then camest in smiling and... and in such forms which...

oh, look, look... here were...

Which here were presupposed upon thee in the law.

Prithee, be content.

This practise hath most shrewdly passed upon thee.

But when we know the grounds and authors of it,

thou shalt be both the plaintiff and the judge

of thine own cause.

Good madam, hear me speak.

A let no quarrel, nor no brawl to come, taint the condition

of this present hour, which I have wondered at.

In hope it shall not, most freely I confess myself

and Toby set this device against Malvolio.

Oh, no.

...Upon some stubborn and uncourteous parts we had

conceived against him.

But Maria writ the letter at Sir Tobey's great importance.

In recompense whereof, he hath married her.

Hurray.

How with a sportful malice this was followed

might rather pluck on laughter than revenge.

If that the injuries be justly weighted

that have on both sides passed.

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 Sir Topas, sir.

But that's all one.

By the Lord, fool.

I am not mad.

But do you remember?

Madam, why laugh you at such a barren rascal?

And you smile not, he's gagged.

And thus the whirligig of time brings in his revenges.

I'll... I'll be...

I'll be revenged on the whole pack of you!

He hath been most notoriously abused.

Pursue him and entreat him to a peace.

He hath not told us of a captain yet.

When that is known and golden time convents,

a solemn combination shall be made of our dear souls.

Meantime, sweet sister, we will not part from hence.

Oh.

Cesario, come.

For so you shall be while you were a man.

But when in other habits you are seen,

Orsino's mistress and his fancy's queen.

FESTE: (SINGING) When that I was a little tiny boy with hey, ho,

the wind and the rain, the wind and the rain, the wind

and the rain.

A foolish thing was but a toy, for the rain,

for the rain it raineth every day.

It raineth every day.

But when I came to man's estate with hey, hey, ho the wind

and the rain, the wind and the rain.

'Gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gate for the rain

it's raineth every day, it raineth every day.

But when I came, alas, to wive, with hey, ho,

the wind and the rain, the wind and the rain, the wind

and the rain.

By swaggering could I never thrive

for the rain, for the rain, it raineth every day.

It raineth every day.

But when I came unto my beds, with hey,

hey, how, the wind and the rain, the wind and the rain.

With toss-pot still had drunken heads,

for the rain it raineth every day, it raineth every day.

A great while ago, the world began with hey, hey, ho,

the wind and the rain, the wind and the rain, the wind

and the rain.

But that's all one.

Our play is done.

And we'll strive, and we'll strive,

to please you every day, to please you every day.

[INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC PLAYING, CROWD CHEERING,

[AND APPLAUSE] [CROWD CHEERING]

[CROWD CHEERING AND APPLAUSE]

[INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC PLAYING, CROWD CHEERING, AND APPLAUSE]

[CROWD CHEERING AND APPLAUSE]

[INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC PLAYING]

[CROWD CHEERING AND APPLAUSE]