Original subtitles

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 order.

Enough, no more.

What is not so sweet now as it was before?

O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou, that notwithstanding

thy capacity, receiveth as the sea 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 hut.

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

When mine eyes did see Olivia first, We thought she purged the air of

pestilence. That instant was I turned into a heart, and my desires, like

fell and cruel hounds, e'er since pursue me.

How now, what news from her? So please, my lord, I might not be admitted.

You might?

But from her handmaid do return this answer.

The element itself, till seven years' heat, shall not behold her face at ample

view. But like a cloistress she will veiled walk, And water once a day her

chamber round With eye-offending brine, all this to season A brother's

dead love, which she would keep fresh And lasting in her sad remembrance.

O, she that hath a heart of that fine frame To pay this debt of love but to a

brother, How will she love?

when the rich golden shaft hath killed the flock of all affections else that

live in her, when liver, brain, and heart, these sovereign thrones, are all

supplied and filled, her sweet perfections with one self-king.

Away before me to sweet beds of flowers, love-thoughts lie rich when

canopied with bowers.

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 were 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 number

savoured with you hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother.

most provident in peril, bind himself, courage and hope, both teaching him the

practice, to a strong mass that lived upon the sea, where, like Orion 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.

Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope, where 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.

For but a month ago I went from hence, and then t'was 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 twelve 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 served 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 thee, captain, and though that nature with a

beauteous wall doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee I will believe

thou hast a mind that suits with this thy fair and outward character.

I prithee, and I'll pay thee bounteously, conceal me what I am, and

be my aid for such disguise as haply shall become.

The form of my intent I'll serve this duke. Thou shalt present me as an eunuch

to him. It may be worth thy pains, for I can sing and speak to him in many sorts

of music that will allow me very worth his service.

What else mayhap 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.

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

I am sure cares an enemy to life.

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

Your cousin, my lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours.

Why, let her accept before accepted.

Aye, 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? Aye, he.

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

What's that to the purpose?

Why, he has three thousand ducats a year.

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

prodigal. Fine that you'll say so. He plays in the wild again, boys. 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

quarreller. And but that he hath the gift of a coward to allay the gust he

hath in quarrelling, tis thought among the prudent. he would quickly have the

gift of a grave. By this hand, there are scoundrels and substractors that say so

of him. Who are they?

They that add, moreover, he's drunk nightly in your company. With drinking

health to my niece.

Check it out.

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

Illyria. Oh, Toby. He's a coward and a coistral, but will not drink to my niece

till his brains turn to the toe like a parish top.

What wench.

Oh, Castigliano, vulgo, for here comes Sir Andrew, ague face.

Sir Toby Belch, how now, Sir Toby Belch. Sweet Sir Andrew.

Oh, bless you, fair shrew. And you too, sir.

Acost, Sir Andrew, Acost.

What's that?

My niece's chambermaid.

Good Mistress Acost.

I desire better acquaintance. My name is Mary, sir.

Good mistress Mary a cost You mistake night a cost is front her board her

woo her assail her by my truth I would not undertake her in this company

Is that the meaning of a cost Fare you well

gentlemen and now 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.

Marry, 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?

Aye, sir, I have them at my fingers' ends.

O knight, thou lack'st a 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 an ordinary man had.

But I'm a great eater of beef, and I believe that does harm to my wit. No

question.

And I thought that I'd forswear it.

I'll ride home tomorrow, Sir Toby.

Oh, 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-baiting.

Oh, had I but followed the arts. Then hadst thou had an excellent head of

hair.

Why, wouldst thou have mended my hair?

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

But it becomes me well enough, does not it?

Excellent. It hangs like flax on a distaff.

And I hope to see a hussy take thee between her legs and spin it off.

Alone tomorrow, Sir Toby, your niece will not be seen. And if she be, it's

four to one, she'll none of me.

The Count himself here hard by woos her.

Oh, she'll none of the Count.

She'll not match above her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit. I've

heard her sweat.

Oh, tat!

There's life in it, man.

I'll stay a month longer.

Hey!

I am a fellow of the stranger's mind of the world.

I delight in masks and revels sometimes altogether.

Art thou good at these kickshores, his knight?

As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be.

What is thy excellence in the galliard?

Faith, I can cut a caper. And I can cut the mutton to it. And I think I have the

back trip simply as strong as any man in Illyria.

Wherefore are these things hid?

Wherefore have these gifts a curtain before them? Are they like to take dust,

like mistress Moll's picture?

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

toe? What dost thou mean?

Is this a world to hide virtues in? I did think, by the excellent constitution

of thy leg, that it was formed under the star of a galliard.

Aye, it is strong, and it does indifferent well in a flame-coloured

stock.

Shall we set about some revels? What shall we do else? Were we not born under

Taurus? Taurus, that's sides and heart.

No, sir, it is legs and thighs.

Let me see thee keep up.

Higher!

Oh, what excellent!

If a duke continue these favours towards you, Cesario, you are like to be much

advanced. He hath known you but three days, and already you are no stranger.

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's there, Cesario?

On your attendance, my lord, here.

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 gate 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 unprofited

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 annuncios 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.

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.

Nay, either tell me where thou hast been, Or I will not open my lips so wide

As a bristle may enter in way of thy excuse.

My lady will hang thee for thy absence. 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 thee 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 talents. 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.

Act, in good faith, very act.

Well, go thy way. If Sir Toby would leave drinking, thou wert as witty a

piece of Eve's flesh as any in Illyria. Peace, you rogue, no more of that.

Here comes my lady. Make your excuse wisely, your best.

Wit, and be thy will, put me into good fooling.

Those wits that think they have thee do very oft prove fools, and I, that am

sure I lack thee, may pass for a wise man.

But what says Quenapolis?

Better a witty fool than a foolish wit.

God bless thee, lady. Take the fool away.

Do you not hear, fellows?

Take away the lady.

Go to you're a dry fool.

I'll know more of you. Besides, you grow dishonest. Two faults, Madonna, that

drink and good counsel.

Will a man forgive 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 butcher 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 it will not, what remedy?

As there is no true cuckold but calamity, so beauty is a flower, and the

lady bad take away the fool. Therefore I say again, Take her away.

Sir, I bade them take away you. Miss Prision in the highest degree, lady.

Cucullus non facit monarchum. That's as much to say as I wear not mockly in my

brain. Good Madonna, give me leave to prove you a fool.

Can you do it?

Dexterously, good Madonna.

Make your proof.

I must catechise you for it, Madonna. Good my mouse of virtue, answer me.

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

Good Madonna, why mourn'st thou? Good fool, for my brother's death.

I think his soul is in hell, Madonna. I know his soul is in heaven, fool. The

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

Take away the fool, gentlemen.

What think you of this fool, Malvolio?

Doth he not mend?

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

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

Or 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 two

pence 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 with these set kinds of fools no

better than the fool's 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, end you thee with leasing,

for thou speak'st well of fools.

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

you. From the Count Torsino, 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 madmen. Fire on him. Go, you Malvolio. If it be astute from the

Count, I'm sick or not at home. home what you will to dismiss it.

Now you see, sir, how your fooling grows old, 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. Here he comes, one of thy kin, as a most weak

peer martyr.

By mine honour, half drunk.

What is he at the gate, cousin?

A gentleman.

A gentleman?

What gentleman?

It is a gentleman here.

Oh, God.

Oh, no. Oh, God. Oh, no, Toby. No. No.

Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Oh.

Oh, God.

these pickle herring.

How now, sot! Good, Sir Toby.

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

Lettery? Oh, I defy lettery. There's one at the gate.

I marry what is he?

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

Give me faith, say I.

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 crowner, and let him sit of my cuz, 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 gates swears he will speak with you. I told

him you were sick.

He takes on him to understand so much and therefore comes to speak with you.

I told him you were asleep.

He seems to have a foreknowledge of that too and therefore comes to speak with

you. What'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 peas-cod, or a codling when tis almost an apple. Tis with him in

standing water between boy and man.

He's 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.

Gentlewoman?

My lady calls.

Give me my veil.

Come, throw it o'er my face.

We'll once more hear Orsino's embassy.

The honourable lady of the house, which is she?

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.

Great pains to con it.

Good beauties, let me sustain no scorn. I am very comfortable 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 I do not usurp myself, I am. Most certain, if you are she, you do usurp

yourself, for what is yours to bestow is not yours to reserve.

But this is from my commission.

I will un 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 were saucy at my gates and

allowed your approach rather to wonder at you than to hear you. If you be not

mad, be gone. If you have reason, be brief.

Tis not that time of moon with me to make one in so skipping a dialogue.

Will you hoist sail, sir? Here lies your way. No good, squabber. I am to hull

here a little longer.

Some mollification for your giant, sweet lady.

Tell me your mind. I'm a messenger.

Well, 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 learnt from my entertainment.

What I am and what I would are as 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.

It's not well done.

Excellently done, if God did all.

It is ingrained, sir, twill endure wind and weather. Tis beauty truly blent, is

red and white, nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on.

Lady, you are the cruelest 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 diverse schedules of my

beauty. It shall be inventoried in every particle and utensil labelled to my will

as item two lips in different red, item two grey eyes with lids to them, item

one neck, one chin, 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 sighs of fire. Your lord does know my mind. I cannot love him.

Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble, of great estate, of fresh and

stainless youth, in voices well divulged, free, learned, and valiant,

and in dimension and the shape of nature, a gracious person. But yet I

cannot love him.

He might have took his answer long ago.

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.

Hallow your name to the reverberant hills and make the babbling gossip of

the air.

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 is your parentage?

Above my fortunes, yet my state is well. I am a gentleman. Get you to your lord.

I cannot love him. Let him send no more.

Unless, perchance, you come to me again

to tell me how he takes it.

Fare thee well.

I thank you for your pains.

Here,

spend this for me. I have no feed purse, lady. Keep your purse. My master, not

myself, lacks recompense.

Love make his heart a 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

fivefold blaze. Not too fast, soft, soft.

Unless the master were the man.

How now, even so quickly may one catch the plague.

Methinks I feel this youth's perfections with an invisible and subtle stealth to

creep in at mine eyes.

Well, let it be.

What ho, Malvolio?

Here, madam, at your service. Run after that same peevish messenger, the

county's man.

He left this ring behind him.

no 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 I do

I

know not what and fear to find mine I 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.

Will you stay no longer?

Now will you not that I go with you? By your patience, no.

My stars shine darkly over me.

The malignancy of my fate might perhaps distemper yours.

Therefore I shall crave of you your leave, that I may bear my evils alone.

T'were a bad recompense for your love to lay any of them on you. Let me yet know

of you, whither you abide. No sooth, sir. My determinate 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 Rodrigo.

My father was that Sebastian of Messaline, 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 many accounted

beautiful.

But though I could not with such estimable wonder over far 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 well at once.

My bosom is full of kindness, and I am 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.

O, but come what may, I do adore thee so, that danger shall seem sport, and I

will go.

We're not you even now with the Countess Olivia?

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

Well, she returns this ring to you, sir. You might have saved me my pains to have

taken it away yourself.

She adds, moreover, that you are to put your 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 good view of me indeed so much that Methought her eyes had lost her

tongue, For she did speak in starts distractedly.

She loves me, sure.

The cunning of her passion Invites me in this churlish messenger.

None of my lords rink 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?

O Tyne, thou must untangle this, not I.

It is too hard a knot for me to untie.

Approach, Sir Andrew.

Not to be abed after midnight is to be up betimes, and

deliculo surgere thou know'st.

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.

The artist scholar let us therefore eat and drink.

Marianne, I say, a stoop of wine.

Here comes the fool of faith.

Oh, now, my heart.

Did you never see the picture of we three?

Welcome as now let's have a catch by my troth a fool has an excellent breast

I had rather than 40 shillings I had such a leg and so sweet a breath to sing

as a fool has In faith that was in very gracious fooling

Last night, when I spoke to pyrogrammeters of the vapians passing

the equinoxial of cuibus.

Very good at faith.

I sent thee sixpence for thy leman, hadst it? I did.

Impeticus thy gratility.

For Malvolio's nose is no whipstock, my lady has a white hand, and the Myrmidons

are no bottle-ale houses.

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.

Here's a testeral of me, too.

Now, if one night... Would you have a love song or a song of good life?

A love song. A love song. Aye, aye. I care not for good life.

Oh, mistress mine, where are you roaming?

Oh, mistress mine, where are you roaming?

O stay and hear your true love's coming, O 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, if I... Good, good.

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

twenty, Youth's a-stuff, will not end you.

A mellifluous voice, as I am true, knight.

A contagious breath.

Oh, very sweet.

And contagious, in fact.

To hear by the nose it is dulcet incontagion.

Oh, but shall we make the Wilkin dance indeed?

Shall we rouse the night owl in a catch that'll draw three souls out of one

weaver? Shall we do that? When my throat lets do it, I am dog and a cat. Oh, by

our ladies, there's some dogs that will catch well.

Most certain.

Let our catch be, thou knave. But hold thy peace, thou knave, knight. I shall

be constrained into to call thee knave, knight. Tis not the first time I have

constrained one to call me knave.

Come begin, fool, it begins, hold thy peace.

I shall never begin if I hold my peace.

Excellent, good.

If I come begin.

Hold thy peace, and I pray thee, hold thy peace.

What cacata warning 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. My lady's a cate... Shh! My lady's a Cataean.

We are politicians.

Malvolio's a Pekka Ramsey.

And three merry men, and three merry men, and three merry men away.

Am not I consanguineous?

Am I not of her blood?

Oh, Tilly Valley lady, there dwelt a man in Babylon.

Lady, lady.

Mishroomy, the knight's in admirable fooling. Aye, 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.

country with never a penny of money.

manners nor honesty, but to gabble like tinkers at this time of night?

Do you make an alehouse 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 kinsman, she is

nothing allied to your disorders.

If you can separate yourself and your misdemeanours, you are welcome to the

house. If not, and it would please you to take leave of her, she is very

willing to bid you farewell.

Farewell, dear, since I must needs be gone.

His eyes do show his days are almost under. Is't even so?

But I will never die.

It's hard to be there, you die. This is much credit to you.

What an if you do. Shall I bid him go and spare not? Oh, no, no, no, no, no,

you don't.

Out of tune, sir, you lie.

Art any more than a steward?

Must thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes

and ale? Yes, my saint, ah!

and ginger shall be hot in the mouth too.

That is right. Go, sir, rub your chain with crumbs. A stoop 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.

She shall know of it by this hand.

Go shake your ears.

It were 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, I'll 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 Counts 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 a nay-word 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, or tell us something of him. To 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 exquisite 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

swathes, 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 it in my nose too.

He shall think by the letters that thou wilt 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 an ass.

As I doubt not. Oh, it will be admirable.

Sport royal, I 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.

Before me, she's a good wench.

She's a beagle.

Truebred. And one that adores me. What a that.

I was adored once, too.

Let's to bed, knight.

Oh, thou hadst need send for more money.

Oh, if I cannot recover your niece, I'm a foul...

Oh, send for money, knight. If thou hast a nod at the end, call me cat.

And I do not. Never trust me.

Take it how you will.

Come, come.

I'll go burn some sack.

Oh, it is too late to go to bed now.

Give me some music.

Ah, now, good morrow, friends, now, good Cesario, but that piece of song,

that old and antique song we heard last night, me 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.

Come hither, boy.

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

For such as I am, all true lovers are, unstayed and skittish in all motions

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

How just I 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 worthy then.

What, years of faith?

About your years, my lord.

Too old, by heaven.

No, let still the woman take an elder than herself, for 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 thy 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.

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, they used to chant it. It is silly sooth and dallies with

the innocence of love.

Like the old age.

Are you ready, sir?

I pray they sing.

Come away, come away death.

Come away, come away death.

And in sad Cyprus, in sad Cyprus

let me...

fire away breath fire away fire

My shroud of white, oh prepare

it.

My part of death,

no one so true.

My part of death, no one so true.

No one so true.

Not a flower, not a flower sweet.

Not a flower, not a flower sweet.

On my black coffin, my black coffin,

let there be strong.

Not a friend, not a friend green.

Not a friend, not a friend grieved 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 graver to

weep there.

This 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 no 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, their intent everywhere, for that's it that always makes a good

voyage of nothing.

Farewell.

Once more, Cesario, get thee to yon 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.

Super, you must say that some lady, as perhaps there is, hath for your love as

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 bear me, And that I owe

Olivia. Ay, but I know.

What dost thou know?

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

as we.

My father had a daughter, loved a man.

As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman, I should your lordship.

And what's her history?

A blank, my lord. She never told her love, but let concealment, like a worm

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.

Sir, shall I to this lady? Aye.

That's the theme.

To her in haste, give her this jewel. Say, my love can give no

place, bide no diner.

Come thy way, Signor Fabian. And they all 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 of 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? And we do not. It is pity of our lives.

Here comes the little villain.

How now, my metal of India. Get ye all three into the box tree.

What?

Malvolio's coming down this walk.

Oh. He has been yonder in the sun practising 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.

for here comes the trout that must be caught with pickling.

Ah, 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 complexion.

Besides, she uses me with a more exalted respect than anyone else that follows

her. What should I think of it? 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.

Oh, rogue.

Pistol him, pistol him. Peace, peace.

There is example for it. The lady of the strait, she married the yeoman of the

wardrobe. Fie on him, Jezebel. Oh, peace.

Now is he deeply in.

Our 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 gown.

Having come from a daybed where I have left Olivia sleeping.

Fire and brimstone! 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 kinsman, Toby.

Bolts and shackles! Peace!

No! No!

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.

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.

You must amend your drunkenness. Out, scab it! Patience, or we break the

sinews of our plots. Besides, you waste the treasure of your time with a foolish

knight. That's me, I warrant you.

One Sir Andrew.

I knew to his eye.

For many do call me fool.

What employment have we here?

Now is the woodcock near the gin. Oh, peace and the spirit of humour's

intimate reading aloud to him.

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

These be her very C's, her U's and her T's.

And thus makes she her great P's. It is in contempt of question.

Her hand.

Her C's, her U's and her T's. Why that?

To the unknown beloved.

This and my good wishes.

Her very phrases.

By your leave, wax.

Soft.

And the impressor.

Her Lucrece, with which he uses to seal. It is, my lady, but 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, Brack!

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 Faustian 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 hath she dressed in. And with what wing this Daniel

checks at it. I may command where I adore.

Well, 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.

A-I.

Oh, why, make up that.

He's now but a cold scent. Ah, salt will cry upon for all this, though it be as

rank as a fox.

M.

M's my name!

Ah, did not I say you would work it out? The cur is excellent at fault.

M!

But then there's no consonancy in the sequel. That suffers under probation.

A should follow, but O does.

Aye, and O shall end, I hope. Aye, or I'll cudgel him and make him cry, O. And

then I comes behind.

Aye, 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 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 commended thy yellow stockings and wished to see thee ever cross-gartered

I say, remember, go to thou art made, if thou desirest to be so. If not, let me

see thee a steward still, the fellow of servants, and not worthy to touch

fortune's fingers.

Farewell, she that would alter services with thee, the fortunate unhappy.

Daylight and 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 will be point device the very man.

I do not now fool myself to let imagination jade me for every

reason excites to this that my lady

loves me.

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-guarded,

even with the swiftness of putting on, Jove and my stars be praised.

Now, here is yet a postscript.

Thou canst not choose but know who I am. If thou entertain'st my love, let it

appear in thy smiling.

Thy smiles become thee well, therefore in my presence still smile.

Dear my sweet, I prithee.

Jove, I thank you.

I will smile.

I will do everything that thou wilt have me.

I'll not give my part of this sport for a pension of thousands to be paid by the

Sophie. I could marry this wench for this device.

So can I too.

And ask no other dowry with her but such another gist. Nor I neither.

Here comes my noble gold catcher.

Wilt thou set thy foot on my neck? Or mine either.

Shall I play my freedom at trade-trip and become thy bond-slave?

If 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 colour 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, the most excellent devil of... I'll make one too.

Hey, Robin,

jolly Robin, tell me how thy

lady doth, and thou shalt know of mine.

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

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 thy taber, if thy taber stand by the church? You have

said, sir.

To see this age!

A sentence is But a cheverel glove to a good wit, How quickly the wrong side May

be turned outwards. Nay, that's certain.

They that dally nicely with words May quickly make them wanton. I would

therefore my sister Had it 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 disgrace them. Thy reason,

man. O, truth, sir, I can yield you none without words, and words are grown so

false, I'm loath to prove reason with them. I warrant thou art a merry 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 bread, sir?

Yes.

Being kept together and put to use. Oh, 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 constat 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

overworn.

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 practice 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?

Dieu vous garde, monsieur.

Et vous aussi, votre serviteur.

I hope so 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 do 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 gate and entrance.

But we are prevented.

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

That used 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 get 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.

It was never merry world since lowly feigning was called compliment.

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 bad you never speak

again of him.

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 grease, for tis a vulgar proof that very oft we pity enemies.

Why, then methinks, tis time to smile again.

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

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

wolf.

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 your ladyship.

You nothing, madam, to my lord by me?

Prithee, tell me what thou think'st of me. That you do think you are not what

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

what I am.

I would you were as I would have you be.

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

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 cesaro by the roses of the spring

by maidhood honor truth and And everything.

I love thee so that morger 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 hast no cause.

But rather reason thus with reason fetter.

Love 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, and that no woman has, nor never none, shall mistress be of it, save I

alone am so adjure. Good madam, nevermore will I my master's tears to

you deplore. Yet, yet, come again!

For thou perhaps mayst move that heart which now abhors to like his love.

not stay a jot longer.

Thy reason, dear Venom, give thy reason. You must need yield your reason, Sir

Andrew. Mary, 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. As plain as I see you now.

This was a great argument of loving her toward you.

Slight, but you make an ass of me. I will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the

oaths of judgment and reason. And they've been grand jurymen 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, fire new from the mint, you should have banged

the youth into dunness.

But this was looked for at your hand, and this was balked.

The double guilt 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...

Do redeem it, you know, by some laudable attempt, either of valour or policy.

Well, Antby, anyway, it must be with valour, for policy I hate.

I'd as lief be a browness as a politician.

Why, then, build me thy fortunes upon the basis of valour. Challenge me, the

Count's youth, to fight with him.

Hurt him in eleven 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? Go, write it in a martial hand.

Be cursed and brief.

Tis no matter how witty, so it be eloquent and full of invention.

Taunt him with the license of ink.

If thou thou'st him some thrice, it shall not be amiss. And as many lies as

will lie in thy sheet of paper, although the sheet were big enough for the bed of

ware in England, set him down.

Go about it.

Where shall I find you?

We'll call thee at thy cubiculo.

Well, this is a dear mannequin to you, Sir Toby. Oh, I've been dear to him,

lad. Some 2,000 strong or so.

Well, we shall have a rare letter from him. But you'll not deliver it?

Never. Trust me, then.

And by all means, stir on the youths to an answer. I think oxen and wainrobes

cannot hail 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 where the youngest wren of nine comes.

If you desire the spleen and will laugh yourself into stitches, follow me.

Yond Gal 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 drop to betray him. He doth smile 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 can hardly forbear hurling things at

him.

lady will strike him if she do he'll smile and take it for a

great favor 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 my desire more sharp than philid steel

despair 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 skillless in these parts,

which to a stranger, unguided and unfriended, often prove rough and

unhospitable, my willing love, there rather by these arguments of fear set

forth in your pursuit. My kind Antonio.

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?

Shall we go see the relics of this town? Tomorrow, sir.

Best first go see your lodging. I am not weary, and tis long tonight. I pray you,

let us satisfy our eyes with the memorials and things of fame that do

renown this city. Would you pardon me?

I do not without danger walk these streets.

Once in a sea-fight, gainst the county's galleys, I did some service of such note

indeed, that were I ta'en here it would scarce be answered.

Belike he slew great number of his people.

The fence 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.

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 these south suburbs that the elephant is best to lodge, I will bespeak our

diet, whilst you beguile the time and feed your knowledge with viewing of the

town. There shall you have me. Why are your purse?

Happily, your eyes shall light upon some toy you have desired to purchase, and

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

Well, I'll be your purse-bearer and leave you for an hour. To the elephant.

I do remember.

Here, here.

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

How shall I feast him? What bestoweth him? For youth is bought more oft than

begged or borrowed.

I speak too loud.

Where's Malvolio? He's 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 possessed, madam.

Why, what's the matter? Does he rage? No, madam, he does nothing but smile.

Your ladyship were best to have some guard about you if he come. For sure the

man is tainted in his wits. Go call him hither.

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

I sent for thee upon a sad occasion.

Sad, lady? I could be sad. It does make some obstruction in the blood, this

cross-gartering, but what of that?

If it please the eye of one, then tis with me as the very truce on it is.

Please one, and please all.

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.

Wilt thou go to bed, Malvolio?

To bed?

Ay, sweetheart, and I'll come to thee. God comfort thee. Why dost thou smile

so, and kiss thy hand so oft? How do you, Malvolio?

At your request, yes.

Nightingale's answered door.

Why appear you with this ridiculous boldness before my lady? Be not afraid

of greatness.

T'was well writ. What meanest thou by that, Malvolio? Some are born great.

Huh? Some achieve greatness.

What sayest thou? And some have greatness thrust upon them.

Remember who commended thy yellow stockings? Thy yellow stockings? And

wish to see thee ever cross-gartered?

Cross-gartered? I say, go to, thou art made, if thou desirest to be so.

Am I a maid?

If

not,

let me see thee a servant still.

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

entreat him back. He attends your ladyship's pleasure.

I'll come to him. Good Maria, let 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.

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 lined 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 it is 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.

and Legion himself possessed him, yet I'll speak to him. Here he is!

Here he is!

How is't with you, sir?

How is't with you, man?

Go off.

I discard you.

Let me enjoy my private. Go off.

No! How hollow the fiend speaks within him. Did not I tell you? Sir Toby, my

lady, prays you to have a care of him. Aha, does she?

Peace, peace.

We must deal gently with him. Let me alone.

How do you, Malvolio?

How is't with you?

But,

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 water to the wise woman. Marian, it shall be done tomorrow

morning. If I live, my lady would not lose him for more than I'll say. Ah, how

now? Pray thee, hold thy peace. This is not the way.

Do you not see?

You move him.

Let me alone with him. No, wait for gentleness.

Gently. Gently.

The fiend is rough and will not be roughly used.

How now, my poor cock, how dost thou charge?

Sir? I bid ye come with me.

What man?

Tis not for gravity to play a cherry-pick 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.

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 has taken the infection of the device, man.

Hey, pursue him now, lest the device take air and cake. Why, we shall make

him mad indeed.

The house will be the quieter. Come, we'll have him in a dark room and bound.

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 past. I'm 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. What, is't so saucy? Aye, 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.

That's a good note. That keeps you from the blow of the law.

Thou comest to the lady, Olivia, and in my sight she uses thee kindly, but thou

liest in thy 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, thou kill'st me like a rogue and a villain. Still you

keep on the windy side of the lost good.

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

He may have mercy upon mine, but my hope is better, and so look to thyself, thy

friend as thou usest him, and thy sworn enemy, Andrew Aguecheek.

If this letter move him not, his legs cannot.

I'll give 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 bailey,

so soon as ever thou seest him, draw, and as thou draw'st, swear, horrible,

for he comes to pass oft that a terrible oath with a swaggering accent sharply

twanged off gives manhood more approbation than ever.

Proof itself would have earned him away.

Nay, let me alone for swearing.

Now will not I deliver his letter? For the behaviour of the young gentleman

gives him out to be of good capacity and breeding.

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

letter, being so excellently ignorant, will breed no terror in the youth.

You'll find it comes from a clodpole.

Oh. But, sir, I will deliver his challenge by word of mouth, set upon

Aguecheek a notable report of valour, and drive the gentleman, as I know his

youth will apt to receive it, into a most hideous opinion of his rage, skill,

fury, and impetuosity.

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 said too much unto a heart of stone, and laid mine honour to uncharry

honour. There's something in me that reproves my fault, but such a

headstrong, potent fault it is, that it but mocks reproof, with the same haviour

that your passion bears, goes on my master's greets. Here, wear this jewel

for me. Oh, tis my picture.

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 me 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. Gentlemen, God save thee.

And you, sir?

That defense thou hast, betake thee to it. Of what nature the wrongs are thou

hast done him, I know not.

But thy interceptor, full of despite, bloody as the hunter, attends thee at

the orchard end.

Dismount thy tuck, be ere in thy preparations, for thy assailant is

quick. skillful and deadly.

You mistake, sir. I'm sure no man hath 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 at

any price, betake you to your God, for your opposite hath in him what youth,

strength, skill, and wrath.

can furnish man with all. 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, and his incensement at

this moment is so implacable that satisfaction can be none but by pangs of

death and sepulchre.

Pop-knob is his word, give it or take it.

I will return again into the house and desire some conduct of the lady. I am no

fighter.

I have heard of some kind of men that put quarrels purposely on others to

taste their valour. Be like, 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.

Senor Fabian, stay you by this gentleman not till my return.

Please, 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?

There's nothing of that wonderful promise to read him by his form as you

like to find him in the proof of his valour.

He is indeed, sir, the most skilful, bloody and fatal opposite that you could

possibly have found in any part of Illyria. Will you walk towards him?

I'll make you peace with him if I can. I should be much bound to you for it. I am

one that had rather go with Sir Priest than Sir Knight. I cannot... Who knows

so much of my mettle? My man, he's a very devil.

I have not seen such a virago.

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 hits the ground they step

on. They say he's been fencer to the Sophie.

The pox ought to not meddle with him.

Aye, but he will not now be pacified.

Fabian can scarce hold him yonder.

Plague onton, 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 him my horse.

Grey Capulet.

I'll make the motion. Stand here. Make a good show on it.

Mario, 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. Yeah, he's as horribly

conceited of him in 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,

it hath better bethought him of his quarrel, and he finds that 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.

Give ground if you see him furious.

Come, Sir Andrew, there's no remedy.

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

Look, 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, take them!

I do assure you such is against my will.

Hence 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.

Then you have heard him brag to you he will.

Nay, if you be an undertaker, I'm for you. No, don't you tell me. 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 reigns well.

This is the man. Do thy office.

Antonio, I arrest thee at the suit of Count Orsino. Do mistake me, sir. No,

sir, no jot. I know your favour well. Though now you have no sea-cap on your

head, take him away. He knows I know him well.

I must obey.

This comes with seeking you, 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?

It's 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 upbraid 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 a man than lying vainness, babbling

drunkenness, or any taint of vice as strong corruption inhabits our frail

blood. Oh, heavens themselves. Come, sir, I pray you not. 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 we thought 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 features shame.

In nature there's no blemish but the mind.

None can be called deformed but the unkind.

Virtue is beauty, but the beauteous evil Are empty trunks or flourished 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, O prove true, That I, dear brother, be now tame for

you. Come hither, knight, come hither, Fabian, We'll whisper o'er a couplet or

two Of most sage sores. He named Sebastian, I, my brother, no, Yet living

in my glass, even such, and so.

In favour was 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 necessity and denying him. And for his cowardship, ask a Fabian. A

coward. Most about 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.

Ideally, any money shall be nothing yet.

Will you make me believe that I am not sent for you? Go to, go to, thou art a

foolish fellow.

Let me be clear of thee. Well held out, if faith.

No, I do not know you, nor I am not sent to you by my lady to bid you come speak

with her. Nor 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 fourteen

years' purchase.

Now, sir, have I met you again?

Why, there's for you.

Why,

there's for thee.

And there.

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... Come on, sir, hold.

Nay, let him alone, and I'll go another way to work with him. I'll have an

action of battery against him if there be any law in Deliria, 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 soldier,

put up your iron, you're well-fleshed. Come on. I will be free from thee.

What wouldst thou now? If thou darest 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!

Hold to me! On my life I charge thee hold! Madam!

No, no, no!

Madam!

mountains and the barbarous cave where men as now were preached out of my sight

be not offended

stand 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 may smile

at this. Thou shalt not choose but go. Do not deny.

Beshrew his soul for me. He started one poor heart.

Is in this, how runs the stream?

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

Let fancy still my sense in lethe steep, If it be thus to dream, still

let me sleep.

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

Make him believe thou art Sir Topaz the curate. Do it quickly. I'll call Sir

Toby the whilst.

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. A boros deas, Sir Toby, for as the old hermit of

Prague that never saw pen and ink.

very wittily said to a niece of King Gorbadunk, that that is, is, so I being

master parson of master parson, for what is, that but that, and is but is. To

him, Sir Topaz.

What do I say?

Peace in this prison. Who calls that?

It's Sir Topaz, the curate, who comes to visit Malvolio, the lunatic.

Sir... Sir Topaz?

Sir Topaz?

Good Sir Topaz, go to my lady. Out!

Hyperbolical fiend, how vexest thou this man? Talkest thou nothing but of ladies.

Well said, Master Parson. Sir Topaz, never was man thus wronged. Good Sir

Topaz, do not think I am mad.

They have laid me here in hideous darkness.

Aye, thou dishonest Satan.

Sayest thou that house is dark?

As hell, Sir Topaz. Why, it hath bay windows, transparences barricados, and

the cladestines toward the south-north are as lustrous as ebony, and yet

complainest thou of obstruction. I am not mad, Sir Topaz. 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 ignorance, 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 wildfowl?

And that the soul of our Grandam might happily 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 Topaz! My most exquisite Sir Topaz.

Nay, I am for all war. What earth? Thou mightst have done this without thy beard

and gown. He sees thee not.

Do him in thine own voice, and bring me word how thou find'st him. I would we

were well rid of this knavery.

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

But I'm now so far in offence with my niece, that I cannot pursue with any

safety this sport, the upshot.

Come by and by to my chamber.

Tell me how thy lady does. Fool! My lady is unkind, Paddy. Fool!

Alas, why is she so?

Fool, I say!

She loves another.

Who calls? 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. Most am I of only. Aye, good fool.

Alas, sir, how fell you beside your five wits? Fool, there was never man so

notoriously abused.

I am as well in my wits, fool, as thou art. But as well? Then you are mad

indeed, if you be no better in your wits than a fool.

They have here profited me.

Keep me in darkness.

Send ministers to me.

Asses. Do all they can to face me out of my wits. I see what you say, sir. The

minister is here.

Malvolio, Malvolio, thy wits the heavens restore.

Endeavour thyself to sleep, and leave thy vain bibble-babble. Sir Topaz.

Maintain no words with him, good fellow.

Who, I, sir? Not I, sir. God buy you. Good, Sir Topaz.

Marry. Amen.

I will, sir.

I will.

Fool! Fool!

Fool, I say!

Yes, 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 thee I am as well in

my wits as any man in Illyria.

Well, a day that you were, sir.

By this hand I am.

Good fool, help me to 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 never leave a madman till I see his brains.

I'll fetch you light and paper and ink.

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

Pretty, begone. Oh, I am gone, sir.

Then a trice like to the old vice your need to sustain.

Who with dagger and lath and his rage and his wrath put a heart to the devil.

Like a mad lad. Pay thy nails, dad.

Out of here.

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 Antonio then?

I could not find him at the elephant, yet there he was, and there I found this

credit, that he did range the town to seek me out.

His counsel now might do me golden service.

For though my soul disputes well with my sense that this may be some error, but

no madness, yet... doth this accident and flood of fortune so far exceed all

instance, all discourse, that I am ready to distrust mine eyes and wrangle with

my reason that persuades me to any other trust but that I am mad, or else the

lady's mad.

Yet if twere so, she could not sway her house, command her followers, take and

give back affairs and their dispatch with such a smooth, discreet and stable

bearing. As I perceive she does there's something in't that is deceivable, but

here the lady comes 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

at peace. He shall conceal it. Whilst you are willing, it shall come to note

what time we will our celebration keep according to my birth. What do you say?

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

true. Then lead the way, good father, and heaven 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.

And 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 you two affirmatives, why, then the worse

for my friends and the better for my foes.

Why, this is excellent.

By my trust, sir, no.

Though it please you to be one of my friends.

Oh, but it shall not be the worse for me.

There's gold.

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.

Primo, secundo, tercio is a good play. The old saying is the third pays for

all. Or the triplex, sir, is a good tripping measure. Or the bells of St.

Bennett, sir, may put you in mind.

One, two...

You can fill 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. 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 bubbling vessel was he captain of, for shallow draught and bulk unprizeable

with which. Such scathful grapple did he make with the most noble bottom of our

fleet. But 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 a 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.

Naughtable pirate!

Thou salt-water thief!

What foolish boldness brought thee to their mercies, whom thou in turn, so

bloody and so dear, hast made thine enemy? Orsino, noble sir, be

pleased that I shake off these names you give me.

Antonio never yet was thief or pirate, though I confess on base and ground

enough Orsino's enemy.

A witchcraft drew me hither, that most ungrateful boy there by

your side.

From thee rude seas, enraged and foamy-mouthed, did I redeem, a rack past

hope he was.

His life I gave him, ended there to add, my love, without retention or restraint.

All his in dedication, for his sake, did I expose myself, pure for his love, into

the danger of this adverse town. Drew to defend him when he was beset, where,

being apprehended, his false cunning, not meaning to partake with me in

danger, taught him to face me out of his acquaintance, and grew the twenty years'

removed thing, while one would wink, denied me mine own purse, which I had

recommended to his use not half an hour before. How can this be?

When came he 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. What?

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 unauspicious altars

My soul, the faithful's offerings have breathed out that e'er devotion

tendered. What shall I do?

Even what it pleased my lord that shall become him.

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 a dove. And I, most

jocund, apt, and willingly To do you rest, a thousand deaths would die.

What?

There goes Cesario. After him I love, more than I love these eyes, more than

my life, more by all mores than e'er I shall love wife.

If I do feign you witnesses above, punish my life, a tainting of my love.

I mean detested.

How am I begun?

Who doth beguile you? Who doth do you wrong? Hast thou forgot thyself? Is it

so long?

Call forth the Holy Father. Come, away.

Whither, my lord? Cesario, how's man stay?

Husband? Ay, husband, can he that deny?

Her husband, Sarah.

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 fearest. Welcome, Father. Father, I charge thee

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

what occasion now reveals before it is right.

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 All the ceremony of this compact Sealed in my

function by my testimony Since when my watcheth told me toward my grave I have

travelled but two hours

O thou dissembling cub, what wilt thou be When time hath sewed 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.

For the love of God, it's Sergeant.

And send one presently to Sir Toby.

What's the matter?

Oh, it's broke my head across.

And it's given Sir Toby a bloody coxcomb too.

For the love of God, your help.

I'd rather than forty pounds I were a...

Who has done this, Sir Andrew?

The Count's gentleman, one Cesario.

We took him for a coward, but he's a very devil incarnate.

My gentleman, Cesario.

That was lively, there he is!

You broke my head for nothing!

And that that I did, I was set on to do it for Sir Toby. Why do you speak to me?

I never hurt you.

You drew your sword upon me without cause, but I bespeak your...

With a bloody coxcomb be a hurt, you have hurt me. I think you said nothing

but bloody coxcomb.

Here comes Sir Toby. Halting. You shall hear more.

But if he'd not been in drink, he would have tickled you at the gates and he

did. And now, gentlemen, how is't with you?

Oh, that's all one.

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

Sot did see Dick's surgeon, sot.

Oh, he's drunk, Sir Toby, an hour gone. His eyes were set at eight in the

morning. Well, then he's a rogue and a passing measure's pavan.

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?

A knave?

A thin-faced knave?

A gull?

Get him to bed, and let his hurt be looked to.

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

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

safety.

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 each other, but so late

ago. One face, one voice.

one habit and two persons, a natural perspective that is and is not. Antonio,

oh, my dear Antonio, how have the hours racked and tortured me since I have lost

thee? Sebastian, are you?

Fairest 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 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?

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 father had a mole upon his brow.

And so had mine. And died that day when Viola from her birth Had numbered

thirteen years.

That record is lively in my soul.

He finished indeed his mortal act That day that made my sister thirteen years.

If nothing lets to make us happy both, But this, my masculine usurp'd attire,

Do not embrace me till each circumstance Of place, time, fortune, to coherent

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 preserv'd to

serve this noble count.

All the occurrences 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.

Oh, if this be so.

As yet the glass seems true.

I shall have share in this most happy rack.

Boy, thou hast said to me a thousand times thou never shouldst love woman

like to me.

And all those sayings will I overswear.

And all those swearings keep as true in soul As doth that orbit continent the

fire That severs day from night. Give me thy hand, and let me see thee In thy

woman's weeds.

The captain that did bring me first on shore Hath my maid's garments, he upon

some action Is now endurance 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

is.

How does he, sir? Truly, madam, he holds Beelzebub at the stave's end, as well as

a man in his case may do. Has here it a letter to you. I should have given it

you today morning, but as a madman's epistles are no gospels, so it skills

not much when they're delivered. Open't and read it.

I'll look then to be well edified when the fool delivers the madman.

How

now,

art 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 my right wits. Why, so I do, Madonna, but to read his right

wits is to read thus.

Therefore, prepend, 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? Aye, madam. Well, this savours not

much of distraction.

See him delivered. Fabian, go bring him hither.

My lord, so please you, these things further

thought 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'm most apt to embrace your offer.

Your master quits you, and for your service...

Your

master quits you.

and for your service done him so much against the metal 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?

I, my lord, this shame. 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.

But 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 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 air 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 cam'st in smiling, and in such forms, which were, oh look, look what

you here were preaching.

were presupposed upon thee in the letter, be content.

This practice 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.

And 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, upon

some stubborn and uncourteous parts we had conceived against him.

Maria writ the letter at Sir Toby's great importance, in recompense whereof

he hath married her.

Hooray!

the sportful malice this was followed might rather pluck on laughter than

revenge, if that the injuries be justly weighed, 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 once, sir, in this interlude.

One Sir Topaz, sir, but that's all one. By the Lord, fool, I am not mad.

But 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 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 the 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.

Cesario, come.

Or so you shall be, while you are a man, but when in other habits you are seen,

Orsino's mistress and his fancy's queen.

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 heigh-ho, the wind

and the rain The wind and the rain Against knaves and thieves Men shut

their gate For the rain, it raineth every

day It raineth every day

But when I came, alas, to wife, with hey-ho, the wind

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

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, ho, the wind and the rain, The wind and the rain, with tosspots

still, Had drunken heads.

For the rain, it raineth every day, It raineth every day.

A great while ago the world began,

With 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.