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SCENE 1.-A Room in the DUKE'S Palace.

Enter DUKE, CURIO, Lords; Musicians attending.
Duke. If music be the food of love, play on;
Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.
That strain again! it had a dying fall:
O! it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing and giving odour. Enough! no more :
'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.

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Duke. 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 kill'd the flock of all affections else
That live in her; when liver, brain, and heart,
These sovereign thrones, are all supplied, and

Her sweet perfections with one self king.
Away before me to sweet beds of flowers;
Love-thoughts lie rich when canopied with
Exeunt. 40

SCENE II.-The Sea-coast. Enter VIOLA, Captain, and Sailors. Vio. What country, friends, is this? Cap. This is Illyria, lady.

Vio. And what should I do in Illyria? My brother he is in Elysium.

Perchance he is not drown'd: what think you,

sailors ?

Cap. It is perchance that you yourself were sav'd.

Vio. O my poor brother! and so perchance may he be.

Cap. True, madam : and, to comfort you with chance,

Assure yourself, after our ship did split,
When you and those poor number saved with you
Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother, 11
Most provident in peril, bind himself,
Courage and hope both teaching him the practice,
To a strong mast that lived upon the sea;
Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back,

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

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Cap. Ay, madam, well; for I was bred and born Not three hours' travel from this very place.

Vio. Who governs here?

Cap. A noble duke, in nature as in name.

Vio. What is his name?

Cap. Orsino.

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Sir To. Fie, that you'll say so he plays o

Vio. Orsino! I have heard my father name him: the viol-de-gamboys, and speaks three or four He was a bachelor then.

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Cap. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count That died some twelvemonth since; then leaving her

In the protection of his son, her brother,
Who shortly also died; for whose dear love,
They say she hath abjur'd the company
And sight of men.


languages word for word without book, and hath all the good gifts of nature.

Mar. He hath indeed, almost 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.

Sir To. By this hand, they are scoundrels and substractors that say so of him. Who are they? Mar. They that add, moreover, he's drunk nightly in your company.


Sir To. With drinking healths to my niece. I'll drink to her as long as there is a passage in

O! that I serv'd that lady, 40 my throat and drink in Illyria. He's a coward

And might not be deliver'd to the world,
Till I had made mine own occasion mellow,

What my estate is.

Cap. That were hard to compass, Because she will admit no kind of suit, No, not the duke's.

Vio. 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 may hap to time I will commit;
Only shape thou thy silence to my wit.



Cap. Be you his eunuch, and your mute I'll be: When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see. Vio. I thank thee: lead me on. Exeunt.

SCENE III.-A Room in OLIVIA'S House.

Enter Sir TOBY BELCH and MARIA. Sir To. What a plague means my niece, to take the death of her brother thus? I am sure care's an enemy to life.

Mar. By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o' nights: your cousin, my lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours.

Sir To. Why, let her except before excepted. Mar. Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modest limits of order.


Sir To. Confine! I'll confine myself no finer than I am. These clothes are good enough to drink in, and so be these boots too: an they be not, let them hang themselves in their own straps. Mar. 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.

Sir To. Who? Sir Andrew Aguecheek?
Mar. Ay, he.

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

and a coystril that will not drink to my niece till his brains turn o' the toe like a parish-top. What, wench! Castiliano vulgo for here comes Sir Andrew Agueface.


Sir And. Sir Toby Belch! how now, Sir Toby Belch!

Sir To. Sweet Sir Andrew!

Sir And. Bless you, fair shrew.

Mar. And you too, sir.

Sir To. Accost, Sir Andrew, accost.

Sir And. What's that?

Sir To. My niece's chambermaid.


Sir And. Good Mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance.

Mar. My name is Mary, sir.

Sir And. Good Mistress Mary Accost,

Sir To. You mistake, knight: 'accost' is front her, board her, woo her, assail her.


Sir And. By my troth, I would not undertake her in this company. Is that the meaning of

'accost' ?

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Sir And. 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 has; but I am a great eater of beef, and I believe that does harm to my wit. 92 Sir To. No question.

Sir And. An I thought that, I'd forswear it. I'll ride home to-morrow, Sir Toby.

Sir To. Pourquoi, my dear knight?

Sir And. 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. 0 had I but followed the arts. 100

Sir To. Then hadst thou had an excellent head

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Sir To. Excellent; it hangs like flax on a distaff, and I hope to see a housewife take thee between her legs, and spin it off.


Sir And. Faith, I'll home to-morrow, Sir Toby your niece will not be seen; or if she be, it's four to one she 'll none of me. The count himself here hard by woos her.

Sir To. She'll none o' the count; she 'll not match above her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit; I have heard her swear it. Tut, there's life in 't, man.

Sir And. I'll stay a month longer. I am a fellow o' the strangest mind i' the world; I delight in masques and revels sometimes altogether. Sir To. Art thou good at these kickshawses, knight?


Sir And. As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be, under the degree of my betters: and yet I will not compare with an old man.

Sir To. What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight?


Sir And. Faith, I can cut a caper. Sir To. And I can cut the mutton to 't. Sir And. And I think I have the back-trick simply as strong as any man in Illyria.

Sir To. Wherefore are these things hid? wherefore have these gifts a curtain before 'em? are they like to take dust, like Mistress Mall's picture? why dost thou not go to church in a galliard, and come home in a coranto? My very walk should be a jig: I would not so much as make water but in a sink-a-pace. What dost thou mean? Is it a world to hide virtues in? I did think, by the excellent constitution of thy leg, it was formed under the star of a galliard. 142

Sir And. Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a flame-coloured stock. Shall we set about some revels?

Sir To. What shall we do else? were we not born under Taurus ?

Sir And. Taurus! that's sides and heart. Sir To. No, sir, it is legs and thighs. Let me see thee caper. Ha! higher: ha, ha excellent! Exeunt.

SCENE IV. A Room in the DUKE'S Palace. Enter VALENTINE, and VIOLA in man's attire. Val. If the duke continue these favours towards you, Cesario, you are like to be much advanced :

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Duke. Be clamorous and leap all civil bounds Rather than make unprofited return.

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

Duke. O! then unfold the passion of my love; Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith: It shall become thee well to act my woes; She will attend it better in thy youth Than in a nuncio of more grave aspect. Vio. I think not so, my lord. Duke.


Dear lad, believe it;
For they shall yet belie thy happy years
That say thou art a man: Diana's lip
Is not more smooth and rubious; thy small pipe
Is as the maiden's organ, shrill and sound,
And all is semblative a woman's part.

I know thy constellation is right apt
For this affair. Some four or five attend him ;
All, if you will; for I myself am best
When least in company. Prosper well in this,
And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord,
To call his fortunes thine.

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Enter MARIA and Clown.

Mar. 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.

Clo. Let her hang me: he that is well hanged in this world needs to fear no colours. Mar. Make that good.

Clo. He shall see none to fear.

Mar. A good lenten answer: I can tell thee where that saying was born, of 'I fear no colours.' Clo. Where, good Mistress Mary?


Mar. In the wars; and that may you be bold to say in your foolery.

Clo. Well, God give them wisdom that have it; and those that are fools, let them use their talents.

Mar. Yet you will be hanged for being so


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Oli. How say you to that, Malvolio? Mal. I marvel your ladyship takes delight in such a barren rascal: I saw him put down the

Clo. Not so neither; but I am resolved on two other day with an ordinary fool that has no points.

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God bless thee, lady!

Oli. Take the fool away.


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

Oli. Go to, you're a dry fool; I'll no more of you: besides, you grow dishonest.

Clo. Two faults, madonna, that drink and good counsel will amend: for give the dry fool drink, then is the fool not dry; bid the dishonest man mend himself if he mend, he is no longer dishonest; if he cannot, let the botcher mend him. Any thing that 's mended is but patched: virtue that transgresses is but patched with sin; and sin that amends is but patched with virtue. If that this simple syllogism will serve, so; if it will not, what remedy? As there is no true cuckold but calamity, so beauty's a flower. The lady bade take away the fool; therefore, I say again, take her away.

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Oli. Sir, I bade them take away you.



Clo. Misprision in the highest degree! cucullus non facit monachum: that's as much to say as I wear not motley in my brain. Good madonna, give me leave to prove you a fool. Oli. Can you do it?

Clo. Dexteriously, good madonna.

Oli. Make your proof.

Clo. I must catechize you for it, madonna: good my mouse of virtue, answer me.

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


Clo. Good madonna, why mournest thou? Oli. Good fool, for my brother's death. Clo. I think his soul is in hell, madonna. Oli. I know his soul is in heaven, fool. Clo. The more fool, madonna, to mourn for your brother's soul being in heaven. Take away the fool, gentlemen.

more brain than a stone. Look you now, he's out of his guard already: unless you laugh and minister occasion to him, he is gagged. I pro. test, I take these wise men, that crow so at these set kind of fools, no better than the fools' zanies.


Oli. O you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and taste with a distempered appetite. To be generous, guiltless, and of free disposition, is to take those things for bird-bolts that you deem cannon-bullets. There is no slander in an allowed fool, though he do nothing but rail; nor no railing in a known discreet man, though he do nothing but reprove.

Clo. Now Mercury endue thee with leasing, for thou speakest well of fools!

Re-enter MARIA.

Mar. Madam, there is at the gate a young gentleman much desires to speak with you. n Oli. From the Count Orsino, is it?

Mar. I know not, madam: 'tis a fair young man, and well attended.

Oli. Who of my people hold him in delay? Mar. Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman. Oli. Fetch him off, I pray you he speaks nothing but madman. Fie on him!

Exit MARIA, Go you, Malvolio: if it be a suit from the count, I am sick, or not at home; what you will, to dismiss it. Exit MALVOLIO. 129 Now you see, sir, how your fooling grows old, and people dislike it.

Clo. Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy eldest son should be a fool; whose skull Jove cram with brains! for here he comes, one of thy kin has a most weak pia mater. Enter Sir TOBY BELCH.

Oli. By mine honour, half drunk. What is he at the gate, cousin?

Sir To. A gentleman.


Oli. A gentleman! What gentleman?
Sir To. 'Tis a gentleman here, a plague o'
these pickle-herring! How now, sot!
Clo. Good Sir Toby!

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

Sir To. Lechery! I defy lechery. There's one at the gate.

Oli. Ay, marry; what is he?

Sir To. Let him be the devil, an he will, I care not give me faith, say I. Well, it's all one. 14 Exit.

Oli. What's a drunken man like, fool! Clo. Like a drowned man, a fool, and a mad man: one dranght above heat makes him a fool, 80 the second mads him, and a third drowns him.

Oli. What think you of this fool, Malvolio? doth he not mend?

Mal. Yes; and shall do till the pangs of death shake him infirmity, that decays the wise, doth ever make the better fool.

Clo. God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for the better increasing your folly! Sir Toby

Oli. Go thou and seek the crowner, and let him sit o' my coz; for he's in the third degree of drink, he's drowned: go, look after him.

Clo. He is but mad yet, madonna; and the fool shall look to the madman. Exit.

Re-enter MALVOLIO.

Mal. Madam, yond young fellow swears he will speak with you. I told him you were sick : he takes on him to understand so much, and therefore comes to speak with you. I told him you were asleep he seems to have a foreknowledge of that too, and therefore comes to speak with you. What is to be said to him, lady? he's fortified against any denial.

Oli. Tell him he shall not speak with me. Mal. Ha's been told so; and he says, he'll stand at your door like a sheriff's post, and be the supporter to a bench, but he'll speak with you. Oli. What kind o' man is he? Mal. Why, of mankind. Oli. What manner of man?


Mal. Of very ill manner: he'll speak with you, will you or no.

Oli. Of what personage and years is he? Mal. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy; as a squash is before 'tis a peascod, or a codling when 'tis almost an apple: 'tis with him in standing water, between boy and man. He is very well-favoured, and he speaks very shrewishly: one would think his mother's milk were scarce out of him.

Oli. Let him approach. Call in my gentle

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

Vio. Most radiant, exquisite, and unmatchable beauty, I pray you, tell me if this be the lady of the house, for I never saw her: I would be loath to cast away my speech; for besides that it is excellently well penned, I have taken great pains to con it. Good beauties, let me sustain no scorn; I am very comptible, even to the least sinister usage.

Oli. Whence came you, sir?


Vio. 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. Oli. Are you a comedian?

Vio. 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?

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


Vio. Most certain, if you are she, you do usurp yourself; for what is yours to bestow is not yours to reserve. But this is from my commission: I will on with my speech in your praise, and then show you the heart of my message.

Oli. Come to what is important in 't: I forgive you the praise.

Vio. Alas! I took great pains to study it, and 'tis poetical.

210 Oli. It is the more like to be feigned: I pray you keep it in. I heard you were saucy at my gates, and allowed your approach rather to wonder at you than to hear you. If you be not

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Vio. The rudeness that hath appeared in me have I learned from my entertainment. What I am, and what I would, are as secret as maidenhead; to your ears, divinity; to any other's, profanation.


Oli. Give us the place alone: we will hear this divinity. Exeunt MARIA and Attendants. Now, sir; what is your text? Vio. Most sweet lady,Oli. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be said of it. Where lies your text? Vio. In Orsino's bosom.

Oli. In his bosom! In what chapter of his bosom? Vio. To answer by the method, in the first of his heart.

Oli. O! I have read it; it is heresy. Have you no more to say?


Vio. Good madam, let me see your face. Oli. Have you any commission from your lord to negotiate with my face? You are now out of your text: but we will draw the curtain and show you the picture. Look you, sir; such a one I was this present: is 't not well done?


Vio. Excellently done, if God did all. Oli. "Tis in grain, sir; 'twill endure wind and weather.

Vio. 'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on : Lady, you are the cruell'st she alive, If you will lead these graces to the grave And leave the world no copy.


Oli. O sir, I will not be so hard-hearted; I will give out divers schedules of my beauty: it shall be inventoried, and every particle and utensil labelled to my will; as, Item, Two lips indifferent red; Item, Two grey eyes with lids to them; Item, One neck, one chin, and so forth. Were you sent hither to praise me?


Vio. 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: O! such love
Could be but recompens'd, though you were

The nonpareil of beauty.
How does he love me?
Vio. With adorations, with fertile tears,
With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire.
Oli. 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; 280

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