« PreviousContinue »
Do use to chaunt it; it is silly sooth,1
Clo. Are you ready, sir?
My part of death no one so true
Clo. Come away, come away, death,
A thousand thousand sighs to save,
Sad true lover ne'er find my grave,
Not a flower, not a flower sweet,
Duke. There's for thy pains.
Clo. No pains, sir; I take pleasure in singing, sir.
Clo. Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid, one time or another.
Duke. Give me now leave to leave thee.
Clo. Now, the melancholy god protect thee; and the tailor make thy doublet of changeable taffata, for thy mind is a very opal3-I would have men of such constancy put to sea, that their business might be every thing, and their intent every where; for that's it, that always makes a good voyage of nothing.-Farewell. [Exit Clown. (1) Simple truth. (2) Times of simplicity. A precious stone of all colours.
Duke. Let all the rest give place.
[Exeunt Curio and attendants.
The parts that fortune hath bestow'd upon her,
Can 'bide the beating of so strong a passion
Ay, but I know,—
Vio. Too well what love women to men may
In faith, they are as true of heart as we.
And what's her history? Vio. A blank, my lord: She never told her love,
But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud,
Duke. But died thy sister of her love, my boy? Vio. I am all the daughters of my father's house, And all -- hers too;-and yet I know not:Sir, shall I to this lady?
[Exeunt. SCENE V-Olivia's Garden. Enter Sir Toby Belch, Sir Andrew Ague-cheek, and Fabian. Sir To. Come thy ways, signior Fabian. Fab. Nay, I'll come; if I lose a scruple of this sport, let me be boiled to death with melancholy.
Sir To. Would'st thou not be glad to have the niggardly rascally sheep-biter come by some nota
Fab. I would exult, man: you know, he brought me out of favour with my lady, about a bear-baiting here.
Sir To. To anger him, we'll have the bear again; and we will fool him black and blue :~ Shall we not, sir Andrew?
Sir And. An we do not, it is pity of our lives.
Sir To. Here comes the little villain:-How now, my nettle of India.
Mar. Get ye all three into the box-tree: Malvolio's coming down this walk; he has been yon
der i' 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. Close, in the name of jesting! [The men hide themselves.] Lie thou there; [throws down a letter] for here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling.
Mal. "Tis but fortune; all is fortune. once told me, she did affect me: and I have heard herself come thus near, that, should she fancy, it should be one of my complexion. Besides, she uses me with a more exalted respect, than any one else that follows her. What should I think on't? Sir To. Here's an over-weening rogue!
Fab. O, peace! Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock of him; how he jets2 under his advanced plumes!
Sir And. 'Slight, I could so beat the rogue :Sir To. Peace, I say.
Mal. To be count Malvolio!—
Sir To. Ah, rogue!
Sir And. Pistol him, pistol him.
Mal. There is example for't; the lady of the strachy married the yeoman of the wardrobe.
Sir And. Fie on him, Jezebel!
Fab. O, peace! now he's deeply in; look how imagination blows him!
Mal. Having been three months married to her, sitting in my state,4
Sir To. O, for a stone-bow, to hit him in the eye Mal. Calling my officers about me, in my branched velvet gown; having come from a day-bed, where I left Olivia sleeping.
(1) Love. (2) Struts. (3) Puffs him up.
Sir To. Fire and brimstone!
Mal. 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 their's --to ask for my kinsman Toby:
Sir To. Bolts and shackles!
Fab. O, peace, peace, peace! now, now.
Mal. Seven of my people, with an obedient start, make out for him: I frown the while; and, perchance, wind up my watch, or play with some rich jewel. Toby approaches; court'sies there to me: Sir To. Shall this fellow live?
Fab. Though our silence be drawn from us with cars, yet peace.
Mal. I extend my hand to him thus, quenching my familiar smile with an austere regard of control: Sir To. And does not Toby take you a blow o' the lips then?
Mal. Saying, Cousin Toby, my fortunes having cast me on your niece, give me this prerogative of speech:
Sir To. "What, what?
Mal. You must amend your drunkenness.
Fab. Nay, patience, or we break the sinews of our plot.
Mal. Besides, you waste the treasure of your time with a foolish knight;
Sir And. That's me, I warrant you.
Mal. One sir Andrew:
Sir And. I knew, 'twas I; for many do call me fool.
Mal. What employment have we here? [Taking up the letter. Fab. Now is the woodcock near the gin. Sir To. O, peace! and the spirit of humours intimate reading aloud to him!
Mal. By my life, that is my lady's hand: these be her very C's, her U's, and her T's; and thus