Текст книги "William Shakespeare: The Complete Works 2nd Edition"

Автор книги: William Shakespeare

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HAMLET In happy time.

LORD The Queen desires you to use some gentle entertainment to Laertes before you fall to play.

HAMLET She well instructs me. Exit Lord

HORATIO You will lose, my lord.

TWELFTH NIGHT

TWELFTH NIGHT, the end of the Christmas season, was traditionally a time of revelry and topsy-turvydom; Shakespeare’s title for a play in which a servant aspires to his mistress’s hand has no more specific reference. It was thought appropriate to the festive occasion of Candlemas (2 February) 1602 when, in the first known allusion to it, John Manningham, a law student of the Middle Temple in London, noted ‘at our feast we had a play called Twelfth Night, or What You Will’. References to ‘the Sophy’—the Shah of Persia (2.5.174; 3.4.271)—probably post-date Sir Robert Shirley’s return from Persia, in a ship named The Sophy, in 1599; and ‘the new map with the augmentation of the Indies’ (3.2.75) appears to be one published in 1599 and reissued in 1600. Shakespeare may have picked up the name Orsino for his young duke from a Tuscan nobleman whom Queen Elizabeth entertained at Whitehall with a play performed by Shakespeare’s company on Twelfth Night 1601. Probably he wrote Twelfth Night during that year.

Twelfth Night’s romantic setting is Illyria, the Greek and Roman name for Adriatic territory roughly corresponding to the former Yugoslavia. Manningham had noted that the play was ‘much like The Comedy of Errors or Menaechmi in Plautus’, thinking no doubt of the confusions created by identical twins. Shakespeare may also have known an anonymous Italian comedy, GI’Ingannati (The Deceived Ones), acted in 1531 and first printed in 1537, which influenced a number of other plays and prose tales including Barnaby Riche’s story of Apolonius and Silla printed as part of Riche’s Farewell to Military Profession (1581). Riche gave Shakespeare his main plot of a shipwrecked girl (Viola) who, disguised as a boy (Cesario), serves a young Duke (Orsino) and undertakes love-errands on his behalf to a noble lady (Olivia) who falls in love with her but mistakenly marries her twin brother (Sebastian). Shakespeare idealizes Riche’s characters and purges the story of some of its explicit sexuality: Riche’s Olivia, for example, is pregnant before marriage, and his Viola reveals her identity, in a manner impractical for a boy actor, by stripping to the waist. Shakespeare complicates the plot by giving Olivia a reprobate uncle, Sir Toby Belch, and two additional suitors, the asinine Sir Andrew Aguecheek and her steward, Malvolio, tricked by members of her household into believing that she loves him. More important to the play than to the plot is the entirely Shakespearian clown, Feste, a wry and oblique commentator whose wit in folly is opposed to Malvolio’s folly in wit.

Twelfth Night is the consummation of Shakespeare’s romantic comedy, a play of wide emotional range, extending from the robust, brilliantly orchestrated humour of the scene of midnight revelry (2.2) to the rapt wonder of the antiphon of recognition (5.1.224-56) between the reunited twins. In performance the balance shifts, favouring sometimes the exposure and celebration of folly, at other times the poignancy of unattained love and of unheeded wisdom; but few other plays have so consistently provided theatrical pleasure of so high an order.

THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY

ORSINO, Duke of Illyria

FIRST OFFICER

SECOND OFFICER

VIOLA, a lady, later disguised as Cesario

A CAPTAIN

SEBASTIAN, her twin brother

ANTONIO, another sea-captain

OLIVIA, a Countess

MARIA, her waiting-gentlewoman

SIR TOBY Belch, Olivia’s kinsman

SIR ANDREW Aguecheek, companion of Sir Toby

MALVOLIO, Olivia’s steward

FABIAN, a member of Olivia’s household

FESTE the Clown, her jester

A PRIEST

A SERVANT of Olivia

Musicians, sailors, lords, attendants

Twelfth Night, or What You Will

1.1 Music. Enter Orsino Duke of Illyria, Curio, and other lords

ORSINO

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.

⌈Music ceases⌉

O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou

That, notwithstanding thy capacity

Receiveth as the sea, naught enters there,

Of what validity and pitch so e’er,

But falls into abatement and low price

Even in a minute! So full of shapes is fancy

That it alone is high fantastical.

CURIO

Will you go hunt, my lord?

ORSINO

What, Curio?

CURIO

The hart.

ORSINO

Why so I do, the noblest that I have.

O, when mine eyes did see Olivia first

Methought she purged the air of pestilence;

That instant was I turned into a hart,

And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds,

E’er since pursue me.

Enter Valentine

How now, what news from her?

VALENTINE

So please my lord, I might not be admitted,

But from her handmaid do return this answer:

The element itself till seven years’ heat

Shall not behold her face at ample view,

But like a cloistress 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.

ORSINO

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.

Exeunt

1.2 Enter Viola, a Captain, and sailors

VIOLA

What country, friends, is this?

CAPTAIN

This is Illyria, lady.

VIOLA

And what should I do in Illyria?

My brother, he is in Elysium.

Perchance he is not drowned. What think you sailors?

CAPTAIN

It is perchance that you yourself were saved.

VIOLA

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

CAPTAIN

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,

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.

VIOLA (giving money)

For saying so, there’s gold.

Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope,

Whereto thy speech serves for authority,

The like of him. Know’st thou this country?

CAPTAIN

Ay, madam, well, for I was bred and born

Not three hours’ travel from this very place.

VIOLA

Who governs here?

CAPTAIN A noble duke, in nature

As in name.

VIOLA

What is his name?

CAPTAIN

Orsino.

VIOLA

Orsino. I have heard my father name him.

He was a bachelor then.

CAPTAIN

And so is now, or was so very late,

For but a month ago I went from hence,

And then ’twas fresh in murmur—as, you know,

What great ones do the less will prattle of—

That he did seek the love of fair Olivia.

VIOLA What’s she?

CAPTAIN

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 abjured the sight

And company of men.

VIOLA

O 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.

CAPTAIN

That were hard to compass,

Because she will admit no kind of suit,

No, not the Duke’s.

VIOLA

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 pray thee—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.

CAPTAIN

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

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

VIOLA

I thank thee. Lead me on.

Exeunt

1.3 Enter Sir Toby Belch and Maria

SIR TOBY What a plague means my niece to take the death of her brother thus? I am sure care’s an enemy to life.

MARIA By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o’ nights. Your cousin, my lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours.

SIR TOBY Why, let her except, before excepted.

MARIA Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modest limits of order.

SIR TOBY 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.

MARIA 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 TOBY Who, Sir Andrew Aguecheek?

MARIA Ay, he.

SIR TOBY He’s as tall a man as any’s in Illyria.

MARIA What’s that to th’ purpose?

SIR TOBY Why, he has three thousand ducats a year.

MARIA Ay, but he’ll have but a year in all these ducats. He’s a very fool, and a prodigal.

SIR TOBY Fie that you’ll say so! He plays o’th’ viol-de-gamboys, and speaks three or four languages word for word without book, and hath all the good gifts of nature.

MARIA 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 TOBY By this hand, they are scoundrels and substractors that say so of him. Who are they?

MARIA They that add, moreover, he’s drunk nightly in your company.

SIR TOBY With drinking healths to my niece. I’ll drink to her as long as there is a passage in my throat and drink in Illyria. He’s a coward and a coistrel that will not drink to my niece till his brains turn o’th’ toe, like a parish top. What wench, Castiliano, vulgo, for here comes Sir Andrew Agueface.

Enter Sir Andrew Aguecheek

SIR ANDREW Sir Toby Belch! How now, Sir Toby Belch?

SIR TOBY Sweet Sir Andrew.

SIR ANDREW (to Maria) Bless you, fair shrew.

MARIA And you too, sir.

SIR TOBY Accost, Sir Andrew, accost.

SIR ANDREW What’s that?

SIR TOBY My niece’s chambermaid.

SIR ANDREW Good Mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance.

MARIA My name is Mary, sir.

SIR ANDREW Good Mistress Mary Accost.

SIR TOBY You mistake, knight. ’Accost’ is front her, board her, woo her, assail her.

SIR ANDREW By my troth, I would not undertake her in this company. Is that the meaning of ‘accost’?

MARIA Fare you well, gentlemen.

SIR TOBY An thou let part so, Sir Andrew, would thou mightst never draw sword again.

SIR ANDREW An you part so, mistress, I would I might never draw sword again. Fair lady, do you think you have fools in hand?

MARIA Sir, I have not you by th’ hand.

SIR ANDREW Marry, but you shall have, and here’s my hand.

MARIA (taking his hand) Now sir, thought is free. I pray you, bring your hand to th’ buttery-bar, and let it drink.

SIR ANDREW Wherefore, sweetheart? What’s your metaphor?

MARIA It’s dry, sir.

SIR ANDREW Why, I think so. I am not such an ass but I can keep my hand dry. But what’s your jest?

MARIA A dry jest, sir.

SIR ANDREW Are you full of them?

MARIA Ay, sir, I have them at my fingers’ ends. Marry, now I let go your hand I am barren. Exit

SIR TOBY O knight, thou lackest a cup of canary. When did I see thee so put down?

SIR ANDREW 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.

SIR TOBY No question.

SIR ANDREW An I thought that, I’d forswear it. I’ll ride home tomorrow, Sir Toby.

SIR TOBY Pourquoi, my dear knight?

SIR ANDREW 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. O, had I but followed the arts!

SIR TOBY Then hadst thou had an excellent head of hair.

SIR ANDREW Why, would that have mended my hair?

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

SIR ANDREW But it becomes me well enough, does’t not?

SIR TOBY 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 ANDREW Faith, I’ll home tomorrow, Sir Toby. Your niece will not be seen, or if she be, it’s four to one she’ll none of me. The Count himself here hard by woos her.

SIR TOBY She’ll none o‘th’ Count. She’ll not match above her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit, I have heard her swear’t. Tut, there’s life in’t, man.

SIR ANDREW I’ll stay a month longer. I am a fellow o‘th’ strangest mind i’th’ world. I delight in masques and revels sometimes altogether.

SIR TOBY Art thou good at these kickshawses, knight?

SIR ANDREW 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 TOBY What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight? SIR ANDREW Faith, I can cut a caper.

SIR TOBY And I can cut the mutton to’t.

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

SIR TOBY 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 cinquepace. 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.

SIR ANDREW Ay, ’tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a divers-coloured stock. Shall we set about some revels?

SIR TOBY What shall we do else—were we not born under Taurus?

SIR ANDREW Taurus? That’s sides and heart.

SIR TOBY No, sir, it is legs and thighs: let me see thee caper.

⌈Sir Andrew capers⌉

Ha, higher! Ha ha, excellent.

Exeunt

1.4 Enter Valentine, and Viola (as Cesario) in man’s attire

VALENTINE If the 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.

VIOLA 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?

VALENTINE No, believe me.

Enter the Duke, Curio, and attendants

VIOLA I thank you. Here comes the Count.

ORSINO Who saw Cesario, ho?

VIOLA On your attendance, my lord, here.

ORSINO (to Curio and attendants)

Stand you a while aloof. (To Viola) Cesario,

Thou know’st no less but all. I have unclasped

To thee the book even of my secret soul.

Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her,

Be not denied access, stand at her doors,

And tell them there thy fixed foot shall grow

Till thou have audience.

VIOLA

Sure, my noble lord,

If she be so abandoned to her sorrow

As it is spoke, she never will admit me.

ORSINO

Be clamorous, and leap all civil bounds,

Rather than make unprofited return.

VIOLA

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

ORSINO

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’s of more grave aspect.

VIOLA

I think not so, my lord.

ORSINO

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. (To Curio and attendants) Some four or

five attend him.

All if you will, for I myself am best

When least in company. (To Viola) Prosper well in this

And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord,

To call his fortunes thine.

VIOLA

I’ll do my best

To woo your lady—^⌈aside^⌉ yet a barful strife—

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

Exeunt

1.5 Enter Maria, and Feste, the clown

MARIA 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.

FESTE Let her hang me. He that is well hanged in this world needs to fear no colours.

MARIA Make that good.

FESTE He shall see none to fear.

MARIA A good lenten answer. I can tell thee where that saying was born, of ‘I fear no colours’.

FESTE Where, good Mistress Mary?

MARIA In the wars, and that may you be bold to say in your foolery.

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

MARIA 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?

FESTE Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage; and for turning away, let summer bear it out.

MARIA You are resolute then?

FESTE Not so neither, but I am resolved on two points.

MARIA That if one break, the other will hold; or if both break, your gaskins fall.

FESTE Apt, in good faith, very apt. Well, go thy way. If Sir Toby would leave drinking thou wert as witty a piece of Eve’s flesh as any in lllyria.

MARIA Peace, you rogue, no more o’ that. Here comes my lady. Make your excuse wisely, you were best.

Exit

Enter Olivia, with Malvolio and attendants

FESTE ⌈aside⌉ Wit, an’t be thy will, put me into good footing! 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. For what says Quinapalus?—‘Better a witty fool than a foolish wit.’ (To Olivia) God bless thee, lady.

OLIVIA (to attendants) Take the fool away.

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

OLIVIA Go to, you’re a dry fool. I’ll no more of you. Besides, you grow dishonest.

FESTE 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. Anything that’s mended is but patched. Virtue that transgresses is but patched with sin, and sin that amends is but patched with virtue. If that this simple syllogism will serve, so. If it will not, what remedy? As there is no true cuckold but calamity, so beauty’s a flower. The lady bade take away the fool, therefore I say again, take her away.

OLIVIA Sir, I bade them take away you.

FESTE Misprision in the highest degree! Lady, ‘Cucullus non facit monachum’—that’s as much to say as I wear not motley in my brain. Good madonna, give me leave to prove you a fool.

OLIVIA Can you do it?

FESTE Dexteriously, good madonna.

OLIVIA Make your proof.

FESTE I must catechize you for it, madonna. Good my mouse of virtue, answer me.

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

FESTE Good madonna, why mournest thou?

OLIVIA Good fool, for my brother’s death.

FESTE I think his soul is in hell, madonna.

OLIVIA I know his soul is in heaven, fool.

FESTE The more fool, madonna, to mourn for your brother’s soul, being in heaven. Take away the fool, gentlemen.

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

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

FESTE God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity for the better increasing your folly. Sir Toby will be sworn that I am no fox, but he will not pass his word for twopence that you are no fool.

OLIVIA How say you to that, Malvolio?

MALVOLIO I marvel 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 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 protest I take these wise men that crow so at these set kind of fools no better than the fools’ zanies.

OLIVIA 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 birdbolts 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.

FESTE Now Mercury indue thee with leasing, for thou speakest well of fools.

Enter Maria

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

OLIVIA From the Count Orsino, is it?

MARIA I know not, madam. ’Tis a fair young man, and well attended.

OLIVIA Who of my people hold him in delay?

MARIA Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman.

OLIVIA Fetch him off, I pray you, he speaks nothing but madman. Fie on him. Go you, Malvolio. If it be a suit from the Count, I am sick, or not at home—what you will to dismiss it. Exit Malvolio Now you see, sir, how your fooling grows old, and people dislike it.

FESTE 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—

Enter Sir Toby

one of thy kin has a most weak pia mater.

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

SIR TOBY A gentleman.

OLIVIA A gentleman? What gentleman?

SIR TOBY ’Tis a gentleman here. (He belches) A plague o’ these pickle herring! (To Feste) How now, sot?

FESTE Good Sir Toby.

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

SIR TOBY Lechery? I defy lechery. There’s one at the gate. OLIVIA Ay, marry, what is he?

SIR TOBY Let him be the devil an he will, I care not. Give me faith, say I. Well, it’s all one.

Exit

OLIVIA What’s a drunken man like, fool?

FESTE 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.

OLIVIA Go thou and seek the coroner, and let him sit o’ my coz, for he’s in the third degree of drink, he’s drowned. Go look after him.

FESTE He is but mad yet, madonna, and the fool shall look to the madman.

Exit

Enter Malvolio

MALVOLIO Madam, yon 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.

OLIVIA Tell him he shall not speak with me.

MALVOLIO He’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.

OLIVIA What kind o’ man is he?

MALVOCIO Why, of mankind.

OLIVIA What manner of man?

MALVOLIO Of very ill manner: he’ll speak with you, will you or no.

OLIVIA Of what personage and years is he?

MALVOLIO 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.

OLIVIA

Let him approach. Call in my gentlewoman.

MALVOLIO Gentlewoman, my lady calls.

Exit

Enter Maria

OLIVIA

Give me my veil. Come, throw it o’er my face.

We’ll once more hear Orsino’s embassy.

Enter Viola as Cesario

VIOLA The honourable lady of the house, which is she?

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

VIOLA 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 ’countable, even to the least sinister usage.

OLIVIA Whence came you, sir?

VIOLA 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.

OLIVIA Are you a comedian?

VIOLA 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?

OLIVIA If I do not usurp myself, I am.

VIOLA 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.

OLIVIA Come to what is important in’t, I forgive you the praise.

VIOLA Alas, I took great pains to study it, and ’tis poetical.

OLIVIA 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 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.

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

VIOLA No, good swabber, I am to hull here a little longer. (To Olivia) Some mollification for your giant, sweet lady. Tell me your mind, I am a messenger.

OLIVIA Sure, you have some hideous matter to deliver when the courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak your office.

VIOLA 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.

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

VIOLA 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 others’, profanation.

OLIVIA (to Maria ⌈and attendants⌉) Give us the place alone, we will hear this divinity.

Exeunt Maria ⌈and attendants⌉

Now sir, what is your text?

VIOLA Most sweet lady—

OLIVIA A comfortable doctrine, and much may be said of it. Where lies your text?

VIOLA In Orsino’s bosom.

OLIVIA In his bosom? In what chapter of his bosom?

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

OLIVIA O, I have read it. It is heresy. Have you no more to say?

VIOLA Good madam, let me see your face.

OLIVIA 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.

She unveils

Look you, sir, such a one I was this present. Is’t not well done?

VIOLA Excellently done, if God did all.

OLIVIA ‘Tis in grain, sir, ’twill endure wind and weather.

VIOLA

‘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.

OLIVIA 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?

VIOLA

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 recompensed though you were crowned

The nonpareil of beauty.

OLIVIA

How does he love me?

VIOLA

With adorations, fertile tears,

With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire.

OLIVIA

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.

VIOLA

If I did love you in my master’s flame,

With such a suff’ring, such a deadly life,

In your denial I would find no sense,

I would not understand it.

OLIVIA

Why, what would you?

VIOLA

Make me a willow cabin at your gate

And call upon my soul within the house,

Write loyal cantons of contemnèd love,

And sing them loud even in the dead of night;

Halloo your name to the reverberate hills,

And make the babbling gossip of the air

Cry out ‘Olivia!’ O, you should not rest

Between the elements of air and earth

But you should pity me.

OLIVIA You might do much.

What is your parentage?

VIOLA

Above my fortunes, yet my state is well.

I am a gentleman.

OLIVIA

Get you to your lord.

I cannot love him. Let him send no more,

Unless, perchance, you come to me again

To tell me how he takes it. Fare you well.

I thank you for your pains. (Offering a purse) Spend

this for me.

VIOLA

I am no fee’d post, lady. Keep your purse.

My master, not myself, lacks recompense.

Love make his heart of flint that you shall love,

And let your fervour, like my master’s, be

Placed in contempt. Farewell, fair cruelty. Exit

OLIVIA ‘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

Do give thee five-fold blazon. Not too fast. Soft, soft—

Unless the master were the man. How now?

Even so quickly may one catch the plague?

Methinks I feel this youth’s perfections

With an invisible and subtle stealth

To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be.

What ho, Malvolio.

Enter Malvolio

MALVOLIO

Here, madam, at your service.

OLIVIA

Run after that same peevish messenger

The County’s man. He left this ring behind him,

Would I or not. Tell him I’ll none of it.

Desire him not to flatter with his lord,

Nor hold him up with hopes. I am not for him.

If that the youth will come this way tomorrow,

I’ll give him reasons for’t. Hie thee, Malvolio.

MALVOLIO Madam, I will.

Exit at one door

OLIVIA

I do I know not what, and fear to find

Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind.

Fate, show thy force. Ourselves we do not owe.

What is decreed must be; and be this so.

Exit at another door