Twelfe Night, Or what you will

William Shakespeare

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  • Twelfe Night, Or what you will
  • Twelfe Night, Or what you will

    Actus Primus, Scaena Prima.


    Enter Orsino Duke of Illyria, Curio, and other Lords.


      Duke. If Musicke be the food of Loue, play on,
    Giue me excesse of it: that surfetting,
    The appetite may sicken, and so dye.
    That straine agen, it had a dying fall:
    O, it came ore my eare, like the sweet sound
    That breathes vpon a banke of Violets;
    Stealing, and giuing Odour. Enough, no more,
    'Tis not so sweet now, as it was before.
    O spirit of Loue, how quicke and fresh art thou,
    That notwithstanding thy capacitie,
    Receiueth as the Sea. Nought enters there,
    Of what validity, and pitch so ere,
    But falles into abatement, and low price
    Euen in a minute; so full of shapes is fancie,
    That it alone, is high fantasticall


       Cu. Will you go hunt my Lord?
      Du. What Curio?
      Cu. The Hart


       Du. Why so I do, the Noblest that I haue:
    O when mine eyes did see Oliuia first,
    Me thought she purg'd the ayre of pestilence;
    That instant was I turn'd into a Hart,
    And my desires like fell and cruell hounds,
    Ere since pursue me. How now what newes from her?
    Enter Valentine.


      Val. So please my Lord, I might not be admitted,
    But from her handmaid do returne this answer:
    The Element it selfe, till seuen yeares heate,
    Shall not behold her face at ample view:
    But like a Cloystresse she will vailed walke,
    And water once a day her Chamber round
    With eye-offending brine: all this to season
    A brothers dead loue, which she would keepe fresh
    And lasting, in her sad remembrance


       Du. O she that hath a heart of that fine frame
    To pay this debt of loue but to a brother,
    How will she loue, when the rich golden shaft
    Hath kill'd the flocke of all affections else
    That liue in her. When Liuer, Braine, and Heart,
    These soueraigne thrones, are all supply'd and fill'd
    Her sweete perfections with one selfe king:
    Away before me, to sweet beds of Flowres,
    Loue-thoughts lye rich, when canopy'd with bowres.


    Exeunt.

    Scena Secunda.


    Enter Viola, a Captaine, and Saylors.


      Vio. What Country (Friends) is this?
      Cap. This is Illyria Ladie


       Vio. And what should I do in Illyria?
    My brother he is in Elizium,
    Perchance he is not drown'd: What thinke you saylors?
      Cap. It is perchance that you your selfe were saued


       Vio. O my poore brother, and so perchance may he be


       Cap. True Madam, and to comfort you with chance,
    Assure your selfe, after our ship did split,
    When you, and those poore number saued with you,
    Hung on our driuing boate: I saw your brother
    Most prouident in perill, binde himselfe,
    (Courage and hope both teaching him the practise)
    To a strong Maste, that liu'd vpon the sea:
    Where like Orion on the Dolphines backe,
    I saw him hold acquaintance with the waues,
    So long as I could see


       Vio. For saying so, there's Gold:
    Mine owne escape vnfoldeth to my hope,
    Whereto thy speech serues for authoritie
    The like of him. Know'st thou this Countrey?
      Cap. I Madam well, for I was bred and borne
    Not three houres trauaile from this very place


       Vio. Who gouernes heere?
      Cap. A noble Duke in nature, as in name


       Vio. What is his name?
      Cap. Orsino


       Vio. Orsino: I haue heard my father name him.
    He was a Batchellor then


       Cap. And so is now, or was so very late:
    For but a month ago I went from hence,
    And then 'twas fresh in murmure (as you know
    What great ones do, the lesse will prattle of,)
    That he did seeke the loue of faire Oliuia


       Vio. What's shee?
      Cap. A vertuous maid, the daughter of a Count
    That dide some tweluemonth since, then leauing her
    In the protection of his sonne, her brother,
    Who shortly also dide: for whose deere loue
    (They say) she hath abiur'd the sight
    And company of men


       Vio. O that I seru'd that Lady,
    And might not be deliuered to the world
    Till I had made mine owne occasion mellow
    What my estate is


       Cap. That were hard to compasse,
    Because she will admit no kinde of suite,
    No, not the Dukes


       Vio. There is a faire behauiour in thee Captaine,
    And though that nature, with a beauteous wall
    Doth oft close in pollution: yet of thee
    I will beleeue thou hast a minde that suites
    With this thy faire and outward charracter.
    I prethee (and Ile pay thee bounteously)
    Conceale me what I am, and be my ayde,
    For such disguise as haply shall become
    The forme of my intent. Ile serue this Duke,
    Thou shalt present me as an Eunuch to him,
    It may be worth thy paines: for I can sing,
    And speake to him in many sorts of Musicke,
    That will allow me very worth his seruice.
    What else may hap, to time I will commit,
    Onely shape thou thy silence to my wit


       Cap. Be you his Eunuch, and your Mute Ile bee,
    When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see


       Vio. I thanke thee: Lead me on.


    Exeunt.


    Scaena Tertia.


    Enter Sir Toby, and Maria.


      Sir To. What a plague meanes my Neece to take the
    death of her brother thus? I am sure care's an enemie to
    life


       Mar. By my troth sir Toby, you must come in earlyer
    a nights: your Cosin, my Lady, takes great exceptions
    to your ill houres


       To. Why let her except, before excepted


       Ma. I, but you must confine your selfe within the
    modest limits of order


       To. Confine? Ile confine my selfe no finer then I am:
    these cloathes are good enough to drinke in, and so bee
    these boots too: and they be not, let them hang themselues
    in their owne straps


       Ma. That quaffing and drinking will vndoe you: I
    heard my Lady talke of it yesterday: and of a foolish
    knight that you brought in one night here, to be hir woer
      To. Who, Sir Andrew Ague-cheeke?
      Ma. I he


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


       Ma. What's that to th' purpose?
      To. Why he ha's three thousand ducates a yeare


       Ma. I, but hee'l haue but a yeare in all these ducates:
    He's a very foole, and a prodigall


       To. Fie, that you'l say so: he playes o'th Viol-de-gamboys,
    and speaks three or four languages word for word
    without booke, &hath all the good gifts of nature


       Ma. He hath indeed, almost naturall: for besides that
    he's a foole, he's a great quarreller: and but that hee hath
    the gift of a Coward, to allay the gust he hath in quarrelling,
    'tis thought among the prudent, he would quickely
    haue the gift of a graue


       Tob. By this hand they are scoundrels and substractors
    that say so of him. Who are they?
      Ma. They that adde moreour, hee's drunke nightly
    in your company


       To. With drinking healths to my Neece: Ile drinke
    to her as long as there is a passage in my throat, &drinke
    in Illyria: he's a Coward and a Coystrill that will not
    drinke to my Neece, till his braines turne o'th toe, like a
    parish top. What wench? Castiliano vulgo: for here coms
    Sir Andrew Agueface.
    Enter Sir Andrew.


      And. Sir Toby Belch. How now sir Toby Belch?
      To. Sweet sir Andrew


       And. Blesse you faire Shrew


       Mar. And you too sir


       Tob. Accost Sir Andrew, accost


       And. What's that?
      To. My Neeces Chamber-maid


       Ma. Good Mistris accost, I desire better acquaintance
      Ma. My name is Mary sir


       And. Good mistris Mary, accost


       To, You mistake knight: Accost, is front her, boord
    her, woe her, assayle her


       And. By my troth I would not vndertake her in this
    company. Is that the meaning of Accost?
      Ma. Far you well Gentlemen


       To. And thou let part so Sir Andrew, would thou
    mightst neuer draw sword agen


       And. And you part so mistris, I would I might neuer
    draw sword agen: Faire Lady, doe you thinke you haue
    fooles in hand?
      Ma. Sir, I haue not you by'th hand


       An. Marry but you shall haue, and heeres my hand


       Ma. Now sir, thought is free: I pray you bring your
    hand to'th Buttry barre, and let it drinke


       An. Wherefore (sweet-heart?) What's your Metaphor?
      Ma. It's dry sir


       And. Why I thinke so: I am not such an asse, but I
    can keepe my hand dry. But what's your iest?
      Ma. A dry iest Sir


       And. Are you full of them?
      Ma. I Sir, I haue them at my fingers ends: marry now
    I let go your hand, I am barren.


    Exit Maria


      To. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of Canarie: when did
    I see thee so put downe?
      An. Neuer in your life I thinke, vnlesse you see Canarie
    put me downe: mee thinkes sometimes I haue no
    more wit then a Christian, or an ordinary man ha's: but I
    am a great eater of beefe, and I beleeue that does harme
    to my wit


       To. No question


       An. And I thought that, I'de forsweare it. Ile ride
    home to morrow sir Toby


       To. Pur-quoy my deere knight?
      An. What is purquoy? Do, or not do? I would I had
    bestowed that time in the tongues, that I haue in fencing
    dancing, and beare-bayting: O had I but followed the
    Arts


       To. Then hadst thou had an excellent head of haire


       An. Why, would that haue mended my haire?
      To. Past question, for thou seest it will not coole my nature
      An. But it becoms me wel enough, dost not?
      To. Excellent, it hangs like flax on a distaffe: &I hope
    to see a huswife take thee between her legs, &spin it off


       An. Faith Ile home to morrow sir Toby, your niece wil
    not be seene, or if she be it's four to one, she'l none of me:
    the Count himselfe here hard by, wooes her


       To. Shee'l none o'th Count, she'l not match aboue hir
    degree, neither in estate, yeares, nor wit: I haue heard her
    swear't. Tut there's life in't man


       And. Ile stay a moneth longer. I am a fellow o'th
    strangest minde i'th world: I delight in Maskes and Reuels
    sometimes altogether


       To. Art thou good at these kicke-chawses Knight?
      And. As any man in Illyria, whatsoeuer he be, vnder
    the degree of my betters, &yet I will not compare with
    an old man


       To. What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight?
      And. Faith, I can cut a caper


       To. And I can cut the Mutton too't


       And. And I thinke I haue the backe-tricke, simply as
    strong as any man in Illyria


       To. Wherefore are these things hid? Wherefore haue
    these gifts a Curtaine before 'em? Are they like to take
    dust, like mistris Mals picture? Why dost thou not goe
    to Church in a Galliard, and come home in a Carranto?
    My verie walke should be a Iigge: I would not so much
    as make water but in a Sinke-a-pace: What dooest thou
    meane? Is it a world to hide vertues in? I did thinke by
    the excellent constitution of thy legge, it was form'd vnder
    the starre of a Galliard


       And. I, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a
    dam'd colour'd stocke. Shall we sit about some Reuels?
      To. What shall we do else: were we not borne vnder
    Taurus?
      And. Taurus? That sides and heart


       To. No sir, it is leggs and thighes: let me see thee caper.
    Ha, higher: ha, ha, excellent.


    Exeunt.

    Scena Quarta.


    Enter Valentine, and Viola in mans attire.


      Val. If the Duke continue these fauours towards you
    Cesario, you are like to be much aduanc'd, he hath known
    you but three dayes, and already you are no stranger


       Vio. You either feare his humour, or my negligence,
    that you call in question the continuance of his loue. Is
    he inconstant sir, in his fauours


       Val. No beleeue me.
    Enter Duke, Curio, and Attendants.


      Vio. I thanke you: heere comes the Count


       Duke. Who saw Cesario hoa?
      Vio. On your attendance my Lord heere


       Du. Stand you a-while aloofe. Cesario,
    Thou knowst no lesse, but all: I haue vnclasp'd
    To thee the booke euen of my secret soule.
    Therefore good youth, addresse thy gate vnto her,
    Be not deni'de accesse, stand at her doores,
    And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow
    Till thou haue audience


       Vio. Sure my Noble Lord,
    If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow
    As it is spoke, she neuer will admit me


       Du. Be clamorous, and leape all ciuill bounds,
    Rather then make vnprofited returne,
      Vio. Say I do speake with her (my Lord) what then?
      Du. O then, vnfold the passion of my loue,
    Surprize her with discourse of my deere faith;
    It shall become thee well to act my woes:
    She will attend it better in thy youth,
    Then in a Nuntio's of more graue aspect


       Vio. I thinke not so, my Lord


       Du. Deere Lad, beleeue it;
    For they shall yet belye thy happy yeeres,
    That say thou art a man: Dianas lip
    Is not more smooth, and rubious: thy small pipe
    Is as the maidens organ, shrill, and sound,
    And all is semblatiue a womans part.
    I know thy constellation is right apt
    For this affayre: some foure or fiue attend him,
    All if you will: for I my selfe am best
    When least in companie: prosper well in this,
    And thou shalt liue as freely as thy Lord,
    To call his fortunes thine


       Vio. Ile do my best
    To woe your Lady: yet a barrefull strife,
    Who ere I woe, my selfe would be his wife.


    Exeunt.


    Scena Quinta.



    Enter Maria, and Clowne.


      Ma. Nay, either tell me where thou hast bin, or I will
    not open my lippes so wide as a brissle may enter, in way
    of thy excuse: my Lady will hang thee for thy absence


       Clo. Let her hang me: hee that is well hang'de in this
    world, needs to feare no colours


       Ma. Make that good


       Clo. He shall see none to feare


       Ma. A good lenton answer: I can tell thee where y
    saying was borne, of I feare no colours


       Clo. Where good mistris Mary?
      Ma. In the warrs, &that may you be bolde to say in
    your foolerie


       Clo. Well, God giue them wisedome that haue it: those that are fooles, let them vse their talents


       Ma. Yet you will be hang'd for being so long absent,
    or to be turn'd away: is not that as good as a hanging to
    you?
      Clo. Many a good hanging, preuents a bad marriage:
    and for turning away, let summer beare it out


       Ma. You are resolute then?
      Clo. Not so neyther, but I am resolu'd on two points
      Ma. That if one breake, the other will hold: or if both
    breake, your gaskins fall


       Clo. Apt in good faith, very apt: well go thy way, if
    sir Toby would leaue drinking, thou wert as witty a piece
    of Eues flesh, as any in Illyria


       Ma. Peace you rogue, no more o'that: here comes my
    Lady: make your excuse wisely, you were best.
    Enter Lady Oliuia, with Maluolio.


      Clo. Wit, and't be thy will, put me into good fooling:
    those wits that thinke they haue thee, doe very oft proue
    fooles: and I that am sure I lacke thee, may passe for a
    wise man. For what saies Quinapalus, Better a witty foole,
    then a foolish wit. God blesse thee Lady


       Ol. Take the foole away


       Clo. Do you not heare fellowes, take away the Ladie


       Ol. Go too, y'are a dry foole: Ile no more of you: besides
    you grow dis-honest


       Clo. Two faults Madona, that drinke &good counsell
    wil amend: for giue the dry foole drink, then is the foole
    not dry: bid the dishonest man mend himself, if he mend,
    he is no longer dishonest; if hee cannot, let the Botcher
    mend him: any thing that's mended, is but patch'd: vertu
    that transgresses, is but patcht with sinne, and sin that amends,
    is but patcht with vertue. If that this simple
    Sillogisme will serue, so: if it will not, what remedy?
    As there is no true Cuckold but calamity, so beauties a
    flower; The Lady bad take away the foole, therefore I
    say againe, take her away


       Ol. Sir, I bad them take away you


       Clo. Misprision in the highest degree. Lady, Cucullus
    non facit monachum: that's as much to say, as I weare not
    motley in my braine: good Madona, giue mee leaue to
    proue you a foole


       Ol. Can you do it?
      Clo. Dexteriously, good Madona


       Ol. Make your proofe


       Clo. I must catechize you for it Madona, Good my
    Mouse of vertue answer mee


       Ol. Well sir, for want of other idlenesse, Ile bide your
    proofe


       Clo. Good Madona, why mournst thou?
      Ol. Good foole, for my brothers death


       Clo. I thinke his soule is in hell, Madona


       Ol. I know his soule is in heauen, foole


       Clo. The more foole (Madona) to mourne for your
    Brothers soule, being in heauen. Take away the Foole,
    Gentlemen


       Ol. What thinke you of this foole Maluolio, doth he
    not mend?
      Mal. Yes, and shall do, till the pangs of death shake
    him: Infirmity that decaies the wise, doth euer make the
    better foole


       Clow. God send you sir, a speedie Infirmity, for the
    better increasing your folly: Sir Toby will be sworn that
    I am no Fox, but he wil not passe his word for two pence
    that you are no Foole


       Ol. How say you to that Maluolio?
      Mal. I maruell your Ladyship takes delight in such
    a barren rascall: I saw him put down the other day, with
    an ordinary foole, that has no more braine then a stone.
    Looke you now, he's out of his gard already: vnles you
    laugh and minister occasion to him, he is gag'd. I protest
    I take these Wisemen, that crow so at these set kinde of
    fooles, no better then the fooles Zanies


       Ol. O you are sicke of selfe-loue Maluolio, and taste
    with a distemper'd appetite. To be generous, guiltlesse,
    and of free disposition, is to take those things for Bird-bolts,
    that you deeme Cannon bullets: There is no slander
    in an allow'd foole, though he do nothing but rayle;
    nor no rayling, in a knowne discreet man, though hee do
    nothing but reproue


       Clo. Now Mercury indue thee with leasing, for thou
    speak'st well of fooles.
    Enter Maria.


      Mar. Madam, there is at the gate, a young Gentleman,
    much desires to speake with you


       Ol. From the Count Orsino, is it?
      Ma I know not (Madam) 'tis a faire young man, and
    well attended


       Ol. Who of my people hold him in delay?
      Ma. Sir Toby Madam, your kinsman


       Ol. Fetch him off I pray you, he speakes nothing but
    madman: Fie on him. Go you Maluolio; If it be a suit
    from the Count, I am sicke, or not at home. What you
    will, to dismisse it.


    Exit Maluo.


    Now you see sir, how your fooling growes old, &people
    dislike it


       Clo. Thou hast spoke for vs (Madona) as if thy eldest
    sonne should be a foole: whose scull, Ioue cramme with
    braines, for heere he comes.
    Enter Sir Toby.


    One of thy kin has a most weake Pia-mater


       Ol. By mine honor halfe drunke. What is he at the
    gate Cosin?
      To. A Gentleman


       Ol. A Gentleman? What Gentleman?
      To. 'Tis a Gentleman heere. A plague o'these pickle
    herring: How now Sot


       Clo. Good Sir Toby


       Ol. Cosin, Cosin, how haue you come so earely by
    this Lethargie?
      To. Letcherie, I defie Letchery: there's one at the
    gate


       Ol. I marry, what is he?
      To. Let him be the diuell and he will, I care not: giue
    me faith say I. Well, it's all one.


    Exit


      Ol. What's a drunken man like, foole?
      Clo. Like a drown'd man, a foole, and a madde man:
    One draught aboue heate, makes him a foole, the second
    maddes him, and a third drownes him


       Ol. Go thou and seeke the Crowner, and let him sitte
    o'my Coz: for he's in the third degree of drinke: hee's
    drown'd: go looke after him


       Clo. He is but mad yet Madona, and the foole shall
    looke to the madman.
    Enter Maluolio.


      Mal. Madam, yond young fellow sweares hee will
    speake with you. I told him you were sicke, he takes on
    him to vnderstand so much, and therefore comes to speak
    with you. I told him you were asleepe, he seems to haue
    a fore knowledge of that too, and therefore comes to
    speake with you. What is to be said to him Ladie, hee's
    fortified against any deniall


       Ol. Tell him, he shall not speake with me


       Mal. Ha's beene told so: and hee sayes hee'l stand at
    your doore like a Sheriffes post, and be the supporter to
    a bench, but hee'l speake with you


       Ol. What kinde o'man is he?
      Mal. Why of mankinde


       Ol. What manner of man?
      Mal. Of verie ill manner: hee'l speake with you, will
    you, or no


       Ol. Of what personage, and yeeres is he?
      Mal. Not yet old enough for a man, nor yong enough
    for a boy: as a squash is before tis a pescod, or a Codling
    when tis almost an Apple: Tis with him in standing water,
    betweene boy and man. He is verie well-fauour'd,
    and he speakes verie shrewishly: One would thinke his
    mothers milke were scarse out of him


       Ol. Let him approach: Call in my Gentlewoman


       Mal. Gentlewoman, my Lady calles.
    Enter.


    Enter Maria.


      Ol. Giue me my vaile: come throw it ore my face,
    Wee'l once more heare Orsinos Embassie.
    Enter Violenta.


      Vio. The honorable Ladie of the house, which is she?
      Ol. Speake to me, I shall answer for her: your will


       Vio. Most radiant, exquisite, and vnmatchable beautie.
    I pray you tell me if this bee the Lady of the house,
    for I neuer saw her. I would bee loath to cast away my
    speech: for besides that it is excellently well pend, I haue
    taken great paines to con it. Good Beauties, let mee sustaine
    no scorne; I am very comptible, euen to the least
    sinister vsage


       Ol. Whence came you sir?
      Vio. I can say little more then I haue studied, &that
    question's out of my part. Good gentle one, giue mee
    modest assurance, if you be the Ladie of the house, that | I
    may proceede in my speech


       Ol. Are you a Comedian?
      Vio. No my profound heart: and yet (by the verie
    phangs of malice, I sweare) I am not that I play. Are you
    the Ladie of the house?
      Ol. If I do not vsurpe my selfe, I am


       Vio. Most certaine, if you are she, you do vsurp your
    selfe: for what is yours to bestowe, is, not yours to reserue.
    But this is from my Commission: I will on with
    my speech in your praise, and then shew you the heart of
    my message


       Ol. Come to what is important in't: I forgiue you
    the praise


       Vio. Alas, I tooke great paines to studie it, and 'tis
    Poeticall


       Ol. It is the more like to be feigned, I pray you keep
    it in. I heard you were sawcy at my gates, &allowd your
    approach rather to wonder at you, then to heare you. If
    you be not mad, be gone: if you haue reason, be breefe:
    'tis not that time of Moone with me, to make one in so
    skipping a dialogue


       Ma. Will you hoyst sayle sir, here lies your way


       Vio. No good swabber, I am to hull here a little longer.
    Some mollification for your Giant, sweete Ladie;
    tell me your minde, I am a messenger


       Ol. Sure you haue some hiddeous matter to deliuer,
    when the curtesie of it is so fearefull. Speake your office


       Vio. It alone concernes your eare: I bring no ouerture
    of warre, no taxation of homage; I hold the Olyffe
    in my hand: my words are as full of peace, as matter


       Ol. Yet you began rudely. What are you?
    What would you?
      Vio. The rudenesse that hath appear'd in mee, haue I
    learn'd from my entertainment. What I am, and what I
    would, are as secret as maiden-head: to your eares, Diuinity;
    to any others, prophanation


       Ol. Giue vs the place alone,
    We will heare this diuinitie. Now sir, what is your text?
      Vio. Most sweet Ladie


       Ol. A comfortable doctrine, and much may bee saide
    of it. Where lies your Text?
      Vio. In Orsinoes bosome


       Ol. In his bosome? In what chapter of his bosome?
      Vio. To answer by the method, in the first of his hart


       Ol. O, I haue read it: it is heresie. Haue you no more
    to say?
      Vio. Good Madam, let me see your face


       Ol. Haue 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 shew you the picture.
    Looke you sir, such a one I was this present: Ist not well
    done?
      Vio. Excellently done, if God did all


       Ol. 'Tis in graine sir, 'twill endure winde and weather


       Vio. Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white,
    Natures owne sweet, and cunning hand laid on:
    Lady, you are the cruell'st shee aliue,
    If you will leade these graces to the graue,
    And leaue the world no copie


       Ol. O sir, I will not be so hard-hearted: I will giue
    out diuers scedules of my beautie. It shalbe Inuentoried
    and euery particle and vtensile labell'd to my will: As,
    Item two lippes indifferent redde, Item two grey eyes,
    with lids to them: Item, one necke, one chin, &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 diuell, you are faire:
    My Lord, and master loues you: O such loue
    Could be but recompenc'd, though you were crown'd
    The non-pareil of beautie


       Ol. How does he loue me?
      Vio. With adorations, fertill teares,
    With groanes that thunder loue, with sighes of fire


       Ol. Your Lord does know my mind, I cannot loue him
    Yet I suppose him vertuous, know him noble,
    Of great estate, of fresh and stainlesse youth;
    In voyces well divulg'd, free, learn'd, and valiant,
    And in dimension, and the shape of nature,
    A gracious person; But yet I cannot loue him:
    He might haue tooke his answer long ago


       Vio. If I did loue you in my masters flame,
    With such a suffring, such a deadly life:
    In your deniall, I would finde no sence,
    I would not vnderstand it


       Ol. Why, what would you?
      Vio. Make me a willow Cabine at your gate,
    And call vpon my soule within the house,
    Write loyall Cantons of contemned loue,
    And sing them lowd euen in the dead of night:
    Hallow your name to the reuerberate hilles,
    And make the babling Gossip of the aire,
    Cry out Oliuia: O you should not rest
    Betweene the elements of ayre, and earth,
    But you should pittie me


       Ol. You might do much:
    What is your Parentage?
      Vio. Aboue my fortunes, yet my state is well:
    I am a Gentleman


       Ol. Get you to your Lord:
    I cannot loue him: let him send no more,
    Vnlesse (perchance) you come to me againe,
    To tell me how he takes it: Fare you well:
    I thanke you for your paines: spend this for mee


       Vio. I am no feede poast, Lady; keepe your purse,
    My Master, not my selfe, lackes recompence.
    Loue make his heart of flint, that you shal loue,
    And let your feruour like my masters be,
    Plac'd in contempt: Farwell fayre crueltie.


    Exit


      Ol. What is your Parentage?
    Aboue my fortunes, yet my state is well;
    I am a Gentleman. Ile be sworne thou art,
    Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbes, actions, and spirit,
    Do giue thee fiue-fold blazon: not too fast: soft, soft,
    Vnlesse the Master were the man. How now?
    Euen so quickly may one catch the plague?
    Me thinkes I feele this youths perfections
    With an inuisible, and subtle stealth
    To creepe in at mine eyes. Well, let it be.
    What hoa, Maluolio.
    Enter Maluolio.


      Mal. Heere Madam, at your seruice


       Ol. Run after that same peeuish Messenger
    The Countes man: he left this Ring behinde him
    Would I, or not: tell him, Ile none of it.
    Desire him not to flatter with his Lord,
    Nor hold him vp with hopes, I am not for him:
    If that the youth will come this way to morrow,
    Ile giue him reasons for't: hie thee Maluolio


       Mal. Madam, I will.
    Enter.


      Ol. I do I know not what, and feare to finde
    Mine eye too great a flatterer for my minde:
    Fate, shew thy force, our selues we do not owe,
    What is decreed, must be: and be this so.


    Finis, Actus primus.


    Actus Secundus, Scaena prima.


    Enter Antonio &Sebastian.


      Ant. Will you stay no longer: nor will you not that
    I go with you


       Seb. By your patience, no: my starres shine darkely
    ouer me; the malignancie of my fate, might perhaps distemper
    yours; therefore I shall craue of you your leaue,
    that I may beare my euils alone. It were a bad recompence
    for your loue, to lay any of them on you


       An. Let me yet know of you, whither you are bound


       Seb. No sooth sir: my determinate voyage is meere
    extrauagancie. But I perceiue in you so excellent a touch
    of modestie, that you will not extort from me, what I am
    willing to keepe in: therefore it charges me in manners,
    the rather to expresse my selfe: you must know of mee
    then Antonio, my name is Sebastian (which I call'd Rodorigo)
    my father was that Sebastian of Messaline, whom I
    know you haue heard of. He left behinde him, my selfe,
    and a sister, both borne in an houre: if the Heauens had
    beene pleas'd, would we had so ended. But you sir, alter'd
    that, for some houre before you tooke me from the
    breach of the sea, was my sister drown'd


       Ant. Alas the day


       Seb. A Lady sir, though it was said shee much resembled
    me, was yet of many accounted beautiful: but thogh
    I could not with such estimable wonder ouer-farre beleeue
    that, yet thus farre I will boldly publish her, shee
    bore a minde that enuy could not but call faire: Shee is
    drown'd already sir with salt water, though I seeme to
    drowne her remembrance againe with more


       Ant. Pardon me sir, your bad entertainment


       Seb. O good Antonio, forgiue me your trouble


       Ant. If you will not murther me for my loue, let mee
    be your seruant


       Seb. If you will not vndo what you haue done, that is
    kill him, whom you haue recouer'd, desire it not. Fare
    ye well at once, my bosome is full of kindnesse, and I
    am yet so neere the manners of my mother, that vpon the
    least occasion more, mine eyes will tell tales of me: I am
    bound to the Count Orsino's Court, farewell.


    Exit


      Ant. The gentlenesse of all the gods go with thee:
    I haue many enemies in Orsino's Court,
    Else would I very shortly see thee there:
    But come what may, I do adore thee so,
    That danger shall seeme sport, and I will go.
    Enter.



    Scaena Secunda.


    Enter Viola and Maluolio, at seuerall doores.


      Mal. Were not you eu'n now, with the Countesse Oliuia?
      Vio. Euen now sir, on a moderate pace, I haue since ariu'd
    but hither


       Mal. She returnes this Ring to you (sir) you might
    haue saued mee my paines, to haue taken it away your
    selfe. She adds moreouer, that you should put your Lord
    into a desperate assurance, she will none of him. And one
    thing more, that you be neuer so hardie to come againe
    in his affaires, vnlesse it bee to report your Lords taking
    of this: receiue it so


       Vio. She tooke the Ring of me, Ile none of it


       Mal. Come sir, you peeuishly threw it to her: and
    her will is, it should be so return'd: If it bee worth stooping
    for, there it lies, in your eye: if not, bee it his that
    findes it.
    Enter.


      Vio. I left no Ring with her: what meanes this Lady?
    Fortune forbid my out-side haue not charm'd her:
    She made good view of me, indeed so much,
    That me thought her eyes had lost her tongue,
    For she did speake in starts distractedly.
    She loues me sure, the cunning of her passion
    Inuites me in this churlish messenger:
    None of my Lords Ring? Why he sent her none;
    I am the man, if it be so, as tis,
    Poore Lady, she were better loue a dreame:
    Disguise, I see thou art a wickednesse,
    Wherein the pregnant enemie does much.
    How easie is it, for the proper false
    In womens waxen hearts to set their formes:
    Alas, O frailtie is the cause, not wee,
    For such as we are made, if such we bee:
    How will this fadge? My master loues her deerely,
    And I (poore monster) fond asmuch on him:
    And she (mistaken) seemes to dote on me:
    What will become of this? As I am man,
    My state is desperate for my maisters loue:
    As I am woman (now alas the day)
    What thriftlesse sighes shall poore Oliuia breath?
    O time, thou must vntangle this, not I,
    It is too hard a knot for me t' vnty.


    Scoena Tertia.


    Enter Sir Toby, and Sir Andrew.


      To. Approach Sir Andrew: not to bee a bedde after
    midnight, is to be vp betimes, and Deliculo surgere, thou
    know'st


       And. Nay by my troth I know not: but I know, to
    be vp late, is to be vp late


       To. A false conclusion: I hate it as an vnfill'd Canne.
    To be vp after midnight, and to go to bed then is early:
    so that to go to bed after midnight, is to goe to bed betimes.
    Does not our liues consist of the foure Elements?
      And. Faith so they say, but I thinke it rather consists
    of eating and drinking


       To. Th'art a scholler; let vs therefore eate and drinke
    Marian I say, a stoope of wine.
    Enter Clowne.


      And. Heere comes the foole yfaith


       Clo. How now my harts: Did you neuer see the Picture
    of we three?
      To. Welcome asse, now let's haue a catch


       And. By my troth the foole has an excellent breast. I
    had rather then forty shillings I had such a legge, and so
    sweet a breath to sing, as the foole has. Insooth thou wast
    in very gracious fooling last night, when thou spok'st of
    Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians passing the Equinoctial of
    Queubus: 'twas very good yfaith: I sent thee sixe pence
    for thy Lemon, hadst it?
      Clo. I did impeticos thy gratillity: for Maluolios nose
    is no Whip-stocke. My Lady has a white hand, and the
    Mermidons are no bottle-ale houses


       An. Excellent: Why this is the best fooling, when
    all is done. Now a song


       To. Come on, there is sixe pence for you. Let's haue
    a song


       An. There's a testrill of me too: if one knight giue a
      Clo. Would you haue a loue-song, or a song of good
    life?
      To. A loue song, a loue song


       An. I, I. I care not for good life


       Clowne sings .
    O Mistris mine where are you roming?
    O stay and heare, your true loues coming,
    That can sing both high and low.
    Trip no further prettie sweeting.
    Iourneys end in louers meeting,
    Euery wise mans sonne doth know


       An. Excellent good, ifaith


       To. Good, good


       Clo. What is loue, tis not heereafter,
    Present mirth, hath present laughter:
    What's to come, is still vnsure.
    In delay there lies no plentie,
    Then come kisse me sweet and twentie:
    Youths a stuffe will not endure


       An. A mellifluous voyce, as I am true knight


       To. A contagious breath


       An. Very sweet, and contagious ifaith


       To. To heare by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion.
    But shall we make the Welkin dance indeed? Shall wee
    rowze the night-Owle in a Catch, that will drawe three
    soules out of one Weauer? Shall we do that?
      And. And you loue me, let's doo't: I am dogge at a
    Catch


       Clo. Byrlady sir, and some dogs will catch well


       An. Most certaine: Let our Catch be, Thou Knaue


       Clo. Hold thy peace, thou Knaue knight. I shall be constrain'd
    in't, to call thee knaue, Knight


       An. 'Tis not the first time I haue constrained one to
    call me knaue. Begin foole: it begins, Hold thy peace


       Clo. I shall neuer begin if I hold my peace


       An. Good ifaith: Come begin.


    Catch sung


    Enter Maria.


      Mar. What a catterwalling doe you keepe heere? If
    my Ladie haue not call'd vp her Steward Maluolio, and
    bid him turne you out of doores, neuer trust me


       To. My Lady's a Catayan, we are politicians, Maluolios
    a Peg-a-ramsie, and Three merry men be wee. Am not I
    consanguinious? Am I not of her blood: tilly vally. Ladie,
    There dwelt a man in Babylon, Lady, Lady


       Clo. Beshrew me, the knights in admirable fooling


       An. I, he do's well enough if he be dispos'd, and so
    do I too: he does it with a better grace, but I do it more
    naturall


       To. O the twelfe day of December


       Mar. For the loue o' God peace.
    Enter Maluolio.


      Mal. My masters are you mad? Or what are you?
    Haue you no wit, manners, nor honestie, but to gabble
    like Tinkers at this time of night? Do yee make an Alehouse
    of my Ladies house, that ye squeak out your Coziers
    Catches without any mitigation or remorse of voice?
    Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time in you?
      To. We did keepe time sir in our Catches. Snecke vp


       Mal. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My Lady
    bad me tell you, that though she harbors you as her kinsman,
    she's nothing ally'd to your disorders. If you can
    separate your selfe and your misdemeanors, you are welcome
    to the house: if not, and it would please you to take
    leaue of her, she is very willing to bid you farewell


       To. Farewell deere heart, since I must needs be gone


       Mar. Nay good Sir Toby


       Clo. His eyes do shew his dayes are almost done


       Mal. Is't euen so?
      To. But I will neuer dye


       Clo. Sir Toby there you lye


       Mal. This is much credit to you


       To. Shall I bid him go


       Clo. What and if you do?
      To. Shall I bid him go, and spare not?
      Clo. O no, no, no, no, you dare not


       To. Out o' tune sir, ye lye: Art any more then a Steward?
    Dost thou thinke because thou art vertuous, there
    shall be no more Cakes and Ale?
      Clo. Yes by S[aint]. Anne, and Ginger shall bee hotte y'th
    mouth too


       To. Th'art i'th right. Goe sir, rub your Chaine with
    crums. A stope of Wine Maria


       Mal. Mistris Mary, if you priz'd my Ladies fauour
    at any thing more then contempt, you would not giue
    meanes for this vnciuill rule; she shall know of it by this
    hand.


    Exit


      Mar. Go shake your eares


       An. 'Twere as good a deede as to drink when a mans
    a hungrie, to challenge him the field, and then to breake
    promise with him, and make a foole of him


       To. Doo't knight, Ile write thee a Challenge: or Ile
    deliuer thy indignation to him by word of mouth


       Mar. Sweet Sir Toby be patient for to night: Since
    the youth of the Counts was to day with my Lady, she is
    much out of quiet. For Monsieur Maluolio, let me alone
    with him: If I do not gull him into a nayword, and make
    him a common recreation, do not thinke I haue witte enough
    to lye straight in my bed: I know I can do it


       To. Possesse vs, possesse vs, tell vs something of him


       Mar. Marrie sir, sometimes he is a kinde of Puritane


       An. O, if I thought that, Ide beate him like a dogge


       To. What for being a Puritan, thy exquisite reason,
    deere knight


       An. I haue no exquisite reason for't, but I haue reason
    good enough


       Mar. The diu'll a Puritane that hee is, or any thing
    constantly but a time-pleaser, an affection'd Asse, that
    cons State without booke, and vtters it by great swarths.
    The best perswaded of himselfe: so cram'd (as he thinkes)
    with excellencies, that it is his grounds of faith, that all
    that looke on him, loue him: and on that vice in him, will
    my reuenge finde notable cause to worke


       To. What wilt thou do?
      Mar. I will drop in his way some obscure Epistles of
    loue, wherein by the colour of his beard, the shape of his
    legge, the manner of his gate, the expressure of his eye,
    forehead, and complection, he shall finde himselfe most
    feelingly personated. I can write very like my Ladie
    your Neece, on a forgotten matter wee can hardly make
    distinction of our hands


       To. Excellent, I smell a deuice


       An. I hau't in my nose too


       To. He shall thinke by the Letters that thou wilt drop
    that they come from my Neece, and that shee's in loue
    with him


       Mar. My purpose is indeed a horse of that colour


       An. And your horse now would make him an Asse


       Mar. Asse, I doubt not


       An. O twill be admirable


       Mar. Sport royall I warrant you: I know my Physicke
    will worke with him, I will plant you two, and let
    the Foole make a third, where he shall finde the Letter:
    obserue his construction of it: For this night to bed, and
    dreame on the euent: Farewell.


    Exit


      To. Good night Penthisilea


       An. Before me she's a good wench


       To. She's a beagle true bred, and one that adores me:
    what o'that?
      An. I was ador'd once too


       To. Let's to bed knight: Thou hadst neede send for
    more money


       An. If I cannot recouer your Neece, I am a foule way
    out


       To. Send for money knight, if thou hast her not i'th
    end, call me Cut


       An. If I do not, neuer trust me, take it how you will


       To. Come, come, Ile go burne some Sacke, tis too late
    to go to bed now: Come knight, come knight.


    Exeunt.

    Scena Quarta.


    Enter Duke, Viola, Curio, and others


       Du. Giue me some Musick; Now good morow frends.
    Now good Cesario, but that peece of song,
    That old and Anticke song we heard last night;
    Me thought it did releeue my passion much,
    More then light ayres, and recollected termes
    Of these most briske and giddy-paced times.
    Come, but one verse


       Cur. He is not heere (so please your Lordshippe) that
    should sing it?
      Du. Who was it?
      Cur. Feste the Iester my Lord, a foole that the Ladie
    Oliuiaes Father tooke much delight in. He is about the
    house


       Du. Seeke him out, and play the tune the while.


    Musicke playes.


    Come hither Boy, if euer thou shalt loue
    In the sweet pangs of it, remember me:
    For such as I am, all true Louers are,
    Vnstaid and skittish in all motions else,
    Saue in the constant image of the creature
    That is belou'd. How dost thou like this tune?
      Vio. It giues a verie eccho to the seate
    Where loue is thron'd


       Du. Thou dost speake masterly,
    My life vpon't, yong though thou art, thine eye
    Hath staid vpon some fauour that it loues:
    Hath it not boy?
      Vio. A little, by your fauour


       Du. What kinde of woman ist?
      Vio. Of your complection


       Du. She is not worth thee then. What yeares ifaith?
      Vio. About your yeeres my Lord


       Du. Too old by heauen: Let still the woman take
    An elder then her selfe, so weares she to him;
    So swayes she leuell in her husbands heart:
    For boy, howeuer we do praise our selues,
    Our fancies are more giddie and vnfirme,
    More longing, wauering, sooner lost and worne,
    Then womens are


       Vio. I thinke it well my Lord


       Du. Then let thy Loue be yonger then thy selfe,
    Or thy affection cannot hold the bent:
    For women are as Roses, whose faire flowre
    Being once displaid, doth fall that verie howre


       Vio. And so they are: alas, that they are so:
    To die, euen when they to perfection grow.
    Enter Curio &Clowne.


      Du. O fellow come, the song we had last night:
    Marke it Cesario, it is old and plaine;
    The Spinsters and the Knitters in the Sun,
    And the free maides that weaue their thred with bones,
    Do vse to chaunt it: it is silly sooth,
    And dallies with the innocence of loue,
    Like the old age


       Clo. Are you ready Sir?
      Duke. I prethee sing.


    Musicke.


    The Song.


    Come away, come away death,
    And in sad cypresse let me be laide.
    Fye away, fie away breath,
    I am slaine by a faire cruell maide:
    My shrowd of white, stuck all with Ew, O prepare it.
    My part of death no one so true did share it.
    Not a flower, not a flower sweete
    On my blacke coffin, let there be strewne:
    Not a friend, not a friend greet
    My poore corpes, where my bones shall be throwne:
    A thousand thousand sighes to saue, lay me o where
    Sad true louer neuer find my graue, to weepe there


       Du. There's for thy paines


       Clo. No paines sir, I take pleasure in singing sir


       Du. Ile pay thy pleasure then


       Clo. Truely sir, and pleasure will be paide one time, or
    another


       Du. Giue me now leaue, to leaue thee


       Clo. Now the melancholly God protect thee, and the
    Tailor make thy doublet of changeable Taffata, for thy
    minde is a very Opall. I would haue men of such constancie
    put to Sea, that their businesse might be euery thing,
    and their intent euerie where, for that's it, that alwayes
    makes a good voyage of nothing. Farewell.


    Exit


      Du. Let all the rest giue place: Once more Cesario,
    Get thee to yond same soueraigne crueltie:
    Tell her my loue, more noble then the world
    Prizes not quantitie of dirtie lands,
    The parts that fortune hath bestow'd vpon her:
    Tell her I hold as giddily as Fortune:
    But 'tis that miracle, and Queene of Iems
    That nature prankes her in, attracts my soule


       Vio. But if she cannot loue you sir


       Du. It cannot be so answer'd


       Vio. Sooth but you must.
    Say that some Lady, as perhappes there is,
    Hath for your loue as great a pang of heart
    As you haue for Oliuia: you cannot loue her:
    You tel her so: Must she not then be answer'd?
      Du. There is no womans sides
    Can bide the beating of so strong a passion,
    As loue doth giue my heart: no womans heart
    So bigge, to hold so much, they lacke retention.
    Alas, their loue may be call'd appetite,
    No motion of the Liuer, but the Pallat,
    That suffer surfet, cloyment, and reuolt,
    But mine is all as hungry as the Sea,
    And can digest as much, make no compare
    Betweene that loue a woman can beare me,
    And that I owe Oliuia


       Vio. I but I know


       Du. What dost thou knowe?
      Vio. Too well what loue women to men may owe:
    In faith they are as true of heart, as we.
    My Father had a daughter lou'd a man
    As it might be perhaps, were I a woman
    I should your Lordship


       Du. And what's her history?
      Vio. A blanke my Lord: she neuer told her loue,
    But let concealment like a worme i'th budde
    Feede on her damaske cheeke: she pin'd in thought,
    And with a greene and yellow melancholly,
    She sate like Patience on a Monument,
    Smiling at greefe. Was not this loue indeede?
    We men may say more, sweare more, but indeed
    Our shewes are more then will: for still we proue
    Much in our vowes, but little in our loue


       Du. But di'de thy sister of her loue my Boy?
      Vio. I am all the daughters of my Fathers house,
    And all the brothers too: and yet I know not.
    Sir, shall I to this Lady?
      Du. I that's the Theame,
    To her in haste: giue her this Iewell: say,
    My loue can giue no place, bide no denay.


    Exeunt.

    Scena Quinta.


    Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian.


      To. Come thy wayes Signior Fabian


       Fab. Nay Ile come: if I loose a scruple of this sport,
    let me be boyl'd to death with Melancholly


       To. Wouldst thou not be glad to haue the niggardly
    Rascally sheepe-biter, come by some notable shame?
      Fa. I would exult man: you know he brought me out
    o' fauour with my Lady, about a Beare-baiting heere


       To. To anger him wee'l haue the Beare againe, and
    we will foole him blacke and blew, shall we not sir Andrew?
      An. And we do not, it is pittie of our liues.
    Enter Maria.


      To. Heere comes the little villaine: How now my
    Mettle of India?
      Mar. Get ye all three into the box tree: Maluolio's
    comming downe this walke, he has beene yonder i'the
    Sunne practising behauiour to his own shadow this halfe
    houre: obserue him for the loue of Mockerie: for I know
    this Letter wil make a contemplatiue Ideot of him. Close
    in the name of ieasting, lye thou there: for heere comes
    the Trowt, that must be caught with tickling.


    Exit


    Enter Maluolio.


      Mal. 'Tis but Fortune, all is fortune. Maria once
    told me she did affect me, and I haue heard her self come
    thus neere, that should shee fancie, it should bee one of
    my complection. Besides she vses me with a more exalted
    respect, then any one else that followes her. What
    should I thinke on't?
      To. Heere's an ouer-weening rogue


       Fa. Oh peace: Contemplation makes a rare Turkey
    Cocke of him, how he iets vnder his aduanc'd plumes


       And. Slight I could so beate the Rogue


       To. Peace I say


       Mal. To be Count Maluolio


       To. Ah Rogue


       An. Pistoll him, pistoll him


       To. Peace, peace


       Mal. There is example for't: The Lady of the Strachy,
    married the yeoman of the wardrobe


       An. Fie on him Iezabel


       Fa. O peace, now he's deepely in: looke how imagination
    blowes him


       Mal. Hauing beene three moneths married to her,
    sitting in my state


       To. O for a stone-bow to hit him in the eye


       Mal. Calling my Officers about me, in my branch'd
    Veluet gowne: hauing come from a day bedde, where I
    haue left Oliuia sleeping


       To. Fire and Brimstone


       Fa. O peace, peace


       Mal. And then to haue the humor of state: and after
    a demure trauaile of regard: telling them I knowe my
    place, as I would they should doe theirs: to aske for my
    kinsman Toby


       To. Boltes and shackles


       Fa. Oh peace, peace, peace, now, now


       Mal. Seauen of my people with an obedient start,
    make out for him: I frowne the while, and perchance
    winde vp my watch, or play with my some rich Iewell:
    Toby approaches; curtsies there to me


       To. Shall this fellow liue?
      Fa. Though our silence be drawne from vs with cars,
    yet peace


       Mal. I extend my hand to him thus: quenching my
    familiar smile with an austere regard of controll


       To. And do's not Toby take you a blow o'the lippes,
    then?
      Mal. Saying, Cosine Toby, my Fortunes hauing cast
    me on your Neece, giue me this prerogatiue of speech


       To. What, what?
      Mal. You must amend your drunkennesse


       To. Out scab


       Fab. Nay patience, or we breake the sinewes of our
    plot?
      Mal. Besides you waste the treasure of your time,
    with a foolish knight


       And. That's mee I warrant you


       Mal. One sir Andrew


       And. I knew 'twas I, for many do call mee foole


       Mal. What employment haue we heere?
      Fa. Now is the Woodcocke neere the gin


       To. Oh peace, and the spirit of humors intimate reading
    aloud to him


       Mal. By my life this is my Ladies hand: these bee her
    very C's, her V's, and her T's, and thus makes shee her
    great P's. It is in contempt of question her hand


       An. Her C's, her V's, and her T's: why that?
      Mal. To the vnknowne belou'd, this, and my good Wishes:
    Her very Phrases: By your leaue wax. Soft, and the impressure
    her Lucrece, with which she vses to seale: tis my
    Lady: To whom should this be?
      Fab. This winnes him, Liuer and all


       Mal. Ioue knowes I loue, but who, Lips do not mooue, no
    man must know. No man must know. What followes?
    The numbers alter'd: No man must know,
    If this should be thee Maluolio?
      To. Marrie hang thee brocke


       Mal. I may command where I adore, but silence like a Lucresse
    knife:
    With bloodlesse stroke my heart doth gore, M.O.A.I. doth
    sway my life


       Fa. A fustian riddle


       To. Excellent Wench, say I


       Mal. M.O.A.I. doth sway my life. Nay but first
    let me see, let me see, let me see


       Fab. What dish a poyson has she drest him?
      To. And with what wing the stallion checkes at it?
      Mal. I may command, where I adore: Why shee may
    command me: I serue her, she is my Ladie. Why this is
    euident to any formall capacitie. There is no obstruction
    in this, and the end: What should that Alphabeticall position
    portend, if I could make that resemble something
    in me? Softly, M.O.A.I


       To. O I, make vp that, he is now at a cold sent


       Fab. Sowter will cry vpon't for all this, though it bee
    as ranke as a Fox


       Mal. M. Maluolio, M. why that begins my name


       Fab. Did not I say he would worke it out, the Curre
    is excellent at faults


       Mal. M. But then there is no consonancy in the sequell
    that suffers vnder probation: A. should follow, but O.
    does


       Fa. And O shall end, I hope


       To. I, or Ile cudgell him, and make him cry O


       Mal. And then I. comes behind


       Fa. I, and you had any eye behinde you, you might
    see more detraction at your heeles, then Fortunes before
    you


       Mal. M,O,A,I. This simulation is not as the former:
    and yet to crush this a little, it would bow to mee, for euery
    one of these Letters are in my name. Soft, here followes
    prose: If this fall into thy hand, reuolue. In my stars
    I am aboue thee, but be not affraid of greatnesse: Some
    are become great, some atcheeues greatnesse, and some
    haue greatnesse thrust vppon em. Thy fates open theyr
    hands, let thy blood and spirit embrace them, and to invre
    thy selfe to what thou art like to be: cast thy humble
    slough, and appeare fresh. Be opposite with a kinsman,
    surly with seruants: Let thy tongue tang arguments of
    state; put thy selfe into the tricke of singularitie. Shee
    thus aduises thee, that sighes for thee. Remember who
    commended thy yellow stockings, and wish'd to see thee
    euer crosse garter'd: I say remember, goe too, thou art
    made if thou desir'st to be so: If not, let me see thee a steward
    still, the fellow of seruants, and not woorthie to
    touch Fortunes fingers Farewell, Shee that would alter
    seruices with thee, the fortunate vnhappy daylight and
    champian discouers not more: This is open, I will bee
    proud, I will reade politicke Authours, I will baffle Sir
    Toby, I will wash off grosse acquaintance, I will be point
    deuise, the very man. I do not now foole my selfe, to let
    imagination iade mee; for euery reason excites to this,
    that my Lady loues me. She did commend my yellow
    stockings of late, shee did praise my legge being crosse-garter'd,
    and in this she manifests her selfe to my loue, with a kinde of iniunction driues mee to these habites of
    her liking. I thanke my starres, I am happy: I will bee
    strange, stout, in yellow stockings, and crosse Garter'd,
    euen with the swiftnesse of putting on. Ioue, and my
    starres be praised. Heere is yet a postscript. Thou canst
    not choose but know who I am. If thou entertainst my loue, let
    it appeare in thy smiling, thy smiles become thee well. Therefore
    in my presence still smile, deero my sweete, I prethee. Ioue
    I thanke thee, I will smile, I wil do euery thing that thou
    wilt haue me.


    Exit


      Fab. I will not giue my part of this sport for a pension
    of thousands to be paid from the Sophy


       To. I could marry this wench for this deuice


       An. So could I too


       To. And aske no other dowry with her, but such another
    iest.
    Enter Maria.


      An. Nor I neither


       Fab. Heere comes my noble gull catcher


       To. Wilt thou set thy foote o'my necke


       An. Or o'mine either?
      To. Shall I play my freedome at tray-trip, and becom
    thy bondslaue?
      An. Ifaith, or I either?
      Tob. Why, thou hast put him in such a dreame, that
    when the image of it leaues him, he must run mad


       Ma. Nay but say true, do's it worke vpon him?
      To. Like Aqua vite with a Midwife


       Mar. If you will then see the fruites of the sport, mark
    his first approach before my Lady: hee will come to her
    in yellow stockings, and 'tis a colour she abhorres, and
    crosse garter'd, a fashion shee detests: and hee will smile
    vpon her, which will now be so vnsuteable to her disposition,
    being addicted to a melancholly, as shee is, that it
    cannot but turn him into a notable contempt: if you wil
    see it follow me


       To. To the gates of Tartar, thou most excellent diuell
    of wit


       And. Ile make one too.


    Exeunt.


    Finis Actus secundus


    Actus Tertius, Scaena prima.


    Enter Viola and Clowne.


      Vio. Saue thee Friend and thy Musick: dost thou liue
    by thy Tabor?
      Clo. No sir, I liue by the Church


       Vio. Art thou a Churchman?
      Clo. No such matter sir, I do liue by the Church: For,
    I do liue at my house, and my house dooth stand by the
    Church


       Vio. So thou maist say the Kings lyes by a begger, if a
    begger dwell neer him: or the Church stands by thy Tabor,
    if thy Tabor stand by the Church


       Clo. You haue said sir: To see this age: A sentence is
    but a cheu'rill gloue to a good witte, how quickely the
    wrong side may be turn'd outward


       Vio. Nay that's certaine: they that dally nicely with
    words, may quickely make them wanton


       Clo. I would therefore my sister had had no name Sir


       Vio. Why man?
      Clo. Why sir, her names a word, and to dallie with
    that word, might make my sister wanton: But indeede,
    words are very Rascals, since bonds disgrac'd them


       Vio. Thy reason man?
      Clo. Troth sir, I can yeeld you none without wordes,
    and wordes are growne so false, I am loath to proue reason
    with them


       Vio. I warrant thou art a merry fellow, and car'st for
    nothing


       Clo. Not so sir, I do care for something: but in my conscience
    sir, I do not care for you: if that be to care for nothing
    sir, I would it would make you inuisible


       Vio. Art not thou the Lady Oliuia's foole?
      Clo. No indeed sir, the Lady Oliuia has no folly, shee
    will keepe no foole sir, till she be married, and fooles are
    as like husbands, as Pilchers are to Herrings, the Husbands
    the bigger, I am indeede not her foole, but hir corrupter
    of words


       Vio. I saw thee late at the Count Orsino's


       Clo. Foolery sir, does walke about the Orbe like the
    Sun, it shines euery where. I would be sorry sir, but the
    Foole should be as oft with your Master, as with my Mistris:
    I thinke I saw your wisedome there


       Vio. Nay, and thou passe vpon me, Ile no more with
    thee. Hold there's expences for thee


       Clo. Now Ioue in his next commodity of hayre, send
    thee a beard


       Vio. By my troth Ile tell thee, I am almost sicke for
    one, though I would not haue it grow on my chinne. Is
    thy Lady within?
      Clo Would not a paire of these haue bred sir?
      Vio. Yes being kept together, and put to vse


       Clo. I would play Lord Pandarus of Phrygia sir, to bring
    a Cressida to this Troylus


       Vio. I vnderstand you sir, tis well begg'd


       Clo. The matter I hope is not great sir; begging, but a
    begger: Cressida was a begger. My Lady is within sir. I
    will conster 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 ouer-worne.


    Exit


      Vio. This fellow is wise enough to play the foole,
    And to do that well, craues a kinde of wit:
    He must obserue their mood on whom he iests,
    The quality of persons, and the time:
    And like the Haggard, checke at euery Feather
    That comes before his eye. This is a practice,
    As full of labour as a Wise-mans Art:
    For folly that he wisely shewes, is fit;
    But wisemens folly falne, quite taint their wit.
    Enter Sir Toby and Andrew.


      To. Saue you Gentleman


       Vio. And you sir


       And. Dieu vou guard Monsieur


       Vio. Et vouz ousie vostre seruiture


       An. I hope sir, you are, and I am yours


       To. Will you incounter the house, my Neece is desirous
    you should enter, if your trade be to her


       Vio. I am bound to your Neece sir, I meane she is the
    list of my voyage


       To. Taste your legges sir, put them to motion


       Vio. My legges do better vnderstand me sir, then I vnderstand
    what you meane by bidding me taste my legs


       To. I meane to go sir, to enter


       Vio. I will answer you with gate and entrance, but we
    are preuented.
    Enter Oliuia, and Gentlewoman.


    Most excellent accomplish'd Lady, the heauens raine Odours
    on you


       And. That youth's a rare Courtier, raine odours, wel


       Vio. My matter hath no voice Lady, but to your owne
    most pregnant and vouchsafed eare


       And. Odours, pregnant, and vouchsafed: Ile get 'em
    all three already


       Ol. Let the Garden doore be shut, and leaue mee to
    my hearing. Giue me your hand sir


       Vio. My dutie Madam, and most humble seruice


       Ol. What is your name?
      Vio. Cesario is your seruants name, faire Princesse


       Ol. My seruant sir? 'Twas neuer merry world,
    Since lowly feigning was call'd complement:
    Y'are seruant to the Count Orsino youth


       Vio. And he is yours, and his must needs be yours:
    Your seruants seruant, is your seruant Madam


       Ol. For him, I thinke not on him: for his thoughts,
    Would they were blankes, rather then fill'd with me


       Vio. Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts
    On his behalfe


       Ol. O by your leaue I pray you.
    I bad you neuer speake againe of him;
    But would you vndertake another suite
    I had rather heare you, to solicit that,
    Then Musicke from the spheares


       Vio. Deere Lady


       Ol. Giue me leaue, beseech you: I did send,
    After the last enchantment you did heare,
    A Ring in chace of you. So did I abuse
    My selfe, my seruant, and I feare me you:
    Vnder your hard construction must I sit,
    To force that on you in a shamefull cunning
    Which you knew none of yours. What might you think?
    Haue you not set mine Honor at the stake,
    And baited it with all th' vnmuzled thoughts
    That tyrannous heart can think? To one of your receiuing
    Enough is shewne, a Cipresse, not a bosome,
    Hides my heart: so let me heare you speake


       Vio. I pittie you


       Ol. That's a degree to loue


       Vio. No not a grize: for tis a vulgar proofe
    That verie oft we pitty enemies


       Ol. Why then me thinkes 'tis time to smile agen:
    O world, how apt the poore are to be proud?
    If one should be a prey, how much the better
    To fall before the Lion, then the Wolfe?


    Clocke strikes.


    The clocke vpbraides me with the waste of time:
    Be not affraid good youth, I will not haue you,
    And yet when wit and youth is come to haruest,
    Your wife is like to reape a proper man:
    There lies your way, due West


       Vio. Then Westward hoe:
    Grace and good disposition attend your Ladyship:
    You'l nothing Madam to my Lord, by me:
      Ol. Stay: I prethee tell me what thou thinkst of me?
      Vio. That you do thinke you are not what you are


       Ol. If I thinke so, I thinke the same of you


       Vio. Then thinke you right: I am not what I am


       Ol. I would you were, as I would haue you be


       Vio. Would it be better Madam, then I am?
    I wish it might, for now I am your foole


       Ol. O what a deale of scorne, lookes beautifull?
    In the contempt and anger of his lip,
    A murdrous guilt shewes not it selfe more soone,
    Then loue that would seeme hid: Loues night, is noone.
    Cesario, by the Roses of the Spring,
    By maid-hood, honor, truth, and euery thing,
    I loue thee so, that maugre all thy pride,
    Nor wit, nor reason, can my passion hide:
    Do not extort thy reasons from this clause,
    For that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause:
    But rather reason thus, with reason fetter;
    Loue sought, is good: but giuen vnsought, is better


       Vio. By innocence I sweare, and by my youth,
    I haue one heart, one bosome, and one truth,
    And that no woman has, nor neuer none
    Shall mistris be of it, saue I alone.
    And so adieu good Madam, neuer more,
    Will I my Masters teares to you deplore


       Ol. Yet come againe: for thou perhaps mayst moue
    That heart which now abhorres, to like his loue.


    Exeunt.


    Scoena Secunda.


    Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian.


      And. No faith, Ile not stay a iot longer:
      To. Thy reason deere venom, giue thy reason


       Fab. You must needes yeelde your reason, Sir Andrew?
      And. Marry I saw your Neece do more fauours to the
    Counts Seruing-man, then euer she bestow'd vpon mee:
    I saw't i'th Orchard


       To. Did she see the while, old boy, tell me that


       And. As plaine as I see you now


       Fab. This was a great argument of loue in her toward
    you


       And. S'light; will you make an Asse o'me


       Fab. I will proue it legitimate sir, vpon the Oathes of
    iudgement, and reason


       To. And they haue beene grand Iurie men, since before
    Noah was a Saylor


       Fab. Shee did shew fauour to the youth in your sight,
    onely to exasperate you, to awake your dormouse valour,
    to put fire in your Heart, and brimstone in your Liuer:
    you should then haue accosted her, and with some excellent
    iests, fire-new from the mint, you should haue bangd
    the youth into dumbenesse: this was look'd for at your
    hand, and this was baulkt: the double gilt of this opportunitie
    you let time wash off, and you are now sayld into
    the North of my Ladies opinion, where you will hang
    like an ysickle on a Dutchmans beard, vnlesse you do redeeme
    it, by some laudable attempt, either of valour or
    policie


       And. And't be any way, it must be with Valour, for
    policie I hate: I had as liefe be a Brownist, as a Politician


       To. Why then build me thy fortunes vpon the basis of
    valour. Challenge me the Counts youth to fight with him
    hurt him in eleuen places, my Neece shall take note of it,
    and assure thy selfe, there is no loue-Broker in the world,
    can more preuaile in mans commendation with woman,
    then report of valour


       Fab. There is no way but this sir Andrew


       An. Will either of you beare me a challenge to him?
      To. Go, write it in a martial hand, be curst and briefe:
    it is no matter how wittie, so it bee eloquent, and full of
    inuention: taunt him with the license of Inke: if thou
    thou'st him some thrice, it shall not be amisse, and as many
    Lyes, as will lye in thy sheete of paper, although the
    sheete were bigge enough for the bedde of Ware in England,
    set 'em downe, go about it. Let there bee gaulle enough
    in thy inke, though thou write with a Goose-pen,
    no matter: about it


       And. Where shall I finde you?
      To. Wee'l call thee at the Cubiculo: Go.


    Exit Sir Andrew.


      Fa. This is a deere Manakin to you Sir Toby


       To. I haue beene deere to him lad, some two thousand
    strong, or so


       Fa. We shall haue a rare Letter from him; but you'le
    not deliuer't


       To. Neuer trust me then: and by all meanes stirre on
    the youth to an answer. I thinke Oxen and waine-ropes
    cannot hale them together. For Andrew, if he were open'd
    and you finde so much blood in his Liuer, as will clog the
    foote of a flea, Ile eate the rest of th' anatomy


       Fab. And his opposit the youth beares in his visage no
    great presage of cruelty.
    Enter Maria.


      To. Looke where the youngest Wren of mine comes


       Mar. If you desire the spleene, and will laughe your
    selues into stitches, follow me; yond gull Maluolio is turned
    Heathen, a verie Renegatho; for there is no christian
    that meanes to be saued by beleeuing rightly, can euer
    beleeue such impossible passages of grossenesse. Hee's in
    yellow stockings


       To. And crosse garter'd?
      Mar. Most villanously: like a Pedant that keepes a
    Schoole i'th Church: I haue dogg'd him like his murtherer.
    He does obey euery point of the Letter that I dropt,
    to betray him: He does smile his face into more lynes,
    then is in the new Mappe, with the augmentation of the
    Indies: you haue not seene such a thing as tis: I can hardly
    forbeare hurling things at him, I know my Ladie will
    strike him: if shee doe, hee'l smile, and take't for a great
    fauour


       To. Come bring vs, bring vs where he is.


    Exeunt. Omnes.



    Scaena Tertia.


    Enter Sebastian and Anthonio.


      Seb. I would not by my will haue troubled you,
    But since you make your pleasure of your paines,
    I will no further chide you


       Ant. I could not stay behinde you: my desire
    (More sharpe then filed steele) did spurre me forth,
    And not all loue to see you (though so much
    As might haue drawne one to a longer voyage)
    But iealousie, what might befall your trauell,
    Being skillesse in these parts: which to a stranger,
    Vnguided, and vnfriended, often proue
    Rough, and vnhospitable. My willing loue,
    The rather by these arguments of feare
    Set forth in your pursuite


       Seb. My kinde Anthonio,
    I can no other answer make, but thankes,
    And thankes: and euer oft good turnes,
    Are shuffel'd off with such vncurrant pay:
    But were my worth, as is my conscience firme,
    You should finde better dealing: what's to do?
    Shall we go see the reliques of this Towne?
      Ant. To morrow sir, best first go see your Lodging?
      Seb. I am not weary, and 'tis long to night
    I pray you let vs satisfie our eyes
    With the memorials, and the things of fame
    That do renowne this City


       Ant. Would youl'd pardon me:
    I do not without danger walke these streetes.
    Once in a sea-fight 'gainst the Count his gallies,
    I did some seruice, of such note indeede,
    That were I tane heere, it would scarse be answer'd


       Seb. Belike you slew great number of his people


       Ant. Th' offence is not of such a bloody nature,
    Albeit the quality of the time, and quarrell
    Might well haue giuen vs bloody argument:
    It might haue since bene answer'd in repaying
    What we tooke from them, which for Traffiques sake
    Most of our City did. Onely my selfe stood out,
    For which if I be lapsed in this place
    I shall pay deere


       Seb. Do not then walke too open


       Ant. It doth not fit me: hold sir, here's my purse,
    In the South Suburbes at the Elephant
    Is best to lodge: I will bespeake our dyet,
    Whiles you beguile the time, and feed your knowledge
    With viewing of the Towne, there shall you haue me


       Seb. Why I your purse?
      Ant. Haply your eye shall light vpon some toy
    You haue desire to purchase: and your store
    I thinke is not for idle Markets, sir


       Seb. Ile be your purse-bearer, and leaue you
    For an houre


       Ant. To th' Elephant


       Seb. I do remember.


    Exeunt.





    Scoena Quarta.


    Enter Oliuia and Maria.


      Ol. I haue sent after him, he sayes hee'l come:
    How shall I feast him? What bestow of him?
    For youth is bought more oft, then begg'd, or borrow'd.
    I speake too loud: Where's Maluolio, he is sad, and ciuill,
    And suites well for a seruant with my fortunes,
    Where is Maluolio?
      Mar. He's comming Madame:
    But in very strange manner. He is sure possest Madam


       Ol. Why what's the matter, does he raue?
      Mar. No Madam, he does nothing but smile: your Ladyship
    were best to haue some guard about you, if hee
    come, for sure the man is tainted in's wits


       Ol. Go call him hither.
    Enter Maluolio.


    I am as madde as hee,
    If sad and merry madnesse equall bee.
    How now Maluolio?
      Mal. Sweet Lady, ho, ho


       Ol. Smil'st thou? I sent for thee vpon a sad occasion


       Mal. Sad Lady, I could be sad:
    This does make some obstruction in the blood:
    This crosse-gartering, but what of that?
    If it please the eye of one, it is with me as the very true
    Sonnet is: Please one, and please all


       Mal. Why how doest thou man?
    What is the matter with thee?
      Mal. Not blacke in my minde, though yellow in my
    legges: It did come to his hands, and Commaunds shall
    be executed. I thinke we doe know the sweet Romane
    hand


       Ol. Wilt thou go to bed Maluolio?
      Mal. To bed? I sweet heart, and Ile come to thee


       Ol. God comfort thee: Why dost thou smile so, and
    kisse thy hand so oft?
      Mar. How do you Maluolio?
      Maluo. At your request:
    Yes Nightingales answere Dawes


       Mar. Why appeare you with this ridiculous boldnesse
    before my Lady


       Mal. Be not afraid of greatnesse: 'twas well writ


       Ol. What meanst thou by that Maluolio?
      Mal. Some are borne great


       Ol. Ha?
      Mal. Some atcheeue greatnesse


       Ol. What sayst thou?
      Mal. And some haue greatnesse thrust vpon them


       Ol. Heauen restore thee


       Mal. Remember who commended thy yellow stockings


       Ol. Thy yellow stockings?
      Mal. And wish'd to see thee crosse garter'd


       Ol. Crosse garter'd?
      Mal. Go too, thou art made, if thou desir'st to be so


       Ol. Am I made?
      Mal. If not, let me see thee a seruant still


       Ol. Why this is verie Midsommer madnesse.
    Enter Seruant.


      Ser. Madame, the young Gentleman of the Count
    Orsino's is return'd, I could hardly entreate him backe: he
    attends your Ladyships pleasure


       Ol. Ile come to him.
    Good Maria, let this fellow be look'd too. Where's my
    Cosine Toby, let some of my people haue a speciall care
    of him, I would not haue him miscarrie for the halfe of
    my Dowry.


    Exit


      Mal. Oh ho, do you come neere me now: no worse
    man then sir Toby to looke to me. This concurres directly
    with the Letter, she sends him on purpose, that I may
    appeare stubborne to him: for she incites me to that in
    the Letter. Cast thy humble slough sayes she: be opposite
    with a Kinsman, surly with seruants, let thy tongue
    langer with arguments of state, put thy selfe into the
    tricke of singularity: and consequently setts downe the
    manner how: as a sad face, a reuerend carriage, a slow
    tongue, in the habite of some Sir of note, and so foorth.
    I haue lymde her, but it is Ioues doing, and Ioue make me
    thankefull. And when she went away now, let this Fellow
    be look'd too: Fellow? not Maluolio, nor after my
    degree, but Fellow. Why euery thing adheres togither,
    that no dramme of a scruple, no scruple of a scruple, no
    obstacle, no incredulous or vnsafe circumstance: What
    can be saide? Nothing that can be, can come betweene
    me, and the full prospect of my hopes. Well Ioue, not I,
    is the doer of this, and he is to be thanked.
    Enter Toby, Fabian, and Maria.


      To. Which way is hee in the name of sanctity. If all
    the diuels of hell be drawne in little, and Legion himselfe
    possest him, yet Ile speake to him


       Fab. Heere he is, heere he is: how ist with you sir?
    How ist with you man?
      Mal. Go off, I discard you: let me enioy my priuate:
    go off


       Mar. Lo, how hollow the fiend speakes within him;
    did not I tell you? Sir Toby, my Lady prayes you to haue
    a care of him


       Mal. Ah ha, does she so?
      To. Go too, go too: peace, peace, wee must deale
    gently with him: Let me alone. How do you Maluolio?
    How ist with you? What man, defie the diuell: consider,
    he's an enemy to mankinde


       Mal. Do you know what you say?
      Mar. La you, and you speake ill of the diuell, how
    he takes it at heart. Pray God he be not bewitch'd


       Fab. Carry his water to th' wise woman


       Mar. Marry and it shall be done to morrow morning
    if I liue. My Lady would not loose him for more then ile
    say


       Mal. How now mistris?
      Mar. Oh Lord


       To. Prethee hold thy peace, this is not the way: Doe
    you not see you moue him? Let me alone with him


       Fa. No way but gentlenesse, gently, gently: the Fiend
    is rough, and will not be roughly vs'd


       To. Why how now my bawcock? how dost y chuck?
      Mal. Sir


       To. I biddy, come with me. What man, tis not for
    grauity to play at cherrie-pit with sathan Hang him foul
    Colliar


       Mar. Get him to say his prayers, good sir Toby gette
    him to pray


       Mal. My prayers Minx


       Mar. No I warrant you, he will not heare of godlynesse


       Mal. Go hang your selues all: you are ydle shallowe
    things, I am not of your element, you shall knowe more
    heereafter.


    Exit


      To. Ist possible?
      Fa. If this were plaid vpon a stage now, I could condemne
    it as an improbable fiction


       To. His very genius hath taken the infection of the
    deuice man


       Mar. Nay pursue him now, least the deuice take ayre,
    and taint


       Fa. Why we shall make him mad indeede


       Mar. The house will be the quieter


       To. Come, wee'l haue him in a darke room &bound.
    My Neece is already in the beleefe that he's mad: we may
    carry it thus for our pleasure, and his pennance, til our very
    pastime tyred out of breath, prompt vs to haue mercy
    on him: at which time, we wil bring the deuice to the bar
    and crowne thee for a finder of madmen: but see, but see.
    Enter Sir Andrew.


      Fa. More matter for a May morning


       An. Heere's the Challenge, reade it: I warrant there's
    vinegar and pepper in't


       Fab. Ist so sawcy?
      And. I, ist? I warrant him: do but read


       To. Giue me.
    Youth, whatsoeuer thou art, thou art but a scuruy fellow


       Fa. Good, and valiant


       To. Wonder not, nor admire not in thy minde why I doe call
    thee so, for I will shew thee no reason for't


       Fa. A good note, that keepes you from the blow of y Law
      To. Thou comst to the Lady Oliuia, and in my sight she vses
    thee kindly: but thou lyest in thy throat, that is not the matter
    I challenge thee for


       Fa. Very breefe, and to exceeding good sence-lesse


       To. I will way-lay thee going home, where if it be thy chance
    to kill me


       Fa. Good


       To. Thou kilst me like a rogue and a villaine


       Fa. Still you keepe o'th windie side of the Law: good


       Tob. Fartheewell, and God haue mercie vpon one of our
    soules. He may haue mercie vpon mine, but my hope is better,
    and so looke to thy selfe. Thy friend as thou vsest him, &thy
    sworne enemie, Andrew Ague-cheeke


       To. If this Letter moue him not, his legges cannot:
    Ile giu't him


       Mar. You may haue verie fit occasion for't: he is now
    in some commerce with my Ladie, and will by and by
    depart


       To. Go sir Andrew: scout mee for him at the corner
    of the Orchard like a bum-Baylie: so soone as euer thou
    seest him, draw, and as thou draw'st, sweare horrible: for
    it comes to passe oft, that a terrible oath, with a swaggering
    accent sharpely twang'd off, giues manhoode more
    approbation, then euer proofe it selfe would haue earn'd
    him. Away


       And. Nay let me alone for swearing.


    Exit


      To. Now will not I deliuer his Letter: for the behauiour
    of the yong Gentleman, giues him out to be of good
    capacity, and breeding: his employment betweene his
    Lord and my Neece, confirmes no lesse. Therefore, this
    Letter being so excellently ignorant, will breed no terror
    in the youth: he will finde it comes from a Clodde-pole.
    But sir, I will deliuer his Challenge by word of mouth;
    set vpon Ague-cheeke a notable report of valor, and driue
    the Gentleman (as I know his youth will aptly receiue it)
    into a most hideous opinion of his rage, skill, furie, and
    impetuositie. This will so fright them both, that they wil
    kill one another by the looke, like Cockatrices.
    Enter Oliuia and Viola.


      Fab. Heere he comes with your Neece, giue them way
    till he take leaue, and presently after him


       To. I wil meditate the while vpon some horrid message
    for a Challenge


       Ol. I haue said too much vnto a hart of stone,
    And laid mine honour too vnchary on't:
    There's something in me that reproues my fault:
    But such a head-strong potent fault it is,
    That it but mockes reproofe


       Vio. With the same hauiour that your passion beares,
    Goes on my Masters greefes


       Ol. Heere, weare this Iewell for me, tis my picture:
    Refuse it not, it hath no tongue, to vex you:
    And I beseech you come againe to morrow.
    What shall you aske of me that Ile deny,
    That honour (sau'd) may vpon asking giue


       Vio. Nothing but this, your true loue for my master


       Ol. How with mine honor may I giue him that,
    Which I haue giuen to you


       Vio. I will acquit you


       Ol. Well, come againe to morrow: far-thee-well,
    A Fiend like thee might beare my soule to hell.
    Enter Toby and Fabian.


      To. Gentleman, God saue thee


       Vio. And you sir


       To. That defence thou hast, betake the too't: of what
    nature the wrongs are thou hast done him, I knowe not:
    but thy intercepter full of despight, bloody as the Hunter,
    attends thee at the Orchard end: dismount thy tucke,
    be yare in thy preparation, for thy assaylant is quick, skilfull,
    and deadly


       Vio. You mistake sir I am sure, no man hath any quarrell
    to me: my remembrance is very free and cleere from
    any image of offence done to any man


       To. You'l finde it otherwise I assure you: therefore, if
    you hold your life at any price, betake you to your gard:
    for your opposite hath in him what youth, strength, skill,
    and wrath, can furnish man withall


       Vio. I pray you sir what is he?
      To. He is knight dubb'd with vnhatch'd Rapier, and
    on carpet consideration, but he is a diuell in priuate brall,
    soules and bodies hath he diuorc'd three, and his incensement
    at this moment is so implacable, that satisfaction
    can be none, but by pangs of death and sepulcher: Hob,
    nob, is his word: giu't or take't


       Vio. I will returne againe into the house, and desire
    some conduct of the Lady. I am no fighter, I haue heard
    of some kinde of men, that put quarrells purposely on others,
    to taste their valour: belike this is a man of that
    quirke


       To. Sir, no: his indignation deriues it selfe out of a very
    computent iniurie, therefore get you on, and giue him
    his desire. Backe you shall not to the house, vnlesse you
    vndertake that with me, which with as much safetie you
    might answer him: therefore on, or strippe your sword
    starke naked: for meddle you must that's certain, or forsweare
    to weare iron about you


       Vio. This is as vnciuill as strange. I beseech you doe
    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


       To. I will doe so. Signiour Fabian, stay you by this
    Gentleman, till my returne.


    Exit Toby.


      Vio. Pray you sir, do you know of this matter?
      Fab. I know the knight is incenst against you, euen to
    a mortall arbitrement, but nothing of the circumstance
    more


       Vio. I beseech you what manner of man is he?
      Fab. Nothing of that wonderfull promise to read him
    by his forme, as you are like to finde him in the proofe of
    his valour. He is indeede sir, the most skilfull, bloudy, fatall opposite that you could possibly haue found in anie
    part of Illyria: will you walke towards him, I will make
    your peace with him, if I can


       Vio. I shall bee much bound to you for't: I am one,
    that had rather go with sir Priest, then sir knight: I care
    not who knowes so much of my mettle.


    Exeunt.


    Enter Toby and Andrew.


      To. Why man hee s a verie diuell, I haue not seen such
    a firago: I had a passe with him, rapier, scabberd, and all:
    and he giues me the stucke in with such a mortall motion
    that it is ineuitable: and on the answer, he payes you as
    surely, as your feete hits the ground they step on. They
    say, he has bin Fencer to the Sophy


       And. Pox on't, Ile not meddle with him


       To. I but he will not now be pacified,
    Fabian can scarse hold him yonder


       An. Plague on't, and I thought he had beene valiant,
    and so cunning in Fence, I'de haue seene him damn'd ere
    I'de haue challeng'd him. Let him let the matter slip, and
    Ile giue him my horse, gray Capilet


       To. Ile make the motion: stand heere, make a good
    shew on't, this shall end without the perdition of soules,
    marry Ile ride your horse as well as I ride you.
    Enter Fabian and Viola.


    I haue his horse to take vp the quarrell, I haue perswaded
    him the youths a diuell


       Fa. He is as horribly conceited of him: and pants, lookes pale, as if a Beare were at his heeles


       To. There's no remedie sir, he will fight with you for's
    oath sake: marrie hee hath better bethought him of his
    quarrell, and hee findes that now scarse to bee worth talking
    of: therefore draw for the supportance of his vowe,
    he protests he will not hurt you


       Vio. Pray God defend me: a little thing would make
    me tell them how much I lacke of a man


       Fab. Giue ground if you see him furious


       To. Come sir Andrew, there's no remedie, the Gentleman
    will for his honors sake haue one bowt with you:
    he cannot by the Duello auoide it: but hee has promised
    me, as he is a Gentleman and a Soldiour, he will not hurt
    you. Come on, too't


       And. Pray God he keepe his oath.
    Enter Antonio.


      Vio. I do assure you tis against my will


       Ant. Put vp your sword: if this yong Gentleman
    Haue done offence, I take the fault on me:
    If you offend him, I for him defie you


       To. You sir? Why, what are you?
      Ant. One sir, that for his loue dares yet do more
    Then you haue heard him brag to you he will


       To. Nay, if you be an vndertaker, I am for you.
    Enter Officers.


      Fab. O good sir Toby hold: heere come the Officers


       To. Ile be with you anon


       Vio. Pray sir, put your sword vp if you please


       And. Marry will I sir: and for that I promis'd you Ile
    be as good as my word. Hee will beare you easily, and
    raines well


       1.Off. This is the man, do thy Office


       2.Off. Anthonio, I arrest thee at the suit of Count Orsino
      An. You do mistake me sir


       1.Off. No sir, no iot: I know your fauour well:
    Though now you haue no sea-cap on your head:
    Take him away, he knowes I know him well


       Ant. I must obey. This comes with seeking you:
    But there's no remedie, I shall answer it:
    What will you do: now my necessitie
    Makes me to aske you for my purse. It greeues mee
    Much more, for what I cannot do for you,
    Then what befals my selfe: you stand amaz'd,
    But be of comfort


       2.Off. Come sir away


       Ant. I must entreat of you some of that money


       Vio. What money sir?
    For the fayre kindnesse you haue shew'd me heere,
    And part being prompted by your present trouble,
    Out of my leane and low ability
    Ile lend you something: my hauing is not much,
    Ile make diuision of my present with you:
    Hold, there's halfe my Coffer


       Ant. Will you deny me now,
    Ist possible that my deserts to you
    Can lacke perswasion. Do not tempt my misery,
    Least that it make me so vnsound a man
    As to vpbraid you with those kindnesses
    That I haue done for you


       Vio. I know of none,
    Nor know I you by voyce, or any feature:
    I hate ingratitude more in a man,
    Then lying, vainnesse, babling drunkennesse,
    Or any taint of vice, whose strong corruption
    Inhabites our fraile blood


       Ant. Oh heauens themselues


       2.Off. Come sir, I pray you go


       Ant. Let me speake a little. This youth that you see heere,
    I snatch'd one halfe out of the iawes of death,
    Releeu'd him with such sanctitie of loue;
    And to his image, which me thought did promise
    Most venerable worth, did I deuotion


       1.Off. What's that to vs, the time goes by: Away


       Ant. But oh, how vilde an idoll proues this God:
    Thou hast Sebastian done good feature, shame.
    In Nature, there's no blemish but the minde:
    None can be call'd deform'd, but the vnkinde.
    Vertue is beauty, but the beauteous euill
    Are empty trunkes, ore-flourish'd by the deuill


       1.Off. The man growes mad, away with him:
    Come, come sir


       Ant. Leade me on.


    Exit


      Vio. Me thinkes his words do from such passion flye
    That he beleeues himselfe, so do not I:
    Proue true imagination, oh proue true,
    That I deere brother, be now tane for you


       To. Come hither Knight, come hither Fabian: Weel
    whisper ore a couplet or two of most sage sawes


       Vio. He nam'd Sebastian: I my brother know
    Yet liuing in my glasse: euen such, and so
    In fauour was my Brother, and he went
    Still in this fashion, colour, ornament,
    For him I imitate: Oh if it proue,
    Tempests are kinde, and salt waues fresh in loue


       To. A very dishonest paltry boy, and more a coward
    then a Hare, his dishonesty appeares, in leauing his frend
    heere in necessity, and denying him: and for his cowardship
    aske Fabian


       Fab. A Coward, a most deuout Coward, religious in
    it


       And. Slid Ile after him againe, and beate him


       To. Do, cuffe him soundly, but neuer draw thy sword
      And. And I do not


       Fab. Come, let's see the euent


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


    Exit


    Actus Quartus, Scaena prima.


    Enter Sebastian and Clowne


       Clo. Will you make me beleeue, that I am not sent for
    you?
      Seb. Go too, go too, thou art a foolish fellow,
    Let me be cleere of thee


       Clo. Well held out yfaith: No, I do not know you,
    nor I am not sent to you by my Lady, to bid you come
    speake with her: nor your name is not Master Cesario,
    nor this is not my nose neyther: Nothing that is so, is so


       Seb. I prethee vent thy folly some-where else, thou
    know'st not me


       Clo. Vent my folly: He has heard that word of some
    great man, and now applyes it to a foole. Vent my folly:
    I am affraid this great lubber the World will proue a
    Cockney: I prethee now vngird thy strangenes, and tell
    me what I shall vent to my Lady? Shall I vent to hir that
    thou art comming?
      Seb. I prethee foolish greeke depart from me, there's
    money for thee, if you tarry longer, I shall giue worse
    paiment


       Clo. By my troth thou hast an open hand: these Wisemen
    that giue fooles money, get themselues a good report,
    after foureteene yeares purchase.
    Enter Andrew, Toby, and Fabian.


      And. Now sir, haue I met you again: ther's for you


       Seb. Why there's for thee, and there, and there,
    Are all the people mad?
      To. Hold sir, or Ile throw your dagger ore the house
      Clo. This will I tell my Lady straight, I would not be
    in some of your coats for two pence


       To. Come on sir, hold


       An. Nay let him alone, Ile go another way to worke
    with him: Ile haue an action of Battery against him, if
    there be any law in Illyria: though I stroke him first, yet
    it's no matter for that


       Seb. Let go thy hand


       To. Come sir, I will not let you go. Come my yong
    souldier put vp your yron: you are well flesh'd: Come
    on


       Seb. I will be free from thee. What wouldst y now?
    If thou dar'st tempt me further, draw thy sword


       To. What, what? Nay then I must haue an Ounce or
    two of this malapert blood from you.
    Enter Oliuia.


      Ol. Hold Toby, on thy life I charge thee hold


       To. Madam


       Ol. Will it be euer thus? Vngracious wretch,
    Fit for the Mountaines, and the barbarous Caues,
    Where manners nere were preach'd: out of my sight.
    Be not offended, deere Cesario:
    Rudesbey be gone. I prethee gentle friend,
    Let thy fayre wisedome, not thy passion sway
    In this vnciuill, and vniust extent
    Against thy peace. Go with me to my house,
    And heare thou there how many fruitlesse prankes
    This Ruffian hath botch'd vp, that thou thereby
    Mayst smile at this: Thou shalt not choose but goe:
    Do not denie, beshrew his soule for mee,
    He started one poore heart of mine, in thee


       Seb. What rellish is in this? How runs the streame?
    Or I am mad, or else this is a dreame:
    Let fancie still my sense in Lethe steepe,
    If it be thus to dreame, still let me sleepe


       Ol. Nay come I prethee, would thoud'st be rul'd by me
      Seb. Madam, I will


       Ol. O say so, and so be.


    Exeunt.


    Scoena Secunda.


    Enter Maria and Clowne.


      Mar. Nay, I prethee put on this gown, &this beard,
    make him beleeue thou art sir Topas the Curate, doe it
    quickly. Ile call sir Toby the whilst


       Clo. Well, Ile put it on, and I will dissemble my selfe
    in't, and I would I were the first that euer dissembled in
    in such a gowne. I am not tall enough to become the
    function well, nor leane enough to bee thought a good
    Studient: but to be said an honest man and a good houskeeper
    goes as fairely, as to say, a carefull man, &a great
    scholler. The Competitors enter.
    Enter Toby.


      To. Ioue blesse thee M[aster]. Parson


       Clo. Bonos dies sir Toby: for as the old hermit of Prage
    that neuer saw pen and inke, very wittily sayd to a Neece
    of King Gorbodacke, that that is, is: so I being M[aster]. Parson,
    am M[aster]. Parson; for what is that, but that? and is, but is?
      To. To him sir Topas


       Clow. What hoa, I say, Peace in this prison


       To. The knaue counterfets well: a good knaue.


    Maluolio within.


      Mal. Who cals there?
      Clo. Sir Topas the Curate, who comes to visit Maluolio
    the Lunaticke


       Mal. Sir Topas, sir Topas, good sir Topas goe to my
    Ladie


       Clo. Out hyperbolicall fiend, how vexest thou this
    man? Talkest thou nothing but of Ladies?
      Tob. Well said M[aster]. Parson


       Mal. Sir Topas, neuer was man thus wronged, good
    sir Topas do not thinke I am mad: they haue layde mee
    heere in hideous darknesse


       Clo. Fye, thou dishonest sathan: I call thee by the
    most modest termes, for I am one of those gentle ones,
    that will vse the diuell himselfe with curtesie: sayst thou
    that house is darke?
      Mal. As hell sir Topas


       Clo. Why it hath bay Windowes transparant as baricadoes,
    and the cleere stores toward the South north, are
    as lustrous as Ebony: and yet complainest thou of obstruction?
      Mal. I am not mad sir Topas, I say to you this house is
    darke


       Clo. Madman thou errest: I say there is no darknesse
    but ignorance, in which thou art more puzel'd then the
    aegyptians in their fogge


       Mal. I say this house is as darke as Ignorance, thogh
    Ignorance were as darke as hell; and I say there was neuer
    man thus abus'd, I am no more madde then you are,
    make the triall of it in any constant question


       Clo. What is the opinion of Pythagoras concerning
    Wilde-fowle?
      Mal. That the soule of our grandam, might happily
    inhabite a bird


       Clo. What thinkst thou of his opinion?
      Mal. I thinke nobly of the soule, and no way aproue
    his opinion


       Clo. Fare thee well: remaine thou still in darkenesse,
    thou shalt hold th' opinion of Pythagoras, ere I will allow
    of thy wits, and feare to kill a Woodcocke, lest thou dispossesse
    the soule of thy grandam. Fare thee well


       Mal. Sir Topas, sir Topas


       Tob. My most exquisite sir Topas


       Clo. Nay I am for all waters


       Mar. Thou mightst haue done this without thy berd
    and gowne, he sees thee not


       To. To him in thine owne voyce, and bring me word
    how thou findst him: I would we were well ridde of this
    knauery. If he may bee conueniently deliuer'd, I would
    he were, for I am now so farre in offence with my Niece,
    that I cannot pursue with any safety this sport the vppeshot.
    Come by and by to my Chamber.


    Exit


      Clo. Hey Robin, iolly Robin, tell me how thy Lady
    does


       Mal. Foole


       Clo. My Lady is vnkind, perdie


       Mal. Foole


       Clo. Alas why is she so?
      Mal. Foole, I say


       Clo. She loues another. Who calles, ha?
      Mal. Good foole, as euer thou wilt deserue well at
    my hand, helpe me to a Candle, and pen, inke, and paper:
    as I am a Gentleman, I will liue to bee thankefull to thee
    for't


       Clo. M[aster]. Maluolio?
      Mal. I good Foole


       Clo. Alas sir, how fell you besides your fiue witts?
      Mall. Foole, there was neuer man so notoriouslie abus'd:
    I am as well in my wits (foole) as thou art


       Clo. But as well: then you are mad indeede, if you be
    no better in your wits then a foole


       Mal. They haue heere propertied me: keepe mee in
    darkenesse, send Ministers to me, Asses, and doe all they
    can to face me out of my wits


       Clo. Aduise you what you say: the Minister is heere.
    Maluolio, Maluolio, thy wittes the heauens restore: endeauour
    thy selfe to sleepe, and leaue thy vaine bibble
    babble


       Mal. Sir Topas


       Clo. Maintaine no words with him good fellow.
    Who I sir, not I sir. God buy you good sir Topas: Marry
    Amen. I will sir, I will


       Mal. Foole, foole, foole I say


       Clo. Alas sir be patient. What say you sir, I am shent
    for speaking to you


       Mal. Good foole, helpe me to some light, and some
    paper, I tell thee I am as well in my wittes, as any man in
    Illyria


       Clo. Well-a-day, that you were sir


       Mal. By this hand I am: good foole, some inke, paper,
    and light: and conuey what I will set downe to my
    Lady: it shall aduantage thee more, then euer the bearing
    of Letter did


       Clo. I will help you too't. But tel me true, are you not
    mad indeed, or do you but counterfeit


       Mal. Beleeue me I am not, I tell thee true


       Clo. Nay, Ile nere beleeue a madman till I see his brains
    I will fetch you light, and paper, and inke


       Mal. Foole, Ile requite it in the highest degree:
    I prethee be gone


       Clo. I am gone sir, and anon sir,
    Ile be with you againe:
    In a trice, like to the old vice,
    your neede to sustaine.
    Who with dagger of lath, in his rage and his wrath,
    cries ah ha, to the diuell:
    Like a mad lad, paire thy nayles dad,
    Adieu good man diuell.


    Exit



    Scaena Tertia.


    Enter Sebastian.


    This is the ayre, that is the glorious Sunne,
    This pearle she gaue me, I do feel't, and see't,
    And though tis wonder that enwraps me thus,
    Yet 'tis not madnesse. Where's Anthonio then,
    I could not finde him at the Elephant,
    Yet there he was, and there I found this credite,
    That he did range the towne to seeke me out,
    His councell now might do me golden seruice,
    For though my soule disputes well with my sence,
    That this may be some error, but no madnesse,
    Yet doth this accident and flood of Fortune,
    So farre exceed all instance, all discourse,
    That I am readie to distrust mine eyes,
    And wrangle with my reason that perswades me
    To any other trust, but that I am mad,
    Or else the Ladies mad; yet if 'twere so,
    She could not sway her house, command her followers,
    Take, and giue backe affayres, and their dispatch,
    With such a smooth, discreet, and stable bearing
    As I perceiue she do's: there's something in't
    That is deceiueable. But heere the Lady comes.
    Enter Oliuia, and Priest.


      Ol. Blame not this haste of mine: if you meane well
    Now go with me, and with this holy man
    Into the Chantry by: there before him,
    And vnderneath that consecrated roofe,
    Plight me the full assurance of your faith,
    That my most iealious, and too doubtfull soule
    May liue at peace. He shall conceale it,
    Whiles you are willing it shall come to note,
    What time we will our celebration keepe
    According to my birth, what do you say?
      Seb. Ile follow this good man, and go with you,
    And hauing sworne truth, euer will be true


       Ol. Then lead the way good father, &heauens so shine,
    That they may fairely note this acte of mine.


    Exeunt.


    Finis Actus Quartus.


    Actus Quintus. Scena Prima.


    Enter Clowne and Fabian.


      Fab. Now as thou lou'st me, let me see his Letter


       Clo. Good M[aster]. Fabian, grant me another request


       Fab. Any thing


       Clo. Do not desire to see this Letter


       Fab. This is to giue a dogge, and in recompence desire
    my dogge againe.
    Enter Duke, Viola, Curio, and Lords.


      Duke. Belong you to the Lady Oliuia, friends?
      Clo. I sir, we are some of her trappings


       Duke. I know thee well: how doest thou my good
    Fellow?
      Clo. Truely sir, the better for my foes, and the worse
    for my friends


       Du. Iust the contrary: the better for thy friends


       Clo. No sir, the worse


       Du. How can that be?
      Clo. Marry sir, they praise me, and make an asse of me,
    now my foes tell me plainly, I am an Asse: so that by my
    foes sir, I profit in the knowledge of my selfe, and by my
    friends I am abused: so that conclusions to be as kisses, if
    your foure negatiues make your two affirmatiues, why
    then the worse for my friends, and the better for my foes


       Du. Why this is excellent


       Clo. By my troth sir, no: though it please you to be
    one of my friends


       Du. Thou shalt not be the worse for me, there's gold


       Clo. But that it would be double dealing sir, I would
    you could make it another


       Du. O you giue me ill counsell


       Clo. Put your grace in your pocket sir, for this once,
    and let your flesh and blood obey it


       Du. Well, I will be so much a sinner to be a double
    dealer: there's another


       Clo. Primo, secundo, tertio, is a good play, and the olde
    saying is, the third payes for all: the triplex sir, is a good
    tripping measure, or the belles of S[aint]. Bennet sir, may put
    you in minde, one, two, three


       Du. You can foole no more money out of mee 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


       Clo. Marry sir, lullaby to your bountie till I come agen.
    I go sir, but I would not haue you to thinke, that
    my desire of hauing is the sinne of couetousnesse: but as
    you say sir, let your bounty take a nappe, I will awake it
    anon.


    Exit


    Enter Anthonio and Officers.


      Vio. Here comes the man sir, that did rescue mee


       Du. That face of his I do remember well,
    Yet when I saw it last, it was besmear'd
    As blacke as Vulcan, in the smoake of warre:
    A bawbling Vessell was he Captaine of,
    For shallow draught and bulke vnprizable,
    With which such scathfull grapple did he make,
    With the most noble bottome of our Fleete,
    That very enuy, and the tongue of losse
    Cride fame and honor on him: What's the matter?
      1.Offi. Orsino, this is that Anthonio
    That tooke the Phoenix, and her fraught from Candy,
    And this is he that did the Tiger boord,
    When your yong Nephew Titus lost his legge;
    Heere in the streets, desperate of shame and state,
    In priuate brabble did we apprehend him


       Vio. He did me kindnesse sir, drew on my side,
    But in conclusion put strange speech vpon me,
    I know not what 'twas, but distraction


       Du. Notable Pyrate, thou salt-water Theefe,
    What foolish boldnesse brought thee to their mercies,
    Whom thou in termes so bloudie, and so deere
    Hast made thine enemies?
      Ant. Orsino: Noble sir,
    Be pleas'd that I shake off these names you giue mee:
    Anthonio neuer yet was Theefe, or Pyrate,
    Though I confesse, on base and ground enough
    Orsino's enemie. A witchcraft drew me hither:
    That most ingratefull boy there by your side,
    From the rude seas enrag'd and foamy mouth
    Did I redeeme: a wracke past hope he was:
    His life I gaue him, and did thereto adde
    My loue without retention, or restraint,
    All his in dedication. For his sake,
    Did I expose my selfe (pure for his loue)
    Into the danger of this aduerse Towne,
    Drew to defend him, when he was beset:
    Where being apprehended, his false cunning
    (Not meaning to partake with me in danger)
    Taught him to face me out of his acquaintance,
    And grew a twentie yeeres remoued thing
    While one would winke: denide me mine owne purse,
    Which I had recommended to his vse,
    Not halfe an houre before


       Vio. How can this be?
      Du. When came he to this Towne?
      Ant. To day my Lord: and for three months before,
    No intrim, not a minutes vacancie,
    Both day and night did we keepe companie.
    Enter Oliuia and attendants.


      Du. Heere comes the Countesse, now heauen walkes
    on earth:
    But for thee fellow, fellow thy words are madnesse,
    Three monthes this youth hath tended vpon mee,
    But more of that anon. Take him aside


       Ol. What would my Lord, but that he may not haue,
    Wherein Oliuia may seeme seruiceable?
    Cesario, you do not keepe promise with me


       Vio. Madam:
      Du. Gracious Oliuia


       Ol. What do you say Cesario? Good my Lord


       Vio. My Lord would speake, my dutie hushes me


       Ol. If it be ought to the old tune my Lord,
    It is as fat and fulsome to mine eare
    As howling after Musicke


       Du. Still so cruell?
      Ol. Still so constant Lord


       Du. What to peruersenesse? you vnciuill Ladie
    To whose ingrate, and vnauspicious Altars
    My soule the faithfull'st offrings haue breath'd out
    That ere deuotion tender'd. What shall I do?
      Ol. Euen what it please my Lord, that shal becom him
      Du. Why should I not, (had I the heart to do it)
    Like to th' Egyptian theefe, at point of death
    Kill what I loue: (a sauage iealousie,
    That sometime sauours nobly) but heare me this:
    Since you to non-regardance cast my faith,
    And that I partly know the instrument
    That screwes me from my true place in your fauour:
    Liue you the Marble-brested Tirant still.
    But this your Minion, whom I know you loue,
    And whom, by heauen I sweare, I tender deerely,
    Him will I teare out of that cruell eye,
    Where he sits crowned in his masters spight.
    Come boy with me, my thoughts are ripe in mischiefe:
    Ile sacrifice the Lambe that I do loue,
    To spight a Rauens heart within a Doue


       Vio. And I most iocund, apt, and willinglie,
    To do you rest, a thousand deaths would dye


       Ol. Where goes Cesario?
      Vio. After him I loue,
    More then I loue these eyes, more then my life,
    More by all mores, then ere I shall loue wife.
    If I do feigne, you witnesses aboue
    Punish my life, for tainting of my loue


       Ol. Aye me detested, how am I beguil'd?
      Vio. Who does beguile you? who does do you wrong?
      Ol. Hast thou forgot thy selfe? Is it so long?
    Call forth the holy Father


       Du. Come, away


       Ol. Whether my Lord? Cesario, Husband, stay


       Du. Husband?
      Ol. I Husband. Can he that deny?
      Du. Her husband, sirrah?
      Vio. No my Lord, not I


       Ol. Alas, it is the basenesse of thy feare,
    That makes thee strangle thy propriety:
    Feare not Cesario, take thy fortunes vp,
    Be that thou know'st thou art, and then thou art
    As great as that thou fear'st.
    Enter Priest.


    O welcome Father:
    Father, I charge thee by thy reuerence
    Heere to vnfold, though lately we intended
    To keepe in darkenesse, what occasion now
    Reueales before 'tis ripe: what thou dost know
    Hath newly past, betweene this youth, and me


       Priest. A Contract of eternall bond of loue,
    Confirm'd by mutuall ioynder of your hands,
    Attested by the holy close of lippes,
    Strengthned by enterchangement of your rings,
    And all the Ceremonie of this compact
    Seal'd in my function, by my testimony:
    Since when, my watch hath told me, toward my graue
    I haue trauail'd but two houres


       Du. O thou dissembling Cub: what wilt thou be
    When time hath sow'd a grizzle on thy case?
    Or will not else thy craft so quickely grow,
    That thine owne trip shall be thine ouerthrow:
    Farewell, and take her, but direct thy feete,
    Where thou, and I (henceforth) may neuer meet


       Vio. My Lord, I do protest


       Ol. O do not sweare,
    Hold little faith, though thou hast too much feare.
    Enter Sir Andrew.


      And. For the loue of God a Surgeon, send one presently
    to sir Toby


       Ol. What's the matter?
      And. H'as broke my head acrosse, and has giuen Sir
      Toby a bloody Coxcombe too: for the loue of God your
    helpe, I had rather then forty pound I were at home


       Ol. Who has done this sir Andrew?
      And. The Counts Gentleman, one Cesario: we tooke
    him for a Coward, but hee's the verie diuell, incardinate


       Du. My Gentleman Cesario?
      And. Odd's lifelings heere he is: you broke my head
    for nothing, and that that I did, I was set on to do't by sir
    Toby


       Vio. Why do you speake to me, I neuer hurt you:
    You drew your sword vpon me without cause,
    But I bespake you faire, and hurt you not.
    Enter Toby and Clowne.


      And. If a bloody coxcombe be a hurt, you haue hurt
    me: I thinke you set nothing by a bloody Coxecombe.
    Heere comes sir Toby halting, you shall heare more: but if
    he had not beene in drinke, hee would haue tickel'd you
    other gates then he did


       Du. How now Gentleman? how ist with you?
      To. That's all one, has hurt me, and there's th' end on't:
    Sot, didst see Dicke Surgeon, sot?
      Clo. O he's drunke sir Toby an houre agone: his eyes
    were set at eight i'th morning


       To. Then he's a Rogue, and a passy measures pauyn: I
    hate a drunken rogue


       Ol. Away with him? Who hath made this hauocke
    with them?
      And. Ile helpe you sir Toby, because we'll be drest together


       To. Will you helpe an Asse-head, and a coxcombe, a knaue: a thin fac'd knaue, a gull?
      Ol. Get him to bed, and let his hurt be look'd too.
    Enter Sebastian.


      Seb. I am sorry Madam I haue hurt your kinsman:
    But had it beene the brother of my blood,
    I must haue done no lesse with wit and safety.
    You throw a strange regard vpon me, and by that
    I do perceiue it hath offended you:
    Pardon me (sweet one) euen for the vowes
    We made each other, but so late ago


       Du. One face, one voice, one habit, and two persons,
    A naturall Perspectiue, that is, and is not


       Seb. Anthonio: O my deere Anthonio,
    How haue the houres rack'd, and tortur'd me,
    Since I haue lost thee?
      Ant. Sebastian are you?
      Seb. Fear'st thou that Anthonio?
      Ant. How haue you made diuision of your selfe,
    An apple cleft in two, is not more twin
    Then these two creatures. Which is Sebastian?
      Ol. Most wonderfull


       Seb. Do I stand there? I neuer had a brother:
    Nor can there be that Deity in my nature
    Of heere, and euery where. I had a sister,
    Whom the blinde waues and surges haue deuour'd:
    Of charity, what kinne are you to me?
    What Countreyman? What name? What Parentage?
      Vio. Of Messaline: Sebastian was my Father,
    Such a Sebastian was my brother too:
    So went he suited to his watery tombe:
    If spirits can assume both forme and suite,
    You come to fright vs


       Seb. A spirit I am indeed,
    But am in that dimension grossely clad,
    Which from the wombe I did participate.
    Were you a woman, as the rest goes euen,
    I should my teares let fall vpon your cheeke,
    And say, thrice welcome drowned Viola


       Vio. My father had a moale vpon his brow


       Seb. And so had mine


       Vio. And dide that day when Viola from her birth
    Had numbred thirteene yeares


       Seb. O that record is liuely in my soule,
    He finished indeed his mortall acte
    That day that made my sister thirteene yeares


       Vio. If nothing lets to make vs happie both,
    But this my masculine vsurp'd attyre:
    Do not embrace me, till each circumstance,
    Of place, time, fortune, do cohere and iumpe
    That I am Viola, which to confirme,
    Ile bring you to a Captaine in this Towne,
    Where lye my maiden weeds: by whose gentle helpe,
    I was preseru'd to serue this Noble Count:
    All the occurrence of my fortune since
    Hath beene betweene this Lady, and this Lord


       Seb. So comes it Lady, you haue beene mistooke:
    But Nature to her bias drew in that.
    You would haue bin contracted to a Maid,
    Nor are you therein (by my life) deceiu'd,
    You are betroth'd both to a maid and man


       Du. Be not amaz'd, right noble is his blood:
    If this be so, as yet the glasse seemes true,
    I shall haue share in this most happy wracke,
    Boy, thou hast saide to me a thousand times,
    Thou neuer should'st loue woman like to me


       Vio. And all those sayings, will I ouer sweare,
    And all those swearings keepe as true in soule,
    As doth that Orbed Continent, the fire,
    That seuers day from night


       Du. Giue me thy hand,
    And let me see thee in thy womans weedes


       Vio. The Captaine that did bring me first on shore
    Hath my Maides garments: he vpon some Action
    Is now in durance, at Maluolio's suite,
    a Gentleman, and follower of my Ladies


       Ol. He shall inlarge him: fetch Maluolio hither,
    And yet alas, now I remember me,
    They say poore Gentleman, he's much distract.
    Enter Clowne with a Letter, and Fabian.


    A most extracting frensie of mine owne
    From my remembrance, clearly banisht his.
    How does he sirrah?
      Cl. Truely Madam, he holds Belzebub at the staues end as
    well as a man in his case may do: has heere writ a letter to
    you, I should haue giuen't you to day morning. But as a
    madmans Epistles are no Gospels, so it skilles not much
    when they are deliuer'd


       Ol. Open't, and read it


       Clo. Looke then to be well edified, when the Foole
    deliuers the Madman. By the Lord Madam


       Ol. How now, art thou mad?
      Clo. No Madam, I do but reade madnesse: and your
    Ladyship will haue it as it ought to bee, you must allow
    Vox


       Ol. Prethee reade i'thy right wits


       Clo. So I do Madona: but to reade his right wits, is to
    reade thus: therefore, perpend my Princesse, and giue
    eare


       Ol. Read it you, sirrah


       Fab. Reads. By the Lord Madam, you wrong me, and
    the world shall know it: Though you haue put mee into
    darkenesse, and giuen your drunken Cosine rule ouer me,
    yet haue I the benefit of my senses as well as your Ladieship.
    I haue your owne letter, that induced mee to the
    semblance I put on; with the which I doubt not, but to
    do my selfe much right, or you much shame: thinke of
    me as you please. I leaue my duty a little vnthought of,
    and speake out of my iniury. The madly vs'd Maluolio


       Ol. Did he write this?
      Clo. I Madame


       Du. This sauours not much of distraction


       Ol. See him deliuer'd Fabian, bring him hither:
    My Lord, so please you, these things further thought on,
    To thinke me as well a sister, as a wife,
    One day shall crowne th' alliance on't, so please you,
    Heere at my house, and at my proper cost


       Du. Madam, I am most apt t' embrace your offer:
    Your Master quits you: and for your seruice done him,
    So much against the mettle of your sex,
    So farre beneath your soft and tender breeding,
    And since you call'd me Master, for so long:
    Heere is my hand, you shall from this time bee
    Your Masters Mistris


       Ol. A sister, you are she.
    Enter Maluolio.


      Du. Is this the Madman?
      Ol. I my Lord, this same: How now Maluolio?
      Mal. Madam, you haue done me wrong,
    Notorious wrong


       Ol. Haue I Maluolio? No


       Mal. Lady you haue, pray you peruse that Letter.
    You must not now denie it is your hand,
    Write from it if you can, in hand, or phrase,
    Or say, tis not your seale, not your inuention:
    You can say none of this. Well, grant it then,
    And tell me in the modestie of honor,
    Why you haue giuen me such cleare lights of fauour,
    Bad me come smiling, and crosse-garter'd to you,
    To put on yellow stockings, and to frowne
    Vpon sir Toby, and the lighter people:
    And acting this in an obedient hope,
    Why haue you suffer'd me to be imprison'd,
    Kept in a darke house, visited by the Priest,
    And made the most notorious gecke and gull,
    That ere inuention plaid on? Tell me why?
      Ol. Alas Maluolio, this is not my writing,
    Though I confesse much like the Charracter:
    But out of question, tis Marias hand.
    And now I do bethinke me, it was shee
    First told me thou wast mad; then cam'st in smiling,
    And in such formes, which heere were presuppos'd
    Vpon thee in the Letter: prethee be content,
    This practice hath most shrewdly past vpon thee:
    But when we know the grounds, and authors of it,
    Thou shalt be both the Plaintiffe and the Iudge
    Of thine owne cause


       Fab. Good Madam heare me speake,
    And let no quarrell, nor no braule to come,
    Taint the condition of this present houre,
    Which I haue wondred at. In hope it shall not,
    Most freely I confesse my selfe, and Toby
    Set this deuice against Maluolio heere,
    Vpon some stubborne and vncourteous parts
    We had conceiu'd against him. Maria writ
    The Letter, at sir Tobyes great importance,
    In recompence whereof, he hath married her:
    How with a sportfull malice it was follow'd,
    May rather plucke on laughter then reuenge,
    If that the iniuries be iustly weigh'd,
    That haue on both sides past


       Ol. Alas poore Foole, how haue they baffel'd thee?
      Clo. Why some are borne great, some atchieue greatnesse,
    and some haue greatnesse throwne vpon them. I
    was one sir, in this Enterlude, one sir Topas sir, but that's
    all one: By the Lord Foole, I am not mad: but do you remember,
    Madam, why laugh you at such a barren rascall,
    and you smile not he's gag'd: and thus the whirlegigge
    of time, brings in his reuenges


       Mal. Ile be reueng'd on the whole packe of you?
      Ol. He hath bene most notoriously abus'd


       Du. Pursue him, and entreate him to a peace:
    He hath not told vs of the Captaine yet,
    When that is knowne, and golden time conuents
    A solemne Combination shall be made
    Of our deere soules. Meane time sweet sister,
    We will not part from hence. Cesario come
    (For so you shall be while you are a man:)
    But when in other habites you are seene,
    Orsino's Mistris, and his fancies Queene.


    Exeunt.


      Clowne sings .
    When that I was and a little tine boy,
    with hey, ho, the winde and the raine:
    A foolish thing was but a toy,
    for the raine it raineth euery day.
    But when I came to mans estate,
    with hey ho, Gainst Knaues and Theeues men shut their gate,
    for the raine, But when I came alas to wiue,
    with hey ho, By swaggering could I neuer thriue,
    for the raine, But when I came vnto my beds,
    with hey ho, With tospottes still had drunken heades,
    for the raine, A great while ago the world begon,
    hey ho, But that's all one, our Play is done,
    and wee'l striue to please you euery day.


    FINIS. Twelfe Night, Or what you will.