The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works

by William Shakespeare

  Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope,

  Whereto thy speech serves for authority,

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

  CAPTAIN

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

  Not three hours’ travel from this very place.

  VIOLA

  Who governs here?

  CAPTAIN A noble duke, in nature

  As in name.

  VIOLA

  What is his name?

  CAPTAIN

  Orsino.

  VIOLA

  Orsino. I have heard my father name him.

  He was a bachelor then.

  CAPTAIN

  And so is now, or was so very late,

  For but a month ago I went from hence,

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

  What great ones do the less will prattle of—

  That he did seek the love of fair Olivia.

  VIOLA What’s she?

  CAPTAIN

  A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count

  That died some twelvemonth since, then leaving her

  In the protection of his son, her brother,

  Who shortly also died, for whose dear love,

  They say, she hath abjured the sight

  And company of men.

  VIOLA

  O that I served that lady,

  And might not be delivered to the world

  Till I had made mine own occasion mellow,

  What my estate is.

  CAPTAIN

  That were hard to compass,

  Because she will admit no kind of suit,

  No, not the Duke’s.

  VIOLA

  There is a fair behaviour in thee, captain,

  And though that nature with a beauteous wall

  Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee

  I will believe thou hast a mind that suits

  With this thy fair and outward character.

  I pray thee—and I’ll pay thee bounteously—

  Conceal me what I am, and be my aid

  For such disguise as haply shall become

  The form of my intent. I’ll serve this duke.

  Thou shalt present me as an eunuch to him.

  It may be worth thy pains, for I can sing,

  And speak to him in many sorts of music

  That will allow me very worth his service.

  What else may hap, to time I will commit.

  Only shape thou thy silence to my wit.

  CAPTAIN

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

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

  VIOLA

  I thank thee. Lead me on.

  Exeunt

  1.3 Enter Sir Toby Belch and Maria

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

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

  SIR TOBY Why, let her except, before excepted.

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

  SIR TOBY Confine? I’ll confine myself no finer than I am. These clothes are good enough to drink in, and so be these boots too; an they be not, let them hang themselves in their own straps.

  MARIA That quaffing and drinking will undo you. I heard my lady talk of it yesterday, and of a foolish knight that you brought in one night here to be her wooer.

  SIR TOBY Who, Sir Andrew Aguecheek?

  MARIA Ay, he.

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

  MARIA What’s that to th’ purpose?

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

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

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

  MARIA He hath indeed, almost natural, for besides that he’s a fool, he’s a great quarreller, and but that he hath the gift of a coward to allay the gust he hath in quarrelling, ’tis thought among the prudent he would quickly have the gift of a grave.

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

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

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

  Enter Sir Andrew Aguecheek

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

  SIR TOBY Sweet Sir Andrew.

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

  MARIA And you too, sir.

  SIR TOBY Accost, Sir Andrew, accost.

  SIR ANDREW What’s that?

  SIR TOBY My niece’s chambermaid.

  SIR ANDREW Good Mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance.

  MARIA My name is Mary, sir.

  SIR ANDREW Good Mistress Mary Accost.

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

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

  MARIA Fare you well, gentlemen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

  MARIA It’s dry, sir.

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

  MARIA A dry jest, sir.

  SIR ANDREW Are you full of them?

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

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

  SIR ANDREW Never in your life, I think, unless you see canary put me down. Methinks sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian or an ordinary man has; but I am a great eater of beef, and I believe that does harm to my wit.

  SIR TOBY No question.

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

  SIR TOBY Pourquoi, my dear knight?

  SIR ANDREW What is ‘Pourquoi’? Do, or not do? I would I had bestowed that time in the tongues that I have in fencing, dancing, and bear-baiting. O, had I but followed the arts!

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

  SIR ANDREW Why, would that have mended my hair?

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

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

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

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

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

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

&
nbsp; SIR TOBY Art thou good at these kickshawses, knight?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  SIR ANDREW Taurus? That’s sides and heart.

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

  ⌈Sir Andrew capers⌉

  Ha, higher! Ha ha, excellent.

  Exeunt

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

  VALENTINE If the Duke continue these favours towards you, Cesario, you are like to be much advanced. He hath known you but three days, and already you are no stranger.

  VIOLA You either fear his humour or my negligence, that you call in question the continuance of his love. Is he inconstant, sir, in his favours?

  VALENTINE No, believe me.

  Enter the Duke, Curio, and attendants

  VIOLA I thank you. Here comes the Count.

  ORSINO Who saw Cesario, ho?

  VIOLA On your attendance, my lord, here.

  ORSINO (to Curio and attendants)

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

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

  To thee the book even of my secret soul.

  Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her,

  Be not denied access, stand at her doors,

  And tell them there thy fixed foot shall grow

  Till thou have audience.

  VIOLA

  Sure, my noble lord,

  If she be so abandoned to her sorrow

  As it is spoke, she never will admit me.

  ORSINO

  Be clamorous, and leap all civil bounds,

  Rather than make unprofited return.

  VIOLA

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

  ORSINO

  O then unfold the passion of my love,

  Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith.

  It shall become thee well to act my woes—

  She will attend it better in thy youth

  Than in a nuncio’s of more grave aspect.

  VIOLA

  I think not so, my lord.

  ORSINO

  Dear lad, believe it;

  For they shall yet belie thy happy years

  That say thou art a man. Diana’s lip

  Is not more smooth and rubious; thy small pipe

  Is as the maiden’s organ, shrill and sound,

  And all is semblative a woman’s part.

  I know thy constellation is right apt

  For this affair. (To Curio and attendants) Some four or

  five attend him.

  All if you will, for I myself am best

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

  And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord,

  To call his fortunes thine.

  VIOLA

  I’ll do my best

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

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

  Exeunt

  1.5 Enter Maria, and Feste, the clown

  MARIA Nay, either tell me where thou hast been or I will not open my lips so wide as a bristle may enter in way of thy excuse. My lady will hang thee for thy absence.

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

  MARIA Make that good.

  FESTE He shall see none to fear.

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

  FESTE Where, good Mistress Mary?

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

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

  MARIA Yet you will be hanged for being so long absent, or to be turned away—is not that as good as a hanging to you?

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

  MARIA You are resolute then?

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

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

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

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

  Exit

  Enter Olivia, with Malvolio and attendants

  FESTE ⌈aside⌉ Wit, an’t be thy will, put me into good footing! Those wits that think they have thee do very oft prove fools, and I that am sure I lack thee may pass for a wise man. For what says Quinapalus?—‘Better a witty fool than a foolish wit.’ (To Olivia) God bless thee, lady.

  OLIVIA (to attendants) Take the fool away.

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

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

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

  OLIVIA Sir, I bade them take away you.

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

  OLIVIA Can you do it?

  FESTE Dexteriously, good madonna.

  OLIVIA Make your proof.

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

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

  FESTE Good madonna, why mournest thou?

  OLIVIA Good fool, for my brother’s death.

  FESTE I think his soul is in hell, madonna.

  OLIVIA I know his soul is in heaven, fool.

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

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

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

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

  OLIVIA How say you to that, Malvolio?

  MALVOLIO I marvel your ladyship takes delight in such a barren rascal. I saw him put down the other day with an ordinary fool that has no more brain than a stone. Look you now, he’s out of his guard already. Unless you laugh and mi
nister occasion to him, he is gagged. I protest I take these wise men that crow so at these set kind of fools no better than the fools’ zanies.

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

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

  Enter Maria

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

  OLIVIA From the Count Orsino, is it?

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

  OLIVIA Who of my people hold him in delay?

  MARIA Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman.

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

  FESTE Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy eldest son should be a fool, whose skull Jove cram with brains, for—here he comes—Enter Sir Toby

  one of thy kin has a most weak pia mater.

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

  SIR TOBY A gentleman.

  OLIVIA A gentleman? What gentleman?

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

  FESTE Good Sir Toby.

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

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

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

  Exit

  OLIVIA What’s a drunken man like, fool?

  FESTE Like a drowned man, a fool, and a madman—one draught above heat makes him a fool, the second mads him, and a third drowns him.

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

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