The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works

by William Shakespeare

  FABIAN And ‘O’ shall end, I hope.

  SIR TOBY Ay, or I’ll cudgel him, and make him cry ‘O!’

  MALVOLIO And then ‘I’ comes behind.

  FABIAN Ay, an you had any eye behind you you might see more detraction at your heels than fortunes before you.

  MALVOLIO ‘M.O.A.I.’ This simulation is not as the former; and yet to crush this a little, it would bow to me, for every one of these letters are in my name. Soft, here follows prose: ‘If this fall into thy hand, revolve. In my stars I am above thee, but be not afraid of greatness. Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon ’em. Thy fates open their hands, let thy blood and spirit embrace them, and to inure thyself to what thou art like to be, cast thy humble slough, and appear fresh. Be opposite with a kinsman, surly with servants. Let thy tongue tang arguments of state; put thyself into the trick of singularity. She thus advises thee that sighs for thee. Remember who commended thy yellow stockings, and wished to see thee ever cross-gartered. I say remember, go to, thou art made if thou desirest to be so; if not, let me see thee a steward still, the fellow of servants, and not worthy to touch Fortune’s fingers. Farewell. She that would alter services with thee,

  The Fortunate-Unhappy.’

  Daylight and champaign discovers not more. This is open. I will be proud, I will read politic authors, I will baffle Sir Toby, I will wash off gross acquaintance, I will be point-device the very man. I do not now fool myself, to let imagination jade me; for every reason excites to this, that my lady loves me. She did commend my yellow stockings of late, she did praise my leg, being cross-gartered, and in this she manifests herself to my love, and with a kind of injunction drives me to these habits of her liking. I thank my stars, I am happy. I will be strange, stout, in yellow stockings, and cross-gartered, even with the swiftness of putting on. Jove and my stars be praised. Here is yet a postscript. ‘Thou canst not choose but know who I am. If thou entertainest my love, let it appear in thy smiling, thy smiles become thee well. Therefore in my presence still smile, dear my sweet, I prithee.’ Jove, I thank thee. I will smile, I will do everything that thou wilt have me.

  Exit

  Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian come from hiding

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

  SIR TOBY I could marry this wench for this device.

  SIR ANDREW So could I, too.

  SIR TOBY And ask no other dowry with her but such another jest.

  Enter Maria

  SIR ANDREW Nor I neither.

  FABIAN Here comes my noble gull-catcher.

  SIR TOBY (to Maria) Wilt thou set thy foot o’ my neck?

  SIR ANDREW (to Maria) Or o’ mine either?

  SIR TOBY (to Maria) Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip, and become thy bondslave?

  SIR ANDREW (to Maria) I’faith, or I either?

  SIR TOBY (to Maria) Why, thou hast put him in such a dream that when the image of it leaves him, he must run mad.

  MARIA Nay, but say true, does it work upon him?

  SIR TOBY Like aqua vitae with a midwife.

  MARIA If you will then see the fruits of the sport, mark his first approach before my lady. He will come to her in yellow stockings, and ’tis a colour she abhors, and cross-gartered, a fashion she detests; and he will smile upon her, which will now be so unsuitable to her disposition, being addicted to a melancholy as she is, that it cannot but turn him into a notable contempt. If you will see it, follow me.

  SIR TOBY To the gates of Tartar, thou most excellent devil of wit.

  SIR ANDREW I’ll make one, too. Exeunt

  3.1 Enter Viola as Cesario and Feste the clown, with ⌈pipe and⌉ tabor

  VIOLA Save thee, friend, and thy music. Dost thou live by thy tabor?

  FESTE No, sir, I live by the church.

  VIOLA Art thou a churchman?

  FESTE No such matter, sir. I do live by the church for I do live at my house, and my house doth stand by the church.

  VIOLA So thou mayst say the king lies by a beggar if a beggar dwell near him, or the church stands by thy tabor if thy tabor stand by the church.

  FESTE You have said, sir. To see this age!—A sentence is but a cheverel glove to a good wit, how quickly the wrong side may be turned outward.

  VIOLA Nay, that’s certain. They that dally nicely with words may quickly make them wanton.

  FESTE I would therefore my sister had had no name, sir.

  VIOLA Why, man?

  FESTE Why, sir, her name’s a word, and to dally with that word might make my sister wanton. But indeed, words are very rascals since bonds disgraced them.

  VIOLA Thy reason, man?

  FESTE Troth, sir, I can yield you none without words, and words are grown so false I am loath to prove reason with them.

  VIOLA I warrant thou art a merry fellow, and carest for nothing.

  FESTE 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 invisible.

  VIOLA Art not thou the Lady Olivia’s fool?

  FESTE No indeed, sir, the Lady Olivia has no folly, she will keep no fool, sir, till she be married, and fools are as like husbands as pilchards are to herrings—the husband’s the bigger. I am indeed not her fool, but her corrupter of words.

  VIOLA I saw thee late at the Count Orsino’s.

  FESTE Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun, it shines everywhere. I would be sorry, sir, but the fool should be as oft with your master as with my mistress. I think I saw your wisdom there.

  VIOLA Nay, an thou pass upon me, I’ll no more with thee. (Giving money) Hold, there’s expenses for thee.

  FESTE Now Jove in his next commodity of hair send thee a beard.

  VIOLA By my troth I’ll tell thee, I am almost sick for one, though I would not have it grow on my chin. Is thy lady within?

  FESTE Would not a pair of these have bred, sir?

  VIOLA Yes, being kept together and put to use.

  FESTE I would play Lord Pandarus of Phrygia, sir, to bring a Cressida to this Troilus.

  VIOLA (giving money) I understand you, sir, ’tis well begged.

  FESTE The matter I hope is not great, sir; begging but a beggar—Cressida was a beggar. 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 over-worn. Exit

  VIOLA

  This fellow is wise enough to play the fool,

  And to do that well craves a kind of wit.

  He must observe their mood on whom he jests,

  The quality of persons, and the time,

  And, like the haggard, check at every feather

  That comes before his eye. This is a practice

  As full of labour as a wise man’s art,

  For folly that he wisely shows is fit,

  But wise men, folly-fall’n, quite taint their wit.

  Enter Sir Toby and Sir Andrew

  SIR TOBY Save you, gentleman.

  VIOLA And you, sir.

  SIR ANDREW Dieu vous garde, monsieur.

  VIOLA Et vous aussi, votre serviteur.

  SIR ANDREW I hope, sir, you are, and I am yours.

  SIR TOBY Will you encounter the house? My niece is desirous you should enter if your trade be to her.

  VIOLA I am bound to your niece, sir: I mean she is the list of my voyage.

  SIR TOBY Taste your legs, sir, put them to motion.

  VIOLA My legs do better understand me, sir, than I understand what you mean by bidding me taste my legs.

  SIR TOBY I mean to go, sir, to enter.

  VIOLA I will answer you with gait and entrance.

  Enter Olivia, and Maria, her gentlewoman

  But we are prevented. (To Olivia) Most excellent accomplished lady, the heavens rain odours on you.

  SIR ANDREW (to Sir Toby) That youth’s a rare courtier;

/>   ‘rain odours’—well.

  VIOLA My matter hath no voice, lady, but to your own most pregnant and vouchsafed ear.

  SIR ANDREW (to Sir Toby) ‘Odours’, ‘pregnant’, and

  ‘vouchsafed’—I’ll get ’em all three all ready.

  OLIVIA Let the garden door be shut, and leave me to my hearing. Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Maria Give me your hand, sir.

  VIOLA

  My duty, madam, and most humble service.

  OLIVIA What is your name?

  VIOLA

  Cesario is your servant’s name, fair princess.

  OLIVIA

  My servant, sir? ’Twas never merry world

  Since lowly feigning was called compliment.

  You’re servant to the Count Orsino, youth.

  VIOLA

  And he is yours, and his must needs be yours.

  Your servant’s servant is your servant, madam.

  OLIVIA

  For him, I think not on him. For his thoughts,

  Would they were blanks rather than filled with me.

  VIOLA

  Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts

  On his behalf.

  OLIVIA

  O by your leave, I pray you.

  I bade you never speak again of him;

  But would you undertake another suit,

  I had rather hear you to solicit that

  Than music from the spheres.

  VIOLA

  Dear lady—

  OLIVIA

  Give me leave, beseech you. I did send,

  After the last enchantment you did here,

  A ring in chase of you. So did I abuse

  Myself, my servant, and I fear me you.

  Under your hard construction must I sit,

  To force that on you in a shameful cunning

  Which you knew none of yours. What might you

  think?

  Have you not set mine honour at the stake

  And baited it with all th’unmuzzled thoughts

  That tyrannous heart can think? To one of your

  receiving

  Enough is shown. A cypress, not a bosom,

  Hides my heart. So let me hear you speak.

  VIOLA

  I pity you.

  OLIVIA

  That’s a degree to love.

  VIOLA

  No, not a grece, for ’tis a vulgar proof

  That very oft we pity enemies.

  OLIVIA

  Why then, methinks ’tis time to smile again.

  O world, how apt the poor are to be proud!

  If one should be a prey, how much the better

  To fall before the lion than the wolf!

  Clock strikes

  The clock upbraids me with the waste of time.

  Be not afraid, good youth, I will not have you;

  And yet when wit and youth is come to harvest

  Your wife is like to reap a proper man.

  There lies your way, due west.

  VIOLA

  Then westward ho!

  Grace and good disposition attend your ladyship.

  You’ll nothing, madam, to my lord by me?

  OLIVIA

  Stay. I prithee tell me what thou think’st of me.

  VIOLA

  That you do think you are not what you are.

  OLIVIA

  If I think so, I think the same of you.

  VIOLA

  Then think you right, I am not what I am.

  OLIVIA

  I would you were as I would have you be.

  VIOLA

  Would it be better, madam, than I am?

  I wish it might, for now I am your fool.

  OLIVIA (aside)

  O, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful

  In the contempt and anger of his lip!

  A murd’rous guilt shows not itself more soon

  Than love that would seem hid. Love’s night is noon.

  (To Viola) Cesario, by the roses of the spring,

  By maidhood, honour, truth, and everything,

  I love 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:

  Love sought is good, but given unsought, is better.

  VIOLA

  By innocence I swear, and by my youth,

  I have one heart, one bosom, and one truth,

  And that no woman has, nor never none

  Shall mistress be of it save I alone.

  And so adieu, good madam. Never more

  Will I my master’s tears to you deplore.

  OLIVIA

  Yet come again, for thou perhaps mayst move

  That heart which now abhors, to like his love.

  Exeunt ⌈severally⌉

  3.2 Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian

  SIR ANDREW No, faith, I’ll not stay a jot longer.

  SIR TOBY Thy reason, dear venom, give thy reason.

  FABIAN You must needs yield your reason, Sir Andrew.

  SIR ANDREW Marry, I saw your niece do more favours to the Count’s servingman than ever she bestowed upon me. I saw’t i’th’ orchard.

  SIR TOBY Did she see thee the while, old boy? Tell me that.

  SIR ANDREW As plain as I see you now.

  FABIAN This was a great argument of love in her toward you.

  SIR ANDREW ’Slight, will you make an ass o’ me?

  FABIAN I will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the oaths of judgement and reason.

  SIR TOBY And they have been grand-jurymen since before Noah was a sailor.

  FABIAN She did show favour to the youth in your sight only to exasperate you, to awake your dormouse valour, to put fire in your heart and brimstone in your liver. You should then have accosted her, and with some excellent jests, fire-new from the mint, you should have banged the youth into dumbness. This was looked for at your hand, and this was balked. The double gilt of this opportunity you let time wash off, and you are now sailed into the north of my lady’s opinion, where you will hang like an icicle on a Dutchman’s beard unless you do redeem it by some laudable attempt either of valour or policy.

  SIR ANDREW An’t be any way, it must be with valour, for policy I hate. I had as lief be a Brownist as a politician.

  SIR TOBY Why then, build me thy fortunes upon the basis of valour. Challenge me the Count’s youth to fight with him, hurt him in eleven places. My niece shall take note of it; and assure thyself, there is no love-broker in the world can more prevail in man’s commendation with woman than report of valour.

  FABIAN There is no way but this, Sir Andrew.

  SIR ANDREW Will either of you bear me a challenge to him?

  SIR TOBY Go, write it in a martial hand, be curst and brief. It is no matter how witty so it be eloquent and full of invention. Taunt him with the licence of ink. If thou ‘thou’st’ him some thrice, it shall not be amiss, and as many lies as will lie in thy sheet of paper, although the sheet were big enough for the bed of Ware, in England, set ’em down, go about it. Let there be gall enough in thy ink; though thou write with a goose-pen, no matter. About it.

  SIR ANDREW Where shall I find you?

  SIR TOBY We’ll call thee at the cubiculo. Go.

  Exit Sir Andrew

  FABIAN This is a dear manikin to you, Sir Toby.

  SIR TOBY I have been dear to him, lad, some two thousand strong or so.

  FABIAN We shall have a rare letter from him; but you’ll not deliver’t.

  SIR TOBY Never trust me then; and by all means stir on the youth to an answer. I think oxen and wain-ropes cannot hale them together. For Andrew, if he were opened and you find so much blood in his liver as will clog the foot of a flea, I’ll eat the rest of th’anatomy.

  FABIAN And his opposite, the youth, bears in his visage no great presage of cruelty.

  Enter Maria
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br />   SIR TOBY Look where the youngest wren of nine comes.

  MARIA If you desire the spleen, and will laugh yourselves into stitches, follow me. Yon gull Malvolio is turned heathen, a very renegado, for there is no Christian that means to be saved by believing rightly can ever believe such impossible passages of grossness. He’s in yellow stockings.

  SIR TOBY And cross-gartered?

  MARIA Most villainously, like a pedant that keeps a school i‘th’ church. I have dogged him like his murderer. He does obey every point of the letter that I dropped to betray him. He does smile his face into more lines than is in the new map with the augmentation of the Indies. You have not seen such a thing as ’tis. I can hardly forbear hurling things at him. I know my lady will strike him. If she do, he’ll smile, and take’t for a great favour.

  SIR TOBY Come bring us, bring us where he is. Exeunt

  3.3 Enter Sebastian and Antonio

  SEBASTIAN

  I would not by my will have troubled you,

  But since you make your pleasure of your pains

  I will no further chide you.

  ANTONIO

  I could not stay behind you. My desire,

  More sharp than filèd steel, did spur me forth,

  And not all love to see you—though so much

  As might have drawn one to a longer voyage—

  But jealousy what might befall your travel,

  Being skilless in these parts, which to a stranger,

  Unguided and unfriended, often prove

  Rough and unhospitable. My willing love

  The rather by these arguments of fear

  Set forth in your pursuit.

  SEBASTIAN

  My kind Antonio,

  I can no other answer make but thanks,

  And thanks; and ever oft good turns

  Are shuffled off with such uncurrent pay.

  But were my worth as is my conscience firm,

  You should find better dealing. What’s to do?

  Shall we go see the relics of this town?

  ANTONIO

  Tomorrow, sir. Best first go see your lodging.

  SEBASTIAN

  I am not weary, and ’tis long to night.

  I pray you let us satisfy our eyes

  With the memorials and the things of fame