Complete Plays, The
Page 332
Sir Toby Belch
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 Belch
Who, Sir Andrew Aguecheek?
Maria
Ay, he.
Sir Toby Belch
He’s as tall a man as any’s in Illyria.
Maria
What’s that to the purpose?
Sir Toby Belch
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 Belch
Fie, that you’ll say so! he plays o’ the 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 Belch
By this hand, they are scoundrels and subtractors that say so of him. Who are they?
Maria
They that add, moreover, he’s drunk nightly in your company.
Sir Toby Belch
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 coystrill that will not drink to my niece till his brains turn o’ the toe like a parish-top. What, wench! Castiliano vulgo! for here comes Sir Andrew Agueface.
Enter Sir Andrew
Sir Andrew
Sir Toby Belch! how now, Sir Toby Belch!
Sir Toby Belch
Sweet Sir Andrew!
Sir Andrew
Bless you, fair shrew.
Maria
And you too, sir.
Sir Toby Belch
Accost, Sir Andrew, accost.
Sir Andrew
What’s that?
Sir Toby Belch
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 Belch
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 Belch
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 the hand.
Sir Andrew
Marry, but you shall have; and here’s my hand.
Maria
Now, sir, ‘thought is free:’ I pray you, bring your hand to the buttery-bar and let it drink.
Sir Andrew
Wherefore, sweet-heart? 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 Belch
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 Belch
No question.
Sir Andrew
An I thought that, I’ld forswear it. I’ll ride home to-morrow, Sir Toby.
Sir Toby Belch
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 Belch
Then hadst thou had an excellent head of hair.
Sir Andrew
Why, would that have mended my hair?
Sir Toby Belch
Past question; for thou seest it will not curl by nature.
Sir Andrew
But it becomes me well enough, does’t not?
Sir Toby Belch
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 to-morrow, 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 Belch
She’ll none o’ the 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’ the strangest mind i’ the world; I delight in masques and revels sometimes altogether.
Sir Toby Belch
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 Belch
What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight?
Sir Andrew
Faith, I can cut a caper.
Sir Toby Belch
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 Belch
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 sink-a-pace. 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 flame-coloured stock. Shall we set about some revels?
Sir Toby Belch
What shall we do else? were we not born under Taurus?
Sir Andrew
Taurus! That’s sides and heart.
Sir Toby Belch
No, sir; it is legs and thighs. Let me see the caper; ha! higher: ha, ha! excellent!
Exeunt
SCENE IV. DUKE ORSINO’S PALACE.
Enter Valentine and Viola 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.
Viola
I thank you. Here comes the count.
Enter Duke Orsino, Curio, and Attendants
Duke Orsino
Who saw Cesario, ho?
Viola
On your attendance, my lord; here.
Duke Orsino
Stand you a while aloof, Cesario,
Thou know’st no less but all; I have unclasp’d
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 abandon’d to her sorrow
As it is spoke, she never will admit me.
Duke Orsino
Be clamorous and leap all civil bounds
Rather than make unprofited return.
Viola
Say I do speak with her, my lord, what then?
Duke 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.
Duke 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. Some four or five attend him;
All, if you will; for I myself am best
When least in company. 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
SCENE V. OLIVIA’S HOUSE.
Enter Maria and 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.
Clown
Let her hang me: he that is well hanged in this world needs to fear no colours.
Maria
Make that good.
Clown
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.’
Clown
Where, good Mistress Mary?
Maria
In the wars; and that may you be bold to say in your foolery.
Clown
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?
Clown
Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage; and, for turning away, let summer bear it out.
Maria
You are resolute, then?
Clown
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.
Clown
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 Illyria.
Maria
Peace, you rogue, no more o’ that. Here comes my lady: make your excuse wisely, you were best.
Exit
Clown
Wit, an’t be thy will, put me into good fooling! 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.’
Enter Olivia with Malvolio
God bless thee, lady!
Olivia
Take the fool away.
Clown
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.
Clown
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. Any thing 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.
Clown
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?
Clown
Dexterously, good madonna.
Olivia
Make your proof.
Clown
I must catechise you for it, madonna: good my mouse of virtue, answer me.
Olivia
Well, sir, for want of other idleness, I’ll bide your proof.
Clown
Good madonna, why mournest thou?
Olivia
Good fool, for my brother’s death.
Clown
I think his soul is in hell, madonna.
Olivia
I know his soul is in heaven, fool.
Clown
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.
Clown
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 two pence that you are no fool.
Olivia
How say you to that, Malvolio?
Malvolio
I marvel your ladyship takes delight in such a barren rascal: I saw him put down the other day with an ordinary fool that has no more brain than a stone. Look you now, he’s out of his guard already; unless you laugh and minister occasion to him, he is gagged. I protest, I take these wise men, that crow so at these set kind of fools, no better than the fools’ zanies.
Olivia
Oh, 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 bird-bolts 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.
Clown
Now Mercury endue thee with leasing, for thou speakest well of fools!
Re-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!
Exit Maria
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 yo
ur fooling grows old, and people dislike it.
Clown
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,— one of thy kin has a most weak pia mater.
Enter Sir Toby Belch
Olivia
By mine honour, half drunk. What is he at the gate, cousin?
Sir Toby Belch
A gentleman.
Olivia
A gentleman! what gentleman?
Sir Toby Belch
’Tis a gentle man here — a plague o’ these pickle-herring! How now, sot!
Clown
Good Sir Toby!
Olivia
Cousin, cousin, how have you come so early by this lethargy?
Sir Toby Belch
Lechery! I defy lechery. There’s one at the gate.
Olivia
Ay, marry, what is he?
Sir Toby Belch
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?
Clown
Like a drowned man, a fool and a mad man: one draught above heat makes him a fool; the second mads him; and a third drowns him.
Olivia
Go thou and seek the crowner, and let him sit o’ my coz; for he’s in the third degree of drink, he’s drowned: go, look after him.
Clown
He is but mad yet, madonna; and the fool shall look to the madman.
Exit
Re-enter Malvolio
Malvolio
Madam, yond young fellow swears he will speak with you. I told him you were sick; he takes on him to understand so much, and therefore comes to speak with you. I told him you were asleep; he seems to have a foreknowledge of that too, and therefore comes to speak with you. What is to be said to him, lady? he’s fortified against any denial.
Olivia
Tell him he shall not speak with me.
Malvolio
Has been told so; and he says, he’ll stand at your door like a sheriff’s post, and be the supporter to a bench, but he’ll speak with you.
Olivia
What kind o’ man is he?
Malvolio
Why, of mankind.
Olivia
What manner of man?
Malvolio
Of very ill manner; he’ll speak with you, will you or no.
Olivia
Of what personage and years is he?
Malvolio
Not yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy; as a squash is before ’tis a peascod, or a cooling when ’tis almost an apple: ’tis with him in standing water, between boy and man. He is very well-favoured and he speaks very shrewishly; one would think his mother’s milk were scarce out of him.
Olivia
Let him approach: call in my gentlewoman.