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TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL

TWELFTH NIGHT; OR,

WHAT YOU WILL

William Shakespeare
1602

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TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL

DRAMATIS PERSONAE
ORSINO, Duke of Illyria SEBASTIAN, brother of Viola ANTONIO, a
sea captain, friend of Sebastian A SEA CAPTAIN, friend of Viola
VALENTINE, gentleman attending on the Duke CURIO, gentleman
attending on the Duke SIR TOBY BELCH, uncle of Olivia SIR ANDREW
AGUECHEEK MALVOLIO, steward to Olivia FABIAN, servant to
Olivia FESTE, a clown, servant to Olivia
OLIVIA, a rich countess VIOLA, sister of Sebastian MARIA,
Olivia's waiting woman
Lords, Priests, Sailors, Officers, Musicians, and Attendants

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TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL

ACT I.

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TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL

SCENE I. The DUKE'S palace

Enter ORSINO, Duke of Illyria, CURIO, and other LORDS;

MUSICIANS attending
DUKE. If music be the food of love, play on, Give me excess of it,
that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken and so die. That strain again! It
had a dying fall; O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound That breathes
upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odour! Enough, no more; 'Tis
not so sweet now as it was before. O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art
thou! That, notwithstanding thy capacity Receiveth as the sea, nought
enters there, Of what validity and pitch soe'er, But falls into abatement and
low price Even in a minute. So full of shapes is fancy, That it alone is high
fantastical. CURIO. Will you go hunt, my lord? DUKE. What, Curio?
CURIO. The hart. DUKE. Why, so I do, the noblest that I have. O, when
mine eyes did see Olivia first, Methought she purg'd the air of pestilence!
That instant was I turn'd into a hart, And my desires, like fell and cruel
hounds, E'er since pursue me.
Enter VALENTINE
How now! what news from her? VALENTINE. So please my lord, I
might not be admitted, But from her handmaid do return this answer: The
element itself, till seven years' heat, Shall not behold her face at ample
view; But like a cloistress she will veiled walk, And water once a day her
chamber round With eye-offending brine; all this to season A brother's
dead love, which she would keep fresh And lasting in her sad
remembrance. DUKE. O, she that hath a heart of that fine frame To pay
this debt of love but to a brother, How will she love when the rich golden
shaft Hath kill'd the flock of all affections else That live in her; when liver,
brain, and heart, These sovereign thrones, are all supplied and fill'd, Her
sweet perfections, with one self king! Away before me to sweet beds of
flow'rs: Love-thoughts lie rich when canopied with bow'rs. Exeunt

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TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL

SCENE II. The sea-coast

Enter VIOLA, a CAPTAIN, and SAILORS

VIOLA. What country, friends, is this? CAPTAIN. This is Illyria,
lady. VIOLA. And what should I do in Illyria? My brother he is in
Elysium. Perchance he is not drown'd- what think you, sailors? CAPTAIN.
It is perchance that you yourself were saved. VIOLA. O my poor brother!
and so perchance may he be. CAPTAIN. True, madam, and, to comfort
you with chance, Assure yourself, after our ship did split, When you, and
those poor number saved with you, Hung on our driving boat, I saw your
brother, Most provident in peril, bind himself- Courage and hope both
teaching him the practice- To a strong mast that liv'd upon the sea; Where,
like Arion on the dolphin's back, I saw him hold acquaintance with the
waves So long as I could see. VIOLA. For saying so, there's gold. Mine
own escape unfoldeth to my hope, Whereto thy speech serves for authority,
The like of him. Know'st thou this country? CAPTAIN. Ay, madam, well;
for I was bred and born Not three hours' travel from this very place.
VIOLA. Who governs here? CAPTAIN. A noble duke, in nature as in
name. VIOLA. What is his name? CAPTAIN. Orsino. VIOLA. Orsino! I
have heard my father name him. He was a bachelor then. CAPTAIN. And
so is now, or was so very late; For but a month ago I went from hence,
And then 'twas fresh in murmur- as, you know, What great ones do the less
will prattle of- That he did seek the love of fair Olivia. VIOLA. What's she?
CAPTAIN. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count That died some
twelvemonth since, then leaving her In the protection of his son, her
brother, Who shortly also died; for whose dear love, They say, she hath
abjur'd the company And sight of men. VIOLA. O that I serv'd 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
prithee, and I'll pay thee bounteously, Conceal me what I am, and be my
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TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL

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 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

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TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL

SCENE III. OLIVIA'S house

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 subtractors 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
coystrill 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
AGUECHEEK. Sir Toby Belch! How now, Sir Toby Belch! SIR
TOBY. Sweet Sir Andrew! AGUECHEEK. Bless you, fair shrew. MARIA.
And you too, sir. SIR TOBY. Accost, Sir Andrew, accost. AGUECHEEK.
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TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL

What's that? SIR TOBY. My niece's chambermaid. AGUECHEEK. Good

Mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance. MARIA. My name is Mary,
sir. AGUECHEEK. Good Mistress Mary Accost- SIR Toby. You mistake,
knight. 'Accost' is front her, board her, woo her, assail her. AGUECHEEK.
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!
AGUECHEEK. 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. AGUECHEEK. Marry, but you shall have; and
here's my hand. MARIA. Now, sir, thought is free. I pray you, bring your
hand to th' buttry-bar and let it drink. AGUECHEEK. Wherefore,
sweetheart? What's your metaphor? MARIA. It's dry, sir. AGUECHEEK.
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. AGUECHEEK. 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 MARIA SIR TOBY. O knight, thou lack'st
a cup of canary! When did I see thee so put down? AGUECHEEK. 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 great eater of beef, and I believe that does harm to my wit. SIR
TOBY. No question. AGUECHEEK. An I thought that, I'd forswear it. I'll
ride home to-morrow, Sir Toby. SIR TOBY. Pourquoi, my dear knight?
AGUECHEEK. 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.
Oh, had I but followed the arts! SIR TOBY. Then hadst thou had an
excellent head of hair. AGUECHEEK. Why, would that have mended my
hair? SIR TOBY. Past question; for thou seest it will not curl by nature.
AGUECHEEK. 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 huswife take
thee between her legs and spin it off. AGUECHEEK. 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.
She'll none o' th' Count; she'll not match above her degree, neither in estate,

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TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL

years, nor wit; I have heard her swear't. Tut, there's life in't, man.
AGUECHEEK. I'll stay a month longer. I am a fellow o' th' strangest mind
i' th' world; I delight in masques and revels sometimes altogether. SIR
TOBY. Art thou good at these kickshawses, knight? AGUECHEEK. 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? AGUECHEEK. Faith, I can cut a caper. SIR TOBY.
And I can cut the mutton to't. AGUECHEEK. 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 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 form'd under the star of a galliard.
AGUECHEEK. Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in flame-
colour'd stock. Shall we set about some revels? SIR TOBY. What shall we
do else? Were we not born under Taurus? AGUECHEEK. Taurus? That's
sides and heart. SIR TOBY. No, sir; it is legs and thighs. Let me see the
caper. Ha, higher! Ha, ha, excellent! Exeunt

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TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL

SCENE IV. The DUKE'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 advanc'd; 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 DUKE, CURIO, and ATTENDANTS
VIOLA. I thank you. Here comes the Count. DUKE. Who saw
Cesario, ho? VIOLA. On your attendance, my lord, here. DUKE. Stand
you awhile 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. Be clamorous and leap all civil bounds, Rather
than make unprofited return. VIOLA. Say I do speak with her, my lord,
what then? DUKE. 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. 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.

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TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL

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
hang'd 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 hang'd for being so long absent; or to be turn'd 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
resolv'd 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
Enter OLIVIA and MALVOLIO
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.' God bless thee, lady! OLIVIA. Take the fool away.
CLOWN. Do you not hear, fellows? Take away the lady. OLIVIA. Go to,
y'are 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. Anything that's mended is but patch'd; virtue that
transgresses is but patch'd with sin, and sin that amends is but patch'd with
virtue. If that this simple syllogism will serve, so; if it will not, what
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TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL

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. Dexteriously, good
madonna. OLIVIA. Make your proof. CLOWN. 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. CLOWN. Good madonna, why
mourn'st 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 twopence that you are no fool. OLIVIA.
How say you to that, Malvolio? MALVOLIO. I marvel your ladyship
takes delight in such a barren rascal; I saw him put down the other day
with an ordinary fool that has no more brain than a stone. Look you now,
he's out of his guard already; unless you laugh and minister occasion to
him, he is gagg'd. 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 distemper'd 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 allow'd fool, though he
do nothing but rail; nor no railing in known discreet man, though he do
nothing but reprove. CLOWN. Now Mercury endue thee with leasing, for
thou speak'st 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.

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TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL

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 your 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
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. [Hiccups] 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. 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? CLOWN.
Like a drown'd 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 crowner, and let him sit o' my coz; for he's in the third
degree of drink, he's drown'd; 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

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enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy; as a squash is before 'tis a
peascod, or a codling when 'tis almost an apple; 'tis with him in standing
water, between boy and man. He is very well-favour'd, and he speaks very
shrewishly; one would think his mother's milk were scarce out of him.
OLIVIA. Let him approach. Call in my gentlewoman. MALVOLIO.
Gentlewoman, my lady calls. Exit
Re-enter MARIA
OLIVIA. Give me my veil; come, throw it o'er my face; We'll once
more hear Orsino's embassy.
Enter VIOLA
VIOLA. The honourable lady of the house, which is she? OLIVIA.
Speak to me; I shall answer for her. Your will? VIOLA. Most radiant,
exquisite, and unmatchable beauty- I pray you tell me if this be the lady of
the house, for I never saw her. I would be loath to cast away my speech;
for, besides that it is excellently well penn'd, I have taken great pains to
con it. Good beauties, let me sustain no scorn; I am very comptible, even
to the least sinister usage. OLIVIA. Whence came you, sir? VIOLA. I can
say little more than I have studied, and that question's out of my part.
Good gentle one, give me modest assurance if you be the lady of the house,
that I may proceed in my speech. OLIVIA. Are you a comedian? VIOLA.
No, my profound heart; and yet, by the very fangs of malice I swear, I am
not that I play. Are you the lady of the house?
OLIVIA. If I do not usurp myself, I am. VIOLA. Most certain, if you
are she, you do usurp yourself; for what is yours to bestow is not yours to
reserve. But this is from my commission. I will on with my speech in your
praise, and then show you the heart of my message. OLIVIA. Come to
what is important in't. I forgive you the praise. VIOLA. Alas, I took great
pains to study it, and 'tis poetical. OLIVIA. It is the more like to be
feigned; I pray you keep it in. I heard you were saucy at my gates, and
allow'd your approach rather to wonder at you than to hear you. If you be
not mad, be gone; if you have reason, be brief; 'tis not that time of moon
with me to make one in so skipping dialogue. MARIA. Will you hoist sail,
sir? Here lies your way. VIOLA. No, good swabber, I am to hull here a
little longer. Some mollification for your giant, sweet lady. OLIVIA. Tell

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TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL

me your mind. VIOLA. I am a messenger. OLIVIA. Sure, you have some

hideous matter to deliver, when the courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak your
office. VIOLA. It alone concerns your ear. I bring no overture of war, no
taxation of homage: I hold the olive in my hand; my words are as full of
peace as matter. OLIVIA. Yet you began rudely. What are you? What
would you? VIOLA. The rudeness that hath appear'd in me have I learn'd
from my entertainment. What I am and what I would are as secret as
maidenhead- to your cars, divinity; to any other's, profanation. OLIVIA.
Give us the place alone; we will hear this divinity. [Exeunt MARIA and
ATTENDANTS] Now, sir, what is your text? VIOLA. Most sweet lady-
OLIVIA. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be said of it. Where lies
your text? VIOLA. In Orsino's bosom. OLIVIA. In his bosom! In what
chapter of his bosom? VIOLA. To answer by the method: in the first of his
heart. OLIVIA. O, I have read it; it is heresy. Have you no more to say?
VIOLA. Good madam, let me see your face. OLIVIA. Have you any
commission from your lord to negotiate with my face? You are now out of
your text; but we will draw the curtain and show you the picture.
[Unveiling] Look you, sir, such a one I was this present. Is't not well done?
VIOLA. Excellently done, if God did all. OLIVIA. 'Tis in grain, sir; 'twill
endure wind and weather. VIOLA. 'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and
white Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on. Lady, you are the
cruell'st she alive, If you will lead these graces to the grave, And leave the
world no copy. OLIVIA. O, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted; I will give
out divers schedules of my beauty. It shall be inventoried, and every
particle and utensil labell'd to my will: as- item, two lips indifferent red;
item, two grey eyes with lids to them; item, one neck, one chin, and so
forth. Were you sent hither to praise me? VIOLA. I see you what you are:
you are too proud; But, if you were the devil, you are fair. My lord and
master loves you- O, such love Could be but recompens'd though you
were crown'd The nonpareil of beauty! OLIVIA. How does he love me?
VIOLA. With adorations, fertile tears, With groans that thunder love, with
sighs of fire. OLIVIA. Your lord does know my mind; I cannot love him.
Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble, Of great estate, of fresh and
stainless youth; In voices well divulg'd, free, learn'd, and valiant, And in

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dimension and the shape of nature A gracious person; but yet I cannot love
him. He might have took his answer long ago. VIOLA. If I did love you in
my master's flame, With such a suff'ring, such a deadly life, In your denial
I would find no sense; I would not understand it. OLIVIA. Why, what
would you? VIOLA. Make me a willow cabin at your gate, And call upon
my soul within the house; Write loyal cantons of contemned love And sing
them loud even in the dead of night; Halloo your name to the reverberate
hals, And make the babbling gossip of the air Cry out 'Olivia!' O, you
should not rest Between the elements of air and earth But you should pity
me! OLIVIA. You might do much. What is your parentage? VIOLA.
Above my fortunes, yet my state is well: I am a gentleman. OLIVIA. Get
you to your lord. I cannot love him; let him send no more- Unless
perchance you come to me again To tell me how he takes it. Fare you well.
I thank you for your pains; spend this for me. VIOLA. I am no fee'd post,
lady; keep your purse; My master, not myself, lacks recompense. Love
make his heart of flint that you shall love; And let your fervour, like my
master's, be Plac'd in contempt! Farewell, fair cruelty. Exit OLIVIA. 'What
is your parentage?' 'Above my fortunes, yet my state is well: I am a
gentleman.' I'll be sworn thou art; Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions,
and spirit, Do give thee five-fold blazon. Not too fast! Soft, soft! Unless
the master were the man. How now! Even so quickly may one catch the
plague? Methinks I feel this youth's perfections With an invisible and
subtle stealth To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be. What ho, Malvolio!
Re-enter MALVOLIO
MALVOLIO. Here, madam, at your service. OLIVIA. Run after that
same peevish messenger, The County's man. He left this ring behind him,
Would I or not. Tell him I'll none of it. Desire him not to flatter with his
lord, Nor hold him up with hopes; I am not for him. If that the youth will
come this way to-morrow, I'll give him reasons for't. Hie thee, Malvolio.
MALVOLIO. Madam, I will. Exit OLIVIA. I do I know not what, and fear
to find Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind. Fate, show thy force:
ourselves we do not owe; What is decreed must be; and be this so! Exit

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ACT II.

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SCENE I. The sea-coast

Enter ANTONIO and SEBASTIAN

ANTONIO. Will you stay no longer; nor will you not that I go with
you? SEBASTIAN. By your patience, no. My stars shine darkly over me;
the malignancy of my fate might perhaps distemper yours; therefore I shall
crave of you your leave that I may bear my evils alone. It were a bad
recompense for your love to lay any of them on you. ANTONIO. Let me
know of you whither you are bound. SEBASTIAN. No, sooth, sir; my
determinate voyage is mere extravagancy. But I perceive in you so
excellent a touch of modesty that you will not extort from me what I am
willing to keep in; therefore it charges me in manners the rather to express
myself. You must know of me then, Antonio, my name is Sebastian, which
I call'd Roderigo; my father was that Sebastian of Messaline whom I know
you have heard of. He left behind him myself and a sister, both born in an
hour; if the heavens had been pleas'd, would we had so ended! But you, sir,
alter'd that; for some hour before you took me from the breach of the sea
was my sister drown'd. ANTONIO. Alas the day! SEBASTIAN. A lady, sir,
though it was said she much resembled me, was yet of many accounted
beautiful; but though I could not with such estimable wonder overfar
believe that, yet thus far I will boldly publish her: she bore mind that envy
could not but call fair. She is drown'd already, sir, with salt water, though I
seem to drown her remembrance again with more. ANTONIO. Pardon me,
sir, your bad entertainment. SEBASTIAN. O good Antonio, forgive me
your trouble. ANTONIO. If you will not murder me for my love, let me be
your servant. SEBASTIAN. If you will not undo what you have done- that
is, kill him whom you have recover'd-desire it not. Fare ye well at once;
my bosom is full of kindness, and I am yet so near the manners of my
mother that, upon the least occasion more, mine eyes will tell tales of me.
I am bound to the Count Orsino's court. Farewell. Exit ANTONIO. The
gentleness of all the gods go with thee! I have many cnemies in Orsino's
court, Else would I very shortly see thee there. But come what may, I do
adore thee so That danger shall seem sport, and I will go. Exit

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SCENE II. A street

Enter VIOLA and MALVOLIO at several doors

MALVOLIO. Were you not ev'n now with the Countess Olivia?
VIOLA. Even now, sir; on a moderate pace I have since arriv'd but hither.
MALVOLIO. She returns this ring to you, sir; you might have saved me
my pains, to have taken it away yourself. She adds, moreover, that you
should put your lord into a desperate assurance she will none of him. And
one thing more: that you be never so hardy to come again in his affairs,
unless it be to report your lord's taking of this. Receive it so. VIOLA. She
took the ring of me; I'll none of it. MALVOLIO. Come, sir, you peevishly
threw it to her; and her will is it should be so return'd. If it be worth
stooping for, there it lies in your eye; if not, be it his that finds it. Exit
VIOLA. I left no ring with her; what means this lady? Fortune forbid my
outside have not charm'd her! She made good view of me; indeed, so
much That methought her eyes had lost her tongue, For she did speak in
starts distractedly. She loves me, sure: the cunning of her passion Invites
me in this churlish messenger. None of my lord's ring! Why, he sent her
none. I am the man. If it be so- as 'tis- Poor lady, she were better love a
dream. Disguise, I see thou art a wickedness Wherein the pregnant enemy
does much. How easy is it for the proper-false In women's waxen hearts to
set their forms! Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we! For such as we are
made of, such we be. How will this fadge? My master loves her dearly,
And I, poor monster, fond as much on him; And she, mistaken, seems to
dote on me. What will become of this? As I am man, My state is desperate
for my master's love; As I am woman- now alas the day!- What thriftless
sighs shall poor Olivia breathe! O Time, thou must untangle this, not I; It
is too hard a knot for me t' untie! Exit

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SCENE III. OLIVIA'S house

Enter SIR TOBY and SIR ANDREW

SIR TOBY. Approach, Sir Andrew. Not to be abed after midnight is
to be up betimes; and 'diluculo surgere' thou know'st- AGUECHEEK. Nay,
by my troth, I know not; but I know to be up late is to be up late. SIR
TOBY. A false conclusion! I hate it as an unfill'd can. To be up after
midnight and to go to bed then is early; so that to go to bed after midnight
is to go to bed betimes. Does not our lives consist of the four elements?
AGUECHEEK. Faith, so they say; but I think it rather consists of eating
and drinking. SIR TOBY. Th'art a scholar; let us therefore eat and drink.
Marian, I say! a stoup of wine.
Enter CLOWN
AGUECHEEK. Here comes the fool, i' faith. CLOWN. How now, my
hearts! Did you never see the picture of 'we
three'? SIR TOBY. Welcome, ass. Now let's have a catch.
AGUECHEEK. By my troth, the fool has an excellent breast. I had rather
than forty shillings I had such a leg, and so sweet a breath to sing, as the
fool has. In sooth, 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, i' faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy leman;
hadst it? CLOWN. I did impeticos thy gratillity; for Malvolio's nose is no
whipstock. My lady has a white hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottle-ale
houses. AGUECHEEK. Excellent! Why, this is the best fooling, when all
is done. Now, a song. SIR TOBY. Come on, there is sixpence for you.
Let's have a song. AGUECHEEK. There's a testril of me too; if one knight
give a- CLOWN. Would you have a love-song, or a song of good life? SIR
TOBY. A love-song, a love-song. AGUECHEEK. Ay, ay; I care not for
good life.
CLOWN sings O mistress mine, where are you roaming? O, stay and
hear; your true love's coming, That can sing both high and low. Trip no
further, pretty sweeting; Journeys end in lovers meeting, Every wise man's
son doth know.
AGUECHEEK. Excellent good, i' faith! SIR TOBY. Good, good!
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CLOWN sings
What is love? 'Tis not hereafter; Present mirth hath present laughter;
What's to come is still unsure. In delay there lies no plenty, Then come
kiss me, sweet and twenty; Youth's a stuff will not endure.
AGUECHEEK. A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight. SIR TOBY.
A contagious breath. AGUECHEEK. Very sweet and contagious, i' faith.
SIR TOBY. To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion. But shall we
make the welkin dance indeed? Shall we rouse the night-owl in a catch
that will draw three souls out of one weaver? Shall we do that?
AGUECHEEK. An you love me, let's do't. I am dog at a catch. CLOWN.
By'r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well. AGUECHEEK. Most certain.
Let our catch be 'Thou knave.' CLOWN. 'Hold thy peace, thou knave'
knight? I shall be constrain'd in't to call thee knave, knight. AGUECHEEK.
'Tis not the first time I have constrained one to call me knave. Begin, fool:
it begins 'Hold thy peace.' CLOWN. I shall never begin if I hold my peace.
AGUECHEEK. Good, i' faith! Come, begin. [Catch sung]
Enter MARIA
MARIA. What a caterwauling do you keep here! If my lady have not
call'd up her steward Malvolio, and bid him turn you out of doors, never
trust me. SIR TOBY. My lady's a Cataian, we are politicians, Malvolio's a
Peg-a-Ramsey, and [Sings] Three merry men be we. Am not I
consanguineous? Am I not of her blood? Tilly-vally, lady. [Sings] There
dwelt a man in Babylon, Lady, lady. CLOWN. Beshrew me, the knight's in
admirable fooling. AGUECHEEK. Ay, he does well enough if he be
dispos'd, and so do I too; he does it with a better grace, but I do it more
natural. SIR TOBY. [Sings] O' the twelfth day of December- MARIA. For
the love o' God, peace!
Enter MALVOLIO
MALVOLIO. My masters, are you mad? Or what are you? Have you
no wit, manners, nor honesty, but to gabble like tinkers at this time of
night? Do ye make an ale-house of my lady's 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? SIR TOBY. We did keep time, sir, in our catches. Sneck up!

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MALVOLIO. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My lady bade me tell
you that, though she harbours you as her kins-man, she's nothing allied to
your disorders. If you can separate yourself and your misdemeanours, you
are welcome to the house; if not, and it would please you to take leave of
her, she is very willing to bid you farewell. SIR TOBY. [Sings] Farewell,
dear heart, since I must needs be gone. MARIA. Nay, good Sir Toby.
CLOWN. [Sings] His eyes do show his days are almost done.
MALVOLIO. Is't even so? SIR TOBY. [Sings] But I will never die. [Falls
down] CLOWN. [Sings] Sir Toby, there you lie. MALVOLIO. This is
much credit to you. SIR TOBY. [Sings] Shall I bid him go? CLOWN.
[Sings] What an if you do? SIR TOBY. [Sings] Shall I bid him go, and
spare not? CLOWN. [Sings] O, no, no, no, no, you dare not. SIR TOBY.
[Rising] Out o' tune, sir! Ye lie. Art any more than a steward? Dost thou
think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?
CLOWN. Yes, by Saint Anne; and ginger shall be hot i' th' mouth too. SIR
TOBY. Th' art i' th' right. Go, sir, rub your chain with crumbs. A stoup of
wine, Maria! MALVOLIO. Mistress Mary, if you priz'd my lady's favour
at anything more than contempt, you would not give means for this uncivil
rule; she shall know of it, by this hand. Exit MARIA. Go shake your ears.
AGUECHEEK. 'Twere as good a deed as to drink when a man's ahungry,
to challenge him the field, and then to break promise with him and make a
fool of him. SIR TOBY. Do't, knight. I'll write thee a challenge; or I'll
deliver thy indignation to him by word of mouth. MARIA. Sweet Sir Toby,
be patient for to-night; since the youth of the Count's was to-day with my
lady, she is much out of quiet. For Monsieur Malvolio, let me alone with
him; if I do not gull him into a nayword, and make him a common
recreation, do not think I have wit enough to lie straight in my bed. I know
I can do it. SIR TOBY. Possess us, possess us; tell us something of him.
MARIA. Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Puritan. AGUECHEEK. O,
if I thought that, I'd beat him like a dog. SIR TOBY. What, for being a
Puritan? Thy exquisite reason, dear knight? AGUECHEEK. I have no
exquisite reason for't, but I have reason good enough. MARIA. The devil a
Puritan that he is, or anything constantly but a time-pleaser; an affection'd
ass that cons state without book and utters it by great swarths; the best

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persuaded of himself, so cramm'd, as he thinks, with excellencies that it is

his grounds of faith that all that look on him love him; and on that vice in
him will my revenge find notable cause to work. SIR TOBY. What wilt
thou do? MARIA. I will drop in his way some obscure epistles of love;
wherein, by the colour of his beard, the shape of his leg, the manner of his
gait, the expressure of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he shall find
himself most feelingly personated. I can write very like my lady, your
niece; on forgotten matter we can hardly make distinction of our hands.
SIR TOBY. Excellent! I smell a device. AGUECHEEK. I have't in my
nose too. SIR TOBY. He shall think, by the letters that thou wilt drop, that
they come from my niece, and that she's in love with him. MARIA. My
purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour. AGUECHEEK. And your horse
now would make him an ass. MARIA. Ass, I doubt not. AGUECHEEK. O,
'twill be admirable! MARIA. Sport royal, I warrant you. I know my physic
will work with him. I will plant you two, and let the fool make a third,
where he shall find the letter; observe his construction of it. For this night,
to bed, and dream on the event. Farewell. Exit SIR TOBY. Good night,
Penthesilea. AGUECHEEK. Before me, she's a good wench. SIR TOBY.
She's a beagle true-bred, and one that adores me. What o' that?
AGUECHEEK. I was ador'd once too. SIR TOBY. Let's to bed, knight.
Thou hadst need send for more money. AGUECHEEK. If I cannot recover
your niece, I am a foul way out. SIR TOBY. Send for money, knight; if
thou hast her not i' th' end, call me Cut. AGUECHEEK. If I do not, never
trust me; take it how you will. SIR TOBY. Come, come, I'll go burn some
sack; 'tis too late to go to bed now. Come, knight; come, knight. Exeunt

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SCENE IV. The DUKE'S palace

Enter DUKE, VIOLA, CURIO, and OTHERS

DUKE. Give me some music. Now, good morrow, friends. Now,
good Cesario, but that piece of song, That old and antique song we heard
last night; Methought it did relieve my passion much, More than light airs
and recollected terms Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times. Come,
but one verse. CURIO. He is not here, so please your lordship, that should
sing it. DUKE. Who was it? CURIO. Feste, the jester, my lord; a fool that
the Lady Olivia's father took much delight in. He is about the house.
DUKE. Seek him out, and play the tune the while. Exit CURIO. [Music
plays] Come hither, boy. If ever thou shalt love, In the sweet pangs of it
remember me; For such as I am all true lovers are, Unstaid and skittish in
all motions else Save in the constant image of the creature That is belov'd.
How dost thou like this tune? VIOLA. It gives a very echo to the seat
Where Love is thron'd. DUKE. Thou dost speak masterly. My life upon't,
young though thou art, thine eye Hath stay'd upon some favour that it
loves; Hath it not, boy? VIOLA. A little, by your favour. DUKE. What
kind of woman is't? VIOLA. Of your complexion. DUKE. She is not
worth thee, then. What years, i' faith? VIOLA. About your years, my lord.
DUKE. Too old, by heaven! Let still the woman take An elder than herself;
so wears she to him, So sways she level in her husband's heart. For, boy,
however we do praise ourselves, Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm,
More longing, wavering, sooner lost and won, Than women's are. VIOLA.
I think it well, my lord. DUKE. Then let thy love be younger than thyself,
Or thy affection cannot hold the bent; For women are as roses, whose fair
flow'r Being once display'd doth fall that very hour. VIOLA. And so they
are; alas, that they are so! To die, even when they to perfection grow!
Re-enter CURIO and CLOWN
DUKE. O, fellow, come, the song we had last night. Mark it, Cesario;
it is old and plain; The spinsters and the knitters in the sun, And the free
maids that weave their thread with bones, Do use to chant it; it is silly
sooth, And dallies with the innocence of love, Like the old age. CLOWN.
Are you ready, sir? DUKE. Ay; prithee, sing. [Music]
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FESTE'S SONG
Come away, come away, death; And in sad cypress let me be laid; Fly
away, fly away, breath, I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white,
stuck all with yew, O, prepare it! My part of death no one so true Did
share it.
Not a flower, not a flower sweet, On my black coffin let there be
strown; Not a friend, not a friend greet My poor corpse where my bones
shall be thrown; A thousand thousand sighs to save, Lay me, O, where Sad
true lover never find my grave, To weep there!
DUKE. There's for thy pains. CLOWN. No pains, sir; I take pleasure
in singing, sir. DUKE. I'll pay thy pleasure, then. CLOWN. Truly, sir, and
pleasure will be paid one time or another. DUKE. Give me now leave to
leave thee. CLOWN. Now the melancholy god protect thee; and the tailor
make thy doublet of changeable taffeta, for thy mind is a very opal. I
would have men of such constancy put to sea, that their business might be
everything, and their intent everywhere: for that's it that always makes a
good voyage of nothing. Farewell. Exit CLOWN DUKE. Let all the rest
give place. Exeunt CURIO and ATTENDANTS Once more, Cesario, Get
thee to yond same sovereign cruelty. Tell her my love, more noble than the
world, Prizes not quantity of dirty lands; The parts that fortune hath
bestow'd upon her, Tell her I hold as giddily as Fortune; But 'tis that
miracle and queen of gems That Nature pranks her in attracts my soul.
VIOLA. But if she cannot love you, sir? DUKE. I cannot be so answer'd.
VIOLA. Sooth, but you must. Say that some lady, as perhaps there is, Hath
for your love as great a pang of heart As you have for Olivia. You cannot
love her; You tell her so. Must she not then be answer'd? DUKE. There is
no woman's sides Can bide the beating of so strong a passion As love doth
give my heart; no woman's heart So big to hold so much; they lack
retention. Alas, their love may be call'd appetite- No motion of the liver,
but the palate- That suffer surfeit, cloyment, and revolt; But mine is all as
hungry as the sea, And can digest as much. Make no compare Between
that love a woman can bear me And that I owe Olivia. VIOLA. Ay, but I
know- DUKE. What dost thou know? VIOLA. Too well what love women
to men may owe. In faith, they are as true of heart as we. My father had a

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daughter lov'd a man, As it might be perhaps, were I a woman, I should

your lordship. DUKE. And what's her history? VIOLA. A blank, my lord.
She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i' th' bud, Feed
on her damask cheek. She pin'd in thought; And with a green and yellow
melancholy She sat like Patience on a monument, Smiling at grief. Was
not this love indeed? We men may say more, swear more, but indeed Our
shows are more than will; for still we prove Much in our vows, but little in
our love. DUKE. But died thy sister of her love, my boy? VIOLA. I am all
the daughters of my father's house, And all the brothers too- and yet I
know not. Sir, shall I to this lady? DUKE. Ay, that's the theme. To her in
haste. Give her this jewel; say My love can give no place, bide no denay.
Exeunt

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SCENE V. OLIVIA'S garden

Enter SIR TOBY, SIR ANDREW, and FABIAN

SIR TOBY. Come thy ways, Signior Fabian. FABIAN. Nay, I'll come;
if I lose a scruple of this sport let me be boil'd to death with melancholy.
SIR TOBY. Wouldst thou not be glad to have the niggardly rascally sheep-
biter come by some notable shame? FABIAN. I would exult, man; you
know he brought me out o' favour with my lady about a bear-baiting here.
SIR TOBY. To anger him we'll have the bear again; and we will fool him
black and blue- shall we not, Sir Andrew? AGUECHEEK. And we do not,
it is pity of our lives.
Enter MARIA
SIR TOBY. Here comes the little villain. How now, my metal of India!
MARIA. Get ye all three into the box-tree. Malvolio's coming down this
walk. He has been yonder i' the sun practising behaviour to his own
shadow this half hour. Observe him, for the love of mockery, for I know
this letter will make a contemplative idiot of him. Close, in the name of
jesting! [As the men hide she drops a letter] Lie thou there; for here comes
the trout that must be caught with tickling. Exit
Enter MALVOLIO
MALVOLIO. 'Tis but fortune; all is fortune. Maria once told me she
did affect me; and I have heard herself come thus near, that, should she
fancy, it should be one of my complexion. Besides, she uses me with a
more exalted respect than any one else that follows her. What should I
think on't? SIR TOBY. Here's an overweening rogue! FABIAN. O, peace!
Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock of him; how he jets under his
advanc'd plumes! AGUECHEEK. 'Slight, I could so beat the rogue- SIR
TOBY. Peace, I say. MALVOLIO. To be Count Malvolio! SIR TOBY. Ah,
rogue! AGUECHEEK. Pistol him, pistol him. SIR TOBY. Peace, peace!
MALVOLIO. There is example for't: the Lady of the Strachy married the
yeoman of the wardrobe. AGUECHEEK. Fie on him, Jezebel! FABIAN.
O, peace! Now he's deeply in; look how imagination blows him.
MALVOLIO. Having been three months married to her, sitting in my
state- SIR TOBY. O, for a stone-bow to hit him in the eye! MALVOLIO.
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Calling my officers about me, in my branch'd velvet gown, having come

from a day-bed- where I have left Olivia sleeping- SIR TOBY. Fire and
brimstone! FABIAN. O, peace, peace! MALVOLIO. And then to have the
humour of state; and after a demure travel of regard, telling them I know
my place as I would they should do theirs, to ask for my kinsman Toby-
SIR TOBY. Bolts and shackles! FABIAN. O, peace, peace, peace! Now,
now. MALVOLIO. Seven of my people, with an obedient start, make out
for him. I frown the while, and perchance wind up my watch, or play with
my- some rich jewel. Toby approaches; curtsies there to me- SIR TOBY.
Shall this fellow live? FABIAN. Though our silence be drawn from us
with cars, yet peace. MALVOLIO. I extend my hand to him thus,
quenching my familiar smile with an austere regard of control- SIR TOBY.
And does not Toby take you a blow o' the lips then? MALVOLIO. Saying
'Cousin Toby, my fortunes having cast me on your niece give me this
prerogative of speech'- SIR TOBY. What, what? MALVOLIO. 'You must
amend your drunkenness'- SIR TOBY. Out, scab! FABIAN. Nay, patience,
or we break the sinews of our plot. MALVOLIO. 'Besides, you waste the
treasure of your time with a foolish knight'- AGUECHEEK. That's me, I
warrant you. MALVOLIO. 'One Sir Andrew.' AGUECHEEK. I knew 'twas
I; for many do call me fool. MALVOLIO. What employment have we here?
[Taking up the letter] FABIAN. Now is the woodcock near the gin. SIR
TOBY. O, peace! And the spirit of humours intimate reading aloud to him!
MALVOLIO. By my life, this is my lady's hand: these be her very C's, her
U's, and her T's; and thus makes she her great P's. It is, in contempt of
question, her hand. AGUECHEEK. Her C's, her U's, and her T's. Why that?
MALVOLIO. [Reads] 'To the unknown belov'd, this, and my good wishes.'
Her very phrases! By your leave, wax. Soft! And the impressure her
Lucrece with which she uses to seal; 'tis my lady. To whom should this be?
FABIAN. This wins him, liver and all. MALVOLIO. [Reads]
Jove knows I love, But who? Lips, do not move; No man must know.'
'No man must know.' What follows? The numbers alter'd! 'No man must
know.' If this should be thee, Malvolio? SIR TOBY. Marry, hang thee,
brock! MALVOLIO. [Reads]
'I may command where I adore; But silence, like a Lucrece knife,

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With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore; M. O. A. I. doth sway my life.'

FABIAN. A fustian riddle! SIR TOBY. Excellent wench, say I.
MALVOLIO. 'M. O. A. I. doth sway my life.' Nay, but first let me see, let
me see, let me see. FABIAN. What dish o' poison has she dress'd him! SIR
TOBY. And with what wing the staniel checks at it! MALVOLIO. 'I may
command where I adore.' Why, she may command me: I serve her; she is
my lady. Why, this is evident to any formal capacity; there is no
obstruction in this. And the end- what should that alphabetical position
portend? If I could make that resemble something in me. Softly! M. O. A.
I.- SIR TOBY. O, ay, make up that! He is now at a cold scent. FABIAN.
Sowter will cry upon't for all this, though it be as rank as a fox.
MALVOLIO. M- Malvolio; M- why, that begins my name. FABIAN. Did
not I say he would work it out? The cur is excellent at faults. MALVOLIO.
M- But then there is no consonancy in the sequel; that suffers under
probation: A should follow, but O does. 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. [Reads] '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 wish'd to see thee ever cross-
garter'd. I say, remember, Go to, thou art made, if thou desir'st 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 champain discovers not more. This is open. I will be

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proud, I will read politic authors, I will baffle Sir Toby, I will wash off
gross acquaintance, I will be point-devise 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-garter'd; 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-garter'd, even with the swiftness of putting on. Jove and my
stars be praised! Here is yet a postscript.
[Reads] 'Thou canst not choose but know who I am. If thou
entertain'st 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 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. AGUECHEEK. So could I too. SIR TOBY. And ask
no other dowry with her but such another jest. Enter MARIA
AGUECHEEK. Nor I neither. FABIAN. Here comes my noble gull-
catcher. SIR TOBY. Wilt thou set thy foot o' my neck? AGUECHEEK. Or
o' mine either? SIR TOBY. Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip, and
become thy bond-slave? AGUECHEEK. I' faith, or I either? SIR TOBY.
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-vita! with a midwife. AIARIA. 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-
garter'd, 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! AGUECHEEK. I'll make one too. Exeunt

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ACT III.

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SCENE I. OLIVIA'S garden

Enter VIOLA, and CLOWN with a tabor

VIOLA. Save thee, friend, and thy music! Dost thou live by thy tabor?
CLOWN. No, sir, I live by the church. VIOLA. Art thou a churchman?
CLOWN. 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. CLOWN. You have said, sir.
To see this age! A sentence is but a chev'ril glove to a good wit. How
quickly the wrong side may be turn'd outward! VIOLA. Nay, that's certain;
they that dally nicely with words may quickly make them wanton.
CLOWN. I would, therefore, my sister had had name, sir. VIOLA. Why,
man? CLOWN. 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 disgrac'd them. VIOLA. Thy reason, man? CLOWN. 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 car'st for nothing. CLOWN. 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? CLOWN. 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
pilchers 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.
CLOWN. 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: think I saw your wisdom there. VIOLA. Nay,
an thou pass upon me, I'll no more with thee. Hold, there's expenses for
thee. [Giving a coin] CLOWN. Now Jove, in his next commodity of hair,
send the a beard! VIOLA. By my troth, I'll tell thee, I am almost sick for
one; [Aside] though I would not have it grow on my chin.- Is thy lady
within? CLOWN. Would not a pair of these have bred, sir? VIOLA. Yes,
being kept together and put to use. CLOWN. I would play Lord Pandarus
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of Phrygia, sir, to bring a Cressida to this Troilus. VIOLA. I understand

you, sir; 'tis well begg'd. [Giving another coin] CLOWN. The matter, I
hope, is not great, sir, begging but a beggar: Cressida was a beggar. My
lady is within, sir. I will construe 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 overworn. Exit CLOWN 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.
AGUECHEEK. Dieu vous garde, monsieur. VIOLA. Et vous aussi; votre
serviteur. AGUECHEEK. 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. But we are prevented.
Enter OLIVIA and MARIA
Most excellent accomplish'd lady, the heavens rain odours on you!
AGUECHEEK. That youth's a rare courtier- 'Rain odours' well! VIOLA.
My matter hath no voice, lady, but to your own most pregnant and
vouchsafed car. AGUECHEEK. '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 all but OLIVIA and VIOLA] 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 call'd compliment. Y'are 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

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thoughts, Would they were blanks rather than fill'd 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 grize; 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. 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. Cesario, by the roses of the
spring, By maidhood, honour, truth, and every thing, 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,

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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

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SCENE II. OLIVIA'S house

Enter SIR TOBY, SIR ANDREW and FABIAN

AGUECHEEK. 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. AGUECHEEK. Marry, I saw your niece do more
favours to the Count's servingman than ever she bestow'd upon me; I saw't
i' th' orchard. SIR TOBY. Did she see thee the while, old boy? Tell me that.
AGUECHEEK. As plain as I see you now. FABIAN. This was a great
argument of love in her toward you. AGUECHEEK. 'Slight! will you
make an ass o' me? FABIAN. I will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the oaths
of judgment 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 bang'd the youth into dumbness. This was look'd
for at your hand, and this was baulk'd. The double gilt of this opportunity
you let time wash off, and you are now sail'd into the north of my lady's
opinion; where you will hang like an icicle on Dutchman's beard, unless
you do redeem it by some laudable attempt either of valour or policy.
AGUECHEEK. 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. AGUECHEEK. 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 license 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
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goose-pen, no matter. About it. AGUECHEEK. Where shall I find you?

SIR TOBY. We'll call thee at the cubiculo. Go. Exit SIR ANDREW
FABIAN. This is a dear manakin 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 wainropes cannot hale them together. For Andrew, if he were open'd
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
SIR TOBY. Look where the youngest wren of nine comes. MARIA.
If you desire the spleen, and will laugh yourselves into stitches, follow me.
Yond 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-garter'd? MARIA. Most villainously; like a pedant that keeps a
school i' th' church. I have dogg'd him like his murderer. He does obey
every point of the letter that I dropp'd 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

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SCENE III. A street

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 filed
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 thanks; and oft good turns Are shuffl'd 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 reliques of this town?
ANTONIO. To-morrow, 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 That do renown this city. ANTONIO.
Would you'd pardon me. I do not without danger walk these streets: Once
in a sea-fight 'gainst the Count his galleys I did some service; of such note,
indeed, That, were I ta'en here, it would scarce be answer'd. SEBASTIAN.
Belike you slew great number of his people. ANTONIO.Th' offence is not
of such a bloody nature; Albeit the quality of the time and quarrel Might
well have given us bloody argument. It might have since been answer'd in
repaying What we took from them; which, for traffic's sake, Most of our
city did. Only myself stood out; For which, if I be lapsed in this place, I
shall pay dear. SEBASTIAN. Do not then walk too open. ANTONIO. It
doth not fit me. Hold, sir, here's my purse; In the south suburbs, at the
Elephant, Is best to lodge. I will bespeak our diet, Whiles you beguile the
time and feed your knowledge With viewing of the town; there shall you
have me. SEBASTIAN. Why I your purse? ANTONIO. Haply your eye
shall light upon some toy You have desire to purchase; and your store, I
think, is not for idle markets, sir. SEBASTIAN. I'll be your purse-bearer,
and leave you for An hour. ANTONIO. To th' Elephant. SEBASTIAN. I
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do remember. Exeunt

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SCENE IV. OLIVIA'S garden

Enter OLIVIA and MARIA

OLIVIA. I have sent after him; he says he'll come. How shall I feast
him? What bestow of him? For youth is bought more oft than begg'd or
borrow'd. I speak too loud. Where's Malvolio? He is sad and civil, And
suits well for a servant with my fortunes. Where is Malvolio? MARIA.
He's coming, madam; but in very strange manner. He is sure possess'd,
madam. OLIVIA. Why, what's the matter? Does he rave? MARIA. No,
madam, he does nothing but smile. Your ladyship were best to have some
guard about you if he come; for sure the man is tainted in's wits. OLIVIA.
Go call him hither. Exit MARIA I am as mad as he, If sad and merry
madness equal be. Re-enter MARIA with MALVOLIO
How now, Malvolio! MALVOLIO. Sweet lady, ho, ho. OLIVIA.
Smil'st thou? I sent for thee upon a sad occasion. MALVOLIO. Sad, lady?
I could be sad. This does make some obstruction in the blood, this cross-
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.' OLIVIA. Why, how dost
thou, man? What is the matter with thee? MALVOLIO. Not black in my
mind, though yellow in my legs. It did come to his hands, and commands
shall be executed. I think we do know the sweet Roman hand. OLIVIA.
Wilt thou go to bed, Malvolio? MALVOLIO. To bed? Ay, sweetheart, and
I'll come to thee. OLIVIA. God comfort thee! Why dost thou smile so, and
kiss thy hand so oft? MARIA. How do you, Malvolio? MALVOLIO. At
your request? Yes, nightingales answer daws! MARIA. Why appear you
with this ridiculous boldness before my lady? MALVOLIO. 'Be not afraid
of greatness.' 'Twas well writ. OLIVIA. What mean'st thou by that,
Malvolio? AIALVOLIO. 'Some are born great,'- OLIVIA. Ha?
MALVOLIO. 'Some achieve greatness,'- OLIVIA. What say'st thou?
MALVOLIO. 'And some have greatness thrust upon them.' OLIVIA.
Heaven restore thee! MALVOLIO. 'Remember who commended thy
yellow stockings,'- OLIVIA. 'Thy yellow stockings?' MALVOLIO. 'And
wish'd to see thee cross-garterd.' OLIVIA. 'Cross-garter'd?' MALVOLIO.
'Go to, thou an made, if thou desir'st to be so';- OLIVIA. Am I made?
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MALVOLIO. 'If not, let me see thee a servant still.' OLIVIA. Why, this is
very midsummer madness.
Enter SERVANT SERVANT. Madam, the young gentleman of the
Count Orsino's is return'd; I could hardly entreat him back; he attends your
ladyship's pleasure. OLIVIA. I'll come to him. [Exit SERVANT] Good
Maria, let this fellow be look'd to. Where's my cousin Toby? Let some of
my people have a special care of him; I would not have him miscarry for
the half of my dowry. Exeunt OLIVIA and MARIA MALVOLIO. O, ho!
do you come near me now? No worse man than Sir Toby to look to me!
This concurs directly with the letter: she sends him on purpose, that I may
appear stubborn to him; for she incites me to that in the letter. 'Cast thy
humble slough,' says she. 'Be opposite with kinsman, surly with servants;
let thy tongue tang with arguments of state; put thyself into the trick of
singularity' and consequently sets down the manner how, as: a sad face, a
reverend carriage, a slow tongue, in the habit of some sir of note, and so
forth. I have lim'd her; but it is Jove's doing, and Jove make me thankful!
And when she went away now- 'Let this fellow be look'd to.' 'Fellow,' not
'Malvolio' nor after my degree, but 'fellow.' Why, everything adheres
together, that no dram of a scruple, no scruple of a scruple, no obstacle, no
incredulous or unsafe circumstance- What can be said? Nothing that can
be can come between me and the full prospect of my hopes. Well, Jove,
not I, is the doer of this, and he is to be thanked.
Re-enter MARIA, with SIR TOBY and FABIAN
SIR TOBY. Which way is he, in the name of sanctity? If all the devils
of hell be drawn in little, and Legion himself possess'd him, yet I'll speak
to him. FABIAN. Here he is, here he is. How is't with you, sir? SIR TOBY.
How is't with you, man? MALVOLIO. Go off; I discard you. Let me enjoy
my private; go off. MARIA. Lo, how hollow the fiend speaks within him!
Did not I tell you? Sir Toby, my lady prays you to have a care of him.
MALVOLIO. Ah, ha! does she so? SIR TOBY. Go to, go to; peace, peace;
we must deal gently with him. Let me alone. How do you, Malvolio? How
is't with you? What, man, defy the devil; consider, he's an enemy to
mankind. MALVOLIO. Do you know what you say? MARIA. La you, an
you speak ill of the devil, how he takes it at heart! Pray God he be not

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bewitched. FABIAN. Carry his water to th' wise woman. MARIA. Marry,
and it shall be done to-morrow morning, if I live. My lady would not lose
him for more than I'll say. MALVOLIO. How now, mistress! MARIA. O
Lord! SIR TOBY. Prithee hold thy peace; this is not the way. Do you not
see you move him? Let me alone with him. FABIAN. No way but
gentleness- gently, gently. The fiend is rough, and will not be roughly us'd.
SIR TOBY. Why, how now, my bawcock! How dost thou, chuck?
MALVOLIO. Sir! SIR TOBY. Ay, Biddy, come with me. What, man, 'tis
not for gravity to play at cherrypit with Satan. Hang him, foul collier!
MARIA. Get him to say his prayers, good Sir Toby, get him to pray.
MALVOLIO. My prayers, minx! MARIA. No, I warrant you, he will not
hear of godliness. MALVOLIO. Go, hang yourselves all! You are idle
shallow things; I am not of your element; you shall know more hereafter.
Exit SIR TOBY. Is't possible? FABIAN. If this were play'd upon a stage
now, I could condemn it as an improbable fiction. SIR TOBY. His very
genius hath taken the infection of the device, man. MARIA. Nay, pursue
him now, lest the device take air and taint. FABIAN. Why, we shall make
him mad indeed. MARIA. The house will be the quieter. SIR TOBY.
Come, we'll have him in a dark room and bound. My niece is already in
the belief that he's mad. We may carry it thus, for our pleasure and his
penance, till our very pastime, tired out of breath, prompt us to have mercy
on him; at which time we will bring the device to the bar and crown thee
for a finder of madmen. But see, but see.
Enter SIR ANDREW FABIAN. More matter for a May morning.
AGUECHEEK. Here's the challenge; read it. I warrant there's vinegar and
pepper in't. FABIAN. Is't so saucy? AGUECHEEK. Ay, is't, I warrant him;
do but read. SIR TOBY. Give me. [Reads] 'Youth, whatsoever thou art,
thou art but a scurvy fellow.' FABIAN. Good and valiant. SIR TOBY.
[Reads] 'Wonder not, nor admire not in thy mind, why I do call thee so, for
I will show thee no reason for't.' FABIAN. A good note; that keeps you
from the blow of the law. SIR TOBY. [Reads] 'Thou com'st to the Lady
Olivia, and in my sight she uses thee kindly; but thou liest in thy throat;
that is not the matter I challenge thee for.' FABIAN. Very brief, and to
exceeding good sense- less. SIR TOBY. [Reads] 'I will waylay thee going

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home; where if it be thy chance to kill me'- FABIAN. Good. SIR TOBY.
'Thou kill'st me like a rogue and a villain.' FABIAN. Still you keep o' th'
windy side of the law. Good! SIR TOBY. [Reads] 'Fare thee well; and God
have mercy upon one of our souls! He may have mercy upon mine; but my
hope is better, and so look to thyself. Thy friend, as thou usest him, and
thy sworn enemy, ANDREW AGUECHEEK.'
If this letter move him not, his legs cannot. I'll give't him. MARIA.
You may have very fit occasion for't; he is now in some commerce with
my lady, and will by and by depart. SIR TOBY. Go, Sir Andrew; scout me
for him at the corner of the orchard, like a bum-baily; so soon as ever thou
seest him, draw; and as thou draw'st, swear horrible; for it comes to pass
oft that a terrible oath, with a swaggering accent sharply twang'd off, gives
manhood more approbation than ever proof itself would have earn'd him.
Away. AGUECHEEK. Nay, let me alone for swearing. Exit SIR TOBY.
Now will not I deliver his letter; for the behaviour of the young gentleman
gives him out to be of good capacity and breeding; his employment
between his lord and my niece confirms no less. Therefore this letter,
being so excellently ignorant, will breed no terror in the youth: he will find
it comes from a clodpole. But, sir, I will deliver his challenge by word of
mouth, set upon Aguecheek notable report of valour, and drive the
gentleman- as know his youth will aptly receive it- into a most hideous
opinion of his rage, skill, fury, and impetuosity. This will so fright them
both that they will kill one another by the look, like cockatrices.
Re-enter OLIVIA. With VIOLA
FABIAN. Here he comes with your niece; give them way till he take
leave, and presently after him. SIR TOBY. I will meditate the while upon
some horrid message for a challenge. Exeunt SIR TOBY, FABIAN, and
MARIA OLIVIA. I have said too much unto a heart of stone, And laid
mine honour too unchary out; There's something in me that reproves my
fault; But such a headstrong potent fault it is That it but mocks reproof.
VIOLA. With the same haviour that your passion bears Goes on my
master's griefs. OLIVIA. Here, wear this jewel for me; 'tis my picture.
Refuse it not; it hath no tongue to vex you. And I beseech you come again
to-morrow. What shall you ask of me that I'll deny, That honour sav'd may

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upon asking give? VIOLA. Nothing but this- your true love for my master.
OLIVIA. How with mine honour may I give him that Which I have given
to you? VIOLA. I will acquit you. OLIVIA. Well, come again to-morrow.
Fare thee well; A fiend like thee might bear my soul to hell. Exit
Re-enter SIR TOBY and SIR FABIAN
SIR TOBY. Gentleman, God save thee. VIOLA. And you, sir. SIR
TOBY. That defence thou hast, betake thee tot. Of what nature the wrongs
are thou hast done him, I know not; but thy intercepter, full of despite,
bloody as the hunter, attends thee at the orchard end. Dismount thy tuck,
be yare in thy preparation, for thy assailant is quick, skilful, and deadly.
VIOLA. You mistake, sir; I am sure no man hath any quarrel to me; my
remembrance is very free and clear from any image of offence done to any
man. SIR TOBY. You'll find it otherwise, I assure you; therefore, if you
hold your life at any price, betake you to your guard; for your opposite
hath in him what youth, strength, skill, and wrath, can furnish man withal.
VIOLA. I pray you, sir, what is he? SIR TOBY. He is knight, dubb'd with
unhatch'd rapier and on carpet consideration; but he is a devil in private
brawl. Souls and bodies hath he divorc'd three; and his incensement at this
moment is so implacable that satisfaction can be none but by pangs of
death and sepulchre. Hob-nob is his word- give't or take't. VIOLA. I will
return again into the house and desire some conduct of the lady. I am no
fighter. I have heard of some kind of men that put quarrels purposely on
others to taste their valour; belike this is a man of that quirk. SIR TOBY.
Sir, no; his indignation derives itself out of a very competent injury;
therefore, get you on and give him his desire. Back you shall not to the
house, unless you undertake that with me which with as much safety you
might answer him; therefore on, or strip your sword stark naked; for
meddle you must, that's certain, or forswear to wear iron about you.
VIOLA. This is as uncivil as strange. I beseech you do 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. SIR TOBY. I Will do so.
Signior Fabian, stay you by this gentleman till my return. Exit SIR TOBY
VIOLA. Pray you, sir, do you know of this matter? FABIAN. I know the
knight is incens'd against you, even to a mortal arbitrement; but nothing of

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the circumstance more. VIOLA. I beseech you, what manner of man is he?
FABIAN. Nothing of that wonderful promise, to read him by his form, as
you are like to find him in the proof of his valour. He is indeed, sir, the
most skilful, bloody, and fatal opposite that you could possibly have found
in any part of Illyria. Will you walk towards him? I will make your peace
with him if I can. VIOLA. I shall be much bound to you for't. I am one
that would rather go with sir priest than sir knight. I care not who knows
so much of my mettle. Exeunt
Re-enter SIR TOBY With SIR ANDREW
SIR TOBY. Why, man, he's a very devil; I have not seen such a firago.
I had a pass with him, rapier, scabbard, and all, and he gives me the stuck
in with such a mortal motion that it is inevitable; and on the answer, he
pays you as surely as your feet hit the ground they step on. They say he
has been fencer to the Sophy. AGUECHEEK. Pox on't, I'll not meddle
with him. SIR TOBY. Ay, but he will not now be pacified; Fabian can
scarce hold him yonder. AGUECHEEK. Plague on't; an I thought he had
been valiant, and so cunning in fence, I'd have seen him damn'd ere I'd
have challeng'd him. Let him let the matter slip, and I'll give him my horse,
grey Capilet. SIR TOBY. I'll make the motion. Stand here, make a good
show on't; this shall end without the perdition of souls. [Aside] Marry, I'll
ride your horse as well as I ride you.
Re-enter FABIAN and VIOLA
[To FABIAN] I have his horse to take up the quarrel; I have
persuaded him the youth's a devil. FABIAN. [To SIR TOBY] He is as
horribly conceited of him; and pants and looks pale, as if a bear were at his
heels. SIR TOBY. [To VIOLA] There's no remedy, sir: he will fight with
you for's oath sake. Marry, he hath better bethought him of his quarrel, and
he finds that now scarce to be worth talking of. Therefore draw for the
supportance of his vow; he protests he will not hurt you. VIOLA. [Aside]
Pray God defend me! A little thing would make me tell them how much I
lack of a man. FABIAN. Give ground if you see him furious. SIR TOBY.
Come, Sir Andrew, there's no remedy; the gentleman will, for his honour's
sake, have one bout with you; he cannot by the duello avoid it; but he has
promis'd me, as he is a gentleman and a soldier, he will not hurt you.

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Come on; to't. AGUECHEEK. Pray God he keep his oath! [They draw]
Enter ANTONIO
VIOLA. I do assure you 'tis against my will. ANTONIO. Put up your
sword. If this young gentleman Have done offence, I take the fault on me:
If you offend him, I for him defy you. SIR TOBY. You, sir! Why, what are
you? ANTONIO. One, sir, that for his love dares yet do more Than you
have heard him brag to you he will. SIR TOBY. Nay, if you be an
undertaker, I am for you. [They draw]
Enter OFFICERS
FABIAN. O good Sir Toby, hold! Here come the officers. SIR TOBY.
[To ANTONIO] I'll be with you anon. VIOLA. Pray, sir, put your sword
up, if you please. AGUECHEEK. Marry, will I, sir; and for that I promis'd
you, I'll be as good as my word. He will bear you easily and reins well.
FIRST OFFICER. This is the man; do thy office. SECOND OFFICER.
Antonio, I arrest thee at the suit Of Count Orsino. ANTONIO. You do
mistake me, sir. FIRST OFFICER. No, sir, no jot; I know your favour well,
Though now you have no sea-cap on your head. Take him away; he knows
I know him well. ANTONIO. I Must obey. [To VIOLA] This comes with
seeking you; But there's no remedy; I shall answer it. What will you do,
now my necessity Makes me to ask you for my purse? It grieves me Much
more for what I cannot do for you Than what befalls myself. You stand
amaz'd; But be of comfort. SECOND OFFICER. Come, sir, away.
ANTONIO. I must entreat of you some of that money. VIOLA. What
money, sir? For the fair kindness you have show'd me here, And part being
prompted by your present trouble, Out of my lean and low ability I'll lend
you something. My having is not much; I'll make division of my present
with you; Hold, there's half my coffer. ANTONIO. Will you deny me now?
Is't possible that my deserts to you Can lack persuasion? Do not tempt my
misery, Lest that it make me so unsound a man As to upbraid you with
those kindnesses That I have done for you. VIOLA. I know of none, Nor
know I you by voice or any feature. I hate ingratitude more in a man Than
lying, vainness, babbling drunkenness, Or any taint of vice whose strong
corruption Inhabits our frail blood. ANTONIO. O heavens themselves!
SECOND OFFICER. Come, sir, I pray you go. ANTONIO. Let me speak

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a little. This youth that you see here I snatch'd one half out of the jaws of
death, Reliev'd him with such sanctity of love, And to his image, which
methought did promise Most venerable worth, did I devotion. FIRST
OFFICER. What's that to us? The time goes by; away. ANTONIO. But, O,
how vile an idol proves this god! Thou hast, Sebastian, done good feature
shame. In nature there's no blemish but the mind: None can be call'd
deform'd but the unkind. Virtue is beauty; but the beauteous evil Are
empty trunks, o'erflourish'd by the devil. FIRST OFFICER. The man
grows mad. Away with him. Come, come, sir. ANTONIO. Lead me on.
Exit with OFFICERS VIOLA. Methinks his words do from such passion
fly That he believes himself; so do not I. Prove true, imagination, O, prove
true, That I, dear brother, be now ta'en for you! SIR TOBY. Come hither,
knight; come hither, Fabian; we'll whisper o'er a couplet or two of most
sage saws. VIOLA. He nam'd Sebastian. I my brother know Yet living in
my glass; even such and so In favour was my brother; and he went Still in
this fashion, colour, ornament, For him I imitate. O, if it prove, Tempests
are kind, and salt waves fresh in love! Exit SIR TOBY. A very dishonest
paltry boy, and more a coward than a hare. His dishonesty appears in
leaving his friend here in necessity and denying him; and for his
cowardship, ask Fabian. FABIAN. A coward, a most devout coward,
religious in it. AGUECHEEK. 'Slid, I'll after him again and beat him. SIR
TOBY. Do; cuff him soundly, but never draw thy sword. AGUECHEEK.
And I do not- Exit FABIAN. Come, let's see the event. SIR TOBY. I dare
lay any money 'twill be nothing yet. Exeunt

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ACT IV.

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SCENE I. Before OLIVIA'S house

Enter SEBASTIAN and CLOWN

CLOWN. Will you make me believe that I am not sent for you?
SEBASTIAN. Go to, go to, thou art a foolish fellow; let me be clear of
thee. CLOWN. Well held out, i' faith! No, I do not know you; nor I am not
sent to you by my lady, to bid you come speak with her; nor your name is
not Master Cesario; nor this is not my nose neither. Nothing that is so is so.
SEBASTIAN. I prithee vent thy folly somewhere else. Thou know'st not
me. CLOWN. Vent my folly! He has heard that word of some great man,
and now applies it to a fool. Vent my folly! I am afraid this great lubber,
the world, will prove a cockney. I prithee now, ungird thy strangeness, and
tell me what I shall vent to my lady. Shall I vent to her that thou art
coming? SEBASTIAN. I prithee, foolish Greek, depart from me; There's
money for thee; if you tarry longer I shall give worse payment. CLOWN.
By my troth, thou hast an open hand. These wise men that give fools
money get themselves a good report after fourteen years' purchase.
Enter SIR ANDREW, SIR TOBY, and FABIAN
AGUECHEEK. Now, sir, have I met you again? [Striking
SEBASTIAN] There's for you. SEBASTIAN. Why, there's for thee, and
there, and there. Are all the people mad? SIR TOBY. Hold, sir, or I'll throw
your dagger o'er the house. [Holding SEBASTIAN] CLOWN. This will I
tell my lady straight. I would not be in some of your coats for two-pence.
Exit SIR TOBY. Come on, sir; hold. AGUECHEEK. Nay, let him alone.
I'll go another way to work with him; I'll have an action of battery against
him, if there be any law in Illyria; though I struck him first, yet it's no
matter for that. SEBASTIAN. Let go thy hand. SIR TOBY. Come, sir, I
will not let you go. Come, my young soldier, put up your iron; you are
well flesh'd. Come on. SEBASTIAN. I will be free from thee. What
wouldst thou now? If thou dar'st tempt me further, draw thy sword.
[Draws] SIR TOBY. What, what? Nay, then I must have an ounce or two
of this malapert blood from you. [Draws]
Enter OLIVIA
OLIVIA. Hold, Toby; on thy life, I charge thee hold. SIR TOBY.
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Madam! OLIVIA. Will it be ever thus? Ungracious wretch, Fit for the
mountains and the barbarous caves, Where manners ne'er were preach'd!
Out of my sight! Be not offended, dear Cesario- Rudesby, be gone! Exeunt
SIR TOBY, SIR ANDREW, and FABIAN I prithee, gentle friend, Let thy
fair wisdom, not thy passion, sway In this uncivil and unjust extent
Against thy peace. Go with me to my house, And hear thou there how
many fruitless pranks This ruffian hath botch'd up, that thou thereby Mayst
smile at this. Thou shalt not choose but go; Do not deny. Beshrew his soul
for me! He started one poor heart of mine in thee. SEBASTIAN. What
relish is in this? How runs the stream? Or I am mad, or else this is a dream.
Let fancy still my sense in Lethe steep; If it be thus to dream, still let me
sleep! OLIVIA. Nay, come, I prithee. Would thou'dst be rul'd by me!
SEBASTIAN. Madam, I will. OLIVIA. O, say so, and so be! Exeunt

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SCENE II. OLIVIA'S house

Enter MARIA and CLOWN

MARIA. Nay, I prithee, put on this gown and this beard; make him
believe thou art Sir Topas the curate; do it quickly. I'll call Sir Toby the
whilst. Exit CLOWN. Well, I'll put it on, and I will dissemble myself in't;
and I would I were the first that ever dissembled in such a gown. I am not
tall enough to become the function well nor lean enough to be thought a
good student; but to be said an honest man and a good housekeeper goes
as fairly as to say a careful man and a great scholar. The competitors enter.
Enter SIR TOBY and MARIA
SIR TOBY. Jove bless thee, Master Parson. CLOWN. Bonos dies, Sir
Toby; for as the old hermit of Prague, that never saw pen and ink, very
wittily said to niece of King Gorboduc 'That that is is'; so I, being Master
Parson, am Master Parson; for what is 'that' but that, and 'is' but is? SIR
TOBY. To him, Sir Topas. CLOWN. What ho, I say! Peace in this prison!
SIR TOBY. The knave counterfeits well; a good knave. MALVOLIO.
[Within] Who calls there? CLOWN. Sir Topas the curate, who comes to
visit Malvolio the lunatic. MALVOLIO. Sir Topas, Sir Topas, good Sir
Topas, go to my lady. CLOWN. Out, hyperbolical fiend! How vexest thou
this man! Talkest thou nothing but of ladies? SIR TOBY. Well said, Master
Parson. MALVOLIO. Sir Topas, never was man thus wronged. Good Sir
Topas, do not think I am mad; they have laid me here in hideous darkness.
CLOWN. Fie, thou dishonest Satan! I call thee by the most modest terms,
for I am one of those gentle ones that will use the devil himself with
courtesy. Say'st thou that house is dark? MALVOLIO. As hell, Sir Topas.
CLOWN. Why, it hath bay windows transparent as barricadoes, and the
clerestories toward the south north are as lustrous as ebony; and yet
complainest thou of obstruction? MALVOLIO. I am not mad, Sir Topas. I
say to you this house is dark. CLOWN. Madman, thou errest. I say there is
no darkness but ignorance; in which thou art more puzzled than the
Egyptians in their fog. MALVOLIO. I say this house is as dark as
ignorance, though ignorance were as dark as hell; and I say there was
never man thus abus'd. I am no more mad than you are; make the trial of it
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in any constant question. CLOWN. What is the opinion of Pythagoras

concerning wild fowl? MALVOLIO. That the soul of our grandam might
haply inhabit a bird. CLOWN. What think'st thou of his opinion?
MALVOLIO. I think nobly of the soul, and no way approve his opinion.
CLOWN. Fare thee well. Remain thou still in darkness: thou shalt hold th'
opinion of Pythagoras ere I will allow of thy wits; and fear to kill a
woodcock, lest thou dispossess the soul of thy grandam. Fare thee well.
MALVOLIO. Sir Topas, Sir Topas! SIR TOBY. My most exquisite Sir
Topas! CLOWN. Nay, I am for all waters. MARIA. Thou mightst have
done this without thy beard and gown: he sees thee not. SIR TOBY. To
him in thine own voice, and bring me word how thou find'st him. I would
we were well rid of this knavery. If he may be conveniently deliver'd, I
would he were; for I am now so far in offence with my niece that I cannot
pursue with any safety this sport to the upshot. Come by and by to my
chamber. Exit with MARIA CLOWN. [Sings] Hey, Robin, jolly Robin,
Tell me how thy lady does. MALVOLIO. Fool! CLOWN. [Sings] My lady
is unkind, perdy. MALVOLIO. Fool! CLOWN. [Sings] Alas, why is she
so? MALVOLIO. Fool I say! CLOWN. [Sings] She loves another- Who
calls, ha? MALVOLIO. Good fool, as ever thou wilt deserve well at my
hand, help me to a candle, and pen, ink, and paper; as I am a gentleman, I
will live to be thankful to thee for't. CLOWN. Master Malvolio?
MALVOLIO. Ay, good fool. CLOWN. Alas, sir, how fell you besides your
five wits? MALVOLIO. Fool, there was never man so notoriously abus'd;
I am as well in my wits, fool, as thou art. CLOWN. But as well? Then you
are mad indeed, if you be no better in your wits than a fool. MALVOLIO.
They have here propertied me; keep me in darkness, send ministers to me,
asses, and do all they can to face me out of my wits. CLOWN. Advise you
what. you say: the minister is here. [Speaking as SIR TOPAS] Malvolio,
thy wits the heavens restore! Endeavour thyself to sleep, and leave thy
vain bibble-babble. MALVOLIO. Sir Topas! CLOWN. Maintain 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. MALVOLIO. Fool, fool, fool, I say!
CLOWN. Alas, sir, be patient. What say you, sir? I am shent for speaking
to you. MALVOLIO. Good fool, help me to some light and some paper. I

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tell thee I am as well in my wits as any man in Illyria. CLOWN. Well-a-

day that you were, sir! MALVOLIO. By this hand, I am. Good fool, some
ink, paper, and light; and convey what I will set down to my lady. It shall
advantage thee more than ever the bearing of letter did. CLOWN. I will
help you to't. But tell me true, are you not mad indeed, or do you but
counterfeit? MALVOLIO. Believe me, I am not; I tell thee true. CLOWN.
Nay, I'll ne'er believe a madman till I see his brains. I will fetch you light
and paper and ink. MALVOLIO. Fool, I'll requite it in the highest degree;
I prithe be gone. CLOWN. [Singing] I am gone, sir, And anon, sir, I'll be
with you again, In a trice, Like to the old Vice, Your need to sustain;
Who with dagger of lath, In his rage and his wrath, Cries, Ah, ha! to
the devil, Like a mad lad, Pare thy nails, dad. Adieu, goodman devil. Exit

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SCENE III. OLIVIA'S garden

Enter SEBASTIAN
SEBASTIAN. This is the air; that is the glorious sun; This pearl she
gave me, I do feel't and see't; And though 'tis wonder that enwraps me thus,
Yet 'tis not madness. Where's Antonio, then? I could not find him at the
Elephant; Yet there he was; and there I found this credit, That he did range
the town to seek me out. His counsel now might do me golden service; For
though my soul disputes well with my sense That this may be some error,
but no madness, Yet doth this accident and flood of fortune So far exceed
all instance, all discourse, That I am ready to distrust mine eyes And
wrangle with my reason, that persuades me To any other trust but that I am
mad, Or else the lady's mad; yet if 'twere so, She could not sway her house,
command her followers, Take and give back affairs and their dispatch
With such a smooth, discreet, and stable bearing, As I perceive she does.
There's something in't That is deceivable. But here the lady comes.
Enter OLIVIA and PRIEST
OLIVIA. Blame not this haste of mine. If you mean well, Now go
with me and with this holy man Into the chantry by; there, before him And
underneath that consecrated roof, Plight me the fun assurance of your faith,
That my most jealous and too doubtful soul May live at peace. He shall
conceal it Whiles you are willing it shall come to note, What time we will
our celebration keep According to my birth. What do you say?
SEBASTIAN. I'll follow this good man, and go with you; And, having
sworn truth, ever will be true. OLIVIA. Then lead the way, good father;
and heavens so shine That they may fairly note this act of mine! Exeunt

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ACT V.

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SCENE I. Before OLIVIA's house

Enter CLOWN and FABIAN

FABIAN. Now, as thou lov'st me, let me see his letter. CLOWN.
Good Master Fabian, grant me another request. FABIAN. Anything.
CLOWN. Do not desire to see this letter. FABIAN. This is to give a dog,
and in recompense desire my dog again.
Enter DUKE, VIOLA, CURIO, and LORDS
DUKE. Belong you to the Lady Olivia, friends? CLOWN. Ay, sir, we
are some of her trappings. DUKE. I know thee well. How dost thou, my
good fellow? CLOWN. Truly, sir, the better for my foes and the worse for
my friends. DUKE. Just the contrary: the better for thy friends. CLOWN.
No, sir, the worse. DUKE. How can that be? CLOWN. Marry, sir, they
praise me and make an ass of me. Now my foes tell me plainly I am an ass;
so that by my foes, sir, I profit in the knowledge of myself, and by my
friends I am abused; so that, conclusions to be as kisses, if your four
negatives make your two affirmatives, why then, the worse for my friends,
and the better for my foes. DUKE. Why, this is excellent. CLOWN. By
my troth, sir, no; though it please you to be one of my friends. DUKE.
Thou shalt not be the worse for me. There's gold. CLOWN. But that it
would be double-dealing, sir, I would you could make it another. DUKE.
O, you give me ill counsel. CLOWN. Put your grace in your pocket, sir,
for this once, and let your flesh and blood obey it. DUKE. Well, I will be
so much a sinner to be a double-dealer. There's another. CLOWN. Primo,
secundo, tertio, is a good play; and the old saying is 'The third pays for
all.' The triplex, sir, is a good tripping measure; or the bells of Saint
Bennet, sir, may put you in mind- one, two, three. DUKE. You can fool no
more money out of me 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. CLOWN. Marry, sir, lullaby to your bounty till I come
again. I go, sir; but I would not have you to think that my desire of having
is the sin of covetousness. But, as you say, sir, let your bounty take a nap; I
will awake it anon. Exit
Enter ANTONIO and OFFICERS
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VIOLA. Here comes the man, sir, that did rescue me. DUKE. That
face of his I do remember well; Yet when I saw it last it was besmear'd As
black as Vulcan in the smoke of war. A baubling vessel was he captain of,
For shallow draught and bulk unprizable, With which such scathful
grapple did he make With the most noble bottom of our fleet That very
envy and the tongue of los Cried fame and honour on him. What's the
matter? FIRST OFFICER. Orsino, this is that Antonio That took the
Phoenix and her fraught from Candy; And this is he that did the Tiger
board When your young nephew Titus lost his leg. Here in the streets,
desperate of shame and state, In private brabble did we apprehend him.
VIOLA. He did me kindness, sir; drew on my side; But in conclusion put
strange speech upon me. I know not what 'twas but distraction. DUKE.
Notable pirate, thou salt-water thief! What foolish boldness brought thee
to their mercies Whom thou, in terms so bloody and so dear, Hast made
thine enemies? ANTONIO. Orsino, noble sir, Be pleas'd that I shake off
these names you give me: Antonio never yet was thief or pirate, Though I
confess, on base and ground enough, Orsino's enemy. A witchcraft drew
me hither: That most ingrateful boy there by your side From the rude sea's
enrag'd and foamy mouth Did I redeem; a wreck past hope he was. His life
I gave him, and did thereto ad My love without retention or restraint, All
his in dedication; for his sake, Did I expose myself, pure for his love, Into
the danger of this adverse town; 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
twenty years removed thing While one would wink; denied me mine own
purse, Which I had recommended to his use Not half an hour before.
VIOLA. How can this be? DUKE. When came he to this town?
ANTONIO. To-day, my lord; and for three months before, No int'rim, not
a minute's vacancy, Both day and night did we keep company.
Enter OLIVIA and ATTENDANTS
DUKE. Here comes the Countess; now heaven walks on earth. But
for thee, fellow- fellow, thy words are madness. Three months this youth
hath tended upon me- But more of that anon. Take him aside. OLIVIA.
What would my lord, but that he may not have, Wherein Olivia may seem

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serviceable? Cesario, you do not keep promise with me. VIOLA. Madam?
DUKE. Gracious Olivia- OLIVIA. What do you say, Cesario? Good my
lord- VIOLA. My lord would speak; my duty hushes me. OLIVIA. If it be
aught to the old tune, my lord, It is as fat and fulsome to mine ear As
howling after music. DUKE. Still so cruel? OLIVIA. Still so constant, lord.
DUKE. What, to perverseness? You uncivil lady, To whose ingrate and
unauspicious altars My soul the faithfull'st off'rings hath breath'd out That
e'er devotion tender'd! What shall I do? OLIVIA. Even what it please my
lord, that shall become him. DUKE. Why should I not, had I the heart to
do it, Like to the Egyptian thief at point of death, Kill what I love?- a
savage jealousy That sometime savours nobly. But hear me this: Since you
to non-regardance cast my faith, And that I partly know the instrument
That screws me from my true place in your favour, Live you the marble-
breasted tyrant still; But this your minion, whom I know you love, And
whom, by heaven I swear, I tender dearly, Him will I tear out of that cruel
eye Where he sits crowned in his master's spite. Come, boy, with me; my
thoughts are ripe in mischief: I'll sacrifice the lamb that I do love To spite
a raven's heart within a dove. VIOLA. And I, most jocund, apt, and
willingly, To do you rest, a thousand deaths would die. OLIVIA. Where
goes Cesario? VIOLA. After him I love More than I love these eyes, more
than my life, More, by all mores, than e'er I shall love wife. If I do feign,
you witnesses above Punish my life for tainting of my love! OLIVIA. Ay
me, detested! How am I beguil'd! VIOLA. Who does beguile you? Who
does do you wrong? OLIVIA. Hast thou forgot thyself? Is it so long? Call
forth the holy father. Exit an ATTENDANT DUKE. Come, away!
OLIVIA. Whither, my lord? Cesario, husband, stay. DUKE. Husband?
OLIVIA. Ay, husband; can he that deny? DUKE. Her husband, sirrah?
VIOLA. No, my lord, not I. OLIVIA. Alas, it is the baseness of thy fear
That makes thee strangle thy propriety. Fear not, Cesario, take thy fortunes
up; 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 reverence, Here to
unfold- though lately we intended To keep in darkness what occasion now

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Reveals before 'tis ripe- what thou dost know Hath newly pass'd between
this youth and me. PRIEST. A contract of eternal bond of love, Confirm'd
by mutual joinder of your hands, Attested by the holy close of lips,
Strength'ned by interchangement of your rings; And all the ceremony of
this compact Seal'd in my function, by my testimony; Since when, my
watch hath told me, toward my grave, I have travell'd but two hours.
DUKE. 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 quickly grow That thine
own trip shall be thine overthrow? Farewell, and take her; but direct thy
feet Where thou and I henceforth may never meet. VIOLA. My lord, I do
protest- OLIVIA. O, do not swear! Hold little faith, though thou has too
much fear.
Enter SIR ANDREW
AGUECHEEK. For the love of God, a surgeon! Send one presently
to Sir Toby. OLIVIA. What's the matter? AGUECHEEK. Has broke my
head across, and has given Sir Toby a bloody coxcomb too. For the love of
God, your help! I had rather than forty pound I were at home. OLIVIA.
Who has done this, Sir Andrew? AGUECHEEK. The Count's gentleman,
one Cesario. We took him for a coward, but he's the very devil incardinate.
DUKE. My gentleman, Cesario? AGUECHEEK. Od's lifelings, here he is!
You broke my head for nothing; and that that did, I was set on to do't by
Sir Toby. VIOLA. Why do you speak to me? I never hurt you. You drew
your sword upon me without cause; But I bespake you fair and hurt you
not.
Enter SIR TOBY and CLOWN
AGUECHEEK. If a bloody coxcomb be a hurt, you have hurt me; I
think you set nothing by a bloody coxcomb. Here comes Sir Toby halting;
you shall hear more; but if he had not been in drink, he would have tickl'd
you othergates than he did. DUKE. How now, gentleman? How is't with
you? SIR TOBY. That's all one; has hurt me, and there's th' end on't. Sot,
didst see Dick Surgeon, sot? CLOWN. O, he's drunk, Sir Toby, an hour
agone; his eyes were set at eight i' th' morning. SIR TOBY. Then he's a
rogue and a passy measures pavin. I hate a drunken rogue. OLIVIA. Away
with him. Who hath made this havoc with them? AGUECHEEK. I'll help

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you, Sir Toby, because we'll be dress'd together. SIR TOBY. Will you help-
an ass-head and a coxcomb and a knave, a thin fac'd knave, a gull?
OLIVIA. Get him to bed, and let his hurt be look'd to. Exeunt CLOWN,
FABIAN, SIR TOBY, and SIR ANDREW
Enter SEBASTIAN
SEBASTIAN. I am sorry, madam, I have hurt your kinsman; But, had
it been the brother of my blood, I must have done no less with wit and
safety. You throw a strange regard upon me, and by that I do perceive it
hath offended you. Pardon me, sweet one, even for the vows We made
each other but so late ago. DUKE. One face, one voice, one habit, and two
persons! A natural perspective, that is and is not. SEBASTIAN. Antonio,
O my dear Antonio! How have the hours rack'd and tortur'd me Since I
have lost thee! ANTONIO. Sebastian are you? SEBASTIAN. Fear'st thou
that, Antonio? ANTONIO. How have you made division of yourself? An
apple cleft in two is not more twin Than these two creatures. Which is
Sebastian? OLIVIA. Most wonderful! SEBASTIAN. Do I stand there? I
never had a brother; Nor can there be that deity in my nature Of here and
everywhere. I had a sister Whom the blind waves and surges have
devour'd. Of charity, what kin are you to me? What countryman, what
name, what parentage? VIOLA. Of Messaline; Sebastian was my father.
Such a Sebastian was my brother too; So went he suited to his watery
tomb; If spirits can assume both form and suit, You come to fright us.
SEBASTIAN. A spirit I am indeed, But am in that dimension grossly clad
Which from the womb I did participate. Were you a woman, as the rest
goes even, I should my tears let fall upon your cheek, And say 'Thrice
welcome, drowned Viola!' VIOLA. My father had a mole upon his brow.
SEBASTIAN. And so had mine. VIOLA. And died that day when Viola
from her birth Had numb'red thirteen years. SEBASTIAN. O, that record
is lively in my soul! He finished indeed his mortal act That day that made
my sister thirteen years. VIOLA. If nothing lets to make us happy both
But this my masculine usurp'd attire, Do not embrace me till each
circumstance Of place, time, fortune, do cohere and jump That I am Viola;
which to confirm, I'll bring you to a captain in this town, Where lie my
maiden weeds; by whose gentle help I was preserv'd to serve this noble

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Count. All the occurrence of my fortune since Hath been between this lady
and this lord. SEBASTIAN. [To OLIVIA] So Comes it, lady, you have
been mistook; But nature to her bias drew in that. You would have been
contracted to a maid; Nor are you therein, by my life, deceiv'd; You are
betroth'd both to a maid and man. DUKE. Be not amaz'd; right noble is his
blood. If this be so, as yet the glass seems true, I shall have share in this
most happy wreck. [To VIOLA] Boy, thou hast said to me a thousand
times Thou never shouldst love woman like to me. VIOLA. And all those
sayings will I overswear; And all those swearings keep as true in soul As
doth that orbed continent the fire That severs day from night. DUKE. Give
me thy hand; And let me see thee in thy woman's weeds. VIOLA. The
captain that did bring me first on shore Hath my maid's garments. He,
upon some action, Is now in durance, at Malvolio's suit, A gentleman and
follower of my lady's. OLIVIA. He shall enlarge him. Fetch Malvolio
hither; And yet, alas, now I remember me, They say, poor gentleman, he's
much distract.
Re-enter CLOWN, with a letter, and FABIAN
A most extracting frenzy of mine own From my remembrance clearly
banish'd his. How does he, sirrah? CLOWN. Truly, madam, he holds
Belzebub at the stave's end as well as a man in his case may do. Has here
writ a letter to you; I should have given 't you to-day morning, but as a
madman's epistles are no gospels, so it skills not much when they are
deliver'd. OLIVIA. Open't, and read it. CLOWN. Look then to be well
edified when the fool delivers the madman. [Reads madly ] 'By the Lord,
madam-' OLIVIA. How now! Art thou mad? CLOWN. No, madam, I do
but read madness. An your ladyship will have it as it ought to be, you must
allow vox. OLIVIA. Prithee read i' thy right wits. CLOWN. So I do,
madonna; but to read his right wits is to read thus; therefore perpend, my
Princess, and give ear. OLIVIA. [To FABIAN] Read it you, sirrah.
FABIAN. [Reads] 'By the Lord, madam, you wrong me, and the world
shall know it. Though you have put me into darkness and given your
drunken cousin rule over me, yet have I the benefit of my senses as well as
your ladyship. I have your own letter that induced me to the semblance I
put on, with the which I doubt not but to do myself much right or you

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much shame. Think of me as you please. I leave my duty a little unthought

of, and speak out of my injury. THE MADLY-US'D MALVOLIO'
OLIVIA. Did he write this? CLOWN. Ay, Madam. DUKE. This
savours not much of distraction. OLIVIA. See him deliver'd, Fabian; bring
him hither. Exit FABIAN My lord, so please you, these things further
thought on, To think me as well a sister as a wife, One day shall crown th'
alliance on't, so please you, Here at my house, and at my proper cost.
DUKE. Madam, I am most apt t' embrace your offer. [To VIOLA] Your
master quits you; and, for your service done him, So much against the
mettle of your sex, So far beneath your soft and tender breeding, And
since you call'd me master for so long, Here is my hand; you shall from
this time be You master's mistress. OLIVIA. A sister! You are she.
Re-enter FABIAN, with MALVOLIO
DUKE. Is this the madman? OLIVIA. Ay, my lord, this same. How
now, Malvolio! MALVOLIO. Madam, you have done me wrong,
Notorious wrong. OLIVIA. Have I, Malvolio? No. MALVOLIO. Lady,
you have. Pray you peruse that letter. You must not now deny it is your
hand; Write from it if you can, in hand or phrase; Or say 'tis not your seal,
not your invention; You can say none of this. Well, grant it then, And tell
me, in the modesty of honour, Why you have given me such clear lights of
favour, Bade me come smiling and cross-garter'd to you, To put on yellow
stockings, and to frown Upon Sir Toby and the lighter people; And, acting
this in an obedient hope, Why have you suffer'd me to be imprison'd, Kept
in a dark house, visited by the priest, And made the most notorious geck
and gul That e'er invention play'd on? Tell me why. OLIVIA. Alas,
Malvolio, this is not my writing, Though, I confess, much like the
character; But out of question 'tis Maria's hand. And now I do bethink me,
it was she First told me thou wast mad; then cam'st in smiling, And in such
forms which here were presuppos'd Upon thee in the letter. Prithee, be
content; This practice hath most shrewdly pass'd upon thee, But, when we
know the grounds and authors of it, Thou shalt be both the plaintiff and the
judge Of thine own cause. FABIAN. Good madam, hear me speak, And let
no quarrel nor no brawl to come Taint the condition of this present hour,
Which I have wond'red at. In hope it shall not, Most freely I confess

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myself and Toby Set this device against Malvolio here, Upon some
stubborn and uncourteous parts We had conceiv'd against him. Maria writ
The letter, at Sir Toby's great importance, In recompense whereof he hath
married her. How with a sportful malice it was follow'd May rather pluck
on laughter than revenge, If that the injuries be justly weigh'd That have
on both sides pass'd. OLIVIA. Alas, poor fool, how have they baffl'd thee!
CLOWN. Why, 'Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some
have greatness thrown upon them.' I was one, sir, in this interlude- one Sir
Topas, sir; but that's all one. 'By the Lord, fool, I am not mad!' But do you
remember- 'Madam, why laugh you at such a barren rascal? An you smile
not, he's gagg'd'? And thus the whirligig of time brings in his revenges.
MALVOLIO. I'll be reveng'd on the whole pack of you. Exit OLIVIA. He
hath been most notoriously abus'd. DUKE. Pursue him, and entreat him to
a peace; He hath not told us of the captain yet. When that is known, and
golden time convents, A solemn combination shall be made Of our dear
souls. Meantime, sweet sister, We will not part from hence. Cesario, come;
For so you shall be while you are a man; But when in other habits you are
seen, Orsino's mistress, and his fancy's queen. Exeunt all but the CLOWN
CLOWN sings
When that I was and a little tiny boy, With hey, ho, the wind and the
rain, A foolish thing was but a toy, For the rain it raineth every day.
But when I came to man's estate, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
'Gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gate, For the rain it raineth every
day.
But when I came, alas! to wive, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
By swaggering could I never thrive, For the rain it raineth every day.
But when I came unto my beds, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
With toss-pots still had drunken heads, For the rain it raineth every day.
A great while ago the world begun, With hey, ho, the wind and the
rain, But that's all one, our play is done, And we'll strive to please you
every day. Exit
THE END

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