Twelfe Night, Or what you will

 
 Actus Primus, Scaena Prima.
 
 Enter Orsino Duke of Illyria, Curio, and other Lords.
 
   Duke. If Musicke be the food of Loue, play on,
 Giue me excesse of it: that surfetting,
 The appetite may sicken, and so dye.
 That straine agen, it had a dying fall:
 O, it came ore my eare, like the sweet sound
 That breathes vpon a banke of Violets;
 Stealing, and giuing Odour. Enough, no more,
 'Tis not so sweet now, as it was before.
 O spirit of Loue, how quicke and fresh art thou,
 That notwithstanding thy capacitie,
 Receiueth as the Sea. Nought enters there,
 Of what validity, and pitch so ere,
 But falles into abatement, and low price
 Euen in a minute; so full of shapes is fancie,
 That it alone, is high fantasticall
 
    Cu. Will you go hunt my Lord?
   Du. What Curio?
   Cu. The Hart
 
    Du. Why so I do, the Noblest that I haue:
 O when mine eyes did see Oliuia first,
 Me thought she purg'd the ayre of pestilence;
 That instant was I turn'd into a Hart,
 And my desires like fell and cruell hounds,
 Ere since pursue me. How now what newes from her?
 Enter Valentine.
 
   Val. So please my Lord, I might not be admitted,
 But from her handmaid do returne this answer:
 The Element it selfe, till seuen yeares heate,
 Shall not behold her face at ample view:
 But like a Cloystresse she will vailed walke,
 And water once a day her Chamber round
 With eye-offending brine: all this to season
 A brothers dead loue, which she would keepe fresh
 And lasting, in her sad remembrance
 
    Du. O she that hath a heart of that fine frame
 To pay this debt of loue but to a brother,
 How will she loue, when the rich golden shaft
 Hath kill'd the flocke of all affections else
 That liue in her. When Liuer, Braine, and Heart,
 These soueraigne thrones, are all supply'd and fill'd
 Her sweete perfections with one selfe king:
 Away before me, to sweet beds of Flowres,
 Loue-thoughts lye rich, when canopy'd with bowres.
 
 Exeunt.
 
 Scena Secunda.
 
 Enter Viola, a Captaine, and Saylors.
 
   Vio. What Country (Friends) is this?
   Cap. This is Illyria Ladie
 
    Vio. And what should I do in Illyria?
 My brother he is in Elizium,
 Perchance he is not drown'd: What thinke you saylors?
   Cap. It is perchance that you your selfe were saued
 
    Vio. O my poore brother, and so perchance may he be
 
    Cap. True Madam, and to comfort you with chance,
 Assure your selfe, after our ship did split,
 When you, and those poore number saued with you,
 Hung on our driuing boate: I saw your brother
 Most prouident in perill, binde himselfe,
 (Courage and hope both teaching him the practise)
 To a strong Maste, that liu'd vpon the sea:
 Where like Orion on the Dolphines backe,
 I saw him hold acquaintance with the waues,
 So long as I could see
 
    Vio. For saying so, there's Gold:
 Mine owne escape vnfoldeth to my hope,
 Whereto thy speech serues for authoritie
 The like of him. Know'st thou this Countrey?
   Cap. I Madam well, for I was bred and borne
 Not three houres trauaile from this very place
 
    Vio. Who gouernes heere?
   Cap. A noble Duke in nature, as in name
 
    Vio. What is his name?
   Cap. Orsino
 
    Vio. Orsino: I haue heard my father name him.
 He was a Batchellor then
 
    Cap. And so is now, or was so very late:
 For but a month ago I went from hence,
 And then 'twas fresh in murmure (as you know
 What great ones do, the lesse will prattle of,)
 That he did seeke the loue of faire Oliuia
 
    Vio. What's shee?
   Cap. A vertuous maid, the daughter of a Count
 That dide some tweluemonth since, then leauing her
 In the protection of his sonne, her brother,
 Who shortly also dide: for whose deere loue
 (They say) she hath abiur'd the sight
 And company of men
 
    Vio. O that I seru'd that Lady,
 And might not be deliuered to the world
 Till I had made mine owne occasion mellow
 What my estate is
 
    Cap. That were hard to compasse,
 Because she will admit no kinde of suite,
 No, not the Dukes
 
    Vio. There is a faire behauiour in thee Captaine,
 And though that nature, with a beauteous wall
 Doth oft close in pollution: yet of thee
 I will beleeue thou hast a minde that suites
 With this thy faire and outward charracter.
 I prethee (and Ile pay thee bounteously)
 Conceale me what I am, and be my ayde,
 For such disguise as haply shall become
 The forme of my intent. Ile serue this Duke,
 Thou shalt present me as an Eunuch to him,
 It may be worth thy paines: for I can sing,
 And speake to him in many sorts of Musicke,
 That will allow me very worth his seruice.
 What else may hap, to time I will commit,
 Onely shape thou thy silence to my wit
 
    Cap. Be you his Eunuch, and your Mute Ile bee,
 When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see
 
    Vio. I thanke thee: Lead me on.
 
 Exeunt.
 
 Scaena Tertia.
 
 Enter Sir Toby, and Maria.
 
   Sir To. What a plague meanes my Neece to take the
 death of her brother thus? I am sure care's an enemie to
 life
 
    Mar. By my troth sir Toby, you must come in earlyer
 a nights: your Cosin, my Lady, takes great exceptions
 to your ill houres
 
    To. Why let her except, before excepted
 
    Ma. I, but you must confine your selfe within the
 modest limits of order
 
    To. Confine? Ile confine my selfe no finer then I am:
 these cloathes are good enough to drinke in, and so bee
 these boots too: and they be not, let them hang themselues
 in their owne straps
 
    Ma. That quaffing and drinking will vndoe you: I
 heard my Lady talke of it yesterday: and of a foolish
 knight that you brought in one night here, to be hir woer
   To. Who, Sir Andrew Ague-cheeke?
   Ma. I he
 
    To. He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria
 
    Ma. What's that to th' purpose?
   To. Why he ha's three thousand ducates a yeare
 
    Ma. I, but hee'l haue but a yeare in all these ducates:
 He's a very foole, and a prodigall
 
    To. Fie, that you'l say so: he playes o'th Viol-de-gamboys,
 and speaks three or four languages word for word
 without booke, & hath all the good gifts of nature
 
    Ma. He hath indeed, almost naturall: for besides that
 he's a foole, he's a great quarreller: and but that hee hath
 the gift of a Coward, to allay the gust he hath in quarrelling,
 'tis thought among the prudent, he would quickely
 haue the gift of a graue
 
    Tob. By this hand they are scoundrels and substractors
 that say so of him. Who are they?
   Ma. They that adde moreour, hee's drunke nightly
 in your company
 
    To. With drinking healths to my Neece: Ile drinke
 to her as long as there is a passage in my throat, & drinke
 in Illyria: he's a Coward and a Coystrill that will not
 drinke to my Neece, till his braines turne o'th toe, like a
 parish top. What wench? Castiliano vulgo: for here coms
 Sir Andrew Agueface.
 Enter Sir Andrew.
 
   And. Sir Toby Belch. How now sir Toby Belch?
   To. Sweet sir Andrew
 
    And. Blesse you faire Shrew
 
    Mar. And you too sir
 
    Tob. Accost Sir Andrew, accost
 
    And. What's that?
   To. My Neeces Chamber-maid
 
    Ma. Good Mistris accost, I desire better acquaintance
   Ma. My name is Mary sir
 
    And. Good mistris Mary, accost
 
    To, You mistake knight: Accost, is front her, boord
 her, woe her, assayle her
 
    And. By my troth I would not vndertake her in this
 company. Is that the meaning of Accost?
   Ma. Far you well Gentlemen
 
    To. And thou let part so Sir Andrew, would thou
 mightst neuer draw sword agen
 
    And. And you part so mistris, I would I might neuer
 draw sword agen: Faire Lady, doe you thinke you haue
 fooles in hand?
   Ma. Sir, I haue not you by'th hand
 
    An. Marry but you shall haue, and heeres my hand
 
    Ma. Now sir, thought is free: I pray you bring your
 hand to'th Buttry barre, and let it drinke
 
    An. Wherefore (sweet-heart?) What's your Metaphor?
   Ma. It's dry sir
 
    And. Why I thinke so: I am not such an asse, but I
 can keepe my hand dry. But what's your iest?
   Ma. A dry iest Sir
 
    And. Are you full of them?
   Ma. I Sir, I haue them at my fingers ends: marry now
 I let go your hand, I am barren.
 
 Exit Maria
 
   To. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of Canarie: when did
 I see thee so put downe?
   An. Neuer in your life I thinke, vnlesse you see Canarie
 put me downe: mee thinkes sometimes I haue no
 more wit then a Christian, or an ordinary man ha's: but I
 am a great eater of beefe, and I beleeue that does harme
 to my wit
 
    To. No question
 
    An. And I thought that, I'de forsweare it. Ile ride
 home to morrow sir Toby
 
    To. Pur-quoy my deere knight?
   An. What is purquoy? Do, or not do? I would I had
 bestowed that time in the tongues, that I haue in fencing
 dancing, and beare-bayting: O had I but followed the
 Arts
 
    To. Then hadst thou had an excellent head of haire
 
    An. Why, would that haue mended my haire?
   To. Past question, for thou seest it will not coole my nature
   An. But it becoms me wel enough, dost not?
   To. Excellent, it hangs like flax on a distaffe: & I hope
 to see a huswife take thee between her legs, & spin it off
 
    An. Faith Ile home to morrow sir Toby, your niece wil
 not be seene, or if she be it's four to one, she'l none of me:
 the Count himselfe here hard by, wooes her
 
    To. Shee'l none o'th Count, she'l not match aboue hir
 degree, neither in estate, yeares, nor wit: I haue heard her
 swear't. Tut there's life in't man
 
    And. Ile stay a moneth longer. I am a fellow o'th
 strangest minde i'th world: I delight in Maskes and Reuels
 sometimes altogether
 
    To. Art thou good at these kicke-chawses Knight?
   And. As any man in Illyria, whatsoeuer he be, vnder
 the degree of my betters, & yet I will not compare with
 an old man
 
    To. What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight?
   And. Faith, I can cut a caper
 
    To. And I can cut the Mutton too't
 
    And. And I thinke I haue the backe-tricke, simply as
 strong as any man in Illyria
 
    To. Wherefore are these things hid? Wherefore haue
 these gifts a Curtaine before 'em? Are they like to take
 dust, like mistris Mals picture? Why dost thou not goe
 to Church in a Galliard, and come home in a Carranto?
 My verie walke should be a Iigge: I would not so much
 as make water but in a Sinke-a-pace: What dooest thou
 meane? Is it a world to hide vertues in? I did thinke by
 the excellent constitution of thy legge, it was form'd vnder
 the starre of a Galliard
 
    And. I, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a
 dam'd colour'd stocke. Shall we sit about some Reuels?
   To. What shall we do else: were we not borne vnder
 Taurus?
   And. Taurus? That sides and heart
 
    To. No sir, it is leggs and thighes: let me see thee caper.
 Ha, higher: ha, ha, excellent.
 
 Exeunt.
 
 Scena Quarta.
 
 Enter Valentine, and Viola in mans attire.
 
   Val. If the Duke continue these fauours towards you
 Cesario, you are like to be much aduanc'd, he hath known
 you but three dayes, and already you are no stranger
 
    Vio. You either feare his humour, or my negligence,
 that you call in question the continuance of his loue. Is
 he inconstant sir, in his fauours
 
    Val. No beleeue me.
 Enter Duke, Curio, and Attendants.
 
   Vio. I thanke you: heere comes the Count
 
    Duke. Who saw Cesario hoa?
   Vio. On your attendance my Lord heere
 
    Du. Stand you a-while aloofe. Cesario,
 Thou knowst no lesse, but all: I haue vnclasp'd
 To thee the booke euen of my secret soule.
 Therefore good youth, addresse thy gate vnto her,
 Be not deni'de accesse, stand at her doores,
 And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow
 Till thou haue audience
 
    Vio. Sure my Noble Lord,
 If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow
 As it is spoke, she neuer will admit me
 
    Du. Be clamorous, and leape all ciuill bounds,
 Rather then make vnprofited returne,
   Vio. Say I do speake with her (my Lord) what then?
   Du. O then, vnfold the passion of my loue,
 Surprize her with discourse of my deere faith;
 It shall become thee well to act my woes:
 She will attend it better in thy youth,
 Then in a Nuntio's of more graue aspect
 
    Vio. I thinke not so, my Lord
 
    Du. Deere Lad, beleeue it;
 For they shall yet belye thy happy yeeres,
 That say thou art a man: Dianas lip
 Is not more smooth, and rubious: thy small pipe
 Is as the maidens organ, shrill, and sound,
 And all is semblatiue a womans part.
 I know thy constellation is right apt
 For this affayre: some foure or fiue attend him,
 All if you will: for I my selfe am best
 When least in companie: prosper well in this,
 And thou shalt liue as freely as thy Lord,
 To call his fortunes thine
 
    Vio. Ile do my best
 To woe your Lady: yet a barrefull strife,
 Who ere I woe, my selfe would be his wife.
 
 Exeunt.
 
 
 Scena Quinta.
 
 
 Enter Maria, and Clowne.
 
   Ma. Nay, either tell me where thou hast bin, or I will
 not open my lippes so wide as a brissle may enter, in way
 of thy excuse: my Lady will hang thee for thy absence
 
    Clo. Let her hang me: hee that is well hang'de in this
 world, needs to feare no colours
 
    Ma. Make that good
 
    Clo. He shall see none to feare
 
    Ma. A good lenton answer: I can tell thee where y
 saying was borne, of I feare no colours
 
    Clo. Where good mistris Mary?
   Ma. In the warrs, & that may you be bolde to say in
 your foolerie
 
    Clo. Well, God giue them wisedome that haue it: &
 those that are fooles, let them vse their talents
 
    Ma. Yet you will be hang'd for being so long absent,
 or to be turn'd away: is not that as good as a hanging to
 you?
   Clo. Many a good hanging, preuents a bad marriage:
 and for turning away, let summer beare it out
 
    Ma. You are resolute then?
   Clo. Not so neyther, but I am resolu'd on two points
   Ma. That if one breake, the other will hold: or if both
 breake, your gaskins fall
 
    Clo. Apt in good faith, very apt: well go thy way, if
 sir Toby would leaue drinking, thou wert as witty a piece
 of Eues flesh, as any in Illyria
 
    Ma. Peace you rogue, no more o'that: here comes my
 Lady: make your excuse wisely, you were best.
 Enter Lady Oliuia, with Maluolio.
 
   Clo. Wit, and't be thy will, put me into good fooling:
 those wits that thinke they haue thee, doe very oft proue
 fooles: and I that am sure I lacke thee, may passe for a
 wise man. For what saies Quinapalus, Better a witty foole,
 then a foolish wit. God blesse thee Lady
 
    Ol. Take the foole away
 
    Clo. Do you not heare fellowes, take away the Ladie
 
    Ol. Go too, y'are a dry foole: Ile no more of you: besides
 you grow dis-honest
 
    Clo. Two faults Madona, that drinke & good counsell
 wil amend: for giue the dry foole drink, then is the foole
 not dry: bid the dishonest man mend himself, if he mend,
 he is no longer dishonest; if hee cannot, let the Botcher
 mend him: any thing that's mended, is but patch'd: vertu
 that transgresses, is but patcht with sinne, and sin that amends,
 is but patcht with vertue. If that this simple
 Sillogisme will serue, so: if it will not, what remedy?
 As there is no true Cuckold but calamity, so beauties a
 flower; The Lady bad take away the foole, therefore I
 say againe, take her away
 
    Ol. Sir, I bad them take away you
 
    Clo. Misprision in the highest degree. Lady, Cucullus
 non facit monachum: that's as much to say, as I weare not
 motley in my braine: good Madona, giue mee leaue to
 proue you a foole
 
    Ol. Can you do it?
   Clo. Dexteriously, good Madona
 
    Ol. Make your proofe
 
    Clo. I must catechize you for it Madona, Good my
 Mouse of vertue answer mee
 
    Ol. Well sir, for want of other idlenesse, Ile bide your
 proofe
 
    Clo. Good Madona, why mournst thou?
   Ol. Good foole, for my brothers death
 
    Clo. I thinke his soule is in hell, Madona
 
    Ol. I know his soule is in heauen, foole
 
    Clo. The more foole (Madona) to mourne for your
 Brothers soule, being in heauen. Take away the Foole,
 Gentlemen
 
    Ol. What thinke you of this foole Maluolio, doth he
 not mend?
   Mal. Yes, and shall do, till the pangs of death shake
 him: Infirmity that decaies the wise, doth euer make the
 better foole
 
    Clow. God send you sir, a speedie Infirmity, for the
 better increasing your folly: Sir Toby will be sworn that
 I am no Fox, but he wil not passe his word for two pence
 that you are no Foole
 
    Ol. How say you to that Maluolio?
   Mal. I maruell your Ladyship takes delight in such
 a barren rascall: I saw him put down the other day, with
 an ordinary foole, that has no more braine then a stone.
 Looke you now, he's out of his gard already: vnles you
 laugh and minister occasion to him, he is gag'd. I protest
 I take these Wisemen, that crow so at these set kinde of
 fooles, no better then the fooles Zanies
 
    Ol. O you are sicke of selfe-loue Maluolio, and taste
 with a distemper'd appetite. To be generous, guiltlesse,
 and of free disposition, is to take those things for Bird-bolts,
 that you deeme Cannon bullets: There is no slander
 in an allow'd foole, though he do nothing but rayle;
 nor no rayling, in a knowne discreet man, though hee do
 nothing but reproue
 
    Clo. Now Mercury indue thee with leasing, for thou
 speak'st well of fooles.
 Enter Maria.
 
   Mar. Madam, there is at the gate, a young Gentleman,
 much desires to speake with you
 
    Ol. From the Count Orsino, is it?
   Ma I know not (Madam) 'tis a faire young man, and
 well attended
 
    Ol. Who of my people hold him in delay?
   Ma. Sir Toby Madam, your kinsman
 
    Ol. Fetch him off I pray you, he speakes nothing but
 madman: Fie on him. Go you Maluolio; If it be a suit
 from the Count, I am sicke, or not at home. What you
 will, to dismisse it.
 
 Exit Maluo.
 
 Now you see sir, how your fooling growes old, & people
 dislike it
 
    Clo. Thou hast spoke for vs (Madona) as if thy eldest
 sonne should be a foole: whose scull, Ioue cramme with
 braines, for heere he comes.
 Enter Sir Toby.
 
 One of thy kin has a most weake Pia-mater
 
    Ol. By mine honor halfe drunke. What is he at the
 gate Cosin?
   To. A Gentleman
 
    Ol. A Gentleman? What Gentleman?
   To. 'Tis a Gentleman heere. A plague o'these pickle
 herring: How now Sot
 
    Clo. Good Sir Toby
 
    Ol. Cosin, Cosin, how haue you come so earely by
 this Lethargie?
   To. Letcherie, I defie Letchery: there's one at the
 gate
 
    Ol. I marry, what is he?
   To. Let him be the diuell and he will, I care not: giue
 me faith say I. Well, it's all one.
 
 Exit
 
   Ol. What's a drunken man like, foole?
   Clo. Like a drown'd man, a foole, and a madde man:
 One draught aboue heate, makes him a foole, the second
 maddes him, and a third drownes him
 
    Ol. Go thou and seeke the Crowner, and let him sitte
 o'my Coz: for he's in the third degree of drinke: hee's
 drown'd: go looke after him
 
    Clo. He is but mad yet Madona, and the foole shall
 looke to the madman.
 Enter Maluolio.
 
   Mal. Madam, yond young fellow sweares hee will
 speake with you. I told him you were sicke, he takes on
 him to vnderstand so much, and therefore comes to speak
 with you. I told him you were asleepe, he seems to haue
 a fore knowledge of that too, and therefore comes to
 speake with you. What is to be said to him Ladie, hee's
 fortified against any deniall
 
    Ol. Tell him, he shall not speake with me
 
    Mal. Ha's beene told so: and hee sayes hee'l stand at
 your doore like a Sheriffes post, and be the supporter to
 a bench, but hee'l speake with you
 
    Ol. What kinde o'man is he?
   Mal. Why of mankinde
 
    Ol. What manner of man?
   Mal. Of verie ill manner: hee'l speake with you, will
 you, or no
 
    Ol. Of what personage, and yeeres is he?
   Mal. Not yet old enough for a man, nor yong enough
 for a boy: as a squash is before tis a pescod, or a Codling
 when tis almost an Apple: Tis with him in standing water,
 betweene boy and man. He is verie well-fauour'd,
 and he speakes verie shrewishly: One would thinke his
 mothers milke were scarse out of him
 
    Ol. Let him approach: Call in my Gentlewoman
 
    Mal. Gentlewoman, my Lady calles.
 Enter.
 
 Enter Maria.
 
   Ol. Giue me my vaile: come throw it ore my face,
 Wee'l once more heare Orsinos Embassie.
 Enter Violenta.
 
   Vio. The honorable Ladie of the house, which is she?
   Ol. Speake to me, I shall answer for her: your will
 
    Vio. Most radiant, exquisite, and vnmatchable beautie.
 I pray you tell me if this bee the Lady of the house,
 for I neuer saw her. I would bee loath to cast away my
 speech: for besides that it is excellently well pend, I haue
 taken great paines to con it. Good Beauties, let mee sustaine
 no scorne; I am very comptible, euen to the least
 sinister vsage
 
    Ol. Whence came you sir?
   Vio. I can say little more then I haue studied, & that
 question's out of my part. Good gentle one, giue mee
 modest assurance, if you be the Ladie of the house, that | I
 may proceede in my speech
 
    Ol. Are you a Comedian?
   Vio. No my profound heart: and yet (by the verie
 phangs of malice, I sweare) I am not that I play. Are you
 the Ladie of the house?
   Ol. If I do not vsurpe my selfe, I am
 
    Vio. Most certaine, if you are she, you do vsurp your
 selfe: for what is yours to bestowe, is, not yours to reserue.
 But this is from my Commission: I will on with
 my speech in your praise, and then shew you the heart of
 my message
 
    Ol. Come to what is important in't: I forgiue you
 the praise
 
    Vio. Alas, I tooke great paines to studie it, and 'tis
 Poeticall
 
    Ol. It is the more like to be feigned, I pray you keep
 it in. I heard you were sawcy at my gates, & allowd your
 approach rather to wonder at you, then to heare you. If
 you be not mad, be gone: if you haue reason, be breefe:
 'tis not that time of Moone with me, to make one in so
 skipping a dialogue
 
    Ma. Will you hoyst sayle sir, here lies your way
 
    Vio. No good swabber, I am to hull here a little longer.
 Some mollification for your Giant, sweete Ladie;
 tell me your minde, I am a messenger
 
    Ol. Sure you haue some hiddeous matter to deliuer,
 when the curtesie of it is so fearefull. Speake your office
 
    Vio. It alone concernes your eare: I bring no ouerture
 of warre, no taxation of homage; I hold the Olyffe
 in my hand: my words are as full of peace, as matter
 
    Ol. Yet you began rudely. What are you?
 What would you?
   Vio. The rudenesse that hath appear'd in mee, haue I
 learn'd from my entertainment. What I am, and what I
 would, are as secret as maiden-head: to your eares, Diuinity;
 to any others, prophanation
 
    Ol. Giue vs the place alone,
 We will heare this diuinitie. Now sir, what is your text?
   Vio. Most sweet Ladie
 
    Ol. A comfortable doctrine, and much may bee saide
 of it. Where lies your Text?
   Vio. In Orsinoes bosome
 
    Ol. In his bosome? In what chapter of his bosome?
   Vio. To answer by the method, in the first of his hart
 
    Ol. O, I haue read it: it is heresie. Haue you no more
 to say?
   Vio. Good Madam, let me see your face
 
    Ol. Haue you any Commission from your Lord, to
 negotiate with my face: you are now out of your Text:
 but we will draw the Curtain, and shew you the picture.
 Looke you sir, such a one I was this present: Ist not well
 done?
   Vio. Excellently done, if God did all
 
    Ol. 'Tis in graine sir, 'twill endure winde and weather
 
    Vio. Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white,
 Natures owne sweet, and cunning hand laid on:
 Lady, you are the cruell'st shee aliue,
 If you will leade these graces to the graue,
 And leaue the world no copie
 
    Ol. O sir, I will not be so hard-hearted: I will giue
 out diuers scedules of my beautie. It shalbe Inuentoried
 and euery particle and vtensile labell'd to my will: As,
 Item two lippes indifferent redde, Item two grey eyes,
 with lids to them: Item, one necke, one chin, & so forth.
 Were you sent hither to praise me?
   Vio. I see you what you are, you are too proud:
 But if you were the diuell, you are faire:
 My Lord, and master loues you: O such loue
 Could be but recompenc'd, though you were crown'd
 The non-pareil of beautie
 
    Ol. How does he loue me?
   Vio. With adorations, fertill teares,
 With groanes that thunder loue, with sighes of fire
 
    Ol. Your Lord does know my mind, I cannot loue him
 Yet I suppose him vertuous, know him noble,
 Of great estate, of fresh and stainlesse youth;
 In voyces well divulg'd, free, learn'd, and valiant,
 And in dimension, and the shape of nature,
 A gracious person; But yet I cannot loue him:
 He might haue tooke his answer long ago
 
    Vio. If I did loue you in my masters flame,
 With such a suffring, such a deadly life:
 In your deniall, I would finde no sence,
 I would not vnderstand it
 
    Ol. Why, what would you?
   Vio. Make me a willow Cabine at your gate,
 And call vpon my soule within the house,
 Write loyall Cantons of contemned loue,
 And sing them lowd euen in the dead of night:
 Hallow your name to the reuerberate hilles,
 And make the babling Gossip of the aire,
 Cry out Oliuia: O you should not rest
 Betweene the elements of ayre, and earth,
 But you should pittie me
 
    Ol. You might do much:
 What is your Parentage?
   Vio. Aboue my fortunes, yet my state is well:
 I am a Gentleman
 
    Ol. Get you to your Lord:
 I cannot loue him: let him send no more,
 Vnlesse (perchance) you come to me againe,
 To tell me how he takes it: Fare you well:
 I thanke you for your paines: spend this for mee
 
    Vio. I am no feede poast, Lady; keepe your purse,
 My Master, not my selfe, lackes recompence.
 Loue make his heart of flint, that you shal loue,
 And let your feruour like my masters be,
 Plac'd in contempt: Farwell fayre crueltie.
 
 Exit
 
   Ol. What is your Parentage?
 Aboue my fortunes, yet my state is well;
 I am a Gentleman. Ile be sworne thou art,
 Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbes, actions, and spirit,
 Do giue thee fiue-fold blazon: not too fast: soft, soft,
 Vnlesse the Master were the man. How now?
 Euen so quickly may one catch the plague?
 Me thinkes I feele this youths perfections
 With an inuisible, and subtle stealth
 To creepe in at mine eyes. Well, let it be.
 What hoa, Maluolio.
 Enter Maluolio.
 
   Mal. Heere Madam, at your seruice
 
    Ol. Run after that same peeuish Messenger
 The Countes man: he left this Ring behinde him
 Would I, or not: tell him, Ile none of it.
 Desire him not to flatter with his Lord,
 Nor hold him vp with hopes, I am not for him:
 If that the youth will come this way to morrow,
 Ile giue him reasons for't: hie thee Maluolio
 
    Mal. Madam, I will.
 Enter.
 
   Ol. I do I know not what, and feare to finde
 Mine eye too great a flatterer for my minde:
 Fate, shew thy force, our selues we do not owe,
 What is decreed, must be: and be this so.
 
 Finis, Actus primus.
 
 
 Actus Secundus, Scaena prima.
 
 Enter Antonio & Sebastian.
 
   Ant. Will you stay no longer: nor will you not that
 I go with you
 
    Seb. By your patience, no: my starres shine darkely
 ouer me; the malignancie of my fate, might perhaps distemper
 yours; therefore I shall craue of you your leaue,
 that I may beare my euils alone. It were a bad recompence
 for your loue, to lay any of them on you
 
    An. Let me yet know of you, whither you are bound
 
    Seb. No sooth sir: my determinate voyage is meere
 extrauagancie. But I perceiue in you so excellent a touch
 of modestie, that you will not extort from me, what I am
 willing to keepe in: therefore it charges me in manners,
 the rather to expresse my selfe: you must know of mee
 then Antonio, my name is Sebastian (which I call'd Rodorigo)
 my father was that Sebastian of Messaline, whom I
 know you haue heard of. He left behinde him, my selfe,
 and a sister, both borne in an houre: if the Heauens had
 beene pleas'd, would we had so ended. But you sir, alter'd
 that, for some houre before you tooke me from the
 breach of the sea, was my sister drown'd
 
    Ant. Alas the day
 
    Seb. A Lady sir, though it was said shee much resembled
 me, was yet of many accounted beautiful: but thogh
 I could not with such estimable wonder ouer-farre beleeue
 that, yet thus farre I will boldly publish her, shee
 bore a minde that enuy could not but call faire: Shee is
 drown'd already sir with salt water, though I seeme to
 drowne her remembrance againe with more
 
    Ant. Pardon me sir, your bad entertainment
 
    Seb. O good Antonio, forgiue me your trouble
 
    Ant. If you will not murther me for my loue, let mee
 be your seruant
 
    Seb. If you will not vndo what you haue done, that is
 kill him, whom you haue recouer'd, desire it not. Fare
 ye well at once, my bosome is full of kindnesse, and I
 am yet so neere the manners of my mother, that vpon the
 least occasion more, mine eyes will tell tales of me: I am
 bound to the Count Orsino's Court, farewell.
 
 Exit
 
   Ant. The gentlenesse of all the gods go with thee:
 I haue many enemies in Orsino's Court,
 Else would I very shortly see thee there:
 But come what may, I do adore thee so,
 That danger shall seeme sport, and I will go.
 Enter.
 
 
 Scaena Secunda.
 
 Enter Viola and Maluolio, at seuerall doores.
 
   Mal. Were not you eu'n now, with the Countesse Oliuia?
   Vio. Euen now sir, on a moderate pace, I haue since ariu'd
 but hither
 
    Mal. She returnes this Ring to you (sir) you might
 haue saued mee my paines, to haue taken it away your
 selfe. She adds moreouer, that you should put your Lord
 into a desperate assurance, she will none of him. And one
 thing more, that you be neuer so hardie to come againe
 in his affaires, vnlesse it bee to report your Lords taking
 of this: receiue it so
 
    Vio. She tooke the Ring of me, Ile none of it
 
    Mal. Come sir, you peeuishly threw it to her: and
 her will is, it should be so return'd: If it bee worth stooping
 for, there it lies, in your eye: if not, bee it his that
 findes it.
 Enter.
 
   Vio. I left no Ring with her: what meanes this Lady?
 Fortune forbid my out-side haue not charm'd her:
 She made good view of me, indeed so much,
 That me thought her eyes had lost her tongue,
 For she did speake in starts distractedly.
 She loues me sure, the cunning of her passion
 Inuites me in this churlish messenger:
 None of my Lords Ring? Why he sent her none;
 I am the man, if it be so, as tis,
 Poore Lady, she were better loue a dreame:
 Disguise, I see thou art a wickednesse,
 Wherein the pregnant enemie does much.
 How easie is it, for the proper false
 In womens waxen hearts to set their formes:
 Alas, O frailtie is the cause, not wee,
 For such as we are made, if such we bee:
 How will this fadge? My master loues her deerely,
 And I (poore monster) fond asmuch on him:
 And she (mistaken) seemes to dote on me:
 What will become of this? As I am man,
 My state is desperate for my maisters loue:
 As I am woman (now alas the day)
 What thriftlesse sighes shall poore Oliuia breath?
 O time, thou must vntangle this, not I,
 It is too hard a knot for me t' vnty.
 
 Scoena Tertia.
 
 Enter Sir Toby, and Sir Andrew.
 
   To. Approach Sir Andrew: not to bee a bedde after
 midnight, is to be vp betimes, and Deliculo surgere, thou
 know'st
 
    And. Nay by my troth I know not: but I know, to
 be vp late, is to be vp late
 
    To. A false conclusion: I hate it as an vnfill'd Canne.
 To be vp after midnight, and to go to bed then is early:
 so that to go to bed after midnight, is to goe to bed betimes.
 Does not our liues consist of the foure Elements?
   And. Faith so they say, but I thinke it rather consists
 of eating and drinking
 
    To. Th'art a scholler; let vs therefore eate and drinke
 Marian I say, a stoope of wine.
 Enter Clowne.
 
   And. Heere comes the foole yfaith
 
    Clo. How now my harts: Did you neuer see the Picture
 of we three?
   To. Welcome asse, now let's haue a catch
 
    And. By my troth the foole has an excellent breast. I
 had rather then forty shillings I had such a legge, and so
 sweet a breath to sing, as the foole has. Insooth thou wast
 in very gracious fooling last night, when thou spok'st of
 Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians passing the Equinoctial of
 Queubus: 'twas very good yfaith: I sent thee sixe pence
 for thy Lemon, hadst it?
   Clo. I did impeticos thy gratillity: for Maluolios nose
 is no Whip-stocke. My Lady has a white hand, and the
 Mermidons are no bottle-ale houses
 
    An. Excellent: Why this is the best fooling, when
 all is done. Now a song
 
    To. Come on, there is sixe pence for you. Let's haue
 a song
 
    An. There's a testrill of me too: if one knight giue a
   Clo. Would you haue a loue-song, or a song of good
 life?
   To. A loue song, a loue song
 
    An. I, I. I care not for good life
 
    Clowne sings .
 O Mistris mine where are you roming?
 O stay and heare, your true loues coming,
 That can sing both high and low.
 Trip no further prettie sweeting.
 Iourneys end in louers meeting,
 Euery wise mans sonne doth know
 
    An. Excellent good, ifaith
 
    To. Good, good
 
    Clo. What is loue, tis not heereafter,
 Present mirth, hath present laughter:
 What's to come, is still vnsure.
 In delay there lies no plentie,
 Then come kisse me sweet and twentie:
 Youths a stuffe will not endure
 
    An. A mellifluous voyce, as I am true knight
 
    To. A contagious breath
 
    An. Very sweet, and contagious ifaith
 
    To. To heare by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion.
 But shall we make the Welkin dance indeed? Shall wee
 rowze the night-Owle in a Catch, that will drawe three
 soules out of one Weauer? Shall we do that?
   And. And you loue me, let's doo't: I am dogge at a
 Catch
 
    Clo. Byrlady sir, and some dogs will catch well
 
    An. Most certaine: Let our Catch be, Thou Knaue
 
    Clo. Hold thy peace, thou Knaue knight. I shall be constrain'd
 in't, to call thee knaue, Knight
 
    An. 'Tis not the first time I haue constrained one to
 call me knaue. Begin foole: it begins, Hold thy peace
 
    Clo. I shall neuer begin if I hold my peace
 
    An. Good ifaith: Come begin.
 
 Catch sung
 
 Enter Maria.
 
   Mar. What a catterwalling doe you keepe heere? If
 my Ladie haue not call'd vp her Steward Maluolio, and
 bid him turne you out of doores, neuer trust me
 
    To. My Lady's a Catayan, we are politicians, Maluolios
 a Peg-a-ramsie, and Three merry men be wee. Am not I
 consanguinious? Am I not of her blood: tilly vally. Ladie,
 There dwelt a man in Babylon, Lady, Lady
 
    Clo. Beshrew me, the knights in admirable fooling
 
    An. I, he do's well enough if he be dispos'd, and so
 do I too: he does it with a better grace, but I do it more
 naturall
 
    To. O the twelfe day of December
 
    Mar. For the loue o' God peace.
 Enter Maluolio.
 
   Mal. My masters are you mad? Or what are you?
 Haue you no wit, manners, nor honestie, but to gabble
 like Tinkers at this time of night? Do yee make an Alehouse
 of my Ladies house, that ye squeak out your Coziers
 Catches without any mitigation or remorse of voice?
 Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time in you?
   To. We did keepe time sir in our Catches. Snecke vp
 
    Mal. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My Lady
 bad me tell you, that though she harbors you as her kinsman,
 she's nothing ally'd to your disorders. If you can
 separate your selfe and your misdemeanors, you are welcome
 to the house: if not, and it would please you to take
 leaue of her, she is very willing to bid you farewell
 
    To. Farewell deere heart, since I must needs be gone
 
    Mar. Nay good Sir Toby
 
    Clo. His eyes do shew his dayes are almost done
 
    Mal. Is't euen so?
   To. But I will neuer dye
 
    Clo. Sir Toby there you lye
 
    Mal. This is much credit to you
 
    To. Shall I bid him go
 
    Clo. What and if you do?
   To. Shall I bid him go, and spare not?
   Clo. O no, no, no, no, you dare not
 
    To. Out o' tune sir, ye lye: Art any more then a Steward?
 Dost thou thinke because thou art vertuous, there
 shall be no more Cakes and Ale?
   Clo. Yes by S[aint]. Anne, and Ginger shall bee hotte y'th
 mouth too
 
    To. Th'art i'th right. Goe sir, rub your Chaine with
 crums. A stope of Wine Maria
 
    Mal. Mistris Mary, if you priz'd my Ladies fauour
 at any thing more then contempt, you would not giue
 meanes for this vnciuill rule; she shall know of it by this
 hand.
 
 Exit
 
   Mar. Go shake your eares
 
    An. 'Twere as good a deede as to drink when a mans
 a hungrie, to challenge him the field, and then to breake
 promise with him, and make a foole of him
 
    To. Doo't knight, Ile write thee a Challenge: or Ile
 deliuer thy indignation to him by word of mouth
 
    Mar. Sweet Sir Toby be patient for to night: Since
 the youth of the Counts was to day with my Lady, she is
 much out of quiet. For Monsieur Maluolio, let me alone
 with him: If I do not gull him into a nayword, and make
 him a common recreation, do not thinke I haue witte enough
 to lye straight in my bed: I know I can do it
 
    To. Possesse vs, possesse vs, tell vs something of him
 
    Mar. Marrie sir, sometimes he is a kinde of Puritane
 
    An. O, if I thought that, Ide beate him like a dogge
 
    To. What for being a Puritan, thy exquisite reason,
 deere knight
 
    An. I haue no exquisite reason for't, but I haue reason
 good enough
 
    Mar. The diu'll a Puritane that hee is, or any thing
 constantly but a time-pleaser, an affection'd Asse, that
 cons State without booke, and vtters it by great swarths.
 The best perswaded of himselfe: so cram'd (as he thinkes)
 with excellencies, that it is his grounds of faith, that all
 that looke on him, loue him: and on that vice in him, will
 my reuenge finde notable cause to worke
 
    To. What wilt thou do?
   Mar. I will drop in his way some obscure Epistles of
 loue, wherein by the colour of his beard, the shape of his
 legge, the manner of his gate, the expressure of his eye,
 forehead, and complection, he shall finde himselfe most
 feelingly personated. I can write very like my Ladie
 your Neece, on a forgotten matter wee can hardly make
 distinction of our hands
 
    To. Excellent, I smell a deuice
 
    An. I hau't in my nose too
 
    To. He shall thinke by the Letters that thou wilt drop
 that they come from my Neece, and that shee's in loue
 with him
 
    Mar. My purpose is indeed a horse of that colour
 
    An. And your horse now would make him an Asse
 
    Mar. Asse, I doubt not
 
    An. O twill be admirable
 
    Mar. Sport royall I warrant you: I know my Physicke
 will worke with him, I will plant you two, and let
 the Foole make a third, where he shall finde the Letter:
 obserue his construction of it: For this night to bed, and
 dreame on the euent: Farewell.
 
 Exit
 
   To. Good night Penthisilea
 
    An. Before me she's a good wench
 
    To. She's a beagle true bred, and one that adores me:
 what o'that?
   An. I was ador'd once too
 
    To. Let's to bed knight: Thou hadst neede send for
 more money
 
    An. If I cannot recouer your Neece, I am a foule way
 out
 
    To. Send for money knight, if thou hast her not i'th
 end, call me Cut
 
    An. If I do not, neuer trust me, take it how you will
 
    To. Come, come, Ile go burne some Sacke, tis too late
 to go to bed now: Come knight, come knight.
 
 Exeunt.
 
 Scena Quarta.
 
 Enter Duke, Viola, Curio, and others
 
    Du. Giue me some Musick; Now good morow frends.
 Now good Cesario, but that peece of song,
 That old and Anticke song we heard last night;
 Me thought it did releeue my passion much,
 More then light ayres, and recollected termes
 Of these most briske and giddy-paced times.
 Come, but one verse
 
    Cur. He is not heere (so please your Lordshippe) that
 should sing it?
   Du. Who was it?
   Cur. Feste the Iester my Lord, a foole that the Ladie
 Oliuiaes Father tooke much delight in. He is about the
 house
 
    Du. Seeke him out, and play the tune the while.
 
 Musicke playes.
 
 Come hither Boy, if euer thou shalt loue
 In the sweet pangs of it, remember me:
 For such as I am, all true Louers are,
 Vnstaid and skittish in all motions else,
 Saue in the constant image of the creature
 That is belou'd. How dost thou like this tune?
   Vio. It giues a verie eccho to the seate
 Where loue is thron'd
 
    Du. Thou dost speake masterly,
 My life vpon't, yong though thou art, thine eye
 Hath staid vpon some fauour that it loues:
 Hath it not boy?
   Vio. A little, by your fauour
 
    Du. What kinde of woman ist?
   Vio. Of your complection
 
    Du. She is not worth thee then. What yeares ifaith?
   Vio. About your yeeres my Lord
 
    Du. Too old by heauen: Let still the woman take
 An elder then her selfe, so weares she to him;
 So swayes she leuell in her husbands heart:
 For boy, howeuer we do praise our selues,
 Our fancies are more giddie and vnfirme,
 More longing, wauering, sooner lost and worne,
 Then womens are
 
    Vio. I thinke it well my Lord
 
    Du. Then let thy Loue be yonger then thy selfe,
 Or thy affection cannot hold the bent:
 For women are as Roses, whose faire flowre
 Being once displaid, doth fall that verie howre
 
    Vio. And so they are: alas, that they are so:
 To die, euen when they to perfection grow.
 Enter Curio & Clowne.
 
   Du. O fellow come, the song we had last night:
 Marke it Cesario, it is old and plaine;
 The Spinsters and the Knitters in the Sun,
 And the free maides that weaue their thred with bones,
 Do vse to chaunt it: it is silly sooth,
 And dallies with the innocence of loue,
 Like the old age
 
    Clo. Are you ready Sir?
   Duke. I prethee sing.
 
 Musicke.
 
 The Song.
 
 Come away, come away death,
 And in sad cypresse let me be laide.
 Fye away, fie away breath,
 I am slaine by a faire cruell maide:
 My shrowd of white, stuck all with Ew, O prepare it.
 My part of death no one so true did share it.
 Not a flower, not a flower sweete
 On my blacke coffin, let there be strewne:
 Not a friend, not a friend greet
 My poore corpes, where my bones shall be throwne:
 A thousand thousand sighes to saue, lay me o where
 Sad true louer neuer find my graue, to weepe there
 
    Du. There's for thy paines
 
    Clo. No paines sir, I take pleasure in singing sir
 
    Du. Ile pay thy pleasure then
 
    Clo. Truely sir, and pleasure will be paide one time, or
 another
 
    Du. Giue me now leaue, to leaue thee
 
    Clo. Now the melancholly God protect thee, and the
 Tailor make thy doublet of changeable Taffata, for thy
 minde is a very Opall. I would haue men of such constancie
 put to Sea, that their businesse might be euery thing,
 and their intent euerie where, for that's it, that alwayes
 makes a good voyage of nothing. Farewell.
 
 Exit
 
   Du. Let all the rest giue place: Once more Cesario,
 Get thee to yond same soueraigne crueltie:
 Tell her my loue, more noble then the world
 Prizes not quantitie of dirtie lands,
 The parts that fortune hath bestow'd vpon her:
 Tell her I hold as giddily as Fortune:
 But 'tis that miracle, and Queene of Iems
 That nature prankes her in, attracts my soule
 
    Vio. But if she cannot loue you sir
 
    Du. It cannot be so answer'd
 
    Vio. Sooth but you must.
 Say that some Lady, as perhappes there is,
 Hath for your loue as great a pang of heart
 As you haue for Oliuia: you cannot loue her:
 You tel her so: Must she not then be answer'd?
   Du. There is no womans sides
 Can bide the beating of so strong a passion,
 As loue doth giue my heart: no womans heart
 So bigge, to hold so much, they lacke retention.
 Alas, their loue may be call'd appetite,
 No motion of the Liuer, but the Pallat,
 That suffer surfet, cloyment, and reuolt,
 But mine is all as hungry as the Sea,
 And can digest as much, make no compare
 Betweene that loue a woman can beare me,
 And that I owe Oliuia
 
    Vio. I but I know
 
    Du. What dost thou knowe?
   Vio. Too well what loue women to men may owe:
 In faith they are as true of heart, as we.
 My Father had a daughter lou'd a man
 As it might be perhaps, were I a woman
 I should your Lordship
 
    Du. And what's her history?
   Vio. A blanke my Lord: she neuer told her loue,
 But let concealment like a worme i'th budde
 Feede on her damaske cheeke: she pin'd in thought,
 And with a greene and yellow melancholly,
 She sate like Patience on a Monument,
 Smiling at greefe. Was not this loue indeede?
 We men may say more, sweare more, but indeed
 Our shewes are more then will: for still we proue
 Much in our vowes, but little in our loue
 
    Du. But di'de thy sister of her loue my Boy?
   Vio. I am all the daughters of my Fathers house,
 And all the brothers too: and yet I know not.
 Sir, shall I to this Lady?
   Du. I that's the Theame,
 To her in haste: giue her this Iewell: say,
 My loue can giue no place, bide no denay.
 
 Exeunt.
 
 Scena Quinta.
 
 Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian.
 
   To. Come thy wayes Signior Fabian
 
    Fab. Nay Ile come: if I loose a scruple of this sport,
 let me be boyl'd to death with Melancholly
 
    To. Wouldst thou not be glad to haue the niggardly
 Rascally sheepe-biter, come by some notable shame?
   Fa. I would exult man: you know he brought me out
 o' fauour with my Lady, about a Beare-baiting heere
 
    To. To anger him wee'l haue the Beare againe, and
 we will foole him blacke and blew, shall we not sir Andrew?
   An. And we do not, it is pittie of our liues.
 Enter Maria.
 
   To. Heere comes the little villaine: How now my
 Mettle of India?
   Mar. Get ye all three into the box tree: Maluolio's
 comming downe this walke, he has beene yonder i'the
 Sunne practising behauiour to his own shadow this halfe
 houre: obserue him for the loue of Mockerie: for I know
 this Letter wil make a contemplatiue Ideot of him. Close
 in the name of ieasting, lye thou there: for heere comes
 the Trowt, that must be caught with tickling.
 
 Exit
 
 Enter Maluolio.
 
   Mal. 'Tis but Fortune, all is fortune. Maria once
 told me she did affect me, and I haue heard her self come
 thus neere, that should shee fancie, it should bee one of
 my complection. Besides she vses me with a more exalted
 respect, then any one else that followes her. What
 should I thinke on't?
   To. Heere's an ouer-weening rogue
 
    Fa. Oh peace: Contemplation makes a rare Turkey
 Cocke of him, how he iets vnder his aduanc'd plumes
 
    And. Slight I could so beate the Rogue
 
    To. Peace I say
 
    Mal. To be Count Maluolio
 
    To. Ah Rogue
 
    An. Pistoll him, pistoll him
 
    To. Peace, peace
 
    Mal. There is example for't: The Lady of the Strachy,
 married the yeoman of the wardrobe
 
    An. Fie on him Iezabel
 
    Fa. O peace, now he's deepely in: looke how imagination
 blowes him
 
    Mal. Hauing beene three moneths married to her,
 sitting in my state
 
    To. O for a stone-bow to hit him in the eye
 
    Mal. Calling my Officers about me, in my branch'd
 Veluet gowne: hauing come from a day bedde, where I
 haue left Oliuia sleeping
 
    To. Fire and Brimstone
 
    Fa. O peace, peace
 
    Mal. And then to haue the humor of state: and after
 a demure trauaile of regard: telling them I knowe my
 place, as I would they should doe theirs: to aske for my
 kinsman Toby
 
    To. Boltes and shackles
 
    Fa. Oh peace, peace, peace, now, now
 
    Mal. Seauen of my people with an obedient start,
 make out for him: I frowne the while, and perchance
 winde vp my watch, or play with my some rich Iewell:
 Toby approaches; curtsies there to me
 
    To. Shall this fellow liue?
   Fa. Though our silence be drawne from vs with cars,
 yet peace
 
    Mal. I extend my hand to him thus: quenching my
 familiar smile with an austere regard of controll
 
    To. And do's not Toby take you a blow o'the lippes,
 then?
   Mal. Saying, Cosine Toby, my Fortunes hauing cast
 me on your Neece, giue me this prerogatiue of speech
 
    To. What, what?
   Mal. You must amend your drunkennesse
 
    To. Out scab
 
    Fab. Nay patience, or we breake the sinewes of our
 plot?
   Mal. Besides you waste the treasure of your time,
 with a foolish knight
 
    And. That's mee I warrant you
 
    Mal. One sir Andrew
 
    And. I knew 'twas I, for many do call mee foole
 
    Mal. What employment haue we heere?
   Fa. Now is the Woodcocke neere the gin
 
    To. Oh peace, and the spirit of humors intimate reading
 aloud to him
 
    Mal. By my life this is my Ladies hand: these bee her
 very C's, her V's, and her T's, and thus makes shee her
 great P's. It is in contempt of question her hand
 
    An. Her C's, her V's, and her T's: why that?
   Mal. To the vnknowne belou'd, this, and my good Wishes:
 Her very Phrases: By your leaue wax. Soft, and the impressure
 her Lucrece, with which she vses to seale: tis my
 Lady: To whom should this be?
   Fab. This winnes him, Liuer and all
 
    Mal. Ioue knowes I loue, but who, Lips do not mooue, no
 man must know. No man must know. What followes?
 The numbers alter'd: No man must know,
 If this should be thee Maluolio?
   To. Marrie hang thee brocke
 
    Mal. I may command where I adore, but silence like a Lucresse
 knife:
 With bloodlesse stroke my heart doth gore, M.O.A.I. doth
 sway my life
 
    Fa. A fustian riddle
 
    To. Excellent Wench, say I
 
    Mal. M.O.A.I. doth sway my life. Nay but first
 let me see, let me see, let me see
 
    Fab. What dish a poyson has she drest him?
   To. And with what wing the stallion checkes at it?
   Mal. I may command, where I adore: Why shee may
 command me: I serue her, she is my Ladie. Why this is
 euident to any formall capacitie. There is no obstruction
 in this, and the end: What should that Alphabeticall position
 portend, if I could make that resemble something
 in me? Softly, M.O.A.I
 
    To. O I, make vp that, he is now at a cold sent
 
    Fab. Sowter will cry vpon't for all this, though it bee
 as ranke as a Fox
 
    Mal. M. Maluolio, M. why that begins my name
 
    Fab. Did not I say he would worke it out, the Curre
 is excellent at faults
 
    Mal. M. But then there is no consonancy in the sequell
 that suffers vnder probation: A. should follow, but O.
 does
 
    Fa. And O shall end, I hope
 
    To. I, or Ile cudgell him, and make him cry O
 
    Mal. And then I. comes behind
 
    Fa. I, and you had any eye behinde you, you might
 see more detraction at your heeles, then Fortunes before
 you
 
    Mal. M,O,A,I. This simulation is not as the former:
 and yet to crush this a little, it would bow to mee, for euery
 one of these Letters are in my name. Soft, here followes
 prose: If this fall into thy hand, reuolue. In my stars
 I am aboue thee, but be not affraid of greatnesse: Some
 are become great, some atcheeues greatnesse, and some
 haue greatnesse thrust vppon em. Thy fates open theyr
 hands, let thy blood and spirit embrace them, and to invre
 thy selfe to what thou art like to be: cast thy humble
 slough, and appeare fresh. Be opposite with a kinsman,
 surly with seruants: Let thy tongue tang arguments of
 state; put thy selfe into the tricke of singularitie. Shee
 thus aduises thee, that sighes for thee. Remember who
 commended thy yellow stockings, and wish'd to see thee
 euer crosse garter'd: I say remember, goe too, thou art
 made if thou desir'st to be so: If not, let me see thee a steward
 still, the fellow of seruants, and not woorthie to
 touch Fortunes fingers Farewell, Shee that would alter
 seruices with thee, the fortunate vnhappy daylight and
 champian discouers not more: This is open, I will bee
 proud, I will reade politicke Authours, I will baffle Sir
 Toby, I will wash off grosse acquaintance, I will be point
 deuise, the very man. I do not now foole my selfe, to let
 imagination iade mee; for euery reason excites to this,
 that my Lady loues me. She did commend my yellow
 stockings of late, shee did praise my legge being crosse-garter'd,
 and in this she manifests her selfe to my loue, &
 with a kinde of iniunction driues mee to these habites of
 her liking. I thanke my starres, I am happy: I will bee
 strange, stout, in yellow stockings, and crosse Garter'd,
 euen with the swiftnesse of putting on. Ioue, and my
 starres be praised. Heere is yet a postscript. Thou canst
 not choose but know who I am. If thou entertainst my loue, let
 it appeare in thy smiling, thy smiles become thee well. Therefore
 in my presence still smile, deero my sweete, I prethee. Ioue
 I thanke thee, I will smile, I wil do euery thing that thou
 wilt haue me.
 
 Exit
 
   Fab. I will not giue my part of this sport for a pension
 of thousands to be paid from the Sophy
 
    To. I could marry this wench for this deuice
 
    An. So could I too
 
    To. And aske no other dowry with her, but such another
 iest.
 Enter Maria.
 
   An. Nor I neither
 
    Fab. Heere comes my noble gull catcher
 
    To. Wilt thou set thy foote o'my necke
 
    An. Or o'mine either?
   To. Shall I play my freedome at tray-trip, and becom
 thy bondslaue?
   An. Ifaith, or I either?
   Tob. Why, thou hast put him in such a dreame, that
 when the image of it leaues him, he must run mad
 
    Ma. Nay but say true, do's it worke vpon him?
   To. Like Aqua vite with a Midwife
 
    Mar. If you will then see the fruites of the sport, mark
 his first approach before my Lady: hee will come to her
 in yellow stockings, and 'tis a colour she abhorres, and
 crosse garter'd, a fashion shee detests: and hee will smile
 vpon her, which will now be so vnsuteable to her disposition,
 being addicted to a melancholly, as shee is, that it
 cannot but turn him into a notable contempt: if you wil
 see it follow me
 
    To. To the gates of Tartar, thou most excellent diuell
 of wit
 
    And. Ile make one too.
 
 Exeunt.
 
 Finis Actus secundus
 
 
 Actus Tertius, Scaena prima.
 
 Enter Viola and Clowne.
 
   Vio. Saue thee Friend and thy Musick: dost thou liue
 by thy Tabor?
   Clo. No sir, I liue by the Church
 
    Vio. Art thou a Churchman?
   Clo. No such matter sir, I do liue by the Church: For,
 I do liue at my house, and my house dooth stand by the
 Church
 
    Vio. So thou maist say the Kings lyes by a begger, if a
 begger dwell neer him: or the Church stands by thy Tabor,
 if thy Tabor stand by the Church
 
    Clo. You haue said sir: To see this age: A sentence is
 but a cheu'rill gloue to a good witte, how quickely the
 wrong side may be turn'd outward
 
    Vio. Nay that's certaine: they that dally nicely with
 words, may quickely make them wanton
 
    Clo. I would therefore my sister had had no name Sir
 
    Vio. Why man?
   Clo. Why sir, her names a word, and to dallie with
 that word, might make my sister wanton: But indeede,
 words are very Rascals, since bonds disgrac'd them
 
    Vio. Thy reason man?
   Clo. Troth sir, I can yeeld you none without wordes,
 and wordes are growne so false, I am loath to proue reason
 with them
 
    Vio. I warrant thou art a merry fellow, and car'st for
 nothing
 
    Clo. Not so sir, I do care for something: but in my conscience
 sir, I do not care for you: if that be to care for nothing
 sir, I would it would make you inuisible
 
    Vio. Art not thou the Lady Oliuia's foole?
   Clo. No indeed sir, the Lady Oliuia has no folly, shee
 will keepe no foole sir, till she be married, and fooles are
 as like husbands, as Pilchers are to Herrings, the Husbands
 the bigger, I am indeede not her foole, but hir corrupter
 of words
 
    Vio. I saw thee late at the Count Orsino's
 
    Clo. Foolery sir, does walke about the Orbe like the
 Sun, it shines euery where. I would be sorry sir, but the
 Foole should be as oft with your Master, as with my Mistris:
 I thinke I saw your wisedome there
 
    Vio. Nay, and thou passe vpon me, Ile no more with
 thee. Hold there's expences for thee
 
    Clo. Now Ioue in his next commodity of hayre, send
 thee a beard
 
    Vio. By my troth Ile tell thee, I am almost sicke for
 one, though I would not haue it grow on my chinne. Is
 thy Lady within?
   Clo Would not a paire of these haue bred sir?
   Vio. Yes being kept together, and put to vse
 
    Clo. I would play Lord Pandarus of Phrygia sir, to bring
 a Cressida to this Troylus
 
    Vio. I vnderstand you sir, tis well begg'd
 
    Clo. The matter I hope is not great sir; begging, but a
 begger: Cressida was a begger. My Lady is within sir. I
 will conster to them whence you come, who you are, and
 what you would are out of my welkin, I might say Element,
 but the word is ouer-worne.
 
 Exit
 
   Vio. This fellow is wise enough to play the foole,
 And to do that well, craues a kinde of wit:
 He must obserue their mood on whom he iests,
 The quality of persons, and the time:
 And like the Haggard, checke at euery Feather
 That comes before his eye. This is a practice,
 As full of labour as a Wise-mans Art:
 For folly that he wisely shewes, is fit;
 But wisemens folly falne, quite taint their wit.
 Enter Sir Toby and Andrew.
 
   To. Saue you Gentleman
 
    Vio. And you sir
 
    And. Dieu vou guard Monsieur
 
    Vio. Et vouz ousie vostre seruiture
 
    An. I hope sir, you are, and I am yours
 
    To. Will you incounter the house, my Neece is desirous
 you should enter, if your trade be to her
 
    Vio. I am bound to your Neece sir, I meane she is the
 list of my voyage
 
    To. Taste your legges sir, put them to motion
 
    Vio. My legges do better vnderstand me sir, then I vnderstand
 what you meane by bidding me taste my legs
 
    To. I meane to go sir, to enter
 
    Vio. I will answer you with gate and entrance, but we
 are preuented.
 Enter Oliuia, and Gentlewoman.
 
 Most excellent accomplish'd Lady, the heauens raine Odours
 on you
 
    And. That youth's a rare Courtier, raine odours, wel
 
    Vio. My matter hath no voice Lady, but to your owne
 most pregnant and vouchsafed eare
 
    And. Odours, pregnant, and vouchsafed: Ile get 'em
 all three already
 
    Ol. Let the Garden doore be shut, and leaue mee to
 my hearing. Giue me your hand sir
 
    Vio. My dutie Madam, and most humble seruice
 
    Ol. What is your name?
   Vio. Cesario is your seruants name, faire Princesse
 
    Ol. My seruant sir? 'Twas neuer merry world,
 Since lowly feigning was call'd complement:
 Y'are seruant to the Count Orsino youth
 
    Vio. And he is yours, and his must needs be yours:
 Your seruants seruant, is your seruant Madam
 
    Ol. For him, I thinke not on him: for his thoughts,
 Would they were blankes, rather then fill'd with me
 
    Vio. Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts
 On his behalfe
 
    Ol. O by your leaue I pray you.
 I bad you neuer speake againe of him;
 But would you vndertake another suite
 I had rather heare you, to solicit that,
 Then Musicke from the spheares
 
    Vio. Deere Lady
 
    Ol. Giue me leaue, beseech you: I did send,
 After the last enchantment you did heare,
 A Ring in chace of you. So did I abuse
 My selfe, my seruant, and I feare me you:
 Vnder your hard construction must I sit,
 To force that on you in a shamefull cunning
 Which you knew none of yours. What might you think?
 Haue you not set mine Honor at the stake,
 And baited it with all th' vnmuzled thoughts
 That tyrannous heart can think? To one of your receiuing
 Enough is shewne, a Cipresse, not a bosome,
 Hides my heart: so let me heare you speake
 
    Vio. I pittie you
 
    Ol. That's a degree to loue
 
    Vio. No not a grize: for tis a vulgar proofe
 That verie oft we pitty enemies
 
    Ol. Why then me thinkes 'tis time to smile agen:
 O world, how apt the poore are to be proud?
 If one should be a prey, how much the better
 To fall before the Lion, then the Wolfe?
 
 Clocke strikes.
 
 The clocke vpbraides me with the waste of time:
 Be not affraid good youth, I will not haue you,
 And yet when wit and youth is come to haruest,
 Your wife is like to reape a proper man:
 There lies your way, due West
 
    Vio. Then Westward hoe:
 Grace and good disposition attend your Ladyship:
 You'l nothing Madam to my Lord, by me:
   Ol. Stay: I prethee tell me what thou thinkst of me?
   Vio. That you do thinke you are not what you are
 
    Ol. If I thinke so, I thinke the same of you
 
    Vio. Then thinke you right: I am not what I am
 
    Ol. I would you were, as I would haue you be
 
    Vio. Would it be better Madam, then I am?
 I wish it might, for now I am your foole
 
    Ol. O what a deale of scorne, lookes beautifull?
 In the contempt and anger of his lip,
 A murdrous guilt shewes not it selfe more soone,
 Then loue that would seeme hid: Loues night, is noone.
 Cesario, by the Roses of the Spring,
 By maid-hood, honor, truth, and euery thing,
 I loue thee so, that maugre all thy pride,
 Nor wit, nor reason, can my passion hide:
 Do not extort thy reasons from this clause,
 For that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause:
 But rather reason thus, with reason fetter;
 Loue sought, is good: but giuen vnsought, is better
 
    Vio. By innocence I sweare, and by my youth,
 I haue one heart, one bosome, and one truth,
 And that no woman has, nor neuer none
 Shall mistris be of it, saue I alone.
 And so adieu good Madam, neuer more,
 Will I my Masters teares to you deplore
 
    Ol. Yet come againe: for thou perhaps mayst moue
 That heart which now abhorres, to like his loue.
 
 Exeunt.
 
 Scoena Secunda.
 
 Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian.
 
   And. No faith, Ile not stay a iot longer:
   To. Thy reason deere venom, giue thy reason
 
    Fab. You must needes yeelde your reason, Sir Andrew?
   And. Marry I saw your Neece do more fauours to the
 Counts Seruing-man, then euer she bestow'd vpon mee:
 I saw't i'th Orchard
 
    To. Did she see the while, old boy, tell me that
 
    And. As plaine as I see you now
 
    Fab. This was a great argument of loue in her toward
 you
 
    And. S'light; will you make an Asse o'me
 
    Fab. I will proue it legitimate sir, vpon the Oathes of
 iudgement, and reason
 
    To. And they haue beene grand Iurie men, since before
 Noah was a Saylor
 
    Fab. Shee did shew fauour to the youth in your sight,
 onely to exasperate you, to awake your dormouse valour,
 to put fire in your Heart, and brimstone in your Liuer:
 you should then haue accosted her, and with some excellent
 iests, fire-new from the mint, you should haue bangd
 the youth into dumbenesse: this was look'd for at your
 hand, and this was baulkt: the double gilt of this opportunitie
 you let time wash off, and you are now sayld into
 the North of my Ladies opinion, where you will hang
 like an ysickle on a Dutchmans beard, vnlesse you do redeeme
 it, by some laudable attempt, either of valour or
 policie
 
    And. And't be any way, it must be with Valour, for
 policie I hate: I had as liefe be a Brownist, as a Politician
 
    To. Why then build me thy fortunes vpon the basis of
 valour. Challenge me the Counts youth to fight with him
 hurt him in eleuen places, my Neece shall take note of it,
 and assure thy selfe, there is no loue-Broker in the world,
 can more preuaile in mans commendation with woman,
 then report of valour
 
    Fab. There is no way but this sir Andrew
 
    An. Will either of you beare me a challenge to him?
   To. Go, write it in a martial hand, be curst and briefe:
 it is no matter how wittie, so it bee eloquent, and full of
 inuention: taunt him with the license of Inke: if thou
 thou'st him some thrice, it shall not be amisse, and as many
 Lyes, as will lye in thy sheete of paper, although the
 sheete were bigge enough for the bedde of Ware in England,
 set 'em downe, go about it. Let there bee gaulle enough
 in thy inke, though thou write with a Goose-pen,
 no matter: about it
 
    And. Where shall I finde you?
   To. Wee'l call thee at the Cubiculo: Go.
 
 Exit Sir Andrew.
 
   Fa. This is a deere Manakin to you Sir Toby
 
    To. I haue beene deere to him lad, some two thousand
 strong, or so
 
    Fa. We shall haue a rare Letter from him; but you'le
 not deliuer't
 
    To. Neuer trust me then: and by all meanes stirre on
 the youth to an answer. I thinke Oxen and waine-ropes
 cannot hale them together. For Andrew, if he were open'd
 and you finde so much blood in his Liuer, as will clog the
 foote of a flea, Ile eate the rest of th' anatomy
 
    Fab. And his opposit the youth beares in his visage no
 great presage of cruelty.
 Enter Maria.
 
   To. Looke where the youngest Wren of mine comes
 
    Mar. If you desire the spleene, and will laughe your
 selues into stitches, follow me; yond gull Maluolio is turned
 Heathen, a verie Renegatho; for there is no christian
 that meanes to be saued by beleeuing rightly, can euer
 beleeue such impossible passages of grossenesse. Hee's in
 yellow stockings
 
    To. And crosse garter'd?
   Mar. Most villanously: like a Pedant that keepes a
 Schoole i'th Church: I haue dogg'd him like his murtherer.
 He does obey euery point of the Letter that I dropt,
 to betray him: He does smile his face into more lynes,
 then is in the new Mappe, with the augmentation of the
 Indies: you haue not seene such a thing as tis: I can hardly
 forbeare hurling things at him, I know my Ladie will
 strike him: if shee doe, hee'l smile, and take't for a great
 fauour
 
    To. Come bring vs, bring vs where he is.
 
 Exeunt. Omnes.
 
 
 Scaena Tertia.
 
 Enter Sebastian and Anthonio.
 
   Seb. I would not by my will haue troubled you,
 But since you make your pleasure of your paines,
 I will no further chide you
 
    Ant. I could not stay behinde you: my desire
 (More sharpe then filed steele) did spurre me forth,
 And not all loue to see you (though so much
 As might haue drawne one to a longer voyage)
 But iealousie, what might befall your trauell,
 Being skillesse in these parts: which to a stranger,
 Vnguided, and vnfriended, often proue
 Rough, and vnhospitable. My willing loue,
 The rather by these arguments of feare
 Set forth in your pursuite
 
    Seb. My kinde Anthonio,
 I can no other answer make, but thankes,
 And thankes: and euer oft good turnes,
 Are shuffel'd off with such vncurrant pay:
 But were my worth, as is my conscience firme,
 You should finde better dealing: what's to do?
 Shall we go see the reliques of this Towne?
   Ant. To morrow sir, best first go see your Lodging?
   Seb. I am not weary, and 'tis long to night
 I pray you let vs satisfie our eyes
 With the memorials, and the things of fame
 That do renowne this City
 
    Ant. Would youl'd pardon me:
 I do not without danger walke these streetes.
 Once in a sea-fight 'gainst the Count his gallies,
 I did some seruice, of such note indeede,
 That were I tane heere, it would scarse be answer'd
 
    Seb. Belike you slew great number of his people
 
    Ant. Th' offence is not of such a bloody nature,
 Albeit the quality of the time, and quarrell
 Might well haue giuen vs bloody argument:
 It might haue since bene answer'd in repaying
 What we tooke from them, which for Traffiques sake
 Most of our City did. Onely my selfe stood out,
 For which if I be lapsed in this place
 I shall pay deere
 
    Seb. Do not then walke too open
 
    Ant. It doth not fit me: hold sir, here's my purse,
 In the South Suburbes at the Elephant
 Is best to lodge: I will bespeake our dyet,
 Whiles you beguile the time, and feed your knowledge
 With viewing of the Towne, there shall you haue me
 
    Seb. Why I your purse?
   Ant. Haply your eye shall light vpon some toy
 You haue desire to purchase: and your store
 I thinke is not for idle Markets, sir
 
    Seb. Ile be your purse-bearer, and leaue you
 For an houre
 
    Ant. To th' Elephant
 
    Seb. I do remember.
 
 Exeunt.
 
 
 
 Scoena Quarta.
 
 Enter Oliuia and Maria.
 
   Ol. I haue sent after him, he sayes hee'l come:
 How shall I feast him? What bestow of him?
 For youth is bought more oft, then begg'd, or borrow'd.
 I speake too loud: Where's Maluolio, he is sad, and ciuill,
 And suites well for a seruant with my fortunes,
 Where is Maluolio?
   Mar. He's comming Madame:
 But in very strange manner. He is sure possest Madam
 
    Ol. Why what's the matter, does he raue?
   Mar. No Madam, he does nothing but smile: your Ladyship
 were best to haue some guard about you, if hee
 come, for sure the man is tainted in's wits
 
    Ol. Go call him hither.
 Enter Maluolio.
 
 I am as madde as hee,
 If sad and merry madnesse equall bee.
 How now Maluolio?
   Mal. Sweet Lady, ho, ho
 
    Ol. Smil'st thou? I sent for thee vpon a sad occasion
 
    Mal. Sad Lady, I could be sad:
 This does make some obstruction in the blood:
 This crosse-gartering, but what of that?
 If it please the eye of one, it is with me as the very true
 Sonnet is: Please one, and please all
 
    Mal. Why how doest thou man?
 What is the matter with thee?
   Mal. Not blacke in my minde, though yellow in my
 legges: It did come to his hands, and Commaunds shall
 be executed. I thinke we doe know the sweet Romane
 hand
 
    Ol. Wilt thou go to bed Maluolio?
   Mal. To bed? I sweet heart, and Ile come to thee
 
    Ol. God comfort thee: Why dost thou smile so, and
 kisse thy hand so oft?
   Mar. How do you Maluolio?
   Maluo. At your request:
 Yes Nightingales answere Dawes
 
    Mar. Why appeare you with this ridiculous boldnesse
 before my Lady
 
    Mal. Be not afraid of greatnesse: 'twas well writ
 
    Ol. What meanst thou by that Maluolio?
   Mal. Some are borne great
 
    Ol. Ha?
   Mal. Some atcheeue greatnesse
 
    Ol. What sayst thou?
   Mal. And some haue greatnesse thrust vpon them
 
    Ol. Heauen restore thee
 
    Mal. Remember who commended thy yellow stockings
 
    Ol. Thy yellow stockings?
   Mal. And wish'd to see thee crosse garter'd
 
    Ol. Crosse garter'd?
   Mal. Go too, thou art made, if thou desir'st to be so
 
    Ol. Am I made?
   Mal. If not, let me see thee a seruant still
 
    Ol. Why this is verie Midsommer madnesse.
 Enter Seruant.
 
   Ser. Madame, the young Gentleman of the Count
 Orsino's is return'd, I could hardly entreate him backe: he
 attends your Ladyships pleasure
 
    Ol. Ile come to him.
 Good Maria, let this fellow be look'd too. Where's my
 Cosine Toby, let some of my people haue a speciall care
 of him, I would not haue him miscarrie for the halfe of
 my Dowry.
 
 Exit
 
   Mal. Oh ho, do you come neere me now: no worse
 man then sir Toby to looke to me. This concurres directly
 with the Letter, she sends him on purpose, that I may
 appeare stubborne to him: for she incites me to that in
 the Letter. Cast thy humble slough sayes she: be opposite
 with a Kinsman, surly with seruants, let thy tongue
 langer with arguments of state, put thy selfe into the
 tricke of singularity: and consequently setts downe the
 manner how: as a sad face, a reuerend carriage, a slow
 tongue, in the habite of some Sir of note, and so foorth.
 I haue lymde her, but it is Ioues doing, and Ioue make me
 thankefull. And when she went away now, let this Fellow
 be look'd too: Fellow? not Maluolio, nor after my
 degree, but Fellow. Why euery thing adheres togither,
 that no dramme of a scruple, no scruple of a scruple, no
 obstacle, no incredulous or vnsafe circumstance: What
 can be saide? Nothing that can be, can come betweene
 me, and the full prospect of my hopes. Well Ioue, not I,
 is the doer of this, and he is to be thanked.
 Enter Toby, Fabian, and Maria.
 
   To. Which way is hee in the name of sanctity. If all
 the diuels of hell be drawne in little, and Legion himselfe
 possest him, yet Ile speake to him
 
    Fab. Heere he is, heere he is: how ist with you sir?
 How ist with you man?
   Mal. Go off, I discard you: let me enioy my priuate:
 go off
 
    Mar. Lo, how hollow the fiend speakes within him;
 did not I tell you? Sir Toby, my Lady prayes you to haue
 a care of him
 
    Mal. Ah ha, does she so?
   To. Go too, go too: peace, peace, wee must deale
 gently with him: Let me alone. How do you Maluolio?
 How ist with you? What man, defie the diuell: consider,
 he's an enemy to mankinde
 
    Mal. Do you know what you say?
   Mar. La you, and you speake ill of the diuell, how
 he takes it at heart. Pray God he be not bewitch'd
 
    Fab. Carry his water to th' wise woman
 
    Mar. Marry and it shall be done to morrow morning
 if I liue. My Lady would not loose him for more then ile
 say
 
    Mal. How now mistris?
   Mar. Oh Lord
 
    To. Prethee hold thy peace, this is not the way: Doe
 you not see you moue him? Let me alone with him
 
    Fa. No way but gentlenesse, gently, gently: the Fiend
 is rough, and will not be roughly vs'd
 
    To. Why how now my bawcock? how dost y chuck?
   Mal. Sir
 
    To. I biddy, come with me. What man, tis not for
 grauity to play at cherrie-pit with sathan Hang him foul
 Colliar
 
    Mar. Get him to say his prayers, good sir Toby gette
 him to pray
 
    Mal. My prayers Minx
 
    Mar. No I warrant you, he will not heare of godlynesse
 
    Mal. Go hang your selues all: you are ydle shallowe
 things, I am not of your element, you shall knowe more
 heereafter.
 
 Exit
 
   To. Ist possible?
   Fa. If this were plaid vpon a stage now, I could condemne
 it as an improbable fiction
 
    To. His very genius hath taken the infection of the
 deuice man
 
    Mar. Nay pursue him now, least the deuice take ayre,
 and taint
 
    Fa. Why we shall make him mad indeede
 
    Mar. The house will be the quieter
 
    To. Come, wee'l haue him in a darke room & bound.
 My Neece is already in the beleefe that he's mad: we may
 carry it thus for our pleasure, and his pennance, til our very
 pastime tyred out of breath, prompt vs to haue mercy
 on him: at which time, we wil bring the deuice to the bar
 and crowne thee for a finder of madmen: but see, but see.
 Enter Sir Andrew.
 
   Fa. More matter for a May morning
 
    An. Heere's the Challenge, reade it: I warrant there's
 vinegar and pepper in't
 
    Fab. Ist so sawcy?
   And. I, ist? I warrant him: do but read
 
    To. Giue me.
 Youth, whatsoeuer thou art, thou art but a scuruy fellow
 
    Fa. Good, and valiant
 
    To. Wonder not, nor admire not in thy minde why I doe call
 thee so, for I will shew thee no reason for't
 
    Fa. A good note, that keepes you from the blow of y Law
   To. Thou comst to the Lady Oliuia, and in my sight she vses
 thee kindly: but thou lyest in thy throat, that is not the matter
 I challenge thee for
 
    Fa. Very breefe, and to exceeding good sence-lesse
 
    To. I will way-lay thee going home, where if it be thy chance
 to kill me
 
    Fa. Good
 
    To. Thou kilst me like a rogue and a villaine
 
    Fa. Still you keepe o'th windie side of the Law: good
 
    Tob. Fartheewell, and God haue mercie vpon one of our
 soules. He may haue mercie vpon mine, but my hope is better,
 and so looke to thy selfe. Thy friend as thou vsest him, & thy
 sworne enemie, Andrew Ague-cheeke
 
    To. If this Letter moue him not, his legges cannot:
 Ile giu't him
 
    Mar. You may haue verie fit occasion for't: he is now
 in some commerce with my Ladie, and will by and by
 depart
 
    To. Go sir Andrew: scout mee for him at the corner
 of the Orchard like a bum-Baylie: so soone as euer thou
 seest him, draw, and as thou draw'st, sweare horrible: for
 it comes to passe oft, that a terrible oath, with a swaggering
 accent sharpely twang'd off, giues manhoode more
 approbation, then euer proofe it selfe would haue earn'd
 him. Away
 
    And. Nay let me alone for swearing.
 
 Exit
 
   To. Now will not I deliuer his Letter: for the behauiour
 of the yong Gentleman, giues him out to be of good
 capacity, and breeding: his employment betweene his
 Lord and my Neece, confirmes no lesse. Therefore, this
 Letter being so excellently ignorant, will breed no terror
 in the youth: he will finde it comes from a Clodde-pole.
 But sir, I will deliuer his Challenge by word of mouth;
 set vpon Ague-cheeke a notable report of valor, and driue
 the Gentleman (as I know his youth will aptly receiue it)
 into a most hideous opinion of his rage, skill, furie, and
 impetuositie. This will so fright them both, that they wil
 kill one another by the looke, like Cockatrices.
 Enter Oliuia and Viola.
 
   Fab. Heere he comes with your Neece, giue them way
 till he take leaue, and presently after him
 
    To. I wil meditate the while vpon some horrid message
 for a Challenge
 
    Ol. I haue said too much vnto a hart of stone,
 And laid mine honour too vnchary on't:
 There's something in me that reproues my fault:
 But such a head-strong potent fault it is,
 That it but mockes reproofe
 
    Vio. With the same hauiour that your passion beares,
 Goes on my Masters greefes
 
    Ol. Heere, weare this Iewell for me, tis my picture:
 Refuse it not, it hath no tongue, to vex you:
 And I beseech you come againe to morrow.
 What shall you aske of me that Ile deny,
 That honour (sau'd) may vpon asking giue
 
    Vio. Nothing but this, your true loue for my master
 
    Ol. How with mine honor may I giue him that,
 Which I haue giuen to you
 
    Vio. I will acquit you
 
    Ol. Well, come againe to morrow: far-thee-well,
 A Fiend like thee might beare my soule to hell.
 Enter Toby and Fabian.
 
   To. Gentleman, God saue thee
 
    Vio. And you sir
 
    To. That defence thou hast, betake the too't: of what
 nature the wrongs are thou hast done him, I knowe not:
 but thy intercepter full of despight, bloody as the Hunter,
 attends thee at the Orchard end: dismount thy tucke,
 be yare in thy preparation, for thy assaylant is quick, skilfull,
 and deadly
 
    Vio. You mistake sir I am sure, no man hath any quarrell
 to me: my remembrance is very free and cleere from
 any image of offence done to any man
 
    To. You'l finde it otherwise I assure you: therefore, if
 you hold your life at any price, betake you to your gard:
 for your opposite hath in him what youth, strength, skill,
 and wrath, can furnish man withall
 
    Vio. I pray you sir what is he?
   To. He is knight dubb'd with vnhatch'd Rapier, and
 on carpet consideration, but he is a diuell in priuate brall,
 soules and bodies hath he diuorc'd three, and his incensement
 at this moment is so implacable, that satisfaction
 can be none, but by pangs of death and sepulcher: Hob,
 nob, is his word: giu't or take't
 
    Vio. I will returne againe into the house, and desire
 some conduct of the Lady. I am no fighter, I haue heard
 of some kinde of men, that put quarrells purposely on others,
 to taste their valour: belike this is a man of that
 quirke
 
    To. Sir, no: his indignation deriues it selfe out of a very
 computent iniurie, therefore get you on, and giue him
 his desire. Backe you shall not to the house, vnlesse you
 vndertake that with me, which with as much safetie you
 might answer him: therefore on, or strippe your sword
 starke naked: for meddle you must that's certain, or forsweare
 to weare iron about you
 
    Vio. This is as vnciuill as strange. I beseech you doe
 me this courteous office, as to know of the Knight what
 my offence to him is: it is something of my negligence,
 nothing of my purpose
 
    To. I will doe so. Signiour Fabian, stay you by this
 Gentleman, till my returne.
 
 Exit Toby.
 
   Vio. Pray you sir, do you know of this matter?
   Fab. I know the knight is incenst against you, euen to
 a mortall arbitrement, but nothing of the circumstance
 more
 
    Vio. I beseech you what manner of man is he?
   Fab. Nothing of that wonderfull promise to read him
 by his forme, as you are like to finde him in the proofe of
 his valour. He is indeede sir, the most skilfull, bloudy, &
 fatall opposite that you could possibly haue found in anie
 part of Illyria: will you walke towards him, I will make
 your peace with him, if I can
 
    Vio. I shall bee much bound to you for't: I am one,
 that had rather go with sir Priest, then sir knight: I care
 not who knowes so much of my mettle.
 
 Exeunt.
 
 Enter Toby and Andrew.
 
   To. Why man hee s a verie diuell, I haue not seen such
 a firago: I had a passe with him, rapier, scabberd, and all:
 and he giues me the stucke in with such a mortall motion
 that it is ineuitable: and on the answer, he payes you as
 surely, as your feete hits the ground they step on. They
 say, he has bin Fencer to the Sophy
 
    And. Pox on't, Ile not meddle with him
 
    To. I but he will not now be pacified,
 Fabian can scarse hold him yonder
 
    An. Plague on't, and I thought he had beene valiant,
 and so cunning in Fence, I'de haue seene him damn'd ere
 I'de haue challeng'd him. Let him let the matter slip, and
 Ile giue him my horse, gray Capilet
 
    To. Ile make the motion: stand heere, make a good
 shew on't, this shall end without the perdition of soules,
 marry Ile ride your horse as well as I ride you.
 Enter Fabian and Viola.
 
 I haue his horse to take vp the quarrell, I haue perswaded
 him the youths a diuell
 
    Fa. He is as horribly conceited of him: and pants, &
 lookes pale, as if a Beare were at his heeles
 
    To. There's no remedie sir, he will fight with you for's
 oath sake: marrie hee hath better bethought him of his
 quarrell, and hee findes that now scarse to bee worth talking
 of: therefore draw for the supportance of his vowe,
 he protests he will not hurt you
 
    Vio. Pray God defend me: a little thing would make
 me tell them how much I lacke of a man
 
    Fab. Giue ground if you see him furious
 
    To. Come sir Andrew, there's no remedie, the Gentleman
 will for his honors sake haue one bowt with you:
 he cannot by the Duello auoide it: but hee has promised
 me, as he is a Gentleman and a Soldiour, he will not hurt
 you. Come on, too't
 
    And. Pray God he keepe his oath.
 Enter Antonio.
 
   Vio. I do assure you tis against my will
 
    Ant. Put vp your sword: if this yong Gentleman
 Haue done offence, I take the fault on me:
 If you offend him, I for him defie you
 
    To. You sir? Why, what are you?
   Ant. One sir, that for his loue dares yet do more
 Then you haue heard him brag to you he will
 
    To. Nay, if you be an vndertaker, I am for you.
 Enter Officers.
 
   Fab. O good sir Toby hold: heere come the Officers
 
    To. Ile be with you anon
 
    Vio. Pray sir, put your sword vp if you please
 
    And. Marry will I sir: and for that I promis'd you Ile
 be as good as my word. Hee will beare you easily, and
 raines well
 
    1.Off. This is the man, do thy Office
 
    2.Off. Anthonio, I arrest thee at the suit of Count Orsino
   An. You do mistake me sir
 
    1.Off. No sir, no iot: I know your fauour well:
 Though now you haue no sea-cap on your head:
 Take him away, he knowes I know him well
 
    Ant. I must obey. This comes with seeking you:
 But there's no remedie, I shall answer it:
 What will you do: now my necessitie
 Makes me to aske you for my purse. It greeues mee
 Much more, for what I cannot do for you,
 Then what befals my selfe: you stand amaz'd,
 But be of comfort
 
    2.Off. Come sir away
 
    Ant. I must entreat of you some of that money
 
    Vio. What money sir?
 For the fayre kindnesse you haue shew'd me heere,
 And part being prompted by your present trouble,
 Out of my leane and low ability
 Ile lend you something: my hauing is not much,
 Ile make diuision of my present with you:
 Hold, there's halfe my Coffer
 
    Ant. Will you deny me now,
 Ist possible that my deserts to you
 Can lacke perswasion. Do not tempt my misery,
 Least that it make me so vnsound a man
 As to vpbraid you with those kindnesses
 That I haue done for you
 
    Vio. I know of none,
 Nor know I you by voyce, or any feature:
 I hate ingratitude more in a man,
 Then lying, vainnesse, babling drunkennesse,
 Or any taint of vice, whose strong corruption
 Inhabites our fraile blood
 
    Ant. Oh heauens themselues
 
    2.Off. Come sir, I pray you go
 
    Ant. Let me speake a little. This youth that you see heere,
 I snatch'd one halfe out of the iawes of death,
 Releeu'd him with such sanctitie of loue;
 And to his image, which me thought did promise
 Most venerable worth, did I deuotion
 
    1.Off. What's that to vs, the time goes by: Away
 
    Ant. But oh, how vilde an idoll proues this God:
 Thou hast Sebastian done good feature, shame.
 In Nature, there's no blemish but the minde:
 None can be call'd deform'd, but the vnkinde.
 Vertue is beauty, but the beauteous euill
 Are empty trunkes, ore-flourish'd by the deuill
 
    1.Off. The man growes mad, away with him:
 Come, come sir
 
    Ant. Leade me on.
 
 Exit
 
   Vio. Me thinkes his words do from such passion flye
 That he beleeues himselfe, so do not I:
 Proue true imagination, oh proue true,
 That I deere brother, be now tane for you
 
    To. Come hither Knight, come hither Fabian: Weel
 whisper ore a couplet or two of most sage sawes
 
    Vio. He nam'd Sebastian: I my brother know
 Yet liuing in my glasse: euen such, and so
 In fauour was my Brother, and he went
 Still in this fashion, colour, ornament,
 For him I imitate: Oh if it proue,
 Tempests are kinde, and salt waues fresh in loue
 
    To. A very dishonest paltry boy, and more a coward
 then a Hare, his dishonesty appeares, in leauing his frend
 heere in necessity, and denying him: and for his cowardship
 aske Fabian
 
    Fab. A Coward, a most deuout Coward, religious in
 it
 
    And. Slid Ile after him againe, and beate him
 
    To. Do, cuffe him soundly, but neuer draw thy sword
   And. And I do not
 
    Fab. Come, let's see the euent
 
    To. I dare lay any money, twill be nothing yet.
 
 Exit
 
 
 Actus Quartus, Scaena prima.
 
 Enter Sebastian and Clowne
 
    Clo. Will you make me beleeue, that I am not sent for
 you?
   Seb. Go too, go too, thou art a foolish fellow,
 Let me be cleere of thee
 
    Clo. Well held out yfaith: No, I do not know you,
 nor I am not sent to you by my Lady, to bid you come
 speake with her: nor your name is not Master Cesario,
 nor this is not my nose neyther: Nothing that is so, is so
 
    Seb. I prethee vent thy folly some-where else, thou
 know'st not me
 
    Clo. Vent my folly: He has heard that word of some
 great man, and now applyes it to a foole. Vent my folly:
 I am affraid this great lubber the World will proue a
 Cockney: I prethee now vngird thy strangenes, and tell
 me what I shall vent to my Lady? Shall I vent to hir that
 thou art comming?
   Seb. I prethee foolish greeke depart from me, there's
 money for thee, if you tarry longer, I shall giue worse
 paiment
 
    Clo. By my troth thou hast an open hand: these Wisemen
 that giue fooles money, get themselues a good report,
 after foureteene yeares purchase.
 Enter Andrew, Toby, and Fabian.
 
   And. Now sir, haue I met you again: ther's for you
 
    Seb. Why there's for thee, and there, and there,
 Are all the people mad?
   To. Hold sir, or Ile throw your dagger ore the house
   Clo. This will I tell my Lady straight, I would not be
 in some of your coats for two pence
 
    To. Come on sir, hold
 
    An. Nay let him alone, Ile go another way to worke
 with him: Ile haue an action of Battery against him, if
 there be any law in Illyria: though I stroke him first, yet
 it's no matter for that
 
    Seb. Let go thy hand
 
    To. Come sir, I will not let you go. Come my yong
 souldier put vp your yron: you are well flesh'd: Come
 on
 
    Seb. I will be free from thee. What wouldst y now?
 If thou dar'st tempt me further, draw thy sword
 
    To. What, what? Nay then I must haue an Ounce or
 two of this malapert blood from you.
 Enter Oliuia.
 
   Ol. Hold Toby, on thy life I charge thee hold
 
    To. Madam
 
    Ol. Will it be euer thus? Vngracious wretch,
 Fit for the Mountaines, and the barbarous Caues,
 Where manners nere were preach'd: out of my sight.
 Be not offended, deere Cesario:
 Rudesbey be gone. I prethee gentle friend,
 Let thy fayre wisedome, not thy passion sway
 In this vnciuill, and vniust extent
 Against thy peace. Go with me to my house,
 And heare thou there how many fruitlesse prankes
 This Ruffian hath botch'd vp, that thou thereby
 Mayst smile at this: Thou shalt not choose but goe:
 Do not denie, beshrew his soule for mee,
 He started one poore heart of mine, in thee
 
    Seb. What rellish is in this? How runs the streame?
 Or I am mad, or else this is a dreame:
 Let fancie still my sense in Lethe steepe,
 If it be thus to dreame, still let me sleepe
 
    Ol. Nay come I prethee, would thoud'st be rul'd by me
   Seb. Madam, I will
 
    Ol. O say so, and so be.
 
 Exeunt.
 
 Scoena Secunda.
 
 Enter Maria and Clowne.
 
   Mar. Nay, I prethee put on this gown, & this beard,
 make him beleeue thou art sir Topas the Curate, doe it
 quickly. Ile call sir Toby the whilst
 
    Clo. Well, Ile put it on, and I will dissemble my selfe
 in't, and I would I were the first that euer dissembled in
 in such a gowne. I am not tall enough to become the
 function well, nor leane enough to bee thought a good
 Studient: but to be said an honest man and a good houskeeper
 goes as fairely, as to say, a carefull man, & a great
 scholler. The Competitors enter.
 Enter Toby.
 
   To. Ioue blesse thee M[aster]. Parson
 
    Clo. Bonos dies sir Toby: for as the old hermit of Prage
 that neuer saw pen and inke, very wittily sayd to a Neece
 of King Gorbodacke, that that is, is: so I being M[aster]. Parson,
 am M[aster]. Parson; for what is that, but that? and is, but is?
   To. To him sir Topas
 
    Clow. What hoa, I say, Peace in this prison
 
    To. The knaue counterfets well: a good knaue.
 
 Maluolio within.
 
   Mal. Who cals there?
   Clo. Sir Topas the Curate, who comes to visit Maluolio
 the Lunaticke
 
    Mal. Sir Topas, sir Topas, good sir Topas goe to my
 Ladie
 
    Clo. Out hyperbolicall fiend, how vexest thou this
 man? Talkest thou nothing but of Ladies?
   Tob. Well said M[aster]. Parson
 
    Mal. Sir Topas, neuer was man thus wronged, good
 sir Topas do not thinke I am mad: they haue layde mee
 heere in hideous darknesse
 
    Clo. Fye, thou dishonest sathan: I call thee by the
 most modest termes, for I am one of those gentle ones,
 that will vse the diuell himselfe with curtesie: sayst thou
 that house is darke?
   Mal. As hell sir Topas
 
    Clo. Why it hath bay Windowes transparant as baricadoes,
 and the cleere stores toward the South north, are
 as lustrous as Ebony: and yet complainest thou of obstruction?
   Mal. I am not mad sir Topas, I say to you this house is
 darke
 
    Clo. Madman thou errest: I say there is no darknesse
 but ignorance, in which thou art more puzel'd then the
 aegyptians in their fogge
 
    Mal. I say this house is as darke as Ignorance, thogh
 Ignorance were as darke as hell; and I say there was neuer
 man thus abus'd, I am no more madde then you are,
 make the triall of it in any constant question
 
    Clo. What is the opinion of Pythagoras concerning
 Wilde-fowle?
   Mal. That the soule of our grandam, might happily
 inhabite a bird
 
    Clo. What thinkst thou of his opinion?
   Mal. I thinke nobly of the soule, and no way aproue
 his opinion
 
    Clo. Fare thee well: remaine thou still in darkenesse,
 thou shalt hold th' opinion of Pythagoras, ere I will allow
 of thy wits, and feare to kill a Woodcocke, lest thou dispossesse
 the soule of thy grandam. Fare thee well
 
    Mal. Sir Topas, sir Topas
 
    Tob. My most exquisite sir Topas
 
    Clo. Nay I am for all waters
 
    Mar. Thou mightst haue done this without thy berd
 and gowne, he sees thee not
 
    To. To him in thine owne voyce, and bring me word
 how thou findst him: I would we were well ridde of this
 knauery. If he may bee conueniently deliuer'd, I would
 he were, for I am now so farre in offence with my Niece,
 that I cannot pursue with any safety this sport the vppeshot.
 Come by and by to my Chamber.
 
 Exit
 
   Clo. Hey Robin, iolly Robin, tell me how thy Lady
 does
 
    Mal. Foole
 
    Clo. My Lady is vnkind, perdie
 
    Mal. Foole
 
    Clo. Alas why is she so?
   Mal. Foole, I say
 
    Clo. She loues another. Who calles, ha?
   Mal. Good foole, as euer thou wilt deserue well at
 my hand, helpe me to a Candle, and pen, inke, and paper:
 as I am a Gentleman, I will liue to bee thankefull to thee
 for't
 
    Clo. M[aster]. Maluolio?
   Mal. I good Foole
 
    Clo. Alas sir, how fell you besides your fiue witts?
   Mall. Foole, there was neuer man so notoriouslie abus'd:
 I am as well in my wits (foole) as thou art
 
    Clo. But as well: then you are mad indeede, if you be
 no better in your wits then a foole
 
    Mal. They haue heere propertied me: keepe mee in
 darkenesse, send Ministers to me, Asses, and doe all they
 can to face me out of my wits
 
    Clo. Aduise you what you say: the Minister is heere.
 Maluolio, Maluolio, thy wittes the heauens restore: endeauour
 thy selfe to sleepe, and leaue thy vaine bibble
 babble
 
    Mal. Sir Topas
 
    Clo. Maintaine no words with him good fellow.
 Who I sir, not I sir. God buy you good sir Topas: Marry
 Amen. I will sir, I will
 
    Mal. Foole, foole, foole I say
 
    Clo. Alas sir be patient. What say you sir, I am shent
 for speaking to you
 
    Mal. Good foole, helpe me to some light, and some
 paper, I tell thee I am as well in my wittes, as any man in
 Illyria
 
    Clo. Well-a-day, that you were sir
 
    Mal. By this hand I am: good foole, some inke, paper,
 and light: and conuey what I will set downe to my
 Lady: it shall aduantage thee more, then euer the bearing
 of Letter did
 
    Clo. I will help you too't. But tel me true, are you not
 mad indeed, or do you but counterfeit
 
    Mal. Beleeue me I am not, I tell thee true
 
    Clo. Nay, Ile nere beleeue a madman till I see his brains
 I will fetch you light, and paper, and inke
 
    Mal. Foole, Ile requite it in the highest degree:
 I prethee be gone
 
    Clo. I am gone sir, and anon sir,
 Ile be with you againe:
 In a trice, like to the old vice,
 your neede to sustaine.
 Who with dagger of lath, in his rage and his wrath,
 cries ah ha, to the diuell:
 Like a mad lad, paire thy nayles dad,
 Adieu good man diuell.
 
 Exit
 
 
 Scaena Tertia.
 
 Enter Sebastian.
 
 This is the ayre, that is the glorious Sunne,
 This pearle she gaue me, I do feel't, and see't,
 And though tis wonder that enwraps me thus,
 Yet 'tis not madnesse. Where's Anthonio then,
 I could not finde him at the Elephant,
 Yet there he was, and there I found this credite,
 That he did range the towne to seeke me out,
 His councell now might do me golden seruice,
 For though my soule disputes well with my sence,
 That this may be some error, but no madnesse,
 Yet doth this accident and flood of Fortune,
 So farre exceed all instance, all discourse,
 That I am readie to distrust mine eyes,
 And wrangle with my reason that perswades me
 To any other trust, but that I am mad,
 Or else the Ladies mad; yet if 'twere so,
 She could not sway her house, command her followers,
 Take, and giue backe affayres, and their dispatch,
 With such a smooth, discreet, and stable bearing
 As I perceiue she do's: there's something in't
 That is deceiueable. But heere the Lady comes.
 Enter Oliuia, and Priest.
 
   Ol. Blame not this haste of mine: if you meane well
 Now go with me, and with this holy man
 Into the Chantry by: there before him,
 And vnderneath that consecrated roofe,
 Plight me the full assurance of your faith,
 That my most iealious, and too doubtfull soule
 May liue at peace. He shall conceale it,
 Whiles you are willing it shall come to note,
 What time we will our celebration keepe
 According to my birth, what do you say?
   Seb. Ile follow this good man, and go with you,
 And hauing sworne truth, euer will be true
 
    Ol. Then lead the way good father, & heauens so shine,
 That they may fairely note this acte of mine.
 
 Exeunt.
 
 Finis Actus Quartus.
 
 
 Actus Quintus. Scena Prima.
 
 Enter Clowne and Fabian.
 
   Fab. Now as thou lou'st me, let me see his Letter
 
    Clo. Good M[aster]. Fabian, grant me another request
 
    Fab. Any thing
 
    Clo. Do not desire to see this Letter
 
    Fab. This is to giue a dogge, and in recompence desire
 my dogge againe.
 Enter Duke, Viola, Curio, and Lords.
 
   Duke. Belong you to the Lady Oliuia, friends?
   Clo. I sir, we are some of her trappings
 
    Duke. I know thee well: how doest thou my good
 Fellow?
   Clo. Truely sir, the better for my foes, and the worse
 for my friends
 
    Du. Iust the contrary: the better for thy friends
 
    Clo. No sir, the worse
 
    Du. How can that be?
   Clo. Marry sir, they praise me, and make an asse of me,
 now my foes tell me plainly, I am an Asse: so that by my
 foes sir, I profit in the knowledge of my selfe, and by my
 friends I am abused: so that conclusions to be as kisses, if
 your foure negatiues make your two affirmatiues, why
 then the worse for my friends, and the better for my foes
 
    Du. Why this is excellent
 
    Clo. By my troth sir, no: though it please you to be
 one of my friends
 
    Du. Thou shalt not be the worse for me, there's gold
 
    Clo. But that it would be double dealing sir, I would
 you could make it another
 
    Du. O you giue me ill counsell
 
    Clo. Put your grace in your pocket sir, for this once,
 and let your flesh and blood obey it
 
    Du. Well, I will be so much a sinner to be a double
 dealer: there's another
 
    Clo. Primo, secundo, tertio, is a good play, and the olde
 saying is, the third payes for all: the triplex sir, is a good
 tripping measure, or the belles of S[aint]. Bennet sir, may put
 you in minde, one, two, three
 
    Du. You can foole no more money out of mee at this
 throw: if you will let your Lady know I am here to speak
 with her, and bring her along with you, it may awake my
 bounty further
 
    Clo. Marry sir, lullaby to your bountie till I come agen.
 I go sir, but I would not haue you to thinke, that
 my desire of hauing is the sinne of couetousnesse: but as
 you say sir, let your bounty take a nappe, I will awake it
 anon.
 
 Exit
 
 Enter Anthonio and Officers.
 
   Vio. Here comes the man sir, that did rescue mee
 
    Du. That face of his I do remember well,
 Yet when I saw it last, it was besmear'd
 As blacke as Vulcan, in the smoake of warre:
 A bawbling Vessell was he Captaine of,
 For shallow draught and bulke vnprizable,
 With which such scathfull grapple did he make,
 With the most noble bottome of our Fleete,
 That very enuy, and the tongue of losse
 Cride fame and honor on him: What's the matter?
   1.Offi. Orsino, this is that Anthonio
 That tooke the Phoenix, and her fraught from Candy,
 And this is he that did the Tiger boord,
 When your yong Nephew Titus lost his legge;
 Heere in the streets, desperate of shame and state,
 In priuate brabble did we apprehend him
 
    Vio. He did me kindnesse sir, drew on my side,
 But in conclusion put strange speech vpon me,
 I know not what 'twas, but distraction
 
    Du. Notable Pyrate, thou salt-water Theefe,
 What foolish boldnesse brought thee to their mercies,
 Whom thou in termes so bloudie, and so deere
 Hast made thine enemies?
   Ant. Orsino: Noble sir,
 Be pleas'd that I shake off these names you giue mee:
 Anthonio neuer yet was Theefe, or Pyrate,
 Though I confesse, on base and ground enough
 Orsino's enemie. A witchcraft drew me hither:
 That most ingratefull boy there by your side,
 From the rude seas enrag'd and foamy mouth
 Did I redeeme: a wracke past hope he was:
 His life I gaue him, and did thereto adde
 My loue without retention, or restraint,
 All his in dedication. For his sake,
 Did I expose my selfe (pure for his loue)
 Into the danger of this aduerse Towne,
 Drew to defend him, when he was beset:
 Where being apprehended, his false cunning
 (Not meaning to partake with me in danger)
 Taught him to face me out of his acquaintance,
 And grew a twentie yeeres remoued thing
 While one would winke: denide me mine owne purse,
 Which I had recommended to his vse,
 Not halfe an houre before
 
    Vio. How can this be?
   Du. When came he to this Towne?
   Ant. To day my Lord: and for three months before,
 No intrim, not a minutes vacancie,
 Both day and night did we keepe companie.
 Enter Oliuia and attendants.
 
   Du. Heere comes the Countesse, now heauen walkes
 on earth:
 But for thee fellow, fellow thy words are madnesse,
 Three monthes this youth hath tended vpon mee,
 But more of that anon. Take him aside
 
    Ol. What would my Lord, but that he may not haue,
 Wherein Oliuia may seeme seruiceable?
 Cesario, you do not keepe promise with me
 
    Vio. Madam:
   Du. Gracious Oliuia
 
    Ol. What do you say Cesario? Good my Lord
 
    Vio. My Lord would speake, my dutie hushes me
 
    Ol. If it be ought to the old tune my Lord,
 It is as fat and fulsome to mine eare
 As howling after Musicke
 
    Du. Still so cruell?
   Ol. Still so constant Lord
 
    Du. What to peruersenesse? you vnciuill Ladie
 To whose ingrate, and vnauspicious Altars
 My soule the faithfull'st offrings haue breath'd out
 That ere deuotion tender'd. What shall I do?
   Ol. Euen what it please my Lord, that shal becom him
   Du. Why should I not, (had I the heart to do it)
 Like to th' Egyptian theefe, at point of death
 Kill what I loue: (a sauage iealousie,
 That sometime sauours nobly) but heare me this:
 Since you to non-regardance cast my faith,
 And that I partly know the instrument
 That screwes me from my true place in your fauour:
 Liue you the Marble-brested Tirant still.
 But this your Minion, whom I know you loue,
 And whom, by heauen I sweare, I tender deerely,
 Him will I teare out of that cruell eye,
 Where he sits crowned in his masters spight.
 Come boy with me, my thoughts are ripe in mischiefe:
 Ile sacrifice the Lambe that I do loue,
 To spight a Rauens heart within a Doue
 
    Vio. And I most iocund, apt, and willinglie,
 To do you rest, a thousand deaths would dye
 
    Ol. Where goes Cesario?
   Vio. After him I loue,
 More then I loue these eyes, more then my life,
 More by all mores, then ere I shall loue wife.
 If I do feigne, you witnesses aboue
 Punish my life, for tainting of my loue
 
    Ol. Aye me detested, how am I beguil'd?
   Vio. Who does beguile you? who does do you wrong?
   Ol. Hast thou forgot thy selfe? Is it so long?
 Call forth the holy Father
 
    Du. Come, away
 
    Ol. Whether my Lord? Cesario, Husband, stay
 
    Du. Husband?
   Ol. I Husband. Can he that deny?
   Du. Her husband, sirrah?
   Vio. No my Lord, not I
 
    Ol. Alas, it is the basenesse of thy feare,
 That makes thee strangle thy propriety:
 Feare not Cesario, take thy fortunes vp,
 Be that thou know'st thou art, and then thou art
 As great as that thou fear'st.
 Enter Priest.
 
 O welcome Father:
 Father, I charge thee by thy reuerence
 Heere to vnfold, though lately we intended
 To keepe in darkenesse, what occasion now
 Reueales before 'tis ripe: what thou dost know
 Hath newly past, betweene this youth, and me
 
    Priest. A Contract of eternall bond of loue,
 Confirm'd by mutuall ioynder of your hands,
 Attested by the holy close of lippes,
 Strengthned by enterchangement of your rings,
 And all the Ceremonie of this compact
 Seal'd in my function, by my testimony:
 Since when, my watch hath told me, toward my graue
 I haue trauail'd but two houres
 
    Du. O thou dissembling Cub: what wilt thou be
 When time hath sow'd a grizzle on thy case?
 Or will not else thy craft so quickely grow,
 That thine owne trip shall be thine ouerthrow:
 Farewell, and take her, but direct thy feete,
 Where thou, and I (henceforth) may neuer meet
 
    Vio. My Lord, I do protest
 
    Ol. O do not sweare,
 Hold little faith, though thou hast too much feare.
 Enter Sir Andrew.
 
   And. For the loue of God a Surgeon, send one presently
 to sir Toby
 
    Ol. What's the matter?
   And. H'as broke my head acrosse, and has giuen Sir
   Toby a bloody Coxcombe too: for the loue of God your
 helpe, I had rather then forty pound I were at home
 
    Ol. Who has done this sir Andrew?
   And. The Counts Gentleman, one Cesario: we tooke
 him for a Coward, but hee's the verie diuell, incardinate
 
    Du. My Gentleman Cesario?
   And. Odd's lifelings heere he is: you broke my head
 for nothing, and that that I did, I was set on to do't by sir
 Toby
 
    Vio. Why do you speake to me, I neuer hurt you:
 You drew your sword vpon me without cause,
 But I bespake you faire, and hurt you not.
 Enter Toby and Clowne.
 
   And. If a bloody coxcombe be a hurt, you haue hurt
 me: I thinke you set nothing by a bloody Coxecombe.
 Heere comes sir Toby halting, you shall heare more: but if
 he had not beene in drinke, hee would haue tickel'd you
 other gates then he did
 
    Du. How now Gentleman? how ist with you?
   To. That's all one, has hurt me, and there's th' end on't:
 Sot, didst see Dicke Surgeon, sot?
   Clo. O he's drunke sir Toby an houre agone: his eyes
 were set at eight i'th morning
 
    To. Then he's a Rogue, and a passy measures pauyn: I
 hate a drunken rogue
 
    Ol. Away with him? Who hath made this hauocke
 with them?
   And. Ile helpe you sir Toby, because we'll be drest together
 
    To. Will you helpe an Asse-head, and a coxcombe, &
 a knaue: a thin fac'd knaue, a gull?
   Ol. Get him to bed, and let his hurt be look'd too.
 Enter Sebastian.
 
   Seb. I am sorry Madam I haue hurt your kinsman:
 But had it beene the brother of my blood,
 I must haue done no lesse with wit and safety.
 You throw a strange regard vpon me, and by that
 I do perceiue it hath offended you:
 Pardon me (sweet one) euen for the vowes
 We made each other, but so late ago
 
    Du. One face, one voice, one habit, and two persons,
 A naturall Perspectiue, that is, and is not
 
    Seb. Anthonio: O my deere Anthonio,
 How haue the houres rack'd, and tortur'd me,
 Since I haue lost thee?
   Ant. Sebastian are you?
   Seb. Fear'st thou that Anthonio?
   Ant. How haue you made diuision of your selfe,
 An apple cleft in two, is not more twin
 Then these two creatures. Which is Sebastian?
   Ol. Most wonderfull
 
    Seb. Do I stand there? I neuer had a brother:
 Nor can there be that Deity in my nature
 Of heere, and euery where. I had a sister,
 Whom the blinde waues and surges haue deuour'd:
 Of charity, what kinne are you to me?
 What Countreyman? What name? What Parentage?
   Vio. Of Messaline: Sebastian was my Father,
 Such a Sebastian was my brother too:
 So went he suited to his watery tombe:
 If spirits can assume both forme and suite,
 You come to fright vs
 
    Seb. A spirit I am indeed,
 But am in that dimension grossely clad,
 Which from the wombe I did participate.
 Were you a woman, as the rest goes euen,
 I should my teares let fall vpon your cheeke,
 And say, thrice welcome drowned Viola
 
    Vio. My father had a moale vpon his brow
 
    Seb. And so had mine
 
    Vio. And dide that day when Viola from her birth
 Had numbred thirteene yeares
 
    Seb. O that record is liuely in my soule,
 He finished indeed his mortall acte
 That day that made my sister thirteene yeares
 
    Vio. If nothing lets to make vs happie both,
 But this my masculine vsurp'd attyre:
 Do not embrace me, till each circumstance,
 Of place, time, fortune, do cohere and iumpe
 That I am Viola, which to confirme,
 Ile bring you to a Captaine in this Towne,
 Where lye my maiden weeds: by whose gentle helpe,
 I was preseru'd to serue this Noble Count:
 All the occurrence of my fortune since
 Hath beene betweene this Lady, and this Lord
 
    Seb. So comes it Lady, you haue beene mistooke:
 But Nature to her bias drew in that.
 You would haue bin contracted to a Maid,
 Nor are you therein (by my life) deceiu'd,
 You are betroth'd both to a maid and man
 
    Du. Be not amaz'd, right noble is his blood:
 If this be so, as yet the glasse seemes true,
 I shall haue share in this most happy wracke,
 Boy, thou hast saide to me a thousand times,
 Thou neuer should'st loue woman like to me
 
    Vio. And all those sayings, will I ouer sweare,
 And all those swearings keepe as true in soule,
 As doth that Orbed Continent, the fire,
 That seuers day from night
 
    Du. Giue me thy hand,
 And let me see thee in thy womans weedes
 
    Vio. The Captaine that did bring me first on shore
 Hath my Maides garments: he vpon some Action
 Is now in durance, at Maluolio's suite,
 a Gentleman, and follower of my Ladies
 
    Ol. He shall inlarge him: fetch Maluolio hither,
 And yet alas, now I remember me,
 They say poore Gentleman, he's much distract.
 Enter Clowne with a Letter, and Fabian.
 
 A most extracting frensie of mine owne
 From my remembrance, clearly banisht his.
 How does he sirrah?
   Cl. Truely Madam, he holds Belzebub at the staues end as
 well as a man in his case may do: has heere writ a letter to
 you, I should haue giuen't you to day morning. But as a
 madmans Epistles are no Gospels, so it skilles not much
 when they are deliuer'd
 
    Ol. Open't, and read it
 
    Clo. Looke then to be well edified, when the Foole
 deliuers the Madman. By the Lord Madam
 
    Ol. How now, art thou mad?
   Clo. No Madam, I do but reade madnesse: and your
 Ladyship will haue it as it ought to bee, you must allow
 Vox
 
    Ol. Prethee reade i'thy right wits
 
    Clo. So I do Madona: but to reade his right wits, is to
 reade thus: therefore, perpend my Princesse, and giue
 eare
 
    Ol. Read it you, sirrah
 
    Fab. Reads. By the Lord Madam, you wrong me, and
 the world shall know it: Though you haue put mee into
 darkenesse, and giuen your drunken Cosine rule ouer me,
 yet haue I the benefit of my senses as well as your Ladieship.
 I haue your owne letter, that induced mee to the
 semblance I put on; with the which I doubt not, but to
 do my selfe much right, or you much shame: thinke of
 me as you please. I leaue my duty a little vnthought of,
 and speake out of my iniury. The madly vs'd Maluolio
 
    Ol. Did he write this?
   Clo. I Madame
 
    Du. This sauours not much of distraction
 
    Ol. See him deliuer'd Fabian, bring him hither:
 My Lord, so please you, these things further thought on,
 To thinke me as well a sister, as a wife,
 One day shall crowne th' alliance on't, so please you,
 Heere at my house, and at my proper cost
 
    Du. Madam, I am most apt t' embrace your offer:
 Your Master quits you: and for your seruice done him,
 So much against the mettle of your sex,
 So farre beneath your soft and tender breeding,
 And since you call'd me Master, for so long:
 Heere is my hand, you shall from this time bee
 Your Masters Mistris
 
    Ol. A sister, you are she.
 Enter Maluolio.
 
   Du. Is this the Madman?
   Ol. I my Lord, this same: How now Maluolio?
   Mal. Madam, you haue done me wrong,
 Notorious wrong
 
    Ol. Haue I Maluolio? No
 
    Mal. Lady you haue, pray you peruse that Letter.
 You must not now denie it is your hand,
 Write from it if you can, in hand, or phrase,
 Or say, tis not your seale, not your inuention:
 You can say none of this. Well, grant it then,
 And tell me in the modestie of honor,
 Why you haue giuen me such cleare lights of fauour,
 Bad me come smiling, and crosse-garter'd to you,
 To put on yellow stockings, and to frowne
 Vpon sir Toby, and the lighter people:
 And acting this in an obedient hope,
 Why haue you suffer'd me to be imprison'd,
 Kept in a darke house, visited by the Priest,
 And made the most notorious gecke and gull,
 That ere inuention plaid on? Tell me why?
   Ol. Alas Maluolio, this is not my writing,
 Though I confesse much like the Charracter:
 But out of question, tis Marias hand.
 And now I do bethinke me, it was shee
 First told me thou wast mad; then cam'st in smiling,
 And in such formes, which heere were presuppos'd
 Vpon thee in the Letter: prethee be content,
 This practice hath most shrewdly past vpon thee:
 But when we know the grounds, and authors of it,
 Thou shalt be both the Plaintiffe and the Iudge
 Of thine owne cause
 
    Fab. Good Madam heare me speake,
 And let no quarrell, nor no braule to come,
 Taint the condition of this present houre,
 Which I haue wondred at. In hope it shall not,
 Most freely I confesse my selfe, and Toby
 Set this deuice against Maluolio heere,
 Vpon some stubborne and vncourteous parts
 We had conceiu'd against him. Maria writ
 The Letter, at sir Tobyes great importance,
 In recompence whereof, he hath married her:
 How with a sportfull malice it was follow'd,
 May rather plucke on laughter then reuenge,
 If that the iniuries be iustly weigh'd,
 That haue on both sides past
 
    Ol. Alas poore Foole, how haue they baffel'd thee?
   Clo. Why some are borne great, some atchieue greatnesse,
 and some haue greatnesse throwne vpon them. I
 was one sir, in this Enterlude, one sir Topas sir, but that's
 all one: By the Lord Foole, I am not mad: but do you remember,
 Madam, why laugh you at such a barren rascall,
 and you smile not he's gag'd: and thus the whirlegigge
 of time, brings in his reuenges
 
    Mal. Ile be reueng'd on the whole packe of you?
   Ol. He hath bene most notoriously abus'd
 
    Du. Pursue him, and entreate him to a peace:
 He hath not told vs of the Captaine yet,
 When that is knowne, and golden time conuents
 A solemne Combination shall be made
 Of our deere soules. Meane time sweet sister,
 We will not part from hence. Cesario come
 (For so you shall be while you are a man:)
 But when in other habites you are seene,
 Orsino's Mistris, and his fancies Queene.
 
 Exeunt.
 
   Clowne sings .
 When that I was and a little tine boy,
 with hey, ho, the winde and the raine:
 A foolish thing was but a toy,
 for the raine it raineth euery day.
 But when I came to mans estate,
 with hey ho, &c.
 Gainst Knaues and Theeues men shut their gate,
 for the raine, &c.
 But when I came alas to wiue,
 with hey ho, &c.
 By swaggering could I neuer thriue,
 for the raine, &c.
 But when I came vnto my beds,
 with hey ho, &c.
 With tospottes still had drunken heades,
 for the raine, &c.
 A great while ago the world begon,
 hey ho, &c.
 But that's all one, our Play is done,
 and wee'l striue to please you euery day.
 
 FINIS. Twelfe Night, Or what you will.