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A  NEW  VARIORUM  EDITION 


SHAKESPEARE 


EDITED  BY 

HORACE   HOWARD   FURNESS 


VOL.  XIII 

TWELFE  NIGHT, 
,  WHAT  YOU  WILL 


SIXTH   IMPRESSION 


PHILADELPHIA  &  LONDON 
J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY 


JUN  2     1945 


Copyright,  1901,  by  H.  H.  FURNESS 


J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY 

WASHIHGTO.V  SQUARE  PRESS 

PHILADELPHIA 


IN   MEMORIAM 


PREFACE 


THERE  is  the  attempt,  in  this  Edition,  to  make  each  volume  complete 
in  itself  and  independent  of  the  others;  this  renders  unavoidable  a  cer- 
tain amount  of  repetition,  which  is  irksome  to  us  all,  but,  I  trust,  par- 
donable. 

Of  the  present  play,  there  is  no  Quarto  Edition ;  which  means,  that 
no  copy  of  it  was  printed  during  SHAKESPEARE'S  lifetime.  Of  this  we 
are  assured  by  the  terms  on  which  the  Stationers'  Company  granted  a 
license  for  the  printing  of  the  Folio,  in  1623.  The  plays  included 
in  that  license  are  only  those  which  had  not  before  been  printed ; 
Twelfth  Night  is  among  them ;  it  is  clear,  therefore,  that  it  was  then 
licensed  for  the  first  time. 

A  transcript  of  the  entry  of  the  First  Folio  is  as  follows,  in  the 
Stationers'  Registers  :* 

8°  Ttfobembrfe  iszs 

Master  Blounte  Entred  for  their  Copie  vnder  the  hands  of  Master 

Isaak  Jaggard  Doctor  Worrall  and  Master  Cole  warden  Master 

William  Shakspeers  Comedyes  Histories,  and  Trag- 

edyes  soe  manie  of  the  said  Copies  as  are  not 

formerly  entred  to  other  men.         viz*.         vijs. 

The  Tempest 

The  two  gentlemen  of  Verona 
Measure  for  Measure 

The  Comedy  of  Errors 
Comedyes        A  ,., 

7  As  you  like  it 

All's  well  that  ends  well 
Twelfe  night 
The  winters  tale 


The  thirde  parte  of  Henry  ye  Sixt 
Histories          „          .,     T--  ,  . 
Henry  the  Eight 


*  Arber's  Transcript  of  the  Stationers'  Registers,  vol.  iv.  p.  107. 


VI 


PREFACE 


Coriolanus 
Timon  of  Athens 

Julius  Caesar 
Tragedies        j^^ 

Anthonie  and  Cleopatra 
Cymbeline. 

In  many  another  play  the  lack  of  a  Quarto  would  prove  more  unfor- 
tunate than  in  the  present.  Where  the  text  of  the  Folio  has  been 
obscured  by  a  compositor,  a  Quarto  may  shed  light ;  but  if  the  Quarto 
itself  be  misprinted,  tnen  we  have  but  a  dim  twilight,  whereunder  dis- 
cussions may  wax  fast  and  certainly  furious.  I  am  pot  altogether  sure 
that  it  is  not  a  source  of  congratulation  that  our  sole  authority  for 
Twelfth  Night  lies  in  the  Folio.  It  is  to  be  feared  that  in  many  a 
case  a  Quarto  might  have  obtrusively  disturbed  the  tranquillity  of  the 
Folio,  whereof  the  text  is  here  so  unusually  correct  that  a  majority  of 
the  editors  do  not  even  allude  to  it,  beyond  the  statement  of  its  source. 
The  most  puzzling  passage  of  the  play,  or  at  least  that  which  has 
caused  the  most  discussion,  is  Malvolio's  reference  to  the  '  lady  of  the 
4  Strachy,  who  married  the  yeoman  of  the  wardrobe,'  where  '  Strachy  ' 
has  been  conjectured  to  be  a  misprint  for  'Trachy,'  'Astrachan,' 
'Thracy,'  'Duchy,'  'Stitchery,'  'Starchery,'  and  half  a  dozen  other 
titles  near  or  far  fetched.  Possibly  a  Quarto  might  have  disclosed  the 
personality  of  this  Lady  with  more  precision ;  but  I  rather  prefer  the 
shadowy  outline  of  a  haughty  dame  whom  love  forces  from  her  grandeur 
to  wed  a  humble  retainer  in  a  department  so  very  convenient  and  femi- 
nine as  the  wardrobe.  I  am  not  of  those  who  demand  a  solution  of 
every  puzzle ;  a  certain  mystery,  like  Lord  Bacon's  '  lie,'  doth  ever  add 
pleasure.  Feste's  proud  argosy  of  the  Vapians  riding  the  waves  without 
vailing  its  high  top  as  it  passes  the  equinoctial  of  Queubus  is  a  vision 
as  delightful  as  any  true  picture  in  the  voyages  of  Sir  Walter  or  of 
Drake.  The  question  of  Text,  then,  may  be  happily  dismissed  with 
the  assurance,  from  which  there  is  no  dissenting  voice  among  editors, 
that,  with  the  exception  of  errors  wholly  typographical,  and  to  be 
expected,  the  Text  in  Twelfth  Night  is  of  remarkable  purity. 

It  has  been  deemed,  in  mouths  of  wisest  censure,  of  the  utmost 
importance  to  know  the  order  in  which  SHAKESPEARE  composed  his 
plays.  We  must  distinguish,  so  it  is  urged,  his  earliest  plays  from 
his  latest ;  we  shall  then  be  enabled,  so  we  are  told,  to  perceive  the 
growth  of  his  mind ;  though  how  this  is  to  help  the  growth  of  our 
minds  is  not  evident;  possibly,  it  is  assumed  that  our  minds,  being 


PREFACE  vii 

fully  grown,  can  watch  with  genial  smile  his  early  struggles ;  under 
such  circumstances,  who  can  resist  the  charm  of  suggesting  that 
the  young  poet  does  very  well  now,  but  he  will  do  better  when  he 
grows  older  and  wiser  ?  In  order  thus  to  marshall  the  plays  in  their 
due  order,  it  is  essential  to  know  the  Date  of  Composition  of  each  play. 
To  determine  this  date,  there  are  two  resources :  first,  facts  drawn  from 
evidence  external  to  the  play,  such  as  references  to  it  in  contemporary 
literature ;  and  secondly,  facts  drawn  from  evidence  within  the  play 
itself,  such  as  allusions  to  certain  facts  whereof  the  date  is  readily 
ascertained.  Of  external  evidence  of  the  Date  of  Composition  of  the 
present  play,  we  have  but  two  assured  items,  namely,  the  Stationers' 
Registers,  quoted  above,  and  the  Diary,  or  commonplace  book  of  a 
London  barrister,  to  be  quoted  hereafter.  STEEVENS  did,  indeed, 
before  the  existence  of  this  Diary  was  known,  attempt  to  make 
out  a  third;  he  imagined  that  Ben  Jonson,  'who,'  as  he  said,  'takes 
'every  opportunity  to  find  fault  with  SHAKESPEARE,'  intended  to  ridi- 
cule this  comedy,  when  he  makes  Mitis  say,  in  Every  Man  out  of 
his  Humour,  III,  i :  '  That  the  argument  of  his  comedy  might  have 
'  been  of  some  other  nature,  as  of  a  duke  to  be  in  love  with  a  count- 
'  ess,  and  that  countess  to  be  in  love  with  the  duke's  son,  and  the  son 
'to  love  the  lady's  waiting-maid;  some  such  cross-wooing,  with  a 
'clown  to  their  serving-man,  better  to  be  thus  near,  and  familiarly 
'allied  to  the  time.'  This  play  of  JONSON  was  acted  by  the  Company 
at  The  Globe,  albeit  SHAKESPEARE  was  not  one  of  the  actors  in 
it,  in  1599;  so  that  chronologically  a  reference  to  Twelfth  Night  is 
not  impossible ;  more  than  one  editor  places  its  date  in  that  same 
year :  1599.  But  in  Twelfth  Night  there  is  no  countess  in  love  with  a 
duke's  son,  nor  any  duke's  son  in  love  with  a  waiting-maid ;  and  as  for 
the  'cross- wooing,'  GIFFORD  says  that  it  was  'probably  to  be  found 
'among  the  old  trash  which  has  long  since  perished,' — an  expeditious 
and  comfortable  way  of  silencing  a  troublesome  question.  I  have  no 
faith  whatever  in  the  supposition  that  JONSON  here  aimed  such  petty 
criticism  at  a  play  which  not  only  had  authority  so  irreproachably 
classic  as  Plautus  and  Menander  for  its  cross-wooing,  but  was  also 
written  by  one  whom  he  'loved  this  side  of  idolatry.' 

As  regards  internal  evidence,  the  present  play  affords  a  warning 
which  all  who  deal  in  this  species  of  evidence  should  lay  to  heart. 
Some  items  of  it,  as  conclusive  as  any  that  ever  were  offered,  have 
been  utterly  disproved  by  external  evidence  subsequently  discovered. 
For  instance,  in  the  Second  Scene  of  the  Third  Act,  Sir  Toby  insti- 
gates Sir  Andrew  to  send  a  challenge  to  Cesario,  and  tells  him  to 
'  taunt  him  with  the  license  of  ink ;  if  thou  thou'st  him  some  thrice, 
V 


Vlll 


PREFACE 


'  it  shall  not  be  amiss.'  All  who  have  read  Sir  Walter  Raleigh's  trial 
will  remember  the  low  abuse  heaped  on  him  by  the  Attorney  General, 
Coke.  When  the  latter  was  denouncing  Cobham's  treason,  Sir  Walter 
remonstrated,  saying,  '  If  my  Lord  Cobham  be  a  traitor,  what  is  that 
'  to  me  ?'  Whereupon  Coke  replied :  '  All  that  he  did  was  by  thy 
'instigation,  thou  viper;  for  I  thou  thee,  thou  Traitor!'  THEOBALD 
wrote  to  WARBURTON  that  there  could  be  no  doubt  that  Sir  Toby 
alluded  to  this  incident,  and  intended  thereby  to  show  his  respect 
for  Sir  Walter  and  his  detestation  of  his  prosecutors.  Moreover,  in 
Coke's  speech,  is  not  '  thou '  used  just  thrice,  —  the  very  number 
prescribed  by  Sir  Toby?  Could  any  sane  man  demand  clearer 
evidence?  Raleigh's  trial  took  place  in  November,  1603;  there- 
fore THEOBALD  concluded  that  Twelfth  Night  was  written  in  1604; 
and,  moreover,  found  corroborative  evidence  in  Viola's  words  '  West- 
'  ward  ho ! '  when  Olivia  tells  her  her  way  lies  due  west.  This 
phrase  is  the  title  of  a  play  by  Dekker  and  Webster,  which  we  know 
was  acted  in  1605,  and  presumably  written  as  well  as  acted  much 
earlier.  That  THEOBALD  could  have  been  beguiled  into  the  belief 
that  in  '  Westward  ho  !'  there  lies  a  reference  to  a  play,  rather  than  to 
the  cry  familiar  to  ever}'  citizen  of  London  who  came  within  earshot 
of  the  watermen  plying  their  trade  on  the  Thames,  shows  how  weak 
strong  men  may  sometimes  be,  and  how  easily  a  good  scholar  may  be 
misled  when  in  pursuit  of  the  ignis  fatuus,  internal  evidence.  Nay, 
even  cautious,  conservative  CAPELL  asserted  that  unless  Viola  here 
referred  to  Dekker's  play,  her  words  'would  have  no  salt.'  CAPELL'S 
own  contribution  to  the  internal  evidence  was  hardly  less  far  fetched. 
Because  Sir  Andrew  '  delighted  in  masques  and  revels,'  weakly  adding 
'sometimes  altogether,'  this  Editor  inferred  that  herein  lay  a  reference 
to  1607;  in  that  year,  'the  rage  for  masques  was  predominant,'  and 
to  represent  the  weak  knight  as  delighting  in  them  was,  as  CAPELL 
choicely  phrased  it,  'a  wipe  undoubtedly.' 

To  the  ingenuity  of  THOMAS  TYRWHITT,  the  editor  of  Chaucer, 
the  next  item  is  due,  and  such  was  the  respect  in  which  TYRWHITT' s 
learning  was  held,  that  for  many  years  the  date  of  composition  was 
accepted  which  he  had  detected  lying  concealed  under  the  word 
'  undertakers,'  although  this  date  involved  the  undesirable  conclusion 
that  Twelfth  Night  was  the  last  play  SHAKESPEARE  had  written.  When 
the  sea-captain,  Anthonio,  intervenes  in  the  duel  between  Viola  and 
Sir  Andrew,  and  takes  up  the  quarrel  for  Viola,  whom  he  mistakes  for 
her  twin-brother,  Sebastian,  Sir  Toby  exclaims  '  Nay,  if  you  be  an 
'undertaker,  I  am  for  you!'  In  'undertaker'  TYRWHITT  perceived 
an  allusion  to  parliamentary  'undertakers,'  who  were  thus  stigmatised 


PREFACE  ix 

because  they  had  undertaken  in  James's  time  so  to  manage  the  elec- 
tions that  a  majority  favourable  to  the  Court  was  returned  to  Parlia- 
ment. But  this  violent  opposition  to  'undertakers'  arose  in  1614,  a 
date  somewhat  late  for  SHAKESPEARE,  who  died  only  two  years  later. 
But  the  reference  is  so  unmistakable  that  there  was  no  help  for  it ;  the 
date  of  the  composition  of  Twelfth  Night  must  be  placed  in  1614. 
For  many  years  MALONE  accepted  this  date;  but,  under  the  influence  of 
sundry  allusions  which  seemed  to  point  to  an  earlier  one,  the  significance 
of  '  undertakers '  grew  less  and  less  pointed  until  at  last  it  was  decently 
laid  to  rest,  as  became  its  modern  calling.  MALONE' s  final  judgement 
is  in  favour  of  1607  ;  in  that  year,  Marston's  play  of  What  you  a//// was 
entered  on  the  Stationers'  Registers  in  August,  and  this  clearly  points 
to  the  alternative  title  of  the  present  play.  Furthermore,  the  '  Sophy ' 
is  twice  mentioned  in  Twelfth  Night.  Who  can  doubt  that  SHAKE- 
SPEARE had  here  in  mind  the  remarkable  career  in  Persia  of  the  Shirley 
family,  one  of  whom,  Sir  Robert,  had  come  to  England  as  the  Sophy's 
ambassador?  '  The  history  of  Shirley,'  says  MALONE,  '  was  well  known 
'in  England  in  1607,  and  a  play  written  on  the  subject,  called  The 
1  Travels  of  Three  English  Brothers,  appeared  in  that  year.'  Blind 
indeed  must  he  be,  who  cannot  see  that  these  items  of  internal  evi- 
dence point  to  1607  as  the  year  of  Twelfth  Night's  birth.  But  in  the 
meantime,  between  MALONE'S  first  and  last  opinion,  there  appeared 
CHALMERS,  that  daring  free-lance,  who  would  persist  in  knowing  as 
much  about  Elizabethan  times  as  STEEVENS  or  MALONE,  and  would  not 
shut  his  eyes  and  open  his  mouth  to  take  what  his  betters  administered. 
In  the  'affair'  between  Cesario  and  Sir  Andrew,  CHALMERS  asserts* 
that  SHAKESPEARE  meant  to  throw  the  duello  into  a  ridiculous  light ; 
and,  inasmuch  as  King  James,  in  1613,  issued  'An  Edict  and  Censure 
'against  Private  Combats,'  which  was  designed  to  put  a  stop  to  duels, 
nothing  can  be  plainer  than  that  the  present  comedy  was  written  in 
that  year. 

There  is  still  another  item  of  internal  evidence  which  is  really  re- 
spectable, and  stands  on  a  basis  firmer  than  any  of  the  others.  In  the 
Second  Scene  of  the  Third  Act,  Maria  says  of  Malvolio,  'he  does 
'  smile  his  face  into  more  lines  than  is  in  the  new  Map,  with  the  aug- 
'  mentation  of  the  Indies. '  Here  we  have  a  specific  map,  designated 
as  'new.'  Wherefore,  the  date  of  any  map  bearing  an  'augmentation 
'  of  the  Indies '  must  be  close  enough  to  the  date  of  Twelfth  Night 
to  permit  Maria  to  term  it  'new.'  In  1860,  JAMES  LENOX,  the 
founder  of  The  Lenox  Library*  suggested  that  a  certain  map,  extolled 

*  Supplemental  Apology ,  etc.  1799,  p.  442. 


x  PREFACE 

by  HALLAM,  was  the  veritable  map  alluded  to  by  Maria.*  Eighteen 
years  later,  in  the  Transactions  of  The  New  Shakspere  Society,  Mr  C. 
H.  COOTE  learnedly  maintained  that  in  this  same  map  all  requirements 
were  fulfilled ;  it  was  a  map  on  a  '  new '  plan,  with  a  record  of  all 
the  newest  news  in  geographical  discovery,  whereon  the  Indies  were 
augmented  and  more  rhumb-lines  added  than  on  any  previous  map ; 
it  had  been  published  to  be  bound  up  with  Hakluyt's  Voyages,  in  1599. 
Inasmuch  as  this  date  harmonises  with  the  external  evidence  afforded 
by  Manningham's  Diary  (to  be  hereafter  mentioned),  it  may  well  be 
accepted  as  narrowing  the  term  of  years  within  which  Twelfth  Night 
was  written.  Where  external  evidence  corroborates  internal  evidence, 
the  latter  is  worthy  of  all  respect. 

Finally,  two  of  the  songs  in  the  play  furnish  items  which  partake 
both  of  external  and  internal  evidence.  Sir  Toby,  in  the  Third  Scene 
of  the  Second  Act,  sings  snatches  of  a  song  beginning:  'Farewell, 
'dear  heart,'  etc.  'This  ballad,'  says  HALLIWELL-PHILLIPPS,!  'had 
'  first  appeared  in  the  Booke  of  Ayres  composed  by  Robert  Jones, 
'  1601.  Jones  does  not  profess  to  be  the  author  of  the  words  of  this 
'song,  .  .  .  but  there  is  every  reason  to  believe  that  the  ditty  was 
'first  published  in  this  work,  a  collection  of  new,  not  of  old,  songs.' 
This  date,  1601,  is  not  opposed  to  our  positive  external  evidence,  and 
may  well  be  accepted.  Jones  may  have  included  it  in  his  Booke,  owing 
to  its  popularity  as  sung  in  Twelfth  Night ;  or  it  may  have  been  a  pop- 
ular song,  familiar  to  the  actor  of  Sir  Toby,  and  may  or  may  not  have 
been  written  by  SHAKESPEARE. 

The  second  song  is  that  of  Feste,  beginning,  '  O  Mistress  mine, 
'  where  are  you  roaming  ?'  CHAPPELL  says  that  this  song  is  contained 
in  Morley's  Consort  Lesions,  1599  ;  'which  proves  either  that  Twelfth 
'  Night  was  written  in  or  before  that  year,  or  that,  in  accordance  with 
'  the  then  prevailing  custom,  O  Mistress  mine  was  an  old  song,  intro- 
'  duced  into  -the  play.'  \  '  This  latter  supposition,'  DYCE  observes,  '  is 
'  doubtless  the  true  one. '  I  do  not  forget  how  common  is  the  practice 
in  SHAKESPEARE,  and  in  the  Elizabethan  drama,  to  introduce  old  or 
familiar  songs ;  I  bear  in  mind  that  the  Gravedigger's  song  in  Hamlet 
was  written  by  Thomas  Lord  Vaux;  I  recall  that  in  the  present  play 
there  stands  the  stage-direction  'Catch  sung?  where  the  catch  is  left  to 
the  musical  resources  of  the  actors, — and  yet  in  full  memory  of  all  this, 
oxen  and  wainropes  cannot  hale  me  from  the  belief  that  this  song  is 
SHAKESPEARE'S  very  own.  Its  phraseology,  its  histrionic  quality  (it  is 
a  drama  in  miniature),  its  sententiousness  ('  Journeys  end  in  lovers  meet- 

*  Nifolnus  Syllafius,  De  Insults  Nuper  Invtntis,  New  York,  1860,  p.  xiii. 
f  Outlines,  etc.  2nd  eel.  p.  264.          \  Popular  Music  of  the  Olden  Time,  i,  209. 


PREFACE  xi 

'  ing,'  'Youth's  a  stuff  will  not  endure,' — the  very  word  'stuff'  is  SHAKE- 
SPEARIAN), its  interrogation  '  What  is  love  ?'  (like  '  Tell  me  where  is 
'  fancy  bred?'),  its  defining  love  by  what  it  is  not  rather  than  by  what 
it  is, — all  these  proclaim  its  author  to  be  either  SHAKESPEARE — aut 
Diabolus. 

Among  the  items  of  internal  evidence  thus  far  dealt  with,  there  are 
seven  which  are  not  corroborated  by  external  evidence,  and  these  are 
they  which  afford  a  sad  warning  to  all  who  indulge  in  speculations 
and  theories  based  on  allusions  within  a  play.  If  these  allusions 
would  only  all  point  to  the  same  date,  there  might  be  some  comfort 
yet,  but  they  do  not,  and  will  not ;  we,  the  while,  poor  feeble  victims, 
eager  for  the  beneficent  knowledge  of  the  very  year,  month,  day,  and 
hour  when  SHAKESPEARE  composed  his  plays,  must  abide  in  depressing 
bewilderment.  At  the  very  time,  however,  that  THEOBALD,  CAPELL, 
MALONE,  and  the  rest,  were  proclaiming  each  a  different  date,  and 
each  the  true  one,  there  was  lying  unheeded  among  the  Harleian 
MSS  (No.  5353)  of  the  British  Museum  a  little  unpretending  Diary, 
containing  an  entry  which  scatters,  like  the  chaff  that  it  is,  all  uncor- 
roborated internal  evidence. 

To  whom  belongs  the  right  of  discovery  in  regard  to  this  Diary,  1 
find  it  impossible  to  determine.  HUNTER  says  that  he  discovered  it  in 
1828,  and  mentioned  the  fact  to  two  literary  friends,  one  of  whom  was 
B.  H.  BRIGHT,  the  other  is  nameless,  and  that  'up  to  the  period,'  he 
adds,*  '  when  it  fell  into  my  hands,  I  have  reason  to  think  that  no  eye 
'  had  fallen  on  this  unobtrusive  volume  that  could  perceive  its  curiosity 
'  and  worth. '  COLLIER,  on  the  other  hand,  speaks  of  having  been  '  fortu- 
'  nate  to  meet  with  it '  and  remarks  that  '  excepting  by  the  maker  of  the 
'  Catalogue,  it  seems  to  have  remained  entirely  unexamined. ' f  Further- 
more, in  a  small  book,  written  in  the  form  of  a  letter  addressed  to 
HUNTER,  COLLIER  speaks  of  '  having  discovered  the  entry '  relating 
to  Twelfth  Night, \  which  he  would  not  have  said  had  his  correspond- 
ent had  a  prior  claim.  It  is  pleasant  always  to  bear  in  mind  that 
'  sit nm  aiique  is  our  Roman  justice,'  but  in  this  case  the  claims  are  so 
shadowy  that  it  is  impossible  now  to  substantiate  them.  The  fact 
remains,  that  COLLIER  was  the  first  to  publish  the  existence  of  the 
Diary  with  its  decisive  entry  concerning  Twelfth  Night.  It  was 
HUNTER,  with  brilliant  skill  and  unwearied  pains,  who  discovered  the 
name,  and  even  the  history  j  of  the  diarist,  who  was,  it  appears,  'no 
'  other  than  John  Manningham,  then  studying  in  the  Middle  Tem- 

*  New  Illustrations,  etc.  1845,  i,  369. 

f  History  of  English  Dramatic  Poetry,    etc.  1831,  i,  321. 

\  Farther  Particulars  regarding  Shakespeare,  etc.  1839,  p.  IO. 


xii  PREFACE 

'pie,  but  in  a  few  years  to  be  removed  from  London  to  take  pos- 
'  session  of  a  house  and  lands  at  East  Mailing  [in  Kent],  which  were 
'  given  him  by  a  collateral  relative ;  ...  we  do  not  find  his  name  in 
'any  other  way  connected  with  either  the  lighter  or  graver  liter- 
'  ature  of  the  country  but  through  this  single  manuscript,  so  that  it  is 
'  probable  for  the  remainder  of  his  life  he  lived  the  life  of  a  country 
'  gentleman,  cultivating  acres  of  his  own,  and  in  due  time  was  gathered 
'  to  his  fathers,  leaving  his  inheritance  to  his  children.'  *  The  Diary 
has  been  reprinted  by  The  Camden  Society,  and  is  now  accessible  to 
all.  It  extends  from  Christmas,  1601,  to  the  fourteenth  of  April, 
1603  ;  and  is  not  a  continuous  journal,  but  has  many  intervals,  and  is 
interspersed  with  facts  and  fancies,  concise  reports  of  Law  cases  and 
voluminous  reports  of  sermons,  scandals  of  the  court  and  gossip  of 
the  buttery  bar,  whatever,  in  short,  the  writer  desired  to  remember, 
and  some  things  which  he  would,  we  may  charitably  suppose,  vehe- 
mently desire  to  forget.  In  his  company  we  may  draw  nearer,  I 
believe,  than  in  any  historian's,  to  Queen  Elizabeth's  death-bed.  He 
was  in  the  palace  at  Richmond  the  night  she  died,  and  learned  the 
particulars  of  her  state  from  his  friend,  Dr  Parry,  who  was  with  her  to 
the  last. 

The  entry,  however,  which  fixes  a  date  before  which  Twelfth  Night 
must  have  been  composed  is  as  follows  : — f 

'  FEBR.  1601. 

'  Feb.  2.     At  our  feast  wee  had  a  play  called  "  Twelue  Night,  or  What 
' "  you  Will,"  much  like  the  Commedy  of  Errores,  or  Menechmi  in 

*  Plautus,  but  most  like  and  neere  to  that  in  Italian  called  Inganni. 
'  A  good  practise  in  it  to  make  the  Steward  beleeve  his  Lady  wid- 
'  dowe  was  in  love  with  him,  by  counterfeyting  a  letter  as  from  his 

*  Lady  in  generall  termes,  telling  him  what  shee  liked  best  in  him, 
'and  prescribing  his  gesture  in  smiling,  his  apparaile,  etc.,  and 

*  then  when  he  came  to  practise  making  him  beleeue  they  tooke 
*him  to  be  mad.' 

All  uncorroborated  internal  evidence  may  now  flutter  away  into 
space.  How  much  earlier  than  January,  1601,  Twelfth  Night  was 
composed  is  still  undetermined-  The  benchers  of  the  Middle  Temple 
certainly  would  not  select  an  untried  play  for  their  Candlemas  festivity. 
MERES  in  his  Wits  Commonwealth,  published  in  1598,  does  not  mention 
Twelfth  Night.  This  barrier  checks  those  who  believe  that  MERES  men- 
tions all  of  SHAKESPEARE'S  plays  which  had  been  publicly  acted  at  the 

*  New  Illustrations,  etc.  i,  375.  f  Camden  Society  Reprint,  p.  18. 


PREFACE 


Xlll 


time  he  wrote.  But  really  two  years  is  a  field  quite  spacious  enough 
wherein  critics  may  frolic  in  conjecture.  Unhappily,  into  these  very 
years  they  have  to  squeeze :  Henry  the  Fifth,  Much  Ado  about  Nothing, 
As  You  Like  It,  and,  possibly,  The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor ;  but 
their  embarrassment  is  of  their  own  seeking.  We  who  have  free  souls, 
and,  as  far  as  the  plays  themselves  are  concerned,  care  as  little  for  the 
hour  when  SHAKESPEARE  wrote  them  as  for  the  quality  of  his  ink,  can 
smile  benignantly. 

Mr  FLEAY,  whose  prodigious  work  in  the  dramatic  and  SHAKE- 
SPEARIAN fields  entitles  him  always  to  a  respectful  hearing,  asserts  that 
the  present  play  was  written  at  two  separate  times,  and  that  the  earlier 
portion  was  composed  in  1593.  The  proof  of  this  he  finds  in  what  he 
asserts  to  be  the  fact,  that  the  plot  and  the  under-plot  are  not  so  inex- 
tricably interwoven  that  they  cannot  be  disentangled  and  separately 
presented.*  The  characters  which  he  considers  as  belonging  to  the 
early  play  are  the  Duke,  Sebastian,  Antonio,  Viola,  Olivia,  Curio,  Val- 
entine, and  the  Captain.  He  specifies  the  scenes  and  '  parts '  of  scenes 
in  which  they  enter,  and  adds  that  these  '  can  be  so  cut  out  as  to  make 
'  a  play  of  itself,  entirely  independent  of  the  other  characters,  which  is 
'an  infallible  sign  of  priority  of  composition.'  On  turning  to  the  play, 
we  find  that  the  '  parts '  of  scenes,  to  be  thus  '  cut  out,'  are  the  identical 
places  where  SHAKESPEARE  interlaces  the  two  plots ;  and  with  such  skill 
are  they  interwoven  that  a  separation  could  not  but  be  felt  as  a  grievous 
mutilation.  Assuredly,  in  order  to  carry  on  the  play,  other  characters 
must  be  introduced  to  take  the  place  of  those  eliminated.  A  lady 
of  exalted  rank,  like  Olivia,  cannot  enter  without  an  attendant.  If 
Mr  FLEAY  discharge  poor  Maria,  he  must  engage  another  attendant  to 
take  her  situation ;  and  I  greatly  fear  he  will  find  it  somewhat  diffi- 
cult to  secure  at  any  '  Intelligence  Office '  a  '  chamber  maid,'  as  Sir 
Toby  calls  her,  quite  as  attractive  or  quick-witted.  Again,  it  is 
surely  a  dramatist's  duty  to  impart  dignity  to  his  characters  of  high 
rank,  by  suggesting  the  grandeur  of  their  establishment  and  the 
number  of  their  retinue.  To  this  end,  are  not  a  sedate  Steward, 
with  his  silver  chain,  and  a  Fool  of  choice  wit,  legitimate  attend- 
ants of  the  Countess  Olivia  ?  A  palace,  darkened  by  the  unalterable 
gloom  of  her  who  rules  it,  would  prove  a  background  too  sombre  for 
the  picture  of  a  joyous  comedy ;  on  the  score  of  dramatic  necessity, 
therefore,  in  Olivia's  unprotected  state,  the  presence  of  a  man  of  near 
kinship  is  needed  in  the  household ;  and  if  Uncle  Toby  raises  the 
night  owl  with  a  catch  that  will  draw  three  souls  out  of  one  weaver, 

*  See  Appendix,  pp.  324,  325. 


XIV 


PREFACE 


between  his  exuberant  merriment  and  Olivia's  lugubrious  seclusion  a 
fair  average  may  be  struck.  And  as  for  Feste, — he  is  the  solvent  for 
all  the  mirth  and  pathos  of  the  whole  play ;  next  to  Viola  and  Mal- 
volio,  he  is  the  character  of  the  comedy. 

After  all,  there  is  cheer  for  us.  The  unwelcome  gap  which  separates 
us  from  Mr  FLEAY  is  lessening.  We  can  detect  signs  of  his  relenting. 
He  wavers  in  the  number  of  the  years  of  separation.  In  1876  he  con- 
cludes that  the  'Viola  story  '  was  written  in  1594.*  In  the  next  year, 
1877,  he  believes  that  it  was  written  in  1595  ;  f  and  in  1886,  he  thinks 
that  the  date  is  1593. |  In  this  vacillation,  surely  there  is  justification 
for  the  hope  that  eventually  the  years  dividing  the  two  stories,  the  plot 
and  the  under-plot,  will  disappear  altogether,  and  that  to  his  eyes,  as  to 
ours,  Twelfth  Night  will  stand  revealed  a  perfectly  constructed  dramatic 
unity. 

To  me,  personally,  an  investigation  of  the  sources  whence  SHAKE- 
SPEARE drew  the  plots  of  his  plays  is  a  subject  of  inquiry  far  more  inter- 
esting than  seeking  after  the  date  when  he  wrote  them.  Into  the  latter 
quest,  there  must,  of  necessity,  enter  much  that  can  be  never  known. 
Dates  belong  to  history  and  to  biography;  I  cannot  perceive  what 
possible  charm  they  can  impart  to  the  play,  Twelfth  Night.  Does  it 
add  one  doit  to  its  value  or  one  ray  to  its  brilliance  to  know  that  the 
Koh-i-noor  was  presented  to  Queen  Victoria  in  June,  1850? 

In  the  Appendix  will  be  found  at  length,  adequately  full,  all  the 
sources  which  have  been  surmised  to  be  those  whence  the  chief  plot 
of  the  present  play  has  been  derived.  All  it  behooves  me  here  to  give 
is  a  brief  summary. 

Down  to  the  discovery  of  Manningham's  Diary,  there  had  been 
suggested  but  four  of  these  sources.  The  earliest  suggestion  is  by 
GERARD  LANGBAINE,  who  found  in  the  resemblance  of  Sebastian  to  his 
twin  sister,  and  in  the  mistakes  arising  therefrom,  a  loan  from  the 
Amphitruo,  or  the  Menczchmi  of  Plautus.§ 

Next  follows  our  countrywoman,  Mrs  CHARLOTTE  LENNOX,  whose 
sad  old  age  of  penury  softens  all  asperity  of  judgement  on  her  earlier 
writings ;  while  granting  that  SHAKESPEARE  might  have  taken  a  hint 
from  Plautus,  Mrs  LENNOX  decided ||  that  he  'had  a  much  more  ample 
'  supply  for  the  Fable  of  this  Comedy '  in  a  Novel  of  Bandello ;  she 

*  Shakespeare  Manual,  p.  231. 

f  Introduction  to  Shakespeared  Study,  p.  25. 

J  Life  and  Work  of  Shakespeare,  p.  22O. 

|  Account  of  the  English  Dramatic  Poets,  1691,  p.  446. 

||  Shakspear  Illustrated,  1753,  i,  242. 


PREFACE  xv 

hints,  rather  timidly,  that  possibly  SHAKESPEARE  could  not  read  Italian, 
yet  does  not  relinquish  the  belief  that  it  is  the  Italian  novelist  to  whom 
the  English  poet  is  indebted  for  his  plot.  And  assuredly  decided  par- 
allelisms may  be  traced  between  the  novel  and  the  play.  In  Bandello's 
story  Nicuola  and  Paolo  Nanni  were  twins,  identical  in  features ;  when 
about  fifteen  years  old  they  were  separated  by  the  fortune  of  war,  and 
their  father  took  Nicuola  to  his  estate  near  Ancona.  In  the  town  where 
they  resided  there  was  a  youth  of  great  wealth,  named  Lattanzio  Puc- 
cini, between  whom  and  Nicuola  a  vehement  love  sprung  up.  Before 
this  love  had  ripened  into  a  betrothal,  Nicuola' s  father  was  obliged  to 
go  to  Rome  on  business,  and  confided  his  daughter  to  the  care  of  a 
cousin,  Sister  Camilla,  the  abbess  of  a  convent.  Lattanzio,  ignorant 
of  Nicuola's  change  of  abode,  was  at  first  in  a  despair  so  profound  that 
he  did  not  answer  Nicuola's  letters;  but  he  soon  transferred  his  affec- 
tion to  a  beautiful  damsel  named  Catella.  It  now  appears  that  he 
was  wont  to  go  to  this  very  convent  to  have  his  shirts  made,  and 
one  day,  when  he  was  there,  the  disconsolate  Nicuola,  who  had 
become  convinced  of  his  faithlessness,  listened  at  the  keyhole  (though 
this  is  more  elegantly  expressed  in  the  Italian  as  '  a  place  where,  with- 
'  out  being  seen  of  Lattanzio,  she  saw  him  and  heard  what  he  said  ') 
and  learned  that  he  had  just  lost  by  fever  an  efficient  page.  At  once, 
Nicuola  went  to  an  old  nurse  of  hers,  and,  donning  the  clothes  of  a 
son  of  the  old  woman,  proceeded  to  Lattanzio' s  house,  and  was  there 
engaged  as  a  page,  under  the  name  of  Romolo.  Lattanzio  had  her 
bravely  clothed  all  in  white,  and  was  so  greatly  pleased  with  her  that 
he  confided  to  her  his  absorbing  love  for  Catella,  and  sent  her  with 
most  loving  messages  to  his  mistress.  Though  with  a  breaking  heart, 
Romolo  loyally  and  faithfully  fulfilled  her  duty.  But  Catella,  at  the 
first  sight  of  the  page,  became  violently  enamoured  of  him,  even  to  the 
extent  of  kissing  him.  Romolo  was  surprised  and  very  naturally  em- 
barrassed. (Bandello,  with  the  warmth  of  an  Italian  imagination,  and 
heedless  of  optics,  says  that  Romolo  '  turned  a  thousand  colours.')  At 
hist,  Catella  said  to  him :  '  I  know  not  what  thou  hast  done  to  me ; 
'methinks  thou  must  have  bewitched  me  !'  (Compare  Olivia's  words 
to  Cesario:  'After  the  last  enchantment  thou  didst  here.')  Catella 
asseverates  that  she  never  will,  nor  can,  love  Lattanzio ;  and  when 
Romolo  endeavours  to  console  her  master  for  this  discouraging  rebuff, 
Lattanzio  tells  her  that  all  damsels  are  not  equally  cruel ;  for,  not  many 
months  before,  one  of  the  fairest  of  maidens  had  been  in  love  with 
him,  but  he  had  given  her  up  when  she  left  the  city  and  had  not 
answered  her  letters.  Hereupon,  Romolo  reproaches  him.  '  Who 
'  knoweth, '  she  asks,  '  but  this  fair  damsel  yet  loveth  you  and  liveth  in 


xvi  PREFACE 

'sore  affliction  for  your  sake?  More  by  token  that  I  have  many  a  time 
'  heard  say  that  girls,  in  their  first  loves,  love  far  more  tenderly  and 
'with  much  greater  fervour  than  do  men.'  (Compare  what  Cesario 
says  to  the  Duke :  '  We  men  may  say  more,  sweare  more,  but  indeed 
'  Our  shewes  are  more  than  will :  for  still  we  prove  Much  in  our  vowes, 
'  but  little  in  our  loue.')  Nevertheless,  Lattanzio  wishes  Romolo  to  go 
again  to  Catella,  but  on  the  way  thither  Romolo  catches  sight  of  her 
father,  who  is  just  arriving  from  Rome,  and  she  flies  to  seek  counsel 
of  her  old  nurse,  who  persuades  her  to  resume  her  maiden's  clothes, 
and  stay  within  doors  till  a  good  excuse  can  be  given  to  her  father  for 
her  absence.  Lattanzio,  fretting  over  the  failure  of  his  page  to  return, 
sets  out  to  seek  him,  and  is  guided  to  the  house  of  the  old  nurse,  to 
whom  he  unburdens  his  heart ;  she  responds  by  scolding  his  obstinacy 
in  pursuing  an  obdurate  mistress,  while  Nicuola  is  all  the  time  constant 
to  him.  Lattanzio  protests  that,  if  that  be  the  case,  he  will  cast  off 
Catella  and  be  the  most  blest  of  mortals  in  the  renewal  of  his  first  and 
truest  love.  Nicuola  hereupon  appears  and  they  betroth  themselves  in 
the  presence  of  the  nurse.  Only  a  few  hours  before  this  happy  event, 
Paolo,  the  twin  brother,  had  reached  his  native  town,  habited,  for  a 
vow  he  had  taken,  all  in  white,  and  had  been  mistaken  for  Romolo  by 
Catella's  maid  and  summoned  to  Catella's  presence.  When  the  lovely 
damsel  greeted  him  as  Romolo,  Paolo  saw  that  there  was  some  mistake, 
but  was  too  much  struck  with  Catella's  beauty  to  remonstrate.  He 
yields,  and  plights  to  her  his  troth ;  when  he  again  appears  on  the 
street,  he  is  recognized  by  his  father ;  and  the  story  ends  with  marriages 
all  round. 

Unquestionably,  there  are  here  the  outlines  of  a  story  closely  resem- 
bling the  plot  of  Twelfth  Night : — there  are  twins ;  similarity  of  cos- 
tume ;  an  enamoured  girl  disguised  as  a  page ;  sent  as  a  messenger  to 
an  obdurate  beauty ;  who  falls  at  once  in  love  with  the  messenger ;  a 
brother,  mistaken  for  his  disguised  sister ;  invited  to  the  house  of  an 
unknown  lady ;  and  there  immediately  betrothed.  The  untying  of  the 
knot  is  entirely  different.  I  have  purposely  omitted  an  under-plot  which 
represents  Catella's  old  father  as  in  love  with  Nicuola.  This  merely 
widens  the  gap  between  SHAKESPEARE  and  Bandello.  But  in  the  main 
plot,  there  is  a  parallelism  which  cannot  be  ignored ;  in  default  of  a 
better  source,  we  must  adopt  the  Italian  novel. 

To  avoid  the  shuddering  acknowledgement  that  SHAKESPEARE  was 
cultured  enough  to  be  familiar  with  the  fashionable  language  of  his 
day,  many  editors,  following  the  lead  of  CAPELL,  suggest  that  the  plot 
of  Twelfth  Night  was  derived  from  BELLE-FOREST,  whose  French  trans- 
lation of  Bandello's  novel  was  supposed  to  be  more  within  SHAKE- 


PREFACE  xvii 

SPEARE'S  limited  capacity.  It  is  doubtful,  I  think,  that  that  those  who 
thus  adopt  CAPELL'S  suggestion  have  ever  compared  Belle-Forest's 
translation  with  Bandello,  or  even  read  it.  The  polished  Frenchman 
evidently  prided  himself  on  his  talent  for  writing  beautiful  poetry  and 
languishing  love-letters.  (We  find  this  same  display  in  his  version  of 
Much  Ado  about  Nothing.}  Accordingly,  in  the  French  version,  no 
sooner  have  Nicole  and  Lactance  fallen  in  love,  than  the  lover  writes 
to  his  mistress  an  ardent  letter,  signed  '  Vostre  esclaue,  L.  Puccini.' 
To  which  the  girl  replies  under  the  signature  'Vostre  bonne  amie, 
'Nicole  de  Nanni.'  When  Nicole  is  deserted  by  her  lover,  her  poor 
heart  finds  relief  in  verse,  beginning:  S'i7 y  a  au  monde  peine  Qui  le 
cxur  des  homines  geine,  S'il  y  a  quelque  douleur  Qui  suyue  nostre  nais- 
sance  Pour  luy  donner  cognoissance  De  sa  misere  et  malheur,  and  so  on, 
for  more  than  four  pages. 

Whatever  may  have  been  the  original  of  Twelfth  Night,  I  am  sure 
it  was  not  Belle-Forest's  version  of  Bandello.  And  I  am  more  sure 
that  it  was  not  a  story  of  BARNABE  RICHE,  called  Apolonius  and  Silla, 
printed  in  1581,  which  COLLIER  was  the  earliest  to  announce  as  the 
*  indisputable  source  of  Twelfth  Night.1  *  In  this  opinion  of  COLLIER, 
there  has  been,  however,  a  general  acquiescence.  Possibly,  the  fact 
that  Riche's  story  is  in  English,  and  of  SHAKESPEARE'S  own  day,  may 
have  in  some  degree  affected  -this  acquiescence.  I  venture  to  dis- 
sent ;  not  on  the  score  that  there  are  no  incidents  common  to  both 
story  and  comedy,  because  there  are  such,  but  I  cannot  believe  that 
SHAKESPEARE  was  ever  in  the  smallest  degree  influenced  by  Riche's 
coarse,  repulsive  novel.  I  doubt  that  SHAKESPEARE  ever  read  it, — at 
least,  I  hope  he  never  did;  his  hours  were  more  precious  to  us  all 
than  those  of  any  poet  who  ever  lived;  it  would  be  grievous  to 
think  that  he  wasted  even  half  a  one  over  Apolonius  and  Silla;  but 
we,  whose  time  is  of  no  value  to  anybody,  can  pause  over  Riche's 
story  long  enough  to  note  some  of  the  discrepancies  between  it 
and  Twelfth  Night : — Silla  (Viola)  and  Silvio  (Sebastian)  are  brother 
and  sister,  but  not  twins,  although,  however,  Riche  takes  care  to 
emphasize  their  great  resemblance  in  feature  to  each  other.  Silla 
meets  Apolonius  (Orsino)  as  a  guest  under  her  father's  roof,  and 
makes  violent  love  to  him,  which  he  rejects,  and  departs.  At  this 
point  in  Riche's  story  we  find  an  observation,  from  which  we  may 
draw  a  fair  inference  that  he  had  at  least  read  Belle-Forest.  Be  it 
remembered  that  in  the  French  novel,  after  Lactance's  desertion, 
Nicole  indulges  in  versified  grief  throughout  four  pages  and  more. 

*  Poetical  Decameron,  1820,  ii.  161. 


XV111 


PREFACE 


At  this  same  point  Riche  says :  '  I  will  here  for  brevities  sake,  omit 
'  to  make  repetition  of  the  long  and  dolourous  discourse  recorded  by 
'  Silla  for  this  sodaine  departure  of  her  Apolonius.'  It  is  only  in 
Belle-Forest  that  a  '  dolourous  discourse '  is  found.  Silla  determines 
to  pursue  Duke  Apolonius ;  accordingly,  accompanied  by  a  servant,  she 
sets  sail  for  Constantinople ;  the  captain  of  the  ship  is  of  a  base 
nature,  and  Silla  escapes  dishonour  by  shipwreck,  and  is  saved  from 
the  wreck  by  clinging  to  a  chest,  wherein,  when  she  opens  it  on  land, 
she  finds  money  and  male  garments ;  she  pockets  the  one  and  dons  the 
other.  (All  clothes  fitted  everybody  point  device,  in  those  happy 
days !)  Thus  arrayed,  Silla,  who  adopts  the  name  of  her  brother 
Silvio,  reaches  the  palace  of  Duke  Apolonius  in  Constantinople,  enters 
his  service  as  page,  and  is  entrusted  by  him  with  love-messages  and 
love-tokens  to  Dame  Julina,  a  very  rich  widow.  After  many  inter- 
views, Julina  falls  in  love  with  the  page.  At  this  point  Silvio,  the 
brother,  reaches  Constantinople,  and  is  met  in  the  street  by  Julina, 
who  mistakes  him  for  Silvio,  the  page ;  she  invites  him  to  her  house, 
and,  after  an  interview  with  her,  the  youth  leaves  the  city  the  next 
morning.  This  interview  wrecks  the  reputation  of  Julina,  and  event- 
ually forces  Silla  in  self-defence  to  throw  off  her  disguise.  The  Duke 
recognises  her,  marries  her,  and  the  fame  of  the  wedding  festivities 
attracts  the  wandering  Silvio,  who  revisits  Constantinople  and  marries 
Julina. 

The  attentive  reader  can  hardly  fail  to  note  how  few  in  number 
are  the  points  where  the  story  and  the  play  coincide : — a  shipwreck ;  a 
disguised,  enamoured  page  who  carries  love-messages  to  his  master's 
mistress,  and  with  whom  the  latter  falls  in  love ;  and  a  brother  who 
is  mistaken  for  his  disguised  sister.  Let  nothing  induce  us  to  contam- 
inate the  spotless  Viola  and  the  haughty  Olivia  by  the  remotest  hint  of 
a  kinship  with  the  weak  Silla  and  the  brazen  Julina. 

To  the  record  in  Manningham's  Diary  of  a  performance  of  Twelfth 
Night,  we  are  indebted  in  more  respects  than  one.  In  the  search  for 
SHAKESPEARE'S  plots,  there  had  long  been  a  recourse  to  Italian  novels, 
but  until  Manningham  had  said  that  the  present  comedy  was  'most 
'  like  and  neere '  to  the  Inganni  (or  The  Deceits},  no  one  had  ever 
turned  to  the  Italian  drama.  HUNTER  was  the  earliest  to  follow  the 
clue,  and  we  are  now  the  heirs  to  his  intelligent  and  indefatigable 
labours.  Had  HUNTER  rested  content  in  a  comparison  of  the  Inganni 
with  Twelfth  Night,  Manningham's  assertion  would  have  led  to  little 
or  no  result.  The  Italian  play  was  written  by  Nicolo  Secchi,  or  Secco, 
and  acted,  so  says  the  title-page,  at  Milan,  in  1547.  In  it,  we  have  a 
brother  and  sister,  twins,  separated  from  their  father  by  corsairs ;  the 


PREFACE  xix 

girl,  Ginevra,  is  dressed  like  a  boy,  and  is  called  Ruberto;  at  the 
opening  of  the  play,  both  are  known  to  each  other  and  are  living  in 
Naples,  in  the  same  street,  the  boy,  Fortunate,  as  a  servant  to  a  light 
o'  love,  named  Dorotea ;  and  Ruberto  (Viola)  as  a  servant  to  a  master 
who  has  a  son,  Gostanzo  (Orsino),  and  a  daughter,  Portia  (Olivia). 
Ruberto  is  in  love  with  Gostanzo,  who  in  turn  is  in  love  with 
Dorotea;  Portia  is  in  love  with  Ruberto,  whom,  of  course,  she 
believes  to  be  a  man.  Gostanzo  sends  Ruberto  to  Dorotea  with 
love -messages,  but  Dorotea  does  not  fall  in  love  with  the  messenger. 
Herein  lies  the  essential,  the  fatal  difference  between  the  Inganni  and 
Twelfth  Night.  Ruberto  finally  weans  Gostanzo  from  his  love  for  the 
purely  mercenary  Dorotea,  and,  when  she  has  doffed  her  disguise,  wins 
it  to  herself.  The  old  father  turns  up  at  the  right  moment,  a  rich 
man  with  sixty  thousand  scudi,  and  Ruberto  (Ginevra)  is  married  to 
Gostanzo,  and  Fortunate  to  Portia.* 

COLLIER  gives  a  scene  which,  as  he  says,  '  distantly,  and  only  dis- 
'  tantly,  reminds  us  of  SHAKESPEARE  ';  and  HUNTER  thinks  that  SHAKE- 
SPEARE may  have  read  the  play.  It  is  impossible  to  contradict  either 
of  these  opinions,  but  I  should  never  have  thought  of  expressing  them. 

There  is  another  play,  also  called  G I' Inganni,  written  by  Curtio 
Gonzaga,  printed  at  Venice,  1592. f  This  I  have  not  seen,  but  HUN- 
TER leads  us  to  suppose  that  it  varies  but  very  slightly  from  that  by 
Secchi ;  the  only  difference  which  he  notes  is,  that  the  girl  in  disguise 
assumes  the  name  Cesare,  which  suggests  '  Cesario '  in  Twelfth  Night. 

Thus  far  our  gratitude  to  Manningham,  as  far  as  his  reference  to  the 
Italian  drama  is  concerned,  is  small.  It  has  really  led  us  nowhither. 
No  serious  claim  can  be  set  up  for  Gl* Inganni  as  the  source  of  Twelfth 
Night.  But  HUNTER  was  not  discouraged ;  a  further  search  discovered 
another  and  an  earlier  play,  called  Gr  Ingannati,  composed  and  acted 
in  Siena,  in  1531,  by  a  Society,  or  Academy,  named  Gl'  Intronati, 
that  is,  The  Thunderstruck,  one  of  those  innumerable  societies  which 
appear  to  have  been,  at  that  period,  the  rage  in  Italy, — a  catalogue 
of  the  names  of  more  than  five  hundred  has  been  preserved ;  some  of 
the  titles  are  quite  as  fantastic  as  The  Thunderstruck,  and,  presuma- 
bly, far  more  descriptive ;  for  instance,  there  were  GV Insipidi,  whereof, 
I  fancy,  the  roll  of  members  was  long. 

A  reason  why  this  comedy  of  the  Ingannati  had  escaped  notice  is 
the  misleading  title  of  the  little  volume  wherein  it  is  to  be  found.  Its 
title  runs  //  Sacrificio,  Comedia  de  gf  Intronati  ;  and  the  sacrifice  con- 
sists of  a  series  of  sonnets  and  madrigals,  sung  or  chanted  by  each 
'  Thunderstruck  '  as  he  casts  into  a  sacred  flame  on  an  altar  some  love- 

*  See  Appendix,  p.  339.  f  HUNTER,  New  Illustrations,  etc.  i,  391. 


xx  PREFACE 

token  of  a  mistress  who  had  proved  unkind,  such  as  a  ring,  a  glove,  a 
white  flower,  a  copy  of  verses  (why  have  we  not,  alas  !  a  modern  sac- 
rificio?},*.  handkerchief  bathed  in  tears;  and  'Messer  Agnol  Maleuolti' 
(whose  name,  HUNTER  thinks,  SHAKESPEARE  converted  into  '  Malvolio,' 
but  I  much  doubt,)  deposits  'a  sculptured  Cupid,  the  gift  of  his  Fair.' 
When  this  depressing  rite  was  over,  the  comedy  of  Gf  Ingannati  began. 
Here,  at  last,  though  HUNTER  does  not  note  it,  we  have,  beyond 
question,  in  this  comedy,  the  original  of — Bandello.  //  Sacrificio  was 
performed,  as  it  says  in  the  bastard-title,  in  Carnival  week  in  Siena  in 
1531;  it  was  reprinted  in  1537,  again  in  1538,  and  again  in  1550, 
so  that  there  were  at  least  four  editions  of  it  in  circulation  before 
Bandello's  novel  was  printed  in  1554.  Apart  from  mere  priority  of 
date,  the  play  itself  reveals  Bandello's  indebtedness  to  it.  In  the 
Ingannati,  the  time  of  the  story  is  laid  in  1527,  it  is  so  also  in 
Bandello ;  the  catastrophe  which  overwhelms  the  father  is  the  sacking 
of  Rome, — so  also  is  it  in  Bandello ;  the  father  has  a  friend,  an  old 
man  named  Gherardo,  thus  it  is  also  in  Bandello ;  the  brother  and 
sister  dress  in  white,  and  the  father  has  a  cousin,  a  nun,  named 
Camilla, — all  this  is  in  Bandello,  including  the  name,  Camilla.  For  the 
pretty  name,  however,  of  the  heroine,  Lelia,  he  substituted  Nicuola. 
The  plot  of  Ingannati  may  be  given  in  a  few  lines ;  it  will  be  readily 
seen  that  it  is  the  same  as  Bandello's  novel.  Fabrizio  and  Lelia  are  the 
children  of  an  old  man  who  was  ruined  in  the  sack  of  Rome  in  May, 
1527.  Fabrizio's  fate  is  unknown  to  the  father,  but  Lelia  is  taken  by 
him  to  Modena,  where  lives  Flaminio,  who  had  in  old  Roman  days 
exchanged  love-vows  with  Lelia,  but  had  now  forgotten  her  and  is  in 
love  with  Isabella,  the  daughter  of  an  old  man  named  Gerardo.  Lelia 
is  placed  in  charge  of  her  aunt,  Camilla,  a  nun  in  a  convent,  where  she 
obtains  a  disguise  and  serves  as  a  page  to  the  fickle  Flaminio,  who  sends 
by  her  his  passionate  love-messages  to  Isabella.  Isabella  rejects  Fla- 
minio, but  falls  in  love  with  the  page.  Fabrizio  appears  unexpectedly, 
and  is  mistaken  by  Isabella  for  the  page.  In  the  end  recognitions  are 
made  all  round,  and  Fabrizio  weds  Isabella,  and  Flaminio  Lelia.  It  is 
said  in  the  Prologue  (p.  15,  verso)  that  'the  story  is  new,  never  before 
'  either  seen  or  read,  nor  drawn  from  any  other  source  save  from  their 
'  industrious  pates  [/.  e. ,  of  the  Intronati],  just  as  you  draw  your  lots 
'on  Twelfth  Night.'  HUNTER  opines  that  'in  perusing  this  Prologue 
'  the  eye  of  SHAKESPEARE  would  fall  upon '  this  passage,  and  that  he 
thence  derived  the  title  of  the  present  comedy.  This  is  not  impos- 
sible ;  but  I  believe  that  SHAKESPEARE  had  no  need  to  go  to  the  Italian 
original.* 

*  A  translation  of  G I' Ingannati  will  be  found  in  the  Appendix,  p.  341. 


PREFACE  xxi 

.  The  Ingannati  was  evidently  an  extremely  popular  play;  there 
were  nine,  probably  ten  or  even  more,  editions  of  it  before  1600.  But 
it  is  a  far  cry  from  Siena  to  London,  and  a  cry,  moreover,  in  Italian. 
We  must  remember,  however,  that  there  was  an  Italian  troupe  of  play- 
ers, under  the  management  of  one  Drousiano,  in  London  in  1577-78, 
who  acted  before  the  Queen  at  Windsor.  Although  this  date  is  some- 
what too  early  to  suggest  any  personal  knowledge  of  them  on  the  part 
of  SHAKESPEARE,  yet  it  shows  a  .connection  between  the  two  national 
theatres  which  is  not  without  significance.  Assuredly,  these  Italians 
would  not  act  unpopular  plays.  (I  prefer  to  assert  what  they  undeniably 
would  not  do,  rather  than  to  say  what,  '  probably,'  they  would  do.  If 
the  use  of  the  adverb  '  probably,'  in  connection  with  all  statements 
regarding  SHAKESPEARE,  were  legally  forbidden  on  pain  of  death  with- 
out the  benefit  of  clergy,  I  think  the  world  would  be  the  happier, 
certainly  the  wiser.)  Possibly  thanks  to  these  Italian  comedians,  this 
popular  play,  the  Ingannati,  was  brought  into  England.  And  on  Eng- 
lish soil  we  find  it,  within  three  years  of  the  public  performance  of 
Twelfth  Night  which  John  Manningham  saw,  and  recorded  in  his 
Diary;  and  even  closer  yet  to  SHAKESPEARE,  if  we  suppose  that 
Twelfth  Night  was  already  a  popular  play  when  it  was  acted  at  the 
Readers'  Feast  in  the  Middle  Temple  Hall. 

In  that  invaluable  storehouse  of  SHAKESPEARIAN  investigations,  the 
Year-Books  of  The  German  Shakespeare  Society  (has  there  been  a  monu- 
ment erected  to  SHAKESPEARE  more  august  or  enduring  than  its  thirty- 
six  volumes  ?),  there  is  a  recent  noteworthy  contribution  by  GEORGE  B. 
CHURCHILL  (a  fellow-countryman  of  ours)  and  WOLFGANG  KELLER, 
giving  an  account  of  twenty-eight  Latin  MS  Dramas,  performed  at 
English  universities  in  the  time  of  Queen  Elizabeth.*  Among  these 
MSS  is  one  preserved  in  Lambeth  Palace,  called  Laelia,  which  was 
acted  in  Queen's  College,  Cambridge,  in  1590,  and  again  in  1598. 
Under  this  title,  Laelia,  the  name  of  the  heroine,  we  recognise  a 
translation  of  the  Ingannati, — faithful  in  retaining  the  names  of  the 
Dramatis  Persona,  faithful  in  every  main  feature,  to  the  original 
comedy.  That  it  was  in  Latin  is  but  of  trifling  moment.  Ben  Jonson 
acknowledged  that  SHAKESPEARE  knew  some  Latin,  albeit  he  pro- 
nounced the  extent  to  be  '  small.'  Were  it  many  times  smaller,  it  would 
still  have  been  large  enough  to  read  and  easily  comprehend  Laelia. 

Happy  among  SHAKESPEARE'S  plays  is  Twelfth  Night !  A  source 
of  its  main  plot  is  thus  traced  to  England,  and  close  to  SHAKESPEARE'S 
door,  immediately  before  an  assured  date  of  its  composition. 

*  Vol.  zxxiv,  1898,  pp.  286,  291.     See  Appendix,  p.  359. 


XX11 


PREFACE 


Next  to  the  interest  which  is  awakened  by  observing  the  alchem> 
wherewith  SHAKESPEARE  converts  dross  into  gold,  when  dealing  with 
the  sources  of  his  plots,  is,  I  think,  a  study  of  his  consummate  skill  in 
unfolding  before  us  the  Duration  of  the  Action.  His  most  remarkable 
achievement  in  this  regard  is  to  be  found  in  Othello,  where  the  whole 
action,  with  all  its  gradual  growth  of  jealousy  and  developement  of 
character,  is  comprised  within  thirty-six  hours.  Next  in  wonder  is  The 
Merchant  of  Venice,  where  a  three-months'  bond  expires  by  limitation 
in  three  days.  Possibly,  the  present  play  stands  next  in  rank.  While 
listening  to  a  performance  of  Twelfth  Night,  do  we  not  know  that  we 
are  watching  the  love  of  Viola  for  Orsino  grow  stronger  day  by  day  ? 
Have  we  not  noted  the  continued  firmness  with  which  she  represses 
Olivia's  passion  for  her?  Do  we  not  carouse  for  many  an  evening  with 
Sir  Toby,  and  is  not  Malvolio  for  ever  obtruding  his  aversion  to  all 
mirth  ?  Does  not  Sir  Andrew  postpone  his  departure  week  after  week  ? 
There  has  been  no  haste;  time  has  advanced  steadily,  ripening  all 
events.  Malvolio,  poor  gentleman  !  languishes  so  long  in  '  hideous 
'  darkness '  that  Feste  is  scolded  for  having  talked  to  him.  The  song 
that  Feste  sings  one  evening  he  must  repeat  to  the  Duke  the  next  day. 
The  Duke  broods  over  his  disprized  love  when  canopied  with  bowers 
through  summer  afternoons,  and  in  his  confiding  talks  with  Viola,  she 
tells  him  *  a  thousand  times  she  never  could  love  woman  as  she  loves 
'him.'  Under  this  gramarye  of  SHAKESPEARE  we  sit,  and  accept  the 
truth  when  Orsino  says  that  for  three  months  Viola  had  tended  upon 
him.  But  if  we  shake  off  the  spell,  and,  with  the  book  before  us,  note 
the  sequence  of  events,  and  mark  off  the  morning  and  the  evening  of 
the  first  day  and  of  the  next,  we  find  that  the  time  involved  in  the 
scenes  which  have  passed  before  our  eyes  is  exactly  three  days  !  Such 
helpless  victims  are  we  of  SHAKESPEARE'S  art,  that  in  the  last  Act  we 
accept,  without  a  shade  of  mistrust,  as  perfectly  natural,  that  within 
two  hours  (we  have  the  Priest's  watch  for  a  witness)  Sir  Toby  has  had 
a  second  desperate  fight  with  Sebastian,  is  become  extremely  drunk, 
and  has  yet  found  time  withal  to  woo,  win,  and  marry  Maria. 

It  is  too  late  a  day  to  say  that  this  treatment  of  the  Duration  of  the 
Action  is  mere  accident,  or  that  SHAKESPEARE  referred  haphazard  to 
the  flight  of  time.  The  effect  is  so  unquestionable,  and  so  necessary 
withal  to  dramatic  art,  that  a  sufficing  cause  must  have  been  inten- 
tional. And  when  we  find  ^SCHYLUS  employing  the  same  art,  should 
not  imputations  of  accident  be  silenced  ? 

H.  H.  F. 

October, 


Dramatis  Perfonae. 

Orsino,  Duke  of  Illyria.  2 

Sebastian,  a  young  Gentleman,  Brother  to  Viola. 
Antonio,  a  Sea-Captain,  Friend  to  Sebastian. 

Valentine,  1  5 

P  .  .  >  Gentlemen  attending  on  the  Duke. 

Sir  Toby  Belch,  Uncle  to  Olivia. 
Sir  Andrew  Ague-cheek,  a  foolish  Knight, pretend- 
ing to  Olivia.  9 

Dramatis  Personae]  This  list  is  not  in  the  Folio,  but  is  first  given  by  ROWE, 
with,  as  DR  JOHNSON  says,  'all  the  cant  of  the  modern  stage.' 

2.  Orsino]  SARRAZIN  (Jahrb.  xxxii,  168)  :  In  the  winter  of  1600-1  a  certain 
Duke  Orsino  attracted  the  attention  of  London.  Virginio  Orsino,  Duke  of  Brac- 
ciano,  '  the  most  brilliant  nobleman  of  his  day,'  was  at  that  time  ambassador  to  the 
English  court,  and  was  entertained  by  Queen  Elizabeth  and  her  nobility  with  elab- 
orate festivities,  among  others  on  Twelfth  Night.  Possibly,  this  suggested  to  Shake- 
speare the  present  name.  [The  date  of  Duke  Orsino' s  presence  at  the  English 
court  is  somewhat  too  late  for  the  composition  of  Twelfth  Night,  if  it  were  already 
a  popular  play  when  Manningham  saw  it  in  February,  1601-2. — ED.] 

7,  8.  Sir]  It  is  not  easy  to  comprehend  the  '  anfractuosities '  of  the  German  mind 
when  it  deals  with  the  names  of  Shakespeare's  dramatis  persona.  German  trans- 
lators, from  the  highest  to  the  lowest,  assume  the  permission,  wherever  a  name 
seems  to  be  a  clew  to  the  character,  to  change  Shakespeare's  nomenclature,  and 
herein  they  are  probably  right ;  but  unfortunately  they  do  not  always  restrict  them- 
selves to  this  limit.  Thus  here,  the  knighthood  of  Sir  Toby  and  Sir  Andrew  is  not 
without  its  meaning  ;  the  contrast  between  the  dignity  of  the  title  and  the  inferiority 
of  the  man  is  sharp  enough  to  create  a  sense  of  mild  amusement,  and  it  also  elevates 
the  bearer  somewhat  in  the  social  plane.  Both  of  these  effects  are  lost  when  these 
characters  are  presented,  as  they  always  are,  to  a  German  audience  as  Junker.  Nor 
is  the  effect  restored  when,  instead  of  the  familiar  nickname,  '  Toby,'  we  have  the 
sonorous,  somewhat  Puritanic  Tobias,  given  in  full.  Whatever  humour  there  is  in 
Junker  is  silenced  in  Tobias.  But  what  is  to  be  said  of  SCHLEGEL'S  change  of  '  Sir 
Andrew '  into  Junker  Christoph,  a  change  which  is  still  retained  by  DR  SCHMIDT  in 
his  revision,  for  The  German  Shakespeare  Society,  of  SchlegePs  translation?  Is  it 
one  of  the  anfractuosities  that  to  German  ears  Christoph  is  funnier  than  '  Andrew ' 
or  Andreas  as  other  translators  have  it  ?  That  '  Belch '  should  be  translated  Riilp, 
and  '  Ague-cheek '  Bleichwangen  is  harmless  enough,  probably  right ;  as  President 
Lincoln  was  wont  to  say :  '  for  those  who  like  this  kind  of  thing,  this  is  just  the 
kind  of  thing  those  people  would  like.'  I  doubt,  however,  that  any  such  palliation 
will  cover  the  translation  of  an  historic  name  like  Hotspur  into  Heisssporn;  or 
I  i 


2  DRAMATIS  PERSONS 

A  Sea-Captain,  Friend  to  Viola  IO 

Fabian,  Servant  to  Olivia. 

Malvolio,  a  fantastical  Steward  to  Olivia.  1 2 

even  '  Juliet '  into  Julia,  which  is,  I  think,  universal  in  Germany.  The  indignant 
derision  would  be  kolossal  which  Germans  would  heap  on  an  English  translator  who 
should  convert  '  Gretchen '  into  Peggy. — ED. 

7.  Uncle]  Inasmuch  as  Sir  Toby  in  the  very  first  words  that  he  utters  styles 
Olivia  his  '  niece,'  ROWE  and  others  call  him  her  '  uncle '  here  and  throughout ; 
possibly,  overlooking  the  fact  that  Maria,  in  her  reply  to  Sir  Toby,  says  '  your 
cousin,  my  lady."  Olivia  herself  never  speaks  of  Sir  Toby  as  her  uncle,  but 
addresses  him  as  '  cousin,'  and,  in  IV,  i,  in  her  vehement  anger  at  his  attack  on 
Sebastian,  she  calls  him,  not  only  plain  '  Toby,'  but '  Rudesby,'  '  ungracious  wretch,' 
and  '  ruffian,' — terms  barely  consonant  with  the  respect  due  from  a  niece  to  her 
uncle.  Readers  of  Shakespeare  will  recall  many  instances  of  the  vagueness  with 
which  the  word  'cousin'  is  used  to  denote  degrees  of  relationship,  and  if  their 
memory  halt,  Schmidt's  Lexicon  will  abundantly  jog  it.  Possibly,  Sir  Toby  was 
Olivia's  nearest  male  relative,  and  so  near  of  an  age,  that  it  is  only  by  assuming  the 
closer  and  more  august  relationship  of  uncle  that  he  can  magnify  in  the  eyes  of  Sir 
Andrew  and  Fabian  (who  alone  accept  his  claim)  the  influence  which  he  would  fain 
have  them  believe  he  possessed  over  his  wealthy  relative. — ED. 

11.  Fabian]  HUNTER  (i,  396)  :   The  name  of  Fabian  was  probably  suggested 
by  the  name  of  Fabia,  which  Lelia  in  [_Gf  Ingannati]   assumed  in  her  disguise. 
[Hunter  believed  that  the  present  play  was  founded  on  G/'  Ingannati ;  nay,  he 
could  almost  persuade  himself  that  Shakespeare  had  used  the  identical  copy  which 
he  had  then  before  him.     To  him,  therefore,  this  suggestion  was  'probable,'  but  to 
me,  who  cannot  thus  circumscribe  Shakespeare's  resources,  the  suggestion  is  unlikely. 
Moreover,  Fabia  is  not  the  name  which  Lelia  assumes,  but  Fabio ;  this,  however,  is 
hardly  material. — ED.] 

12.  Malvolio]  FARMER  :  This  name  seems  to  have  been  formed  by  an  accidental 
transposition  in  the  word  Malivolo. — HUNTER  (i,  396)  :  Malvolio  is  a  happy  adapta- 
tion from  Malevolti,  a  character  in  the  //  Sacrificio.     [//  Sacrificio,  be  it  observed, 
is  a  so-called  '  Comedia,'  which  precedes  G/'  Ingannati,  the  comedy  whereon  Shake- 
speare, as  Hunter  believes,  founded  the  present  play.     (See  Preface,  or  Appendix  : 
The  Source  of  the  Plot.}     Hunter's  remark  in  regard  to  Malvolio' s  name  conveys 
the  impression  that  //  Sacrificio  is  a  comedy  in  the  ordinary  acceptation  of  the  word, 
which  it  certainly  is  not.    It  appears  that  in  1531  there  existed  in  Siena  a  society  who 
called  themselves  GP  Intronati,  or  The  Thunderstruck,  and  that  during  the  festiv- 
ities of  the  Carnival  in  that  year  they  performed  this  '  Comedia '  of  //  Sacrificio, 
wherein  the  members  of  the  Society,  under  the  leadership  of  the  '  sodo  dignissimo 
Archintronato,'  sacrificed  to  the  flames  the  mementoes  of  their  love,  singing  madrigals 
the  while  to  the  accompaniment  of  a  lyre.     The  offerings  are  eminently  sentimental, 
such  as  '  a  handkerchief  bathed  with  tears,'  '  a  lock  of  hair,'  '  a  silver  love-knot,' 
'a  glove  of  his  Donna,'  etc.     Nowhere  do  the  performers  appear  under  their  own 
names,  but  as  '  The  Sad  One,'  '  The  Stunned  One,'  '  The  Fantastical  One,'  etc. 
The  solitary  exception  is  the  instance  mentioned  by  Hunter,  where  the  madrigal  is 
entitled  :  Messer  Agnol  Maleuolti  un  Cupido  scolpito,  dono  delta  sua  donna  ;  and  in 
the  madrigal  itself  Messer  Malevolti  reproaches  the  little  sculptured  god  with  the 
loss  of  those  joys  which  he  had  foretold  him,  and  recalls  the  fair  promises  given  by 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS  3 

Clown,  Servant  to  Olivia.  13 

Olivia,   a  Lady  of  great   Beauty  and  Fortune, 

belov'd  by  the  Duke.  15 

Viola,  in  love  with  the  Duke. 
Maria,  Confident  to  Olivia. 

Priest,  Sailors,  Officers,  and  other  Attendants.  1 8 

13.  Clown,]  Feste,  a  clown.  Cam.  17.  Confident...]     Olivia's     Woman 

14.  a. ..Fortune,]    a    rich   Countess.         Rowe     ii.       Olivia's     Waiting-woman 
Steev.  Wh.  i. 

16.  in. ..Duke.]   sister  to  Sebastian.  18.  Officers,]  two  Officers  of  Justice. 

Cap.  Cap. 

his  mistress  when  she  made  him  this  present ;  and  how  bitterly  those  promises  had 
failed.  Wherefore,  Cupid  is  no  longer  worthy  to  be  called  a  god  ;  but  shall  expiate 
in  the  fire  the  numberless  wounds  he  has  caused,  and  shall  prove  in  his  own  image 
how  sweet  is  the  flame.  The  likelihood  is  extremely  small,  I  think,  that  Shakespeare, 
even  granting  that  he  had  ever  read  //  Sacrificio,  took  the  trouble  to  coin  '  Malvolio' 
out  of  Malevolti,  when  he  had  before  him,  on  Hunter's  own  supposition,  the  long 
list  of  Dramatis  Personae  of  Gl'  Ingannati.  There  is  nothing  whatsoever  in  Male- 
volti's  madrigal  which  corresponds  to  the  character  which  Shakespeare  gives  to 
Malvolio. — ED.] 

13.  Clown]  As  we  learn  from  II,  iv,  13,  this  Clown's  name  is  Feste  (a  disyllabic). 
WALKER  (Crit.  \,  2),  on  the  analogy  of  Anselme  for  Anselmo,  thinks  that,  perhaps, 
this  name  should  be  Festo.     The  CowDEN-CLARKES  remark  that  it  is  a  name,  aptly 
invented  by  Shakespeare,  '  from  the  Italian  fetteggumtt  which   Florio  explains  t 
"Feasting,  merrie,  banqueting,  pleasant,  of  good  entertainment."' 

14.  Olivia]  C.   ELLIOT   BROWNE   (Athentzum,  20  June,   1874)  :    Shakespeare 
was,  probably,  indebted  for  the  names  of  the  heroines  of  Twelfth  Night  to  the  first 
part  of  Emanuel  Forde's  Parismus,  the  Renowned  Prince  of  Bohemia,  London, 
1598,  for  neither  Olivia  nor  Viola  occurs  in  the  Ingannati.     In  the  romance,  Olivia 
is  Queen  of  Thessaly,  and  Violetta  the  name  of  a  lady,  who,  unknown  to  her  lover,, 
disguises  herself  as  a  page  to  follow  him,  and  she,  also  like  Viola,  is  shipwrecked. 
If  this  conjecture  is  founded  on  fact,  the  negative  evidence  that  Twelfth  Night  was 
written  after  1598,  afforded  by  its  omission  in  Mcres's  list,  is  confirmed.    [I  have  no 
sympathy  with  an  estimate  of  Shakespeare's  originality  which  would  send  him  a-field 
or  to  any  one  particular  authority  for  the  names  of  his  heroines.     If,  in  the  sources 
of  his  plots,  the  names  were  euphonious,  he  retained  them  ;  if  they  were  not,  he 
changed  them.     Euphony  guided  his  choice,  wheresoever  the  names  were  found. 
To  say  that  he  took  'Olivia'  from  Forde's  Parismus  would  be  paralleled  by  saying 
that  Tennyson  took  from  the  present  play  the  name  of  his  heroine  in  The  Talking 
Oak.—  ED.] 

1 6.  Viola]  STEEVENS  :  Viola  is  the  name  of  a  lady  in  the  fifth  book  of  Gower 
de  Confessione  Amantis. — GENEE  (A7ass.  Frauenbilder,  79)  :  The  name  Viola  is 
given  to  her  because  of  her  exquisite  grace,  and  because  of  her  concealment,  under 


4  DRAMATIS  PERSONS 

SCENE  a  City  on  the  Coast  of  Illyria.  19 

19.  a  ...  Illyria.]    a   City  of    Illyria,         coast  near  it.  Cap. 
Residence  of  the  Duke ;  and  the  Sea- 
cover  whereof  she  could  cherish,  like  a  secret  treasure,  the  longings  of  her  loving 
heart. 

19.  Scene]  W.  WINTER  (Shadows  of  the  Stage,  iii,  28)  :  It  is  even  more  difficult 
to  assign  a  place  and  a  period  for  Twelfth  Night  than  it  is  to  localise  As  You  Like  It. 
Illyria, — now  Dalmatia,  Croatia,  and  Bosnia, — was  a  Roman  province,  a  hundred 
and  sixty-seven  years  before  Christ.  In  Shakespeare's  time,  Dalmatia  was  under  the 
rule  of  the  Venetian  republic.  The  custom  has  long  prevailed  of  treating  the  piece 
as  a  romantic  and  poetic  picture  of  Venetian  manners  in  the  seventeenth  century. 
Some  stage  managers  have  used  Greek  dresses.  For  the  purposes  of  the  stage,  there 
must  be  a  'local  habitation.'  For  a  reader,  the  scene  of  Twelfth  Night  is  the  elusive 
and  evanescent,  but  limitless  and  immortal,  land  of  dreams. 


TwelfeNight,Orwhatyouwill. 


<Aftus  Primus ,  Sccena  Prima. 

Enter  Orjlno  Duke  of  Illyria,  Curio,  and  other 
Lords. 


Duke. 

F  Muficke  be  the  food  of  Loue,  play  on, 
Giue  me  exceffe  of  it  :  that  furfetting, 
The  appetite  may  ficken,  and  fo  dye. 
That  ftraine  agen,  it  had  a  dying  fall : 


Twelfe    Night,]    Twelfe-Night    F3.  and  Lords.  Rowe.     Musick  attending. 

Twelf-Night  F4.                                       .  Cap. 

1.  Primus,]  Primus.  Ff.  4-10.  As  mnemonic,  Warb. 
Scaena]  Scena  F3F4.  4.  on,"]  on;  Theob. 

The  Palace.  Rowe  et  cet.  (subs.)  5.  furfetting}  furf citing  FV 

2.  Enter...]  Enter  the  Duke,  Curio,  7.  agen]  again  Rowe. 

I.  Twelfe  Night]  FARMER  :  A  very  ingenious  lady,  with  whom  I  have  the 
honour  to  be  acquainted,  Mrs  Askew  of  Queen' s-Square,  has  a  fine  copy  of  the 
Second  Folio,  which  formerly  belonged  to  King  Charles  I.  and  was  a  present  from 
him  to  Sir  Thomas  Herbert.  Sir  Thomas  has  altered  five  titles  in  the  list  of  plays, 
to  Benedick  [sic]  and  Beatrice, — Pyramus  and  Thisby, — Rosalinde, — Mr  Paroles, — 
and  Malvolio. — STEEVENS  :  Dr  Farmer  might  have  observed  that  the  alterations  of 
the  titles  are  in  his  Majesty's  own  hand-writing,  materially  differing  from  Sir  Thomas 
Herbert' s,  of  which  the  same  volume  affords  more  than  one  specimen.  The  book  is 
now  in  my  possession.  [HALLIWELL :  It  is  now  in  the  library  of  her  present  Majesty 
at  Windsor  Castle.]  THEOBALD  (Nichols,  ii,  354)  acknowledged  to  Warburton  that 
he  could  not  decide  whether  or  not  this  title  '  arose  from  the  time  of  year  at  which  it 
was  performed.'  '  There  is  no  circumstance,'  he  goes  on  to  say,  '  that  I  can  observe 
in  the  Play  to  give  occasion  to  this  name  ;  nothing  either  to  fix  it  down  particularly 
to  Twelfth  Night, — or  to  leave  it  so  loose  and  general  a  description  as  What  You 
Will.''  Possibly  the  same  uncertainty  beset  subsequent  editors,  or  it  may  have  been 
indifference,  or  it  may  have  been  acquiescence  in  the  plain  meaning  of  the  words 
without  seeking  for  any  hidden  meaning.  KNIGHT  was  the  first  to  break  silence. 
He  speaks  of  the  '  neutral  title  of  Twelfth  Night ','  whereby,  I  suppose,  he  means 
that  the  title  indicates  neither  a  purely  poetic  nor  a  purely  comic  work.  '  This 
neutral  title,"  he  says  (p.  185)  '  — conveying  as  it  does  a  notion  of  genial  mirth,— 

5 


TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  i,  sc.  i. 


[i.  Twelfe  Night.] 

might  warrant  us  in  thinking  that  there  was  a  preponderance  of  the  comic  spirit. 
Charles  I.  appears  to  have  thought  so,  when,  in  his  copy  of  the  Second  Folio,  he 
altered  the  title  with  his  own  pen  to  that  of  Malvolio.  But  Malvolio  is  not  the  pre- 
dominant idea  of  the  comedy ;  nor  is  he  of  that  exclusive  interest  that  the  whole 
action,  even  of  the  merely  comic  portions,  should  turn  upon  him.  When  Shake- 
speare means  one  character  to  be  the  centre  of  the  dramatic  idea,  he  for  the  most 
part  tells  us  so  in  his  title  : — Hamlet,  Othello,  Lear,  Macbeth,  Titnon.  Not  one  of 
the  comedies  has  such  a  personal  title,  for  the  evident  reason  that  the  effect  in  them 
must  mainly  depend  upon  the  harmony  of  all  the  parts,  rather  than  upon  the  absorb- 
ing passion  of  the  principal  character.  The  Twelfth  Night  is  especially  of  this 
description.  It  presents  us  with  the  golden  and  silver  sides  of  human  life, — the 
romantic  and  the  humourous.  But  the  two  precious  metals  are  moulded  into  one 
statue."  HUNTER,  who  skillfully  detected  the  author  of  an  anonymous  Diary 
kept  by  a  member  of  the  Middle  Temple  (see  Preface,  or  Appendix,  Date  of  the 
Play),  believed  that  Shakespeare  took  his  plot  from  an  Italian  comedy,  Gl'  Ingan- 
nati.  '  A  phrase  occurring  in  a  long  prologue  or  preface  prefixed  to  this  play  in  the 
Italian  appears  to  me,'  says  Hunter  (i,  396),  'to  have  suggested  the  title  Twelfth 
Night,  which  has  no  kind  of  propriety  or  congruity  when  looked  at  in  connection 
with  the  play ;  and  this  must  have  been  evident  to  Shakespeare  himself,  since  he 
adds  to  it  or  What  You  Will.  It  might  be  called  Twelfth  Night  or  by  whatever 
other  name.  In  perusing  this  prologue  or  preface  the  eye  of  Shakespeare  would 
fall  upon  the  following  passage  :  "  The  story  is  new,  never  seen  or  read,  and  only 
dipped  for  and  taken  out  of  their  own  industrious  noddles  as  your  prize-tickets  are 
dipped  for  and  taken  out  on  Twelfth  Night  \la  notte  di  Beffana],  by  which  it  appears 
to  you  that  the  Intronati  might  have  answered  you  so  much  upon  this  part  of  the 
declaration,"  etc.'  This  supposition  of  Hunter  that  Shakespeare  was  led  to  the 
choice  of  his  title  by  the  revels  of  Epiphany  (apparent  in  the  Italian  '  Bef- 
fana')  is  accepted  by  B.  NICHOLSON  (N.  &•  Qu.  VI,  ix,  165)  and  'reinforced  by 
the  suggestion  that  this  humourous  play,  being  one  in  every  way  fitted  for  the 
season  and  revels  then  held,  was  written  for  and  first  produced  by  Shakespeare  at  a 
representation  on  that  night,  and  that  he  thence  so  named  it.  It  was  a  Twelfth 
Night,  or  what  you  will  for  Twelfth  Night,  just  as  for  Christmas  our  writers  and 
managers  have  for  many  years  produced  pantomimes.  Jonson  and  other  authorities 
could  be  quoted  for  plays  and  masques  on  these  Twelfth-Night  festivities.'  Nichol- 
son then  proceeds  to  quote  an  illustration  in  point  from  the  less  known  Diary  of 
Henry  Machin  (Cam.  Soc.  p.  222).  But  this  meaning  does  not  suit  ULRICI, 
who,  in  the  alternative  title,  verily  sees  '  fantasies,  more  than  cool  reason  ever  com- 
prehends.' 'This  What  You  Will,'  says  Ulrici  (ii,  5),  'refers  indeed  to  the  relation 
between  the  public  and  the  play,  but  not,  as  has  been  supposed,  in  the  sense  quite 
inadmissible,  that  the  piece  was  to  give  and  to  represent  whatever  the  spectators 
wished.  This  is  not  the  case  ;  the  play  rather  creates  what  it  wishes,  and  the  better 
it  is  the  less  can  that  which  it  gives  be  different  from  what  it  is.  The  title  is  rather 
intended  to  signify  that  that  which  men  all  like  to  see  represented  is  ever  the  same  ; 
namely,  a  chequered,  a  varied  life,  rich  in  incidents  and  crossed  by  misfortunes  and 
complications,  one  that  excites  interest  and  keeps  up  a  state  of  suspense,  but  which, 
nevertheless,  does  not  exceed  the  bounds  of  ordinary  human  life,  even  though  it 
leads  to  a  happy  and  harmonious  ending  through  unusual,  strange  and  winding  paths. 
We  are,  in  reality,  all  as  little  fond  of  an  existence  which  passes  with  nothing 


ACT  i,  sc.  i.J  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  7 

[I.  Twelfe  Night.] 

unusual,  surprising,  or  exciting  to  the  imagination,  where  everything  happens  accord- 
ing to  well  considered  aims  and  objects,  as  \ve  are  of  the  reverse,  a  life  governed 
solely  by  chance,  whim,  and  caprice.  We  would  all  prefer  the  greatest  possible 
equality  in  the  mixture  of  the  usual  and  unusual,  of  accident  and  intention,  of  whim 
and  reflection,  imagination  and  reason.  It  is  not  merely  the  experiencing  such  a  life, 
the  very  beholding  it  produces  that  gaiety,  that  inward  contentment,  at  which  we  are 
all  aiming.  And  thus  Shakespeare  could  with  justice, — especially  of  this  one  of  his 
comedies, — maintain  that  it  represented  "  What  You  (all)  Will."  '  Thus  far  Ulrici. 
Let  the  corrective  be  happily  administered  by  a  fellow-countryman.  At  the  close  of 
an  article  in  the  Preussische  Jahrbiicher,  (July,  1887,)  CONRAD  says  (p.  35) :  'Assur- 
edly, when  Shakespeare  gave  a  title  to  the  ripest  fruit  of  his  comic  Muse,  he  had  no 
intrusive,  covert  meaning;  he  wished  to  say  merely, — "Herein  are  to  be  found 
comicalities  of  all  kinds,  braggadocios,  and  chickenhearted  simpletons,  roistering  and 
revelling,  ill-conditioned  hypocrisy  and  intolerance,  false  love  and  true  love,  disguises 
and  delusions  and  mad  pranks.  What  to  call  it,  I  know  not.  Call  it '  a  masquerade,' 
'  a  Twelfth  Night,'  or  '  Whatever  you  Like.'  "  To  any  deeper  meaning  which  pos-  V 
terity  might  find  underlying  this  title,  he  gave  never  a  thought.  Here  in  this  drama 
we  have  on  one  canvas  a  realistic  picture  of  the  life  of  the  Renaissance,  with  its 
splendour  and  its  joyousness,  with  its  weaknesses  and  its  follies,  with  its  life  of  lofty 
developement  of  mind  and  spirit, — such  as  hardly  a  second  picture  in  that  time 
affords.  In  it  we  find  every  comic  element  united  in  an  artistic  harmony,  whereof 
the  strength  and  beauty  stand  unparalleled  ;  in  it  we  find  all  things  soever  that  are 
to  be  asked  for  in  a  comedy,—  absolutely  What  you  •will.'1  MALONE  (  Var.  '21,  ii, 
442)  notes  that  '  the  Comedy  of  What  You  Will,  which  was  entered  at  Stationers' 
Hall,  August  9,  1607,  was  certainly  Marston's  play.'  HALLIWELL  (p.  247)  adds : 
'In  Tatham's  Ostella,  or  the  Faction  of  Love  and  Beauty,  1650,  mention  is  made 
of  a  play  called  The  Whisperer,  or  What  you  Please,  which  is  an  instance  of  a 
double  title  formed  on  that  of  Twelfth  Night.1 — RUGGLES  (p.  15)  :  The  title 
evidently  has  reference  to  the  subject  of  the  play,  which  is  Man  in  his  relations  to 
Pleasure  and  Pastime.  This  title,  though  suggestive  of  license,  involves  morality. 
As  the  play  gives  us  a  phase  of  life  in  which  excess  seems  to  be  the  rule,  and  mod- 
eration the  exception,  Shakespeare,  who  is  ever  loyal  to  morality,  notifies  us  by  the 
title  that  it  is  merely  a  mirthful,  comic  entertainment,  which  looks  at  life  as  it  is  seen 
under  its  most  genial  aspect ;  an  ideal  picture,  from  which  all  view  of  serious  affairs 
is  excluded.  [It  is  almost  superfluous  to  add  that  Conrad's  view  seems  to  be  the 
true  one. — ED.] 

i.  A<Jtus  Primus]  For  SPEDDING'S  division  of  Acts,  see  I,  iv,  46. 

I.  Scaena  Prima]  COLERIDGE  (p.  209)  :  Of  more  importance  [than  the  signifi- 
cancy  of  the  title,  and]  so,  more  striking,  is  the  judgement  displayed  by  our  truly 
dramatic  poet,  as  well  as  poet  of  the  drama,  in  the  management  of  his  first  scenes. 
With  the  single  exception  of  Cymbeline,  they  either  place  before  us  at  one  glance 
both  the  past  and  the  future  in  some  effect,  which  implies  the  continuance  and  full 
agency  of  its  cause,  as  in  the  feuds  and  party-spirit  of  the  servants  of  the  two  houses 
in  the  first  scene  of  Romeo  and  Juliet ;  or  the  degrading  passion  for  shews  and  public 
spectacles,  and  the  overwhelming  attachment  for  the  newest  successful  war-chief 
in  the  Roman  people,  already  become  a  populace,  contrasted  with  the  jealousy  of 
the  nobles  in  Julius  Ccesar ; — or  they  at  once  commence  the  action  so  as  to  excite  a 
curiosity  for  the  explanation  in  the  following  scenes,  as  in  the  storm  of  wind  and 


8  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  i,  sc.  i. 

[l.  Scaena  Prima.] 

waves,  and  the  boatswain  in  The  Tempest,  instead  of  anticipating  our  curiosity,  as  in 
most  other  first  scenes,  and  in  too  many  other  first  Acts  ; — or  they  act,  by  contrast  of 
diction  suited  to  the  characters,  at  once  to  heighten  the  effect,  and  yet  to  give  a 
naturalness  to  the  language  and  rhythm  of  the  principal  personages,  either  as  that 
of  Prospero  and  Miranda,  by  the  appropriate  lowness  of  the  style, — or  as  in  King 
John,  by  the  equally  appropriate  stateliness  of  official  harangues  or  narratives,  so 
that  the  after  blank  verse  seems  to  belong  to  the  rank  and  quality  of  the  speakers, 
and  not  to  the  poet ; — or  they  strike  at  once  the  key-note,  and  give  the  predominant 
spirit  of  the  play,  as  in  Twelfth  Night  and  in  Macbeth  ;— or  finally,  the  first  scene 
comprises  all  these  advantages  at  once,  as  in  Hamlet. 

4-6.  If  Musicke  ...  so  dye]  WARBURTON  :  There  is  an  impropriety  of  expres- 
sion in  the  present  reading  of  this  fine  passage.  We  do  not  say,  that  the  appetite 
sickens  and  dies  thrrf  a  surfeit ;  but  the  subject  of  that  appetite.  I  am  persuaded, 
a  word  is  accidentally  dropt ;  and  that  we  should  read,  and  point,  the  passage  thus  : 
'  that,  surfeiting  The  app'tite,  Love  may  sicken,  and  so  die.' — JOHNSON  :  It  is  true, 
we  do  not  talk  of  the  death  of  appetite,  because  we  do  not  ordinarily  speak  in  the 
figurative  language  of  poetry  ;  but  that  appetite  sickens  by  a  surfeit  is  true,  and  there- 
fore proper. — MRS  GRIFFITH  (p.  119)  :  The  duke  is  made  to  wish  his  passion  were 
extinct ;  which,  I  believe,  the  most  unhappy  lover  never  yet  did.  We  wish  to 
remove  every  uneasy  sensation  it  afflicts  us  with,  by  any  means  whatever ;  some- 
times even  by  death  itself;  but  never  by  the  extinction  of  the  affection. — W.  A. 
WRIGHT  :  Compare  Ant.  &  Cleop.  II,  v,  I  :  '  Give  me  some  music ;  music, 
moody  food  Of  us  that  trade  in  love.'  [Wherever  this  passage  has  been  para- 
phrased, the  interpretation  of  Warburton  and  of  Mrs  Griffith  has  been  followed, 
namely,  that '  the  food  of  love '  is  the  food  on  which  love  feeds,  and  that  '  appetite ' 
refers  to  love  ;  the  conclusion  follows  that  Orsino  longs  to  be  freed  from  his  thraldom 
to  Olivia.  I  do  not  so  understand  the  passage.  It  is  not  to  be  believed  that  Orsino 
wishes  his  love  for  Olivia  to  die.  His  words  and  deeds  throughout  contradict  it.  He 
by  no  means  wishes  music  to  diminish  his  love,  a  result,  as  Mrs  Griffith  justly  says, 
no  lover  ever  prayed  for,  but  to  increase  it  to  the  very  utmost  Not  till  music  has 
exhausted  its  power,  must  its  services  in  the  cause  of  love  cease.  This  interpretation 
is  justified,  I  think,  if  we  understand  music  to  be,  not  that  on  which  love  feeds,  but, 
that  which  feeds  love  ;  in  this  sense,  Orsino  says  in  effect :  Give  me  excess  of  music, 
let  it  feed  love  beyond  measure,  even  to  a  surfeit  of  itself ;  so  that  when  it  has  done 
all  that  it  can,  and  love  is  full-fed,  the  appetite  or  desire  for  music  sickens  and  ceases. 
—ED.] 

5.  surfeiting]  It  is  hardly  worth  while  to  pay  much  attention  to  the  spelling,  in 
the  Folio,  of  ordinary  words  where  there  is  no  question  of  obscurity.  It  is  not 
Shakespeare's  spelling,  but  a  printer's,  and  one,  who,  to  judge  by  his  performance,  is 
not  altogether  worthy  of  our  idolatry.  We  have  '  surfeited  to  death '  in  Oth.  II,  i,  56, 
and  '  the  never  surfeited  sea '  in  Temp.  Ill,  iii,  76  ;  '  the  surfeit  of  sweetest  things ' 
in  Mid.  N.  D.  II,  ii,  143,  and  '  surfet  with  too  much'  in  Mer.  of  Ven.  I,  ii,  6. 
The  plays  were  set  up  by  various  compositors,  and  each  one  followed  his  own 
spelling. — ED. 

7.  That  strains  agen]  This  is  addressed  to  the  Musicians,  as  is  also,  '  Enough, 
no  more,'  in  line  10.  In  both  instances  there  should  be,  I  think,  in  a  modern  text,  a 
period  after  them,  with  a  dash  before  and  after,  to  indicate  a  change  of  address. — ED. 

7.  a  dying  fall]  HOLT  WHITE  :  Hence  Pope  in  his  Ode  on  St.  Cecilia's  Day : 


ACT  I,  sc.  i,]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  9 

O,  it  came  ore  my  eare,  like  the  fweet  found  8 

That  breathes  vpon  a  banke  of  Violets  ; 

Stealing,  and  giuing  Odour,     though,  no  more,  10 

8.  /ound]Ff,  Roweii,  Knt,  Hal.  Sta.  Cam.     scent  MS  Dent  ap.  Hal. 
Wh.  Hunter,  Cam.  Glo.  Rife,  Wrt,  Ver-  9.   Violets  ;]  Violets,  F4,  Rowe  et  seq. 

ity,  E.  Lee,  Innes,  Cholmely.      Wind  10.  'Enough,']  Hush  !  Pope,  Han. 

Rowe  i,  South-wind  Ktly.    South  Pope'  [Musick  ceases.  Cap. 

et  cet.     sou1  wind  or  sough  Anon.  ap. 

'The  strains  decay,  And  melt  away,  In  a  dying,  dying  fall'  [lines  19-21],  Again, 
Thomson,  in  his  Spring,  line  722,  speaking  of  the  Nightingale:  ' — Still  at  every 
dying  fall  Takes  up  again  her  lamentable  strain  Of  winding  woe.'  KNIGHT  gives 
a  general  reference  to  Comus,  as  containing  '  fall '  thus  used.  In  the  passage, 
beginning  with  line  251,  we  find :  '  How  sweetly  did  they  flote  upon  the  wings  Of 
silence,  through  the  empty  vaulted  night,  At  every  fall  smoothing  the  raven  downe 
Of  darknesse  till  she  smil'd.' — Facsimile  of  the  MS  of  Milton's  Minor  Poems, 
p.  14. — ED. 

8-10.  sound  .  .  .  Odour]  THEOBALD  in  his  correspondence  with  Warburton 
(Nichols,  ii,  354)  expresses  a  preference  for  Rowe's  reading  wind,  and  adds  that  he 
does  not  know  that  Shakespeare  '  anywhere  expresses  an  opinion  of  the  sweetness 
of  the  South,'  which  is  Pope's  reading  and  afterward  adopted  by  Theobald  in  his 
own  edition.  This  change  of  '  sound '  to  South  maintained  its  place  in  the  text 
without  question  for  nigh  a  hundred  and  twenty  years,  from  Pope  to  Knight. 
STEEVENS,  in  the  meantime,  suggested  that  the  thought  may  have  been  borrowed 
from  Sidney's  Arcadia,  1590  :  '  her  breath  is  more  sweete  then  a  gentle  South-west 
wind,  which  comes  creeping  ouer  flowrie  fieldes  and  shadowed  waters  in  the  extreame 
heate  of  sommer,  and  yet  is  nothing,  compared  to  the  hony  flowing  speach  that 
breath  doth  carrie ;  no  more  all  that  our  eyes  can  see  of  her  .  .  .  is  to  be  matched 
with  the  flocke  of  vnspeakable  vertues,  laid  up  delightfully  in  that  best  builded  fold.' 
(ed.  1598,  lib.  i,  p.  2.  A  longer  extract  is  here  given  than  that  given  by  Steevens, 
in  order  to  bring  in  certain  phrases,  wherein  subsequent  editors  have  found  proofs 
that  Shakespeare  had  here  in  mind  this  passage  in  the  Arcadia.  Furthermore,  in 
reference  to  'Stealing  .  .  .  odour,'  Steevens  (Var.  '85)  observes  that,  'Milton  has  very 
successfully  introduced  the  image  :  " — now  gentle  gales  Fanning  their  odoriferous 
wings  dispense  Native  perfumes,  and  whisper  whence  they  stole  Those  balmy  spoils."  ' 
—(Par.  Lost,  Bk.  IV,  line  156.)— KNIGHT,  the  first  editor  to  recall  the  Shake- 
spearian world  to  the  grey  and  venerable  authority  of  the  Folio,  thus  pleads  for 
'  sound ' :  '  Let  us  consider  whether  Shakspere  was  most  likely  to  have  written 
"  sound"  or  south,  which  involves  the  question  of  which  is  the  better  word.  In  the 
quotation  given  by  Steevens  from  the  Arcadia,  the  comparison  is  direct.  The  sweet 
breath  of  Urania  is  more  sweet  than  the  gentle  southwest  wind.  Sidney  adds,  "  and 
yet  is  nothing,  compared  to  the  honey-flowing  speech  that  breath  doth  carry."  The 
music  of  the  speech  is  not  here  compared  with  the  music  of  the  wind  ; — the  notion 
of  fragrance  is  alone  conveyed.  If  in  the  passage  of  the  text  we  read  south  instead 
of  "  sound,"  the  conclusion  of  the  sentence,  "  Stealing  and  giving  odour,"  rests  upon 
the  mind,  and  the  comparison  becomes  an  indirect  one  between  the  harmony  of  the 
dying  fall  and  the  odour  of  the  breeze  that  had  passed  over  a  bank  of  violets.  This, 
we  think,  is  not  what  the  poet  meant.  He  desired  to  compare  one  sound  with  another 


10  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  i,  sc.  i. 


[8-10.  sweet  sound  .  .  .  Stealing  and  gluing  Odour.] 

sound.  Milton  had  probably  this  passage  in  view  when  he  wrote  [the  passage  quoted 
above  by  Steevens].  The  image  in  Milton,  as  well  as  in  Shakspere,  combines  the 
notion  of  sound  as  well  as  fragrance.  In  Shakspere  "  the  sound  that  breathes," — the 
soft  murmur  of  the  breeze  playing  amidst  beds  of  flowers, — is  put  first,  because  of 
its  relation  to  the  "dying  fall"  of  the  exquisite  harmony  ;  but  in  Milton  the  "per- 
fumes" of  the  "gentle  gales"  are  more  prominent  than  "the  whisper," — because 
the  image  is  complete  in  itself,  unconnected  with  what  precedes.  Further,  Shakspere 
has  nowhere  else  made  the  south  an  odour-breathing  wind ;  his  other  representations 
are  directly  contrary.  In  As  You  Like  It,  Rosalind  says,  "  Like  foggy  south,  puffing 
with  wind  and  rain  "  [III,  v,  54].  In  Rum.  and  Jul.  we  have  the  "  dew-dropping 
south"  [I,  iv,  103].  In  Cytn.,  "The  south-fog  rot  him"  [II,  iii,  136].  We  prefer, 
therefore,  on  all  accounts  to  hold  to  the  original  text."  Knight's  arguments  were 
lost  on  COLLIER,  the  next  editor,  who  in  his  First  Edition  pronounces  south  '  a 
manifest  improvement  of  the  passage  ;  and  as  "  sound"  for  south  was  an  easy  mis- 
print, we  have  continued  the  alteration,  being  of  opinion,  that  it  is  much  more  likely 
that  the  printer  should  have  made  an  error,  than  that  Shakespeare  should  have 
missed  so  obvious  a  beauty.'  In  his  Second  Edition  Collier's  opinion  was  confirmed 
by  finding  that  '  sound'  had  been  erased  and  south  substituted  in  the  corrected  Folio 
of  1632. — HALLIWELL  [upholding  'sound']:  The  Duke  intends  the  imagery  to 
refer  to  the  strain,  which  'had  a  dying  fall,'  and  came  o'er  his  ear  like  the  sweet 
low  hum  of  the  summer  air,  without  allusion  to  any  particular  quarter  whence  the 
wind  may  come. — STAUNTON  :  If  south  were  the  poet's  word,  he  must  have  employed 
it,  not  in  the  sense  Pope  intended  of  south-wind,  but  as  south,  sowth,  or  sough  is  used 
in  the  North,  to  signify  the  soft  whisper  of  the  breeze  :  '  The  soft  south  of  the  swyre, 
and  sound  of  the  stremes,'  etc. — Dunbar,  Maitland's  Poems,  p.  64.  DYCE  adopts 
south  in  all  three  of  his  editions  and  ignores  discussion. — R.  G.  WHITE  :  It  is  not 
easy  to  discover  the  supposed  difficulty  in  the  original  text,  in  which  the  effect,  that 
is,  the  sweet  sound,  is  by  a  beautiful  metonymy  put  for  the  cause,  the  wind.  Knight 
remarks  that  the  question  between  '  sound'  and  south  is,  '  which  is  the  better  word.' 
There  is  no  such  question  admissible.  If  in  the  place  of  '  sound :  there  were  some 
word  without  meaning,  or  even  with  a  meaning  incongruous  with  the  tone  of  the 
passage,  and  *  sound '  and  '  south  '  were  proposed  as  substitutes,  then,  indeed,  there 
would  be  a  question  as  to  which  is  the  better  word.  But  '  sound '  appears  in  the 
authentic  text,  and,  to  say  the  least,  is  comprehensible  and  appropriate,  and  is  there- 
fore not  to  be  disturbed,  except  by  those  who  hold  that  Shakespeare  must  have 
written  that  which  they  think  best.  But  did  Pope,  or  the  editors  who  have  followed 
him,  ever  lie  musing  on  the  sward  at  the  edge  of  a  wood,  and  hear  the  low,  sweet 
hum  of  the  summer  air,  as  it  kissed  the  coyly-shrinking  wild  flowers  upon  the  banks, 
and  passed  on,  loaded  with  fragrance  from  the  sweet  salute?  If  they  ever  did,  how 
could  they  make  this  change  of  '  sound '  to  south  ?  and  if  they  never  did,  they  are 
unable  to  entirely  appreciate  the  passage,  much  less  to  improve  it.  WALKER  ( Crit. 
iii,  82)  proposed  wind  as  an  emendation  for  «  sound,'  not  knowing  that  he  had  been 
anticipated  by  Rowe.  He  then  continues  :  '  In  the  passage  of  the  Arcadia  quoted 
by  [Steevens]  the  wind  is  not  the  [south]  but  the  south-west ;  and  I  suspect  that 
[Sidney]  had  a  passage  of  some  Greek  or  Roman  poet  in  view,  were  it  merely  on 
account  of  the  very  different  character  of  our  English  south-wester."  Of  this  note 
of  Walker,  LETTSOM  says  :  '  I  can  scarcely  agree  with  what  [Walker]  says  on  the 
passage  from  the  Arcadia.  A  south-wester  is  a  heavy  gale  from  the  south-west ;  but 


ACT  i,  sc.  i.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  I! 

[8-10.  sweet  sound  .  .  .  Stealing  and  giuing  Odour.] 

we  often  have  genial,  bright,  and  growing  weather  from  that  quarter  as  well  as  from 
the  south.  Such  was  the  weather  that  Shakespeare  probably  had  in  view  when  he 
put  this  speech  into  the  mouth  of  the  lovelorn  Orsino.  One  verse  in  particular, — 
"it  had  a  dying  fall,"  seems  inspired  by  the  soft,  balmy,  but  somewhat  moist, 
relaxing,  and  languor-breathing  air,  which  is  peculiar  to  the  two  winds  in  question. 
...  It  is  utterly  impossible  that  Shakespeare  could  have  described  a  sound  as  steal- 
ing and  giving  odours.  Sounds  sometimes  tickle,  and  sometimes  torture,  our  ears ; 
but  they  are  incapacitated  by  nature  from  affecting  our  noses.' — The  COWDEN- 
CLARKES  :  South  has  always  had  so  perfectly  the  effect  to  our  ear  and  feeling  of 
having  been  Shakespeare's  word  here,  that  we  cannot  bring  ourselves  to  doubt  its 
being  the  right  one  in  this  passage.  We  cannot  believe  that  he  would  have  employed 
the  expression  'sound'  to  imply  that  which  'gives  odour';  whereas  'the  sweet 
south '  at  once  suggests  that  balmy  air  which  Shakespeare  elsewhere  places  in 
extremity  of  contrast  with  the  fierce  '  septentrion '  and  '  frozen  bosom  of  the  north.' 
Not  merely  do  we  fancy  that  Shakespeare  may  have  been  thinking  of  the  extract 
from  the  Arcadia  quoted  by  Steevens, — especially  of  the  expression,  '  the  flock  of 
unspeakable  virtues '  which  is  paralleled  by  Shakespeare's  '  the  flock  of  all  affections ' 
in  line  41, — but  we  also  believe  that  he  may  have  had  before  his  mind  Bacon's  sen- 
tence of  similar  beauty,  'the  breath  of  flowers  is  far  sweeter  in  the  air  (where  it 
comes  and  goes  like  the  warbling  of  music)  than  in  the  hand.' — KEIGHTLEY  (Exp. 
174)  :  A  sound  breathing  is  pure  nonsense.  Even  Pope's  correction  does  not  remove 
the  difficulty,  for  south  alone,  no  more  than  north,  east,  or  west,  is  never  used  for  the 
wind.  [See  Knight's  references  supra  to  As  You  Like  It,  III,  v,  54  and  Rom.  and 
Jul.  I,  iv,  103.  '  Never'  and  '  always  '  are  extremely  dangerous  words,  in  a  Shake- 
spearian note. — ED.]  It  seems  to  me  then  that  the  poet  wrote  south-wind,  and  as 
the  th  was  usually  suppressed  in  south,  north,  etc.,  as  sou1  -west,  sou' -east,  the  printer 
pronounced  sou  wind  or,  it  may  be,  sou' ind,  which  easily  became  'sound'  in  his 
mind,  and  so  he  printed  it.  It  is  rather  remarkable  that  this  very  correction  is  made 
by  an  Anon,  in  the  Cam.  Edition.  ROLFE  (after  quoting  the  notes  of  Knight  and 
of  R.  G.  White,  continues)  :  When  the  Folio  reading  can  be  so  eloquently  defended 
we  do  not  feel  justified  in  departing  from  it ;  but  we  nevertheless  have  our  doubts 
whether  Shakespeare  wrote  sound.  It  is  a  serious  objection  to  south  that  he  always 
refers  to  that  wind  as  bringing  fog  and  rain.  If  he  employed  the  word  here,  it  may 
have  been,  as  Staunton  suggests,  in  the  sense  of  south,  sowth,  or  sough.  If  we  retain 
sound,  we  must  make  it  refer,  as  Knight  and  White  do,  to  the  sweet  murmur  of  the 
breeze.  This  was  doubtless  what  Pope  understood  to  be  the  meaning  of  the  simile. 
It  is  not  likely  that,  in  substituting  south,  he  intended  to  make  the  comparison 
between  the  effect  of  music  on  the  ear  and  that  of  fragrance  on  the  sense  of  smell. 
Why  then  did  he  think  it  necessary  to  make  any  change  in  the  expression  of  the 
simile?  Because  as  a  poet  he  felt  that  it  was  more  poetical  to  refer  to  the  wind,  the 
personified  source  of  the  sound,  as  breathing  on  the  bank  of  violets,  than  to  speak 
of  the  'sound'  itself.  The  difference  seems  to  us  almost  that  between  poetry  and 
prose.  We  cannot  agree  with  Knight  that  the  substitution  of  south  gives  too  much 
prominence  to  the  '  indirect '  comparison  of  the  harmony  to  the  odour.  Whichever 
word  we  adopt,  the  main  and  direct  comparison  is  between  the  music  and  the  murmur 
of  the  wind  ;  this  is  at  once  strengthened  and  beautified  by  the  reference  to  the  odour. 
It  will  be  noticed  that  the  poet  dwells  on  this  secondary  comparison;  he  is  not  satis- 
fied with  describing  the  wind  as  breathing  on  the  bank  of  violets,  but  adds  the 


12  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  i,  sc.  i. 

[8-io.  sweet  sound  .  .  .  Stealing  and  gluing  Odour.] 

exquisite  stealing  and  giving  odour.  Milton  has  a  direct  comparison  of  sound  to 
fragrance  in  a  very  beautiful  passage  in  Comus,  555  fol.  :  '  At  last  a  soft  and 
solemn-breathing  sound  Rose  like  a  steam  of  rich  distill' d  perfumes,  And  stole 
upon  the  air.' — HUDSON  :  Pope's  change  is  most  certainly  right.  For  with  what 
propriety  can  a  sound  be  said  to  '  breathe  upon  a  bank  of  violets,  stealing  and  giving 
odour'?  Moreover,  in  the  old  reading,  we  have  a  comparison  made  between  a  thing 
and  itself!  It  is  as  much  as  to  say,  'The  sweet  sound  came  o'er  my  ear  like  the 
sweet  sound.'  The  Poet  evidently  meant  to  compare  the  music  to  a  sweet  breeze 
loaded  with  fragrance ;  the  former  coming  over  the  ear  as  the  latter  comes  over 
another  sense.  So  that  the  old  reading  is  simply  absurd.  Knight  and  Grant 
White  waste  a  deal  of  ingenious  and  irrelevant  rhetoric  in  trying  to  make  it  good  ; 
but  nothing  of  that  sort  can  redeem  it  from  absurdity.  And  by  the  methods  they 
use  we  can  easily  read  almost  any  sense  we  please  into  whatever  words  come  before 
us.  In  this  case,  they  but  furnish  an  apt  illustration  of  how  a  dotage  of  the  old 
letter,  and  a  certain  exegetical  jugglery,  may  cheat  even  good  heads  into  an  utter 
dereliction  of  common  sense.  [It  is  not  unlikely,  I  think,  that  Hudson  will  prove 
to  be  the  last  editor  to  adopt  Pope's  change.  The  excellent  text  of  the  Globe 
Edition  bids  fair  to  become  the  accepted  standard ;  in  the  present  instance  it  has 
judiciously  followed  the  Folio.  The  difficulty  here,  where  a  sound  is  said  to  give 
forth  an  odour,  is  parallel  to  that  where  Hamlet  speaks  of  '  taking  arms  against  a 
sea  of  troubles,'  and  is  due,  I  think,  to  the  thick-coming  fancies  of  a  poetic  imagi- 
nation rather  than  to  a  common  confusion  of  ideas,  or  to  a  blameworthy  mixture  of 
metaphors.  We  must  remember  that  we  are  dealing  with  poetry,  not  prose ;  and, 
surely,  in  poetry,  when  imagination  is  once  on  the  wing,  a  man  may  be  supposed 
to  take  up  arms,  the  shield  of  faith  and  the  sword  of  the  spirit,  against  troubles 
which  come  wave  on  wave  upon  him  like  a  sea.  Similarly,  in  the  present  line,  one 
sense,  that  of  hearing,  may  be,  with  the  swiftness  of  thought,  supplemented  or 
endued  with  the  functions  of  the  other  senses.  Who  can  define  the  infinitely 
subtle  laws  of  association  ?  Both  in  and  out  of  Shakespeare  innumerable  instances 
are  to  be  found  of  this  blending,  this  identity  even,  of  all  the  senses.  Is  it  not 
a  prerogative  of  poetry?  Bassanio  tells  Antonio  that  from  Portia's  eyes  he  received 
speechless  messages.  lago  says  that  Desdemona's  eye  sounds  a  parley.  Ulysses 
says  of  Cressida  that  her  foot  speaks.  In  the  twenty-third  Sonnet,  Shake- 
speare speaks  of  hearing  with  the  eyes.  Ariel  says  of  Stephano  and  Trinculo 
that  they  lifted  up  their  noses  as  though  they  smelled  music.  And  in  this  present 
play  Sir  Toby  speaks  of  hearing  by  the  nose.  And  in  V,  i,  113,  Olivia  says  that 
the  Duke's  words  are  'as  fat  and  fulsome  to  mine  ear  as  howling  after  Musick' 
where  the  sense  of  taste  is  referred  to  the  hearing.  What  more  familiar  expression  is 
there  than  '  the  language  of  the  eye'?  In  Exodus  (x,  21)  we  have  '  darkness  which  may 
be  felt.'  A  better  example  can  be  hardly  found  than  the  passage  in  Comus,  quoted  by 
Rolfe,  which  is  worth  recalling,  because,  so  it  seems  to  me,  Milton  was  there,  quite 
possibly,  influenced  by  this  very  passage  in  Twelfth  Night,  which,  by  the  way,  he 
could  have  read  only  in  the  first  three  Folios,  wherein  the  word  '  sound '  was  as  yet 
uncorrupted  by  Rowe  or  Pope.  In  Milton's  MS,  lines  555,  556  of  Comus  read: 
1  At  last  a  soft  &  sollemne  breathing  sound  rose  like  a  steame  of  rich  distill' d  per- 
fumes,' and  it  is  unusually  interesting  to  note  that  Milton  deliberated  over  the  use  of 
soft,  still,  or  sweet  (Shakespeare's  own  word)  as  applied  to  'sound,'  and  finally 
decided  on  'soft';  and  again  he  hesitated  between  rich  and  slow.  (For  this 


ACT  I,  sc.  i.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  !3 

'Tis  not  fo  fweet  now,  as  it  was  before.  1 1 

O  fpirit  of  Loue,  how  quicke  and  frefh  art  thou, 

That  notwithftanding  thy  capacitie, 

Receiueth  as  the  Sea.     Nought  enters  there, 

Of  what  validity,  and  pitch  fo  ere,  1 5 

12.  thou,']  thou!  Rowe.  •       14.  there, ~\  thee  Daniel. 
Loue,]  love!  Coll.  15.  pitch}  pith  Gould. 

13,  14.     That  ...  capacitie,   ...  Sea.  fo  ere~\fo  e're¥  F4,  Rowe.   soever 
Nought']    That ',... capacity... sea ,  nought        Cap.  Rann. 

Rowe  ii,  et  seq. 

glimpse  into  his  mind  we  are  indebted  to  the  inestimable  Facsimile  of  his  MS,  pre- 
pared with  minutest  care  by  Dr  W.  Aldis  Wright.)  Again,  Shelley,  in  The  Sensi- 
tive Plant,  Part  i,  has,  '  And  the  hyacinth  purple,  and  white  and  blue,  Which  flung 
from  its  bells  a  sweet  peal  anew  Of  music  so  delicate,  soft,  and  intense,  It  was  felt 
like  an  odour  within  the  sense.'  And  also  in  Part  iii,  ' — the  sensitive  plant  Felt 
the  sound  of  the  funeral  chant.'  Lastly,  in  the  immortal  Ode,  Wordsworth  apos- 
trophises '  thou  eye  among  the  blind,  That,  deaf  and  silent,  read'st  the  eternal  deep.' 
Both  R.  G.  White  and  W.  A.  Wright  explain  the  present  use  of  '  sound '  as  an 
instance  of  metonymy,  where  the  effect  is  put  for  the  cause.  A  wind  strong  enough 
to  produce  a  sound  would  have  to  be,  I  fear,  more  boisterous  than  the  summer  air 
which  breathes  upon  a  bank  of  violets.  However,  the  name  whereby  we  classify  the 
figure  is  of  small  consequence,  if  the  examples  just  gathered  be  considered  parallel. 
Under  their  influence  the  ears  of  the  deafest  of  us  may  be  blest  by  hearing  a  sweet 
sound  that  steals  and  gives  odour. — ED.] 

10.  Stealing]  MALONE  :  Here  Shakespeare  makes  the  wind  steal  odour  from 
the  violet.  In  his  ggth  Sonnet,  the  violet  is  made  the  thief. 

10,  ii.  no  more  .  .  .  before]  HEUSSER  (SA.  Jahrbuch,  xxviii,  223)  observes  that 
this  rhyme  strengthens  the  supposition  that  in  Shakespeare  rhymes  supplied  the  place 
of  stage-directions  ;  its  present  use  is  an  intimation  to  the  musicians  to  cease.  [The 
supposition  is  well-founded,  but  is  hardly  applicable  here,  inasmuch  as  the  Duke  had 
just  commanded  the  music  to  cease.  The  rhyme  is  probably  accidental. — ED.] 

12.  spirit]  WALKER  (Crit.  i,  193)  says  that  it  may  be  safely  laid  down  as  a  canon 
that  this  word,  in  our  old  poets,  wherever  the  metre  does  not  compel  us  to  pronounce 
it  disyllabically,  is  a  monosyllable.  See  Mer.ofVen.  V,  i,  96 ;  Macbeth,  IV,  i,  127  ; 
Mid.  N.  D.  II,  i,  32,  of  this  edition. 

12.  quicke]  This,  of  course,  means  living,  vigorous. 

13.  That]    For   other   examples   where   'that'    means   in    that,    see  ABBOTT, 
§284. 

14.  Sea.     Nought]   If  the  punctuation   of  the  Folio  were  right,  '  Receiveth ' 
should  be  Receivest.     ROWE  properly  changed  the  period  after  '  sea '  to  a  comma. 

14.  there]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  This  refers  grammatically  to  the  sea,  to  which  love 
is  compared.   The  writer's  mind  passed  to  the  figure  from  the  thing  signified.    [Does 
not  'there'  refer  grammatically  to  '  capacitie'  ? — ED.] 

15.  validity]  MALONE:  Here  used  for  value.     [Compare,  '  more  validity,  More 
honourable  state  .  .  .  lives  In  carrion-flies  than '  Romeo,'  III,  iii,  33  (where  note 
the  absorption  of  in  in  the  final  n  of  '  than ' ) . — ED.] 

15.  pitch]  MADDEN  (p.  201):  This  word,  signifying  in  falconry  the  height  to 


I4  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  i,  sc.  i. 

But  falles  into  abatement,  and  low  price  16 

Euen  in  a  minute ;  fo  full  of  fhapes  is  fancie, 

That  it  alone,  is  high  fantafticall.  18 

17.  minute ;~\  minute!  Coll.  1 8.  alone}  all  o'er  Quincy  MS. 

is  fancie~\  i»_/&«ryTheob.  Warb.  high  fantajlical]  high- fantastical 

Johns,     if  s  fancy  Upton.  Var.  '78  et  seq.  (except  Hal.  Glo.  Rife, 

1 8.  That  it  alone,  is]  And  thou  all  Wh.  ii.  Wrt,  Dtn). 
o'er  art  Han. 

which  a  falcon  soars  or  towers  (/  Hen.  VI:  II,  iv,  n  ;  z  Hen.  VI:  II,  i,  6; 
Jul.  Cas.  I,  i,  78),  was  used  figuratively  (Rich.  II:  I,  i,  109 ;  Tit.  And.  II,  i,  14 ; 
Rom.  &»  Jul.  I,  iv,  21  ;  Sonn.  Ixxxvi,  6),  and  came  to  mean  height  in  general 
(Twel.  JV.  I,  i,  15  ;  /  Hen.  VI:  II,  iii,  55  ;  Rich.  Ill:  III,  vii,  188  ;  Sonn.  vii, 
9).  [In  Hamlet,  III,  i,  86,  we  have,  in  the  Ff,  '  enterprises  of  great  pith  and 
moment,'  where  the  Qq  give  pitch,— &  better  reading ;  as,  I  think,  the  present 
passage  shows. — ED.] 

17,  18.  is  fancie  .  .  .  high]  WARBURTON  :  This  complicated  nonsense  should 
be  rectified  thus :  '  So  full  of  shapes  in  fancy,  That  it  alone  is  hight  fantastical.' 
That  is,  love  is  so  full  of  shapes  in  fancy,  that  the  name  of  fantastical  is  peculiarly 
given  to  it  alone. — COLERIDGE  (p.  120)  :  Warburton's  alteration  of  'is'  into  in  is 
needless.     «  Fancy'  may  very  well  be  interpreted  'exclusive  affection,'  or  'passion- 
ate preference.'     Thus,  bird-fanciers,  gentlemen  of  the  fancy,  that  is,  amateurs  of 
boxing,  etc.     The  play  of  assimilation, — the  meaning  one  sense  chiefly,  and  yet 
keeping  both  senses  in  view,  is  perfectly  Shakespearian.      [Inasmuch  as  Coleridge 
rejects  only  one  of  Warburton' s  changes,  it  might  be  inferred  that  he  accepted  the 
other.     But  it  is  not  likely.     Warburton  is  so  dogmatic  that  it  is  not  easy  to  listen 
to  him  with  equanimity,  but,  out  of  justice  to  him,  we  should  remember  that  he 
held  the  printed  text  merely  as  proof  sheets,  and  careless  proof  sheets  in  addi- 
tion ;  he  was  not,  therefore,  let  us  charitably  suppose,  criticising  Shakespeare,  but 
the  printers. — ED.] 

18.  alone]  ABBOTT  (§  18)  classes  this  with,  'That  must  needs  be  sport  alone,' 
Mid.  N.  D.  Ill,  ii,  123  ;  '  I  am  alone  the  villain  of  the  earth,'  Ant.  &*  Cleop.  IV,  vi, 
30,  and  interprets  '  alone '  as  equivalent  to  above  all  things,  which  does  not  strike 
me  as  of  the  happiest.     In  Mid.  N.  D.  I  prefer  unparalleled ;  in  Ant.  &*  Cleop. 
beyond  comparison,  and  in  the  present  instance,  to  the  exclusion  of  all  others,  as 
W.  A.  WRIGHT  interprets  it. — ED. 

12-18.  To  understand  these  lines,  which  are  somewhat  obscure,  I  think  we  should 
observe  their  intimate  connection  with  the  first  lines  of  the  Duke's  speech.  The 
Duke  asks  for  music,  and,  while  listening  to  it,  one  strain  so  touches  his  love-sick 
soul  that  he  longs  to  hear  it  repeated,  and  yet,  after  its  repetition,  he  is  instantly 
satiated,  and,  perfect  though  it  was  in  itself,  it  has  lost  all  sweetness  and  the  Duke 
wishes  to  hear  no  more.  Then  follow  the  present  lines  which  are  the  explana- 
tion and  justification  of  this  fickleness.  In  a  poor  paraphrase,  but  the  best  I  can 
offer,  the  Duke  says  that  the  spirit  of  Love,  that  is,  love  in  its  perfection,  is  so 
full  of  life  and  fresh  energy  in  growth,  that  it  receives  the  whole  world,  as  the 
sea  receives  the  waters  of  the  heavens  and  the  earth  ;  there  is  nothing  which  may 
not  minister  to  it,  and  yet  no  sooner  is  a  new  element  absorbed,  (no  matter  how 
fair  and  lovely  in  itself,  like  music,  for  instance,  this  new  element  may  be,)  but 
immediately,  even  in  a  minute,  it  becomes  poor  and  shallow  in  comparison  with 


ACTI.SC.  i.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  15 

Cu.   Will  you  go  hunt  my  Lord  ? 

Du.     What  Curio?  20 

Cu.   The  Hart. 

Du.     Why  fo  I  do,  the  Nobleft  that  I  haue  : 

0  when  mine  eyes  did  fee  0/mia  firft, 

Me  thought  fhe  purg'd  the  ayre  of  peftilence ; 

That  inftant  was  I  turn'd  into  a  Hart,  25 

And  my  defires  like  fell  and  cruell  hounds, 

20.  Cnrio]  F,.     Curia  F4.  24.  In  parenthesis,  Cap.  Knt,  Sing. 

23.  mine}  my  Pope  ii,  Theob.  Warb.         ii,  Del.  Dtn. 

Johns.  Var.  Mai.  Me  thought]  Methought  Rowe. 

love's  full  sea  ;  hence,  love,  with  its  ever- varying  shapes,  is  never  for  a  moment  the 
same,  but  becomes  the  very  type  of  what  is  purely  imaginative. — ED. 

18.  high]  Inasmuch  as  this  qualifies  «  fantastical '  and  not  « it,'  there  should  be, 

1  think,  a  hyphen  after  it.     How  fond  Shakespeare  is  of  '  high '  as  an  intensive, 
Bartlett's  Concordance  will  abundantly  show. — ED. 

19.  go  hunt]  See  'go  look,'  I,  v,  136;  'go  see,'  III,  iii,  22  ;  'go  tell,'  Mid. 
N.  D.  I,  i,  260  ;  '  go  seeke,'  Ib,  II,  i,  13  ;  'go  and  see,'   Wint.  Tale,  III,  ii,  220, — 
all  in  this  edition.     Or  ABBOTT,  §  349. 

22.  the  Noblest]  For  the  sake  of  the  threadbare  pun  on  hart  and  heart, 
the  Duke  gets  his  metaphor  confused.  In  this  line,  he  hunts  his  heart,  the 
noblest  part  of  him ;  in  the  27th  line,  he  is  himself  the  hart  and  his  desires  hunt 
him. — ED. 

24.  Me  .  .  .  pestilence]  CAPELL  (p.  140)  :  The  only  mention  of  seeing  Olivia 
causes  the  speaker  a  starting  from  his  begun  subject,  and  the  matter  of  [this  present 
line]  is  extraneous  ;  it's  sense, — that  she  had  something  so  sweet  about  her,  that  the 
air  was  purg'd  by  it.    [Accordingly,  Capell  placed  this  line  in  parenthesis  ;  wherein 
he  was  followed  though  with  some  reluctance  by  KNIGHT,  who,  after  quoting  Capell' s 
remark  that  the  matter  of  the  line  is  '  extraneous,'  says]  Of  this  we  are  not  sure. 
The  Duke  complains  that  when  he  first  saw  Olivia  he  was  '  turn'd  into  a  hart  ';  but 
he  had  thought,  mistakingly,  that  she  'purg'd  the  air  of  pestilence,' — removed  those 
malignant  influences  from  the  air  which  caused  his  transformation.     In  this  sense 
'  pestilence'  has  the  same  meaning  as  the  '  taking  airs'  in  Lear.     Whether  this  be 
the  sense  or  not,  the  line  is  decidedly  parenthetical.     [Happily,  Capell's  followers 
in  the  use  of  a  parenthesis  are  few.     The  punctuation  of  the  Folio  can  be  improved 
only  by  a  comma  after  '  methought,'  and  an  exclamation  mark  after  '  pestilence.'     I 
doubt  that  the  latter  word  has  any  hidden  meaning.     Orsino  speaks  with  the  ecstatic 
exaggeration  of  a  lover.     Olivia's  purity  purged  from  all  impurity  the  wide  cope  of 
heaven. — ED.] 

25.  That  .  .  .  Hart]  DYCE  :   Compare  Petrarch  :    '  Vero  diro,   forse  e'   parri 
menzogna,  Ch'  i'   senti'  trarmi  della  propria  immago,  Ed  in  un  cervo  solitario,  e 
vago  Di  selva  in  selva,  ratto  mi  transformo,  Ed  ancor  de'  miei  can  fuggo  lo  stormo.' 
— Canzone  I. 

26.  fell]  BRADLEY  (N.  E.  D.)  :  An  adopted  form  of  Old  French  fel=  Provencal 
fel,  Italian  fello,  fierce,  cruel,   savage,   the   extant  representative  of  the   popular 
Latin  fello,  nominative  of  fello-em,  substantive. 


!6  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  I,  sc.  i. 

Ere  fmce  purfue  me.     How  now  what  newes  from  her  ?  27 

Enter  Valentine. 

Vol.     So  pleafe  my  Lord,  I  might  not  be  admitted, 
But  from  her  handmaid  do  returne  this  anfwer :  30 

The  Element  it  felfe,  till  feuen  yeares  heate, 

27.  Ere}  E'er  Rowe.  years  heat  F4,    Rowe   i,  Dtn.     years 

28.  Enter...]   After  me  Dyce,  Cam.  hence  Rowe  ii,  +  ,  Cap.  Var.  Ran.  Dyce 
Sta.  ii,   iii,  Coll.    iii,    Huds.       years'    heat 

29.  pleafe']  please  you  Ktly.  Harness,  Knt,  Coll.  i,  ii,  Hal.  Dyce  i, 

30.  handmaid  ]     hand-maid    F F ,  Wh.  Sta.  Cam.  Glo.  Rife,    years  heat 
Rowe, +,  Cap.  'em  Ktly.    years  heat  it  Id.  conj. 

31.  yeares    heate]    yeares    heat,    F3. 

27.  since  pursue]  ABBOTT,  §  62  :  We  [here]  find  the  present  tense  after  « since,' 
to  denote  an  action  that  is  and  has  been  going  on  since  a  certain  time.  [Does  not  the 
continuousness  of  the  action  here  depend  on  the  '  E'er,'  meaning  always? — ED.] 

27.  pursue  me]  JOHNSON  :  This  image  evidently  alludes  to  the  story  of  Acteon, 
by  which  Shakespeare  seems  to  think  men  cautioned  against  too  great  familiarity 
with  forbidden  beauty.  Acteon,  who  saw  Diana  naked,  and  was  torn  to  pieces  by 
his  hounds,  represents  a  man,  who,  indulging  his  eyes,  or  his  imagination,  with  the 
view  of  a  woman  that  he  cannot  gain,  has  his  heart  torn  with  incessant  longing.  An 
interpretation  far  more  elegant  and  natural  than  that  of  Sir  Francis  Bacon,  who,  in 
his  Wisdom  of  the  Ancients,  supposes  this  story  to  warn  us  against  enquiring  into 
the  secrets  of  princes,  by  showing  that  those,  who  knew  that  which  for  reasons  of 
state  is  to  be  concealed,  will  be  detected  and  destroyed  by  their  own  servants. — 
MALONE  :  Our  author  had  here  undoubtedly  Daniel's  Sonnet  V.  in  his  thoughts: 
'Which  turn'd  my  sport  into  a  Harts  dispaire,  Which  still  is  chac'd,  while  I  haue 
any  breath,  By  mine  owne  thoughts,  set  on  me  by  my  Faire :  My  thoughts  (like 
Houndes)  pursue  me  to  my  death.' — Delia  [1592,  p.  40,  ed.  Grosart].  Daniel, 
however,  was  not  the  original  proprietor  of  this  thought.  He  appears  to  have 
borrowed  it  from  Whitney's  Emblems t  1586,  p.  15.  And  Whitney  himself  should 
seem  to  have  been  indebted  in  this  instance  to  a  passage  of  the  Dedication  of 
Adlington's  Translation  of  Apuleius.  [Malone  errs  in  thinking  that  Whitney 
was  indebted  to  Adlington.  GREEN  (p.  276)  shows  that  Whitney  followed  Sam- 
bucus,  1564,  even  using  the  same  woodcut;  and  probably  Sambucus  followed 
Alciatus,  1551.  Thus  we  have  Shakespeare,  the  vile  plagiarist,  drawing  his 
inspiration  from  Daniel,  Daniel  from  Whitney,  Whitney  from  Sambucus,  Sambucus 
from  Alciatus, — a  pleasing  and  instructive  series, — '  thus  naturalists  observe  a  flea 
Has  smaller  fleas  that  on  him  prey ;  And  these  have  smaller  still  to  bite  'em, 
And  so  proceed  ad  infinitum.'  Let  our  souls  be  instructed  by  the  words  of 
W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  '  The  story  of  Acteon  was  in  fact  a  commonplace  of  the  time. 
Shakespeare,  as  we  know  from  an  allusion  in  The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor  [and 
in  Tit.  And.  also]  had  read  the  story  in  Golding's  Ovid,  and  did  not  require  others 
to  teach  him  how  to  apply  it.' — ED.] 

29.  So  ...  Lord]  DEIGHTON  :  An  apologetic  preface  to  a  statement :  '  If  I  may 
be  pardoned  for  saying  so.' 

29.  might]  For  other  examples  of  the  past  tense  of  may  in  the  sense  of  was  able 
or  could t  see  ABBOTT,  \  312. 

31.  Element]  Here,  and  in  III,  i,  58,  used  for  the  sky.     But  in  III,  iv,  127, 


ACT  i,  sc.  i.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  17 

Shall  not  behold  her  face  at  ample  view  :  32 

But  like  a  Cloyftrefle  fhe  will  vailed  walke, 

And  water  once  a  day  her  Chamber  round 

With  eye-offending  brine  :  all  this  to  feafon  35 

34.   Chamber]  chambers  Ff,  Rowe,  Pope,  Han. 

where  Malvolio  says :   '  I  am  not  of  your  element,'   it  means,  of  course,  sphere 
of  life. 

31.  yeares  heate]  MALONE  :  '  Heat '  for  heated.     The  air,  till  it  shall  have  been 
warmed  by  seven  revolutions  of  the  sun,  shall  not,  etc. — STEEVENS  :  Thus,  too. 
Chapman,  The  Nineteenth  Odyssey :  '  When  the  sun  was  set,  And  darkness  rose, 
they  slept,  till  day's   fire  het  Th'   enlightened  earth.'   [1.  593.] — HARNESS   [see 
Text.  Notes]  :  Surely  here  Shakespeare  uses  the  word,  '  heat,'  as  a  substantive,  in 
the  sense  of  course,  or  race. — DYCE  :  Whether  we  take  '  heat '  as  a  participle  or  as  a 
substantive,  it  is  equally  absurd.     [He  therefore  reads,  hence.     As  a  Cambridge 
Editor  W.  A.  WRIGHT  agrees  with  Harness  that  '  heat '  is  more  probably  a  sub- 
stantive, and  as  the  Editor  of  the  Clarendon  Edition  he  paraphrases  the  sentence, 
'till  the  heat  of  seven  years  have  passed.'     SCHMIDT  (Lex.)  also  inclines  to  agree 
with  Harness.     Were  it  not  so  common  to  find  the  -ed  omitted  in  the  past  participles 
of  verbs  ending  in  -le,  -t,  and  -d  (ABBOTT,  §  342,  gives  a  list  of  twenty-three  of 
these  verbs  and  the  list  is  by  no  means  complete)  I  should  be  inclined  to  follow 
Harness ;  but  the  ellipsis  demands  so  much  to  be  supplied,  '  till  the  heat  of  seven 
years  has  passed,1  that  it  gives  us  pause.     Merely  to  express  the  passage  of  time, 
winter  might  have  been  used  instead  of  summer;  but  in  cold  weather,  possibly, 
Olivia's  face  would  have  been  muffled  up  and  then  the  element  could  certainly  never 
have  beheld  it  at  ample  view  ;  therefore  summer  is  chosen  when  Olivia's  beauty  could 
be  '  dedicate  to  the  sun.'     Substitute  to  cool  for  to  '  heat,'  and  I  think  we  shall  feel 
that  the  past  participle  is  not  quite  so  absurd  as  Dyce  would  have  it :  'The  Element 
itself,  till  seven  years  coord.'1     Possibly,  therefore,  'heate'  in  the  sense  of  heated, 
may  be  right. — ED.] 

32.  at]  ABBOTT,  §  144 :  At,  when  thus  used  [in  the  sense  of  near~\  in  adverbial 
expressions,  now  rejects  adjectives  and  genitives  as  interfering  with  adverbial  brevity. 
Thus  we  can  say  '•at  freedom,'  but  not  'at  ample  view.'     [But  we  certainly  say, 
'at  full  view.' — ED.] 

33.  vailed]  In  opposition  to  the  '  ample  view '  in  the  preceding  line. 

34.  Chamber  round]  It  is  possible  that  this  unusual  phrase  was  suggested, 
through  a  subtle  association  of  ideas,  by  the  preceding  '  cloistress,'  which  suggests  the 
enclosed  walk  about  a  courtyard  of  a  convent ;  as  a  nun  paces  these  four  sides  of  the 
cloisters,  so  Olivia  would  daily  water  with  her  tears  the  circuit  of  her  chamber.     I 
can  find  but  three  similar  examples,  and  these  are  not  exactly  parallel :  '  We'll  drink 
a  measure  the  table  round.' — Macb.  Ill,  iv,  II  ;  'The  sum  of  this  .  .  .  Y-ravished 
the  regions  round.' — Per,   III,  Pro.  35  (which  may  not  be  Shakespeare's)  ;  and 
'  She  throws  her  eyes  about  the  paintings  round.' — Lucrece,  1499.     The  printers  of 
the  Ff  changed  'chamber'  to  chambers ;  this  CAPELL  further  changed  to  chamber's, 
which,  he  remarks  with  complacency,  '  is  in  truth  a  correction  ;  it  has  been  hitherto 
an  accusative  plural,  which  ruins  poetry.' — ED. 

35.  brine  ...  to  season]  WHITER  (p.  141)  :  When  a  phrase  has  once  become 
familiar  to  our  thoughts,  we  insensibly  forget  that  the  terms,  which  compose  it,  are 

2 

' 


!8  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  i,  sc.  i. 

A  brothers  dead  loue,  which  fhe  would  keepe  frefh  36 

And  lafting,  in  her  fad  remembrance. 

Du.     O  fhe  that  hath  a  heart  of  that  fine  frame 
To  pay  this  debt  of  loue  but  to  a  brother, 
How  will  fhe  loue,  when  the  rich  golden  fhaft  40 

36.  brothers    dead~\     dead    brother's         Pope, Han.  rcmcmberancc Cap. (errata). 
Daniel.  Ktly. 

37.  lofting,]  la/iing  F4  et  seq.  38.  that  fine]  this  fine  F3F4,  Rowe  i. 
remembrance]  remembrance  still 

appropriate  and  peculiar.  Shakespeare  is  frequent  in  the  metaphorical  application 
of  the  word  season.  '  Seasoning  the  earth  with  showers  of  silver  brine.'' — Lucrece, 
796 ;  ''tears  .  .  .  the  best  brine  a  maiden  can  season  her  praise  in.' — Alls  Well,  I,  i, 
55  ;  'Is  not  birth,  beauty,  good  shape  .  .  .  the  spice  and  salt  that  season  a  man.'  — 
Tro.  &*  Cress.  I,  ii,  275  ;  '  What  a  deal  of  brine  Hath  wash'd  thy  sallow  cheeks  for 
Rosaline  !  How  much  salt  water  thrown  away  in  waste  To  season  love.' — Rom.  <5r> 
Jnl.  II,  iii,  69  ;  '  the  wide  sea  Hath  .  .  .  salt  too  little,  which  may  season  give  To 
her  foul  tainted  flesh.' — Muck  Ado,  IV,  i,  148.  In  the  present  passage  we  have 
brine,  season,  keep  fresh. 

36.  brothers  dead  loue]  At  first  sight,  DANIEL'S  conjecture  :  'a  dead  brothers 
love,'  seems  almost  an  emendatio  ctrtissima,  but  further  reflection  will  show,  I  think, 
that  it  is  needless,  if  not  injurious.    The  love  which  Olivia  wished  to  season  and  keep 
fresh  in  her  remembrance  was  not  her  love  for  her  brother,  '  this  debt  of  love,'  as 
Orsino  calls  it,  she  pays  by  her  seclusion  till  seven  years  heat,  but  the  love  which 
her  brother  bore  to  her,  whereof  the  manifestations  were  buried  in  his  grave.    It  was 
on  the  memory  of  this  'dead  love'  that  Olivia  wished  to  dwell,  and  season  with 
eye-offending  brine. — ED. 

37.  remembrance]    If  it  gratify  any  one  to  pronounce  words  in  an  unusual 
fashion,  he  will  find  authority  in  Walker,   Vers.  9,  and  in  Abbott,  §  477,  for  pro- 
nouncing this,  rememberance.    Both  here  and  in  Wint.  Tale,  IV,  iv,  88,  Capell  goes 
so  far  as  to  spell  it  thus  in  his  text.     I  think  such  pronunciations  should  be  adopted 
only  when,  without  them,  a  line  sounds  intolerably  harsh,  which  cannot  be  affirmed, 
in  the  present  instance,  should  '  remembrance  '  be  pronounced  as  it  is  spelled.     See 
also  '  Countrey '  in  line  23  of  the  next  scene. — ED. 

38.  that  .  .  .  that]  The  presence  of  two  that's  in  this  line,  possibly  led  the 
printers  of  the  Third  Folio  to  change  the  second  '  that '  to  this,  overlooking  the  fact 
that  it  is  here  used  for  such,  and  followed  by  '  To '  in  the  next  line.     See,  if  need 
be,  ABBOTT,  §  277. — ED. 

40.  golden  shaft]  DOUCE  (i,  84)  says  that  this  'golden  shaft'  might  have  been 
supplied  from  a  description  of  Cupid  in  Sidney's  Arcadia,  Book  ii.  It  is  hardly 
likely.  The  only  reference  there  to  Cupid's  arrows  is  :  « Thus  painters  Cupid  paint, 
thus  poets  do  A  naked  God,  blind,  young  with  arrowes  two  ...  But  arrowes  two, 
and  tipt  with  gold  or  lead.'— p.  155,  ed.  1598.  There  is  no  mention  of  the  different 
offices  of  the  two  arrows.  Douce  further  observes  that  the  source  might  also  have 
been  Ovid's  Metamorphoses,  Golding's  translation.  This  is  more  likely.  The  passage 
in  Golding  is  found  in  The  first  booke  (misprinted  '  Second  booke '  in  running  title) 
fol.  8  verso,  1567,  as  follows  :  •  There  from  hys  quiuer  full  of  shafts  two  arrowes  did 
he  take  Of  sundrie  workes :  tone  causeth  Loue,  the  tother  doth  it  slake.  That  causeth 


ACT  i,  sc.  i.j  OR,  WHAT  YOU  WILL  19 

Hath  kill'd  the  flocke  of  all  affections  elfe  41 

That  Hue  in  her.     When  Liuer,  Braine,  and  Heart, 

Thefe  foueraigne  thrones,  are  all  fupply'd  and  fill'd 

Her  fvveete  perfections  with  one  felfe  king  :  44 

43.    Thefe}  Three  Warb.  Han.  Johns.  Warb.     ///'</,   (Her  sweet  perfection) 

Those  Knt,  Wh.  i.  '  Cap.  Sta.  Rife.   fill'd  Of  her  sweet  per- 

thrones,"]  thrones  F4.  fections  Ktly.    fill'd,  Her  sweet  perftc- 

43,44.   are  ...  perfections']    her  sweet  tions,  Pope  et  cet.  (subs.) 

perfections,  Are  all  supplied  and  fill' d  44.  felfe  king]  selfe  fame  king   F2. 

Coll.  conj.  Huds.  self  same  king  F  .     self-same  king  ¥4, 

43,  44.  fill'd  Her  fweete  perfections']  Rowe,  + ,  Cap.     self-king  Mai.  Ktly. 
Ff,  Rowe.   fill'd,  (O  sweet  perfection  /) 

loue,  is  all  of  golde  with  point  full  sharpe  and  bright,  That  chaseth  loue  is  blunt, 
whose  steele  with  leaden  head  is  dight.'  GREEN  (p.  400),  on  the  other  hand,  says 
that  the  epithet  '  golden '  in  the  present  passage  might  have  been  used,  '  equally 
well,  and  with  as  much  probability,  through  the  influence  of  Alciat,  or  adopted  from 
Whitney's  very  beautiful  translation  and  paraphrase  of  Joachim  Bellay's  Fable  of 
Cupid  and  Death  [1581]:  the  two  were  lodging  together  at  an  inn,  and  uninten- 
tionally exchanged  quivers  ;  Death's  darts  were  made  of  bone,  Cupid's  were  '  dartes 
of  goulde.'  See  Mid.  N.  D.  I,  i,  180 :  '  I  sweare  to  thee,  by  Cupids  strongest  bow, 
By  his  best  arrow  with  the  golden  head.' — -DoucE  adds  :  Milton  seems  to  have  for- 
gotten that  Love  had  only  one  shaft  of  gold.  See  Par.  Lost,  iv,  763  :  '  Here  Love 
his  golden  shafts  employs,  here  lights  His  constant  lamp,'  etc.  [DR  SKEAT  has 
kindly  called  my  attention  to  The  Romannt  of  the  Rose,  where,  as  to  the  number  of 
arrows,  William  de  Lorris  evidently  had  '  later  information'  than  Ovid.  In  Chaucer's 
translation  (line  939  et  seq.  ed.  Skeat)  we  find  that  Cupid  had  five  'arowes,'  'Of 
which  five  in  his  right  hond  were  .  .  .  with  gold  bigoon,'  and  although  these  were 
for  five  different  purposes,  and  not  solely  to  inspire  love,  as  was  Ovid's  single  arrow, 
yet  Milton  is  justified  in  that  there  were  more  than  one.  '  Shakespeare  certainly 
had  a  copy  of  Chaucer's  Works,'  says  Dr  Skeat,  'probably  the  edition  of  1561." 
—ED.] 

41.  flocke  of  all  affections]  See  '  flocke  of  vnspeakable  vertues,'  in  the  extract 
from  Sidney's  Arcadia,  quoted  by  Steevens,  in  the  note  on  line  8,  above.  R.  G. 
WHITE  :  '  Flock '  is  used  here  merely  as  a  collective  noun. 

43,  44.  These  .  .  .  perfections]  A  much-belaboured  passage,  wherein  WAR- 
BURTON,  whose  influence  has  extended  even  to  our  day,  gave  the  first  distortion 
by  enclosing  '  Her  sweet  perfections  '  in  a  parenthesis  ;  to  be  sure,  he  changed  it  to 
*O  sweet  perfection,'  which  no  editor  followed,  but  his  parenthesis  remained,  and 
even  the  conservative  Capell  adopted  his  '•perfection '  in  the  singular,  and  thus 
remarks  (p.  141)  :  'That  man  is  woman's  perfection,  her  completion,  is  a  doctrine 
as  old  as  Adam  ;  and  nearly  of  that  age  is  the  opinion  that  "  brain,  heart,  and  liver" 
are  the  seats  of  human  affection  ;  it's  "  thrones  "  properly,  from  the  dominion  it  [;'.  r. 
affection]  exercises;  that  which  has  it's  seat  in  the  brain,  i.  e.  rises  from  judgement, 
being  first  in  degree  ;  but  when  all  are  "  fill'd  (says  this  passage)  with  one  self-same 
king,"  when  love  in  every  stage  of  it  centers  in  one  man,  then  is  love  in  full  sover- 
eignty and  woman  in  her  perfection.'  Albeit  this  interpretation  smacks  not  a  little 
of  arrogance  on  the  Duke's  part,  intimating,  as  it  does,  that  Olivia  needs  him  as  a 
husband  to  make  her  perfect,  yet  it  is  better  than  the  later  construction  which  makes 


20  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  i,  sc,  i. 

[43,  44.  These  soueraigne  thrones,  .  .  .  her  sweete  perfections.] 
the  '  sweet  perfections '  refer  to  '  liver,  brain,  heart,'  which  are  already  sufficiently 
qualified  as  '  sovereign  thrones.'  It  was  HEATH  (p.  186)  who  set  forth  this  later  con- 
struction, as  follows:  'The  "sweet  perfections"  are  her  affections,  her  judgement, 
and  her  sentiments,  sufficiently  denoted  by  the  preceding  mention  of  liver,  brain, 
and  heart,  the  several  seats  where  they  are  vulgarly  and  poetically  supposed  to  have 
their  respective  residence.'  STEEVENS  followed  Heath,  but  evidently  with  reluctance. 
After  stating  that  the  '  liver,  brain,  and  heart,  are  admitted  in  poetry  as  the  residence 
of  the  passions,  judgement,  and  sentiments,'  he  adds,  '  These  are  what  Shakespeare 
calls  "  her  sweet  perfections,"  though  he  has  not  very  clearly  expressed  what  he 
might  design  to  have  said.'  KNIGHT  dissents  from  Steevens  whose  interpretation  he 
calls  mistaken  and  recurs  to  Capell.  '  The  phrase  ought,  probably,'  he  says,  '  to  be 
"her  sweet  perfection."  The  filling  of  the  "sovereign  thrones"  with  "one  self 
king  "  is  the  perfection  of  Olivia's  merits, — according  to  the  ancient  doctrine  that  a 
woman  was  not  complete  till  her  union  with  a  "  self  king."  In  Lord  Berners'  trans- 
lation of  Froissart  there  is  a  sentence  which  glances  at  the  same  opinion.  The  rich 
Berthault  of  Malines  is  desirous  to  marry  his  daughter  to  the  noble  Earl  of  Queries ; 
and  he  thus  communes  with  himself:  "  Howbeit,  I  will  answer  these  messengers  that 
their  coming  pleaseth  me  greatly,  and  that  my  daughter  should  be  happy  if  she 
might  come  to  so  great  a  perfection  as  to  be  conjoined  in  marriage  with  the  Earl  of 
Guerles."  '  COLLIER  proposed  a  change  in  the  order  of  the  lines,  in  the  belief  that 
*  the  passage  would  run  better  for  the  sense  and  equally  well  for  the  verse,  if  we  were 
to  read,  "  when  liver,  brain,  and  heart,  These  sovereign  thrones,  her  sweet  perfec- 
tions, Are  all  supplied  and  fill'd,"  etc.'  This  conjecture  HUDSON  adopted  (by  a  slip, 
he  attributes  it  to  Capell)  with  the  remark  that,  '  sense,  logic,  grammar,  and  prosody, 
all,  I  think,  plead  together  for  the  transposition.'  R.  G.  WHITE  quotes  3  Hen.  VI: 
III,  ii,  86,  for  the  use  of  '  perfections  '  in  the  sense  it  has  here  :  'All  her  perfections 
challenge  sovereignty.'  STAUNTON  says  that  the  plural,  'perfections'  is  'a  slight 
but  unfortunate  misprint  which  totally  destroys  the  meaning  of  the  poet.'  He  there- 
fore follows  Capell  in  his  text,  but  in  his  note  says  that  the  passage  should  be  read 
" — all  supplied  and  fill'd  With  one  self  king, — her  sweet  perfection."  The  "  sweet 
perfection"  not  being  as  Steevens  conjectured,  her  liver,  brain,  and  heart,  but  her 
husband,  her  "one  self  (or  single)  king."  According  to  the  doctrine  of  Shake- 
speare's time,'  Staunton  continues,  in  effect  following  Knight,  'a  female  was  imper- 
fect, her  nature  undeveloped,  until  by  marriage  she  was  incorporated  with  the  other 
sex-  " — and  as  one  glorious  flame,  Meeting  another,  grows  the  same:"  The 
writers  of  the  period  abound  in  allusions  to  this  belief:  "  Marriage  their  object  is  ; 
their  Being  then,  And  now  Perfection,  they  receive  from  Men." — Overbury's  Wife. 
See  also  Donne's  Epithalamium  made  at  Lincoln's  Inn,  in  which  this,  the  predomi- 
nating idea  on  such  occasions,  is  made  the  burden  of  every  stanza  :  "  To-day  put  on 
perfection,  and  a  woman's  name."  '  DEIGHTON  gives  a  better  illustration  than 
either  of  those  of  Staunton:  'I  have  read  Aristotle's  Problems,  which  saith  that 
woman  receiveth  perfection  by  the  man.'— Marston,  Antonio  and  Mellida,  III,  ii, 
12,  Part  2.  To  Staunton' s  interpretation  of  '  perfection'  by  husband  DYCE  objects 
that  'surely  "sweet"  is  opposed'  to  it.  But  Deighton  says  that  this  objection  falls 
to  the  ground  if  the  '  one  self-king '  be  '  explained  as  "  Love  "  (not  as  a  husband), 
which  having  overcome  all  rivals,  now  reigns  alone.'  ROLFE  thinks  that  possibly 
Capell's  '  perfection '  is  the  better  reading,  making  it  refer  to  the  preceding  sentence. 
— W.  A.  WRIGHT:  The  order  of  the  words  ['fill'd  Her  sweet  perfections']  is 


ACTI.SC.  ii.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  21 

Away  before  me,  to  fweet  beds  of  Flowres,  45 

Loue-thoughts  lye  rich,  when  canopy'd  with  bowres. 

Exeunt 


Scena  Secunda. 


Enter  Viola,  a  Captaine,  and  Saylors.  2 

Vio.     What  Country  (Friends)  is  this  ? 

Cap.     This  is  Illyria  Ladie.  4 

46.  Lone-thoughts'}  Love  thoughts  F4,  The  Street.    Rowe.    The  sea-coast 

Rowe.  Cap. 

lye}  lie  F3.     lies  FV  3.    Country}  Countrey  F3F4. 

bowres}  bowers  F4.  4.    This    is}    Om.    Pope,  -l-  ,    Steev. 

I.  Scena]  Scsena  F3.  Huds. 

Illyria,  F3F4. 


inverted,  but  the  sense  is  clear.  [I  cannot  but  believe  that  there  would  have  been 
very  little  difficulty  here  had  the  simple  punctuation  of  the  Folio  been  observed,  with 
possibly  a  comma  after  '  supplied,'  although  it  is  not  absolutely  needed.  We  should 
then  have  seen,  I  think,  that  the  liver,  brain,  and  heart,  sovereign  though  they  be, 
do  not  include  all  of  Olivia'  s  capacity  of  loving  ;  these  thrones  are  lodged  in  us  all  ; 
but  in  addition,  since  '  fancy  is  full  of  shapes  '  Olivia  has  many  another  sweet  per- 
fection (such  as  her  devotion  to  a  brother's  dead  love)  which  needs  but  to  be  filPd 
by  an  object  in  order  to  show  the  power  in  her  of  a  master-passion.  —  ED.] 

43.  These]   WARBURTON  :   We   should   read    Three.      This   is   exactly  in  the 
manner  of  Shakespeare.     [The  change  is  perfectly  harmless,  and  perfectly  super- 
fluous. —  ED.] 

44.  perfections]  A  quadrisyllable.     ABBOTT,  §  479  ;   Tion,  when  preceded  by  c, 
is  more  frequently  prolonged,  perhaps  because  the  c  more  readily  attracts  the  /  to 
itself,  and  leaves  ion  uninfluenced  by  the  t.     [Several  examples  follow.     See  I,  v, 
297.] 

44.  one  selfe]  KNIGHT  doubts  that  this  means  self-same  and  believes  '  that  the 
poet  means  king  of  herself.'  It  makes  really  but  little  difference  what  meaning  is 
attached  to  '  self  as  long  as  the  idea  of  one  sole  king  is  retained  and  that  king, 
Love  ;  but  see  ABBOTT,  §  20,  for  many  examples,  and  more  could  be  added,  of  the 
use  of  '  self  as  an  adjective,  in  accordance  with  its  old  meaning  of  same.  HUNTER 
(  i,  400)  thinks  that  the  last  few  lines  of  this  passage  can  hardly  have  been  written  as 
they  have  come  down  to  us.  KEIGHTLEY  reads  '  Of  her  sweet  perfections  with  one 
self-king,'  and  says,  '  We  might  also  transpose,  but,  I  think,  with  a  loss  of  force.' 
Of  what  innumerable  passages  might  not  this  be  said  !  —  ED. 

4.  This  is]  POPE  omitted  these  words  ;  probably,  as  injurious  to  the  metre  ; 
DYCE,  too,  queries  whether  they  be  not  an  interpolation.  I  suppose  they  make 
the  Captain's  reply  a  little  less  abrupt.  As  regards  metre,  if  '  Illyria'  be  a  quadri- 
syllable, as  it  is  in  the  next  line,  lines  3  and  4,  read  as  one  line,  make  fourteen  syl- 
lables ;  omitting  '  This  is  '  they  make  twelve,  —  still  too  long  a  line,  with  a  touch  of 


22  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  I,  sc.  ii. 

I'io.     And  what  fhould  I  do  in  Illyria?  5 

My  brother  he  is  in  Elizium, 
Perchance  he  is  not  drown'd  :  What  thinke  you  faylors  ? 

Cap.     It  is  perchance  that  you  your  felfe  were  faued. 

Vio.Q  my  poore  brother,  and  fo  perchance  may  he  be. 

Cap.     True  Madam,  and  to  comfort  you  with  chance,  10 

6.  Elizium]  Elizium  F3F4.     Elysium  7.  you  faylors}  you,  failors  F3F4- 
Pope.                                                                         9-  and  f°\  so  Pope,  + . 

7.  he  ii\  hes  is  F3.  IO.  chance,']  chance.  F2F3. 

surliness  imparted  to  the  honest  Captain  to  no  purpose.  Nor  do  we  treat  him  much 
better  if  we  make  him  say  Illyr-yah.  If  we  consider  line  4  as  a  separate  line,  it 
will  have  only  eight  syllables — a  line  which  SIDNEY  WALKER  says  is  unknown  to 
Shakespeare.  Thus  encircled  by  a  lurid  horizon,  with  no  chauce  of  escape,  our  only 
course  is  to  imitate  the  scorpion,  retire  to  the  centre  and  die.  The  truth  is,  I  think, 
that,  in  a  dialogue,  where  fragments  of  lines  are  in  themselves  rhythmical,  it  is  folly 
to  attempt  to  cut  them  up  into  orthodox  iambic  pentameters  which  can  never  be 
appreciated  on  the  stage. — ED. 

4.  Illyria]  GODWIN  {The  Architect,  24  April,   1875):  Although  the  action  of 
this  play  is  directed  or  described  as  taking  place  in  a  city  of  Illyria,  there  are  but 
few  words  in  the  text  which  give  anything  like  a  Dalmatian  complexion.     If  we 
accept  Illyria,  we  have  a  city  or  seaport  of  the  Venetian  Republic  under  the  local 
government  of  a  duke,  or,  more  correctly,  a  count,  this  last  being  the  title  given  him 
by  the  law  officer  who  arrests  Antonio.     Two  passages, — one  referring  to  this  arrest, 
the  other  to  the  Count's  galleys  and  a  sea-fight  in  which  they  were  engaged, — are 
almost  the  only  things,  apart  from  the  proper  names,  which  could  interfere  with  the 
action  if  we  preferred  to  remove  it  to  England  ;  for  the  spirit  of  this  play,  as  compared 
with  the  other  Italian  plays,  is  thoroughly  English.    Although,  however,  the  contrast 
between  the  Earl  of  Southampton  and  a  boozing  English  knight  might  be  really  as 
great  as  that  between  the  polished  Italian  noble  and  Sir  Toby  Belch,  yet  the  apparent 
contrast  is  no  doubt  greater  in  the  latter  by  virtue  of  the  difference  of  nationality. 

5,  6.  Illyria  .  .  .  Elizium]  DOUCE  :  There  is  seemingly  a  play  upon  these  words. 
[I  do  not  forget  what  Dr  Johnson  says  of  'the  malignant  power'  which  a  quibble 
had  over  the  mind  of  Shakespeare,  to  whom  it  was  '  the  fatal  Cleopatra  for  which  he 
lost  the  world  and  was  content  to  lose  it ' ;  I  recall  that  he  could  make  dying  men 
play  nicely  with  their  names ;  and  yet  with  all  this  in  mind,  I  find  it  impossible  to 
believe  that  a  quibble  was  intended  in  the  present  passage,  or,  if  a  quibble  be  inev- 
itable, that  there  was  any  intention  of  thereby  raising  a  smile.     A  play  on  words 
here,  when  Viola  was  almost  heart-broken,  would  be  not  only  unbefitting  the  occa- 
sion, but,  what  is  more  vital,  utterly  out  of  keeping  with  Viola's  character. — En.] 

8.  Cap.]  KARL  ELZE  (p.  174)  thinks  that  this  speech  should  be  given  to  one  of 
the  sailors,  to  whom  Viola  has  addressed  her  question.     However  generally  Viola's 
question  may  have  been  addressed  to  the  group  of  sailors,  it  was  the  Captain's  duty 
to  be  the  spokesman,  not  only  here,  but  when  Viola  addressed  the  group  as  '  friends,' 
in  the  first  line. — ED. 

8.  perchance]  The  Captain  echoes  Viola's  word,  but  by  using  it  as  a  predicate 
gives  it  its  literal  meaning,  by  chance. 


ACT  I,  sc.  ii.j  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  23 

Affure  your  felfe,  after  our  (hip  did  fplit,  1 1 

When  you,  and  thofe  poore  number  faued  with  you, 

Hung  on  our  driuing  boate  :  I  faw  your  brother 

Moft  prouident  in  perill,  binde  himfelfe, 

(Courage  and  hope  both  teaching  him  the  praclife)  15 

To  a  fttong  Mafte,  that  liu'd  vpon  the  fea  : 

Where  like  Orion  on  the  Dolphines  backe, 

I  faw  him  hold  acquaintance  with  the  waues, 

So  long  as  I  could  fee.  19 

11.  felfe,']  felf  F4-  cet.  (generally. ) 

12.  thofe~\  that  Rowe  ii,  + ,  Var.  Steev.  13.  our]  your  Rowe. 
Var.    this  Cap.  Mai.  Dyce  ii,  iii,  Huds.  drilling}  droving  F3F4. 
the  Anon.  ap.  Cam.  boate  .•]  boat,  Cap. 

tkofe.. .faued~\  those — poor  num-  14.  Mojf\  Moff  F  . 

ber  ! — saved  Elze.  16.  Jltong~\  Ff. 

faued~\  Ff,  Rowe,  Var.  '21, Coll.  17.  Orion]  Arion  Pope  et  seq 

Hal.  Wh.  Glo.  Rife,      scnfd  Pope  et  18.  faw}  see  Pope  ii. 

12.  those  poore  number]  If  the  text  is  to  be  tampered  with  at  all,  I  think 
CAPELL'S  this  is  better  than  ROWE'S  that,  inasmuch  as  the  former  suggests  a  motion 
of  the  hand  toward  the  small  group  of  sailors  standing  near.  In  recent  days,  it  is 
generally  supposed  that  Shakespeare  considered  '  number '  as  a  plural,  and  that 
*  those  poor  number  '  corresponds  to  '  those  poor  people.'  In  the  present  instance, 
however,  I  think  W.  A.  WRIGHT  gives  an  explanation  which  I  cannot  but  regard 
with  favour  inasmuch  as  it  occurred  to  me  independently.  'Shakespeare,'  he  says, 
•may  have  written  "poor  numbers"  and  the  final  s  disappeared  before  the  initial  s 
of  the  next  word.'  At  the  same  time  it  is  probable  that  '  those  poor  number '  can  be 
classed  with  '  these  set  kind  of  fools,'  in  I,  v,  86. — ED. 

12.  saued]  R.  G.  WHITE  condemns  the  contraction  sav'd  introduced  by  POPE, 
and  continued  by  the  majority  of  editors,  on  the  ground  that  the  accent  is  thereby 
wrongly  thrown  on  'you*   instead  of  on  'with.'     Pope's  intention  was  to  make  a 
line  of  ten  syllables. 

13.  driuing]  MURRAY  (N.  E.  D. ):  Driving,  participial  adjective.     2.  Moving 
along  rapidly,  especially  before  the  wind  ;  drifting.     [The  present  line  quoted.] 

16.  liu'd]  W.   A.   WRIGHT:  To   'live'   is  still  used  by  sailors  in  this  sense. 
Admiral  Smyth  in  his  Sailor's   Wordbook  gives,  '  To  Live.     To  be  able  to  with- 
stand the  fury  of  the  elements  ;  said  of  a  boat  or  ship,  etc.'     Compare  Ralegh,  Dis- 
covery of  Guiana  (Hakluyt  Soc. ),  p.  106  :  'we  ...  brought  the  Galley  as  neere  as 
we  could,  but  she  had  as  much  a  doe  to  liue  as  could  be.' 

17.  Orion]  See  Text.  Notes  for  POPE'S  correction.    It  is  hardly  necessary  to  relate 
to  modern  readers  a  story  which  was  familiar  to  an  audience  in  Queen  Elizabeth's 
time. — W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  Shakespeare  may  have  read  at  school  'Orpheus  in  silvis, 
inter  delphinas  Arion  '  (Virgil,  Eel.  viii,  56),  but  the  story  was  so  familiar  that  it  is 
not  necessary  to  suppose  even  this.     HALLIWELL  quotes  a  note  of  GREY  (i,  224), 
wherein  a  passage  is  given  from  Shirley's  Imposture  (V,  i),  in  which  the  story  of  Arion 
is  turned  into  ridicule.     It  has  no  possible  bearing  on  the  present  line, — nor  on  any 
line  where  Arion  is  ever  mentioned.    It  is  merely  an  example  of  Shirley's  ponderous 
attempt  to  be  funny. — ED. 


24  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  i,  sc.  ii. 

Uio.     For  faying  fo,  there's  Gold :  20 

Mine  owne  efcape  vnfoldeth  to  my  hope, 
Whereto  thy  fpeech  ferues  for  authoritie 
The  like  of  him.  Know'ft  thou  this  Countrey  ? 

Cap.     I  Madam  well,  for  I  was  bred  and  borne 
Not  three  houres  trauaile  from  this  very  place.  25 

Vto.     Who  gouernes  heere? 

20.  For ...  Gold V]    There's  gold  for  23.  Kncru?Jl~\  And  knowest  Han. 

saying  so.  Pope,  Han.  25.  place:]  place?   F2F3>    place  F4. 

22.  authoritie]  authority,  Rowe.  place.  Rowe. 

23.  of  him]  ABBOTT  (§  174),  with  this  present  phrase  as  an  example,  remarks 
that  '(^passes  easily  from  meaning  "as  regards"  to  "concerning,"   "about."' 
Is  it  not  rather  the  Greek  construction  where  'of  him'  would  be  explained  as  in 
apposition  with  the  genitive  implied  in  the  possessive  pronoun,  'mine  own,' — the 
escape  of  myself  unfoldeth  the  escape  of  him  ? — ED. 

23.  Countrey]  See  for  the  pronunciation  '  remembrance,'  line  37  of  preceding 
scene.     Small  as  the  necessity  seems  to  me  to  be  to  pronounce  '  remembrance '  as  a 
quadrisyllable,  the  necessity  here  is  even  smaller  to  pronounce  '  countrey '  as  a  tri- 
syllable :  'country,'  as  ABBOTT  (§  477)  and  several  modern  editors  assert  that  it  is 
pronounced.     The  line  is  broken.     No  actress  would  be  tolerated  who  should  so 
hurriedly  utter  it  as  to  indicate  that  the  pronunciation  countery  can  alone  make  it 
rhythmical.     Viola  is  trying  to  master  her  emotion,  and  the  pause  is  long  between 
the  thoughts  of  her  brother  and  her  inquiries  about  the  country.     In  this  pause,  all 
memory  of  the  preceding  rhythm  is  lost,  so  much  so  that  were  it  retained,  and  the 
accent  thrown  on  '  thou,'  it  would  be  wrong  ;  it  would  imply  that  Viola  cared  only 
for  the  Captain's  own  personal  knowledge,  and  nothing  for  information  from  anyone 
else.     The  stress  must  fall  on  'Know'st';  'country'  will  then  remain  a  land  to 
be  found  in  Geographies. — ED. 

24.  bred  and  borne]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  It  is  remarkable  that  no  one  has  proposed 
to  read  '  born  and  bred,1  in  order  to  preserve  the  true  sequence  of  events.    [Probably, 
the  cause  may  be  found  in  the  fact  that  Shakespeare  uses  '  bred '  in  the  sense  of 
begotten  (see  many  examples  in  Schmidt's  Lex.}.     At  the  same  time  it  is  possible 
that  the  phrase  before  us  was  mere  carelessness  on  Shakespeare' s  part ;  it  is  curiously 
parallel  to  one  of  the  examples  given  by  Puttenham  of  what  he  calls  The  Preposterous  : 
'  Ye  haue  another  manner  of  disordered  speach,  when  ye  misplace  your  words  or 
clauses  and  set  that  before  which  should  be  behind,  et  e  conuerso,  we  call  it  in  Eng- 
lish prouerbe,  the  cart  before  the  horse,  the  Greeks  call  it  Histeron  proteron,  we 
name  it  the  Preposterous,  and  if  it  be  not  too  much  vsed  is  tollerable  inough,  and 
many  times  scarce  perceiueable,  unlesse  the  sence  be  thereby  made  very  absurd.  .  .  . 
One  describing  his  landing  vpon  a  strange  coast,  sayd  thus  preposterously,  "  When 
we  had  climbde  the  clifs,  and  were  a  shore."    Whereas  he  should  haue  said  by  good 
order,  "  When  we  were  come  a  shore  and  clymed  had  the  cliffs."     For  one  must 
be  on  land  ere  he  can  clime.    And  as  another  said  :  "  My  dame  that  bred  me  vp  and 
bare  me  in  her  wombe."     Whereas  the  bearing  is  before  the  bringing  vp.'— Arte 
of  English  Poesie,   1589,  p.  181,  ed.  Arber.     See  also  'lack'd  and  lost.'—  Muck 
Ado,  IV,  i,  228.— ED.] 


ACT  I,  sc.  ii.J  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  2$ 

Cap.     A  noble  Duke  in  nature,  as  in  name.  27 

Vio.   What  is  his  name  ? 

27.  A  ...  nature,]    Closing    line   26,  27.  as  in  name.]  As  in  /it's  name  Han. 

Han.  Cap.  Var.  '03,  '13,  '21,  Coll.  Cap.  Var.  '03,  '13,  '21. 


27-37'  *n  the  division  of  these  lines,  KNIGHT'S  text  conforms  to  that  of  the  First 
Folio,  for  which  Knight  thus  claims  a  superiority  over  the  arrangement  of  Hanmer  and 
the  Variorum  (see  Text.  Notes)  :  '  We  request  the  reader  to  look  particularly  at  this 
part  of  the  dialogue,  beginning  "Who  governs  here?"  Is  it  not  strictly  metrical, 
and  do  not  the  three  or  four  short  lines  that  are  thrown  in  render  the  question  and 
answer  rapid  and  spirited  ?  It  is  printed  exactly  as  in  the  original.  But  the  passage 
has  been  jammed  into  the  Procrustean  bed  of  Steevens."  Knight  is  wise  in  submit- 
ting the  question  to  'the  reader,'  who  is  'to  look'  at  the  passage.  Such  arrange- 
ments or  division  of  lines  are  solely  for  '  readers  '  and  for  eyes,  not  for  ears  or  for  the 
stage.  —  ED. 

27.  Duke]  WALKER  (Crit.  ii,  280)  has  an  instructive  Article  on  the  Confusion 
in  sense  of  king,  duke,  and  count:  In  Love's  Lab.  L.  II,  i,  37,  'Who  are  the 
votaries,  my  loving  lords,  That  are  vow-fellows  with  this  virtuous  duke  ?'  Every- 
where else,  I  believe,  he  is  styled  by  his  proper  title,  king.  So  in  Twelfth  N.  [in 
the  present  passage]  Orsino  is  called  duke,  but  in  several,  —  perhaps  in  all,  —  other 
places,  count.  [Throughout  the  rest  of  the  play,  it  is  uniformly  '  count,'  but  the 
prefixes  of  his  speeches  remain,  as  in  the  first  scene,  Duke.  —  ED.]  In  the  Two 
Gent.,  the  personage  who,  throughout  the  rest  of  the  play,  is  styled  the  duke  of 
Milan,  is  in  I,  iii,  28,  the  emperor,  —  '  his  companion,  youthful  Valentine,  Attends 
the  emperor  in  his  royal  court  :'  [line  38  :  —  ]  '  I  will  dispatch  him  to  the  emperor's 
court':  and  II,  iii,  5,  —  '  I  am  going  with  Sir  Proteus  to  the  Imperial's  court':  for  it 
is  futile  to  attempt  to  distinguish  between  the  two  personages.  [LfiTTSOM,  Walker's 
Editor,  has  here  the  following  footnote  :  '  The  emperor  is  peculiar  to  the  scenes  laid 
at  Verona,  the  duke  to  those  laid  at  Milan.  Verona  occurs  twite  and  Padua  once 
for  Milan.  These  negligences  I  suspect  to  be  the  author's.']  In  III,  i,  163,  the 
duke  says,  —  '  But  if  thou  linger  in  my  territories  Longer  than  swiftest  expedition 
Will  give  thee  time  to  leave  our  royal  court.'  Tit.  And.  Ill,  i,  154,  '  chop  off  your 
hand,  And  send  it  to  the  king,1  in  IV,  iv,  8l,  'King,  be  thy  thoughts  imperious, 
like  thy  name.'  Here,  however,  the  error  was  easy  ;  in  the  latter  instance,  hardly 
an  error.  By  the  way,  III,  i,  160,  'With  all  my  heart,  I'll  send  the  emperor  my 
hand':  qu.,  —  'I'll  send  the  king  my  hand.'  Emperor  occurs  three  times  before. 
Hamlet,  III,  ii,  dumb  show,  —  «  Enter  a  King  and  a  Queen,'  etc.  Ib.,  '  Gonzago  is 
the  duke's  name";  —  Hamlet  is  here  speaking  ;  and  in  the  very  same  speech  follows 
almost  immediately,  —  'This  is  one  Lucianus,  nephew  to  the  king.'  Instances  of 
the  same  in  contemporary  dramatists,  and  others  :  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  Cupid's 
Revenge,  III,  ii,  speaking  of  Duke  Leontius  and  his  consort,  '  the  duke  and  queen 
will  presently  come  forth  to  you.'  In  I,  i,  Leucippus,  the  heir  to  the  dukedom  of 
Lycia,  says,  '  I  do  not  wish  to  know  that  fatal  hour,  That  is  to  make  me  king.'  In 
the  latter  part  of  Sidney's  Arcadia,  Basilius  is  called  sometimes  king  and  sometimes 
duke.  King,  count,  and  duke  were  one  and  the  same  to  the  poet,  all  involving  alike 
the  idea  of  sovereign  power  ;  and  thus  might  be  easily  confounded  with  each  other 
in  the  memory.  [This  note  of  Walker  silences,  I  think,  Fleay's  argument,  (founded 
in  part  on  this  confusion  of  titles,)  in  favour  of  a  twofold  date  of  composition  of  the 
present  play.  —  ED.] 


26  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  i,  sc.  ii. 

Cap.    Orjlno. 

Vio,    Orfeno  :  I  haue  heard  my  father  name  him.  30 

He  was  a  Batchellor  then. 

Cap.     And  fo  is  now,  or  was  fo  very  late : 
For  but  a  month  ago  I  went  from  hence, 
And  then  'twas  frefh  in  murmure  (as  you  know 
What  great  ones  do,  the  lefle  will  prattle  of,)  35 

That  he  did  feeke  the  loue  of  faire  Oliuia. 

Vio.     What's  fhee  ? 

Cap.  A  vertuous  maid,  the  daughter  of  a  Count 
That  dide  fome  tweluemonth  fmce,  then  leauing  her 
In  the  protection  of  his  fonne,  her  brother,  40 

Who  fhortly  alfo  dide  :  for  whofe  deere  loue 

30.  Orfmo/]  Orfmo!  Ff.  39.  dide}  di'd  Ff. 

31-37.  He   was  ...Jhee?~\    Sir   lines,  tweluemonth']       twelve      months 

ending  no^v,.. .month.. .fresh... do, ...seek  Rowe, +. 

...she?  Steev.  Hal.  41.  loue]   loss  Walker,  Dyce   ii,  iii, 

34.  murmure]  murmur  F4.  Huds. 
know]  know,  Theob. 

29.  Orsino]  JOHNSON  :  I  know  not  whether  the  nobility  of  the  name  is  comprised 
in  duke,  or  in   Orsino,  which  is,  I  think,  the  name  of  a  great  Italian  family. — 
HUNTER  (i,  401)  :  It  is  plain  that  Shakespeare  was  acquainted  with  the  antiquity  of 
the  Orsini  family,  which  had  recently  been  illustrated  in  a  large  work,  devoted  to  the 
subject,  by  Sansovino.     [See  Dramatis  Persons,  note  on  line  2.] 

30,  31.  THE  COWDEN-CLARKES  :  Here  is  one  of  Shakespeare's  subtle  touches  in 
dramatic  art.     By  the  mention  of  Viola's  father  having  spoken  of  the  duke,  we  are 
led  to  see  the  source  of  her  interest  in  Orsino  ;  and  by  the  word  '  bachelor '  we  are 
made  to  see  the  peculiar  nature  of  that  interest.     By  the  delicate  indication  of  an 
already  existing  inclination  on  the  part  of  the  heroine  for  the  hero  of  the  play,  the 
circumstance  of  her  at  once  falling  so  deeply  in  love  with  him,  on  coming  to  know 
him  personally,  is  most  naturally  and  beautifully  introduced.      [But  see  Spedding's 
finer  interpretation  in  note  on  line  59. — ED.] 

32.  late]  For  this  adverbial  use,  see  III,  i,  38  ;  V,  i,  228. 

34.  murmure]  DEIGHTON  :  The  idea  in   '  murmur '    is  of  their  speaking  with 
bated  breath  of  a  matter  so  much  above  their  personal  concern. 

35.  great  ones  .  .  .  the  lesse]  It  is  by  the  evident  reference  to  rank  in  this 
passage  that  we  infer  the  same  reference,  and  not  to  that  of  numbers,  in  the  phrase 
'more  and  less'  in  Macb.  V,  iv,  12,  and  elsewhere.    See,  if  need  be,  ABBOTT,  §  17. 

37.  What's  shee?]  See  also  I,  v,  115:  'What  is  he  at  the  gate,  Cosin  ?' — 
ABBOTT  (§  254)  :  In  the  Elizabethan  and  earlier  periods,  when  the  distinction 
between  ranks  was  much  more  marked  than  now,  it  may  have  seemed  natural  to 
ask,  as  the  first  question  about  anyone,  '  of  what  condition  or  rank  is  he  ?'  In  that 
case  the  difference  is  one  of  thought,  not  of  grammar.  [It  is  a  relief  to  find  lines 
so  stubbornly  refractory  to  all  rules  of  rhythm  that  they  are  allowed,  perforce,  to 
remain  unmolested  and  are  dubbed  '  interjectional.'  See  ABBOTT,  §512. — ED.] 

41.  deere  loue]  WALKER  (Crit.  i,  285):   Read  'dear  losse.'      DYCE  (ed.  ii) 


ACT  I,  sc.  ii.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  27 

(They  fay)  fhe  hath  abiur'd  the  fight  42 

And  company  of  men. 

Via.     O  that  I  feru'd  that  Lady, 
And  might  not  be  deliuered  to  the  world  45 

42,  43.  (he  fight  And  company]  Ff,  •  45.  deliuered]  Ff,  Var.  '03,  '13,  '21, 

Rowe,  +  ,  Var.  '73,  '78,  Knt,  Hal.  the  Coll.  Wh.  Cam.  Rife,  Dtn.  deliver3 d 

company  And  sight  Han.  et  cet.  Rowe  et  cet. 

42.  hath]  had  Ff,  Rowe.  world]  world,  Rowe  et  seq. 

44.    O]  o  Cap  (corrected  in  Errata). 

adopted  this  change,  and  affirmed  that  it  was  '  made  certain  by  other  passages  of 
Shakespeare,'  namely  :  '  and,  portable  To  make  the  dear  /ass,'  etc.,  Temp.  V.  i,  146  ; 
'  Were  never  orphans  had  so  dear  a  loss,'  Rich.  Ill :  II,  ii,  77  ;  'Their  dear  loss, 
The  more  of  you  'twas  felt,'  etc.,  Cymb.  V,  v,  345.  [If  'dear  love '  were  unintel- 
ligible, dear  loss  would  be  accepted  with  gratitude,  but  inasmuch  as  '  dear  love '  is 
almost  irreproachable,  the  use  by  Shakespeare  of  dear  loss  in  a  hundred  passages 
ought  not  to  justify  its  substitution  here. — ED.] 

42,  43.  sight  And  company]  The  anticlimax  here,  coupled  with  the  defective 
metre,  led  HANMER  to  transpose  these  words  ;  and  he  has  been  therein  followed  by 
almost  every  modern  editor.  But  the  recollection  of  '  bred  and  born '  only  a  few 
lines  distant,  and  of  '  lack'd  and  lost '  in  Much  Ado  might  reasonably  give  us  pause. 
The  chiefest  obstacle  in  the  way  of  retaining  the  Folio  text  is  the  metre,  which  Han- 
mer's  transposition  certainly  cures.  WALKER,  who  doubts  Hanmer's  change,  asks, 
'  Is  there  not  something  lost  in '  line  42? — ED. 

45-47.  JOHNSON  :  This  is  :  I  wish  I  might  not  be  made  public  to  the  world,  with 
regard  to  the  state  of  my  birth  and  fortune,  till  I  have  gained  a  ripe  opportunity  for 
my  design.  Viola  seems  to  have  formed  a  very  deep  design  with  very  little  pre- 
meditation ;  she  is  thrown  by  shipwreck  on  an  unknown  coast,  hears  that  the  prince 
is  a  bachelor,  and  resolves  to  supplant  the  lady  whom  he  courts. — MALONE  :  In  the 
novel  on  which  Shakespeare  founded  this  play,  the  Duke  Apolonius  being  driven  by 
a  tempest  on  the  isle  of  Cyprus,  Silla,  the  daughter  of  the  governor,  falls  in  love 
with  him,  and  on  his  departure  goes  in  pursuit  of  him.  All  this  Shakespeare  knew, 
and  probably  intended  in  some  future  scene  to  tell,  but  afterwards  forgot  it.  If  this 
were  not  the  case,  the  impropriety  censured  by  Dr  Johnson  must  be  accounted  for 
from  the  poet's  having  here,  as  in  other  places,  sometimes  adhered  to  the  fable  he 
had  in  view,  and  sometimes  departed  from  it.  Viola,  in  a  subsequent  scene,  plainly 
alludes  to  her  having  been  secretly  in  love  with  the  duke.  [See  '  My  Father  had  a 
daughter,'  etc.,  II,  iv,  114,  etc.] — BOSWELL  :  It  would  have  been  inconsistent  with 
Viola's  delicacy  to  have  made  an  open  confession  of  her  love  for  the  Duke  to  the 
Captain. — R.  G.  WHITE  (SA.'s  Scholar,  282)  :  Malone's  supposition,  that  Viola's 
beautiful  allusion  to  herself  in  the  story  which  she  tells  the  Duke  of  her  pretended 
sister,  is  an  allusion  to  her  '  having  beeti  secretly  in  love  with  him,'  that  is,  of  course, 
in  love  with  him  before  the  play  opens, — is  too  absurd  to  merit  notice.  Indeed, 
indeed,  the  best  part  of  Shakespeare  was  written  in  an  unknown  tongue  to  these 
learned  gentlemen.  If  there  ever  were  an  ingenuous,  unsophisticated,  unselfish 
character  portrayed,  it  is  this  very  Viola, — Dr  Johnson's  'excellent  schemer,'  who, 
wretched  and  in  want,  forms  that  '  very  deep  design '  of  supplanting  a  high-born 
beauty,  of  whom  she  has  never  heard,  in  the  affections  of  a  man  of  princely  rank, 
whom  she  has  never  seen.  [Johnson's  paraphrase  of  these  lines  would  have  been 


28  Tll'ELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  i,  sc.  ii. 

Till  I  had  made  mine  owne  occafion  mellow  46 

What  my  eftate  is. 

Cap.     That  were  hard  to  compaffe, 
Becaufe  fhe  will  admit  no  kinde  of  fuite, 
No,  not  the  Dukes.  50 

Vio.     There  is  a  faire  behauiour  in  thee  Captaine, 
And  though  that  nature,  with  a  beauteous  wall 
Doth  oft  clo  fe  in  pollution  :  yet  of  thee 
I  will  beleeue  thou  haft  a  minde  that  fuites  54 

46.  mellow]  Ff,  Rowe,  + ,  Wh.  Ktly.         Cam.     show  Gould. 
mellow,  Han.  et  cet.    fellow  Anon.  ap.  53.  clofe  in\  dose-in  Dyce  ii,  iii. 

fair  enough  had  not  his  judgement  been  distorted  by  his  assumption  that  Viola  was 
a  '  schemer,'  therefore  it  is  that  he  paraphrased  '  made  mine  own  occasion  mellow  '  by 
4  a  ripe  opportunity  for  my  design.'  The  occasion  to  be  mellowed  was  not  a  design 
upon  the  Duke,  but  a  proper  time  for  revealing  her  birth  and  estate.  Attention  has 
been  called  to  the  recurrence  of  the  same  phrase  in  Love's  Lab.  L.  IV,  ii,  72  : 
'  These  are  begot  in  the  ventricle  of  memory  .  .  .  and  delivered  upon  the  mellowing 
of  occasion,"  or,  in  other  words,  delivered  when  the  time  was  exactly  ripe;  just  as 
Antonio  tells  Bassanio  to  4  stay  the  very  riping  of  the  time '  at  Belmont. — Mer.  of 
I'en.  II,  viii,  43.  Thus  here,  Viola  has  no  intention  of  remaining  always  a  page, 
but  only  until  in  her  own  judgement  the  time  was  ripe  for  disclosing  her  true  station. 
ABBOTT  (§  290),  in  a  list  of  verbs  formed  from  nouns  and  adjectives,  gives  4  mellow,' 
in  the  present  passage,  as  a  transitive  verb,  which,  unless  it  means  that  its  object 
is  the  phrase  '  What  my  estate  is,'  I  do  not  understand.  It  appears  to  me  that 
'mellow'  is  no  verb  but  a  simple  predicate  adjective  ;  and  the  construction  of  '  What 
my  estate  is'  (that  is,  as  to  what  my  estate  is)  is  the  same  as  in  Hamlet,  I,  i,  33 
(pointed  out  by  W.  A.  WRIGHT) :  4And  let  us  once  again  assail  your  ears,  That  are 
so  fortified  against  our  story,  What  we  two  nights  have  seen.'  Again  I  must  refer 
to  Spedding's  excellent  vindication  of  Viola's  character ;  line  59,  below. — ED.] 

45.  And  might]  HANMER  reads  'And  '/  might,'  which  is  good.  Possibly,  it  is 
unnecessary  to  insert  the  't;  it  may  be  faintly  but  sufficiently  heard  in  the  final  d  of 
4  And. '—Eo. 

45.  deliuered]  R.  G.  WHITE  (ed.  i)  objects  to  the  contracted  form  deliver1  d,  whereby 
4  the  variety  of  a  rhythm,  often  introduced  by  Shakespeare  in  the  third  foot,  is  lost.' 

52.  though  that]  See  4  If  that,'  I,  v,  308  ;  4  Least  that,'  III,  iv,  349  ;  4  If  that,' 
^r>  >>  3^7;  4Wrhen  that,'  V,  i,  409;  and  for  additional  examples,  where  4that'  is  a 
conjunctional  affix,  see,  if  needful,  ABBOTT,  §  287. 

52,  53.  nature  .  .  .  pollution]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  The  same  sentiment  occurs 
again  in  III,  iv,  370,  371.  [Compare,  also,  Sonnets  93  and  95.] 

54.  will]  WALKER  (Crit.  iii,  83)  :  Well,  I  imagine.  [Walker  calls  attention  to 
what  he  considers  the  same  misprint,  in  the  Folio,  of  4  will '  for  well,  twice  in  Mer. 
Wives,  I,  iii,  56 :  'He  hath  studied  her  will,  and  translated  her  will,'  etc.  In  a 
note  on  this  passage  DYCE  adds  :  '  Since  what  I  will  intend,'  etc.,  Lear  I,  i,  224  ; 
and  '  If  but  as  will  I  other  accents  borrow,'  Ib.  I,  iv,  I.  As  to  the  passage  from 
the  Mer.  Wives,  editors  are  by  no  means  agreed  that  '  will '  is  a  misprint ;  and  as  to 
the  present  passage,  Walker's  change,  good  as  it  is,  seems  to  have  commended  itself 
to  no  one  but  Hudson. — ED.] 


ACTI.SC.  ii.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL 

With  this  thy  faire  and  outward  charra&er. 

I  prethee  (and  He  pay  thee  bounteoufly) 

Conceale  me  what  I  am,  and  be  my  ayde, 

For  fuch  difguife  as  haply  (hall  become 

The  forme  of  my  intent.     He  feme  this  Duke,  59 

57.  ayde,]  aide.  f^. 


57.  Conceale  me  what  I  am]  See,  also,  'I  see  you  what  you  are,'  I,  v,  247. 
In  WALKER'S  Article  VI.  (Crit.  i,  68)  many  examples  are  given  of  a  construction 
similar  to  this,  such  as  :  'I  know  you  what  you  are,' — Lear,  I,  i,  268  ;  '  I  will  pro- 
claim myself  what  I  am.' — Mer.  Wives,  III,  v,  146,  etc. — ABBOTT  (§  414) :  Instead 
of  saying  '  I  know  what  you  are,'  in  which  the  object  of  the  verb  '  I  know '  is  the 
clause  '  what  you  are,'  Shakespeare  frequently  introduces  before  the  dependent  clause 
another  object,  so  as  to  make  the  dependent  clause  a  mere  explanation  of  the  object. 

59.  He  ...  Duke]  JOHNSON  :  Viola  is  an  excellent  schemer,  never  at  a  loss ; 
if  she  cannot  serve  the  lady,  she  will  serve  the  duke. — HALLAM  (iii,  561 )  :  Viola 
would  be  more  interesting,  if  she  had  not  indelicately,  as  well  as  unfairly  towards 
Olivia,  determined  to  win  the  Duke's  heart  before  she  had  seen  him. — SPEUDING 
(Eraser's  Alaga.  Aug.  1865)  :  To  us  the  words  convey  no  such  meaning,  but  imply 
rather  the  very  contrary.  And  the  question  is  worth  examining ;  for  our  conception 
of  Viola's  very  nature,  and  with  it  the  spirit  of  every  scene  in  which  she  subse- 
quently appears,  and  the  complexion  of  the  whole  play,  depends  on  the  answer. 
How  then  stands  the  case  ?  Viola  has  just  escaped  from  shipwreck,  having  lost  her 
twin  brother, — her  only  natural  protector, — and  everything  else  except  her  purse 
with  a  little  money  in  it.  A  beautiful,  high-bred  girl,  alone  in  a  strange  country, — 
what  is  she  to  do  ?  Where  is  she  to  lodge  ?  How  to  procure  food  ?  The  captain 
and  the  sailors  are  kind  and  respectful,  but  they  are  poor  men,  and  have  been 
wrecked  as  well  as  she.  But  she  has  sense  and  courage  and  character  and  accom- 
plishments, and  addresses  herself  at  once  to  meet  the  difficulty.  For  a  lady  of  her 
birth  and  breeding,  the  court  was  the  natural  place  to  look  to  for  shelter  and  sym- 
pathy ;  and  she  asks  who  is  governor.  Duke  Orsino.  Orsino  !  She  remembered 
the  name  ;  she  had  heard  her  father  speak  of  him.  But  '  he  was  a  bachelor  then,' 
she  adds  ;  thinking  no  doubt  that  if  he  were  still  a  bachelor  there  would  be  no 
female  court ;  therefore  no  fit  place  for  her.  Hearing  that  he  was  not  married,  but 
going  to  be,  her  next  most  natural  resource  would  be  the  lady  he  was  going  to  marry, 
— a  lady,  it  seemed,  well  suited  to  her  case  ;  for  she  also  was  an  orphan  maid,  mourn- 
ing the  recent  loss  of  an  only  brother  ;  and  it  was  only  on  learning  that  there  was  no 
chance  of  obtaining  access  to  her,  that  she  resolved  to  disguise  her  sex  and  seek  service 
at  the  court  in  the  character  of  a  page.  This  would  provide  for  her  immediate 
necessity  ;  and  for  her  next  step  she  would  wait  till  she  saw  her  way.  There  is  not  the 
shadow  of  a  reason  for  supposing  that  in  wishing  to  serve  either  Olivia  or  the  Duke 
she  had  any  other  motive  or  design  ;  the  suggestion  of  which  is  the  more  unjustifiable 
and  unaccountable,  because  in  all  her  subsequent  intercourse  between  them  (though 
she  had  then  come  to  have  a  very  deep  and  painful  interest  of  her  own  in  the  matter) 
she  shows  herself  as  fair  and  loyal,  as  unselfish,  as  tenderly  considerate  towards  both, 
as  it  is  possible  for  a  woman  to  be.  Three  days  of  confidential  communication  in  so 
tender  an  argument  as  unrequited  love  had  kindled  indeed  in  her  own  breast  a  love 
which  could  not  hope  and  did  not  ask  for  requital.  But  where  are  the  traces  of 


3o  TWELFE    NIGHT  [ACT  i,  sc.  ii. 

Thou  fhalt  prefent  me  as  an  Eunuch  to  him,  60 

It  may  be  worth  thy  paines  :  for  I  can  fing, 

And  fpeake  to  him  in  many  forts  of  Muficke, 

That  will  allow  me  very  worth  his  feruice. 

What  elfe  may  hap,  to  time  I  will  commit, 

Onely  fhape  thou  thy  filence  to  my  wit.  65 

Cap.     Be  you  his  Eunuch,  and  your  Mute  He  bee, 
When  my  tongue  blabs,  then  let  mine  eyes  not  fee. 

Uio.     I  thanke  thee :  Lead  me  on.  Exeunt          68 

design,  or  intrigue,  or  endeavour  to  use  opportunities  for  her  own  advantage  ?  Out 
of  the  experience  of  her  own  sad  and  hopeless  passion  she  borrows  imagery  and 
eloquence  to  set  forth  her  master's;  and  the  sincerity  with  which  she  does  it  is 
proved  by  the  effect.  .  .  .  What  she  had  to  do  she  did  with  perfect  loyalty  and 
good  faith  ;  her  own  love, — though  restlessly  struggling  to  utter  itself, — remaining  to 
the  last  her  own  sad  secret. 

60.  Eunuch]  MALONE  :  The  first  regular  opera,  as  Dr  Burney  observes  to  me, 
was  performed  at  Florence  in  1600:  'Till  about  1635,  musical  dramas  were  only 
performed  occasionally  in  the  palaces  of  princes,  and  consequently  before  that  time 
eunuchs  could  not  abound.  The  first  eunuch  that  was  suffered  to  sing  in  the  Pope's 
chapel,  was  in  the  year  1 600.'  Compare  Mid.  N.  D,  V,  i,  51  :  « The  battell  with 
the  Centaurs  to  be  sung  By  an  Athenian  Eunuch,  to  the  Harpe.' 

62.  speake]  DEIGHTON  :  Compare  Hamlet,  III,  ii,  374,  '  it  will  discourse  most 
eloquent  music.' 

63.  allow]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  That  is,  approve,  cause  to  be  acknowledged.     So 
4  allowance '  is  used  in  the  sense  of  acknowledgement  or  approval  in  Tro.  &*  Cress. 
II,  iii,  146  :  'A  stirring  dwarf  we  do  allowance  give  Before  a  sleeping  giant.'     The 
two  senses  of  '  allow,'  to  assign,  and  to  approve,  are  due  to  the  different  sources  from 
•which  it  is  derived :  the  former  being  from  the  Low  Latin  allocare,  the  latter  from 
allaudare.     See  IV,  ii,  60. 

66.  Mute]  SCHMIDT  (Lex. ):  In  Turkey  a  dumb  officer  acting  as  executioner. 
[It  is  not  easy  to  see  the  appropriateness  of  such  an  officer  on  the  present  occa- 
sion.— ED.] — DEIGHTON:  The  mention  of  'eunuch'  brings  into  the  Captain's 
mind  the  thought  of  the  •  mutes,"  dumb  attendants  in  the  Turkish  harems,  and  he 
promises  to  perform  her  behest  as  faithfully  as  the  mutes  performed  those  of  the 
sultan.  [It  is  not  so  much  fidelity  in  service  that  Viola  requires,  as  concealment  of 
her  disguise.  I  doubt  that  the  employment  of  mutes  is  restricted  to  the  harem.  We 
all  of  us  remember  our  Talisman, — ED.] 

68.  There  is,  to  me,  something  very  touching  in  this  submissive  appeal,  '  Lead  me 
OP,'  although  it  is  not  an  uncommon  phrase. — ED. 


ACT  i.  sc.  iii.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  31 


Sccena  Tertia. 

Enter  Sir  Toby,  and  Maria.  2 

Sir  To.    What  a  plague  meanes  my  Neece  to  take  the 

death  of  her  brother  thus  ?    I  am  fure  care's  an  enemie  to 

life.  5 

Mar.     By  my  troth  fir  Toby,  you  muft  come  in  earlyer 

a  nights  :  your  Cofin,  my  Lady,  takes  great  exceptions 

to  your  ill  houres. 

To.     Why  let  her  except,  before  excepted.  9 

2.  Olivia's  House.  Rowe.  7.  Coftti]  Neice  Rowe  ii,  +  .     cousin 
J.  a  nights]  Ff .    a-nights  Rowe  ii,  -*• .         Cap.  et  seq. 

<? nights  Cap.  et  seq.  9.  except,  before]  Ff,  Rowe,  +  ,  Cap. 

your]  youe  Fa.  Cam.  Dtn.     except  before  Han.  et  cet. 

3.  a  plague]  ABBOTT  (§24):  In  the  expressions  'What  a  plague?' — /  Hen. 
IV:  I,  ii,  51  ;  'What  a  devil?'—  Ib.  IV,  ii,  56 ;  'A  God's  name,'  Rich.  II:  II,  i, 
251,  and  the  like,  we  must  suppose  a  to  mean  in,  on,  or  of.     [See  '  I  love  a  ballet 
in  print,  a  life,' —  Wint.  Tale,  IV,  iv,  288,  which  is,  however,  hardly  to  be  placed 
in  the  same  list  with  the  foregoing.] 

4.  5.   I   am  .  .  .  life]  Possibly,  Sir  Toby's  anxiety  for  his  niece's  life  is  not 
altogether  unselfish. — ED. 

7.  a  nights]  Ever  since  Capell's  edition,  this  'a  nights'  has  been  changed, 
needlessly,  I  think,  to  6 'nights.  In  the  eighth  division  under  A,  as  a  preposition, 
DR  MURRAY  {N.  E.  Z>. )  gives:  'Time:  in,  on,  by;  as  a  day,  a  night,  an  eve,  a 
morrow,  a  Monday,  a  doom's  day.  Occasionally  prefixed  to  Old  English  adverbial 
genitives,  giving  a  nights,  now-a-days^  Among  the  quotations,  is  given,  '  Let  me 
haue  men  about  me  .  .  .  such  as  sleepe  a  nights.' — Jul.  Cas.  I,  ii,  193,  where,  as 
here,  Capell  led  the  change  to  o'nights.  For  o'nights,  see,  if  need  be,  ABBOTT, 
§  182.— ED. 

7.  Cosin]  See  note  on  line  7  of  Dramatis  Persona. 

9.  except,  before  excepted]  FARMER  (  Var.  '78) :  This  should  probably  be  'as 
before  excepted.'  [This  emendation  would  have  been  hardly  worth  the  noting  here  in 
the  Commentary,  had  not  HUNTER  (i,  401 )  approved  of  it,  and  RANN,  SINGER,  and 
KEIGHTLEY  adopted  it.]  A  ludicrous  use  of  the  formal  law  phrase.  RITSON  (Rem. 
63)  :  The  ingenious  critic  might  have  spared  his  remark  ;  the  '  formal  law  phrase ' 
being  more  usually  as  in  the  text. — MALONE  :  It  is  the  usual  language  of  leases : 
'  To  have  and  to  hold  the  said  demised  premises,  etc.  with  their  and  every  of  their 
rights,  members,  etc.  (except  before  excepted).' — W.  A.  WRIGHT:  Sir  Toby's 
drunken  repartees  are  intentionally  not  much  to  the  point.  BULLOCH  (p.  109)  : 
An  alteration  of  punctuation,  and  the  addition  of  the  definite  article  in  an  elided 
form  will  throw  all  the  light  necessary  for  the  due  understanding  the  meaning  of 
the  witty  knight : — '  let  her  except — before  th'  excepted.'  Sir  Toby  wishes  to  spealt 
his  mind,  but  not  so  as  to  offend  his  niece  ;  he  pauses,  and  then  blurts  out  a  cut  at  the 
position  of  his  interlocutor,  a  servant !  In  conformity  with  these  remarks,  the  mean- 
ing of  his  answer  -H11  be, — Why  let  her  say  so — and  to  myself.  [Had  Bulloch's 


32  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  I,  sc.  iii. 

Ma.     I,  but  you  muft  confine  your  felfe  within  the  10 

modeft  limits  of  order. 

To.  Confine?  He  confine  my  felfe  no  finer  then  I  am  : 
thefe  cloathes  are  good  enough  to  drinke  in,  and  fo  bee 
thefe  boots  too  :  and  they  be  not,  let  them  hang  them- 
felues  in  their  owne  ftraps.  1 5 

Ma.  That  quaffing  and  drinking  will  vndoe  you  :  I 
heard  my  Lady  talke  of  it  yefterday  :  and  of 'a  foolifh 
knight  that  you  brought  in  one  night  here,  to  be  hir  woer 

To.     Who,  Sir  Andrew  Ague-cheeke  ? 

Ma.     I  he.  20 

To.     He's  as  tall  a  man  as  any's  in  Illyria. 

Ma.     What's  that  to  th'purpofe  ? 

To.     Why  he  ha's  three  thoufand  ducates  a  yeare.  23 

10.  I. ..the]  Line  spaced  to  full  width  19.  Ague-cheeke]    Aguecheek  Dyce, 
in  Ff.                                                                     Cam.  Sta.  Rife,  Huds. 

14.  and]  Ff,  Rowe.  i/ Pope,  Han.              21.  any1  s\  any  Pope,  Han. 

an  Theob.  et  cet  22.  //;']    Ff,    Rowe,  +  ,   Wh.  i.     the 

1 8.  woer]  wooer.  Fa.  -wooer?  F3F4,         Cap.  et  cet. 

Rowe,  Pope.  23.  Aa's]  has  F3F4. 

emendation  been  restricted  to  the  Text.  Notes,  his  meaning  could  not  have  been 
understood.     Hence  the  sole  reason  why  his  explanation  is  given  here  in  full. — ED.] 

11.  modest]  That  is,  moderate.     See  IV,  ii,  35. 

1 6.  quaffing"]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  That  is,  drinking  deep.  Palsgrave  (Lesclarcisse- 
ment  de  la  Langue  Francoyse}  has  '  I  quaught,  I  drinke  all  ont.  le  boys  dautant.' 
Etymologically  it  is  connected  with  the  Scottish  quaigh  or  quaff,  a  drinking-cup. 

21.  tall]  In  a  note  on  Every  Man  in  his  Humour,  IV,  v,  p.  124,  GIFFORD 
remarks,  'There  is  scarcely  a  writer  of  Jonson's  age  who  does  not  frequently  use 
"tall"   in  the  sense  of  bold  or  courageous.'       See    Wint.  Tale,  V,   ii,   164;  also, 
'  Jemy,  who  was,  as  you  have  heard,  a  tall  low  man,'  etc.  (i.  e.  a  courageous  man 
of  low  stature). — Armin's  Nest  of  Ninnies,  1608,  p.  21,  ed.  Sh.  Soc.     Again,  'If 
he  can  kil  a  man,  and  dare  rob  vpon  the  highway,  he  is  called  a  tall  man,  and  a 
valiant  man  of  his  hands,'  etc. — Northbrooke's  Treatise  against  Dicing,  Dancing, 
etc.,  about  1577,  p.  8,  ed.  Sh.  Soc.— ED. 

22.  th']  After  adhering  to  the  Folio  in  Maria's  colloquial  'What's/  is  there  any 
good  reason  for  deserting  it  in  the  equally  colloquial  '  to  th' purpose'? — ED. 

23.  three  thousand  ducates]  KARL  ELZE  (p.  157)  calls  attention  to  the  fact 
that  this  is  also  the  amount  of  Shylock's  bond  ;  and,  again,  the  same  amount  is 
offered  as  a  reward  for  the  discovery  of  the  murderer  of  Ferdinando  in  Soliman  and 
Perseda,  1599,  Act  II,  p.  308,  ed.  Hazlitt-Dodsrey.     [Of  course  the  identity  of  the 
sums  is  merely  haphazard.     Possibly,  alliteration  may  have  had  some  influence  in 
the  choice  of  the  numeral. — ED.] 

23.  ducates]  MURRAY  ( N.  E.  D.  s.  v.)  :  Used  as  the  name  of  a  silver  coin  issued 
in  1 140  by  Roger  II.  of  Sicily,  as  Duke  of  Apulia,  bearing  the  inscription  R  DX  AP, 
i.  e.  Rogerus  Dux  Apulia  ;  according  to  Falcone  de  Benevento  '  monetam  suam  intro- 
duxit,  unam  vero,  cui  Ducatus  nomen  imposuit'  (Du  Cange,  $.  v. ).  In  1 202,  it 


ACT  i,  sc.  iii.J  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  33 

Ma.  I,  but  hee'l  haue  but  a  yeare  in  all  thefe  ducates  : 
He's  a  very  foole,  and  a  prodigall.  25 

7<?.Fie,that  you'l  fay  fo  :  he  playes  o'th  Viol-de-gam- 
boys,  and  fpeaks  three  or  four  languages  word  for  word 
without  booke,  &  hath  all  the  good  gifts  of  nature. 

Ma.    He  hath  indeed,  almoft  naturall  :  for  befides  that  29 

26.  (fth\  Ff.     o'tA'   Rowe,+,   Ran.  degambo  Theob.  ii.  Warb.  Johns. 
Mai.  Wh.  i.     o'tAe  Cap.  et  cet.  29.  indeed,  almofi\  indeed, — all  most 

26,    27.     Viol-de-gamboys\     Viol-de-  Upton,  Coll.  ii,  iii  (MS),  Dyce  ii,  iii, 

gambo  Rowe,  Pope,  Theob.    i,    Han.  Huds. 
Cap.   Var.    Ran.    Mai.    Steev.       Viol- 

appears  (Pappadopoli,  Moneta  di  Venetia,  1893,  81)  as  the  name  of  a  Venetian  silver 
coin,  usually  known  as  the  grosso.  In  1284,  the  first  gold  ducat,  also  called  necckino 
d'oro,  was  struck  at  Venice  under  the  doge  John  Dandolo.  This  coin,  worth  about 
9*.,  bears  on  one  side  figures  of  St.  Mark  and  the  Doge,  and  on  the  other  a  figure  of 
Christ  with  the  legend  '  Sit  tibi  Christe  datus  quern  tu  regis  iste  ducatus ' ;  this, 
though  it  did  not  originate,  may  have  contributed  to  spread  the  name,  which  was 
subsequently  applied  to  the  gold  coins  of  various  European  countries. — HALLIWELL 
quotes  from  Roberts's  Marchant*  s  Mapp  of  Commerce,  1638,  At  Venice  there  were 
'  two  sorts  of  duccats,  the  one  currant  in  payment,  which  may  bee  valued  ster.  about 
3^.  4</.,  and  the  other  of  banco,  which  may  be  valued  about  4*.  or  41.  zd.,  as  the 
exchange  will  admit,  the  one  being  twenty  per  cent,  better  than  the  other.' — W.  A. 
WRIGHT  :  Cotgrave  says  of  '  all  foraine  coynes  ...  no  certaine  interpretation  can 
be  giuen,  other  than  that  they  hold  a  rate  much  about  v.  or  \js.  sterl.  the  peece.' 
Coryat,  who  visited  Venice  in  1608,  tells  us  that  the  ducat  was  worth  4*.  Sd. — Crudi- 
ties, ed.  1611,  pp.  228,  253.  [Lastly,  ROLFE  tells  us  that  '  the  value  of  the  Venetian 
silver  ducat  was  about  that  of  the  American  dollar.'  Even  this  assertion  is  some- 
what vague  ;  in  these  times,  the  'American  dollar'  needs  the  qualification  of  gold  or 
silver.  The  exchangeable  value  of  money  is  so  fluctuating  from  age  to  age  that  it  is 
fairly  impossible  to  give  any  precise  modern  equivalent  of  any  given  coin.  It  ought 
surely  to  suffice  us,  at  least  in  reading  Shakespeare,  to  take  Shylock's  word  for  it 
that  '  three  thousand  ducats '  is  '  a  good  round  sum.' — ED.] 

26,  27.  Viol-de-gamboys]  GIFFORD  (Every  Man  out  of  his  Humour,  III,  iii, 
p.  125)  :  It  appears,  from  numerous  passages  in  our  old  plays,  that  a  viol  de  gambo 
(a  bass-viol,  as  Jonson  calls  it,  in  a  subsequent  passage)  was  an  indispensable  piece 
of  furniture  in  every  fashionable  house,  where  it  hung  up  in  the  best  chamber,  much 
as  the  guitar  does  in  Spain,  and  the  violin  in  Italy,  to  be  played  on  at  will,  and  to 
fill  up  the  void  of  conversation.  Whoever  pretended  to  fashion,  affected  an  acquaint- 
ance with  this  instrument. — W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  A  base-viol,  or  violoncello.  Florio 
( Italian  Diet. )  has  :  '  Viola  di  Gamba,  a  Violl  de  Gamba,  because  men  hold  it 
betweene  or  vpon  their  legges.' 

29.  almost]  UPTON'S  suggestion  of  all,  most  is  to  me  an  emendatio  certissima. 
Sir  Toby  has  just  said  that  Sir  Andrew  '  hath  all  the  good  gifts  of  nature,'  '  he  hath 
indeed,'  retorts  Maria,  '  all,  most  natural,'  that  is,  in  effect,  all,  most  like  a  natural, 
an  idiot.  Would  it  accord  with  the  drift  of  Maria's  speech,  to  represent  her,  after 
pronouncing,  in  line  25,  Sir  Andrew  '  a  very  fool,'  as  saying  here  that  he  was  '  almost 
a  fool '  ?  We  have  a  misprint  precisely  similar,  in  the  Qq  and  Ff  of  Mid.  N.  D. 
IV,  i,  47  (of  this  ed. )  :  '  Fairies  be  gone,  and  be  alwaies  away  '  where  every  modern 

3 


34  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  i,  sc.  iii. 

he's  a  foole,  he's  a  great  quarreller  :  and  but  that  hee  hath  30 

the  gift  of  a  Coward,  to  allay  the  guft  he  hath  in  quarrel- 
ling, 'tis  thought  among  the  prudent,  he  would  quickely 
haue  the  gift  of  a  graue. 

Tob.     By  this  hand  they  are  fcoundrels  and  fubftra- 
ftors  that  fay  fo  of  him.     Who  are  they  ?  35 

Ma.     They  that  adde  moreour,  hee's  drunke  nightly 
in  your  company. 

To.     With  drinking  healths  to  my  Neece  :  He  drinke  38 

34>    35-    fubftraflors\       subtracters  36.  that   adde  moreour]    add,  more- 

Theob.  ii,  Warb.  Johns.  Var.  '73,  '78,         over,  that  Anon.  ap.  Cam. 
Ran.  Knt. 

editor,  except  WHITE,  COLLIER,  and  HUDSON,  has  followed  THEOBALD  in  reading, 
as  it  should  be,  '  all  -ways  away.' — ED. 

31.  gust]  E.  A.  MEREDITH  (1863,  p.  44)  :  I  venture  to  propose  a  slight  verbal 
emendation,  the  substitution,  namely,  of  gift  for  'gust.'  Maria  is  particularising 
Sir  Andrew's  'gifts':  'For  besides  that  he  is  a  fool,  he  is  a  great  quarreller.' 
Quarrelling  is  plainly  one  of  the  gifts.  But  she  goes  on  to  say,  the  gift  of  quarrel- 
ling is  happily  qualified  by  another  gift,  cowardice.  'And  but  he  hath  the  gift  of 
a  coward  to  allay  the  gift  he  hath  in  quarrelling,  'tis  thought  among  the  pru- 
dent he  would  quickly  have  the  gift  of  a  grave.'  The  iteration  of  'gift'  is  perfectly 
Shakespearian.  Whereas  the  introduction  of  '  gust '  comes  in  like  a  discord  in  a 
passage  of  music  and  weakens  the  point  of  Maria's  rejoinder.  [TlESSEN,  in  1877, 
made  the  same  emendation,  which  is  undoubtedly  plausible,  but,  apart  from  the  rule 
that  where  the  text  makes  good  sense  it  must  not  be  molested,  there  is  a  difficulty  of 
construction;  'gift'  should  be  followed  by  'of;  we  have  'the  gift  of  a  coward,' 
'  the  gift  of  a  grave,'  and  we  ought  to  have  '  the  gift  of  quarrelling,'  but  it  is  the 
'  gust  in  quarrelling';  which  proves,  I  think,  that  the  text  should  stand. — ED.] 

33.  gift  of  a  graue]  LOCKE  RICHARDSON  :  What  Maria  means, — speaking  in 
the  name  of  '  the  prudent '  (provident, — )  is  that,  at  the  breakneck  speed  at  which 
this  '  prodigal '  is  making  ducks  and  drakes  of  his  patrimony,  the  fool  and  his  money 
will  be  soon  parted,  and  that,  if  his  quarrelsome  temper  could  only  get  the  start  of 
his  cowardice,  he  would  quickly  come  to  grief  in  a  duel,  and,  there  being  no  assets 
for  funeral  expenses,  be  buried  as  a  pauper, — at  the  cost  of  the  parish.     He  would 
thus  literally  have  '  the  gift  of  a  grave.'     Maria's  gibe  is  almost  an  exact  parallel  to 
Gratiano's :  '  thy  wealth  being  forfeit  to  the  State,  Thou  hast  not  left  the  value  of  a 
cord  ;  Therefore  thou  must  be  hang'd  at  the  State's  charge.' 

34.  By  this  hand]  Malvolio  also  swears  by  his  'hand,'  II,  iii,  122  ; — a  common 
oath. 

34,  35.  substraclors]  THEOBALD  did  not  show  his  usual  insight  if  he  changed 
this  spelling  intentionally.  Were  change  needed  he  might  as  well  have  spelled  it 
detractors  at  once,  which  is  evidently  what  Sir  Toby  means.  But  I  doubt  that  Theo- 
bald intended  any  new  reading  at  all.  He  calls  no  attention  to  it ;  it  was,  I  think, 
merely  a  typographical  oversight.  Subtracters  has  been  erroneously  attributed  to 
Warburton,  who  has  quite  enough  to  answer  for,  without  having  this  in  addition. 
Both  Warburton  and  Johnson  printed  from  Theobald's  Second  Edition,  wherein 
subtracters  is  found;  they  blindly  'followed  copy.' — ED. 


ACT  i,  sc.  iii.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  35 

to  her  as  long  as  there  is  a  paffage  in  my  throat,  &  drinke 

in  Illyria  :  he's  a  Coward  and  a  Coyftrill  that  will  not  40 

39.  there  is\  there1  s  Pope  ii,  Theob.  40.    Coyjirill"]  Kestrel  Han.    Coistrel 
Warb.  Johns.  Var.  Mai.  Steev.                         Dyce. 

40.  Coystrill]  Inasmuch  as  (according  to.DR  MURRAY)  Coistrel  is  an  obsolete 
form  of  Kestrel,  the  elder  commentators  were  thereby  misled,  and  interpreted  '  Coys- 
trill  '  in  the  present  passage  as  a  worthless  coward  hawk,  unfit  for  training.     Even 
MADDEN  accepts  this  view,  and  on  p.  159  says  :   '  Shakespeare  had  a  true  falconer's 
contempt  for  "  kites  That  bate  and  beat  and  will  not  be  obedient," — (  Tarn,  of  the 
Shr.  IV,  i,  198)  and  also  for  the  worthless  kestrel  or  staniel.     This  hawk  was  some- 
times trained.     But  it  was  lacking  in  courage,  and  was  allotted  by  the  old  writers  to 
the  knave  or  servant.'     Hereupon  follows,  as  an  example,  the  present   passage. 
TOLLET  was,  possibly,  the  earliest  to  detect  the  meaning  which  is  now  generally 
accepted.     He  denned  it  as  '  a  paltry  groom,  one  only  fit  to  carry  arms,  but  not  to 
use  them.'     This  meaning  he  obtained  from  certain  passages,  which  he  quotes  from 
Holinshed  ;  but  it  is  not  worth  while  to  repeat  them  here,  inasmuch  as  they  are  quoted 
more  fully  by  W.  A.  WRIGHT,  whose  excellent  note  is  as  follows :  '  a  coystrill,  a 
knave.     Literally  a  menial  servant  or  groom ;  perhaps  from  the  French  coustillier, 
who  was  armed  with  a  knife  or  poniard.     Palsgrave  has  "Coustrell  that  wayteth  on 
a  speare — covsteillier."     The  word  appears  to  have  become  degraded  in  meaning, 
and  in  the  sixteenth  century  denoted  the  lowest  kind  of  camp  followers,  as  will  be 
seen  from  the  passages  of  Holinshed  to  which  Toilet  refers.     For  instance,  in  Har- 
rison's Description  of  England  (Holinshed,  i,  162)  :  "They  [esquires]  were  at  the 
first  costerels  or  bearers  of  armes  of  barons  or  knights."     And  in  The  Historie  of 
Scotland  (ii,  89)  :  "But  such  coisterels,  and  other  as  remained  with  the  Scotish 
cariage,  seeing  the  discomfiture  of  their  aduersaries,  ran  foorth  and  pursued  them 
into  those  marishes."     Again  (p.  127)  :  "  Brudus  .  .  .  appointed  all  the  horses  that 
were  in  the  campe,  seruing  for  burden,  to  be  bestowed  among  the  women,  lackies, 
and  coistrels."     In  the  same  book  (p.  217)  we  find  enumerated  together  "  cariage- 
rnen,  coistrels,  women,  and  lackies."     That  "coystrell"  was  a  boy  or  groom  in 
attendance  upon  the  horses  is  clear  from  Holinshed,  iii,  248,  where  it  is  said  :  "A 
knight  with  his  esquire,  and  coistrell  with  his  two  horsses,  might  scarse  be  com- 
petentlie  found  for  two  shillings  in  siluer."     In  the  Latin  of  Matthew  Paris  this  is, 
"  Ita  ut  quidam  jejunus  vix  poterat  miles  cum  suo  armigero  et  garcione  et  equis. 
duobus  solidis  argenteorum  competenter  sustentari  ;'*  where  garcio  is  the  French 
garcon.    The  etymology  of  the  word  is  doubtful.     If  "  coustrell  "  and  "  coystrill " 
are  identical,  it  would  appear  that  Palsgrave  derived  them  from  the  French  coustilliery 
[see  MURRAY  post. — ED.],  but  there  is  another  Old  French  word  costeraux,  a  kind 
of  banditti,  with  which  they  may  be  connected.     Cotgrave  has  "  Costereauls.     A 
nickname  giuen  vnto  certaine  footmen,  that  serued  the  kings  of  England  in  their 
French  warres  ;  or  as  Cotereaux  ;  or  Cottereaux."     The  former  of  these  equivalents 
he  defines  as  "A  certaine  crue  of  peasantlie  outlawes,  who,  in  old  time,  did  much 
mischiefe  vnto  the   Nobilitie,  and  Clergi«."      The  Old  English  quistron  (Scotch 
custroun},   which   Tyrwhitt   defines   as   a   scullion,   is   a   kindred   word.     In    The 
Romaunt  of  the  Rose,  [line]  886,  "  This  god  of  love  of  his  fashion  Was  like  no  knave 
ne  quistron,"  corresponds  to  the  French  of  the  Roman  de  la  Rose,  "  Li  Diex  d' Amors 
de  l.i  fa9on,  Ne  resembloit  mie  garcon  ":  which  shows  that  garfon  and  quistron  are 
related  as  garcio  and  coistrell  above,  and  that  quistron  =  coistrell '=•  coustrell =  groom 


36  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  i,  sc.  iii. 

drinke  to  my  Neece .  till  his  braines  turne  o'th  toe,  like  a 

parifh  top.  What  wench?  Cajliliano  vulgo:  for  here  corns  42 

41.  o'M]  ctttf  F3F4.  Jthe  Cap.  et  seq.  42.  vulgo]    volto  Han.  Warb.  Cap. 

42.  Caftiliano  vulgo]  Castellano  vul-         Ran.  Sing,  i,  Dyce  ii,  iii,  Coll.  iii,  Huds. 
gar  Trumbull.  volgo  Johns.  Var.  '73,  '78. 

or  menial  servant.' — MURRAY  (TV.  E.  D.  s.  v.  Custret):  This  coincides  in  meaning 
with  Old  French  coustillier,  -illeur,  literally  a  soldier  armed  with  a  coustille,  hence, 
'  an  esquire  of  the  bodie,  an  armour-bearer  vnto  a  knight,  the  seruant  of  a  man  at 
armes ;  also,  a  groome  of  a  stable.'  (Cotgrave).  But  the  regular  English  repre- 
sentative of  this  would  be  custeler  custlar,  and  it  is  not  easy  to  account  for  the 
metathesis  of  this  to  custrel.  The  secondary  sense  'knave,  base  fellow'  (commoner 
in  the  variant  coistref)  is  not  found  with  French  coustillier,  and  seems  to  have  arisen 
from  association  with  Custron.  [CusTRON  is  given  by  DR  MURRAY  as  '  the  adopted 
form  of  Old  French  coistron,  coestron,  quistron,  coitron,  in  nominative  case  questres, 
quaistre,  scullion,  a  regular  phonetic  descendant  of  late  Latin,  cocistrbnem,  nomina- 
tive cocistro  "  tabernarius"  (Papias)  ;  and  means  a  scullion,  a  kitchen-knave  ;  hence 
a  boy  or  lad  of  low  birth,  base-born  fellow,  "  cad,"  vagabond.' 

Wherefore,  the  sum  appears  to  be  that  Custrel,  whereof  Sir  Toby  used  the  com- 
moner variant  '  coystrel,'  was  corrupted  by  evil  communication  with  Custron,  and 
as  Dr  Murray  has  given  us  the  meaning  of  custron,  we  can,  with  his  help,  para- 
phrase, in  the  vernacular  of  today,  Sir  Toby's  assertion  :  that  he  who  will  not  drink 
to  his  niece  is  a  coward  and  a  cad. — ED.] 

41.  o'th]  It  is  not  easy  to  decide  whether  this  <?'  is  an  elision  of  on  or  of.     It  is, 
probably,  on,  I  think  ;  on  the  analogy  of  '  turning  on  his  heels.' — ED. 

42.  parish  top]  STEEVENS  :  A  large  top  was  formerly  kept  in  every  village,  to 
be  whipped  in  frosty  weather,  that  the  peasants  may  be  kept  warm  by  exercise,  and 
out  of  mischief,  while  they  could  not  work.     Compare  Fletcher's  Night  Walker, 
'And  dances  like   a   town-top  and   reels  and  hobbles.'    [I,  iii.] — NARES   (s.  v. 
Parish-top}   quotes  Fletcher's    Thierry  and  Theodortt,   'a  boy  of  twelve  Should 
scourge  him  hither  like  a  parish-top,  And  make  him  dance  before  you.'  [II,  iv.]  ; 
Jonson's  The  New  Inn,  'A  merry  Greek,  and  cants  in  Latin  comely,  Spins  like  the 
parish  top.'   [II,  ii.]  ;  and  adds,  'Evelyn,  speaking  of  the  uses  of  willow  wood, 
among  other  things  made  of  it,  mentions  "great  town-topps."  ' — Silva  [Bk.  i,  xx, 
28. — HALLIWELL  gives  many  quotations   referring  to  '  town-tops '   and  '  parish- 
tops,'  mainly  from  the  Dramatists  of  the  Restoration.     He  says,  'an  example  of 
a  parish-top  has  not  presented  itself;  but  he  gives  us,  from  an  ancient  illumin- 
ated MS,  an  enlightening  picture  of  two  boys  whipping  a  top. — ED.] — KNIGHT  : 
This  '  parish-top,'  provided  for  the  amusement  of  the  peasants  in  frosty  weather, 
presents  a  curious  illustration  of  the  mitigating  influences  of  social  kindness  in  an 
age  of  penal  litigation.     Whilst  '  Poor  Tom'  was  '  whipped  from  tithing  to  tithing,' 
he  had  his  May-games,  and  his  Christmas  hospitalities,  and  his  parish-top,  if  he 
remained  at  home.     [After  quoting  Steevens,  as  above,  Knight  proceeds]     'We 
rather  believe  that  our  ancestors  were  too  much  accustomed  to  rely  upon  other  expe- 
dients, such  as  the  halter  and  the  stocks,  for  keeping  the  peasants  out  of  mischief. 
But  yet,  with  all  the  sternness  which  they  called  justice,  the  higher  classes  of  society 
had  an  honest  desire  to  promote  the  spirit  of  enjoyment  amongst  their  humbler 
fellow-men  ;  and  they  looked  not  only  without  disdain,  but  with  a  real  sympathy, 
upon  'the  common  recreations  of  the  countryfolks.' — LOCKE  RICHARDSON,  who 


ACT  i.  sc.  iii.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  37 

[42.  parish  top] 

detected  in  '  the  gift  of  a  grave '  an  allusion  to  a  burial  at  the  expense  of  the  parish, 
conceives  that  by  a  subtle  association  of  ideas,  probably  quite  unconsciously  on  Sir 
Toby's  part,  Sir  Toby  here  is  led  to  refer  to  'the  parish  top';  more  especially 
because  in  the  year  1601,  the  year  when  Twelfth  Night  was  performed,  there  was 
enacted  the  so-called  '  famous  statute,' — the  earliest  under  which,  by  parochial  taxa- 
tion, practical  measures  for  the  relief  of  the  poor  were  adopted,  and,  consequently, 
parishes  and  parish  matters  were  greatly  in  men's  mouths. 

42.  Castiliano  vulgo]  HANMER  (whose  text  reads  volto)  :  By  Castilian  counte- 
nance here  he  means  her  best,  her  most  civil  and  courtly  looks,  which  he  bids  her  put 
on  because  Sir  Andrew  is  coming.  WARBURTON  says  that  Castiliano  volto  means 
'  grave,  solemn  looks  ' ;  and  accuses  Hanmer  of  having  '  taken '  from  him  the  emen- 
dation, volto.  This  claim  must  rest  on  Warburton'  s  assertion.  Hanmer  is,  certainly 
in  general,  scrupulous  in  giving  credit  to  the  authors  of  the  emendations  he  adopted, 
and  he  makes  no  mention  of  Warburton  here.  The  emendation,  such  as  it  is,  is  by 
no  means  beyond  Hanmer' s  capacity.  CAPELL  adopted  it,  but  explains  it  differently, 
and,  as  he  affirms,  better,  thus  :  '  "  What  wench?  bridle  up  your  chin  and  look  big, 
for  here  comes  Sir  Andrew  Ague-face,"  humorously  corrupting  the  name  in  this 
place,  as  who  should  say — for  here  comes  one  who  has  no  face  to  look  big  with ; 
but  of  this  humour  editors  had  no  perception.' — STEEVENS  :  I  meet  with  the  word 
Castilian  and  Castilians  in  several  of  the  old  Comedies.  It  is  difficult  to  assign  any 
peculiar  propriety  to  it,  unless  it  was  adopted  immediately  after  the  defeat  of  the 
Armada,  and  became  a  cant  term  capriciously  expressive  of  jollity  or  contempt.  In 
The  Merry  Devil  of  Edmonton,  the  Host  says,  '  Ha !  my  Castilian  dialogues '  [p.  226, 
ed.  Hazlitt-Dodsley].  In  Look  about  You,  1600,  it  is  joined  with  another  toper's 
exclamation,  very  frequent  in  Shakespeare  :  'And  Rivo  will  he  cry  and  Castile  too ' 
[Scene  xxxiii,  ad  fin.  ed.  Hazlitt-Dodsley].  Again,  in  Marlowe's  Jew  of  Malta, 
•Hey,  Rivo  Castiliano!  a  man's  a  man.'  [Act  IV,  p.  325,  ed.  Dyce.] — SINGER: 
Warburton  proposed  volto.  ...  I  have  met  with  a  passage  in  Hall' s  Satires,  Bk.  iv, 
Sat.  2,  which  I  think  places  this  beyond  a  doubt :  '  There,  soon  as  he  can  kiss  his 
hand  in  gree  \i.  e.  kindness]  And  with  good  grace  bow  it  below  the  knee,  Or  make 
a  Spanish  face  with  fauning  cheere,'  etc.  The  Spaniards  were  in  high  estimation  for 
courtesy,  though  the  natural  gravity  of  the  national  countenance  was  thought  to  be 
a  cloak  for  villany.  The  Castiliano  volto  was  in  direct  opposition  to  the  visa  sciolto 
which  the  noble  Roman  told  Sir  Henry  Wootton  would  go  safe  over  the  world.  Sir 
Toby  seems  to  parody  the  phrase  intentionally, — as  vulgo  hints  rudely  at  language, 
and  it  was  Maria' s  tongue,  not  her  countenance,  that  he  calls  on  her  to  restrain.  [The 
attentive  reader  can  hardly  fail  to  note  the  discrepancy  between  the  first  sentences  of 
Singer's  note  and  the  last.  After  having  said  that  Warburton' s  volto  was  undoubt- 
edly right,  he  proceeds  to  remark  that  Sir  Toby  said  '  vulgo,'  and  so,  in  his  Second 
Edition,  he  retains  '  vulgo '  in  his  text.  It  is  not  my  office  to  explain  such  vagaries 
in  editors  ;  Davus  sum,  non  (Edipus. — ED.] — COLLIER  :  Sir  Toby  probably  uses  this 
as  a  drinking  exclamation. — HALLIWELL  :  If  these  words  mean  anything,  and  it  is 
hardly  necessary  to  construe  all  Sir  Toby's  phrases,  they  may  imply  merely  a  hint  to 
Maria  to  talk  in  common  Spanish,  that  is,  in  familiar  language. — STAUNTON  observes 
in  reference  to  the  grave  looks  which  Warburton  says  the  phrase  implies,  '  but  Maria 
appears  already  to  have  been  more  serious  than  suited  Sir  Toby's  humour.' — W.  A. 
WRIGHT  :  It  is  probable  that  these  words  have  as  much  meaning  now  as  they  had  in 
Shakespeare's  time,  and  that  is  none  at  all.  They  would  make  a  great  noise  in  a  drink- 


TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  I,  sc.  iii. 


[42.  Castiliano  vulgo] 

ing-bout,  and  thus  serve  the  only  purpose  for  which  they  were  used.  —  BR.  NICHOL- 
SON (N.  &*  Qu.  7th  S.  xi,  p.  403,  1891)  :  '  Vulgo'  is  mere  nonsense,  while  velo, 
seemingly  the  only  other  probable  substitute,  is  not  as  good  as  volto.  This  change, 
however,  —  which,  to  be  still  more  correct,  should  be  spelt  Castiglione  volto,  —  would, 
I  think,  have  been  more  universally  accepted,  had  the  action  involved  been  better 
understood  and  made  clearer  to  the  reader  by  a  stage-direction  and  a  slight  alteration 
in  the  punctuation.  .  .  .  But  granting  that  [Maria  has  been,  as  Staunton  says]  too 
sent/us  for  Sir  Toby,  the  stage  action  that  seems  to  me  to  follow  ...  is  peculiarly 
fitted  to  dispel  that  seriousness.  ...  Sir  Toby  says,  '  He's  a  coward  and  a  coystrill 
that  will  not  drink  to  my  niece  till  his  brains  turn  o'th'  toe  like  a  parish  top.'  Being 
a  man  of  humour,  and  it  being  now  late,  or  more  likely  early  in  the  morning,  and 
he  a  man  fond  of  drink,  and  for  both  reasons  willing  to  indulge  himself  with  Maria, 
he  seizes  the  occasion,  suits  the  action  to  the  word,  pirouettes  o'th'  toe,  and  while 
so  doing  places  his  arm  round  Maria,  turns  her  also,  and  while  so  embracing  her, 
kisses  her.  I  have  said  that  this  or  some  such  toying  is  necessary,  because  other- 
wise his  '  What,  wench  !'  has  no  meaning.  The  phrase  points  to  some  attempt  on 
his  part,  and  is  in  rebuke,  loving  or  otherwise,  of  her  (affected)  maidenly  coyness. 
Suddenly,  however,  espying  Sir  Andrew  in  the  near  distance  (off  the  stage),  he  stops 
short,  disengages  himself,  and  cries  in  a  lowered  tone,  '  Castiglione  volto,  for  here 
comes  Sir  Andrew  Agueface.'  That  she  does  put  on  her  Spanish  look  of  sedateness 
and  reserve,  —  while,  perhaps,  hastily  putting  to  rights  her  disordered  head-gear,  —  is 
shown  by  Sir  Andrew's  greeting,  '  Bless  you,  fair  shrew  !'  Sir  Toby,  too,  purposely 
calls  him  '  Sir  Andrew  Agueface,'  because  he  cannot  help  a  chuckle  as  he  thinks 
how  shocked  a  look  this  country  knight  will  put  on  if  he  have  observed  these  doings 
of  the  hitherto,  in  his  presence,  reserved,  distant,  and  even  shrewish-looking  Maria. 
[Does  not  Sir  Andrew  see  Maria  now  for  the  first  time  ?  This  is,  apparently,  only 
his  second  visit  to  Olivia's  house.  —  ED.]  .  .  .  Hence,  then,  there  is  required,  as 
seems  to  me,  some  such  direction  after  '  parish  top  '  as  [Embracing  her  -while  con- 
tinuing his  parish-top  gyrations,  and  after  a  feigned  resistance  kisses  her\.  Also 
after  '  wench  !'  a  dash,  denoting  his  sudden  stop,  while  the  near  approach  of  Sir 
Andrew  requires  a  comma  after  volto,  rather  than  a  colon  or  a  semicolon.  [First,  it 
is  always  perilous  to  meddle  with  the  speeches  of  a  character  like  Sir  Toby.  Sec- 
ondly, it  is  very  far  from  likely  that  the  compositors  were  such  masters  of  Italian 
as  to  be  able,  in  case  an  Italian  word  were  misheard,  to  substitute  another  and 
perfectly  correct  word  in  that  language,  —  if  they  had  misheard  volto,  it  is  not  likely 
that  they  would  have  deviated  to  'vulgo.'  Thirdly,  it  is  an  assumption,  wholly 
gratuitous,  that  Castiliano  volto  means  a  '  grave,  solemn  countenance,'  or  '  most 
civil  and  courtly  looks  '  ;  no  other  instance  of  the  phrase  has  been  found  which  will 
enable  us  to  say  what  it  means.  In  Singer's  quotation  from  Bishop  Hall  'a  Spanish 
face  '  may  be  a  face  which  is  anything  but  grave  or  solemn,  or  civil  or  courtly,  —  it 
may  be  a  smiling,  mocking,  deceitful  face.  Lastly,  if  volto  were  the  true  word,  but 
beyond  the  comprehension  of  the  compositors,  as  is  shown  by  their  mistaking  it,  it 
is  not  likely  that  it  would  have  been  more  intelligible  to  Maria  ;  and  if  none  of  these 
understood  it,  is  it  likely  that  an  audience  in  the  Globe  Theatre  would  have  under- 
stood it?  We  have  it  on  the  highest  authority  that  a  jest's  prosperity  lies  in  the  ear 
of  him  who  hears  it.  There  is,  however,  one  argument,  slight  enough,  in  favour  of 
volto,  which,  I  think,  has  escaped  notice.  This  is,  the  name  which  Sir  Toby  here 
gives  Sir  Andrew  ;  granting  that  volto  is  right,  Sir  Toby  says  in  effect,  '  put  on  a 


ACT  i,  sc.  iii.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  39 

Sir  Andrew  Agueface.  43 

Enter  Sir  Andrew. 

And.     Sir  Toby  Belch.     How  now  fir  Toby  Belch  ?  45 

To.     Sweet  fir  Andrew. 
And.     Bleffe  you  faire  Shrew.     . 
Mar.     And  you  too  fir. 
Tob.     Accoft  Sir  Andrew,  accoft. 

And.     What's  that  ?  50 

To.     My  Neeces  Chamber-maid. 

43.  Agueface]  Ague  face  Fa.    Ague-        Sta.  Rife. 
-cheek  Theob.  + .   Agueface  Dyce,  Cam.  44.  Scene  IV.  Pope,  + . 

Spanish  face,  here  comes  Agueface ' ;  possibly,  Capell  thus  understood  it.  On  the 
whole,  I  think  that,  as  has  been  suggested,  '  Castiliano  vulgo '  is  some  Bacchanalian 
phrase,  whereof  the  application  is  now  lost,  which  rises  to  Sir  Toby's  lips  at  the  sight 
of  his  boon  companion,  Sir  Andrew.  Possibly,  it  conveyed  to  Sir  Toby  as  much 
meaning  as  '  paucas  palabris '  conveyed  to  Christopher  Sly,  or  '  palabras '  to  Dog- 
berry,— and,  possibly,  '  vulgo'  is  an  intentional  blunder  for  volto.  Wherefore,  under 
no  circumstances,  I  think,  should  the  text  be  disturbed. 

As  to  '  What,  wench  !' — it  is  impossible  to  limit  the  'business'  which  an  actor 
may  not  discern  in  the  phrase.  It  may  be,  as  is  often  the  case,  merely  an  exclama- 
tion of  impatience  ;  Maria  is  slow  to  comprehend  that  her  mistress's  health  ought  to 
be  drunk  even  to  the  point  of  intoxication.  It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  Sir  Toby 
utters  his  speech  without  moving  a  muscle,  or  with  his  hands  at  his  side.  Whether 
or  not  Dr  Nicholson  has  illumined  the  situation,  it  is  hard  to  decide.  We  should 
ceftainly  regard  his  elaborate  stage-direction  with  respect,  mindful  of  our  debt  to 
him  for  his  admirable  interpretation  of  Malvolio's  words  in  II,  iv,  61. — ED.] 

47.  Shrew]  Pronounced  shrow.  This  familiar  address  does  not  necessarily  imply 
any  previous  acquaintance.  Sir  Andrew  may  have  used  it  at  a  venture ;  but,  after 
the  opinion,  which  she  had  just  expressed,  it  is  hardly  likely  that  Maria  would 
wreathe  her  face  in  smiles  of  welcome  when  she  saw  the  '  very  fool '  draw  near 
to  break  up  her  interview  with  Sir  Toby. — ED. 

49.  Accost]  HALLIWELL  observes  that  it  was  one  of  the  fashionable  terms  of 
courtship  current  in  Shakespeare's  time.  Thus,  in  Sir  Gyles  Goosecappe,  1606: 
'  — tooke  time  ...  to  shew  my  courtship  In  the  quarter  legge,  and  setled  looke, 
The  quicke  kisse  of  the  top  of  the  forefinger,  And  other  such  exploytes  of  good 
Accost. '[IV,  ii,  p.  64,  ed.  Bullen.  MALONE,  BOSWELI.,  and  many  succeeding 
editors  have  given  us  definitions  of  this  word,  quoting  from  Cotgrave  and  other 
authorities.  Can  we,  however,  desire  a  definition  better  than  Shakespeare's  own, 
which  he  gives  us  in  lines  55.  56,  below? — ED.] 

51.  Chamber-maid]  Let  not  the  modern  humble  duties  of  making  beds,  airing 
rooms,  etc.,  be  imputed  to  Maria,  who  stood  in  relation  to  Olivia,  as  a  companion, 
and  as  an  assistant  at  the  toilette.  In  I,  v,  162,  Olivia  calls  her  'my  Gentlewoman,' 
and  Malvolio  immediately  responds  by  summoning  her,  as  '  Gentlewoman.'  She  can 
write  (II,  iii,  154)  so  '  very  like '  the  Lady  Olivia  that  '  in  a  forgotten  matter  we  can 
hardly  make  distinction  of  our  hands.'  In  the  end,  she  marries  Sir  Toby,  and 


40  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  i,  sc.  iii. 

Ma.Good  Miftris  accoft,  I  defire  better  acquaintance  52 

Ma.     My  name  is  Mary  fir. 

And.     Good  miftris  Mary,  accoft. 

To,    You  miftake  knight  :  Accoft,  is  front  her,  boord  55 

her,  woe  her,affayle  her. 

And.    By  my  troth  I  would  not  vndertake  her  in  this 
company.     Is  that  the  meaning  of  Accoft  ? 

Ma.     Far  you  well  Gentlemen. 

To.    And  thou  let  part  fo  Sir  Andrew,  would  thou  60 

mightft  neuer  draw  fword  agen. 

52.  Ma.]  An.  Ff.  Cap. 

accoft]  Accost  Rowe.  59-  Far]  Fare  Ff. 

54.  miftris'}  Mrs.  Var.  '78,  Ran.  60,  62.   And]   If  Pope,   Han.      an 
~M.a.ry,acco/l.]  Mary  accost.  Rowe  Theob.  et  seq. 

i.     Mary  Accost.  Rowe  ii,  Pope,  Han.  60.  let  part]  F2.   let  her  part  F3F4,  +  , 

Mary  Accost, —  Theob.  et  seq.  Var.  '73,  Dyce  ii,  iii,  Coll.  iii   (MS), 

55.  56.  boord  her}  board  her  Rowe        Ktly,  Huds. 

et  seq.  would]  'would  Cap.  Mai.  Steev. 

56.  woe]  wooe  Ff,  Rowe  ii,  -K     woo        Var. '21,  Knt. 

however  disastrous  a  marriage  to  so  turbulent  a  husband  may  prove,  we  do  not  feel 
that  there  is  any  great  discrepancy  in  social  rank. — ED. 

52.  acquaintance]  WALKER  ( Crit.  iii,  83) :  The  Folio  has  no  stop  after 
'  acquaintance ' ;  one  of  its  two  modes  of  expressing  that  a  sentence  is  incomplete  ; 

the  other  being,  as  now,  by  a .  It  is  an  unfinished  address, — subaudi,  '  with 

your  beauty,'  or  the  like.  The  same  takes  place,  III,  i,  95. — CAMBRIDGE  EDITORS  : 
The  real  reason  of  the  omission  of  the  stop  in  F,  is  that  the  word  occurs  so  near  the 
end  of  the  line  that  there  was  no  room  for  its  insertion.  It  is  found  in  all  the  other 
Folios.  [There  is  another  reason  for  doubting  the  soundness  of  Walker's  sugges- 
tion. If  line  52  be  interrupted  by  Mary,  surely  line  54  is  interrupted  by  Sir  Toby ; 
and  yet  after  line  54  there  is  a  stop.  The  omission  of  the  stop  in  III,  i,  95,  is,  I 
think,  a  mere  typographical  oversight.  Walker  makes  no  attempt  there  to  fill  out  the 
sentence,  nor  is  it  easy  to  imagine  that  any  words  are  needed. — ED.] 

55-  boord]  WHALLEY  conjectured  that  this  should  be  spelled  bourd,  meaning  to 
joke,  to  jest,  to  toy ;  but  STEEVENS  supposed  that  in  this  case  the  phrase  should  be 
'  bourd  with  her,'  and  remained  unconvinced  that  '  board,'  the  naval  term,  is  not  the 
proper  reading.  NARES,  with  an  acrimony  unusual  to  him,  says  that  Whalley  was 
actuated  by  the  common  'zeal  of  a  critic  for  a  word  he  had  newly  discovered.' 
HALLIWELL  remarks  that  '  the  word  is  often  used  with  a  double  entendre,  and  it  is 
probable  from  Sir  Andrew's  answer  that  Sir  Toby  may  have  here  alluded  as  well  to 
the  more  wanton  meaning ' ;  and  thereupon  follow  examples  from  authors  other  than 
Shakespeare.  For  those  who  cannot  extract  the  simple  meaning  from  Sir  Toby's 
own  words,  Schmidt's  Lex.  will  give  six  or  seven  examples  of  'board'  used  in  its 
figurative  sense  of  to  woo,  to  address,  as  here. — ED. 

60.  let  part]  The  Text.  Notes  show  the  respectable  following  which  the  Third 
and  Fourth  Folios  have  in  reading  'let  her  part';  this  receives  additional  support 
from  Sir  Andrew's  rejoinder,  'And  you  part  so,'  etc.  But  I  doubt  that  this  her  is 


ACT  i,  sc.  iii.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  41 

And.    And  you  part  fo  miftris,  I  would  I  might  neuer          62 
draw  fword  agen  :  Faire  Lady,  doe  you  thinke  you  haue 
fooles  in  hand  ? 

Ma.     Sir,  I  haue  not  you  by'th  hand.  65 

An.    Marry  but  you  fhall  haue,  and  heeres  my  hand. 

Ma.    Now  fir,  thought  is  free  :  I  pray  you  bring  your 
hand  to'th  Buttry  barre,  and  let  it  drinke. 

An.     Wherefore   (fweet-heartf)    What's   your   Meta- 
phor ?  70 

65.  by'th'}  Fz.  68.  to'th]  F7. 

66.  hand]  ha  d  F,.  69.  fweet-heart]  fweet    heart    F3F4, 

67.  thought  is  free]  As  a  quotation,         Rowe,  + . 
Wh.  Cam. 


needed ;  even  if  it  were  not  true  that  an  obvious  pronoun  is  frequently  omitted 
(see  ABBOTT,  §  244),  the  phrase  may  be  explained,  I  think,  by  the  absorption  of  it 
in  the  final  t  of  '  let,'  where  it  refers  to  the  whole  question  or  the  whole  subject,  just 
as  we  should  now  say,  'if  you  let  it  drop.'  For  the  eye,  therefore,  the  present 
phrase  might  be  printed,  I  think,  '  If  thou  let'  part  so,'  etc. — ED. 

67.  Now  sir]  WALKER  (Crit.  iii,  84)  :  Surely,  «  Nay,  sir.'  [It  is  a  little  sur- 
prising that  Dyce,  who,  in  his  Second  and  Third  Editions,  was  so  much  under  the 
influence  of  Walker  and  of  Walker's  editor,  Lettsom,  did  not  here  adopt  this 
plausible  Nay,  which  seems  more  appropriate  than  the  didactic  '  Now.'  Possibly, 
the  reason  why  change  is  needless,  is  that  '  Now '  indicates  that  Maria  has  taken  Sir 
Andrew's  hand,  and  by  asserting  that  'thought  is  free'  covertly  intimates  that  she 
thinks  she  spoke  the  truth  when,  in  line  65,  she  implied  that  he  was  a  fool. — ED.] 

67.  thought  is  free]   HOLT  WHITE  :  There  is  the  same  pleasantry  in  Lyly's 
Euphues,  1581  :  'A  noble  man  in  Sienna  disposed  to  iest  with  a  gentlewoman  ... 
gan  thus  to  salute  hir  ...  of  your  wit  I  cannot  iudge,  no  quoth  she,  I  beleeue  you, 
for  none  can  iudge  of  wit,  but  they  that  haue  it,  why  then  quoth  he,  doest  thou  thinke 
me  a  foole,  thought  is  free  my  Lord  quoth  she,  I  wil  not  take  you  at  your  word.'  [p. 
218,  ed.  Arber.] — W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  A  proverbial  expression,  which  is  at  least  as  old 
as  Gower.     See  Confessio  Amantis,  B.  v  (ii,  277,  ed.  Pauli):  '  I  have  heard  said,  that 
thought  is  free.'     And  Heywood's  Proverbs  (ed.  Spenser  Society),  p.  47. 

68.  Buttry  barre]  MURRAY  (N.  E.  D.)  :  Buttery, — apparently  an  adopted  form 
of  Old  French  boterie  —  bouteillerie  (Godef. ),  extant  representative  of  late  Latin 
botaria,  formed  on  bota,  a  variant  of  butta,  cask,  bottle.     The  transition  from  the 
sense  of  '  store-room  for  liquor'  to  that  of  '  store-room  for  provisions  generally '  is  in 
accordance  with  analogy,  but  may  have  been  helped  by  association  with  Butter.    But- 
tery-hatch is  the  half-door  over  which  the  buttery  provisions  are  served  ;  buttery-bar, 
a  board  or  ledge  on  the  top  of  the  buttery-hatch,  on  which  to  rest  tankards,  etc. 

69.  sweet-heart]  ROLFE  (Note  on  Rom.  6f  Jul.  IV,  v,  3)  says  that  this  combi- 
nation is  uniformly  accented,  in  Shakespeare,  on  the  last  syllable,  except  in  Wint. 
Tale,  IV,  iv,  664,  'take  your  sweet-heart's  hat.'     [There  is  a  second  exception  in 
2  Hen.  IV:  II,  iv,  197,   'Give  me  some  sack;  and,  sweet-heart,  lie  thou  there.' 
For  examples  from  other  dramatists,  where  the  accent  is  on  the  last  word,  see 
WALKER  (  Vers.  277).— ED.] 


42  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  I,  sc.  iii. 

Ma.     It's  dry  fir.  71 

And.     Why  I  thinke  fo  :  I  am  not  fuch  an  affe,  but  I 
can  keepe  my  hand  dry.     But  what's  your  left  ? 

Ma.     A  dry  left  Sir. 

And.     Are  you  full  of  them  ?  75 

Ma.l  Sir,  I  haue  them  at  my  fingers  ends:  marry  now 
I  let  go  your  hand,  I  am  barren.  Exit  Mana 

To.    O  knight,  thou  lack'ft  a  cup  of  Canarie:when  did 
/  fee  thee  fo  put  downe  ? 

An.     Neuer  in  your  life  I  thinke,  vnleffe  you  fee  Ca-  80 

narie  put  me  downe  :  mee  thinkes  fometimes  I  haue  no 

76.  fingers  ends}  F7,  Pope  ii,  Theob.  i,  79.  thee]  the  F3. 

Han.  Johns.  Var.  '73.  finger  ends  F3F4,  80.  /><•]  saw  Dyce  ii,  iii,  Huds. 

Rowe,  Pope  i.    finger's  ends  Theob.  ii,  8l.  put  me]  put  Ff,  Rowe. 
Warb.  Var.  '85,   Steev.     fingers'  ends  meet/tinges']  methinks  Rowe. 

Cap.  et  cet. 


71,  It's  dry  sir]  JOHNSON  :  What  is  the  jest  of  dry  hand,  I  know  not  any  better 
than  Sir  Andrew.     It  may  possibly  mean,  a  hand  with  no  money  in  it ;  or,  accord- 
ing to  the  rules  of  physiognomy,  she  may  intend  to  insinuate,  that  it  is  not  a  lover's 
hand,  a  moist  hand  being  vulgarly  accounted  a  sign  of  an  amorous  constitution. — 
KENRICK  (p.  94)  :  The  '  bringing  the  hand  to  the  buttery-bar,  and  letting  it  drink ' 
is  a  proverbial  phrase  among  forward  Abigails,  to  ask  at  once  for  a  kiss  and  a  present. 
Sir  Andrew's  slowness  of  comprehension  in  this  particular,  gave  her  a  just  suspicion 
at  once  of  his  frigidity  and  avarice.     She,  therefore,  calls  his  hand  dry  ;  the  moist- 
ness  of  the  hand  being  a  sign  of  liberality,  as  well  in  matters  of  love  as  money. 
Thus  in  Oth.  Ill,  iv,  44,  'This  hand  is  moist,  my  Lady.  .  .  .  This  argues  fruitfulness 
and  liberall  heart :  Hot,  hot,  and  moyst.'     Dr  Johnson  need  not,  therefore,  have 
expressed  so  much  caution  of  suspecting  this  to  be  the  truth  of  the  matter.     There 
is  one  thing,  however,  he  should  have  attended  to ;  and  this  is,  that  the  whole  of 
this  insinuation  is  founded  rather  on  the  rules  of  palmistry  than  physiognomy.  .  .  . 
Maria's  finding  out  anything  from  Sir  Andrew's  palm  by  the  rules  of  physiognomy 
is  as  absurd  as  if  she  had  read  his  folly  in  his  phyz  by  the  rules  of  palmistry.     [For 
a  'dry  hand'  as  a  sign  of  debility  and  old  age,  see  Much  Ado,  II,  i,  112 ;  2  Hen. 
IV :  I,  ii,  204.     See  STEEVENS  and  HALLIWELL  for  quotations  from  other  sources, 
in  reference  to  dryness  and  moisture,  which  are  more  applicable  than  edifying. — ED.] 

72,  73.  I  am  .  .  .  dry]  MALONE  :  I  suppose,  Sir  Andrew  means  that  he  is  not 
such  a  fool  but  that  he  can  keep  himself  out  of  the  water.     [Maria  did  not  say  that 
Sir  Andrew  was  dry,  but  merely  that  his  hand,  which  she  was  holding,  was  dry.     I 
suppose  Sir  Andrew  means  exactly  what  he  says. — ED.] 

74.  dry  iest]  That  is,  in  one  of  its  meanings,  stupid,  tedious  ;  Olivia  says  to  Feste, 
'Go  too,  y'are  a  dry  foole.'  I,  v,  39. 

77.  barren]  That  is,  in  one  of  its  meanings,  untless  ;  Hamlet  refers  to  '  a  quantity 
of  barren  spectators.'  Ill,  ii,  38. 

78.  Canarie]  MURRAY  ( N.  E.  D. )  :  A  light  sweet  wine  from  the  Canary  Islands. 
Formerly  also  in  the  plural.     [The  earliest  reference,  given  by  Murray,  is   1597, 
a  Hen.  IV:  II,  iv,  29:  'I'faith,  you  have  drunk  too  much  canaries.' 


ACT  i,  sc.  Hi.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  43 

more  wit  then  a  Chriftian,  or  an  ordinary  man  ha's  :  but  I  82 

am  a  great  eater  of  beefe,  and  I  beleeue  that  does  harme 
to  my  wit. 

7k     No  queftion.  85 

An.     And  I  thought  that,  Fde  forfvveare  it.     He  ride 
home  to  morrow  fir  Toby. 

To.    Pur-quoy  my  deere  knight? 

An.    What  is  purquoyt  Do ,  or  not  do  ?  I  would  I  had   -) 
beftowed  that  time  in  the  tongues,  that  I  haue  in  fencing          90 
dancing,  and  beare-bayting :  O  had  I  but  followed  the  J 
Arts. 

To.   Then  hadft  thou  had  an  excellent  head  of  haire.  93 

82.  man"]  mans  F2.  88.   Pur-quoy]    Pour-quoi   Rowe    ii. 
86.  A  nd  ]  If  Pope.  An  Theob.  et  seq.         Pourquoi  Coll. 

83.  eater  of  beefe]  HALLIWELL  :  '  Beefe  is  a  good  meate  for  an  Englysshe  man, 
so  be  it  the  beest  be  yonge,  &  that  it  be  not  koweflesshe  ;  For  olde  beefe  and  kowe- 
flesshe  doth  ingender  melancolye  and  leporouse  humoures.' — Andrew  Boorde,  Regy- 
nient  or  dyetary  of  Helth,  1542  [p.   271,  ed.  E.  E.  Text  Soc.]. — R.  G.  WHITE: 
'  Galen  affirmeth  y'  biefe  maketh  grosse  bloude  and  engendreth  melancholic,  espe- 
cially if  it  be  much  eaten,  and  if  such  as  doe  eat  it  be  of  melancholy  complexion.' — 

The  /fatten  of  Health,  1584,  p.  114. — RUSHTON  (Euphuism,  p.  40)  :  'As  for  the 
Quailes  you  promise  me,  I  can  be  content  with  beefe,  and  for  the  questions  they  must 
be  easie,  els  shall  I  not  aunswere  them,  for  my  wit  will  shew  with  what  grosse  diot 
I  haue  been  brought  vp.' — Lyly's  Euphues  and  his  England,  1580,  [p.  400,  ed. 
Arber].  Again,  Tro.  &*  Cress.  II,  i,  14:  'Thou  mongrel  beef-witted  lord!'  W.  A. 
WRIGHT  (referring  to  this  quotation  from  Tro.  6°  Cress.)  :  Thersites  means  that 
Ajax's  wits  were  as  coarse  as  his  food,  not  [as  Schmidt  says  in  his  Lex. — ED.]  that 
he  had  no  more  wit  than  an  ox. 

92.  Arts]  KARL  ELZE  (p.  175)  suggests  that  there  is  here  a  pun  on  '  arts'  and 
hards,  coarse  tow.    But,  for  reasons  too  numerous  to  mention,  this  is  unlikely. — ED. 

93.  head  of  haire]  Unless  it  be  noted  that  '  tongues'  and  tongs  were  pronounced 
alike,  the  point  of  Sir  Toby's  joke  is  lost.     The  credit  of  discovering  this  point  is 
generally  given  to  JOSEPH  CROSBY,  who  announced  it  in  The  American  Bibliopo- 
list,  1875,  June,  p.  143.     But  he  was  certainly  anticipated  by  OTTO  GILDEMEISTER 
in  the  Notes  to  his  translation  of  Twelfth  Night,  in  1869.     And  I  am  not  sure 
that  both  were  not  anticipated  by  RANN,  in  1787.     Rann's  note  is  brief,  so  brief, 
indeed,  as  to  make  it,  at  first,  a  little  doubtful  that  he  fully  appreciated  the  context, 
but,  on  the  whole,  the  insight  must  be,  I  think,  conceded  to  him.     His  note  is  on 
'  by  nature,'  in  lines  95  and  96,  and  consists  of  only  four  words  :  a  dash,  which  with 
him  means,  '  that  is,'  and  '  without  tongs,  (a  pun.) '     Surely,  by  '  a  pun  '  he  refers 
to  '  tongues ' ;  and  if  so,  to  him  belongs  the  credit  of  having  first  detected  Sir  Toby's 
wit.     Gildemeister,  who  certainly  deserves  praise  for  discovering  a  pun  in  a  lan- 
guage not  his  own,  wrote  as  follows  :  '  I  know  not  if,  in  the  l6th  century,  tongs  were 
used  for  curling  hair;   if  they  were,  we  then  have,  in  Sir  Andrew's  sigh  for  the 
"tongues,"  a  key  to  a  joke  which  would  be   otherwise  pointless.'     Not  only  were 


44  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  i,  sc.  iii. 

An.    Why,  would  that  haue  mended  my  haire  ? 
To.    Paft  queftion,for  thou  feeft  it  will  not  coole  my          95 
An.But  it  becoms  we  wel  enough,  doft  not?        (nature 
To.    Excellent,  it  hangs  like  flax  on  a  diftaffe:  &  I  hope 
to  fee  a  hufwife  take  thee  between  her  legs,  &  fpin  it  off. 

An.Faith  He  home  to  morrow  fir  Toby,  your  niece  wil  99 

95.  coole  my\   Fa.      Cool   my  F3F4,  96.  dojf\  Ff.     does' V  Rowe  et  seq. 
Rowe,  Pope,     curl  by  Theob.  et  cet  98.  hufwife\  houf-wife  F4>   house-wife 

96.  we~\  me  Ff.  Pope  ii,  Theob.  Warb. 

the  words  '  tongues '  and  '  tongs '  pronounced  alike,  but  in  one  instance,  at  least, 
'  tongues '  was,  in  the  same  sentence,  spelled  both  tongues  and  tongs.  Thus  in 
Nashe's  Haue  -with  you  to  Saffron-Walden,  1596,  we  find:  '  wheras  wittie  Aesope 
did  buy  vp  all  the  tongues  in  the  market  hee  could  spie,  as  the  best  meate  hee 
esteemed  of,  they  (by  all  means  possible),  euen  out  of  the  buckles  of  theyr  girdles, 
labor  to  plucke  forth  the  tongs,  for  feare  they  should  plucke  in  their  vnsatiate  greedie 
paunches  too  straight,' — p.  48,  ed.  Grosart.  Again,  we  find  the  spelling  of  '  tongues ' 
for  tongs,  nigh  a  hundred  years  later.  That  Past-Master  in  Gossip,  JOHN  AUBREY, 
wrote  his  Brief  Lives  about  1 680,  that  is,  a  little  before  the  date  of  the  Fourth  Folio. 
In  his  life  of  Thomas  Allen,  a  great  astrologer  and  reputed  conjuror,  Aubrey  tells 
us  that  on  one  occasion  when  Allen  was  on  a  visit  to  '  Mr  John  Scudamore  (grand- 
father to  the  lord  Scudamor)  he  happened  to  leave  his  watch  in  the  chamber  windowe 
—  (watches  were  then  rarities) — The  maydes  came  in  to  make  the  bed,  and  hearing 
a  thing  in  a  case  cry  Tick,  Tick,  Tick,  presently  concluded  that  that  was  his  Devill, 
and  tooke  it  by  the  string  with  the  tongues,  and  threw  it  out  of  the  windowe  into  the 
mote  (to  drowne  the  Devill.)  It  so  happened  that  the  string  hung  on  a  sprig  of  an 
elder  that  grew  out  of  the  mote,  and  this  confirmed  them  that  'twas  the  Devill.  So  the 
good  old  gentleman  gott  his  watch  again.' — vol.  i,  p.  28,  ed.  Clark.  In  As  You  Like 
It,  III,  ii,  126,  we  have  in  the  First  and  Second  Folio  'Tonges  He  hang  on  euerie 
tree,'  and  the  Third  and  Fourth  Folios  have  'Tongs.'  Finally,  in  Coles' s  English. 
Dictionary,  1732,  there  is  a  list  of  '  the  most  usual  Words  whose  Sound  is  the  same, 
but  their  Sense  and  Orthography  very  different* ;  in  this  list,  we  find  '  Tongs,  for  the 
fire.  Tongues,  Languages.1  I  have  but  little  doubt  that  the  pronunciation  tungs 
for  tongs  still  survives,  sporadically,  among  elderly  gentle  folk  in  New  England  at 
this  day. — ED. 

95.  coole  my]  The  Text.  Notes  show  THEOBALD'S  admirable  emendation.  Unfor- 
tunately, he  missed  the  pun  on  'tongues,'  and  supposed  the  point  of  Sir  Toby's 
rejoinder  lay  in  the  contrast  between  'nature'  and  Sir  Andrew's  'arts.'  He  pro- 
posed his  emendation  in  1729,  in  a  letter  to  Warburton  (Nichols,  ii,  21 1),  wherein 
he  says  that  '  curl  by  nature '  means  '  no  more,  I  think,  than,  if  Sir  Andrew  had 
had  art  enough  in  him  to  tie  up  his  hair,  it  had  not  hung  so  lank  as  it  did  by 
Nature.' 

99.  He  home]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  For  the  omission  of  the  verb  of  motion,  com- 
pare /«/.  Cas.  I,  i,  74  :  « I'll  about ';  and  Hamlet,  III,  iii,  4  :  'And  he  to  England 
shall  along  with  you.' 

99.  wil]  That  is,  cannot  be  persuaded  to  be  seen.  Compare  '  My  eye  will  scarcely 
see  it' — Hen.  V:  II,  ii,  104. 


ACT  i,  sc.  iii.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  45 

not  be  feene,  or  if  (he  be  it's  four  to  one,  fhe'l  none  of  me  :         100 
the  Connt  himfelfe  here  hard  by,  wooes  her, 

To.  Shee'l  none  o'th  Count,  fhe'l  not  match  aboue  hir 
degree,  neither  in  eflate,  yeares,  nor  wit :  I  haue  heard  her 
fwear  t.  Tut  there's  life  in't  man. 

And.     He  flay  a  moneth  longer.     I  am  a  fellow  o'th         105 
ftrangeft  minde  i'th  world  :  I  delight  in  Maskes  and  Re- 
uels  fometimes  altogether. 

To.     Art  thou  good  at  thefe  kicke-chawfes  Knight  ? 

And.    As  any  man  in  Illyria,  whatfoeuer  he  be,  vnder 
the  degree  of  my  betters,  &  yet  I  will  not  compare  with         1 10 
an  old  man. 

101,  102.   Count,]  Duke.  Rowe,  +  .  106.  fth]  tthe  F4,  Cap.  et  seq. 

IOI.  wooes]  woes  Cap.    woosVar.  '21.  108.  kicke-chawfes]  Fa.  kick-Jhawfes, 

104.  Swearf\/weareFa.    swear  F3F4,  F3.     kickshawses  Glo.  Cam.  Rife,  Huds. 
Rowe,  Pope,  Han.    swear's  Cap.  Wh.  i,  Dtn,  Wh.  ii.     kick-Jhaws  F4,  Rowe  et 
Dyce,  Cam.  Sta.  Rlfev   swear  it  Theob.  cet. 

et  cet.  m;  an  old  man]  an  older  man  Kin- 

105.  moneth]  month  F..  near. 
o'th]  o'the  Var.  '73  et  seq. 

100.  none  of  me]  ABBOTT  (§  53)  :  « None '  is  still  used  by  us  for  nothing,  fol- 
lowed by  a  partitive  genitive,  '  I  had  none  of  it';  and  this  explains  the  Elizabethan 
phrase  '  She  will  none  of  me,'  i.  e.  '  She  desires  to  have  nothing  from,  as  regards  to 
do  with,  me.'  So  in  'He  no  more  of  you,'  I,  v,  39  ;  'satisfaction  can  be  none,' 
III,  iv,  237. 

104.  there's  life  in't]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  And  while  there  is  life  there  is  hope. 
Compare  Lear,  IV,  vi,  206  :  '  Then  there's  life  in't.'  Similarly,  Ant.  &  Cleop.  Ill, 
xiii,  192  :  'There's  sap  in't  yet.' 

106.  i'th  world]  In  thus  imagining  himself  to  be  an  exception  to  the  rest  of 
mankind,  a  common  trait  in  weaklings,  Sir  Andrew  furnishes  us  with  the  key  to  his 
character,  or,  if  not  the  key,  it  is  at  least  one  of  its  wards. — ED. 

108.  kicke-chawses]  SKEAT  (s.  v.)  :  At  a  later  time  [i.  e.  than  Shakespeare] 
kickshaws  was  incorrectly  regarded  as  being  a  plural  form.  Kickshaws  is  a  curious 
corruption  of  French  quelque  chose,  literally  something,  hence,  a  trifle,  small  deli- 
cacy. This  can  be  abundantly  proved  by  quotations.  tFricandeaux,  short,  skin- 
lesse,  and  dainty  puddings,  or  quelkchoses,  made  of  good  flesh  and  herbs  chopped 
together,  then  rolled  up  into  the  form  of  liverings,  etc.,  and  so  boiled.' — Cotgrave. 
1  Nor  shall  we  then  need  the  Monsieurs  of  Paris  to  take  our  hopefull  Youth  into 
their  slight  and  prodigal  custodies  and  send  them  over  back  again  transform'd 
into  Mimicks,  Apes,  and  Kicshoes.' — Milton,  Of  Education  [vol.  iv,  p.  393,  ed. 
Mitford]. 

III.  an  old  man]  THEOBALD,  in  his  correspondence  with  Warburton  (Nichols, 
ii,  354)  conjectured,  doubtfully,  a  nobleman ;  it  was  not  repeated  in  his  edition, 
which  contains  no  note  on  the  passage. — WARBURTON  :  This  is  intended  as  a  satire 
on  that  common  vanity  of  old  men,  in  preferring  their  own  times,  and  the  past  gen- 
eration, to  the  present. — HEATH  (p.  186) :  If  our  poet  had  this  intention,  he  was 


46  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  I,  sc.  iii. 

To.     What  is  thy  excellence  in  a  galliard,  knight  ?  112 

very  unhappy  in  the  expressing  it ;  for  the  words  have  not  the  least  tendency  to  this 
sense.  And  in  truth,  a  satire  in  the  mouth  of  Sir  Andrew  would  be  something  very 
extraordinary,  as  it  would  be  no  less  so,  that  the  poet  should  pitch  on  him  as  the 
organ  to  convey  his  own  sentiments.  The  sense  seems  to  be,  And  yet  I  took  on 
myself  as  above  being  put  on  a  level  with  an  old  man  in  this  matter,  how  superior 
soever  he  may  be  to  me  in  other  respects. — CAPELL  (p.  141)  :  Sir  Andrew's  mean- 
ing is  something  obscure  ;  the  play's  aera  must  help  us;  which  from  great  probabili- 
ties, we  may  place  at  1607,  or  thereabouts  [Manningham's  Diary  had  not,  in 
Capell's  time,  been  discovered. — ED.];  in  that  year,  the  rage  of  'masques'  was 
predominant ;  and  upon  these  fooleries,  is  the  making  Sir  Andrew  '  delight '  in 
them  a  wipe  undoubtedly  ;  and  upon  some  director,  or  patronizer,  who  was  of  years 
to  have  more  wisdom,  are  the  words  in  question  another  wipe. — STEEVENS  :  Ague- 
cheek,  though  willing  enough  to  arrogate  to  himself  such  experience  as  is  commonly 
the  acquisition  of  age,  is  yet  careful  to  exempt  his  person  from  being  compared 
with  its  bodily  weakness. — HALLIWELL  :  The  text  seems  to  be  correct,  being  merely 
one  of  Sir  Andrew's  absurdities,  and  intentional  on  the  part  of  the  author.  The 
worthy  knight's  head  was  none  of  the  clearest. — BADHAM  (Text  of  Sh.  p.  287)  :  It 
is  useless  to  look  for  the  explanation  of  the  editors  in  so  palpable  a  blunder.  It 
must  be  obvious  to  any  ordinary  reader  that  '  an  old  man '  is  a  false  reading  for  a 
nobleman.  Sir  Andrew  has  just  been  speaking  of  the  Count  Orsino  as  a  rival  whom 
he  cannot  pretend  to  cope  with,  so  that  the  allusion  to  a  nobleman  is  most  natural. 
[It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  Badham  knew  he  had  been  anticipated  by  Theobald. 
— ED.] — The  COWDEN'-CLARKES  :  By  the  term  '  an  old  man,'  the  knight  means 
a  man  of  experience,  just  as  he  has  before  deferred  to  '  his  betters ' ;  while  the  use 
of  the  word  'old'  gives  precisely  that  absurd  effect  of  refraining  from  competing  in 
dancing,  fencing,  etc.,  with  exactly  the  antagonist  incapacitated  by  age,  over  whom 
even  Sir  Andrew  might  hope  to  prove  his  superiority.  [But  Sir  Toby  was  not 
referring  to  'dancing'  and  'fencing,'  when  he  asked  if  Sir  Andrew  were  good  at 
these  kickshawses,  but  to  'masks'  and  'revels.' — ED.] — DEIGHTON  :  The  former 
comparison,  with  his  betters,  he  declines  on  account  of  his  reverence  for  them,  the 
latter  comparison  with  old  men,  because  he  feels  his  superiority  to  them.  [HunsON 
is  the  only  editor  who  has  adopted  Theobald's  emendation.  '  Why,'  he  asks  '  should 
Sir  Andrew  here  speak  of  comparing  himself  with  "an  old  man"?  The  whole 
drift  of  the  foregoing  dialogue  is  clearly  against  that  reading.'  Both  ROLFE  and 
W.  A.  WRIGHT  think  that  the  comparison,  as  irrelevant  nonsense,  may  have  been 
intentional,  wherein  I  agree  with  them ;  and  yet  it  is  possible  that  it  may  be  a 
clumsy  disclaimer  of  any  attempt  at  rivalry,  in  any  accomplishment,  with  Sir  Toby, 
who,  though  not  an  old  man,  was  certainly  older  than  Sir  Andrew  ;  the  latter,  with 
the  gaucherie  of  his  kind,  in  trying  to  pay  a  compliment,  offensively  exaggerated  the 
difference  in  their  ages. — ED.] 

112.  MASON  (p.  113)  :  This  line  should  be  pointed  thus:  'What  is  thy  excel 
lence?  in  a  galliard,  knight?'  Meaning,  '  In  what  are  you  most  excellent?  is  it  in 
a  galliard?'  [RANN  and  STAUNTON  adopted  this  punctuation.] 

112.  galliard]  BRADLEY  (N.  £.  D.)  :  An  adaptation  of  Old  French  and  French 
gaillard,  -art  (modern  French  gaillard]  =  Provencal,  galhart,  Spanish,  gallardo, 
Portuguese,  galhardo,  Italian,  gagliardo,  of  unknown  origin.  2.  sb.  A  quick  and  lively 
dance  in  triple  time. — NAYLOR  (p.  122)  :  Cinquepace  is  the  name  of  the  original 


ACT  I,  sc.  iii.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  47 

And.    Faith,  I  can  cut  a  caper.  1 1 3 

To.     And  I  can  cut  the  Mutton  too't. 

And.  And  I  thinke  I  haue  the  backe-tricke,  fimply  as  115 
ftrong  as  any  man  in  Illyria. 

To.     Wherefore  are  thefe  things  hid?  Wherefore  haue 
thefe  gifts  a  Curtaine  before  'em  ?    Are  they  like  to  take          1 18 

114.  too't]  to't  F3F4  et  seq.  118.  'em]  Ff,  Rowe,  Pope,  Theoh.  i, 
1 1 6.  [Dances   fantastically.  Coll.    ii.         Han.  Wh.  Dyce,  Cam.  Glo.  Sta.  Rife, 

(MS).  Huds.  Dtn.     them  Theob.  ii  et  cet. 

Galliard.  Praetorius  (b.  1571 )  says  a  Galliard  hasyfzv  steps  and  is  therefore  called 
Cinque  Pas.  (P.  142)  Here  are  the  Steps  of  the  Galliard,  consisting  of  five  move- 
ments of  the  feet,  and  the  caper,  or  '  sault  majeur.'  I.  Greve  (which  is  explained 
as  a  'coup  de  pied')  gaulche  ;  2.  Greve  droicte ;  3.  Greve  gaulche  ;  4.  Greve 
droicte ;  5.  Sault  majeur;  6.  Posture  gaulche.  I,  2,  3,  4,  6  are  the  'Cinq'  pas, 
and  5  is  the  characteristic  leap  or  caper.  [See,  if  need  be,  Much  Ado  about  Nothing, 
II,  i,  69,  of  this  ed.  where  the  music  of  a  galliard  is  given. — ED.] 

113,  114.  caper  .  .  .  Mutton]  ROLFE  :  The  pun  here  shows  that  the  association 
of  capers  with  boiled  mutton  is  as  old  as  that  of  apple-sauce  with  roast  goose,  on 
which  Romeo  quibbles  in  Rom.  <5r* Jul.  II,  iv,  85. — HUDSON:  A  double  pun  is 
probably  intended  here;  the  meaning  being,  'If  you  can  do  the  man's  part  in  a 
galliard,  I  can  do  the  woman's.'  Mutton  was  sometimes  used  as  a  slang  term  for  a 
•woman  [of  low  character,  however. — ED.]. 

115.  backe-tricke]  The  COWDEN-CLARKES  :  Here  Sir  Andrew  is  making  a  dis- 
cursive allusion  to  his  fencing-feats,  meaning  by  '  back-trick  '  a  back-handed  stroke 
with  the  sword;  and  not  keeping  to  the  discussion  of  his  dancing  powers,  meaning 
by  '  back-trick '  some  retiring  step,  some  elegance  of  graceful  retreat.     The  word 
'  strong '  makes  for  the  former  interpretation.     [I  am  at  a  loss  to  know  to  which  of 
these  two  different  interpretations  the  Editors  give  their  preference. — ED.] — SCHMIDT 
(Lex.) :  A  caper  backwards  in  dancing ;  perhaps,  here,  with  a  quibble  :  the  trick 
of  going  back  in  a  fight.     [There  seems  to  be  a  general  agreement  that  Schmidt  is 
right  in  his  definition,  but  wrong  in  his  suggestion  of  a  quibble.     DEIGHTON,  who, 
in  his  note  on  'galliard,'  quoted  Heywood,  An  Humorous  Day's  Mirth,   1599  : 
'  I  fetcht  me  two  or  three  fine  capers  aloft,  and  took  my  leave  of  them  as  men  do  of 
their  mistresses  at  the  ending  of  a  galliard.'  thinks  that  the  '  back-trick '  is  '  the  caper 
backwards  in  retiring,  as  exemplified  by  this  quotation  from  Heywood.'     A  galliard 
may  have  ended  in  a  sault  majeur,  but  I  doubt  that  gentlemen  took  leave  of  their  part- 
ners in  this  gymnastic  manner.  There  must  have  been  some  courtesy  as  ceremonious  as 
that  for  which  directions  are  given  in  the  basse  dance  where  '  you  must  salute  the  Damoi- 
selle,  and  keep  hold  of  her  hand,  and  lead  her  back  to  where  you  began. '( — Naylor, 
p.  141.)    By  the  'back-trick*  I  think  Sir  Andrew  means,  not  one  single  caper  back- 
ward, but  what  is  called  the  Revers  (Naylor,  p.  143),  where  all  five  steps  are  reversed, 
or  taken  backward.     It  appears  to  have  been  the  proper  thing  in  galliards  for  the 
partners  to  return  to  the  place  whence  they  started.     To  advance  was,  possibly,  com- 
paratively easy  ;  it  is  quite  conceivable  that  to  reverse  (Sir  Andrew's  'back-trick  '), 
some  skill  was  needed  so  to  strike  the  feet  alternately  on  the  ground  as  to  bring  the 
couple  in  the  right  position  facing  each  other,  not  only  at  the  conclusion  of  the  tune 
but  on  the  spot  whence  they  set  out. — ED.] 


4g  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  I,  sc.  iii. 

duft,  like  miflris  Mais  pi6lure  ?     Why  doft  thou  not  goe         1 19 

119.  Mais]  Mall's  Rowe  et  seq. 

118.  Curtaine]  MALONE  :  Thus,  in  Webster's  The  White  Devil,  1612  :  'I  yet 
but  draw  the  curtain ; — now  to  your  picture.'  [p.  70,  ed  Dyce.] — HALLIWELL  (note 
on  I,  v,  230)  :  In  allusion  to  the  custom  which  prevailed  in  Shakespeare's  time,  of 
oil  paintings  being  protected  by  curtains,  which  were  only  drawn  on  particular  occa- 
sions or  for  exhibition.  The  application  to  a  woman's  face  occurs  in  Tro.  &>  Cress. 
where  Pandarus  says, — 'come  draw  this  curtain,  and  let's  see  your  picture.' [ — III, 
ii,  49.]  Allusions  to  curtains  before  pictures  are  frequently  met  with.  '  Two  great 
tables  of  the  Queenes  Majesties  pictures,  with  one  curtaine  of  changeable  silck ;  two 
great  pictures  of  my  Lord,  in  whole  proporcion,  the  one  in  armor,  the  other  in  a  sute 
of  russett  sattin ;  with  one  curtaine  to  them.' — Inventory  of  the  Goods  at  Kenil- 
worth  Castle,  1588.  'Of  the  pictures  which  Jack  of  Newbery  had  in  his  house, 
whereby  he  encouraged  his  servants  to  seek  for  fame  and  dignity, — In  a  fair  and 
large  parlor,  which  was  wainscoated  round  about,  Jack  of  Newbery  had  fifteen  fair 
pictures  hanging,  which  were  covered  with  curtains  of  green  silk,  fringed  with  gold, 
which  he  would  often  shew  to  his  friends  and  servants.' — History  of  Jack  of  New- 
bery. [Many  more  quotations  are  given  by  Halliwell,  but,  assuredly,  the  foregoing 
are  all-sufficient,  in  illustration  of  a  practice  which  still  survives. — ED.] 

118,  119.  like  to  take  dust]  B.  NICHOLSON  (N.  &  Qu.  1874,  5th,  ii,  283)  ven- 
tures to  explain  why  the  picture  should  be  like  to  take  dust  by  a  passage  which 
occurs   in  Webster's   and   Marston's   Malcontent,  V,  i,  where  an   old  courtesan 
secures  a  wide-spread  advertisement  by  trickery  as  follows  :  '  she  gets  all  the  picture- 
makers  to  draw  her  picture  ;  when  they  have  done,  she  most  courtly  finds  fault  with 
them  one  after  another,  and  never  fetcheth  them ;  they  in  revenge  of  this,  execute 
her  pictures  as  they  do  in  Germany,  and  hang  her  in  their  shops  ;  by  this  means  she 
is  better  known  ....  than  if  she  had  been  five  times  carted.'     It  is  to  this  story 
that  Nicholson  supposes  that  Sir  Toby  alludes,  '  when  the  exposed  and  uncared-for 
pictures  were  somewhat  dust-covered  as  compared  with  the  other  specimens  of  each 
portrait  painter's  art.' 

1 19.  mistris  Mais]  STEEVENS  :  The  real  name  of  the  woman,  whom  I  suppose 
to  have  been  meant  by  Sir  Toby,  was  Mary  Frith.     The  appellation,  by  which  she 
was  generally  known,  was  Mall  Cutpurse.     On  the  Stationers'  Registers,  August  7, 
1610,  is  entered  :  '  Henry  Gosson.     Entred  for  his  Copye  vnder  thandes  of  master 
Edward  Abbott  and  master  Adames  warden  A  booke  called,  The  Madde  pranckes 
of  mery  Mall  of  the  Banckside,  with  her  walkes  in  mans  apparell,  and  to  what  pur- 
pose, written  by  John  Day.'[ — Arbor's  Transcript,  iii,  441.]    Middleton  and  Dekker 
wrote  a  comedy  of  which  she  is  the  heroine  ;  its  title  is  as  follows  :  '  The  Roaring 
Girle.   Or  Moll  Cut-Purse.     As  it  hath  lately  beene  Acted  on  the  Fortune-Stage  by 
the  Prince  his  Players.  1611.'    The  frontispiece  to  it  contains  a  full  length  picture  of 
her  in  man's  clothes,  smoking  tobacco.    Nathaniel  Field  [has  introduced  her  as  one 
of  his  Dramatis  Persona']  in  his  Amends  for  Ladies,  and  there  gives  [a  character  of 
her,  which  may  be  found  in  I,  i,  p.  1 1 1,  ed.  Hazlitt-Dodsley].    A  Life  of  this  woman 
was  published  in  1662. — MALONE:  Mary  Frith  was  born  in  1584  and  died  in  1659. 
In  a  MS  letter  in  the  British  Museum  from  John  Chamberlain  to  Mr  Carleton, 
ii  Feb.  l6ll—12,  the  following  account  is  given  of  this  woman's  doing  penance: 
•This  last  Sunday  Moll  Cutpurse,  a  notorious  baggage  that  used  to  go  in  man's 
apparel,  and  challenged  the  field  of  diverse  gallants,  was  brought  to  the  same  place 


ACT  i,  sc.  iii.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  49 

[119.  mistris  Mais  puSture] 

[Paul's  Cross,]  where  she  wept  bitterly,  and  seemed  very  penitent ;  but  it  is  since 
doubted  she  was  maudlin  drunk,  being  discovered  to  have  tippel'd  of  three  quarts 
of  sack  before  she  came  to  her  penance.  She  had  the  daintiest  preacher  or  ghostly 
father  that  ever  I  saw  in  the  pulpit,  one  RadclifFe  of  Brazen-Nose  College  in  Oxford, 
a  likelier  man  to  have  led  the  revels  in  some  inn  of  court,  than  to  be  where  he  was. 
But  the  best  is,  he  did  extremely  badly,  and  so  wearied  the  audience,  that  the  best 
part  went  away,  and  the  rest  tarried  rather  to  hear  Moll  Cutpurse  than  him.'  [The 
curious  reader  may  learn  in  HALLIWELL'S  note  ad  loc.  and  in  DYCE'S  Introduction  to 
Middleton's  Roaring  Girl many  further  particulars  of  Mary  Frith' s  career,  and  may 
find  her  Life,  told  by  CHARLES  ANDREWS,  in  admirable  Fielding-esque  style,  in 
Lives  of  Twelve  Bad  Women,  London,  1897,  p.  49.  The  incurious  reader  will 
doubtless  find  the  foregoing  extracts  from  Steevens  and  Malone  quite  ample,  more 
especially  as  the  drift  of  modern  opinion  is  tending  greatly  to  doubt  that  Sir  Toby's 
'  mistris  Mai '  has  any  reference  at  all  to  Moll  Cutpurse.  SINGER  (ed.  ii)  was  the 
earliest  to  mistrust  this  reference.  '  It  has  been  supposed,'  he  says  in  his  note 
ad  loc.,  '  that  the  allusion  here  is  to  Mall  Cutpurse.  .  .  .  But  "  Mistress  Mall  "  is  no 
doubt  a  mere  impersonation,  like  "my  lady's  eldest  son"  in  Much  Ado  about 
Nothing.  She  is  merely  a  type  of  a  lady  solicitous  for  the  preservation  of  her 
charms  even  when  transferred  to  canvas.'  In  the  following  year,  R.  G.  WHITE 
observed  that  Mistress  Moll's  picture  '  appears  to  be  named  merely  as  a  type  of  female 
portraits  which  were  carefully  preserved  from  dust, — Mary  being  the  commonest  of 
all  names  for  women.  ...  It  is  possible  that  Moll  Cutpurse  is  referred  to  though 
there  appears  to  be  no  necessity  for  supposing  this  to  be  the  case ;  and  her  portrait 
would  hardly  be  painted  in  a  style  to  require  the  protection  of  a  curtain,  or  she  be 
referred  to  as  Mistress  Moll.'  DVCE  next  hinted  a  doubt.  At  the  conclusion  of  his 
note  (  Gloss. )  on  the  present  passage,  wherein  he  quotes  at  length  the  notes  of  Steevens 
and  Malone,  he  asks,  'After  all,  can  it  be  that  "Mistress  Mall's  picture"  means 
merely  a  lady1  s  picture ?  So  we  still  say  "master  Tom"  or  "Master  Jack"  to 
designate  no  particular  individual,  but  of  young  gentlemen  generally.'  SCHMIDT 
(Lex.)  finds  an  objection  to  Moll  Cutpurse  on  grounds  more  substantial  than  any 
hitherto  urged,  namely,  on  the  score  of  her  youth  at  the  time  this  present  play  was 
written.  He  says  that  she  was  born  in  1589,  which  would  make  her  but  twelve  or 
thirteen  years  old  when  Sir  Toby  was  speaking.  Malone's  date,  however,  of  Moll's 
birth,  1584,  is  more  likely  to  be  correct,  inasmuch  as  she  died  in  1659,  and  all 
accounts  agree  in  stating  that  this  was  in  the  seventy-fifth  year  of  her  age.  Yet 
this  hardly  weakens  Schmidt's  argument ;  were  five  years  added  to  twelve  or  thirteen, 
her  precocity  and  notoriety  would  be  still  incredible.  Moll  herself  says  in  her  Life 
that  it  was  for  her  first  putting  on  of  man's  clothes  that  she  was  forced  to  do  penance 
at  Paul's  Cross  ;  and  this  we  know  was  in  1611-12,  and  it  may  well  have  been  the 
beginning  of  her  wide-spread  notoriety.  Wherefore,  I  think,  Schmidt's  argument  is 
well  founded.  Had  the  Lexicographer  stopped  there,  his  note  would  be  entirely 
satisfactory  ;  unfortunately,  he  proceeds  to  say  :  '  Perhaps  Sir  Toby  only  means  to 
say  :  like  a  picture  intended  for  a  beauty,  but  in  fact  representing  Mall  the  kitchen- 
wench.'  What  possible  connection  this  meaning  can  have  with  the  modest  conceal- 
ment of  Sir  Andrew's  accomplishments  I  cannot,  try  as  I  may,  discover.  ROLFE, 
influenced  by  this  same  fact  of  Moll's  youth  at  the  time  Twelfth  Night  was  written, 
'  inclines  to  agree '  with  Singer.  W.  A.  WRIGHT  believes  that  the  date  of  John  Day's 
book  in  the  entry  in  the  Stationers'  Registers,  August,  1610,  indicates  the  period  when 

4 


50  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  i,  sc.  iii. 

to  Church  in  a  Galliard,  and  come  home  in  a  Carranto  ?         120 

1 20.   Carranto\  Coranto  Rowe  ii  et  seq. 

'  the  virago  appears  to  have  flourished ' ;  '  so  that,'  he  goes  on  to  say,  '  I  am  inclined 
to  think  the  Mistress  Mall  of  the  present  passage  was  some  notoriety  other  than  Mary 
Frith.'  In  N.  &*  Qtt.  ( 1878,  5th,  x,  3)  J.  F.  MARSH  notes  an  entirely  new  allusion.  He 
believes  that  Mistress  Mall's  portrait  is  not  that  of  Moll  Cutpurse,  but  of  Maria  :  '  Pic- 
tures in  general,  or  any  picture  in  particular,  would  have  served  Sir  Toby's  turn,  but  he 
gives  force  to  the  expression  by  specifying  the  portrait  of  Olivia' s  gentlewoman,  Maria, 
with  whom  Sir  Andrew  and  he  have  just  been  having  a  wit  combat,  and  who  was 
therefore  present  to  his  thoughts,  if  her  picture  was  not  hanging  before  his  eyes.' 
B.  NICHOLSON  (16.  p.  182)  finds  three  objections  to  this  interpretation  of  Marsh: 
First,  Maria  is  never  called  Mai,  or  Mistress  Mai,  or  Moll  elsewhere  in  the  play. 
Secondly,  it  cannot  be  shown  that  Maria  ever  had  her  portrait  taken,  or,  if  she  had, 
is  it  at  all  probable  that  Olivia  would  have  permitted  her  chambermaid's  portrait  to 
be  hung  up  in  her  public  rooms.  Thirdly,  if  the  passage  be  looked  into  it  will  show 
that  Mistress  Mai's  picture  had  no  curtain.  '  Why,'  says  Sir  Toby,  'have  these  gifts 
a  curtain  before  them?  [when  exposed]  are  they  likely  to  take  dust,  like  Mistress 
Mai's  [exposed]  picture?'  Nicholson  then  refers  to  his  own  quotation  from  The 
Malcontent  (in  the  foregoing  note  on  'like  to  take  dust')  as  likely  to  show  that 
Shakespeare  and  Marston  and  Webster  all  refer  to  the  same  story.  Of  course  Marsh 
replied  (Ib.  p.  423)  and,  to  his  own  satisfaction,  swept  clean  aside  all  three  of  these 
objections,  and  concluded  his  note  with  the  emphatic  assertion  that,  '  if  the  name  in 
Marston' s  play  had  been  Mall,  or  even  if  the  exposure  of  a  picture  of  Moll  Cut- 
purse  in  a  broker's  window  had  been  an  ascertained  fact  instead  of  a  conjecture,  it 
would  not  have  shaken  my  opinion  that  Shakespeare's  text  is  plain  and  intelligible 
with  reference  to  Maria,  and  that  all  applications  of  it  to  courtesans  or  others  outside 
of  the  play  are  mischievous  excescences.'  Marsh  seems  fixed  in  the  belief  that  the 
picture  was  hanging  on  the  walls  in  Sir  Toby's  very  presence.  I  can  find  nothing  to 
warrant  it.  BARNETT  thinks  that  the  allusion  is,  '  probably,  to  Mary  Ambree,  who 
fought  at  the  Siege  of  Ghent,  in  1584,'  and  refers  to  Hudibras  :  '  A  bold  virago, 
stout,  and  tall,  As  Joan  of  France,  or  English  Mall.'  (Part  I,  canto  ii,  line  367, 
where  GREY  asserts  that  this  refers  to  '  Mary  Carleton,  or,  as  she  was  more  commonly 
distinguished,  Kentish  Moll,  or  the  German  Princess.'  This  RlTSON  denies  and 
says  the  reference  is  to  Moll  Cutpurse.)  Possibly,  Barnett  was  misled  by  a  note 
which  first  appeared,  according  to  Furnivall,  in  the  fourth  edition  of  Percy's  Reliques, 
edited  by  Percy's  nephew.  Lastly,  VERITY  inclines  to  think  that  Moll  Cutpurse  is 
referred  to,  because  '  a  casual  allusion  like  this  may  well  have  been  inserted  some 
time  after  the  first  production  of  the  play ' ;  of  course,  this  door  of  escape  stands 
always  open,  but  we  should  be  wary  of  using  it.  Steevens,  in  spite  of  the  express 
reason  given  by  Sir  Toby  why  the  picture  should  be  curtained,  suggested  another, 
drawn  from  his  own  prurient  imagination.  I  have  but  small  belief  that  any  partic- 
ular Mistress  Mall  is  here  referred  to,  and  none  at  all,  that,  if  there  be  one,  it  is 
Mary  Frith,  against  whose  claim  chronology  is  fatal.  It  is  almost  inconceivable  that, 
in  'the  fierce  light  that  beats'  upon  that  period,  a  Mistress  Moll,  familiarly  enough 
known  to  be  recognised  in  a  passing  allusion,  could  have  escaped  detection.  When 
now-a-days  we  say  'Jack  Robinson,'  do  we  refer  to  any  particular  John  of  that 
family? — ED.] 

1 20.   Carranto]  The  following  extract  is  taken  from  a  translation  by  RYE  (p.  123) 


ACT  i,  sc.  iii.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  51 

My  verie  walke  fhould  be  a  ligge  :  I  would  not  fo  much  121 
as  make  water  but  in  a  Sinke-a-pace  :  What  dooeft  thou 

122.  Sinke-a-pace~\    F3.      cinque-pace  122.  dooeji~\  doft  F3F4. 

Han.     Sink-a-pace  F  F4  et  cet. 

of  a  very  rare  Spanish  pamphlet  in  the  British  Museum,  wherein  is  found  an  account 
of  a  Banquet  and  Entertainment  given  by  James  I.  to  the  Constable  of  Castile,  Juan 
Fernandez  de  Velasco,  on  Sunday,  August  19,  1604 :  'After  a  little  while  the  Prince 
[Henry]  was  commanded  by  his  parents  to  dance  a  galliard,  and  they  pointed  out  to 
him  the  lady  who  was  to  be  his  partner  ;  and  this  he  did  with  much  sprightliness  and 
modesty,  cutting  several  capers  in  the  course  of  the  dance.  The  Earl  of  Southampton 
then  led  out  the  Queen,  and  three  other  gentlemen  their  several  partners,  who  all 
joined  in  dancing  a  brando.  [What  this  is,  I  know  not.  It  is  not  in  Percival's 
Spanish  Diet.,  1622,  nor  in  Florio's  Worlde  of  Wordes,  1598.  Murray  (N.  E.  £>.) 
refers  brandon  to  Littre,  who  gives  it  as  the  name  of  a  kind  of  rustic  dance,  or  rather 
race,  with  lighted  wisps  of  straw,  which  is  hardly  conceivable  at  this  present  enter- 
tainment.— ED.]  .  .  .  After  this  they  began  a  galliard,  and  in  it  a  lady  led  out  the 
Prince,  who  then  led  out  another  lady  whom  their  Majesties  pointed  out  to  him. 
After  this  a  brando  was  danced,  and  that  being  over,  the  Prince  stood  «p  to  dance  a 
forrenta,  which  he  did  very  gracefully.  The  Earl  of  Southampton  was  now  again 
the  Queen's  partner,  and  they  went  through  the  correnta  likewise.  Hereupon  the 
ball  ended.' — NAYLOR  (p.  122)  :  The  old  English  name  was  '  current  traverse,'  and 
Morley  (1597)  speaks  of  the  Courant  step  as  'travising  and  running,'  which  would 
appear  to  connect  the  Italian  word  with  curro.  Sir  John  Davies  (1570-1626),  in 
his  poem  Orchestra,  identifies  Rounds,  Corantos,  Measures,  and  some  other  dances 
with  Country  Dances.  That  is,  whatever  the  rhythm  or  speed  of  the  actual  time 
used,  these  variously  named  Country  Dances  could  be  performed  to  it.  Sir  Roger 
de  Coverly,  our  typical  English  Country  Dance,  is  in  form  almost  the  same  as  the 
Brawl,  Coranto,  Galliard,  or  Measure.  A  Courant  by  Frescobaldi  (1591-1640)  is 
in  triple  time.  As  for  its  'step,'  Davies  says  it  is  'on  a  triple  dactile  foot,'  'close 
to  the  ground  with  sliding  passages.'  According  to  Sir  Toby,  it  would  be  a  quicker 
and  gayer  dance  than  the  Galliard,  for  he  compares  the  walk  to  church  to  the  latter ; 
but  the  more  light-hearted  journey  back  to  dinner  he  likens  to  the  Coranto.  The 
Jig  would  be  even  faster,  for  Sir  Andrew's  '  very  walk,'  that  is,  his  week-day  gait, 
was  to  be  '  a  jig.' 

121.  ligge]    See  Much  Ado  about  Nothing,  II,  i,  70,  of  this  ed.— NAYLOR 
(p.  124)  i  The  name  comes  from   Giga  (Geige'),  a  sort  of  fiddle  in  use  during  the 
1 2th  and  1 3th  centuries.     The  oldest  jigs  are  Scottish,  and  were  'round  dances'  for 
a  number  of  people.  ...  It  was  a  lively  dance. 

122.  HAZLITT   (Age  of  Elizabeth,  p.  63)  :  The  standard  of  delicacy  varies  at 
different  periods,  as  it  does  in  different  countries,  and  is  not  a   general  test  of 
superiority.     The  French,  who  pique  themselves  (and  justly,  in  some  particulars) 
on  their  quickness  of  tact  and  refinement  of  breeding,  say  and  do  things  which  we, 
a  plainer  and  coarser  people,  could  not  think  of  without  a  blush.     What  would 
seem  gross  allusions  to  us  at  present,  were  without  offence  to  our  ancestors,  and 
many  things  passed  for  jests  with  them,  or  matters  of  indifference,  which  would 
not  now  be  endured.     Refinement  of  language,  however,  does  not  keep  pace  with 
simplicity  of  manners.     The  severity  of  criticism  exercised  in  our  theatres  towards 


52  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  I,  sc.  iii. 

meane  ?  Is  it  a  world  to  hide  vertues  in  ?  I  did  thinke  by         123 

the  excellent  conftitution  of  thy  legge,  it  was  form'd  vn- 

der  the  ftarre  of  a  Galliard.  125 

And,     I,  'tis  ftrong,  and  it  does  indifferent  well  in  a 
dam'd  colour'd  ftocke.    Shall  we  fit  about  fome  Reuels?         127 

123.  thinke}  not  think  Rowe.  paned    coloured    Nicholson   ap.    Cam. 

126.  in  a}  in  Warb.  (misprint?)  claret-coloured  Joicey. 

127.  dam' d  colour1  d]  damask-colour-  127.  Jlocke\    Jiocken    F3F4,    Rowe. 
ed  Knt,  Wh.  i.    flame-colour* d  Rowe  stocking  Pope,  +  ,  Cap.     stock  Var.  '78 
ii  et  cet.     damson-colour3  d  Phelps  ap.  et  seq. 

Hal.      dove-coloured   Anon.   ap.   Cam.  fif\  set  Rowe  ii  et  seq. 

some  unfortunate  straggling  phrases  in  the  old  comedies,  is  but  an  ambiguous  com- 
pliment to  the  immaculate  purity  of  modern  times. 

125.  starre]  See  also  Beatrice's  reference  (Much  Ado,  II,  i,  319)  to  the  dancing 
star  under  which  she  was  born.  DEIGHTON  calls  attention  to  the  contempt  with 
which  Edmund  (Lear,  I,  ii,  112)  treats  this  'excellent  foppery  of  the  world,  that 
when  we  are  sick  in  fortune,  we  make  guilty  of  our  disasters  the  sun,  the  moon,  and 
stars.' 

127.  dam'd  colour'd  stocke]  KNIGHT  :'  Stock '  is  stocking.  We  have  ventured 
to  read  '  damask-coloured ' ;  for  it  is  evident  that,  if  the  word  damask  were  written 
as  pronounced  rapidly,  dam'  sk,  it  might  easily  be  misprinted  '  dam'd.'  In  Drayton 
we  have  '  the  damask-coloured  dove.'  The  name  of  the  colour  is  derived  from  the 
damask  rose. — COLLIER  (Notes,  etc.,  172)  :  The  Manuscript-Corrector  informs  us 
that  this  ought  to  be  'afcw-colour'd.' — DYCE  (Few  Notes,  75) :  That  Sir  Andrew,  a 
gallant  of  the  first  water,  should  ever  dream  of  casing  his  leg  in  a  '  </«w-coloured 
stock '  is  not  to  be  supposed  for  a  moment.  The  epithet  flame-coloured  was  fre- 
quently applied  to  dress.  Thus,  /  Hen.  IV:  I,  ii,  n,  'a  wench  in  flame-coloured 
taffeta.' — COLLIER  (ed.  ii)  :  It  would  have  been  more  to  the  point  if  [Dyce]  had 
produced  some  instance  in  which  '  flame-coloured  stocks '  were  mentioned ;  such 
proof  is  still  wanted,  and  were  it  forthcoming,  all  dispute  would  be  at  an  end. — 
B.  NICHOLSON  (N.  &  Qu.  1879,  5th,  xi,  124)  :  Granted  that  'flame-coloured'  was 
a  common  phrase,  and  twice  used  by  Shakespeare,  how  does  that  justify  the  substi- 
tution ?  There  is  no  special  circumstance  requiring  '  flame-coloured,'  nor  any  ductus 
literarum,  unless  am  be  accounted  such.  Nor  is  there  such  a  certainty  of  error  as 
to  require  such  a  change.  '  Damn'd-colour'd'  is  an  easily  understood  epithet,  and 
there  is  nothing  against  it,  beyond  our  ignorance  of  the  use  by  any  one  of  a  similar 
phrase  in  English.  .  .  .  Why  cannot  Sir  Andrew  be  allowed  the  imitative  affectation 
of  a  word  very  likely  to  have  been  used, — even  if  it  were  uncommon, — among  the 
fashion-mongers  of  the  day?  Pope  [Rowe?]  not  improbably  substituted  'flame- 
colour'd'  as  a  more  refined  synonym.  But  it  is  not  a  synonym.  Devils  to  this  day 
are  held  to  be  not  flame-coloured  but  black.  ...  I  venture  to  think  that  dark  or  black 
nether  garments  were  well  fitted  to  show  off  a  good  leg,  especially  when  in  contrast 
with  the  bright  and  glittering  colours  then  worn.  Lastly,  I  would  add  that  no  one 
can  doubt  but  that  fashions  and  phrases  were  then  as  now  freely  imported  from  the 
Continent;  and  though  we  have  not  yet  found  '  damn'  d-col  cured'  in  English,  we 
can  find  it  in  French.  Corresponding  with  my  friend  Mr  Furnivall  he  turned  up 
Cotgrave.  There  under  « Couleur '  and  '  Enfer '  are  to  be  found,  Couleur  d'enfer  as 


ACTI.SC.  iv.]                  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  53 

To.     What  fhall  we  do  elfe  :  were  we  not  borne  vnder  128 
Taurus  ? 

And.     Taurus?  That  fides  and  heart.  130 
To.    No  fir,  it  is  leggs  and  thighes  :  let  me  fee  thee  ca- 
per.    Ha,  higher :  ha,  ha,  excellent.                        Exeunt  132 


Scena  Quarta. 

Enter  Valentine,and  Viola  in  mans  attire.  2 

Val.  If  the  Duke  continue  thefe  fauours  towards  you 
CefariOy  you  are  like  to  be  much  adu  anc'd,  he  hath  known 
you  but  three  dayes,  and  already  you  are  no  ftranger.  5 

128.  elfe:'}  else?  Pope  et  seq.  Theob. 

130.   That]  That's  F3F4  et  seq.  I.  Scena      Quarta]       Scene      V. 

132.  [Sir  And.  dances.  Dyce  ii.  Pope, -I- . 

ha,    excellent}      ha  ! — excellent  The  Palace.  Rowe. 

much  as  Noir-brun  enfume';  f  Enfer.  Couleur  d'enfer.  A  dark  and  smoakie 
brown.' — R.  M.  SPENCE  (/£.,  p.  204) :  Shakespeare  would  never  have  made  a  vain 
coxcomb  like  Sir  Andrew  show  the  good  taste  to  choose  so  unpretending  a  colour  as 
black.  By  '  a  dam'd  col  our1  d  stocke '  I  understand  checkered  hose.  To  this  day  old 
people  among  the  peasantry  of  Scotland  speak  of  any  checkered  garment  as  being  of 
the  '  dam-brod,'  Anglick  '  draught-board,'  pattern.  [Does  not  dam-brod  relate  merely 
to  form,  without  reference  to  colour  ? — ED.] — W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  It  is  by  no  means  cer- 
tain what  the  true  reading  should  be.  In  the  dialogues  given  in  Eliot's  Fruits  for  the 
French  (1593)  p.  31,  we  find,  'Show  me  a  Peach  colourd  Netherstocke.'  A  bright 
colour  of  some  kind  was  intended,  and  therefore  the  reference  to  [Cotgrave*  s]  couleur 
d^enfer  is  out  of  place.  [Rowe's  emendation  has  the  largest  following;  but  then 
there  are  eminent  critics  who  dispute  it.  There  is  such  a  difference,  however,  both 
to  the  eye  and  to  the  ear,  between  'dam'd'  &ndjtame  that,  until  some  happier  sub- 
stitute be  found,  I  think  the  text  should  remain  undisturbed  ;  and  surely,  Sir  Andrew's 
character  is  not  so  exalted  as  to  be  seriously  lowered  by  a  little  profanity. — ED.] 

130.  sides  and  heart]  JOHNSON:  Alluding  to  the  medical  astrology  still  pre- 
served in  almanacks,  which  refers  the  affections  of  particular  parts  of  the  body  to 
the  predominance  of  particular  constellations. — DOUCE  (i,  85)  :  Both  the  knights 
are  wrong  in  their  astrology  according  to  the  almanacs  of  the  time,  which  make 
Taurus  govern  the  neck  and  throat.  Their  ignorance  is  perhaps  intentional. — 
ROLFE  :  In  that  classic  annual  The  Old  Farmer's  Almanac  may  still  be  seen  the 
ancient  astrological  figure  of  the  human  body  with  lines  radiating  from  its  various 
parts  to  the  symbols  of  the  zodiacal  signs.  [This  astrological  figure  still  makes  its 
appearance  annually  in  other  almanacs  in  this  country  besides  The  Old  Farmer3 i. 
Douce  says  that  perhaps  Sir  Toby's  and  Sir  Andrew's  ignorance  was  intentional, 
and  B.  NICHOLSON  (N.  6*  Qu.  1878,  5th,  x,  283)  actually  proposed  to  substitute 
the  correct  signs.  Sir  Andrew's  ignorance  was  genuine,  but  Sir  Toby  wanted  merely 
a  pretext  for  a  coarse  allusion. — ED.] 


54  TWELFE    NIGHT  [ACT  I,  sc.  iv. 

Vio.     You  either  feare  his  humour,  or  my  negligence,  6 

that  you  call  in  queftion  the  continuance  of  his  loue.    Is 
he  inconstant  fir,  in  his  fauours.      UaL    No  beleeue  me. 
Enter  Duke,  Curio,  and  Attendants. 

Vio.     I  thanke  you  :  heere  comes  the  Count.  10 

Duke.     Who  faw  Cefario  hoa  ? 

Vio.    On  your  attendance  my  Lord  heere. 

Du.    Stand  you  a-while  aloofe.     Cefario, 
Thou  knowft  no  lefle,  but  all :  I  haue  vnclafp'd 
To  thee  rhe  booke  euen  of  my  fecret  foule.  1 5 

8.  fauours]  favours?  Ff.  13.   [To  Attend.  Wh.  ii. 

9.  Enter...]   Enter  Duke,  attended.  a-while]  a  while  F3F4,  Rowe,-f , 
(after  line  10)  Cap.  Dyce,  Cam.                     Theob.  i,  Han.  Cap.  Cam.  Dtn.    awhile 

10.  Count]  Duke  Rowe,  + .  Steev.  Var.  '21,  Knt,  Coll.  Sta.  Rife. 

1 1 .  hoa]  ho  Cap.  aloofe]  aloof.  [Curio,  etc.  retire. 

12.  attendance]  attendants  F4.  Coll.  MS. 

my  Lord  heere]  here,  my  Lord  15.  rhe]  F,. 

K.  Elze. 

6.  humour]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  That  is,  caprice,  fancy ;  or,  perhaps,  simply  dis- 
position ;  as  in  2  Hen.   IV:  II,  iv,  256:  'Sirrah,  what  humour's  the  prince  of?' 
[Inasmuch  as  Viola  is  here  directly  referring  to  Valentine's  uncertainty  as  to  the 
constancy  of  the  Duke"  s  favour,  it  seems  to  me  that  '  humour '  must  mean  some- 
thing more  than  '  simply  his  disposition.'     She  asks  immediately,  '  is  he  inconstant 
in  his  favours  ?'     I  rather  prefer  the  interpretation  here  of  '  humour '  as  capricious- 
ness. — ED.] 

7.  that]  For  other  instances  where  '  that '  is  used  for  in  that,  see  ABBOTT,  §  284. 
9.  As  in  stage-copies,  the  entrance  of  the  Duke  is  here  marked  a  little  in  advance 

of  his  appearance.    CAPELL  properly  transferred  this  stage-direction  to  follow  line  10. 

12.  On  your  attendance]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  That  is,  in  attendance  upon  you. 

14.  no  lesse,  but  all]  Compare  Oth.  I,  i,  137  :  '  with  no  worse  nor  better  guard, 
But  with  a  knaue.'  See  ABBOTT  (§  127)  foro  ther  examples  of  '  but'  in  the  sense 
of  than  after  negative  comparatives.  Both  in  the  quotation  from  Oth.  and  in  the 
present  line  the  comma  of  the  Folio,  before  '  but,'  is  not  in  accordance  with  modern 
punctuation. — ED. 

14,  15.  vnclasp'd  .  .  .  booke]  STKEVENS  :  So,  in  /  Hen.  IV:  I,  iii,  188 : 
'And  now  I  will  unclasp  a  secret  book.' — WHITER,  in  his  valuable  criticisms 
founded  on  Locke's  doctrine  of  The  Association  of  Ideas,  has  gathered  many  exam- 
ples (pp.  108-115),  including  the  present,  of  Shakespeare's  fondness  of  metaphors 
drawn  from  a  book,  its  binding,  its  clasps,  and  its  margins.  Thus,  Rom.  <5r*  /«/. 
I,  iii,  8l  :  'Read  o'er  the  volume  of  young  Paris'  face.  .  .  .  And  what  obscur'd 
in  this  fair  volume  lies  Find  written  in  the  margent  of  his  eyes.  This  precious 
book  of  love,  this  unbound  lover.  .  .  .  That  book  in  many's  eyes  doth  share 
the  glory;  That  in  gold  clasps  locks  in  the  golden  story.'  Again,  Ib.  Ill,  ii,  83 
(where  Juliet  speaking  of  Romeo,  says)  :  '  Was  ever  book  containing  such  vile 
matter  So  fairly  bound.'  Thus,  R.  of  L.  101  :  'But  she,  that  never  coped  with 
stranger  eyes.  .  .  .  Nor  read  the  subtle-shining  secrecies  Writ  in  the  glassy  mar- 


ACT  i,  sc.  iv.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  55 

Therefore  good  youth,  addreffe  thy  gate  vnto  her,  16 

Be  not  deni'de  acceffe,  ftand  at  her  doores, 
And  tell  them,  there  thy  fixed  foot  fhall  grow 
Till  thou  haue  audience. 

Uio.     Sure  my  Noble  Lord,  2O 

If  fhe  be  fo  abandoned  to  her  forrow 
As  it  is  fpoke,  fhe  neuer  will  admit  me. 

Du,     Be  clamorous,  and  leape  all  ciuill  bounds, 
Rather  then  make  vnprofited  returne, 

Vio.     Say  I  do  fpeake  with  her  (my  Lord)what  then  ?  25 

Du.     O  then,  vnfold  the  pafsion  of  my  loue, 
Surprize  her  with  difcourfe  of  my  deere  faith  ; 
It  fhall  become  thee  well  to  aft  my  woes : 
She  will  attend  it  better  in  thy  youth, 
Then  in  a  Nuntio's  of  more  graue  afpefl.  30 

1 6.  gate}  gait  Cap.  Rowe,  Pope,  Mai.  Cam.  Glo.  Wh.  ii. 

30.  NuntiJi\    F4F3.     Nuncio's  F4,         nuntio  Cap.     nuncio  Theob.  et  cet. 


gents  of  such  books.'  Again,  Much  Ado,  I,  i,  308 :  '  Thou  wilt  be  like  a  lover 
presently  And  tire  the  hearer  with  a  book  of  words.'  Ib.  line  325  :  'And  in  her 
bosom  I'll  unclasp  my  heart.'  Again,  Tro.  &°  Cress.  IV,  v,  60:  'That  give  accost- 
ing welcome  ere  it  comes,  And  wide  unclasp  the  tables  of  their  thoughts  To  every 
ticklish  reader.'  Again,  Love's  Lab.  L.  IV,  ii,  113:  'Study  his  bias  leaves  and 
makes  his  book  thine  eyes.'  Mid.  N.D.  II,  iii,  120:  'Reason  .  .  .  leads  me  to 
your  eyes,  where  I  o'erlook  Love's  stories  written  in  love's  richest  book.'  King 
John,  II,  ii,  484 :  '  If  that  the  Dauphin  there,  thy  princely  son,  Can  in  this  book 
of  beauty  read,  "  I  love."  '  Whiter' s  list  does  not  pretend  to  be  at  all  complete  ; 
Bartlett's  Concordance  will  doubtless  enlarge  it.  Whiter' s  main  purpose  is  to  show 
that  there  was,  in  Shakespeare's  mind,  some  subtle  association,  whatever  might  be  its 
strange  cause,  between  a  book  and  love  and  the  eye  of  beauty. — ED. 

17.  Be  not  deni'de]  DELIUS  :  The  Duke  is  thinking  of  Valentine's  failure  to 
gain  admittance. 

18.  fixed  foot]  Viola  obeys  this  injunction  of  the  Duke,  when  she  tells  Malvolio 
(I,  v,  148)  that  she  will  '  stand  at  the  door  like  a  Sheriffs  post.' — ED. 

22.  As  it  is   spoke]   See  ABBOTT  (§  200,  p.   134)  for  other  examples  of  this 
phrase  used  for  V;V  said. 

29.  attend  it]  ABBOTT  (§  200,  p.  134)  :  In  some  cases,  as  in  [the  present],  the 
derivation  may  explain  the  transitive  use. 

30.  Nuntio's]  DELIUS  :  Perhaps  this  stands  for  Nuntius  ;  just  as  the  Folio  has 
'Antonio's'   for  Antonius. — W.   A.  WRIGHT:  Theobald  reads  'nuntio,'   but  this 
would  require  to  be  preceded  by  '  in  thee '  instead  of  '  in  thy  youth.'     Delius's  sup- 
position, Nitntius,  can  scarcely  be.    The  construction  is  not  strictly  grammatical,  but 
is  according  to  the  sense  of  the  passage,  as  if  the  Duke  had  said,  '  She  will  attend 
it  better  in  thy  youthful  person  than  in  that  of  a  nuncio  of  more  grave  appearance.' 

30.   aspect]  The  accent  is  uniformly  on  the  last  syllable  in  Shakespeare.     See 


^  6  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  i,  sc.  iv. 

Vio.    I  thinke  not  fo,  my  Lord.  31 

Du.     Deere  Lad,  beleeue  it ; 
For  they  fhall  yet  belye  thy  happy  yeeres, 
That  fay  thou  art  a  man  :  Dianas  lip 

Is  not  more  fmooth,  and  rubious  :  thy  fmall  pipe  35 

Is  as  the  maidens  organ,  fhrill,  and  found, 
And  all  is  femblatiue  a  womans  part. 
I  know  thy  conftellation  is  right  apt 
For  this  affayre  :  fome  foure  or  flue  attend  him, 
All  if  you  will  :  for  I  my  felfe  am  beft  40 

When  leaft  in  companie  :  profper  well  in  this, 

33.  belye]  be-ly  F4.  conj. 

34.  Dianas]  F2.     Dianaes  F3F4.  37.  femblatiue  a]  semblativc — a  Johns. 
36.  and  found]  in  sound  Wh.  Dyce        semblative  to  a  Ktly. 

ii,  Hi,  Ktly,   Huds.     of  sound  Huds. 

ABBOTT  (§  490)  for  a  list  of  words  similarly  accented  on  the  last  syllable,  which  are 
now  accented  on  the  first. 

33-  yet]  By  this  particle,  the  idea  is  conveyed  that  Viola's  extremely  youthful 
appearance  will  last  for  many  a  day  to  come. — ED. 

34.  Dianas]  Diana's  lip  was  never  kissed  by  man,  and  is,  therefore,  a  type  of 
the  choicest  purity. — ED. 

36.  and  sound]  R.  G.  WHITE  (ed.  i)  :  The  error  ' and  sound'  for  'in  sound,' 
has  been  hitherto  most  strangely  left  uncorrected.     The  Duke  has  no  occasion  to 
remark  upon  the  soundness  of  Viola's  voice  ;  but  rather  the  contrary.     [This  '  con- 
tiary '  I  do  not  understand. — ED.]    He  tells  her  that  the  sound  of  her  voice  is  shrill, 
like  that  of  a  maiden's. — DYCE  (ed.  ii) :  Mr  W.  N.  Lettsom  thinks  the  Folio  is 
right,   understanding   'sound'    to    mean   'clear,     not    cracked.' — The    COWDEN- 
CLARKES  :    They   who    alter   this   to   '  shrill    in    sound '    surely  impair   the    full 
meaning  of  the  sentence.     To  our  thinking,  the  Duke  is  intended  to  say,   '  Thy 
slender  voice  is  like  a  maiden's  voice,  high  in  key  and  at  the  same  time  uncracked.' 
A'boy's  voice  is  '  shrill,'  high,  of  treble  quality,  but  not  '  sound '  or  uncracked ;  while 
a  girl's  is  of  the  same  shrillness,  or  high  pitch,  and  yet  perfectly  '  sound,'  or  pure  in 
tone. — W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  If  'and  sound'  be  the  true  reading,  'sound'  must  signify 
'  not  cracked,'  as  Hamlet  (II,  ii,  448)  salutes  the  boy,  who  among  the  players  acted 
the  woman's  part,  with,  'Pray  God,  your  voice,  like  a  piece  of  uncurrent  gold,  be 
not  cracked  within  the  ring.'      [Unquestionably,  the  Folio  is  right.     There  was  no 
indication  whatever  of  manhood  in  the  page's  happy  years.     Is  it  not  clear,  that  the 
Duke  is  proving  for  his  own  satisfaction  that  there  is  no  risk  in  sending,  as  his  mes- 
senger to  Olivia,  a  boy  of  as  dangerous  a  beauty  as  Viola's? — ED.] 

37.  is]  TIESSEN  (Archiv  f.  d.  n.  Sfr.,  1877,  Iviii,  14)  :  Some  editions  have  its; 
[I  have  never  seen  them. — ED.]  possibly  we  should  read  thy. 

37.  semblatiue]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  That  is,  resembling,  like.  A  word  of  Shake- 
speare's coinage. 

37.  a  womans  part]  JOHNSON  :  That  is,  thy  proper  part  in  a  play  would  be  a 
woman's.     Women  were  then  personated  by  boys. 

38.  constellation]  See  I,  Hi,  125. 


ACT  I,  sc.  iv.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL 

And  thou  fhalt  Hue  as  freely  as  thy  Lord, 
To  call  his  fortunes  thine. 

Uio.     He  do  my  beft 

To  woe  your  Lady  :  yet  a  barrefull  ftrife,  45 

Who  ere  I  woe,  my  felfe  would  be  his  wife.  Exeunt. 

45,  46.  woe']  uooe  F2F3.     woo  FV  O  barful  Coll.  ii,  iii  (MS),     a  baneful 

45.  Lady:'}  lady;  [Exit  Duke.]  Johns.  Gould,     a  woeful  Daniel  ap.  Cam. 

45,  46.  yet. ..wife']  [Aside]  Cap.  Mai.  46.   Who  ere]    F2.      -who  Jre  F3F4- 

et  seq.  Who-e'er  Rowe,  + .    Whoe'er  Cap.  Steev. 

45.  a  barrefull~\  a  barful  F4,  Rowe,  Var.  '21. 
Johns.  Var.  "21.     O  baneful  Pope,  Han. 

42.  as  freely  as  thy  Lord]  For  many  other  examples  of  the  transposition  of 
phrases  (here,  the  present  phrase  should  follow  line  43),  see  WALKER  (Crit.  i,  160) 
and  ABBOTT,  §  419  a.  See,  also,  '  This  is  a  deere  Manakin  to  you  Sir  Toby.' — III, 

»>  54- 

45.  a  barrefull  strife]  STEEVENS  :  That  is,  a  contest  full  of  impediments.    P.  A. 
DANIEL  (p.  42)  would  read  'yet  (Ah  !  barful  strife  !).' 

46.  Exeunt.]  SPEDDING  (New  Sh.  Soc.  Trans.,  1877-9,  P-  24)  :  The  division  of 
the  Acts  in  Twelfth  Night  is  of  less  importance  than  in  King  Lear  and  Much  Ado 
about  Nothing  ;  for  the  movement  of  the  piece  is  so  light  and  rapid,  and  the  several 
actions  mix  so  naturally,  without  perplexing  or  confusing  each  other,  that  if  it  were 
played  from  beginning  to  end  without  any  pause  at  all,  the  spectator  would  feel 
no  harshness.     Nevertheless,  though  the  inter- Acts  might  in  that  case  be  omitted 
altogether  without  injuring  the  dramatic  effect,  the  effect  is  materially  injured  on  two 
occasions  by  the  interposition  of  them  in  the  wrong  place. 

At  the  end  of  the  first  Act  Malvolio  is  ordered  to  run  after  Cesario  with  Olivia's 
ring  ;  in  the  second  Scene  of  the  second  Act  he  has  but  just  overtaken  him.  '  Were 
you  not  even  now,1  he  says,  'with  the  Countess  Olivia?'  'Even  now,  Sir'  (she 
answers),  'on  a  moderate  pace  I  have  arrived  but  hither.'  Here,  therefore,  the 
pause  is  worse  than  useless.  It  impedes  the  action,  and  turns  a  light  and  swift 
movement  into  a  slow  and  heavy  one. 

Again,  at  the  end  of  the  third  Act,  Sir  Andrew  Aguecheek  runs  after  Cesario 
(who  has  just  left  the  stage)  to  beat  him  ;  Sir  Toby  and  Fabian  following  to  see  the 
event.  At  the  beginning  of  the  fourth,  they  are  all  where  they  were.  Sir  Andrew's 
valour  is  still  warm ;  he  meets  Sebastian,  mistakes  him  for  Cesario,  and  strikes. 
Here  again  the  pause  is  not  merely  unnecessary ;  it  interrupts  what  was  evidently 
meant  for  a  continuous  and  rapid  action,  and  so  spoils  the  fun. 

The  first  of  these  defects  might  be  sufficiently  removed  by  continuing  the  first  Act 
to  the  end  of  what  is  now  the  second  scene  of  the  second.  The  other  by  continuing 
the  third  Act  to  the  end  of  what  is  now  the  first  scene  of  the  fourth.  But  such  an 
arrangement  would  leave  the  fourth  Act  so  extremely  short  that  it  cannot  be  accepted 
for  the  true  one. 

I  have  little  doubt  that  the  first  Act  was  meant  to  end  with  the  fourth  scene, — the 
scene  between  the  Duke  and  Viola:  'Whoe'er  I  woo,  myself  would  be  his  wife'; 
the  second  with  Viola's  soliloquy  upon  receiving  Olivia's  ring,  II,  ii,  43.  The  third 
might  end  where,  according  to  the  received  arrangement,  the  second  does  ;  only  that 
the  underplot  would  in  that  case  become  rather  too  prominent,  and  the  main  action 


58  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  i,  sc.  iv. 

46.   Exeunt.] 

stand  still  too  long.     To  avoid  this,  I  would  not  have  the  curtain  fall  till  after  the 
second  interview  between  Olivia  and  Viola,  in  which  Olivia  declares  her  passion. 

The  fourth  Act  may  end  where  it  now  does,  with  the  contract  between  Olivia  and 
Sebastian  ;  and  the  fifth  will  remain  as  it  is. 

I  am  not  aware  of  any  objection  that  can  be  made  to  this  arrangement,  or  of  any 
point  which  requires  further  explanation.  Imagine  the  play  properly  represented 
(I  say  properly;  for  on  the  stage  it  is  always  so  deformed  with  burlesque  that  no 
true  judgement  can  be  made  of  it  from  seeing  it  acted),  with  the  divisions  which  I 
have  proposed,  and  I  think  it  will  be  felt  that  the  arrangement  recommends  itself. 
...  I  have  seldom  seen  a  piece  acted  for  the  first  time,  however  bad  the  acting,  and 
however  familiar  I  had  been  with  the  play  on  paper,  without  seeing  much  of  it  in  a 
new  light  and  with  more  vivid  effect  And  in  reading  these  things,  though  we  may 
piece  out  the  actor's  imperfections  with  our  thoughts  as  much  as  we  please,  imagining 
everything  presented  to  our  mind  to  seem  as  real  and  natural  as  the  thing  itself  would 
seem, — real  kings  and  queens,  real  gentlemen  and  ladies,  real  soldiers  and  real  fight- 
ing,— we  must  not  forget  that  we  are  supposed  to  be  witnessing  a  succession  of  scenes 
passed  within  our  sight  and  hearing,  and  so  arranged  to  produce  their  effect  upon 
the  imagination  under  that  condition.  Without  a  clear  perception  of  the  periods  of 
action  and  repose,  we  cannot  enjoy  the  full  benefit  of  such  arrangement ;  and  there- 
fore, if  we  wish  to  have  complete  enjoyment  of  Shakespeare's  art,  we  must  always 
take  notice  of  the  points  which  mark  these  periods, — namely,  the  intervals  between 
the  Acts.  [Spedding's  arrangement  is,  therefore,  as  follows  : — 

First  Act      =  I,  i — iv. 

Second  Act  =  I,  v;  II,  i,  ii. 

Third  Act    =  II,  iii— v  ;  III,  i. 

Fourth  Act  =111,  ii — iv;  IV,  i — iii. 

Fifth  Act      =  V;  ad  fin. 

SIR  HENRY  IRVING'S  acting-version,  according  to  F.  A.  MARSHALL,  divides,  and 
combines  the  Acts  and  Scenes  as  follows  : — 

First  Act      =  I,  i — iv. 

Second  Act  =  I,  v;  II,  ii,  II,  iii. 

Third  Act    =11,  iv,  II,  i;  II,  v,  III,  i. 

Fourth  Act  =  III,  iii,  III,  ii ;  III,  iv ;  IV,  i,  ii. 

Fifth  Act      =IV,  iii;  ad  fin. 
See  Marshall's  notes  at  the  beginning  of  the  respective  Scenes. — ED.] 


ACT  i,  sc.  v.]  OR,   WHA  T  YOU  WILL  59 


Scena  Quinta. 

Enter  Maria,  and  Clowne.  2 

Ma.    Nay,  either  tell  me  where  thou  haft  bin,  or  I  will 
not  open  my  lippes  fo  wide  as  a  brifsle  may  enter,  in  way  4 

1.  Scene  VI.    Pope,  -K     Act   II,    i,  3.  bin]  F2FS<     been  Ff. 
Spedding.                                                                 4.  brifsle\  bristle  Rowe. 

Olivia's  House.  Rowe. 

2.  Clowne]  DOUCE  (i,  Il8)  :  The  Clown  in  this  play  is  a  domestic  or  hired  fool, 
in  the  service  of  Q^v'fl-   He  is  specifically  termed  'an  allowed  fool.'  and  *  Feste.  the 
jester,  a  fool  that  the  lady  Olivia's  father  took  much  delight  in.'     Malvolio  likewise 
speaks  of  him  as  *  a  set  fool.'     Of  his  dress  it  is  impossible  to  speak  correctly.     If 
the  fool's  expression,  '  I  will  [did]  impeticoat  thy  gratility,'  be  the  original  language, 
he  must  have  been  habited  accordingly.     Mr  Ritson  has  asserted  that  he  has  neither 
coxcomb  nor  bauble,  deducing  his  argument  from  the  want  of  any  allusion  to  them. 
Yet  such  an  omission  may  be  a  very  fallacious  guide  in  judging  of  the  habit  of  this 
character  on  the  stage.     It  must,  however,  be  admitted  that  where  this  happens 
there  can  be  no  clue   as  to  the  precise  manner  in  which  the  fool  was  dressed. 
[  Douce' s  caution  is  justified  by  some  of  the  statements  in  his  own  excellent  essay 
on  Clowns  and  Fools,  vol.  ii,  p.  325, — where,  speaking  of  their  costume,  he  says, 
« We  may  suppose  that  the  same  variety  of  dress  was  observed  on  the  stage  which 
we  know  to  have  actually  prevailed  in  common  life.     The  fools  however,  did  not 
always  appear  in  a  discriminative  habit,  and  some  of  their  portraits  still  remaining 
confirm  this  observation.     A  very  fine  painting  by  Holbein,  in  Kensington  Palace, 
represents  Will  Somers,  the  Fool  of  Henry  VIII.  in  a  common  dress.  ...  In  the 
celebrated  picture  of  Sir  Thomas  More's  family,  by  Holbein,  Patenson,  the  Fool, 
is  not  distinguished  by  any  peculiarity  of  dress ;  and,  in  one  instance  at  least,  the 
same  remark  applies  to  Archy,  the  Fool  of  James  I.'     Wherefore,  on  Douce's  own 
showing,  it  must  be  acknowledged  that  Ritson  was  probably  right  in  his  assertioa 
that  Feste  neither  wore  a  coxcomb  nor  carried  a  bauble,  and  that  in  all  likelihood 
there  was  no  distinction  in  dress  between  him  and,  say,  Fabian.     For  my  own  part, 
I  am  sure  from  what  we  learn  of  Feste,  that  he  was  dressed  with  nicest  care  and 
was  quite  point-device  in  his  apparel.     Douce  has  given   (ii,   311)  what   he   pro- 
nounces '  the  picture  of  a  real  hireling  or  artificial  fool.' — the  class  to  which  Feste, 
as  he  says,  belongs ;  it  is  drawn  from  Lodge's  Wits  Miserie ;  as  the  passage  has 
been  copied  and  adopted  by  subsequent  editors   of  Shakespeare,  it  is  proper   to 
insert  it  here.     But  I  am  convinced  that  Lodge's  picture  is  no  picture  of  a  Fool  at 
all,  and  that  when  Lodge  speaks  of  a  '  jeaster '  he  means  a  mere  joker,  a  man  of 
vulgar  and  uproariously  high  spiritsr  and  HOPS  nnt  rpfrr  at  all  tn  a  0™^'™™]  F»^- 
It  is  to  be  remembered  that  Lodge's  tract  is  written  in  an  extremely  exaggerated  style. 
The  extract  is  as  follows  :  « The  second  fiend  of  this  race  is  IMMODERATE  and  Dis- 
ORDINATE  IOY,  and  he  became  incorporate  in  the  bodie  of  a  ieaster,  this  fellow  in 
person  is  comely,  in  apparell  courtly,  but  in  behauiour  a  very  ape,  and  no  man  ;  his 
studie  is  to  coine  bitter  leasts,  or  to  show  antique  motions,  or  to  sing  baudie  sonnets 
and  ballads  :  give  him  a  little  wine  in  his  head,  he  is  continually  Rearing  and  making 


6o  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  I,  sc.  v. 

of  thy  excufe  :  my  Lady  will  hang  thee  for  thy  abfence.  5 

Clo.    Let  her  hang  me  :  hee  that  is  well  hang'de  in  this 
world,  needs  to  feare  no  colours.  7 

7.  needs  to]  needs  F3F4,  Rowe,  -1- ,  Var.             7.  colours]  collars  Anon.  ap.  Cam. 
'73,  »78,  Ran. 

of  mouthes  :  he  laughes  intemperately  at  euery  litle  occasion,  and  dances  about  the 
house,  leaps  over  tables,  out-skips  mens  heads,  trips  vp  his  companions  heeles,  burns 
Sacke  with  a  candle,  and  hath  all  the  feats  of  a  Lord  of  misrule  in  the  countrie  :  feed 
him  in  his  humor,  you  shall  haue  his  heart,  in  meere  kindnesse  he  will  hug  you  in 
his  armes,  kisse  you  on  the  cheeke,  and  rapping  out  an  horrible  oth,  crie  Gods  Soule 
Turn  [Lodge's  name  was  Thomas. — ED.]  I  loue  you,  you  know  mypoore  heart, 
come  to  my  chamber  for  a  pipe  of  Tabacco,  there  Hues  not  a  man  in  this  world  that 
I  more  honor ;  In  these  ceremonies  you  shall  know  his  courting,  and  it  is  a  speciall 
marke  of  him  at  the  table,  he  sits  and  makes  faces  :  keep  not  this  fellow  company, 
for  in  iugling  with  him  your  Wardropes  shall  be  wasted,  your  credits  crackt,  your 
crownes  consumed,  and  time  (the  most  precious  riches  of  the  world)  vtterly  lost.' — 
p.  84,  ed.  Hunterian  Club.  It  is  difficult  to  see  how  Douce  or  Staunton  could  have 
been  misled  into  the  belief  that  this  description,  possibly  drawn  from  life,  referred 
or  applied  to  professional  Fools. — ED. 

5.  hang  thee]  The  punishment  for  Fools,  as  we  all  know,  was  whipping,  (Lear's 
Fool  was  threatened  with  it,)  possibly,  in  obedience  to  the  Biblical  Proverb,  'a 
rod  is  for  the  back  of  fools.'  It  is  incredible  that  Olivia  should  possess  the  power 
of  life  and  death  over  her  servant.  We  must,  therefore,  believe  either  that  '  hang ' 
does  not  here  mean  '  sus.  per  col. ,'  but  some  temporary  punishment  whereof  the  sig- 
nification is  now  lost  to  us  (which  is  improbable),  or  that  it  is  still  in  keeping  with 
Maria's  character  to  indulge,  with  the  Fool,  in  this  playful  exaggeration.  This 
willingness  to  intercede  for  him  after  his  pranks,  shows  how  fond  she  was  of  him — 
and  who  could  help  being  so  ? — ED. 

7.  feare  no  colours]  STEEVENS  :  This  expression  occurs  frequently  in  the  old 
plays.  Thus,  Jonson's  Sejanus,  'And  those  [ladies]  that  would  be  [fair],  physic 
soon  can  make  them:  For  those  that  are,  their  beauties  fear  no  colours. '[I,  ii, 
p.  27,  ed.  Gifford.]  Again,  Porter's  Two  Angry  Women  of  Abington,  1599,  'Are 
ye  disposed,  sir?  Nicholas.  Yes,  indeed,  I  fear  no  colours;  change  sides,  Richard.' 
[p.  359,  ed.  Hazlitt-Dodsley.  ] — NARES  :  Probably  at  first  a  military  expression, 
to  fear  no  enemy.  So  Shakespeare  derives  it,  and  though  the  passage  be  comic,  it  is 
likely  to  be  right.-'— DYCE  ( Gloss. )  quotes  this,  and  this  only,  in  explanation  of  the 
phrase. — KNIGHT  :  It  probably  meant,  I  fear  no  deceptions.  Holofernes  says, 
«I  do  fear  colourable  colours.' — Love's  Lab.  L.  IV,  ii,  154. — HALLIWELL  quotes 
Cotgrave :  'Aduentureux.  Hazardous,  aduenturous ;  that  feares  no  colours,'  which 
repeats  the  phrase,  but  hardly  advances  our  knowledge  of  its  derivation.  He 
also  quotes,  '  and  then  pell  mell,  all  alone  haue  amongst  them,  if  there  were 
ten  thousand  of  them.  Cameades.  Faith  well  said,  I  perceiue  thou  fearst  no 
colours.' — Nashe's  Haue  With  you  to  Saffron-  Walden,  1596,  [p.  46,  ed.  Grosart. 
This  is  the  earliest  instance  of  the  phrase  given  by  MURRAY,  N.  E.  D. ;  albeit  Halli- 
well  furnishes  one  from  The  Trumpet  of  Fame  by  H.  R.  1595,  'Then  fear  no 
colours,  set  the  chance  on  Christ!  He  is  your  load-star,  God  of  power  highest.' 
It  is  more  likely  that  there  is  a  misprint  in  HalliwelPs  date  than  that  Murray  should 
have  overlooked  it.  The  many  post-Shakespearian  examples  further  given  by  Halli- 


ACT  I,  sc.  v.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  gj 

Ma.     Make  that  good.  8 

Clo.    He  fhall  fee  none  to  feare. 

Ma.     A  good  lenton  anfwer  :  I  can  tell  thee  where  y  10 

faying  was  borne,  of  I  feare  no  colours. 

Clo.    Where  good  miftris  Mary  ? 

Ma.  In  the  warrs,  &  that  may  you  be  bolde  to  fay  in 
your  foolerie. 

Clo.    Well,  God  giue  them  wifedome  that  haue  it  :  &  15 

thofe  that  are  fooles,  let  them  vfe  their  talents. 

Ma.  Yet  you  will  be  hang'd  for  being  fo  long  abfent, 
or  to  be  turn'd  away :  is  not  that  as  good  as  a  hanging  to 
you  ?  19 

10.  lenton]  Lenton  F4.    lenten  Rowe.         turn'd  away,  Mai.  Wh.  Coll.  ii,  Cam. 

15.  it]  it  not  Gould.  Glo.    Rife,    Dtn.      absent:    or,    to    be 

17,  1 8.  abfent,  or  to  be  turn  'd  away  .•]  turn'd   away;    Steev.   Var.  '21,   Knt, 
abfent,  or  be  turned  away  :   F2,  Rowe  Coll.  i,  iii,  Hal.   absent ;  or,  to  be  turned 
H,  + ,  Cap.  Var,  Ran.  abfent,  or  be  turn 'd  away, —  ,Dyce,  Sta.  Ktly,  Huds. 
away,  F,F4,  Rowe  i.     absent ;  or,  to  be  1 8.  not  that]  not  this  Rowe  i. 

well  are  hardly  of  moment]. — STAUNTON  :  The  allusion  is  lost  to  us,  here  and  in 
other  instances,  of  this  '  skipping  dialogue.' — W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  There  is,  of  course,  a 
pun  upon  '  colours '  and  collars,  as  we  find  elsewhere  upon  '  dolours '  and  dollars. 
[There  is  the  same  pun  upon  '  colours '  and  collars,  and  the  same  phrase,  '  fear  no 
colours,'  in  2  Hen.  IV :  V,  v,  91.  In  all  likelihood  the  phrase  was  a  '  winged  word' 
long  before  Nashe  used  it  in  his  farrago  of  low  abuse  ;  and  so  old  by  Maria's  time 
that  she  thought  it  needful  to  explain  its  origin  to  the  Clown. — ED.] 

10.  lenton]  JOHNSON  :  A  lean,  or  as  we  now  call  it,  a  dry  answer. — STEEVENS  : 
Surely,  it  rather  means  a  short  and  spare  one,  like  the  commons  in  Lent.     So,  in 
Hamlet,  II,  ii,  329,  '  if  you  delight  not  in  man,  what  lenten  entertainment  the 
players  shall  receive  from  you.'     [Cotgrave :  'Amoreux  de  Quaresme.  A  Lenten 
louer ;  a  bashfull,  modest,  or  maidenly,  woer.'] 

11.  of  ]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  Of  is  used  to  connect  words  or  phrases  in  apposition, 
the  saying  here  being  '  I  fear  no  colours.'    So  in  Coriol.  II,  i,  32,  '  a  very  little  thief 
of  occasion,'  where  the  occasion  is  the  thief. 

1 6.  talents]  NARES  (quoted  by  Halliwell)  :  Heaven  give  real  wisdom  to  those 
that  are  called  wise,  and  a  discreet  use  of  their  talents  to  fools  or  jesters. — HALLI- 
WELL :  Perhaps,  however,  the  Clown  is  perpetrating  a  joke  on  '  talents  '  and  talons, 
a  quibble  which  occurs  with  greater  distinctness  in  Love's  Lab.  L.  [IV,  ii,  65  :  'If 
a  talent  be  a  claw,  look  how  he  claws  him  with  a  talent ' ;  where,  indeed,  the  quib- 
ble is  so  distinct  that  it  is  not  easy  to  see  wherein  it  is  applicable  to  the  present 
passage. — ED.] — DEIGHTON  :  There  seems  to  be  here  a  profane  allusion  to  the 
parable  of  the  talents,  Matthew,  xxv.     [Very  doubtful. — ED.] 

1 8.  or  to  be]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  I  am  not  sure  that  the  punctuation  of  Malone, 
now  generally  followed,  is  right.     The  insertion  of  '  to '  before  the  second  of  two 
infinitives  connected  with  the  same  auxiliary  verb  is  very  common,  and  the  construc- 
tion here  appears  to  be  the  same  as  that  in  As  You  Like  It,  V,  iv,  25,  26 :  '  Keepe 
your  word,  Phebe,  that  you'/  marrie  me,  Or  else  refusing  me,  to  wed  this  shepheard.' 


62  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  i,  sc.  v. 

Clo.    Many  a  good  hanging,  preuents  a  bad  marriage  :  20 

and  for  turning  away,  let  fummer  beare  it  out. 


20.  J/a«y]     Marry    Theob.    Warb.  21.  let  fummer  beare~\  let's  summer- 

Johns.  Var.  '73/78,  Ran.  sault  Gould. 


It  might  be  maintained  that  in  this  instance  '  to  wed '  is  in  apposition  to  '  word ' ;  but 
this  cannot  be  the  explanation  in  Pericles,  II,  v,  17  :  «  She  tells  me  here,  she'//  wed 
the  stranger  knight,  Or  never  more  to  view  nor  day  nor  light.'  The  following  instances 
are  from  the  Prayer-book  Version  of  the  Psalms  :  '  Let  their  habitation  be  void  :  and 
no  man  to  dwell  in  their  tents,'  Ixix,  26.  '  That  we  should  not  hide  them  .  .  .  but  to 
shew  .  .  .,'  Ixxviii,  4.  'That  they  might  put  their  trust  in  God  ;  and  not  to  forget 
the  works  of  God,  but  to  keep  his  commandments  ;  and  not  to  be  as  their  forefath- 
ers,' etc.,  Ixxviii,  8,  9.  [See  notes  in  this  ed.  on  the  quotation  above,  from  As  You 
Like  It.  Also,  on  Ib.  Ill,  ii,  152,  153  :  '  Heauen  would  that  she  these  gifts  should 
haue,  and  I  to  live  and  die  her  slaue.'  See,  too,  ABBOTT,  §  416. — ED.] 

20.  Many  .  .  .  marriage]  GREY  (i,  225)  :  The  story  is  well  known,  of  a  crim- 
inal, whose  life  was  begged  by  a  female,  in  case  he  would  marry  her.     Who,  upon 
viewing  his  intended  bride,  when  upon  the  cart,  and  ready  to  be  turn'd  off,  all  he 
said  upon  the  occasion  was,  'drive  on,  carter.'     [This  story  is  told  with  apparent 
seriousness  by  DR  A.  SCHMIDT,  in  the  notes  to  his  translation  of  the  present  play. 
It  is  a  little  surprising  that  in  none  of  the  German  translations  is  this  line  rendered 
literally  ;  the  gentle  fun  in  extolling  the  providential  character  of  good  hangings  in 
preventing  bad  marriages  is  lost  in  the  statement  of  a  dry  fact :   '  Gut  gehangt  ist 
besser  als  schlecht  verheirathet.' — ED.] — INNES  :  Montaigne  has  two  stories  of  a 
Picard  and  a  Dane,  who  were  going  to  be  executed,  and  were  each  offered  a  reprieve 
on  condition  of  marrying  a  girl  who  in  one  case  was  lame  and  in  the  other  plain.    In 
each  case  the  offer  was  declined.     The  stories  may  have  been  common  property ; 
Florio's  translation  of  Montaigne  was  not  published  till  after  this  play  was  produced. 
[Montaigne's  story  of  a  Picard  is  in  Manningham's  Diary,  p.  102. —  ED.] 

21.  turning  away]    STEEVENS  states  that  he  found  the  following  observation 
among  some  papers  of  '  the  late  Dr  Letherland ' :   '  This  seems  to  be  a  pun  from  the 
nearness  in  the  pronunciation  of  turning  away  and  turning  of  whey.'1     [The  name 
of  the  author  of  this  interpretation  may  be  spelled  '  Letherland,'  but  it  is  to  be  strongly 
suspected  that  it  was  pronounced  Steevens. — ED.]     Steevens  then  continues:  It  is 
common  for  unsettled  and  vagrant  serving-men  to  grow  negligent  of  their  business 
towards  summer  ;  and  the  sense  of  the  passage  is  :  '  If  I  am  turned  away,  the  advan- 
tages of  the  approaching  summer  will  bear  out,  or  support  all  the  inconveniences  of 
dismission  ;  for  I  shall  find  employment  in  every  field,  and  lodging  under  every 
hedge.'— WILLIAM  H.  SMITH  (N.  &*  Qu.  1859,  2nd,  vii,  337)  :  'Turning  away' 
should   be  pronounced  'turning    aw-ay' — i.e.    'turning   o'  hay.'     ['"God   bless 
me  !"  said  my  uncle  Toby.'— ED.] — JOHN  ADDIS,  JUN.  (W.  &  Qu.  1867,  3rd,  xi, 
252):  The  words  in  their  plain  sense  mean  that  in   summer   a  homeless  person 
suffers  fewer  hardships  than  at  other  seasons.     Accordant  with  this  view  I  subjoin 
a  passage  from  the  Interlude  of  Jacke  Jugler  :  '  I  neuer  vse  to  rune  awaye  in  wynter 
nor  in  vere  But  all  waves  in  suche  tyme  and  season  of  the  yere  When  honye  lyeth  in 
the  hiues  of  Bees  And  all  maner  frute  falleth  from  the  trees  As  Apples,  Nuttes, 
Peres,  and  plummes  also  Wherby  a  boye  maye  liue  a  brod  a  moneth  or  two.'    [E.  ii, 
verso,  Ashbee's  Facsimile.]— W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  But  perhaps  the  Clown,  having  been 


ACT  I,  sc.  v.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  63 

Ma.     You  are  refolute  then  ?  22 

Clo.    Not  fo  neyther,  but  I  am  refolu'd  on  two  points 
Ma.   That  if  one  breake,the  other  will  hold:  or  if  both 

breake,your  gaskins  fall.  25 

Clo.     Apt  in  good  faith,  very  apt :  well  go  thy  way,  if 

fir  Toby  would  leaue  drinking,  thou  wert  as  witty  a  piece 

of  Eues  flefh,as  any  in  Illyria. 

Ma.    Peace  you  rogue,  no  more  o'  that:  here  comes  my 

Lady  :  make  your  excufe  wifely,  you  were  beft.  30 

22.  You']  Your  F2.  26.  very]  vety  F3- 
25.  gaskins']    gaskings    F4,    Rowe,  28.  in]  Om.  Rowe  i. 

Pope.  30.   [Exit.  Pope  et  seq. 

frequently  threatened  with  dismissal,  simply  means,  Wait  till  summer  comes,  and  see 
if  it  be  true. 

23.  points]  BLACKSTONE  :   '  Points '   were  metal  hooks,  fastened  to  the  hose  or 
breeches,  (which  then  had  no  opening  or  buttons,)  and  going  into  straps  or  eyes 
fixed  to  the  doublet,  and  thereby  keeping  the  hose  from  falling  down. — STEEVENS  : 
So  in  /  Hen.  IV:  II,  iv,  238  :  «  Falstaff.  Their  points  being  broken —  Pains.  Down 
fell  their  hose.'    Again,  Ant.  &°  Cleop.  Ill,  xiii,  157  :  'To  flatter  Caesar,  would  you 
mingle  eyes  With  one  that  ties  his  points?'      [Blackstone's  definition  of  'point' 
appears  in  the  Var.  of  1821,  and  may  be  therefore  supposed  to  have  been  approved 
by  Steevens,   Malone,  and  Reed ;  yet  I  think  it  is  hardly  correct.     « Points '  are 
always  spoken  of  as  trussed,  or  tied ;  it  is  not  easy  to  see  how  '  metal  hooks  '  could 
ever  have  been  tied.     Over,  the  shirt,  our  ancestors  wore  a  tight  vest  or  doublet, 
which  might  or  might  not  have  sleeves,  and  is,  in  fact,  the  progenitor  of  our  modern 
waistcoat ;  from  its  lower  edge  depended  a  number  of  strings  or  laces  (how  many, 
I  do  not  know),  and  these  strings  had  metal  points,  like  our  modern  shoe-laces  ; 
these  points  it  was  which  gave  the  name  to  the  strings.     There  were  corresponding 
points  on  the  slops  or  breeches,  or  hose,  or,  as  Maria  here  calls  them,  the  '  gaskins. ' 
When  the  points  on  the  doublet  and  the  points  on  the  hose  were  trussed  or  tied,  the 
man  was  dressed,  and  needed  but  his  cloak,  his  boots,  and  his  girdle  to  jet  it  abroad. 
—En.] 

25.  gaskins]  BRADLEY  (N.  E.  D]  :  Of  uncertain  origin  ;  perhaps  due  to  a  false 
analysis  of  Galligaskin,  to  which  the  'gallant  gaskins'  of  the  quotation  [from 
G.  Harvey,  see  infra]  comes  close  in  point  of  sound.  On  the  other  hand,  as  Cot- 
grave  explains  French  gregues  by  '  wide  slops,  Gregs,  Gallogascoines,  Venetians ;  a 
great  Gascon  or  Spanish  hose,'  it  seems  possible  that  such  hose  were  actually  worn  in 
Gascony ;  if  so,  this  word  may  have  been  a  special  use  of  Gascon,  and  have  existed 
earlier  than  galligaskin.  A  kind  of  breech  or  hose.  Chiefly  plural.  G.  Harvey 
(1573)  Letter-bk  (Camden)  6:  'His  oun  gai  gallant  gaskins,  his  kut  dublets,  his 
staring  hare.' 

27,  28.  thou  wert  .  .  .  Illyria]  Does  not  the  Clown  pretend  to  whisper  this  in 
Maria's  ear? — ED. 

30.  you  were  best]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  That  is,  it  were  best  for  you.  Originally 
the  pronoun  in  this  phrase  was  in  the  dative  case,  but  by  the  time  of  Shakespeare  it 
had  come  to  be  regarded  as  the  nominative.  Similarly,  the  phrase  '  if  you  please ' 


64  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  i,  sc.  v. 

Enter  Lady  Oliuia,  with  Maluolio.  3 1 

Clo.  Wit,and't  be  thy  will,  put  me  into  good  fooling  : 
thofe  wits  that  thinke  they  haue  thee,  doe  very  oft  proue 
fooles  ;  and  I  that  am  fure  I  lacke  thee ,  may  paffe  for  a 
wife  man.  For  what  faies  Quinapalus ,  Better  a  witty  foqle,  35 

then  a  foolifli  wit.     God  bleffe  the  e  Lady. 

01.     Take  the  foole  away. 

Clo.     Do  you  not  heare  fellowes,  take  away  the  Ladie. 

01.     Go  too,y'are  a  dryjoolej  He  no  more  of  you:be-  39 

31.  Scene  VII.  Pope,  +  .  Johns.  Var. '73. 

Enter...]  After  'fooli/h  -wit?  line  35.  Quinapalus,]  Quinapalus?  Han. 

36,  Dyce,  Cam.  Sta.  Glo.  Rife,  Huds.  Cap.  et  seq. 

Dtn.  38.  fellowes,]  fellows?  Theob.  ii.  et 

32.  and'f\  an't  Han.  Cap.  Var. '21,  seq. 

Coll.  Wh.  Dyce,  Cam.  Rife.  39.  y'are]     Ff,    Rowe,  +  ,    Wh.     ii. 

good~\  a  good  Theob.  ii,  Warb.         you're  Cap.  et  cet. 

was  originally  '  if  it  please  you,'  the  pronoun  being  in  the  dative.  [See  '  she  were 
better,'  II,  ii,  22  ;  '  your  Ladyship  were  best,'  HI,  iv,  13  ;  or,  if  need  be,  ABBOTT, 
§§  230,  352.  Or  As  You  Like  It,  I,  i,  143 ;  Mid.  N.  D.  I,  ii,  5  ;  Wint.  Tale,  v, 
ii,  132  ;  all  of  this  ed. — ED.] 

31.  Enter  .  .  .  Maluolio]  BR.  NICHOLSON  {N.  «5r>  Qu.  1892,  8th,  5,  370) : 
This  stage-direction  has  been  generally  followed  down  to  the  last  Cambridge  Edi- 
tion. Staunton,  however,  gave,  more  correctly,  'Enter  Olivia,  Malvolio,  and 
Attendants,'  for  the  Clown  says,  line  38,  '  Do  you  not  hear,  fellows ' ;  and  again, 
line  69,  'Take  away  the  fool,  gentlemen."  But  these  very  passages  show  that  even 
this  stage-direction  is  insufficient,  for  in  our  day  we  naturally  expect  that  a  lady  will 
be  accompanied  only  by  female  attendants.  Olivia,  however,  was  a  peeress  in  her 
own  right,  and  would  be  attended  by  a  retinue,  or  guard,  of  armed  gentlemen  servi- 
tors. Shakespeare  here,  true  to  the  custom  of  his  times,  and  also  that  he  might  at 
once  set  before  his  spectators, — the  full  rank  of  Olivia  and  the  fact  that  the  Duke 
was  in  no  way  demeaning  himself  in  his  love, — the  absurd  vanity  of  Malvolio  that 
is  to  be  hereafter  depicted, — and  the  great  good  fortune  of  Sebastian, — provides  that 
Olivia's  first  entrance  should  be  made  in  her  usual  state,  attended  both  by  her  women 
and  her  armed  retainers  ;  Malvolio  taking  his  place,  not  as  her  confidential  friend, 
but  simply  as  the  steward  of  her  household.  ...  A  note  somewhat  to  the  effect 
I  have  spoken  of  being  made,  the  direction  might  run :  'Enter  Olivia  in  state,  with 
Attendants,  female  and  male,  Malvolio  among  the  latter.'  [Nicholson  possibly 
overlooked  Capell's  edition,  where  the  stage-direction  implies,  I  think,  what  Nichol- 
son, with  much  reason,  has  urged  :  'Enter  Olivia,  attended,  and  Malvolio.' — ED.] 

35.  Quinapalus]  One  of  the  leaders  of  the  Vapians  when  they  passed  the 
equinoctial  of  Queubus. — ED. 

35,  36.  Better  .  .  .  wit]  JOHNSON  :  Hall,  in  his  Chronicle,  speaking  of  the 
death  of  Sir  Thomas  More,  says  that,  '  he  knows  not  whether  to  call  him  a  foolish 
wise  man,  or  a  wise  foolish  man.'  [Be  it  not  forgotten  that '  witty '  is  not  here  used 
in  its  modern  sense. — ED.] 

39.  dry]  See  I.  iii,  74. 


ACT  I,  sc.  v.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  65 

fides  you  grow  dif-honeft.  40 

Clo.  Two  faults  Madona,that  drinke  &  good  counfell 
wil  amend  :  for  giue  the  dry  foole  drink,  then  is  the  foole 
not  dry  :  bid  the  difhonefi  man  mend  himfelf,if  he  mend, 
he  is  no  longer  dimoneft ;  if  hee  cannot,  let  the  Botcher 
mend  him  :  any  thing  that's  mended,  is  but  patch'd :  vertu  45 

that  tranfgreffes,  is  but  patcht  with  fmne,  and  fin  that  a- 
mends,  is  but  patcht  with  vertue.  If  that  this  fimple 
Sillogifme  will  ferue,  fo  :  if  it  will  not,  what  remedy  ?  48 

40.  dif-honeft\  F2.  Ran.  Mai.  et  seq. 

41.  Madona\    Madonna     Var.    '78, 

39.  lie  no  more  of  you]  See  I,  iii,  100. 

40.  dis-honest]  RANN  :   That  is,   indecent.     SCHMIDT  gives  these  additional 
examples  of  the  use  of  the  word  in  this  same  sense  :  In  Merry  Wives,  III,  iii,  196, 
Mrs  Page,  speaking  of  Falstaff,  says,  '  Hang  him,  dishonest  rascal ' ;  and  again  she 
applies  the  same  adjective  to  him  in  IV,  ii,  104 :  '  Hang  him,  dishonest  varlet.' 
Again,  Hen.  V :  I,  ii,  49  :  '  Who,  holding  in  disdain  the  German  women  For  some 
dishonest  manner  in  their  life,  Establish' d  then  this  law.'    Of  course,  in  all  cases  the 
context  must  decide  the  meaning.     In  III,  iv,  387,  Sir  Toby  uses  '  dishonest*  in  its 
ordinary  sense,  dishonourable.   W.  A.  WRIGHT  calls  attention  to  the  use  of  '  honest ' 
in  the  sense  of  virtuous  in  Hamlet's  interview  with  Ophelia,  III,  i,  103  and  123: 
•Are  you  honest?'   'I  am  myself  indifferent  honest.' 

41.  Madona]   Madonna,  mistres,   mistres  mine,  madam.      Also  taken  for  our 
ladie. — Florio,  Worlde  of  Wordes,  1598. 

42.  43.  dry  .  .  .  dishonest]  In  thus  interpreting  these  two  words  in  a  sense 
different  from  that  in  which  Olivia  had  just  used  them,  Feste  proves  his  right  to  be 
the  Countess's  'corrupter  of  words.' — ED. 

44.  Botcher]  «  BOTCHARE  of  olde  thinges.  Resartor? — Promp.  Parv.  (where,  in 
a  foot-note,  WAY  quotes  from  Palsgrave  :  '  to  botche,  or  bungyll  a  garment  as  he  dothe 
that  is  nat  a  perfyte  workeman,  fatrouiller.'     [I  suppose  a  botcher  held  the  same 
relation  to  a  tailor  that  a  cobbler  holds  to  a  shoemaker. — ED.] 

45.  patch'd]  MALONE  :  Alluding  to  the  patched  or  particoloured  garment  of  the 
fool.     [See  line  2  above,  where  Feste' s  dress  is  discussed. — ED.] 

48.  Sillogisme]  RUGGLES  (p.  35)  :  The  Clown's  whimsical  wit  invests  itself  in 
the  forms  of  logic.  He  is  the  logician  of  the  play, — '  a  corrupter  of  words.'  His 
more  elaborate  witticisms  are  arguments  that  lack  but  little  of  regular  syllogistic 
form. — HUTSON  (Southern  Maga.  1875,  May,  p.  483)  :  The  logical  forms  are  sound 
enough,  whatever  may  be  said  of  their  fruit ;  and  in  their  formal  statement  the 
propositions  run  thus  : — 

Major  Premiss — All  mended  things  are  patched  things  ; 

Minor  Premiss — Broken  virtue  is  virtue  sin-mended  ; 

Conclusion — Therefore  broken  virtue  is  sin-patched. 

This  is  the  categorical  form  ;  now  let  us  put  the  other  proposition  into  the  con- 
ditional : — 

Major  Premis — If  sin  amends,  then  sin  is  mended  ; 

Minor  Premis — But  mended  things  are  patched  things ; 

Conclusion — Then  sin  is  patched. 

5 


66  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  i,  sc.  v. 

As  there  is  no  true  Cuckold  but  calamity,  fo  beauties  a 

flower ;  The  Lady  bad  take  away  the  foole,  therefore  I  50 

fay  againe,  take  her  away. 

01.     Sir,  I  bad  them  take  away  you. 

Clo.     Mifprifion  in  the  higheft  degree.    Lady,  Cucullus  53 

49.    Cuckold]    counsellor  Han.     dis-  49.  beauties]    beauties  Fa.     beauty's 

honour  Huds.  ^3^4- 

The  unexpressed  fact,  upon  which  both  syllogisms  rest,  is,  of  course,  that  human 
nature  is  neither  absolutely  good  nor  absolutely  bad  ;  that  the  man  of  virtue  some- 
times sins,  and  the  man  of  sin  sometimes  amends  ;  and  hence,  whether  virtue  or  sin 
be  present  in  any,  it  must  needs  be  patched  with  its  opposite.  That  the  whole  thing 
is  nonsense,  as  an  argument  for  maintaining  that  virtue  and  vice  are  things  indiffer- 
ent, is  only  an  additional  bell  to  the  fool's  cap.  His  Cucullus  non  facit  monachum 
is  another  stone  to  be  added  to  my  theory  of  his  having  had  a  clerical  education. 
[In  this  truly  delightful  essay  Prof.  Hutson  has  previously  expressed  his  suspicion 
that  Feste  had  been  '  educated  for  the  Church  and  had  ruined  his  prospects  by  some 
wHd  prank ';  he  did  not,  however,  notice,  in  the  present  instance,  what  did  not  escape 
W.  A.  WRIGHT,  that  Feste  is  '  talking  against  time  and  sense  in  order  to  escape  the 
reprimand  he  deserves.'] 

49.  Cuckold,  etc.]  CAPELL  (p.  142)  :  Apothegms  in  such  a  mouth  as  this 
speaker's  are  of  themselves  laughable,  and  the  Poet  has  made  them  doubly  and 
trebly  so  :  by  giving  him  such  as  have  no  relation  whatever  one  to  other,  and  yet 
putting  them  argument-wise  ;  by  corrupting  one  of  them  oddly,  '  cuckold '  for  school 
or  else  (which  is  the  Oxford  text)  counsellor ;  and  by  both  these  methods  obscuring 
their  little  pertinency  to  what  is  in  hand,  and  making  shew  as  they  had  none  :  but 
this  is  not  the  case  absolutely  ;  his  first  murder* d  apothegm  squints  at  his  '  turning 
away,'  and  his  latter  is  a  memento  to  his  lady.  [Which,  interpreted,  means  that 
1  calamity '  refers  to  the  Clown  himself,  and  '  flower '  to  Olivia.  W.  A.  WRIGHT  says 
here,  justly,  that  in  using  the  word  '  cuckold '  the  Clown  '  purposely  blunders.' 
Let  it  be  repeated  that  he  is  purposely  rattling  off  bewildering  nonsense. — Eix] 

52,  etc.  Sir,  I  bad,  etc.]  LAMB  (ii,  367)  :  Mrs  Powel  (now  Mrs  Renard),  then 
in  the  pride  of  her  beauty,  made  an  excellent  Olivia.    She  was  particularly  excellent 
in  her  unbending  scenes  with  the  Clown.     I  have  seen  some  Olivia's, — and  those 
very  sensible  actresses,  too, — who  in  these  interlocutions  have  seemed  to  set  their 
wits  at  the  jester,  and  to  vie  conceits  with  him  in  downright  emulation.     But  she 
used  him  for  her  sport,  like  what  he  was,  to  trifle  a  leisure  sentence  or  two  with,  and 
then  to  be  dismissed,  and  she  to  be  the  Great  Lady  still.    She  touched  the  imperious 
fantastic  humour  of  the  character  with  nicety. 

53.  Misprision,  etc.]  RUSHTON  (Lex  Scripta,  p.  84)  :  Coke  says,  'compassings 
or  imaginations  against  the  King  by  word,  without  an  overt  act,  is  a  high  misprision.'' 
— 3  Institute,  cap.  Ixv.     But  although  the  Clown  here  speaks  of  misprision  in  the 
highest  degree,  I  think  he  plays  upon  the  word,  using  it  also  in  the  sense  of  contempt. 
— SKEAT  (Diet.']  :  A  mistake,  neglect.     See  Blount's  Nomolexicon,  ed.  1691  :  '  mis- 
prision of  clerks  (Anno  8  Hen.  VI.  c.  15)  is  a  neglect  of  clerks  in  writing  or  keep- 
ing records.  .   .  .  Misprision  also  signifies  a  mistaking.'     Old  French,  '  mesprison, 
misprision,  error,  offence,  a  thing  done,  or  taken,  amisse.' — Cotgrave.   ...  2.  It  is 
tolerably  certain  that  misprision  was  ignorantly  confused  with  misprise,  and  wrongly 


ACT  I,  sc.  v.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  67 

nonfadt  monachum  :  that's  as  much  to  fay,  as  I  weare  not 
motley  in  my  braine  :  good  Madona,  giue  mee  leaue  to  55 

proue  you  a  foolc. 

01.     Can  you  do  it  ? 

Clo.     Dexterioufly,  good  Madona.  58 

54.  that's  as  much  to  fay,~\¥t.    that's  Cam.  Glo.  Rife,  Dtn,  \Vh.  ii.     as  I  we  re 

as  much  to  say  Knt,  Dyce,  Cam.  Sta.  F4,  Rowe  i.    as,  JwearKni,  Dyce,  Sta. 

Glo.  Rife,  Dtn,  \Vh.  ii.     that  as  much  J  -wear  Rowe  ii  et  cet. 

as  to  say  Rowe  i.     that's  as  much  as  to  58.  Dexteriou/ly~\     Dexterously    F  , 

say  Rowe  ii  et  cet.  Rowe,  -r ,  Knt,  Sta.  Coll.  iii. 
as  I  weare~\  F2.     as  I  wear  F  , 

used  in  the  sense  of  contempt.  Thus  Blount,  in  the  article  already  cited,  says : 
'  misprision  of  treason  is  a  neglect  or  light  account  made  of  treason ' ;  and  he  derives 
the  word  from  French  mespris,  contempt.  This  easy  error  has  probably  resulted  in 
false  law.  [A  quotation  by  Rushton  from  Coke  shows  that  the  error  had  received 
an  authority  which  no  lawyer  in  those  days  dare  question.  'Misprisio,'  says  Coke, 
3  Inst.  cap.  iii,  '  cometh  of  the  word  mes,  pris,  which  properly  signifieth  neglect 
or  contempt. '  I  doubt  that  the  Clown  knew  the  precise  legal  signification  of  '  mis- 
prision ' ;  but  by  its  present  use  he  indirectly  imputes  to  his  mistress  an  offence  against 
his  own  superior  majesty.  Of  course,  to  say  that  the  word  here  means  simply  a  mistake 
may  be  true  enough  ;  but  I  think  the  Clown  intended  to  convey  much  more  than 
this,  when  he  used  such  a  high-sounding  phrase  in  the  superlative  degree. — ED.] 

53,  54.  Cucullus  .  .  .  monachum]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  Cotgrave  gives  the  French 
proverb,  '  L'  habit  ne  fait  pas-  le  moine :  Pro.  The  Cowle  makes  not  the  Monke ; 
euerie  one  is  not  a  souldier  that  weares  armor ;  nor  euerie  one  a  scholler  thats  clad 
in  blacke.'     In  the  same  form  it  appears  in  all  the  languages  of  Europe.     See  Meat, 
for  Meas.  V,  i,  263. 

54.  that's  as  much  to  say]  DYCE  :  Thus,  in  2  Hen.   VI :  IV,  ii,  18  :  '  and  yet 
it  is  said,  labour  in  thy  vocation  ;  which  is  as  much  to  say  as,  let  the  magistrates  be 
labouring  men.'    Both  forms  [the  present  and  as  much  as  to  say~\  were  used. — W.  A. 
WRIGHT  :  Compare  Florio's  Italian  Diet.:  '  Madornale,  as  much  to  say  as  lawfully 
borne,  and  of  a  true  and  lawfull  Mother.'     Again,  in  Holland's  Plutarch,  p.  723  t 
•  For  where  wee  faile  to  give  reason  of  a  cause,  there  begin  we  to  doubt  &  make 
question,  &  that  is  as  much  to  say,  as  to  play  the  philosophers.' 

58.  Dexteriously]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  This  may  possibly  be  an  intentional  cor- 
ruption, but  it  actually  occurs  in  Bacon's  Advancement  of  Learning,  ii,  22,  §  15 
(p.  214,  ed.  Wright)  :  'He  [the  sophist]  cannot  form  a  man  so  dexteriously,  nor 
with  that  facility  to  prize  and  govern  himself,  as  love  can  do.'  Here  the  editions  of 
1605,  1629,  and  1633  all  read  'dexteriously,'  although  in  another  passage  the  word 
is  spelt  as  usual.  Again,  in  Naunton's  Fragmenta  Regalia  (ed.  Arber),  p.  28  :  '  We 
take  him  [Leicester]  as  he  was  admitted  into  the  Court,  and  the  Queens  favour,  where 
he  was  not  to  seek  to  play  his  part  well,  and  dexteriously.'  [This  is  generally  con- 
sidered a  corruption  whether  intentional  or  not.  But  Wright's  quotations  suggest  that 
it  was  an  allowable  pronunciation,  on  the  analogy  of  '  prolixious,'  in  Meas.  for  Meas. 

II,  iv,  162  :  '  Lay  by  all  nicety  and  prolixious  blushes';  or  '  robustious,'  in  Hamlet, 

III,  ii,  10  :  '  It  offends  me  to  hear  a  robustious  periwig-pated  fellow,'  etc.;  and  in 
Hen.   V :  III,  vii,  159  :  '  the  men  do  sympathize  with  the  mastiffs  in  robustious  and 


68  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  i,  sc.  v. 

01.     Make  your  proofe. 

Clo.     I  muft  catechize  you  for  it  Madona,  Good  my          60 
Moufe  of  vertue  anfwer  mee. 

01.     Well  fir,  for  want  of  other  idleneffe,  He  bide  your 
proofe.  63 

6l.   Moufe]  Muse  Anon.  ap.  Cam.  62.  bide]    bid  F4.      abide  Var.  '85, 

mee]  Om.  F3F4,  Rowe.  'bide  Var.  '03,  '13,  '21,  Knt,  Coll. 

rough  coming-on.'  Thus  also  in  Stubbes,  Anatomie  of  Abuses,  we  find,  '  giue  the 
King  to  vnderstand  the  inormious  abuse  thereof.'  (p.  47,  ed.  New  Sh.  Society,  Series 
vi,  No.  4.)  Lastly,  in  Othello,  although  the  Qq  generally  have  'jealous,'  the  First 
Folio  almost  invariably  prints  it  'jealious.'  (See  Othello,  III,  iv,  179,  of  this  ed. 
Also  'studient,'  IV,  ii,  lo;  'jealious,'  IV,  iii,  30, post.)  Walker  (  Vers.  154)  quotes 
'  grevious '  from  Butler,  and  calls  attention  to  the  present  vulgarisms  mischevious 
and  tremendious.  Wherefore,  I  doubt  that  Feste  intended,  or  that  Olivia  noticed, 
anything  unusual  in  'dsxteriously.' — ED.] 

60.  61.   Good  my  Mouse  of  vertue]  ABBOTT  (§  13)  says  that  this  is  formed  by 
analogy  from  such  phrases  as  '  good  my  lord,'  «  good  my  girl,'   '  good  my  knave,1 
etc.,  where  the  possessive  pronouns  are  so  unemphatic  that  they  are  transposed  and 
really  combine  with  the  nouns,  like  the  French  monsieur.    If  the  phrase  were  merely 
'  good  my  mouse,'  I  think  Abbott  would  be  entirely  right,  and  the  phrase  equivalent 
to  '  my  good  mouse,'  but  we  have  '  mouse  of  virtue,'  and  to  say  '  my  good  mouse 
of  virtue '   sounds  a  little  tautological.     Wherefore,  I  think  that  '  Good '   is  here 
emphatic,  and  should  have  a  comma  after  it,  with  somewhat  of  the  meaning  of  '  Now, 
then,'  'Come,  then';  much  like  Marcellus's  'Good,  now  sit  down,  and  tell  me,' 
Hamlet,  I,  i,  70.     There  is  a  pause  of  a  second  or  two  after  '  Madonna,'  while  the 
Clown  is  marshalling  his  logic.     Then  he  begins,   '  Good,   my  mouse  of  virtue, 
answer  me.' — ED. 

61.  Mouse]  Bartlett's  Concordance  gives  the  two  or  three  instances  where  Shake- 
speare has  used  this  as  a  term  of  endearment.      The  most  familiar  to  us  all   is 
Hamlet's  '  Pinch  wanton  on  your  cheek,  call  you  his  mouse,'  III,  iv.  183. — W.  A. 
WRIGHT  :  In  applying  this  term  to  Olivia  the  Clown  was  stretching  to  the  utmost  his 
privilege  as  an  allowed  fool.     He  does  this  purposely  to  prevent  her  from  referring 
to  his  past  misdeeds. 

62.  idlenesse]  That  is,  trifling.    Or,  as  ROLFE  says,  '  pastime,  means  of  whiling 
away  an  idle  hour.'     The  interpretation  of  idle  should  be  always  approached  with 
fear  and  trembling,  '  all  that  makes  wet  the  pores  and  lifts  the  hair.'     It  is  the  most 
fatal  single  word  in  dramatic  literature,  possibly,  in  all  literature.     Owing  to  Mac- 
ready's  interpretation  of  it,  in  Hamlet's  '  I  must  be  idle,'  twenty-three  persons  were 
killed  outright,  and  as  many  more  horribly  mutilated.     Over  this  ensanguined  scene 
the  thoughtful  philanthropist  can  but  lament  that  it  was  the  harmless  readers  of  Shake- 
speare who  were  the  victims  and  not  the  emenders  of  his  text.     See  Account  of  the 
Terrific  and  Fatal  Riot  at  the  New  York  Astor-Place  Opera  House,  May  loth,  1849, 
p.  28.— ED. 

62.  bide]  Needlessly  changed  to  'bide  by  REED.  '  Bide,'  says  MURRAY  ( N.  E. 
D.),  'is  mostly  replaced  in  modern  English  by  its  compound  abide,  but  regularly 
preserved  in  northern  English  and  Scotch ;  and  also  employed  by  igth  century 
poets,  partly,  perhaps,  as  an  archaism,  partly  as  an  aphetized  form  of  abide.' 


ACT  I,  sc.  v.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  69 

Clo.     Good  Madona,  why  mournft  thou  ? 

Ol.     Good  foole,  for  my  brothers  death.  65 

Clo.     I  thinke  his  foule  is  in  hell,  Madona. 

Ol.    I  know  his  foule  is  in  heauen,  foole, 

Clo.  The  more  foole  (Madona^  to  mourne  for  your 
Brothers  foule,  being  in  heauen.  Take  away  the  Foole, 
Gentlemen.  70 

Ol.  What  thinke  you  of  this  foole  Maluolio,  doth  he 
not  mend  ? 

Mai.  Yes,  and  (hall  do,  till  the  pangs  of  death  fhake 
him  :  Infirmity  that  decaies  the  wife,  doth  euer  make  the 
better  foole.  75 

Clow.  God  fend  you  fir,  a  fpeedie  Infirmity,  for  the 
better  increafing  your  folly_j_Sir  Toby  will  be  fworn  that 
I  am  no  Fox,  but  he  wil  not  paffe  his  word  for  two  pence 
that  you  are  no  Foole,. 

Ol.     How  fay  you  to  that  Maluolio  ?  80 

Mai.  I  maruell  your  Ladyfhip  takes  delight  in  fuch 
a  barren  rafcall  :  I  faw  him  put  down  the  other  day,  with  82 

68.  foole}  Fa.  fool  you  F3F4,  Rowe,  + ,  74,  75.  the  better}  better  the   Rowe 
Cap.  Var.  Mai.  Hal.  Ktly.     '  ii,  +  ,  Var.  '73. 

69.  foule,  being}  soul  being  Rowe  et  77.  increafing}  encreasing  Cap.  Var. 
seq.  Steev.  Var. 

69.  soule,  being]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  This  comma  changes  the  construction  with- 
out materially  altering  the  sense. 

74.  decaies]  For  the  active  use  of  this  word,  see,  '  When  rocks  impregnable  are 
not  so  stout,  Nor  gates  of  steel  so  strong,  but  Time  decays.' — Sonn.  Ixv,  8;  and 
'every  day  that  comes  comes  to  decay  A  day's  work  in  him.'  —  Cymb,  I,  v,  56. 

76,  77.  the  better  increasing]  Compare  '  With  viewing  of  the  town,'  III,  iii, 
46  ;  '  for  tainting  of  my  love,'  V,  i,  144.  See  ABBOTT  (§  93)  for  other  examples  of 
a  verbal  noun  followed  by  an  object,  with  or  without  the  definite  article  before  it. 

81.  Ladyship]  WALKER  having  stated  (Crit.  ii,  141)  that  Ladiship  is  always 
so  spelled  in  the  Folio,  LETTSOM,  in  a  footnote,  subjoins :  Walker  is  not  quite  cor- 
rect here.     Ladiship  is  far  more  frequent  in  the  Folio  than  Ladyship,  but  the  latter 
occurs  fifteen  times.     The  two  modes  of  spelling  rarely  occur  in  the  same  play  ; 
never,  I  believe,  but  in  AW s  Well.      Two  Gent,  of  Verona  has  '  Ladiship '  sixteen 
times ;    Ladyship  never.       Twelfth   Night  has   '  Ladyship '    five   times,  and   once 
'  Ladieship ' ;  never  Ladiship.     [What  is  this  but  poring  over  the  work  of  a  com- 
positor to  whom  the  obligation  to  preserve  uniformity  in  spelling  was  of  the  lightest? 
—ED.] 

82.  barren]  See  'barren,'  I,  iii,  77,  if  need  be. 

82.  with]  For  very  many  examples  of  this  instrumental  with,  equivalent  to  by, 
see,  if  need  be,  ABHOTT,  §  193. 


70  TWELFE   NIGHT  [ACT  i,  sc.  v. 


an  ordinary  foolCf  that  has  no  more  braine  then  a   ftone.  83 

Looke  you  now,  he's  out  of  his  gard  already  :  vnles  you 
laugh  and  minifter  occafion  to  him,  he  is  gag'd.    I  proteft  85 

I  take  thefe  Wifemen,  that  crow  fo  at  thefe  fet  kinde  of 
fooles,  no  better  then  the  fooles  Zanies.  87 

83.  braine}  brains  F3F4,  Rowe,  Pope,         et  seq. 

Han.  87.  no  belter]   to  be   no   better  Cap. 

84.  gard]  guard  F4.  Wh.  i,  Coll.  ii,  iii  (MS),  Ktly,  Huds. 
86.  thefe]  those  Han.                                     for  no  better  Kinnear. 

Wifemen]  Fa.     Wife  men  F3F4  fooles}  fools'  Theob.  ii  et  seq. 

83.  ordinary  foole]  STAUNTON  :  An  ordinary  fool  may  mean  a  common  fool  ; 
but  more  probably,  as  Shakespeare  had  always  an  eye  to  the  manners  of  his  own 
countrymen,  he  referred  to  a  jester  hired  to  make  sport  for  the  diners  at  a  public 
ordinary.     [Staunton's  suggestion  receives  some  corroboration  from  what  follows  : 
'  that  has  no  more  brain  than  a  stone,'  as  though  the  reference  were  to  a  class  and 
not  to  one  particular  instance  ;  in  the  latter  case,  we  should  have  expected,  '  that 
had  no  more,'  etc.    Still,  I  am  not  sure  that  this  might  not  apply  equally  well  to  the 
class  of  common  fools.  —  ED.] 

84.  out  of  his  gard]  DEIGHTON  :  We  should  now  say,  off  his  guard,  that  is, 
not  in  a  position  to  defend  himself,  not  prepared  to  continue  the  combat.     Compare, 
for  a  similar  metaphor,  Lovers  Lab.  L.  V,  i,  62,  '  Now  by  the  salt  wave  of  the 
Mediterranean,  a  sweet  touch,  a  quick  venue  of  wit  !  snip,  snap,  quick  and  home,' 
•venue'  being  a  technical  term  in  fencing  for  a  thrust,  hit.     [I  am  not  sure  that 
off  his  guard  is  an  equivalent  of  the  present  phrase.      Perhaps   Malvolio  means 
that  the  Clown  has  exhausted  his  means  of  defence.     It  is  not  unfair  to  press  a  man 
until  he  is  out  of  means  to  guard  himself;  it  is  unfair  to  attack  him  when  he  is 
off  his  guard.  —  ED.] 

86.  Wisemen]  I  doubt  that  this  word  should  be  separated  into  its  compounds  ; 
at  most,  there  should  be  merely  a  hyphen  between  them  ;  not  because  the  printers 
have  so  transmitted  the  word,  but  because  it  probably  represents  the  pronunciation 
of  the  time,  when  men  in  such  compounds  had  merely  an  enclitic  force.  We  have 
it  in  such  proper  names,  now-a-days,  as  Goodman,  Chapman,  etc.  Moreover,  the 
sense  needs  the  compound  ;  for  instance,  '  editors  are  not  wise  men  in  separating 
a  compound  which  wisemen  retain.'  WALKER  (Crit.  ii,  136)  has  gathered  examples 
where  the  rhythm  requires  this  compound  to  be  retained  in  such  words  as  richman, 
youngman,  oldman,  deadman,  etc.  He  would  go  so  far  as  to  read  tameman  in 
Mid.  N.  D.  Ill,  ii,  269,  of  this  ed.  The  present  prose  instance,  '  Wisemen,'  is 
not  included  in  his  list,  but,  I  think,  his  general  rule  certainly  applies  to  it.  —  ED. 

86.  crow]  Who  will  not  recall  Jaques  and  his  '  My  lungs  began  to  crow  like 
chanticleer'? 

86,  87.  these  set  kinde  of  fooles]  See  I,  ii,   12,   'those  poor  number';  here 
•kind'  like  'number'  may  be  considered  a  plural.     Or,  as  ABBOTT  (§412)  sug- 
gests, the  two  nouns  connected  by  of  may  be  regarded  as  a  compound  noun  with  a 
plural  termination,  thus,  '  these  set  kind-of  -fools.'    Or,  as  W.  A.  WRIGHT  surmises, 
the  pronoun  may  be  attracted  into  the  plural  by  the  plural  substantive  which  follows. 
Compare  Lear,  II,  ii,  96,  'These  kind  of  knaves,  I  know  ';  As  You  Like  It,  II,  iii, 
II,  'to  some  kind  of  men  Their  graces  serve  them,'  etc. 

87.  the  fooles  Zanies]  DOUCE  :  That  is,  fools'  baubles,  which  had  upon  the  top 


ACT  i,  sc.  v.j  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  71 

[87.  the  fooles  Zanies] 

of  them  the  head  of  a  fool.  [This  erroneous  definition  caused  a  trifling  skirmish 
between  Collier  and  Dyce.  COLLIER  copied  it  in  his  First  Edition  without  comment 
and,  therefore,  presumably  with  approval.  DYCE  (Rent.  74)  quoted  Collier's  note 
with  the  comment  '  Douce's  explanation  is  strangely  wrong.  "The  fools'  zanies" 
is  equivalent  to  "  the  buffoons,  or  mimics,  of  the  fools."  Zany,  both  as  a  substantive 
and  verb,  is  commonly  used  in  that  sense  by  our  early  writers;  "Thou  art  the 
Fowler,  and  doest  shew  vs  shapes,  And  we  are  all  thy  Zanies,  thy  true  apes." — 
Verses  on  Cory  ate  by  Dray  ton,  in  the  Odcombian  Banquet,  etc.,  1611  ;  "  Laughes 
them  to  scorne,  as  man  doth  busy  apes  When  they  will  zanie  men." — Marston's 
Antonios  Reuenge,  1602.'  COLLIER,  in  his  Second  Edition,  quoted  Dyce's  remark 
that  Douce's  definition  was  '  strangely  wrong,'  and  then  added,  somewhat  disin- 
genuously, I  cannot  but  think,  that  it  was  for  that  purpose  only  that  he  had  quoted  it 
in  his  First  Edition.  '  Mr  Dyce  is,  however,'  he  goes  on  to  say,  '  quite  as  much  in 
error  as  Mr  Douce,  when  he  says  that  in  the  passage  in  the  text  "  the  fools'  zanies" 
means  the  mimics  of  the  fools  ;  it  means  those  who  are  silly  enough  to  applaud  fools, 
and  thereby  become  the  fools  of  the  fools.  If  Mr  Dyce  had  here  consulted  Rich- 
ardson, he  would  have  seen  that  "  zany  "  is  applied  to  half-witted  people  ;  hence  it 
is  used  for  a  fool  by  nature.'  HALLIWELL  has  gathered  a  list  of  quotations  illus- 
trating the  true  meaning  of  the  word,  in  a  note,  as  follows  :  '  Zane,  the  name  of  lohn. 
Also  a  sillie  lohn,  a  gull,  a  noddie.  Vsed  also  for  a  simple  vice,  clowne,  foole,  or 
simple  fellowe  in  a  plaie  or  comedie.' — Florio,  Worlds  of  Wordes,  1598.  'Zany, 
or  foolish  imitator.' — Minsheu.  [This  quotation  I  cannot  find  in  Minsheu,  search 
how  I  may. — ED.]  The  term  zany  was  generally  applied  in  England  to  an  inferior 
fool  or  buffoon  attending  on  and  imitating  another,  and  in  this  sense  the  word  is  used 
in  the  text.  '  He's  like  the  zany  to  a  tumbler,  That  tries  tricks  after  him,  to  make 
men  laugh.'  Jonson's  Every  Man  Out  of  his  Humour  [IV,  i,  p.  132,  ed.  Gifford]  ; 
'  The  other  gallant  is  his  zany,  and  doth  most  of  these  tricks  after  him  ;  [sweats  to 
imitate  him  in  everything  to  a  hair,' — Ib.  Cynthia's  Revels,  II,  i,  p.  265].  '  Your 
Inne-a-court-man  is  Zany  to  the  Knights,  and  (mary  very  scuruily)  comes  likewise 
limping  after  it.' — Dekker's  Guls  Horn-booke  [Chap.  VI,  p.  251,  ed.  Grosart].  'As 
th'  English  apes  and  very  zanies  be  Of  everything,  that  they  do  hear  and  see, 
[so  imitating  his  ridiculous  tricks,  They  speak  and  write,  all  like  meer  lunaticks.'] — 
Drayton,  [Elegies.  To  Henry  Reynolds,  Esq.~\  In  some  of  the  above  instances,  and 
in  many  others  that  might  be  adduced,  the  term  zany  seems  to  be  merely  used  in  the 
sense  of  imitator,  a  metaphorical  use  derived  from  the  interpretation  above  given. 
The  fool  or  attendant  on  a  mountebank  was  also  called  a  zany.  In  Jonson's  Fox, 
when  Volpone  is  disguised  as  a  mountebank  doctor,  he  addresses  his  attendant  as 
his  zany.  [Halliwell  gives  more  than  a  folio  page  of  additional  quotations,  but 
they  yield  nothing  new,  and,  moreover,  are  all  post-Shakespearian.  Whatever  credit 
is  due  for  the  elucidation  of  the  meaning  of  'zany,'  belongs  first  to  Halliwell, 
and  next  to  Dyce,  but  they  were  both  overlooked,  doubtless  inadvertently,  by 
the  late  Professor  BAYNES  in  his  valuable  Article  on  Shakespearian  Glossaries 
(Edin.  Rev.  July,  1869)  ;  wherein  it  is  said  that  'no  critic  has  yet  explained 
what  "zany"  really  means,  or  pointed  out  the  special  relevancy  of  Shakespeare's 
allusions  to  the  character.'  Baynes  then  gives  his  own  definition,  which  is,  in  effect, 
merely  an  amplification  of  Halliwell's  interpretation  given  above.  'The  zany  in 
Shakespeare's  day,'  he  observes,  'was  not  so  much  a  buffoon  and  mimic  as  the 
obsequious  follower  of  a  buffoon,  and  the  attenuated  mime  of  a  mimic.  He  was  thr. 


72  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  i,  sc.  v. 

01.     O  you  are  ficke  of  felfe-loue  Maluolio,  and  tafte  88 

with  a  diftemper'd  appetite.     To  be  generous,  guitleffe, 
and  of  free  difpofition,  is  to  take  thofe  things  for  Bird-  90 

bolts,  that  you  deeme  Cannon  bullets  :  There  is  no  flan- 
der  in  an  allow'd  foole,  though  he  do  nothing  but  rayle  ;  92 

89.  guitlejfe]  F2.     guileless  Tiessen,  Gould. 


vice,  servant,  or  attendant  of  the  professional  clown  or  fool,  who,  dressed  like  his 
master,  accompanied  him  on  the  stage  or  in  the  ring,  following  his  movements,  at- 
tempting to  imitate  his  tricks,  and  adding  to  the  general  merriment  by  his  ludicrous 
failures  and  comic  imbecility.  It  is  this  characteristic  not  merely  of  mimicry,  but  of 
weak  and  abortive  mimicry,  that  gives  its  distinctive  meaning  to  the  word,  and  col- 
ours it  with  a  special  tinge  of  contempt.'  Were  the  zanies  of  the  Elizabethan  age 
really  'weak  and  abortive  mimics'?  Surely,  an  abortive  zany  would  create  but 
little  laughter.  The  loudest  merriment  would  be  evoked,  I  should  think,  when 
the  mimicry  of  tones,  of  bearing,  of  looks,  of  gestures  was  most  pronounced  and 
successful.  See  quotation  above  from  Cynthia's  Rei'els.  Baynes's  definition  was  too 
much  influenced,  I  fear,  by  the  Clowns  in  the  modern  Circus.  Indeed,  he  asserts  that 
'  this  feature  of  the  early  stage  [the  zany]  has  descended  to  our  own  times,  and  may 
still  occasionally  be  found  in  all  its  vigour  in  the  performances  of  the  circus.'  To 
this  he  was  led,  I  think,  by  his  solitary  quotation,  in  illustration  of  the  present  class 
of  zanies,  from  Ben  Jonson's  Every  Man  Out  of  his  Humour,  given  above  by  Halli- 
well,  wherein  the  zany  is  mentioned,  not  of  a  Fool,  but  of  a  tumbler, — a  very  dif- 
ferent character.  It  was  this  quotation,  coupled  with  too  narrow  a  range,  that  gave 
a  bias  to  Baynes's  remarks,  which  mainly  apply  to  only  one  class  of  zanies,  and, 
possibly,  the  lowest.  It  is  to  be  borne  in  mind  that  mimicry,  ex  vi  termini,  involves 
a  tinge  of  contempt,  in  that  it  is  the  attempt  to  imitate,  in  a  grotesque  way,  for  the 
purpose  of  boisterous  laughter,  the  actions  of  another.  Some  discussion,  on  this  and 
other  points  in  Baynes's  Article,  arose  in  Notes  &  Queries.  But  nothing  new  was 
called  forth.  In  the  issue  for  8th  of  Jan.,  1890  (4th,  v,  39)  Baynes  reiterated  his  defi- 
nition of  zany,  just  given. — ED.] 

88.  sicke  of  selfe-loue]  In  his  Article  on  Proverbs  in  Shakespeare,  WALKER 
(Crit.  ii,  169)  quotes  this  with  the  remark,  '  This,  too,  would  seem  to  be  a  proverbial 
expression,  from  its  occurring  also  in  Jonson,  Staple  of  News,  V,  i,  p.  297,  ed. 
Gifford,  '  As  if  my  testimony  were  not  twenty,  Balanced  with  thine  !  Picklock.  So 
say  all  prodigals,  Sick  of  self-love.'  [Gifford  gives  the  date  of  The  Staple  of  News 
as  about  1625.  Any  post-Shakespearian  phrase  should  be,  therefore,  received  with 
caution.  So  deep  was  the  impression  which  Shakespeare  made  on  his  contempo- 
raries, that  even  his  light  expressions  may  have  been  caught  up  and  perpetuated  like 
proverbs.  If  '  sick  of  self-love  '  were  a  proverb,  Shakespeare  may  have  started  it. 
—ED.] 

90,  91.  Bird-bolts]  In  Much  Ado,  I,  i,  43,  this  is  spelled,  as  it  was  probably 
pronounced,  Burbolt.  In  a  note  ad  loc.  (in  this  edition)  STEEVENS  defines  '  bird- 
bolt  '  as  a  '  short,  thick  arrow  without  a  point,  and  spreading  at  the  extremity  so 
much  as  to  leave  a  flat  surface,  about  the  breadth  of  a  shilling.' 

92.  an  allow'd  foole]  HALLIWELL  :  A  licensed  fool,  a  fool  permitted  to  say 
anything.  In  Hollyband's  Diclionarie,  1593,  mention  is  made  of  'an  allowed  cart 
or  chariot.' 


ACT  i,  sc.  v.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  73 

nor  no  rayling,  in  a  knowne  difcreet  man,  though  hee  do  93 

nothing  but  reproue. 

Clo.     Now  Mercury  indue  thee  with  leafing,  for  thou  95 

fpeak'ft  well  of  fooles. 

Enter  Maria. 

Mar.     Madam,  there  is  at  the  gate,  a  young  Gentle- 
man, much  defires  to  fpeake  with  you. 

01.    From  the  Count  Or/ino,  is  it  ?  IOO 

Ma     I  know  not  (Madam)  'tis  a  faire  young  man,  and 
well  attended. 

01.     Who  of  my  people  hold  him  in  delay  ? 

Ma.     Sir  Toby  Madam,  your  kinfman.  104 

95.  indue]  endue  Var.  '03.  98,  99.  Gentleman,  much']  Ff,  Theob. 
leafing]    learning    Rowe,   Han.  Warb.  Johns.  Cap.  Mai.  Steev.     gentle- 
pleasing  Warb.  man  much  Rowe  et  cet. 

96.  fpeakji]  speakest  Var.  '03,  '13,  loo,  197.    Count]  Duke  Han. 
'21,  Knt,  Coll.  Hal.  Dyce,  Cam.  104.  kinfman]  Uncle  Rowe  ii,  +  . 

93,  94.  discreet  man  .  .  .  reproue]  Is  not  this  what  Capell  would  call  '  a 
wipe'  on  Malvolio,  in  payment  for  his  reproof  (almost  amounting  to  insolence)  of 
Olivia  for  laughing  at  Feste's  jokes? — ED. 

95.  leasing]  HEATH  (p.  187)  :  Olivia  had  been  making  a  kind  of  apology  for 
fools ;  and  the  Fool  in  recompense  prays  Mercury,  the  god  of  cheats  and,  conse- 
quently, of  liars,  to  bestow  upon  her  the  gift  of  leasing,  or  lying ;  humourously  inti- 
mating that,  whoever  undertook  the  defence  of  fools  would  have  plentiful  occasion 
for  that  talent. — KNIGHT  :  Is  it  not  rather, — since  thou  speakest  the  truth  of  fools 
(which  is  not  profitable),  may  Mercury  give  thee  the  advantageous  gift  of  lying  ? — R. 
G.  WHITE  :  As  Olivia  undertakes  the  defence  of  his  calling,  the  Clown  prays  Mercury, 
the  god  of  liars,  to  enable  her  to  push  her  defence  beyond  the  bounds  of  truth. 
'  Leasing '  appears  to  have  been  used  to  convey  the  idea  of  falsehood  without  malice. 
It  was  measurably  synonymous  with  'gabbling,'  which  is  apt  to  run  into  lying. 
'  Gabbynge,  or  lesynge,  Alcndacium,  mcndaciolum.'' — Prompt.  Parv.  [But  '  Gab- 
bing '  in  the  Prompt,  has  in  it  no  trace  of  gabbling.  That  there  is  a  difference 
between  lying  and  leasing  seems  clear ;  possibly,  about  the  same  as  between 
lying  and  Jibbing.  In  a  letter  written  by  Robert  Armin,  and  printed  in  the  Intro- 
duction to  his  Nest  of  Ninnies  (p.  xvi,  ed.  Sh.  Soc. ),  we  find,  '  It  is  my  qualitie  to 
add  to  the  truth,  truth,  and  not  leasings  to  lyes.'  Heath  has  given,  I  think,  the 
best  interpretation  of  the  present  passage ;  DR  JOHNSON  has  a  note  to  the  same 
effect.— ED.] 

99.  much  desires]  For  this  very  common  omission  of  the  relative,  see  line  184, 
below;  II,  i,  24;  II,  iv,  91,  114;  III,  iv,  220.  Or  ABBOTT,  §  244. 

101-108.  WALKER  (Crit.  i,  17)  endeavoured  to  convert  these  lines  into  verse,  but 
inasmuch  as  he  himself  confessed  to  a  comparative  failure  in  the  Intter  portion, 
we  need  spend  no  time  over  his  process,  beyond  noting  that  he  had  to  squeeze  '  I  pray 
you'  into  pray,  'the  Count'  into  tK  Duke  (which  shows  that  he  used  Han- 
mer's  text),  and  'I  am  sicke'  into  I'm  sick. — ED. 


74  TIVELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  i,  sc.  v. 

01.    Fetch  him  off  I  pray  you,  he  fpeakes  nothing  but         105 
madman  :  Fie  on  him.     Go  you  Maluolio  •  If  it  be  a  fuit 
from  the  Count,  I  am  ficke,  or  not  at  home.     What  you 
will,  to  difmiffe  it.  Exit  Maluo. 

Now  you  fee  fir,  how  your  fooling  growes  old,  &  peo- 
ple diflike  it.  1 10 

Clo.  Thou  haft  fpoke  for  vs  (Madona)  as  if  thy  eldeft 
f  onne  mould  be  a  foole  :  who  fe  fcull,  loue  cramme  with 
braines,  for  heere  he  comes.  Enter  Sir  Toby. 

One  orthy  kin  has  a  moft  weake  Pia-matcr.  114 

106.  him,]  him!  [Exit  Maria.]  Cap.  Dyce  ii,  iii,  Huds.  for, — here  hi  comes, — 

109.   Now  you]    Now  Rowe,   Pope,  one  Cam.  Glo.  Rife,  Utn,  \Vh.  ii.    for 

Han.  here  he  comes,  one  Mai.  et  cet. 

113,  114.  for  heere  he  comes.     One]  113.  Enter...]  After  line  114  Rowe 

Ff,  Rowe  i.    for  here  comes  one  Rowe  et  seq. 

ii,  -t-,  Cap,  Var.  '73,  '78,  Ran.  Wh.  i,  114.   Pia-mater]  Pia  mater  F4  et  seq. 

105,  106.  speakes  .  .  .  madman]  Compare,  '  She  speakes  poynyards,'  Much 
Ado,  II,  i,  236;  'I  will  speake  daggers,'  Hamlet,  III,  ii,  414;  'He  speaks  plain 
cannon  fire,  and  smoke,  and  bounce,'  King  John,  II,  i,  462;  'Drunke?  And 
speake  Parrat?'  Othello,  II,  ii,  308. 

113,  114.  heere  .  .  .  kin]  See   Text.  Notes. — DYCE  (ed.  ii)  :  The  Cambridge 
Editors,  unwilling  to  part  with  a  blunder  of  the  old  copy,  give  the  passage  in  a 
fashion  which  would  have  surprised  Shakespeare. — W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  In  common 
•with  other  modern  editors  from  the  time  of  Rowe,  Dyce  read  '  here  comes  one  of 
thy  kin,"  etc.,  which  yields  a  certain  sense,  but  has  no  particular  point.     The  Clown 
hints  that  folly  ran  in  Olivia's  family,  and  illustrates  this  by  pointing  to  Sir  Toby, 
who  was  just  entering.     In  the  sentence  as  printed  by  Rowe  and  his  successors, 
1  for'  has  no  meaning,  being  connected  with  '  here  comes,'  and  not  with  'one  of  thy 
kin,'  etc.     [The  Cambridge  text  is,  I  think,  the  only  correct  one,  and  Wright's  vin- 
dication of  it  conclusive.     R.  G.  WHITE  (ed.  i)  asserts  that  '  he '  can  refer  to  no 
one  but  to  Olivia's  prospective  son,  and  that  it  was,  therefore,   absurdly  wrong. 
He  overlooked  the  fact  that  Olivia  had  just  sent  for  Sir  Toby,  and  that  it  was  to 
him  that  the  Clown  refers.     It  is  to  be  feared  that  Collier's  MS  Corrector  also  failed 
to  catch  the  meaning  ;  he. has  inserted  that  before  '  has.' — ED.] 

114.  Pia-mater]   'Thebraine  ...   is  closed  and  conteined  within  two  thinne 
skinnes,  which  be  named  the  milde  and  harde  mother ;  .   .   .  The  second  web  and 
skinne  is  called  Pia  mater,  the  meeke  mother,  that  is  set  vnder  the  hard  mother, 
and  is  nesher  [i.  e.  more  delicate]  and  softer  then  the  hard  mother,  &  compasseth  the 
substance  of  the  braine,  and  departeth  asunder  the  foresayd  cells.     And  the  milde 
mother  is  not  superfluous  neither  to  much  :  for  it  harboureth  &  holdeth  togethers  the 
veines  of  the  braine  within.     And  keepeth  &  knitteth  the  braine  togethers,  that  it 
flow  not  neither  faile  by  y  fleeting  and  softnesse  thereof.     Also  this  milde  mother 
helpeth  and  beclippeth  the  braine,  and  defendeth  it  from  the  harde  mother.    Also  by 
veines  that  it  hath,  it  nourisheth  the  braine,  and  by  the  organe  and  small  veines  that 
it  conteineth,  it  sendeth  spirit  thereto.' — Batman  vppon  Bartholome,  Lib.  Quintus, 

3»  P-  37-     Of  course,  '  pia-mater '  is  here  put  for  the  brain  itself.     The  med- 


ACT  i,  sc.  v.J  OR.   WHAT  YOU  WILL  75 

Ol.     By  mine  honor  halfe  drunke.     What  is  he  at  the         115 
gate  Cofin  ? 

To.     A  Gentleman. 

01.    A  Gentleman  ?   What  Gentleman? 

To.    JTis  a  Gentleman  heere.    A  plague  o'thefe  pickle 
herring  :  How  now  Sot.  120 

115.  Scene  VIII.  Pope, +  .  Johns.  Coll.  i,  ii.      gentleman: — [hic- 
By... drunke.]  Aside.  Ed.  conj.         cups]   A  Cap.     gentleman  here — [hic- 

116.  Cofin\  Coufen  F3F4.   £/«<•/<?  Rowe         cuping] — A  Ran.     gentleman  here — A 
ii,  +  .  or  a  Var.  '73  et  cet.     gentleman  neece. 

119.    Gentleman  heere.   ,<4]  Ff  (subs. )  //Gould. 

Rowe,    Pope.       gentleman.       Here, —  1 20.  herring  .•]   herring !  Theob.  + . 

[belches.]  A  Theob.  Han.    gentleman-  herrings  !  Mai.  Steev.  Var.  Knt,  Coll. 

heir, — A  Warb.     gentleman   here. — A  Hal.  Wh.  i.     herring1 !  Dyce  ii,  iii. 

ical  work  of  Shakespeare's  day,  which  best  set  forth  the  latest  knowledge  of  anat- 
omy, is  probably  Microcosmographia  :  A  Description  of  the  Body  of  Man,  etc. ,  by 
Helkiah  Crooke,  Doctor  in  Physicke.  London,  1615.  On  p.  444,  in  describing  the 
membranes  of  the  braine,  we  read  :  '  The  Arabians  called  them  Matres  the  Mothers, 
and  so  now  they  are  commonly  tearmed.  .  .  .  The  one  of  these  which  is  the  outward 
is  thicke  and  called  dura  mater  the  hard  Mother,  the  other  inward  and  thinne  called 
Pia  mater,  the  deere  or  neere  Mother,  because  it  immediately  incompasseth  and 
imbraceth  the  substance  of  the  braine.'  In  1888,  a  question  was  started  in  the 
columns  of  The  Lancet  in  regard  to  the  source  of  Shakespeare's  knowledge,  in  the 
present  play,  of  the  '  pia  mater.'  The  editor  of  The  Asclepiad,  B.  W.  RICHARD- 
SON, M.  D.,  replied  that  inasmuch  as  the  printer  of  Crooke' s  large  folio  was  William 
Jaggard,  '  the  same  man  who  was  printer  for  Shakspere,  ...  to  that  office  the  inde- 
fatigable playwright  would  often  be  drawn  by  his  own  business,  and  there  he  would 
hardly  fail  to  see  unfolded  before  him  the  anatomy  of  man  from  a  sure  source.' — 
vol.  v,  p.  387.  The  printer  of  the  First  Folio  was  Isaac  Jaggard,  and  Crooke' s 
Microcosmographia  was  not  published  until  at  least  thirteen  years  after  Twelfth  Night 
was  performed. — ED. 

115.  What  is  he]  See  I,  ii,  37,  if  need  be,  for  the  construction. 

119.  Gentleman  heere]  In  mercy  to  the  very  small  number  of  readers  who 
ever  look  at  the  Text.  Notes  and  may  be  therefore  lost  in  bewilderment  over  War- 
burton's  emendation  gentleman- heir,  be  it  explained  that  Warburton  means  'some 
lady's  eldest  son  just  come  out  of  the  nursery;  for  this  was  the  appearance  Viola 
made  in  men's  clothes.'  Coleridge,  in  one  of  his  notes,  speaks  of  '  the  ever 
thought-swarming,  but  idealess,  Warburton  !' — ED. 

119.  heere]  CAPELL  (p.  142)  :  This  word  appears  to  be  a  corruption  of  some 
interjectory  particle  that  directed  a  drunken  hiccuping ;  follow' d,  perhaps,  by  some- 
thing for  which  the  '  herrings '  are  blam'd.     [The  stage-directions  inserted  by  several 
editors  are  adequately  enlightening. — ED.] 

120.  herring]  ROLFE  :  This  is  a  legitimate  plural,  like  trout,  salmon,  and  other 
names  of  fishes.     Compare  Lear,  III,  vi,  33:  'two  white  herring.'     The  regular 
form  of  the  plural  is  also  used,  as  in  the  case  of  some  other  nouns  of  this  class. 
See  III,  i,  35,  below.  [It  will  be  remembered  that  it  was  a  surfeit  of  pickled  herrings 
and  Rhenish  wine  that  caused  poor  Greene's  death  in  1592. — ED.] 


76  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  i,  sc.  v. 

Clo.     Good  Sir  Toby.  121 

#/.     Cofin,  Cofm,  how  haue  you  come  fo  earely  by 
this  Lethargic? 

To.  Letcherie,  I  defie  Letchery :  there's  one  at  the 
gate.  125 

01 .     I  marry,  what  is  he  ? 

To.  Let  him  be  the  diuell  and  he  will,  I  care  not :  giue 
me  faith  fay  I.  Well,  it's  all  one.  Exit 

01.     What's  a  drunken  man  like,  foolej 

Clo.    Like  a  drown'd  man,  a  foole,  and  a  madde  man  :         1 30 
One  draught  aboue  heate,  makes  him  a  foole,  the  fecond 
maddes  him,  and  a  third  drownes  him. 

Ol.  Go  thou  and  feeke  the  Crowner,  and  let  him  fitte 
o'my  Coz  :  for  he's  in  the  third  degree  of  drinke  :  hee's 
drown'd  :  go  looke  after  him.  135 

Clo.  He  is  but  mad  yet  Madona,  and  the  foole  (hall 
looke  to  the  madman. 

Enter  Maluolio. 

Mai.  Madam,  yond  young   fellow   fweares   hee  will 
fpeake  with  you.    I  told  him  you  were  ficke,  he  takes  on         140 
him  to  vnderftand  fo  much,  and  therefore  comes  to  fpeak 
with  you.    I  told  him  you  were  afleepe,  he  feems  to  haue 
a  fore  knowledge  of  that  too,  and  therefore  comes  to         143 

121.  Toby.]  Ff,  Rowe,  Pope,  Han.  133.   Crowner]  Ff,  Knt,  Wh.  Dyce, 
Toby  !—  Dyce,  Sta.    Toby  !  Cam.  Rife.         Cam.  Sta.  Rife,  Dtn.      Coroner  Rowe 
Toby,—  Theob.  et  cet.                                     et  cet. 

122.  Co/In]  Uncle  Rowe  ii,  + .  134.   Coz]  Uncle  Rowe  ii,  -f .     cousin 
124.  Letcherie,]    Letchery!    Theob.         Cap.  conj.  Var.  '73. 

Letchery?  Cap.  135.  go  looke]  go,  look  Theob. 

127.  and  he]  Ff,  Rowe, -I- ,  Var.  '73.  137.   [Exit  Clown.  Rowe. 

an  he  Han.  et  cet.  139.  yond]  yon1  Cap.     yond'  Coll. 

130.  madde  man]  mad  man  Ff.  mad-  143.  fore   knowledge]  foreknowledge 
man  Rowe.  Hal.    Wh.    Dyce,    Cam.    Rife,      fore- 

131.  heate]  mark  Gould.  -knowledge  F3F4  et  cet. 

124-128.  In  spite  of  Sir  Toby's  drunken  state,  there  is  a  thread  of  logical  sequence 
in  his  befogged  brain  ;  '  defie '  suggests  the  '  devil,'  and  the  '  devil '  suggests  '  faith.' 
Toby's  drunkenness  is  here  a  dramatic  necessity.  Maria  has  been  sent  to  '  fetch 
him  off,'  and  Malvolio  to  dismiss  the  Duke's  messenger.  Some  time  must  be  given 
to  Malvolio' s  altercation  with  Viola  at  the  gate  ;  Sir  Toby  must  obey  the  summons, 
but  must  not  anticipate  any  portion  of  Malvolio's  report.  This  is  attained  by  repre- 
senting him  as  so  intoxicated  that  he  can  tell  nothing. — ED. 

131.  heate]  STEEVENS  :  That  is,  above  the  state  of  being  warm  in  a  proper 
degree. 

135.  go  looke]  For  the  construction,  see  I,  i,  19. 


ACT  i,  sc.  v.J  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  77 

fpeake  with  you.  What  is  to  be  faid  to  him  Ladie,  hee's 
fortified  againft  any  deniall.  145 

OL    Tell  him,  he  (hall  not  fpeake  with  me. 

Mai.  Ha's  beene  told  fo  :  and  hee  fayes  hee'l  ftand  at 
your  doore  like  a  Sheriffes  port,  and  be  the  fupporter  to 
a  bench,  but  hee'l  fpeake  with  you. 

01,     What  kinde  o'man  is  he?  150 

144.  him  Ladie,'}   F.,.      him,  Lady,  148.   and  be}  or  be  Han.  Coll.  MS, 

F3.      him  ?  Lady.   FV      him,  Lady  ?  Wh.  i,  Ktly. 
Rowe  et  seq.  to}  of  Var.  '03,  '13,  '21,  Knt. 

147.  Ha's}  Ff,  Rowe.     Ha's  Wh.  i,  150.  o']  Ff,  Rowe,  +  ,  Cap.  Var.  '73, 

Sta.     Has  Dyce  i,  Cam.  Dtn,  Wh.  ii.  Dyce,  Cam.  Sta.  Rife,  Dtn.    of  VAT.  '78 

'Has  Dyce  ii.  iii.    He  has  Pope  et  cet.  et  cet. 

147.  Ha's]  Of  course,  the  full  form  is  '  He  has ' ;  but  inasmuch  as  in  familiar 
speech  the  'he'  (or  possibly  'a'  which  sometimes  stands  for  'he')  was  reduced  to 
a  mere  aspirate,  I  suppose  the  printer  believed  he  had  reproduced  the  full  phrase 
by  giving  the  'Ha'  hi  full  and  then  putting  an  apostrophe  to  represent  the  ha  in 
•has.'     Be  this  as  it  may,  'has,'  'is,'  and  'was'  are  often  to  be  found  without  a 
nominative.      Sometimes  a  nominative  in  the  second  person  is  omitted,  as  in  '  then 
cam'st  in  smiling,'  V,  i,  368,  if  that  reading  be  correct;  see  also  'hadst  it?'  II,  iii, 
28.— ED. 

148.  Sheriffes  post]  HALLIWELL  :  The  houses  of  Mayors  and  Sheriffs  of  towns 
were  distinguished  by  large  posts  set  up  before  the  doors.     These  posts  were  often 
elaborately  carved,  and  were  generally  repainted  on  an  accession  or  re-election  to  the 
office.     'Their  lips  are  so  lauishly  red,  as  if  they  vsed  to  kisse  an  okerman  euery 
morning,  and  their  cheeks  suger-candied  &  cherry  blusht  so  sweetly  after  the  colour 
of  a  newe  Lord  Mayors  postes,  as  if  the  pageant  of  their  wedlocke  holiday  were 
harde  at  the  doore  ;  so  that  if  a  Painter  were  to  drawe  any  of  their  counterfets  on  a 
Table,  he  needes  no  more  but  wet  his  pencill,  and  dab  it  on  their  cheekes,  and  he 
shall  haue  vermillion  and  white  enough  to  furnish  out  his  worke.' — Nashe's  Pierce 
Penilesse  [p.  43,  ed.  Grosart.     Halliwell  gives  a  wood-cut  of  one  of  these  posts 
'  taken  from  a  specimen  at  Norwich,  the  original  being '  about  eight  feet  and  a 
half  high,  of  the  time  of  Elizabeth.      KNIGHT  also  gives  a  picture  (p.   147)  of 
the  same  post.     It  is  generally  supposed,  on  Warburton's  authority,  that  to  these 
posts  were  affixed  proclamations  and  public  notices.     But  this,  Knight  doubts,  and 
inclines  to  believe  that  '  they  were  only  tokens  of  authority,  to  denote  the  residence 
of  a  magistrate.'     Certainly,  the  dozen  or  more  quotations  given  by  Halliwell  seem 
to  justify  Knight's  doubt.     It  seems  hardly  likely  that  so  much  pains  would  be  taken 
in  carving  and  painting,  if  the  posts  were  to  be  afterward  concealed  under  proclama- 
tions and  temporary  notices.  — ED.  ]. 

149.  but]  Here  used  in  its  original  meaning,  namely,  out-take,  or  except.     See 
'  But  you  should  pittie  me,'  line  275  post,  or  see  ABBOTT,  §  120. — ED. 

150.  What]  See  'What  time  we  will  our  celebration  keep,'  IV,  iii,  33;  or,  for 
other  examples  of  the  omission  of  prepositions,  ABBOTT,  §  202.     Note  the  encour- 
aging sign  that  a  majority  of  the  best  modern  editors  adhere  to  the  old  text  in 
reading  '  o'  '  for  of. 


^g  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  i,  sc.  v. 

Mai.     Why  of  mankinde.  1 5 1 

01.     What  manner  of  man  ? 

Mai.  Of  verie  ill  manner  :  hee'l  fpeake  with  you,  will 
you,  or  no. 

Ol.     Of  what  perfonage,  and  yeeres  is  he?  155 

J/fl/.Not  yet  old  enough  for  a  man,  nor  yong  enough 
for  a  boy  :  as  a  fquafh  is  before  tis  a  pefcod,  or  a  Codling 
when  tis  almoft  an  Apple  :  Tis  with  him  in  (landing  wa-  158 

151.   Why}  Why,  ?ff  Rowe,  +  . 

mankinde}   F2,  Rowe,  +  ,  Knt,  157.  pefcod]  peascod  Rowe. 

Wh.  Cam.  Rife,  Dtn.    man  kind  F3F4,  158.  him  in}  Ff,  Rowe,  + ,  Knt,  Dyce, 

Cap.  et  cet.  Cam.  Sta.  Rife,     him  e'en  Cap.  et  cet. 

153.   ill  manner]  ill  manners  F3F4,  him  Coll.  MS,  ap.  Cam. 

151,  153.  mankinde  ...  ill  manner]  Very  respectfully  be  it  spoken,  but  I 
cannot  think  that  this  quibbling  is  in  keeping  with  Malvolio's  sedate  character. 
It  is  true  to  his  nature  that  he  should  say,  with  precision,  «  will  you  or  no,'  instead 
of  'will  ye,  nill  ye';  and  that  he  should  be  non-committal  in  drawing  the  exact 
line  between  a  peascod  and  a  squash,  or  between  boy  and  man, — but  this  dallying 
with  words,  which  merely  irritates  his  mistress,  and  is  like  the  Clown's  talk,  which 
he  has  just  been  condemning, — I  do  not  understand. — ED. 

155.  personage]  Thus,  in  Mid.  N.  D.  Ill,  ii,  306  :  'And  with  her  personage, 
her  tall  personage,  Her  height  (forsooth).' 

157.  squash]  Divesting  our  American  minds  of  the  belief  that  a  squash  (an 
Indian  word)  can  only  be  a  large  melon,  we  shall  find  the  best  definition  of  an  Eliz- 
abethan 'squash'  in  the  line  before  us.  See,  if  needful,  Mid.  N.  D.  Ill,  i,  193, 
and  Note. — ED. 

157.  Codling]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  This  appears  to  have  been  a  small  unripe  apple. 
So  much  is  evident  from  the  present  passage,  and  the  notes  of  commentators  have 
added  nothing  to  our  knowledge. — MURRAY  {N.  E.  Z>.)  :  From  the  beginning  the 
name  seems  to  have  been  applied  to  a  hard  kind  of  apple,  not  suitable  to  be  eaten 
raw;  hence  to  any  immature,  or  half-grown  apple.     In  the  beginning  of  the   i/th 
century,  it  was  applied  to  a  variety  suitable  to  be  cooked  while  still  unripe. 

158,  159.  in  standing  water]    CAPELL  (p.    143)  :  What  conception  moderns 
have  had  of  ['  in  standing  water']  the  editor  knows  not ;  but  having  none  himself, 
he  has  look'd  on  '  in '  as  an  error,  and  substituted  for  it  what  all  will  comprehend  at 
first  sight   \jfen}. — W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  The  phrase,  if  the  reading  be  correct,  must 
mean  'in  the  condition  of  standing  water.'     So  '  in  Pyramus'  (Mid.  N.  D.  IV,  ii, 
24)  signifies  '  in  the  character  of  Pyramus'  (compare  Ib.  V,  i,  220,  'in  a  man  and 
a  lion  ' ).     It  is  not  clear  that  Capell's  alteration  is  necessary,  although  '  in '  is  to  be 
found  as  a  misprint  for  e'en  ;  as,  for  example,  in  Ant.  &  Cleop.  IV,  xv,  73,  where 
the  Folios  have,  '  No  more  but  in  a  woman.'     And  again  in  AlP  s  Well,  III,  ii,  20. 
[Capell's  emendation  is,  I  think,  wrong;    it  throws  too   much    emphasis  on  the 
phrase.     Possibly,  the  simile  was  drawn  from  the  tides  at  London  Bridge.     In  the 
Tempest,  II,  i,  236,  Sebastian  says,  '  I  am  standing  water,'  where,  as  the  context 
shows,   he  means  just  at  the  turn  of   the  tide,  neither   ebbing  nor   rising.     But 
whencesoever  the  simile  be  drawn,  Wright's  interpretation  of  '  in '  is  essential.— ED.] 


ACT  I,  sc.  v.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  79 

ter,  betweene  boy  and  man.     He  is  verie  well-fauour'd, 

and  he  fpeakes  verie  fhrewifhly  :  One  would  thinke  his          160 

mothers  milke  were  fcarfe  out  of  him. 

01.     Let  him  approach  :  Call  in  my  Gentlewoman. 

Mai.     Gentlewoman,  my  Lady  calles.  Exit. 

Enter  Maria. 

01.     Giue  me  my  vaile  :  come  throw  it  ore  my  face,  165 

Wee'l  once  more  heare  Orfinos  Embaffie. 
Enter  Uiolenta. 

Via.    The  honorable  Ladie  of  the  houfe,  which  is  me  ? 

01.    Speake  to  me,  I  mall  anfwer  for  her  :  your  will. 

Uio,     Moft  radiant,  exquifite,  and  vnmatchable  beau-         170 
tie.    I  pray  you  tell  me  if  this  bee  the  Lady  of  the  houfe, 
for  I  neuer  faw  her.     I  would  bee  loath  to  caft  away  my 
fpeech  :  for  befides  that  it  is  excellently  well  pend,  I  haue 
taken  great  paines  to  con  it.     Good  Beauties,  let  mee  fu- 
ftaine  no  fcorne ;    I  am  very  comptible,  euen  to  the  lead        175 
finifter  vfage. 

164.  Scene  IX.  Pope, +  .  170,    171.    beautie.]     beauty.     F7F3, 

165.  come  throw]  come,  throw  Rowe.         Coll.     beauty,  F4,  Knt.    beauty  !Wh.\. 
167.  Uiolenta]  F,.  beauty —  or  beauty, —  Rowe  et  cet. 

Enter...]    Enter. ..and  Attend-             173.  pend]  F2.  penn'd  F3F4<   pen'd 

ants.  Cam.  Cap.    penned  Coll.  Cam. 

169.  will.]  will ?  F4.  175.  comptible]  prompt  Han.      easy 

1 70.  radiant]  radient  F4.  cowed,  liable  Orger. 

161.  were]  See  'my  outside  have  not  charmed  her,'  and,  if  need  be,  for  similar 
subjunctives,  ABBOTT,  §  368. 

167.  Violenta]  This  is  the  name  of  a  character  in  All's  Well  that  Ends  Well, 
who  does  not,  however,  speak  throughout  the  play.  From  the  occurrence  of  the  name 
here,  together  with  '  Capilet,'  both  as  the  family  name  of  Diana  in  AW s  Well  and 
as  the  name  of  Sir  Andrew  Aguecheek's  horse,  FLEAY  {Life,  etc.,  p.  217)  infers 
that  Twelfth  Night  is  later  in  date  than  Air s  Well.  The  fact  may  well  be  true ; 
but  it  is  not  quite  clear  that  a  mere  repetition  of  names  can  prove  a  sequence  in  time 
in  favour  either  of  one  play  or  of  the  other.  We  have  no  assurance  that  '  Violenta ' 
occurred  in  Shakespeare's  MS.  It  sounds  suspiciously  like  Viola  enter  which  the 
compositor  misheard  and  transformed  into  its  present  shape,  after  having  already 
carelessly  set  up  '  Enter1  before  it. — ED. 

171.  I  pray  you  tell  me,  etc.]  It  cannot  be  that  Viola  could  not  tell  which  was 
Olivia  ;  there  must  have  been,  between  the  highborn  mistress  and  the  attendant,  a 
marked  difference  in  the  elegance  of  dress,  which  Viola's  quick  woman's  eye  would 
have  instantly  detected, — the  veil  alone  was  a  sufficient  indication, — but  Viola  was 
burning  with  impatience  to  see  the  face  with  which  Orsino  was  enamoured,  and,  to 
gain  this  end,  thus  pleaded  her  embarrassed  ignorance. — ED. 

175.  comptible]    WARBURTON  :    That  is,  ready  to  call  to  account. — HEATH 


80  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  i,  sc.  v. 

01.     Whence  came  you  fir?  177 

Vw.     I  can  fay  little  more  then  I  haue  ftudied,  &  that 
queftion's  out  of  my  part.     Good  gentle  one,  giue  mee 
modeft  affurance,  if  you  be  the  Ladie  of  the  houfe,  that         180 
may  proceede  in  my  fpeech. 

01.     Are  you  a  Comedian  ? 

Vio.  No  my  profound  heart  :  and  yet  (by  the  verie 
phangs  of  malice,  I  fweare)  I  am  not  that  I  play.Are  you 
the  Ladie  of  the  houfe  ?  185 

181.  my]  Om.  F3F4,  Rowe  i.  184.  phangs]  pangs  Rowe   i,  fangs 

Rowe  ii. 

(p.  188)  :  The  meaning  is  plain,  I  am  very  apt  to  take  to  heart,  and  to  make  account 
of,  the  least  sinister  usage. — M.  MASON  :  There  is  no  such  word  as  'comptible.' 
...  If  we  are  to  adopt  a  new  word,  let  us  rather  borrow  one  from  the  French, 
which  will  clearly  express  what  Viola  means,  and  read  domptable,  that  is,  apt  to  be 
subdued  or  tamed.  Yet  I  am  not  satisfied  with  this  conjecture.  [It  would  be  dis- 
courteous here  to  disagree. — ED.] — STEEVENS  :  Viola  begs  she  may  not  be  treated 
with  scorn,  because  she  is  very  submissive,  even  to  lighter  marks  of  reprehension. — 
HARNESS  :  The  meaning  here  intended  appears  to  be  susceptible. — MURRAY  (N.  E. 
D.  s.  v.  Countable,  where,  under  the  third  subdivision,  the  present  passage  is  the  only 
quotation) :  Liable  to  answer  to,  sensitive  to.  [I  prefer  Harness's  definition,  and  if 
to  it  be  added  Murray's  sensitive,  an  ample  meaning  is  obtained.  Both  HALLI- 
WELL  and  W.  A.  WRIGHT  furnish  examples  of  comptable,  which  seem  to  me  to 
mean  accountable,  but  this  is  assuredly  not  Viola's  meaning. — ED.] 

i  So.  modest  assurance]  W.  A.  WRIGHT:  That  is,  moderate  assurance,  only 
enough  to  satisfy  me.  [In  other  words,  pray  lay  aside  your  veil,  and  let  me  see 
your  face. — ED.] 

181.  may]  This  begins  p.  259  in  the  Folio.     The  catchword  «!'  at  the  bottom 
of  p.  258  has  been  overlooked. — ED. 

182.  Comedian]  The  COWDEN-CLARKES  :  Olivia's  sarcasm  at  the  acting  a  part 
which  the  delivery  of  a  set  speech  implies.     [Every  phrase  of  Viola  intimated  that 
she  was  '  acting  a  part ' ;  her  words  were  all  tinged  with  the  stage  :  her  '  speech ' 
was  'well  penn'd,'  she  had  'conned'  it,  and  she  had  'studied'  her  'part.'     There 
could  be  but  little  sarcasm  in  taking  her  at  her  own  valuation.     Did  not  the  sting 
lie  in  the  word  '  Comedian'?     The  social  brand  thereby  implied  was  almost  of  the 
lowest.     In  Sonnet  cxi,  Shakespeare  is  supposed  to  bewail  the  degradation  to  which 
his  profession  subjected  him. — ED.] 

183.  profound  heart]  W.A.WRIGHT:   The  epithet  'profound'  is  applied  to 
Olivia  in  bantering  compliment  to  her  sagacity.     DEIGHTON,  however,  thinks  that 
these  words  are  '  merely  a  continuation  of  the  euphuistic  style  in  which  Viola  had 
begun  her  address,  "most  radiant,  exquisite,"  etc.' 

183,  184.  by  the  verie  phangs  of  malice]  W.  A.  WRIGHT:  Viola  appears  to 
challenge  the  most  malicious  construction  which  could  be  put  upon  her  conduct,  and 
it  would  amount  only  to  this,  that  she  was  not  what  she  seemed.  [Viola  invokes 
the  very  bitterest  malice,  its  very  fangs,  to  vouch  for  the  truth  that  she  was  not 
what  she  played.  There  is  a  parallel  passage  in  Othello,  where  Desdemona  asks 


ACT  I,  sc.  v.]  OR,    WHAT  YOU  WILL  8 1 

01.     If  I  do  not  vfurpe  my  felfe,  I  am.  1 86 

Uio.     Moft  certaine,  if  you  are  me,  you  do  vfurp  your 
felfe  :  for  what  is  yours  to  beftowe,  is,  not  yours  to  re- 
ferue.    But  this  is  from  my  Commiflion  :  I  will  on  with 
my  fpeech  in  your  praife,  and  then  mew  you  the  heart  of         190 
my  meffage. 

OL     Come  to  what  is  important  in't :  I  forgiue  you 
the  praife. 

Via.  Alas,  I  tooke  great  paines  to  ftudie  it,  and  'tis 
Poeticall.  195 

OL  It  is  the  more  like  to  be  feigned,  I  pray  you  keep 
it  in. I  heard  you  were  fawcy  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  reafon,  be  breefe  :  199 

187.  you  do]  yo  do  FS.  199.  not   mad~\    mad    Mason,    Ran. 

196.  feigned,]    feigned.  Rowe,  -K         Dyce  ii,  iii,  Huds.  Dtn.     but  mad  Sta. 
feigrid ;  Cap.  conj.  Coll.  ii,  iii. 

197.  &•*    allowd]     and  I    allowed                      gone]  gon  F2. 
Pope,  + . 

lago  '  what  praise  could' st  thou  bestow  on  a  deseruing  woman  indeed  ?  One,  that 
in  »  je  authorithy  of  her  merit,  did  iustly  put  on  the  vouch  of  very  malice  it  selfe.' — 
II;  i,  170,  of  this  ed.  where  see  Notes. — ED.] 

184.  not  that  I  play]  See,  for  omission  of  relative,  line  99  above. 

186.  vsurpe  my  selfe]  That  is,  counterfeit.     See  V,  i.  265. 

187-189.  Most  certaine  .  .  .  yours  to  reserue]  This  somewhat  obscure  and 
elliptical  sentence  may  be,  I  think,  thus  paraphrased  :  if  it  be  in  your  power  to  give 
away  the  lordship  of  this  house  (Portia  said  she  was  the  lord  of  her  fair  mansion, 
master  of  her  servants)  it  is  so  rightfully  your  duty  to  do  it,  that,  if  you  do  not  do 
it,  you  are  a  usurper  of  the  lord  on  whom  you  should  bestow  it,  that  is,  of  course, 
on  Orsino.  In  thus  earnestly  pleading  Orsino's  cause,  Viola  was  here,  I  think,  for  a 
moment,  betrayed  into  seriousness.  She  instantly  sees,  however,  that  this  tone  is 
premature,  and  apologises,  '  But  this  is  from  my  commission.'  Her  bearing  is  forced 
and  unnatural,  even  flippant,  until  Maria  has  retired,  then  it  becomes  serious  and 
every  word  comes  from  her  heart. — ED. 

189.  from]  See  'Write  from  it,'  etc.,  V,  i,  351,  or  ABBOTT,  §  158,  for  other 
examples  of  '  from '  used  in  the  sense  of  away  from,  without  a  verb  of  motion. 

189.  I  will  on]  See  ABBOTT  (§  405)  for  ellipses  of  verbs  of  motion,  or  &  pur- 
pose after  '  will '  and  '  is.'  Compare,  « Your  store  is  not  for  idle  markets,  III, 
iii,  50. 

196.  feigned]  Compare  As  You  Like  It,  III,  iii,  17,  where  Touchstone  teMs 
Audry  that  the  '  truest  poetrie  is  the  most  faining.' 

199.  you  be  not  mad]  M.  MASON  (p.  114)  :  The  sense  evidently  requires  that 

we  should  read  :  '  If  you  be  mad,'  etc.     For  the  words  '  be  mad,'  in  the  first  part 

of  the  sentence,  are  opposed  to  'reason'   in  the  second.     [DYCE  and  BRIGHTON 

adopted  this  emendation.] — STAUNTON  :  We  should  perhaps  read  :  'If  you  be  but 

6 


82  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  i,  sc.  v. 

'tis  not  that  time  of  Moone  with  me,  to  make  one  in  fo  200 
skipping  a  dialogue. 

Ma.     Will  you  hoyft  fayle  fir,  here  lies  your  way. 

Vto.    No  good  fwabber,  I  am  to  hull  here  a  little  lon- 
ger.    Some  mollification  for  your  Giant,  fweete  Ladie ;         204 

200.  that  time  of  Moone']  the  time  of  202.  /ir,~]  sir?  Pope  et  seq. 

the  moon  Rowe.     that  time  of  the  moon  204.  mollification  for...  Giant~\  modi- 

Pope.  •+,  Var.  Ran.  fication  of... taunt  Gould. 

mad,'  etc.,  that  is,  '  If  you  are  a  mere  madman,  begone,'  etc.  No  two  words  are 
more  frequently  confounded  in  these  plays  than  not  and  but.  [This  emendation 
DYCE  (ed.  ii)  pronounced  'very  unsatisfactory';  COLLIER  (ed.  ii)  thought  differ- 
ently ;  it  is  in  his  text.] — The  COWDEN-CLARKES  thus  paraphrase,  '  If  you  are  not 
quite  without  reason,  begone ;  if  you  have  some  reason,  be  brief,  that  you  may  be 
soon  gone.' — W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  There  is  quite  as  much  contrast  as  that  which  Mason 
finds,  between  a  state  of  mind  which  is  a  little  short  of  madness,  and  that  which  is 
distinguished  by  the  possession  of  clear  reason,  and  Olivia  seems  to  imply  that 
Viola  may  not  be  actually  mad,  but  only  going  mad,  and  in  that  case  bids  her 
begone.  [The  paraphrase  of  the  Cowden-Clarkes  seems  adequate.  Had  Olivia 
supposed  it  possible  that  the  Page  might  be  downright  mad,  as  Mason's  emendation 
implies,  she  could  hardly  have  imagined  that  an  appeal  to  him  to  go  would  have 
any  effect ;  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  she  would  herself  have  left  the  room  as 
quickly  as  possible.  In  what  I  have  said  above,  I  do  not  wish  to  imply  that  Collier 
adopted  Staunton's  emendation,  without  acknowledgement.  Staunton's  edition  and 
Collier's  Second  Edition  were  issued  almost  simultaneously,  and  as  the  former  was 
issued  in  monthly  Numbers,  beginning  with  November,  1857,  it  is  almost  impossible, 
at  this  late  day,  to  know  which  edition  was  the  predecessor. — ED.] 

200.  time  of  Moone]   '  The  Moone  when  he  is  in  the  second  signe  after  the 
ascendent,  betokeneth  discomfort,  wo,  sorrow,  &  losse  of  cattel  by  theeues  &  robbers. 
Also  in  the  fourth   signe,  &  in  the  sixt,  and  in  the  eight,   he  betokeneth    wrath, 
anguish,  withdrawing  &  changeablenesse  of  the  people,  &  betokeneth  in  the  tenth 
signe,  that  who  that  then  beginne  to  rebell  shall  be  soone  set  down  :  and  in  the 
twelfth,  he  betokeneth  let,  strife,  hardnesse  &  prison  of  friends.     And  in  all  other 
houses  &  signes  he  hath  good  effect,  and  betokeneth  good.' — Batman  vppon  Bar- 
tholome,  Lib.  VIII,  Cap.  30,  p.  134  verso.     This  is  quoted  merely  as  an  illustration 
of  the  belief  in  the  influence  of  the  times  of  the  moon.     It  is  possibly  superfluous  ; 
the  belief  cannot  be  said  to  have  even  yet  died  out.     In  the  Wint.  Tale  we  have 
'  These  dangerous  lunes  of  the  King.' — ED. 

201.  skipping]  JOHNSON  :  That  is,  wild,  frolic,  mad. — MALONE:  Again,  in  Mer. 
of  Ven.  II,  ii,  132 :  '  allay  with  some  cold  drops  of  modestie  Thy  skipping  spirit.' 

203.  to  hull]  MURRAY  (N.  E.  D.}\  To  float  or  be  driven  by  the  force  of  the 
wind  or  current  on  the  hull  alone  ;  to  drift  to  the  wind  with  sails  furled.     [Among 
the  quotations  are  Rich.  Ill:  IV,  iv,  438,  and  the  definition  in  Capt.  Smith's  Sea- 
man's Grammar^  1627,  ix,  40 :  'If  that  split  .  .  .  then  hull,  which  is  to  beare  no 
saile.'     Ibid.   '  They  call  it  hulling  also  in  a  calme  swelling  Sea,  which  is  commonly 
before  a  storme,  when  they  strike  their  sailes  lest  she  should  beat  them  in  peeces 
against  the  mast  by  Rowling.'] 

204.  Giant]  JOHNSON  :  Ladies,  in  romance,  are  guarded  by  giants,  who  repe* 


ACTI.SC.  v.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  83 

tell  me  your  minde,  I  am  a  meflenger.  205 

205.  telt...meffenger\     Oli.    Tell  me         Var.    Knt,   Sta.   Coll.    ii,   Dyce,   Ktly, 
your  mind.     Vio.   /  am  a  messenger.         Huds.  Dtn. 
Warb.  Han.  Johns. Var.  Ran.  Mai.  Steev. 

all  improper  or  troublesome  advances.  Viola,  seeing  the  waiting-maid  so  eager  to 
oppose  her  message,  entreats  Olivia  to  pacify  her  giant. — STEEVENS  :  Viola  likewise 
alludes  to  the  diminutive  size  of  Maria,  who  is  called,  on  subsequent  occasions, 
•little  villain,'  'youngest  wren  of  mine,'  etc. — MALONE  :  So,  Falstaff  to  his  page, 
'  Sirrah,  you  giant,"  2  Hen.  IV :  I,  ii,  I. 

205.  tell  .  .  .  messenger]  WARBURTON:  These  words  must  be  divided  between 
the  two  speakers.  [See  Text.  Notes.']  Viola  growing  troublesome,  Olivia  would 
dismiss  her,  and  therefore  cuts  her  short  with  this  command,  •  Tell  me  your  mind.' 
The  other  taking  advantage  of  the  ambiguity  of  the  word  '  mind,'  which  signifies 
either  business  or  inclination,  replies  as  if  she  had  used  it  in  the  latter  sense,  '  I  am 
a  messenger.' — HEATH  (p.  188)  :  It  is  extremely  odd  that  Mr  Warburton  should 
understand  these  words  to  express  Viola's  inclinations,  not  her  business. — M. 
MASON  :  As  a  messenger,  she  was  not  to  speak  her  own  mind,  but  that  of  her 
employer. — CAPELL  (who  adhered  to  the  Folio):  Viola's  'tell  me  your  mind'  may 
stand  well  enough  for — shall  I  have  this  favour  from  you  ?  alluding  to  what  she  had 
just  ask'd  ;  and  her  '  I  am  a  messenger'  follows  such  question  aptly  ;  but,  to  speak 
the  truth,  the  passage  were  best  without  those  first  words ;  which,  among  other 
objections  to  them,  cause  the  speech  to  end  metrically. — COLLIER  was  the  first,  after 
Capell,  to  restore  the  old  text,  but  he  recanted  in  his  Second  Edition,  and  was  a  '  con- 
vertite '  to  the  Folio  again,  in  his  Third.  In  his  First  Edition  he  remarks,  '  Viola 
asks  Olivia  to  tell  her  her  mind,  because  she  is  a  messenger,  and  wishes  to  take 
back  an  answer.  Olivia  could  hardly  say  to  Viola,  "Tell  me  your  mind,"  when 
she  knew  that  Viola  only  brought  a  message  from  the  Duke.'  But  how  can  Viola 
expect  to  carry  back  an  answer,  and  ask  Olivia  to  tell  her  her  mind,  when  she  has 
not  yet  delivered  any  message?  Collier  failed  to  see  the  good  interpretation  of 
Capell ;  but  HUNTER,  (who  applauded  Collier  for  restoring  the  Folio,)  saw  it,  and 
remarked  (i,  402)  :  '  Viola  evidently  appeals  to  Olivia  whether  she  will  suffer  Maria 
to  turn  her  out  of  the  house  so  unceremoniously,  and  claims  the  privilege  of  an 
ambassador  to  be  courteously  treated,  and  allowed  to  deliver  his  message."  This 
interpretation  was  lost  on  DYCE,  who  suspected  corruption  in  the  whole  passage, 
and  that  '  perhaps  something  more  than  prefixes '  had  dropped  out ;  '  I  adopt  here,' 
he  goes  on  to  say,  '  Warburton' s  distribution  of  the  dialogue  ;  what  has  been  urged 
against  it  by  Mr  Collier  and  Mr  Hunter  having  only  tended  to  strengthen  my  con- 
viction that  "Tell  me  your  mind  "  cannot  possibly  belong  to  Viola.'  Hereupon, 
Collier,  in  his  Second  Edition,  acknowledged  that  he  was  '  convinced,  on  reconsid- 
eration,' that  Warburton  was  right.  But,  as  I  have  said,  Collier's  conviction  was 
not  steadfast  when  he  issued  his  Third  Edition.  ROLFE  and  \V.  A.  WRIGHT  both 
express  a  belief  in  a  possible  corruption  or  omission  here.  It  is  not  impossible  ;  but 
with  Capell' s  and  Hunter's  interpretation  at  hand,  there  seems  to  be  little  need  of 
resorting  to  this  rather  ignominious  retreat.  We  must  bear  in  mind  that  this 
dialogue  was  not  carried  on  by  actors  with  hands  hanging  at  their  sides.  It  is  not 
extravagant  to  picture  Maria's  zeal  as  so  warm  that  she  attempts  to  force  Viola  from 
the  apartment.  '  Mollification,'  for  which  Viola  pleads,  implies  somewhat  more 
of  vehemence  than  is  expressed  in  merely  'Will  you  hoist  sail,  sir.'  Possibly,  a 


84  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  i,  sc.  v. 

01.  Sure  you  haue  fome  hiddeous  matter  to  deliuer,  206 
when  the  curtefie  of  it  is  fo  fearefull.  Speake  your  office. 

Vio.  It  alone  concernes  your  eare  :  I  bring  no  ouer- 
ture  of  warre,  no  taxation  of  homage ;  I  hold  the  Olyffe 
in  my  hand  :  my  words  are  as  full  of  peace,  as  matter.  2IO 

Ol.     Yet  you  began  rudely.     What  are  you  ? 
What  would  you  ? 

Vio.    The  rudeneffe  that  hath  appear'd  in  mee,  haue  I 
learn'd  from  my  entertainment.     What  I  am,  and  what  I 
would,  are  as  fecret  as  maiden-head  :  to  your  eares,  Di-         215 
uinity;  to  any  others,  prophanation. 

OL     Giue  vs  the  place  alone, 
We  will  heare  this  diuinitie.    Now  fir,  what  is  your  text? 

Vio.     Moft  fweet  Ladie.  219 

209.  taxation}  Taxations  ¥if  Rowe  i.  2 1 6.  others]  other's  Pope  ii,  Theob. 

Olyffe]  Oliff  F4<     olive  Rowe.  Warb.  et  seq. 

211,  212.  Continuous  line,   Pope   et  218.   [Exit    Maria.   Rowe.      Exeunt 

seq.  M.    and   Attendants,    (after    diuinilie) 

215.  as  maiden-head]  as  a  maiden-  Cap. 

-heard   Fa.      as   a   maiden-head  F3F4,  219.  Ladie.]  Lady, —  Theob.  Warb. 

Rowe,    Pope,    Han.      as    maidenhood  et  seq. 
Coll.  MS,  Huds. 

repugnance  to  accepting  any  emendation  at  Warburton's  dogmatic  hands  may  have 
some  influence  with  me  ;  yet  I  cannot  but  think  that,  wherever  the  words  of  the 
Folio  admit  of  a  dramatic  explanation,  the  text  should  be  retained. — ED. 

208.  alone]  This  word  in  the  present  passage  is  marked  by  ABBOTT  as  coming 
under  his  Paragraph  (§  420)  on  The  Transposition  of  Adverbs  ;  several  editors  have, 
consequently,  remarked  that  this  '  alone '  is  transposed  and  that  it  does  not  qualify 
'It'  or  'concerns,'   but  'ear.'     Herein,  they  seem  to  overlook  that  this  makes 
Viola  virtually  assert  that  her  message  does  not  concern  Olivia' s  mouth,  or  hands, 
but  her  '  ear  alone."      Possibly,    it    was    to    avoid    this   very  awkwardness    that 
Shakespeare  put  '  alone '  just  where   it  is, — the  only  place  where  it  can  be  put 
while   the   present   phrase   is   retained.      A  purist,   so-called,   would   change   the 
phrase   and  write :  '  It  concerns  the  ear  of  you  alone.'      But   even   this   expres- 
sion is  erroneous ;   no  change  is  necessary  if  '  alone '  be  regarded  as  parenthet- 
ical :    '  It   (alone)    concerns    your    ear ' ;    this    suggests    the    full    phrase :     '  This 
concerns  your  ear,  when  we  are    alone.'    (Viola  may  have  glanced  at  Maria  as 
she  uttered  the  word.)     This   alleged  'transposition  of  adverbs'   is  common   in 
Shakespeare,   but   in   many   a   case,   I   think,  we   are   inclined   to   accept  it   too 
readily. — ED. 

209.  taxation]  That  is,  claim,  demand. 

215.  secret  as  maiden-head]  This  is,  as  always,  maidenhood. — THEOBALD 
(Nichols,  Illust.  ii.  355):  The  context  seems  rather  to  persuade,  'as  sacred  as  maid- 
hood.'  And  this  afterwards  Olivia  swears  by,  '  By  maid-hood,  honor,  truth,  and 
euery  thing.' [Ill,  i,  154]. 


ACT:,  sc.  v.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  85 

01.    A  comfortable  doctrine,  and  much  may  bee  faide         220 
of  it.     Where  lies  your  Text  ? 

Vto.     In  Orfmoes  bofome. 

Ol.    In  his  bofome/   In  what  chapter  of  his  bofome  ? 

Via.     To  anfwer  by  the  method,  in  the  firft  of  his  hart. 

Ol.    O,  I  haue  read  it :  it  is  herefie.  Haue  you  no  more         225 
to  fay  ? 

Vto.     Good  Madam,  let  me  fee  your  face. 

01.     Haue  you  any  Commifsion  from  your  Lord,  to 
negotiate  with  my  face  :  you  are  now  out  of  your  Text : 
but  we  will  draw  the  Curtain,  and  mew  you  the  picture.         230 
Looke  you  fir,  fuch  a  one  I  was  this  prefent :  Ift  not  well 
done  ?  232 

221.  your]  the  Rowe,  Pope,  Han.  Jackson,     suck  a  one  I  was  as  this  pre- 
222.  Orfmoes]  Orfmo's  F3F4.  sents ;   Sing.  conj.  Clarke,     such  a  one 
231.  fuch  a  one  I  was  this  prefent  :~\  I  am  at  this  present;  Coll.  MS.    such  a 
such  a  one  I  wear  this  present :  Warb.  one  as  I  with  this  [unveiling]  present  : 
Theob.  Han.     such  as  once  I  was,  this  Anon.  (1814)  ap.  Cam.     such  a  one  I 
presents  :  Mason,  Ran.  Harness,     such  was,  as  this  present...  Ktly.    such  a  one, 
a  one  as  I  was  this  present :  Var.  '03,  /,  as  this  presents.  Daniel,     such  a  one 
'13,  *2I.    such  a  one  I was,  this  presents ;  I'm,  as  this  presents  K.  Elze. 
Becket.  such  a  one  as  I  was  this  presents.  232.  [Unveiling,  Rowe  et  seq. 

220.  A  comfortable  doctrine]  That  is,  a  comforting  doctrine.  Thus  Juliet 
says,  « O  comfortable  friar.' — DEIGHTON  :  It  is  a  phrase  used  in  religious  or  theo- 
logical language. 

224.  method]  That  is,  to  keep  the  theological  style. 

225.  heresie]  DEIGHTON:  In 'text,'  '  comfortable  doctrine,'  'chapter,'  'first  of 
his  heart,'  'heresy,'  Olivia  is  merely  carrying  on  the  idea  suggested  by  Viola's  use 
of  '  divinity  '  and  '  profanation.' 

230.  Curtain]  See  'Curtaine,'  I,  iii,  118. 

231.  such  a  one  .  .  .  present]  WARBURTON  :   This  is  nonsense.     The  change 
of  '  was '  to  wear,  I  think,  clears  all  up,  and  gives  the  expression  an  air  of  gallantry. 
Viola  presses  to  see  Olivia's  face  ;  the  other  at  length  pulls  off  her  veil,  and  says, 
'  We  will  draw  the  curtain  and  show  you  the  picture.'     I  wear  this  complexion 
today,    I    may   wear   another   tomorrow ;    jocularly   intimating   that   she  painted. 
— CAPEI.L  (p.  143):  A  pleasantry  upon  herself  most  undoubtedly;  and  its  mean- 
ing,— when  you  make  your  report  of  me,  you  may  say  I  was  such  and  such  when 
you  saw  me,  but  can't  answer  for  what  I  may  be  at  the  time  you  are  talking :  the 
intimation  is  both  genteel er  in  this  way,  and  juster- worded,  than  by  [Warburton*  s 
emendation.]     For  who  talks  of  wearing  a  '  picture,'  yet  that  is  the  predicate,  and 
to  that  the  terms  after  should  be  accommodated.— STEEVENS  (  Var.  1785)  :  I  am 
not   satisfied   with  [Warburton' s]  emendation.     She   says,    'I   was   this    present,' 
instead  of  saying  '  I  am,1  because  she  has  once  shown  herself,  and  personates  the 
beholder,  who  is  afterwards  to  make  the  relation.      [It  is  to  be  feared  that  Steevens 
took  the  hint  from  Capell. — ED.]     IBID.  (  Var.  1793):  We  may  read,  «  Such  a  one  I 
was.    Ibis  presence,  is  't  not  well  done  ? '  i.  e.  this  mien,  is  it  not  happily  represented  ? 


86  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  i,  sc.  v. 

Uio.     Excellently  done,  if  God  did  all.  233 


—  M.  MASON  :  This  passage  is  nonsense  as  it  stands,  and  necessarily  requires  some 
emendation.  That  proposed  by  Warburton  would  make  sense  of  it ;  but  then  the 
allusion  to  a  picture  would  be  dropped,  which  began  in  the  preceding  part  of  the 
speech,  and  is  carried  on  through  those  that  follow.  If  we  read  presents,  instead 
of  '  present,'  this  allusion  will  be  preserved,  and  the  meaning  will  be  clear.  I  have 
no  doubt  but  the  line  should  run  thus  :  '  such  as  once  I  was,  this  presents.'  Presents 
means  represents. — MALONE:  I  suspect,  the  author  intended  Olivia  should  again  cover 
her  face  with  her  veil  before  she  speaks  these  words. — KNIGHT  [adopting  Malone's 
suggestion]:  The  Folio  text  appears  clear  enough.  Olivia  unveils  her  face  for  an 
instant  only  ;  and  says,  '  Look  you,  sir,  such  a  one  I  was  this  present,' — such  I  was 
this  moment. — HUNTER  (i,  402):  Olivia  is  not  speaking  in  print,  as  if  her  words 
were  to  be  like  the  words  of  a  professed  orator,  but  engaged  in  a  lively  dialogue, 
and  any  words  more  appropriate  to  the  act  of  unveiling  than  those  which  the  poet 
has  assigned  her  [in  the  Folio]  cannot  be  conceived.  '  This  present '  is  a  common 
phrase,  often  occurring  at  the  close  of  letters. — DYCE  (ed.  ii):  Mr  Lettsom's 
[alteration  is]  '  such  a  one  as  I  this  presents,'  i.  e.  '  this  picture  represents  my  poor 
person.' — DEIGHTON  :  It  is  probably  nothing  more  than  an  affectation  by  Olivia  of 
legal  preciseness :  this  is  what  I  was  just  now,  though  hidden  by  my  veil ;  different 
from  what  you  saw  me,  but  not  changed.  [Her  question,  '  1ft  not  well  done?' 
weakens  the  suggestion  of  Malone  and  Knight  that  she  restores  her  veil.  I  think 
her  words  are  an  attempt  to  be  jocular  to  hide  the  embarrassment  caused  by 
removing  her  veil  to  allow  an  exceedingly  handsome  young  man  to  gaze  on  her 
face,  and  she  says  in  effect,  '  Such  a  one  I  was  an  instant  ago,'  before  she  removed 
her  veil,  and,  of  course,  such  she  still  remains. — ED.] 

233.  Excellently  .  .  .  all]  C.  SCOTT  (p.  271)  :  Few  will  forget  the  surprising 
effect  Miss  Terry  made  in  [the  present  line].  It  was  the  very  conceit  of  graceful 
impudence.  [I  doubt  the  propriety  of  '  graceful  impudence.'  Olivia  had  invited 
the  suspicion  that  her  beauty  was  fictitious  by  asking,  '  is  it  not  well  done  ? '  and 
there  is  more  of  tragedy  than  comedy  in  Viola' s  reply.  She  knew  that  God  had 
done  all,  but  replied  merely  in  Olivia's  vein  while  her  admiration  was  gathering 
itself  into  that  earnest  tribute,  which  follows,  to  the  exquisite  beauty  of  her  rival. 
—En.] 

233.  if  God  did  all]  See  '  Is  he  of  God's  making?'—  As  You  Like  It,  III,  ii, 
201,  and  notes  in  this  ed.  Possibly,  painting  and  other  artificial  aids  to  beauty  were 
more  prevalent  in  Shakespeare's  time  than  is  generally  supposed.  It  is  unsafe 
to  trust  satire ;  we  must  take,  therefore,  for  what  it  is  worth,  the  following  from 
Lodge's  Wits  Miserie,  1596 :  '  Beleeue  me,  I  thinke  in  no  time  lerome  had  better 
cause  to  crie  out  on  pride  then  in  this,  for  painting  now  adaies  is  grown  to  such  a 
custome,  that  from  the  swartfaste  Deuil  in  the  Kitchen  to  the  fairest  Damsel  in  the 
cittie,  the  most  part  looke  like  Vizards  for  a  Momerie,  rather  than  Christians  trained 
in  sobrietie.'  p.  15,  ed.  Hunterian  Club.  See  also,  where  is  no  satire,  but  appar- 
ently a  plain  statement  of  facts,  albeit  in  Italy,  Guazzo,  The  ciuile  Conuersation, 
trans,  by  G.  pettie,  1586,  Third  booke,  p.  12$  :  'We  ought  to  thinke  also,  that 
those  which  use  artificial  meanes,  displease  God  much,  in  altring  his  image,  &  please 
men  neuer  a  whit,  in  going  about  to  deceiue  them.  I  know  no  man  of  judgement, 
but  setteth  more,  by  ods,  by  a  naturall  beautie  that  sheweth  but  meanlie,  then  by  a 
painted  artificiall  beautie  that  shineth  most  gallantlie :  And  I  would  wish  those 


ACTI.SC.  v.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  87 

01.     'Tis  in  graine  fir,  'twill  endure  winde  and  wea- 
ther. 235 

234.  in  graine]  in-grain  Wh.  i. 

dawbed,  pargetted,  and  vermilion  died  faces,  to  consider  what  scoffes  and  mockes, 
men  when  they  are  by  themselues,  giue  to  these  bolstred  beauties.  .  .  .  For  I  knew 
one  once  inueigh  earnestly  against  counterfaite  women,  not  perceiuing  poore  foole 
her  owne  purple  died  face,  whereas  some  of  the  coulours  stack  vpon  her  gorget  : 
but  such  women  would  be  tried  in  such  sort  as  a  great  manie  were  once  by  an  hon- 
est Matrone  :  who  at  a  feast  making  one  at  a  game  wherein  euerie  one  by  turnes 
commaundeth  ouer  all  the  rest,  being  come  to  her  turne,  she  caused  a  basen  with 
water  to  be  brought,  wherwith  she  forthwith  washed  her  hands  &  face,  command- 
ing all  the  rest  to  doe  as  much,  whereby  a  great  manie  of  them  with  griefe  and 
shame,  made  the  painting  runne  downe  along  their  cheekes.  I  know  also  a  young 
woman,  whose  face  two  monthes  since  was  like  a  colliers,  and  now  she  ietteth  vp 
and  downe  so  bewhited,  or  rather  so  bepainted,  that  she  seemeth  quight  another 
woman  :  yet  when  she  wrieth  her  head  a  little,  there  appeareth  such  blacknesse  in 
her  neck  and  throate,  so  different  from  her  face,  that  you  would  verelie  thinke  that 
it  were  a  Flemminges  head  set  vppon  a  Moores  necke.'  In  Jonson's  Sejanus,  II, 
i,  Eudemus,  the  physician  of  Livia,  is  represented  as  applying  to  his  royal  mistress 
various  cosmetics  and  artificial  aids  to  beauty. — ED. 

234.  in  graine]  MARSH  (p.  67)  :  The  history  of  the  word  grain,  in  the  sense 
of  a  dye,  is  this  :  The  Latin  granum  signifies  a  seed  or  kernel,  and  it  was  early 
applied  to  all  small  objects  resembling  seeds,  and  finally  to  all  minute  particles.  A 
species  of  oak  or  ilex,  the  quercus  coccifera  of  botanists,  common  on  all  the  Medi- 
terranean coasts,  is  frequented  by  an  insect  of  the  genus  coccus,  the  dried  body,  or 
rather  ovarium,  of  which  furnishes  a  variety  of  red  dyes.  From  its  round,  seed-like 
form,  the  prepared  coccus  was  called  in  later  Latin, granum,  [which]  becomes  grana 
in  Spanish,  graine  in  French,  and  from  one  of  these  is  derived  the  particular  use  of 
the  English  word  [as  in  Milton's  '  robe  of  darkest  grain'].  Grain,  then,  as  a  col- 
oring material,  strictly  taken,  means  the  dye  produced  by  the  coccus  insect,  often 
called,  in  commerce  and  in  the  arts,  ktrmes,  but  inasmuch  as  the  kermes  dye,  like 
that  extracted  from  the  murex  of  Tyre,  is  capable  of  assuming  a  considerable  variety 
of  reddish  tones  or  hues,  Milton  and  other  English  poets  often  use  grain  as  equiva- 
lent to  Tyrian  purple.  ...  (P.  72. )  The  color  obtained  from  kermes  or  grain  was 
a  peculiarly  durable,  or  as  it  is  technically  called,  zfast  or  fixed  dye,  for  fast  used 
in  this  sense  is,  etymologically,  fixed.  When  then  a  merchant  recommended  his 
purple  stuffs,  as  being  dyed  in  grain,  he  originally  meant  that  they  were  dyed  with 
kermes  [the  Arabic  name  for  the  coccus  insect]  and  would  wear  well,  and  this 
phrase,  by  a  common  process  in  language,  was  afterwards  applied  to  other  colours, 
as  a  mode  of  expressing  the  quality  of  durability.  Thus  in  the  Com.  of  Err.  Ill, 
ii,  108,  to  the  observation  of  Antipholus,  'That's  a  fault  that  water  will  mend,' 
Dromio  replies:  'No,  sir,  'tis  in  grain;  Noah's  flood  could  not  do  it.'  And  in 
Twelfth  Night,  Olivia  replies  '  'Tis  in  grain,'  etc.  In  both  these  examples  it  is  the 
sense  of  permanence,  a  well-known  quality  of  the  purple  produced  by  the^raw  or 
kermes,  that  is  expressed.  It  is  familiarly  known  that  if  wool  be  dyed  before  spin- 
ning, the  color  is  usually  more  permanent  than  when  the  spun  yarn  or  manufactured 
cloth  is  first  dipped  in  the  tincture.  When  the  original  sense  of  grain  grew  less 
familiar,  and  it  was  used  chiefly  as  expressive  of  fastness  of  color,  the  name  of  the 


88  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  i,  sc.  v. 

Via.     Tis  beauty  truly  blent,  whofe  red  and  white,  236 

Natures  owne  fweet,  and  cunning  hand  laid  on  : 
Lady,  you  are  the  cruell'ft  fhee  aliue, 
If  you  will  leade  thefe  graces  to  the  graue, 
And  leaue  the  world  no  copie.  240 

01.  O  fir,  I  will  not  be  fo  hard-hearted  :  I  will  giue 
out  diuers  fcedules  of  my  beautie.  It  fhalbe  Inuentoried 
and  euery  particle  and  vtenfile  labell'd  to  my  will  :  As, 
Item  two  lippes  indifferent  redde,  Item  two  grey  eyes, 
with  lids  to  them/  Item,  one  necke,  one  chin,  &  fo  forth.  24$ 
Were  you  fent  hither  to  praife  me? 

242.  diuers"}    diverse   Theob.    Warb.  244.   Item]  Item,  F3F4. 

Johns.  Vai.  Ran.  Mai.  246.  praife]   'praise  Mai.   Var.  '78, 

fcedules]  schedules  Rowe.  '85,    Steev.  Var.   Wh.  i,   Dyce  ii,  iii, 

Itjhalbe]  I  shall  be  Han.  Huds.  Coll.  iii. 

effect  was  transferred  to  an  ordinary  known  cause,  and  dyed  in  grain,  originally 
meaning  dyed  with  kennes,  then  dyed  with  fast  color,  came  at  last  to  signify,  dyed 
in  the  wool  or  other  raw  material. 

238.  shee]    Compare,   'The  faire,  the  chaste,  the  vnexpressive  shee1 — As  You 
Like  It,  III,  ii,  II  ;  'I  am  that  he,  that  vnfortunate  he,' — Ib.  line  378.     Or,  see 
ABBOTT,  §  224,  for  other  examples. 

239,  240.  If  you  .  .  .  copie]  STEEVENS  points  out  an  iteration  of  this  idea  in 
Sonnet  3  ;  and  MALONE  in  Sonnets  9  and  13.     For  'copy'  as  here  used,  see  Wint. 
Tale,  I,  ii,  150,  and  II,  iii,  126. 

242.  scedules]  W.   A.  WRIGHT  :   Cotgrave  gives  three  forms  of  this  word  in 
French  :  Cedule,  Scedule,  and  Schedule ;  and  in  Sherwood' s  Eng.  and  French  Diet. 
[appended  to  Cotgrave]  we  find,    'A  Scedule.    Scedule,  cedule ;    minute,  schede, 
schedule.'     [In  Hollyband,  we  find,  'Cedule,  a  sedule,  a  briefe,  a  handwriting,'  and 
also  '  Scedule  6°  obligation,  an  obligation,  a  bill.'] 

243.  labell'd]  RUSHTON  ( Testamentary  Language,  p.  9)  :  The  word  '  label '  has 
two  significations  :  it  signifies  a  paper  annexed  by  way  of  addition  or  explication  to 
a  will  or  testament,  which  is  called  a  codicil  or  label  (Cowell,  Interpr.},  and  in  this 
sense  it  may  be  used  by  Olivia.     It  also  signifies  a  slip  of  paper  or  parchment  for  an 
appending  seal. 

244.  indifferent]  See  I,  iii,  126,  where  Sir  Andrew  says  his  leg  does  indifferent 
well  in  a  dam'd  colour' d  stock. 

244.  grey]  See  Rom.  <5r»  Jul.  II,  iv,  39,  « Thisbe,  a  grey  eye  or  so.'  When 
applied  to  the  sky  or  to  eyes,  this  colour  is  generally  accepted  as  blue.  See  Much 
Ado,  V,  iii,  28,  '  Dapples  the  drowsy  East  with  spots  of  grey.' 

246.  praise]  MALONE  :  That  is,  appraise,  or  appreciate.  M.  MASON  and  KNIGHT 
prefer  to  accept  'praise'  in  the  sense  of  extol,  applaud;  COLLIER  (and  also  Knight) 
maintained  that  the  old  word  for  appraise  was  apprise,  but  in  his  Third  Ed.  Collier 
accepts  Malone's  spelling,  'praise.  HALLIWELL  proves  by  quotations  that  Malone's 
reading  is  certainly  possible.  His  note  is  as  follows  :  Olivia  is  here  speaking  very 
satirically,  and  asks  Viola,  in  ridicule  or  assumed  indignation,  whether  he  (she)  was 
sent  to  appraise  her  beauties,  like  a  broker  might  do  furniture.  '  /  prayse  a  thynge, 


ACT  I,  sc.  v.]  OK,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  89 

Vio.     I  fee  you  what  you  are,  you  are  too  proud  :  247 

But  if  you  were  the  diuell,  you  are  faire  : 
My  Lord,  and  mafter  loues  you  :  O  fuch  loue 
Could  be  but  recompenc'd,  though  you  were  crown'd  250 

The  non-pareil  of  beautie. 

01.     How  does  he  loue  me  ? 

Vio,     With  adorations,  fertill  teares,  253 

250.  Could]  Should  Coll.  MS.  Knt,  Coll.  Hal.  Wh.  Cam.    adoration's 

251.  non-pareil]  non-pareill  ¥ 3.  non-  fertile   Han.    Ran.    Mai.      adorations, 
parillf^.    non-paril  F4.   nonpareil 'Var.  with  fertile   Huds.       adorations,    -with 
'03  et  seq.  fertile  Pope  et  cet.    faithful  adorations 

253.  adorations,  fertill]    Ff,   Rowe,         fertile  Joicey  (Ar.  &~  Qu.  8th,  vi,  283). 

I  esteeme  of  what  value  it  is.  Je  aprise,  prim.  conj.  I  can  nat  prayse  justly  howe 
moche  it  is  worthe,  but  as  I  gesse  :  je  ne  le  puis  poynt  apriser  combien  it  vault, 
mays  commc  je  diuine.' — Palsgrave,  1530  [p.  664,  ed.  1852].  ' Prayse  by  value, 
estimoj  Huloet's  Abecedarium,  1552.  'A  praiser  or  valuer,'  Baret's  Alvearie,  1580. 
[It  is  a  question  of  interpretation.  The  word  in  the  Folio  may  mean  either 
praise  or  appraise.  The  only  other  quotation  given  by  SCHMIDT,  or  by  the  editors, 
of  Shakespeare's  use  of  this  word  in  this  sense,  is  equally  ambiguous;  in  Tro.  <5r* 
Cress.  Ill,  ii,  97,  we  have,  'Praise  us  as  we  are  tasted,  allow  us  as  we  prove.' 
I  prefer  the  sense  of  appraise,  but  it  cannot  be  said  that  those  who  prefer  praise  are 
wrong. — ED.] 

247.  I  see  .  .  .  you  are]  For  the  construction,  compare,  '  Conceal  me  what  I 
am,'  I,  ii,  58  ;  or  ABBOTT,  §  414. 

253.  With  .  .  .  teares]  From  the  days  of  POPE,  the  metre  of  this  line  has  been 
supposed  to  be  defective.  MALONE,  at  first  (1790),  would  not  acquiesce  in  Pope's 
•with  ;  he  pronounced  '  adorations '  as  of  five  syllables,  and  '  tears '  as  of  two, — the 
true  scansion,  I  think,  if  we  are  to  scan  with  our  fingers ;  but  he  afterward  surren- 
dered to  Pope.  DYCE  (ed.  i)  pronounces  the  omission  of  the  second  with  (i.  e. 
Pope's  wit  A)  '  a  mistake,  as  the  context  (to  say  nothing  of  the  metre)  plainly  shows.' 
WALKER  (Crit.  iii,  84)  is  sure  that  'a  word  or  words  are  lost  before  "adorations," 
involving  the  same  metaphor  as  the  rest  of  the  two  lines.'  Adopting  this  suggestion, 
the  CAMBRIDGE  EDITORS  conjecture  that  'perhaps  the  lost  word  may  have  been 
earthward  or  earthly,  so  that  all  the  four  elements  "of  which  our  life  consists" 
(II,  iii,  Ii)  would  be  represented  in  the  symptoms  of  Orsino's  passion.'  Earthly 
would  be  good,  if  it  did  not  somewhat  degrade  '  adorations,'  which  are  generally 
supposed  to  be  heavenly.  ABBOTT  (§  505)  ingeniously  transposes,  to  follow  '  tears,' 
the  '  With '  at  the  beginning  of  the  next  line.  This,  however,  obliges  him  to  pro- 
nounce 'gro-ans'  as  a  disyllabic,  which  is  no  better  than  Malone's  'te-ars.'  Abbott 
adds,  very  justly,  '  But  the  enumerative  character  of  the  verse  (§  5°9)  rnay  justify  it 
as  it  stands.'  This  is,  I  think,  the  true  solution.  After  'adorations,'  pronounced 
either  as  four  syllables  or  five,  there  is  one  of  those  morez  vacua  of  the  old  proso- 
dists,  empty  pauses,  which  emotion  and  due  dramatic  elocution  demand,  and  makes 
up  to  the  ear  the  loss  of  a  metric  foot.  These  pauses  are  for  ever  stumbling  blocks 
to  the  silent  reader  of  Shakespeare,  but  never  to  the  actor. — ED. 

253.  fertill]  WALKER  (Crit.  iii,  84)  :  This  is,  I  think,  copious,  as  e.g.  Hamlet,. 
I,  ii,  '  No,  nor  the  fruitful  river  in  the  eye.' 


po  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  i,  sc.  v. 

With  groanes  that  thunder  loue,  with  fighes  of  fire. 

CV.Your  Lord  does  know  my  mind,  I  cannot  loue  him          255 
Yet  I  fuppofe  him  vertuous,  know  him  noble, 
Of  great  eftate,  of  frefli  and  ftainleffe  youth  ; 
In  voyces  well  divulg'd,  free,  learn'd,and  valiant, 
And  in  dimenfion,  and  the  fhape  of  nature, 

A  gracious  perfon  ;  But  yet  I  cannot  loue  him  :  260 

He  might  haue  tooke  his  anfwer  long  ago. 

Vio.     If  I  did  loue  you  in  my  mafters  flame, 
With  fuch  a  fuming,  fuch  a  deadly  life  :  263 

259.  the  JhapelJhapcfff  260.  But  yet]\yet  Pope,  Han. 


254.  thunder]  MALONE  :  Compare,  '  O,  that  forced  thunder  from  his  heart  did 
fly.'  —  Lover's  Complaint,  325. 

256-260.  Yet  I  suppose  ...  I  cannot  loue  him]  SPEDDING  (Fraser's  Maga. 
Aug.,  1865,  p.  261)  :  These  lines  are  left  out  in  the  acting,  which  is  surely  a  great 
mistake.  As  addressed  by  Olivia  to  Viola,  they  have  a  peculiar  and  pathetic  mean- 
ing, and  it  is  strange  that  the  mixed  emotions  which  they  must  have  excited  in  her 
should  not  have  been  made  one  of  the  '  points  '  in  the  play. 

258.  voyces  well  divulg'd]  MALONE  :  That  is,  well  spoken  of  by  the  world.  — 
STEEVENS  :  So,  in  Timon,  IV,  iii,  81,  'the  Athenian  minion,  whom  the  world 
Voic'd  so  regardfully.'  —  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  By  public  acclamation  held  of  good 
repute.  Compare  Coriol.  II,  ii,  144,  'the  people  Must  have  their  voices.'  And 
Jul.  Gzs.  II,  i,  146,  'And  buy  men's  voices  to  commend  our  deeds.'  —  DEIGHTON  : 
This  seems  to  me  to  be  connected  with  the  rest  of  the  line,  i.  e.  well  spoken  of  by 
the  world  as  being  free  (gracious),  learned,  and  valiant.  Having  first  referred  to 
what  she  can  only  assume  regarding  the  Duke,  sc.  his  virtue,  Olivia  goes  on  to  men- 
tion what  she  knows  as  facts,  viz.  that  he  is  of  noble  birth  and  fortune,  that  his 
youth  has  been  blamelessly  spent,  that  he  is  spoken  of  as  gracious,  learned,  and 
valiant,  that  his  personal  appearance  is  handsome.  His  being  free,  learned,  and 
valiant  would  be  a  matter  of  opinion,  his  being  considered  so  would  be  a  matter  of 
fact  within  her  knowledge. 

258.  free]  Compare  Othello,  III,  iii,  228,  '  I  would  not  haue  your  free  and  Noble 
Nature,'  etc.     See,  also,  'free  maides,'  II,  iv,  53,  post. 

259.  dimension]    That  is,  bodily  proportion.  —  ROLFE  :    See  V,  i,  252,   'that 
dimension,'  the  only  other  example  of  the  singular  in  Shakespeare. 

260.  gracious]  ABBOTT  (p.  498)  refers  to  King  John,  'There  was  not  such  a 
gracious  creature  born,'  III,  iv,  8l. 

262.  in]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  '  In  '  is  here  used  very  much  like  the  French  en. 

263.  deadly  life]  HUDSON,  whose  text  reads  deadly  love1  thinks  '  life  '  '  a  very 
evident  misprint;  yet  it  has  waited  a  good  while  to  be  corrected.'  —  DEIGHTON: 
That  is,  with  such  a  painful  and  fatal  vitality  of  love  ;  '  deadly  life  '  for  the  sake  of 
the  antithesis;  compare  Hen.    V  :  IV,  ii,  54,  'To  demonstrate  the  life  of  such  a 
battle  In  life  so  lifeless  as  it  shows  itself.'     [To  me,  'deadly  love1  is  meaningless. 
'Deadly'  is  the  climax  of  'suffering';  a  'deadly  life'  is  a  life  of  suffering  extended 
even  to  its  last  limit,  death.  —  ED.] 


ACT  i,  sc.  v.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  9! 

In  your  deniall,  I  would  finde  no  fence, 

I  would  not  vnderftand  it.  265 

OL     Why,  what  would  you  ? 

Vio.     Make  me  a  willow  Cabine  at  your  gate, 
And  call  vpon  my  foule  within  the  houfe, 
Write  loyall  Cantons  of  contemned  loue, 

And  fing  them  lowd  euen  in  the  dead  of  night :  270 

Hallow  your  name  to  the  reuerberate  hilles, 
And  make  the  babling  Gofsip  of  the  aire, 
Cry  out  Oliuia  :  O  you  fhould  not  reft 
Betweene  the  elements  of  ayre,  and  earth, 
But  you  mould  pittie  me.  275 

266.  Why,]  Om.  Han.  F3F4,  Rowe,  + ,  Cap.     Holloa  Var.  '73. 
you  /]  you  doe  ?  F3F4,  Rowe,  -t- .         Haloo  Var.  '78,  Ran.  Var.  '8$.     Halloo 

267.  Cabine}  Cabin  f  ^    '  Coll.  Cam.  ,  Rife,  Dtn,  Wh.  ii.     Holla 

269.  Cantons}    Cantos    Rowe     ii,  +  ,         Mai.  et  cet. 

Var.  '73,  '78,  Ran.     canzons  Cap.  271.  to  the']  to  F4. 

270.  dead~\  dread  F3F4.  reuerberate"}  reverberant  Theob. 

271.  Hallow}    Hollow    Ft.      Hollow         Han.  Johns. 

267.  willow]  Of  course,  with  the  suggestion  of  the  willow  as  an  emblem  of  for- 
saken or  of  rejected  love.  It  were  superfluous  to  quote  Desdemona's  song,  or  the 
allusions  in  Much  Ado. 

269.  Write,  etc.]  See  LAMB'S  note  on  Mrs  Jordan's  acting,  II,  iv,  118. 

269.  Cantons]  MALONE  :  There  is  no  need  of  alteration.  '  Canton '  was  used 
for  canto  in  our  author's  time.  So,  in  The  London  Prodigal,  1605  :  '  What-do-you- 
call-him  hath  it  there  in  his  third  canton. '[Ill,  ii,  p.  489,  Var.  1780.]  Again,  in 
Heywood's  Preface  to  Britaynes  Troy,  1609:  ' — in  the  judicial  perusal  of  these 
few  cantons,'  etc. — W.  A.  WRIGHT  notes  that  this  latter  work  is  described  in  the 
title-page  as  'A  Poem  deuided  into  xvii.  seuerall  cantons.' 

271.  reuerberate]  STEEVENS  :  Theobald's  emendation  is  unnecessary.  Jonson, 
in  one  of  his  Masques,  says :  '  which  skill,  Pythagoras  First  taught  to  men  by  a 
reverberate  glass.'  [Masque  of  Blackness,  p.  15,  ed.  Gifford.] — HOLT  WHITE,  in 
support  of  'reverberate'  quotes  the  following  line  from  Heywood's  Troja  Britan- 
nica,  1609,  canto  xi,  st.  9  :  'Give  shrill  reverberate  echoes  and  rebounds.'  RICH- 
ARDSON (Diet.")  quotes  from  Drayton's  Polyolbion,  Song  ix,  55  :  '  The  loftie  Hills  .  .  . 
Sent  forth  such  ecchoing  shoutes  (which  every  way  so  shrill  With  the  reuerberate 
sound  the  spacious  ayre  did  fill) ';  and  also  from  Bacon's  Naturall  Historie,  §  261  : 
'  Both  audibles  and  visibles  will  be  reverberate  ;  as  in  mirrours  and  in  ecchos.'  But, 
as  W.  A.  WRIGHT  observes,  in  regard  to  the  quotations  from  Heywood  and  from 
Drayton  (and  the  same  is  true  of  that  from  Bacon  also)  that  in  these  cases  '  rever- 
berate' is  passive  and  not  active.  Ben  Jonson,  however,  uses  the  word  actively,  and 
this  is  sufficient.  'Similarly,'  says  Wright,  'in  Coriol.  I,  i,  106,  "participate" 
is  equivalent  to  participant;  and  in  Hamlet,  I,  i,  83,  "emulate"  has  an  active 
sense.' — ED. 

275.  But]  See  line  149,  above. 


92  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  i,  sc.  v. 

01.     You  might  do  much  :  276 

What  is  your  Parentage  ? 

Vio.     Aboue  my  fortunes,  yet  my  Mate  is  well : 
I  am  a  Gentleman. 

Ol.     Get  you  to  your  Lord  :  280 

I  cannot  loue  him  :  let  him  fend  no  more, 
Vnleffe(perchance)  you  come  to  me  againe, 
To  tell  me  how  he  takes  it :  Fare  you  well : 
I  thanke  you  for  your  paines  :  fpend  this  for  mee. 

Vio.     I  am  no  feede  poaft,  Lady;  keepe  your  purfe,  285 

My  Mafter,  not  my  felfe,  lackes  recompence. 
Loue  make  his  heart  of  flint,  that  you  fhal  loue, 
And  let  your  feruour  like  my  mafters  be, 
Plac'd  in  contempt  :  Farwell  fayre  crueltie.  Exit 

Ol.     What  is  your  Parentage  ?  290 

Aboue  my  fortunes,  yet  my  ftate  is  well ; 
I  am  a  Gentleman.     He  be  fworne  thou  art, 
Thy  tongue,  thy  face,  thy  limbes,  actions,  and  fpirit, 
Do  giue  thee  flue-fold  blazon  :  not  too  faft  :  foft,  foft, 
Vnleffe  the  Mafter  were  the  man.     How  now  ?  295 

276,  277.   Two  lines,  Ff,   Rowe,  +  ,  288.  feruour ...  majlers\    fervour,... 

Var.  '73,  Wh.  Cam.  Rife,  Dtn.     One  master's,  Theob. 
line,  Cap.  et  cet.  294.  foft, /oft,']  soft ;  Cap.    Separate 

285.  no  feede  poajl~\  no  feede-poajl  F2.  line,  Dyce  ii,  iii,  Huds. 
no-feed  pojl  F  .     no  feed-pojl  F  ,  Pope.  295.  Majler  were  the   man\  man  the 

nofeSd-posfRoviz.   nofee'etfostTlieob.  master  were  (ending  lines  294-297,  fast 

et  seq.  ...were. ..catch... perfections)  Han. 

285.  feede  poast]  That  is,  hired  messenger.  The  compositors  of  the  Folios 
seem  to  have  been  puzzled  over  it. 

287.  his  ...  that]  For  the  construction,  see  '  their  .  .  .  that,'  II,  iv,  103-105  ; 
or  ABBOTT,  §  218,  for  other  examples  of  possessive  pronouns  as  antecedents  U> 
relatives. 

290,  292.  your  .  .  .  thou]  Note  the  dawning  of  love  in  this  change  from  you  to 
thou. — ED. 

294.  blazon]  A  description,  according  to  the  rules  of  Heraldry,  of  armorial  bear- 
ings ;  hence  the  transferred  sense  of  a  record  or  description  of  any  kind.  See  Much 
Ado,  II,  i,  282,  with  note,  in  this  ed.  if  needful. 

294.  soft,  soft]  DYCE  made  a  separate  line  of  these  words ;  K.  ELZE  prefixes 
them  to  the  next  line,  and  makes  '  How  now  ?'  a  separate  line, — both  equally  effica- 
cious in  relieving  the  eye  from  the  dread  sight  of  an  Alexandrine,  which  the  ear  does 
not,  or  should  not,  hear. — ED. 

295.  the  Master  .  .  .  man]  CAPELL  (p.  143) :  These  words  are  rang'd  con- 
trary to  expectation  ;  '  man  '  is  look'd  for  where  '  master '  stands  now  :  the  sense  is 
much  the  same  either  way  ;  but  by  this  arrangement  the  speaker  contrives  to  cheat 


ACT  i,  sc.  v.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  93 

Euen  fo  quickly  may  one  catch  the  plague  ?  296 

Me  thinkes  I  feele  this  youths  perfections 
With  an  inuifible,  and  fubtle  ftealth 
To  creepe  in  at  mine  eyes.     Well,  let  it  be. 

What  hoa,  Maluolio.  300 

Enter  Maluolio. 

Mai.     Heere  Madam,  at  your  feruice. 

Ol.     Run  after  that  fame  peeuifh  Meffenger 
The  Countes  man  :  he  left  this  Ring  behinde  him 
Would  I,  or  not :  tell  him,  He  none  of  it.  305 

Defire  him  not  to  flatter  with  his  Lord, 

299.  it  be.]  it  be—  Rowe,  +  .  304.  Countes}    Counts    Ff.      Duke's 

300.  hod}  ho  Theob.  •  Rowe,  + .      Count  his   Ktly.     County's 

301.  Maluolio.]  Malvolio, —  Theob.         Cap.  et  cet. 

Warb.  Johns.  left}  left  here  Han. 

herself  into  an  opinion  that  the  declaration  is  less  humiliating  ;  '  were  the  man '  is — 
were  like  the  man. — MALONE  :  Unless  the  dignity  of  the  master  were  added  to  the 
merit  of  the  servant,  I  shall  go  too  far,  and  disgrace  myself.  Let  me  stop  in  time. — 
STEEVENS  :  Perhaps  she  means  to  check  herself  by  observing, — '  This  is  unbecoming 
forwardness  on  my  part,  unless  I  were  as  much  in  love  with  the  master  as  I  am  with 
the  man.' — ROLFE:  Olivia  evidently  wishes  that  the  master  and  man  could  change 
places,  but  just  what  she  would  have  said  if  she  had  not  checked  herself  we  need 
not  trouble  ourselves  to  guess. — W.  A.  WRIGHT  (in  reference  to  Hanmer's  text)  : 
But  Olivia  does  not  wish  that  the  man  had  the  rank  and  dignity  of  the  master,  but 
that  the  master  had  the  attractiveness  of  the  man.  [In  '  unless '  there  lies  a  train 
of  thought  which  passes  through  Olivia's  mind  '  as  swift  as  meditation  or  the  thoughts 
of  love.'  The  word  '  blazon,'  with  its  suggestion  of  high  nobility,  recalls  the  Duke 
to  her.  She  instantly  remembers  that  she  has  utterly  rejected  him.  Was  she  therein 
true  to  herself ?  Could  she  really  never  love  him?  No,  she  could  not — unless — 
unless  he  were  like  his  man.  By  this  flash  of  light  she  perceives  that  she  has  caught 
the  '  infection  of  the  eye.' — ED.] 

297.  perfections]  See  I,  i,  44. 

299.  To  creepe]  As  to  the  construction,  see  ABBOTT  (§  349)  for  examples  of  the 
insertion,  and  of  the  omission,  of  '  to '  after  verbs  of  perceiving,  and  after  have  need, 
and  after  let  in  the  sense  of  suffering  and  of  hindering.  The  following  examples 
occur  in  the  present  play  :  '  Thou  hadst  need  send,'  II,  iii,  176  ;  '  I  had  rather  hear 
you  to  solicit  that,'  III,  i,  no;  'I  my  brother  know  Yet  living,'  III,  iv,  381  (see 
Abbott,  p.  251)  ;  'If  nothing  lets  to  make  vs,'  V,  i,  264. 

303.  peeuish]  DYCE  ( Gloss.}  :  This  appears  to  have  generally  signified,  during 
Shakespeare's  days,  silly,  foolish,  trifling,  etc.;  though,  no  doubt,  the  word  was  for- 
merly used  to  signify,  as  now,  pettish,  perverse,  etc. — COLLIER  :  In  this  place  Olivia 
may  wish  Malvolio  not  to  perceive  that  she  takes  any  inte'rest  about  so  insignificant 
a  person  as  'the  county's  man."  [Whatever  the  precise  meaning,  Malvolio  repeats 
the  word  when  he  delivers  the  ring.] 

305.   Would  I,  or  not]  For  this  subjunctive,  see  ABBOTT,  §  361. 


94  TWELFE    NIGHT  [ACT  II,  sc.  i. 

Nor  hold  him  vp  with  hopes,  I  am  not  for  him :  307 

If  that  the  youth  will  come  this  way  to  morrow, 
He  giue  him  reafons  for't  :  hie  thee  Maluolio. 

Mai.     Madam,  I  will.  Exit.         310 

Ol.     I  do  I  know  not  what,  and  feare  to  finde 
Mine  eye  too  great  a  flatterer  for  my  minde  : 
Fate,  fhew  thy  force,  our  felues  we  do  not  owe, 
What  is  decreed,  muft  be  :  and  be  this  fo. 

Finis ,  Aftus  primus.         315 

Aftus  Sectindus ,  Scczna  prima. 

Enter  Antonio  &  Seba/lian.  2 

Ant.     Will  you  ftay  no  longer  :  nor  will  you  not  that 
I  go  with  you.  4 

309.  reafons  for't:  hiethee~\Y3  (subs.)  315.  primus]  primi  Ff. 

reafons  for't  by  thee,  F.    reafon  for't  by  The    Street.    Rowe.      The   Sea- 

thee,  F4,  Rowe.     reason  for't.   Hye  thee  coast.  Cap. 

Pope,  Han.     reasons   for't.     Hye  thee  3,  4.  longer ...  you."]  longer :...  you? 

Theob.  et  seq.  F,F3.     longer ?... you?  F4et  seq. 

315.  Om.  Rowe  et  seq. 

306.  flatter  with]    See  ABBOTT,  §  194,  for  examples  of  the  use  of  with  after 
verbs,  where  we  should  use  a  different  preposition,  or  even  none  at  all. 
308.  If  that]  For  the  construction,  see  I,  ii,  52. 

312.  Mine  eye,  etc.]  JOHNSON  :  I  believe  the  meaning  is  :  I  am  not  mistress  of 
my  own  actions  ;  I  am  afraid  that  my  eyes  betray  me,  and  flatter  the  youth  without 
my  consent,  with  discoveries  of  love. — M.  MASON  :  Johnson's  explanation  is  evi- 
dently wrong.  .  .  .  The  true  meaning  appears  to  be  this :   '  She  fears  that  her  eyes 
had  formed  so  flattering  an  idea  of  Cesario,  that  she  should  not  have  strength  of 
mind  sufficient  to  resist  the  impression.'     She  had  just  before  said  that  she  felt  the 
youth's  perfections  creep  in  at  her  eyes. — MALONE  :  I  think  the  meaning  is,  '  I  fear 
that  my  eyes  will  seduce  my  understanding ;  that  I  am  indulging  a  passion  for  this 
beautiful  youth,  which  my  reason  cannot  approve.' — HARNESS  :  Her  mind,  here  used 
for  heart,  had  fixed  itself  on  Viola,  and  her  eye  flattered  her  mind  by  discovering  in 
the  object  of  affection  more  than  her  true  merits. — HALLIWELL  :    This  seems  to 
mean,  I  fear  it  will  turn  out  that  my  eye  will  indulge  me  in  wishes  and  expectations, 
so  that  it  will  overpower  my  judgement.     W.  A.  WRIGHT  expresses  it  concisely  : 
•  my  mind  will  be  unable  to  resist  the  too  favourable  impression  which  my  eyes  have 
received.' 

313.  owe]  That  is,  own,  possess.     See  Shakespeare  passim. 

2.  MARSHALL:  This  scene  in  [Irving' s]  acting-version,  becomes  scene  ii.  of  Act 
III.;  thus  the  action  of  the  play  is  rendered  more  consecutive. 

3.  nor  .  .  .  not]    For  double   negatives,  see  ABBOTT,  §  406 ;  or  Shakespeare 
everywhere. 


ACT  ii,  sc.  i.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  95 

Seb.     By  your  patience,  no  :  my  ftarres  mine  darkely  5 

ouer  me  ;  the  malignancie  of  my  fate,  might  perhaps  di- 
ftemper  yours ;  therefore  1  fhall  craue  of  you  your  leaue, 
that  I  may  beare  my  euils  alone.  It  were  a  bad  recom- 
pence  for  your  loue,  to  lay  any  of  them  on  you. 

ytfw.Let  me  yet  know  of  you,  whither  you  are  bound.  10 

Scb.     No  footh  fir  :  my  det  erminate  voyage  is  meere 
extrauagancie.But  I  perceiue  in  you  fo  excellent  a  touch  12 

7.  yours"]  your's  Coll.  ii.  'sooth  Cap.  Mai.  Steev.  Var.  Knt,  Coll. 

IJhall}  I  Rowe,  Pope,  Han.  Hal.  Ktly. 

II.  footh}  in  sooth  Johns.  Var.  Ran. 

5.  By  your  patience]  DEIGHTON  :  If  you  will  suffer  it  to  be  so.     [It  has  a 
deeper  meaning  than  simply  'by  your  leave,'  which  Sebastian  uses  shortly  after  ;  it 
is  used  in  the  present  sense  by  the  aged  Gonzalo  when  he  entreats  his  companions 
to  bear  with  his  weariness,  Temp.  Ill,  iii,  3. — ED.] 

6.  malignancie]  The  reference  to  the  stars  suggests  this  astrological  term,  and, 
possibly,  'distemper.'    Compare  /  Hen.   VI :  IV,  v,  6  :  'O  malignant  and  ill-boding 
stars  !'    In  Mid.  N.  D.  II,  i,  1 10,  Titania  ascribes  '  distemperature  '  to  the  influence 
of  the  Moon. — ED. 

7.  craue  of  you  your  leaue]  Compare  for  the  construction,  ' I  shall  desire  you 
of  more  acquaintance,'  in  Mid.  N.  D.  Ill,  i,  188,  and  only  a  few  lines  further  on 
'  I  shall  desire  of  you  more  acquaintance.'     The  present  text  shows  that  the  phrase 
in  the  latter  quotation  from  Mid.  N.  D.  is  not  a  possible  misprint,  as  was  there  too 
hastily  suggested  by  the  present — ED. 

10.  bound]  MURRAY  (JV.  E.  D.  s.  v.  '  Bound'  participial  adjective)  :  An  adopted 
form  of  Old  Norse  bfiinn,  Norwegian  buen  past  participle  of  bua  to  get  ready, 
appearing  first  in  the  north  as  bun,  afterwards  in  Middle  English  boun;  the  added 
d  in  the  modern  form  may  be  due  in  part  to  its  being  regarded  as  the  past  participle 
of  the  derived  verb  BOUN,  and  in  part  to  confusion  with  BOUND  participial  adjective 
equivalent  to  obliged  ;  but  compare  other  instances  as  in  Mahound,  sound,  com- 
pound,  astound,   for  Mahoun,   soun,    compoun,    astoun,    also   the   vulgar  gownd, 
drownd,   etc.    [The  definition,  which  applies  to  the  present  word,  is  under  2  :] 
Prepared  or  purposing  to  go,  starting,  directing  one's  course,  destined.    [See  '  bound,' 
HI,  i,  770 

11.  sooth]  The  Text.  Notes  show  that  many  an  editor  has  followed  Capell's  lead 
in  printing  this  as  though  it  were  a  contraction  for  in  sooth.     '  The  full  phrase,'  says 
W.  A.  WRIGHT,  '  is  in  sooth  or  in  good  sooth,  both  which  are  of  common  occurrence, 
and  both  are  used  without  the  preposition.' 

11,  12.  determinate  .  .  .  extrauagancie]    W.   A.  WRIGHT:    Sebastian  says, 
his  most  settled  plan  of  travelling  is  mere  vagrancy.     [Both  words  are  used  in  their 
derivative  Latin    sense.     See  Hamlet,  '  The  extravagant  and  erring  spirit  hies  To 
his  confine.'  I,  i,  154.] 

12.  touch]  SCHMIDT  (Z,fx.)  is  somewhat  astray  in  defining  this  present  use  of 
'  touch '  as  '  dash,  spice,  smack ' ;  '  touch '   is  more  refined  than  these  rude  words. 
W.  A.  WRIGHT  defines  it  by  « delicate  feeling,'  and  quotes  in  proof  the  following 
appropriate  examples :  Mid.  N.  D.  Ill,  ii,  286  :  '  Have  you  no  modesty,  no  maiden 


96  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  II,  sc.  i. 

of  modeftie,  that  you  will  not  extort  from  me,  what  I  am  1 3 

willing  to  keepe  in  :  therefore  it  charges  me  in  manners, 
the  rather  to  expreffe  my  felfe  ;  you  muft  know  of  mee  15 

then  Antonio ,  my  name  is  Seba/lian  (which  I  call'd  Rodo- 
rigo) my  father  was  that  Scbaftian  of  Mejfaliney  whom  I 
know  you  haue  heard  of.  He  left  behinde  him,  my  felfe, 
and  a  fifter,  both  borne  in  an  houre  :  if  the  Heanens  had 
beene  pleas'd,  would  we  had  fo  ended.  But  you  fir,  al-  20 

ter'd  that,  for  fome  houre  before  you  tooke  me  from  the 
breach  of  the  fea,  was  my  fifter  drown'd. 

Ant.     Alas  the  day. 

Seb.    A  Lady  fir,  though  it  was  faid  fhee  much  refem-  24 

16,  17.  Rodorigo]  RoderigoVxr. '•]•$,  19.  Heanens~\  F,. 

Coll.  Cam.  Sta.  21.  koure]    houres    F3.      hours    F4, 

17.  Meflaline]  Mettaline  Knt,  conj.  Rowe,  Pope,  Han. 

19.  an     houre]     one    hour      F3F4,  22.  breach]  beech  Grey  (i,  226). 

Rowe,  +  .  24.  though]  who,  tho'  Han. 

shame,  No  touch  of  bashfulness  ?' ;  Tempest,  V,  i,  21  :  'Hast  thou,  which  art  but 
air,  a  touch,  a  feeling  Of  their  afflictions?';  And  Cymb.  I,  i,  135  :  '  I  am  senseless 
of  your  wrath  ;  a  touch  more  rare  Subdues  all  pangs,  all  fears.' 

15.  expresse]   JOHNSON:  That  is,  to  reveal  myself. — HALLIWELL:   Thus,  in 
Kendall's  Flowers  of  Epigrammes,  1577  :  'When  thei  had  robde  hym  of  his  coine. 
Quoth  one  among  the  reste, — My  maisters,  let  us  cutte  his  throte,  For  feare  we  be 
expreste.' 

1 6.  17.  which  I  call'd  Rodorigo]  R.  G.  WHITE  (ed.  ii):  Why,  does  not  appear. 
It  would  seem  that  there  must  be  an  allusion  to  some  story  or  play  of  which  we  know 
nothing.    Indeed  the  whole  of  this  scene  has  the  air  of  one  worked  up  out  of  another, 
particularly  in  the  Captain's  speeches,  which  contain  matter  superfluous  and  foreign 
to  the  interest  of  the  play  as  we  have  it. 

17.  Messaline]  Inasmuch  as  this  locality  is  unknown  to  geographers,  HANMER 
changed  it  to  Metelin,  (the  modern  name,  as  Capell  points  out,  of  Mitylene,}  utterly 
regardless  of  the  identity  of  Sebastian's  father,  who,  we  may  be  very  sure,  was  never 
in  Metelin  in  his  life.     He  was  '  Sebastian  of  Messaline,'  and  if  we  do  not  know 
where  Messaline  was,  it  merely  proves  that  we  know  less  than  the  Captain  of  the 
ship, — an  ignorance  which  is  not  humiliating.    I  think  Messaline  was  the  chief  town 
on  Prospero's  island. — ED. 

19.  in  an  houre]  For  this  use  of  a  or  an  for  one,  see  Shakespeare  and  early 
literature  passsim  ;  or  ABBOTT,  §  81. 

21.  some  houre]  See  ABBOTT  (§21)  for  examples  of  'some'  qualifying  nouns 
of  time. 

22.  breach]  STEEVENS  :  That  is,  what  we  now  call  the  breaking  of  the  sea.     In 
Pericles,  II,  i,  161,  it  is  called  'the  rupture  of  the  sea.'     [It  is  'rupture'  in  the 
Qq  and  F^  according  to  the  Cam.   Ed.,  but  modern  editors  follow  Rowe  ii,  in 
reading  « rapture.'     The  « breach  of  the  sea  '  is  where,  as  Tennyson  says  in  Enoch 
Arden,  '  the  league-long  rollers  thunder  on  the  beach.' — ED.] 


ACT  ii,  sc.  i.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  97 

bled  me,  was  yet  of  many  accounted  beautiful :but  thogh  25 

I  could  not  with  fuch  eftimable  wonder  ouer-farre  be- 

26.  fucK\  much  Cartwright.  26.  ouer-farre~\  overfar  Johns. 

24.  though]  For  the  omission  of  the  relative,  see,  if  need  be,  I,  v,  99.  Hanmer 
inserted  it. 

26.  such  estimable  wonder,  etc.]  WARBURTON  :  An  interpolation  of  the 
players. — JOHNSON:  But  what  did  the  players  gain  by  it?  they  may  sometimes  be 
guilty  of  a  joke  without  tthe  concurrence  of  the  poet,  but  they  never  lengthen  a 
speech  only  to  make  it  longer.  Shakespeare  often  confounds  the  active  and  passive 
adjectives.  '  Estimable  wonder '  is  esteeming  wonder,  or  wonder  and  esteem.  The 
meaning  is,  that  he  could  not  venture  to  think  so  highly  as  others  of  his  sister. — 
HEATH  (p.  188)  :  That  is,  with  an  admiration  that  held  her  in  as  high  account  as 
they  did  who  thought  her  beautiful ;  or,  in  short,  with  so  high  a  degree  of  admira- 
tion.— CAPELL  (p.  144)  :  The  sense  is  briefly  this, — with  such  wonder  in  my  esteem  ; 
'tis  a  peculiarity  of  the  poet's,  and  his  adjective  a  coinage.  [In  1853  COLLIER 
published  his  Notes  and  Emendations,  etc.,  from  MS  Corrections  in  a  copy  of  the 
Second  Folio  ;  in  this  volume,  with  the  pardonable  zeal  of  a  discoverer,  he  set  forth 
the  emendations  in  a  somewhat  dogmatic  tone,  which  seems  to  have  stirred  pro- 
foundly the  whole  Shakespearian  world.  (May  I  be  pardoned  if  I  here  say,  paren- 
thetically, that  I  have  entire  faith  in  Collier  as  an  honourable  man  ?  If  there  were 
any  fraud  connected  with  this  Folio,  or  with  the  State  Papers,  the  Bridgewater, 
or  the  Dulwich  collections,  I  believe  Collier  to  have  been  the  victim,  and  not 
the  perpetrator.)  In  the  present  passage,  there  was,  in  his  Folio,  this  correction : 
'I  could  not  with  self -estimation  wander  so  far  to  believe  that,  yet'  etc.;  to  this 
he  added  the  following  note  :  '  May  we  conclude,  that  this  new  and  self-evident 
improvement  of  the  absurd  old  reading  was  derived  from  some  original  source,  per- 
haps from  some  better  manuscript  than  that  employed  by  the  old  printer  of  the  Folio, 
1623,  which  was  exactly  followed  in  the  Folio,  1632?  Such  an  emendation  could 
hardly  be  the  result  of  mere  guess-work.'  Five  years  later,  in  his  Second  Edition, 
Collier  was  even  more  emphatic  in  his  approval  of  this  emendation  ;  he  adopted  it 
in  his  text,  and  not  only  pronounced  it  '  one  of  the  most  excellent  emendations '  in 
the  annotated  Folio,  but  asserted  that  it  'must  inevitably  be  right.'  Other  critics, 
however,  did  not  share  Collier's  assurance.  R.  G.  WHITE  pronounced  the  change 
'most  pitifull,'  and  a  Reviewer  (said  to  be  LETTSOM,  but  I  doubt)  in  JSlackwood's 
Maga.  (Aug.,  1853)  asserts  that  it  is  '  certainly  a  very  bad  piece  of  tinkering,'  and 
asks,  '  who  can  believe  that  Shakespeare  would  wander  so  far  in  his  speech  as  to  write 
in  such  a  roundabout  feckless  fashion  as  this  ?'  In  the  meantime,  the  interest  excited 
by  Collier's  Second  Folio  aroused  SINGER,  who  found  that  he  possessed  two  anno- 
tated Folios,  a  Second  and  a  Third,  and  for  the  MS  corrections  therein  he  claimed  con- 
sideration. In  the  present  passage,  his  annotator  had  made  the  following  change  :  '  I 
could  not,  with  such  estimators,  wander  overfar  to  believe  that,  yet,'  etc.  This 
emendation  Singer  pronounced  '  a  much  better  rectification  of  the  passage '  than 
Collier's.  DYCE  (ed.  i)  agrees  with  the  Blackwood  critic  that  Collier's  change  is 
'a  very  bad  piece  of  tinkering,'  and  then  adds  that  Singer's  change  'comes  under 
the  same  description.'  Singer's  reading,  however,  'struck'  BAILEY  (i,  204)  'as  an 
improvement,'  and,  after  he  had  changed  in  it,  estimators  into  estimate,  he  con- 
sidered that  it  made  'passable  sense.' — HALLIWELL  :  In  other  words,  though  I 
could  not  altogether  agree  with  such  a  high  degree  of  admiration. — R.  G.  WHITE 
7 


9g  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  n,  sc.  i. 

leeue  that,  yet  thus  farre  I  will  boldly  publifli  her,  fhee  27 

bore  a  minde  that  enuy  could  not  but  call  faire  :  Shee  is 
drown'd  already  fir  with  fait  water,  though  I  feeme  to 
drowne  her  remembrance  againe  with  more.  30 

Ant.     Pardon  me  fir,  your  bad  entertainment. 

Seb.    O  good  Antonio,  forgiue  me  your  trouble. 
Ant.     If  you  will  not  murther  me  for  my  loue,  let  m<  e 
be  your  feruant.  34 

28.  enuy  could  not  but]   envy  itself  33.  murther]  murder  Steev.  et  seq. 

would  Cap.  couj.  (except  Knt,  Wh.  i.) 

(ed.  i)  :  When  we  remember  the  sense  in  which  Shakespeare  uses  'capable  impres- 
sure,' — As  You  Like  It,  III,  v,  23,  '  intenible  sieve,' — All's  Well,  I,  iii,  208,  and 
'  something  that  is  deceivable,'  in  this  very  play,  IV,  iii,  23,  we  have  no  difficulty  in 
understanding  Sebastian,  when,  with  manly  modesty,  he  says  of  the  beauty  attributed 
to  the  sister  who  so  much  resembled  him,  '  though  I  could  not,  with  such  estimable 
(esteeming)  wonder,  overfar  believe  that?  and  adds,  '  yet  thus  far  I  will  boldly  publish 
her;'  etc. — WALKER  (Crit.  i,  187)  quotes  the  present  'estimable'  among  his  exam- 
ples where  '  adjectives  in  -able  and  -ible,  both  positive  and  negative  ones,  are  frequently 
used  by  old  writers  in  an  active  sense.' — DYCE  (ed.  ii)  :  The  late  Mr  W.  W, 
Williams  (under  the  signature  W.  D. )  writes  thus  in  The  Literary  Gazette  for 
March  29,  1862,  p.  310:  'I  would  submit  that,  if  Sebastian's  speech  be  read  care- 
fully, it  will  require  no  long  pondering  to  perceive  that  he  is  modestly  deprecating 
any  comparison  of  himself  with  such  a  beautiful  girl  as  his  sister.  If  this  be  the 
purport  of  the  words, — and  there  can  hardly  be  a  doubt  about  it, — the  simple  inser- 
tion of  the  indefinite  article  will  meet  all  the  necessities  of  the  case.  Read  as  fol- 
lows, and  all  difficulty  vanishes :  '  though  I  could  not,  with  such  an  estimable 
wonder  [i.  e.  when  compared  with  such  an  admirable  woman],  overfar  believe  that, 
yet '  etc.  [HUDSON  adopted  this  emendation.] — W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  '  Such  estimable 
wonder'  means  'with  the  admiration  which  influenced  such  a  judgement.'  [The 
general  meaning  seems  plain  to  every  one,  from  Johnson  downward  ;  the  chief  diffi- 
culty seems  to  have  been  found  in  accepting  '  estimable '  in  an  active  sense,  and 
'wonder'  in  the  sense  of  admiration. — ED.] 

30.  with  more]  STEEVENS  :  Compare  Hamlet,  IV,  vii,  1 86:  'Too  much  water 
hast  thou,  poor  Ophelia,  And  therefore  I  forbid  my  tears.' 

33,  34.  If  you  .  .  .  seruant]  KNIGHT  :  We  think  that  these  words  have  a  latent 
meaning,  and  they  allude  to  a  superstition  of  which  Sir  Walter  Scott  has  made  such 
admirable  use  in  The  Pirate.  Our  readers  will  remember  that,  when  Mordaunt  has 
rescued  Cleveland  from  'the  breach  of  the  sea,'  and  is  endeavouring  to  restore  the 
animation  of  the  perishing  man,  he  is  thus  reproved  by  Bryce,  the  pedlar :  'Are  you 
mad?  you,  that  have  lived  so  long  in  Zetland,  to  risk  the  saving  of  a  drowning 
man  ?  Wot  ye  not,  if  you  bring  him  to  life  again,  he  will  be  sure  to  do  you  some 
capital  injury  ?'  Sir  Walter  Scott  has  a  note  upon  this  passage  :  '  It  is  remarkable 
that,  in  an  archipelago  where  so  many  persons  must  be  necessarily  endangered  by  the 
waves,  so  strange  and  inhuman  a  maxim  should  have  engrafted  itself  upon  the  minds 
of  a  people  otherwise  kind,  moral,  and  hospitable.  But  all  with  whom  I  have 
spoken  agree  that  it  was  almost  general  in  the  beginning  of  the  eighteenth  century, 


ACT  H,  sc.  ii.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  99 

Seb.    If  you  will  not  vndo  what  you  haue  done,  that  is  35 

kill  him,  whom  you  haue  recouer'd,  defire  it  not.  Fare 
ye  well  at  once,  my  bofome  is  full  of  kindneffe,  and  I 
am  yet  fo  neere  the  manners  of  my  mother,that  vpon  the 
leaft  occafion  more,  mine  eyes  will  tell  tales  of  me :  I  am 
bound  to  the  Count  Orfmo's  Court,farewell.  Exit  40 

Ant.     The  gentleneffe  of  all  the  gods  go  with  thee : 
I  haue  many  enemies  in  Orfmo's  Court, 
Elfe  would  I  very  fhortly  fee  thee  there  : 
But  come  what  may,  I  do  adore  thee  fo,   - 
That  danger  lhall  feeme  fport,  and  I  will  go.  Exit.          45 

Sccena  Sectmda. 

Enter  Viola  and  Maluolio,  atfeuerall  doores.  2 

J/0/.Were  not  you  eu'n  now,  with  the  Counteffe  0- 
liuia  ?  4 

40.  Count]  Duke  Rowe,  -I- .  2.  Enter...]    Enter  Viola,   Malvolio 
farewell ']  farwel  F4.  following.  Cap.  et  seq. 

41.  all  the]  the  F4.  3.  «<'«]    e'en  Rowe,  +  ,  Wh.     even 

42.  many"]  made  F3F4,  Rowe, +  .  Cap.  et  seq. 
A  Street.  Cap. 

and  was  with  difficulty  weeded  out  by  the  sedulous  instructions  of  the  clergy  and  the 
rigorous  injunctions  of  the  proprietors.  There  is  little  doubt  it  had  been  originally 
introduced  as  an  excuse  for  suffering  those  who  attempted  to  escape  from  the  wreck 
to  perish  unassisted,  so  that,  there  being  no  survivor,  she  might  be  considered  as 
lawful  plunder.'  It  appears  to  us,  however,  if  we  do  not  mistake  the  meaning  of 
our  text,  that  the  superstition  was  not  confined  to  the  Orkneys  in  the  time  of  Shake- 
speare. Why  should  Sebastian  murder  Antonio  for  his  love  if  this  superstition  were- 
not  alluded  to  ?  Indeed,  the  answer  of  Sebastian  distinctly  refers  to  the  office  of 
humanity  which  Antonio  had  rendered  him,  and  appears  to  glance  at  the  superstition 
as  if  he  perfectly  understood  what  Antonio  meant :  '  If  you  will  not  undo  what  you 
have  done,  that  is,  kill  him  whom  you  have  recovered,  desire  it  not.'  The  vulgar 
opinion  is  here  reversed. — W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  But  Antonio  seems  only  to  appeal  to 
Sebastian  not  to  kill  him  as  a  reward  for  his  love  by  abandoning  him. — DEIGHTON  : 
That  is,  I  shall  die  if  you  refuse  to  let  me  serve  you.  [I  think  that  Wright  and 
Deighton  give  the  just  interpretation. — ED.] 

38.  mother]  MALONE  :  Compare  Hen.   V:  IV,  vi,  30  :  '  But  I  had  not  so  much 
of  man  in  me,  And  all  my  mother  came  into  my  eyes.' 

2.  Enter...]  COLLIER  :  Malvolio  may  be  supposed  to  be  coming  out  of  Olivia's 
house,  but  Viola  must  necessarily  be  in  the  street,  having  lately  quitted  the  presence 
of  Olivia. 

3.  eu'n]  By  changing  this  to  even,  as  nearly  all  modern  editors  have  done,  under 


100  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  n,  sc.  ii. 

Vio.    Euen  now  fir,  on  a  moderate  pace,  I  haue  fince  a-  5 

riu'd  but  hither. 

Mai  She  returnes  this  Ring  to  you  (fir)  you  might 
haue  faued  mee  my  paines,  to  haue  taken  it  away  your 
felfe.She  adds  moreouer,that  you  fhould  put  your  Lord 
into  a  defperate  affurance,  fhe  will  none  of  him.And  one  10 

thing  more,  that  you  be  neuer  fo  hardie  to  come  againe 
in  his  affaires,  vnlefle  it  bee  to  report  your  Lords  taking 
of  this  :  receiue  it  fo.  13 

5.  fir,  ...pace,]    sir ;  ...pace,    Rowe.  IO.   into]  in  F3F4,  Rowe  i. 

sir, -...pace  Pope  et  seq.  Jhe...him.']  she  is  not  for  him.   K. 

7.   (Jtr)]  Sir;  Rowe.    sir;  she  will  Elze. 
none  of  your  lord1  s  ring  K.  Elze.  him.]  him.  Han. 

Capell's  lead,  I  think  an  undue  emphasis  is  given  to  it.  It  has  escaped  notice,  I 
suppose,  that  'you'  is  the  emphatic  word,  and  that  'e'en  now'  should  receive  no 
stress.  When,  however,  Viola  replies,  then  the  'e'en'  becomes  emphatic,  and  is 
pronounced,  in  full,  '  Even,'  and  with  deliberation, — a  form  of  assent  more  courteous 
than  a  blunt  'ay'  or  'yes.' — ED. 

5.  sir,  .  .  .  pace,]  Pope's  punctuation  is  an  improvement  on  Rowe's. 

5.  on]  See  ABBOTT  (§  180,  p.  119)  for  other  examples  where  '  the  metaphorical 
uses  of  on  have  now  been  mostly  divided  between  of,  in,  and  at,  etc.' 

7.  (sir)]  Although  Olivia  bade  Malvolio  run  after  the  County's  man,   with  the 
ring,  and  'tell  him  I'll  none  of  it,'  Malvolio  did  not  repeat  these  very  words  of  the 
message  ;  he  changed  '  it '  into  him  ;  and  yet  Viola  in  her  soliloquy  (line  26)  repeats 
them  substantially:  '  None  of  my  Lord's  ring?'     Wherefore,  in  order  to  explain 
Viola's  knowledge  of  Olivia's  words,  HANMER  inserted  in  Malvolio' s  speech,  after 
the  present  'sir':  for  being  your  Lord's  she  '//  none  of  it.     I  suppose  that  this  was 
his  object ;  he  has  no  note  of  explanation.  — ED. 

8.  to  haue  taken  it]  That  is,  by  taking  it.     See  '  conclusions  to  be  as  kisses,' 
V,  i,  22.     For  many  examples  of  the  infinitive  thus  used  indefinitely,  see  ABBOTT, 
§356- 

10.  desperate  assurance]  ThisisMalvolio's  version,  correct  enough,  of  Olivia's 
words  '  nor  hold  him  up  with  hopes.' — ED. 

11.  so  hardie  to  come]  Compare  'no  woman's  heart  So  bigge  to  hold,'  II,  iv, 
IOI  ;  '  so  much  a  sinner  to  be  a  double  dealer,'  V,  i,  34  ;  and  for  other  examples  of 
the  omission  of  as  after  so,  see  ABBOTT,  §  281,  p.  192. 

13.  receiue  it  so]  CAPELL  evidently  interpreted  Malvolio's  words  'to  report 
your  Lord's  taking  of  this'  as  referring  to  the  taking  of  this,  the  ring,  instead  of 
referring  to  the  whole  message;  he  changed  'receive  it  so'  into  'receive  it,  sir.' 
This  is  ingenious  ;  because  Viola  at  once  refers  to  the  ring,  and  takes  no  notice  of 
the  rest  of  the  message  ;  at  the  same  time,  it  is  quite  possible  that  COLLIER  is  right 
in  saying  that  '  receive  it  so '  is  equivalent  to  understand  or  take  it  so,  probably 
without  reference  to  the  ring.  See  '  To  one  of  your  receiving,'  that  is,  to  one  of 
your  capacity  for  understanding,  III,  i,  122. — ED. 


ACT  ii,  sc.  ii.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  IOI 

Vio.   She  tooke  the  Ring  of  me,  He  none  of  it.  14 

14.  the  Ring  of  me,    lie}    Ff   (rie  Coll.  i,  ii,  Hal.    not  the  ring  of  me  ;  T I! 

F3FJ,  Rowe, +  .     the  ring  of  me  !  I'll  Ktly.     no  ring  of  me ; — /'//  Mai.  conj. 

Anon.  Mai.  Var. '21.     the  ring  of  me.  Dyce  ii,  iii,  Coll.  iii  (MS),  Huds.     the 

ril  Knt,  Wh.  i.    the  ring  of  me!— F II  ring  of  me  ;  /'//  Steev.  et  cet. 

14.  tooke  ...  of  it]  MALONE  :  This  passage  has  been  hitherto  thus  pointed : 
•She  took  the  ring  of  me;  I'll  none  of  it'  [see  Steevens,  Text.  Note]  which  ren- 
ders it,  as  it  appears  to  me,  quite  unintelligible.  The  punctuation  now  adopted  : 
'  She  took  the  ring  of  me  ! — I'll  none  of  it,'  was  suggested  by  an  ingenious  friend, 
and  certainly  renders  the  line  less  exceptionable  :  yet  I  cannot  but  think  there  is  some 
corruption  in  the  text.  Had  our  author  intended  such  a  mode  of  speech,  he  would 
probably  have  written:  'She  took  a  ring  of  me! — I'll  none  of  it.'  Malvolio's 
answer  seems  to  intimate  that  Viola  had  said  she  had  not  given  any  ring.  We  ought, 
therefore,  perhaps,  to  read:  'She  took  NO  ring  of  me! — I'll  none  of  it.'  [Thus, 
Collier's  MS.]  So  afterwards :  '  I  left  no  ring  with  her.'  Viola  expressly  denies  her 
having  given  Olivia  any  ring.  How  then  can  she  assert,  as  she  is  made  to  do  by  the 
old  regulation  of  the  passage,  that  the  lady  had  received  one  from  her?  [To  this 
note,  Malone  added  in  his  ed.  1790  the  following,  which  he  afterward  withdrew  : 
'  it  has  occurred  to  me  that  the  latter  part  of  the  line  may  have  been  corrupt,  as  well 
as  the  former  ;  our  author  may  have  written  :  '  She  took  this  ring  of  me  !  She'll 
none  of  it!'] — STEEVENS:  I  do  not  perceive  the  necessity  of  the  change  recom- 
mended. Viola  finding  the  ring  sent  after  her,  accompanied  by  a  fiction,  is  prepared 
to  meet  it  with  another. — KNIGHT  :  Viola  would  screen  Olivia  from  the  suspicions 
of  her  own  servant.  The  lady  has  said  that  the  ring  was  left  with  her ;  and  Viola 
has  too  strong  a  respect  for  her  own  sex  to  proclaim  the  truth.  She  makes  up  her 
mind  during  Malvolio's  speech  to  refuse  the  ring ;  but  not  to  expose  the  cause  of 
her  refusal.  [To  the  same  effect,  substantially,  R.  G.  WHITE  (ed.  i),  and  also 
SPEDDING.  ] — HALLIWELL  :  A  note  of  admiration  after  'me'  [Malone' s  punctuation] 
best  expresses  the  author's  intention,  which  was  no  doubt  to  make  Viola  utter  an 
exclamation  of  surprise,  equivalent  to  saying,  is  it  possible  any  one  can  say  she  took 
the  ring  of  me  ?  Besides,  the  real  truth  of  the  matter  is  not  suspected  by  Viola  until 
afterwards,  and  she  is  too  much  taken  by  surprise  to  imagine  a  subterfuge  that  would 
fit  the  occasion. — COLLIER  (ed.  ii)  :  There  is  no  need  [of  the  change  made  in  the 
MS,  which]  accords  with  Malone' s  suggestion.  After  Malvolio  has  gone  out,  and 
Viola's  surprise  is  past,  she  quietly  observes,  'I  left  no  ring  with  her,'  and  it  is 
immediately  followed  by  the  statement  of  her  suspicion  regarding  Olivia's  passion. 
— DYCE  (ed.  i)  :  I  agree  with  Steevens  and  Knight  that  the  old  text  is  uncorrupted. 
— DYCE  (ed.  ii,  wherein  he  adopts  Malone' s  punctuation,  which  is  the  same  as  Col- 
lier's MS)  :  I  formerly  retained  [the  text  of  the  Folio.]  I  now  think  it  quite  wrong, 
and  that  what  has  been  said  in  defence  of  it  is  ridiculously  over-subtle.  [After  this 
conversion  of  the  arch-enemy  of  Collier's  MS,  Collier  took  heart  of  grace,  and 
adopted,  in  his  Third  Edition,  the  change  here  made  by  his  MS.] — SPEDDING 
(Prater's  Jlfaga.,  August,  1865,  p.  265)  :  This  passage  has  always  appeared  to  us 
one  of  the  finest  touches  in  the  play.  When  Malvolio  overtakes  Viola  with  the 
ring.  .  .  her  immediate  answer  is  :  «  She  took  the  ring  of  me :  I'll  none  of  it.'  Now, 
as  she  had  not  left  any  ring,  it  has  been  thought  that  there  must  be  some  mistake 


102  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  n,  sc.  ii. 

MaL     Come  fir,  you  peeuifhly  threw  it  to  her  :  and  1 5 

her  will  is,  it  fliould  be  fo  rcturn'd  :  If  it  bee  worth  ftoo- 
ping  for,  there  it  lies,  in  your  eye  :  if  not,  bee  it  his  that 
findes  it.  Exit. 

Vio.    I  left  no  Ring  with  her :  what  meanes  this  Lady? 
Fortune  forbid  my  out-fide  haue  not  charm'd  her:  20 

here.  .  .  .  But  it  is  plain  from  Malvolio's  reply,  'Come,  sir,  you  peevishly  threw  it 
to  her/  etc.,  that  he  understood  her  to  mean  that  she  had  left  it.  And  so  no  doubt 
she  did.  For  though  taken  quite  by  surprise,  and  not  knowing  at  first  what  it 
exactly  meant,  she  saw  at  once  thus  much, — that  the  message  contained  a  secret  of 
some  kind  which  had  not  been  confided  to  the  messenger ;  and  with  her  quick  wit 
and  sympathetic  delicacy  suppressed  the  surprise  which  might  have  betrayed  it. — 
ROLFE  (Literary  World,  8  March,  1884)  learns  from  a  friend  that  Madame  Mod- 
jeska  '  assumes  that  Viola  speaks  as  one  half-bewildered  by  Malvolio's  assurance, 
and  on  the  stage  utters  the  sentence  interrogatively,  "She  took  the  ring  of  me?" 
[Thus  also  Miss  Kate  Terry. — ap.  Spedding]  as  if  in  doubt  of  his  meaning.'  She 
considers  that  this  interpretation  is  sustained  by  Malvolio's  answer,  and  also  by 
Viola's  subsequent  soliloquy.  [I  prefer  the  deliberate  assertion,  and  for  the  reasons 
set  forth  by  Knight  and  Spedding. — ED.] 

15.  threw  it  to  her]  Thus  far  Malvolio  has  acquitted  himself,  as  a  messenger, 
tolerably  well.  But  here  he  oversteps  his  knowledge.  Olivia  had  said  merely 
that  the  peevish  messenger  (a  qualification  which  remains  in  Malvolio's  memory) 
had  left  the  ring  behind  him, — she  uttered  no  word  about  throwing  it.  In  thus 
filling  out  the  details  of  an  imaginary  scene  are  we  to  find  a  forecast  of  that  fantastic 
dreamer  who  could  picture,  even  to  a  branched  velvet  gown,  his  married  life  with 
the  Countess  ? — ED. 

17.  in  your  eye]  That  is,  in  your  sight.  Compare,  'Into  the  eye  and  prospect 
of  his  soul,'  Much  Ado,  IV,  i,  238.  W.  A.  WRIGHT  quotes  Hamlet,  IV,  iv,  6 : 
4  We  shall  express  our  duty  in  his  eye.' 

19,  etc.  I  left,  etc.]  HANMER'S  changes,  which  are  by  way  of  improving  Shake- 
speare, are  too  elaborate  to  be  comfortably,  or,  perhaps,  intelligently,  indicated  in 
the  Text.  Notes.     First  of  all,  he  so  transposes  line  26,  '  None  of  my  Lord's  ring  ? 
Why  he  sent  her  none,'  as  to  make  it  Viola' s  first  words,  printing  'None  of  my 
Lord' s  ring '  in  Italics,  as  a  quotation.     Next,  he  converts  '  my  outside  have  not 
charm'd  her  (line  20)  into  '  my  outside  should  have  charm'd  her.'     Then  in  line  22, 
'  her  eyes  had  lost  her  tongue '  is  changed  into  '  her  eyes  did  let  her  tongue,'  that  is, 
hindered,  tied  her  tongue.     Finally,  having  removed  line  26,  as  just  stated,  he  puts 
a  full  stop  after  '  messenger,'  in  line  25.     It  is  to  be  always  borne  in  mind  that  these 
changes  by  Hanmer  (for  whose  text  I  have  much  regard)  and  others  like  them  by 
the  early  editors,  were  made  solely  in  the  interest  of  Shakespeare,  as  it  was  then  sup- 
posed to  be.     See  note  on  1.  26. — ED. 

20.  haue  not]  See  'were  scarse  out  of  him," — I,  v,  161.— W.  A.  WRIGHT: 
'  Not '  is  frequently  found  after  verbs  which  contain  in  themselves  a  negative  idea. 
Compare  Pass,  PH.,  124:  'Forbade  the  boy  h».  should  not  pass  those  grounds'; 
Much  Ado,  IV,  i,  13  :  'If  either  of  you  know  any  impediment  why  you  should  not 
be  conjoined,'  etc.     Similarly,  Com.  of  Err.  IV,  ii,  7  :  '  First,  he  denied  you  had  in 
him  no  right.' 


ACT  ii,  sc.  ii.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  103 

She  made  good  view  of  me,  indeed  fo  much,  21 

That  me  thought  her  eyes  had  loft  her  tongue, 

For  fhe  did  fpeake  in  ftarts  diftra&edly. 

She  loues  me  fure,  the  cunning  of  her  pafsion 

Inuites  me  in  this  churlifh  meffenger :  25 

None  of  my  Lords  Ring  ?  Why  he  fent  her  none ; 

I  am  the  man,  if  it  be  fo,  as  tis,  27 

22.  That}  Knt,  Coll.  i,  Hal.  Dyce  i,  27.  man,  if  it  be  fo,  as  tit,]  man,  if 

Cam.  Sta.     That,  as  Dyce  ii,  iii,  Coll.  if  be  fo  as  tis,  Ff.     man — If  it  be  so  as 

iii,  Huds.      That  fure  Ff  et  cet.  'fis,  Rowe,  Pope,    man— If  it  be  so,  (as 

me  thought}  methought  Rowe  et  'tis;)  Theob.  Warb.  Johns.  Var.  '73, 

seq.     methought  that  Ktly.  '78.    man,  if  it  be  so;  as  'tis,  Han.    man! 

26.  none  /]  none  ?  Ff.     none.  Rowe.  If  it  be  so, — as't  is, —  Sta.     man  ;.  If  it 

27.  /  am  the]  I  should  be  Han.  be  so,  (as  'tis)  Cap.  et  cet.  (subs.) 

22.  That]  The  defective  metre  in  this  line  is  supposed  to  have  been  supplied  by 
sure  of  the  Second  Folio.  MALONE,  however,  was  not  altogether  satisfied  with  it ; 
he  remarks  that  '  sure  is  not  very  likely  to  have  been  the  word  omitted  in  the  First 
Folio,  being  found  in  the  next  line  but  one.'  Nevertheless  it  satisfied  COLLIER  ;  and 
R.  G.  WHITE  says  that  it '  suits  the  place  in  every  respect.'  WALKER  (  Vers.  279) 
queried  <  That,  as  me  thought,'  etc.  ?  and  quoted  Browne,  Britannia's  Pastorals, 
Bk.  ii,  song  iv :  'The  wether's  bell  .  .  .  Yields,  as  methinks,  this  day  a  deader 
sound.'  This  quotation  converted  DYCE,  who,  in  his  Second  Edition,  adopted 
Walker's  conjecture.  W.  A.  WRIGHT  thinks  that  sure  is  not  a  very  happy  emenda- 
tion. If  it  be  the  missing  word,  its  repetition  two  lines  further  on  amounts  to  but 
little,  I  think ;  an  objection  on  this  score  might  lie  against  the  second  sure,  but 
hardly  against  the  first.  I  am,  however,  certain  that  a  good  actress  could  so  speak 
the  line  that  the  ear  could  detect  no  fault  in  the  metre. — ED. 

22.  had  lost]  It  is  sufficient  merely  to  record  that  WARBURTON  pronounced  this 
'  nonsense,'  and  that  the  word  was  crost,  that  is,  fascinated ;  whereto  HEATH 
replied  that  he  had  never  heard  that  a  '  person,  or  any  part  of  him,  had  been  fasci- 
nated by  his  own  eyes.' — JOHNSON  :  We  say  a  man  loses  his  company  when  they  go 
one  way  and  he  another.  So,  Olivia's  tongue  lost  her  eyes  ;  her  tongue  was  talking 
of  the  Duke,  and  her  eyes  gazing  on  his  messenger. — KNIGHT  :  That  is,  caused  her 
tongue  to  be  lost. — HALLIWELL  :  The  plain  meaning  seems  to  be  that  her  eyes 
were  so  occupied  in  looking  at  Viola,  her  talk  was  distracted. — W.  A.  WRIGHT  : 
Compare  Lear,  I,  ii,  125  :  'It  shall  lose  thee  nothing.' 

26.  None,  etc.]  The  mention  of  the  'churlish  messenger'  recalls  to  her  mind 
the  scene  with  Malvolio  ;  we  can  now  see  how  great  the  dislocation  which  this  line 
suffered  at  the  hands  of  Hanmer. — ED. 

27.  I  am  the  man]  Saturday  Review  (12  July,  1884)  :  One  fault  only  we  have 
thus  far  to  find  with  Miss  Ellen  Terry's  rendering  of  the  whole  part.  .  .  .  Miss 
Terry  gives  the  words,  '  I  am  the  man '  with  an  air  of  pretty  and  intense  amuse- 
ment, and  follows  them  by  a  charming  and  laughing  assumption  of  a  mannish  walk. 
That  this  is  the  right  interpretation  we  cannot  believe.     Viola,  light-hearted  and 
brave  as  she  was  in  the  midst  of  trouble,  was  not  the  person  to  be  unfeeling  towards 
the  trouble  of  another  woman.     Amusement  she  may  very  naturally  have  felt  at  the 
mistake  ;  but  it  would  not  have  been  unmixed.     There  would  have  been  some  touch 


TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  n,  sc.  ii. 

Poore  Lady,  fhe  were  better  loue  a  dreame:  28 

Difguife,  I  fee  thou  art  a  wickedneffe, 

Wherein  the  pregnant  enemie  does  much.  30 

How  eafie  is  it,  for  the  proper  falfe 

In  womens  waxen  hearts  to  fet  their  formes  : 

Alas,  O  frailtie  is  the  caufe,  not  wee, 

For  fuch  as  we  are  made,  if  fuch  we  bee  :  34 

31.  proper    false]    proper-false    M.  34.  we  are  made,  if  fucK\  Ff,  Rowe 
Mason,  Mai.  et  seq.  (except  Coll.)                ii»  +  ,  Var.  Knt,  Coll.  i,  ii.     we  are,  we 

32.  formes  .•]  forms!  Rowe.  are  made,  if  such  Rowe  i.    we  are  made, 

33.  0]  our  Ff  et  seq.  ev'n  such  Han.  Cap.  Ktly,  Coll.  iii.    -we 
not  wee,~\  Ff,  Rowe, +  ,  Coll.  Del.         are  made  of,  such  Tyrwhitt,  Ran.  et  cet. 

not  we  ;  or  not  we  !  Cap.  et  cet. 

of  pity  and  of  interest,  and  of  this  Miss  Terry  gave  no  hint.  But  this  is  the  one 
important  blemish  on  a  performance  which  came  near  being  ideal,  and  may  no  doubt 
come  nearer  when  the  nervousness  inseparable  from  attacking  so  difficult  a  part  has 
disappeared. — IBID.  (19  July,  1884)  :  Miss  Terry  still  delivers  these  words  with  a 
most  captivating  laugh  and  assumption  for  a  moment  of  a  mannish  walk.  But  she 
now  gives  to  the  subsequent  words,  '  poor  lady,  she  were  better  love  a  dream,' 
precisely  the  touch  of  pathos  which  on  the  first  night  we  missed. 

28.  she  were  better]  See,  for  the  construction,  '  you  were  best,'  I,  v,  30. 

30.  pregnant  enemie]  JOHNSON  :  This  is,  I  believe,  the  dexterous  fiend,  or  enemy 
of  mankind. — W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  That  is  quick-witted,  alert,  ready.    [See  III,  i,  90.] 

31.  proper  false]  JOHNSON:  This  is  obscure.     The  meaning  is,   'how  easy  is 
disguise  to  women  !'  how  easily  does  their  <nvn  falsehood,  contained  in  their  waxen, 
changeable  hearts,  enable  them  to  assume  deceitful  appearances !     The  two  next 
lines  are  perhaps  transposed,  and  should  be  read  [in  the  order,  34,  33]. — TYRWHITT 
(p.  44)  :  The  sense,  I  think,  is  clearly  this  :   '  How  easy  is  it  for  the  proper  false 
[handsome  counterfeits,  beautiful  outsides]  to  set  their  forms  [to  impress  themselves] 
in  women's  waxen  hearts  r     It  cannot  be  necessary  to  prove  by  quotations  that 
'proper'  signifies  handsome ;  and  'false'  alludes  to  Viola's  own  case. — STEEVENS  : 
The  '  proper-false '  is  certainly  a  less  elegant  expression  than  the  fair  deceiver,  but 
it  seems  to  mean  the  same  thing. — M.  MASON  :  Viola's  reflection,  '  how  easy  it  is  for 
those  who  are  handsome  and  deceitful  to  make  an  impression  on  the  waxen  hearts 
of  women,'  is  a  natural  sentiment  for  a  girl  to  utter  who  was  herself  in  love.     An 
expression  similar  to  '  proper-false '  occurs  in  III,  iv,  370,  where  we  find  '  beauteous- 
evil.'     [M.  Mason  was  the  earliest  to  note  that  these  words  should  be  joined  by  a 
hyphen.] — MALONE  :  So,  in  JR.  of  L.  1240 :  '  For  men  have  marble,  women  waxen, 
minds,  And  therefore  are  they  form'd  as  marble  will  :  The  weak  oppress' d,  the 
impression    of   strange   kinds  Is   form'd  in  them  by  force,  by  fraud,  or  skill.'  — 
WELLESLEY  (p.  3) :  The  difficulty  of  affixing  a  satisfactory  sense  to  that  strange 
compound  '  the  proper-false '  inclines  me  to  believe  it  an  invention  of  the  compositor, 
the  word  which  baffled  him  being  impresses ;  and  I  would  propose  to  read  :   '  How 
easy  is  it  for  impresses  false,'  etc.,  i.  e.  women  are  easily  impressible.     [The  inter- 
pretation of  either  Tyrwhitt  or  Monck  Mason  suffices.] 

33.  O]  A  manifest  misprint,  corrected  in  the  Second  Folio. 

34.  such  as  ...  we  bee]  TYRWHITT  (p.  45)  :  I  incline  to  read  thus,  '  such  as 


ACT  ii,  sc.  ii.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  105 

How  will  this  fadge?  My  mafter  loues  her  deerely,  35 

And  I  (poore  monfter)  fond  afmuch  on  him  : 


35-  fadge\  fa(ig  F4-  36.  afmuch~\  as  much  F4< 

36.  mon/ler]  minister  Han. 

we  are  made  OF,  such  we  be.'  —  M  ALONE  :  Of  and  if  are  frequently  confounded  in 
the  old  copies.  Thus,  in  King  John,  II,  i,  367,  the  Second  Folio  has  '  Lord  of  our 
presence,  Angiers,  and  if  you  [instead  of:  of  you].  Again,  Mer.  of  Ven.  Ill,  ii, 
18:  '  Mine  own,  I  would  say,  but,  z/"mine,  then  yours  '  in  the  Quartos  is  misprinted 

*  of  mine  '  in  the  First  Folio.     In  As  You  Like  It,  II,  vii,  81,  we  have  a  construc- 
tion nearly  like  the  present:  'When  such  a  one  as  she,  such  is  her  neighbor.'  — 
KNIGHT  :  If  Viola  meant  to  say  —  we  be  such  as  we  are  made  —  the  particle  of  is 
surplusage.     But  we  think  she  does  not  mean  this.     She  would  say  '  our  frailty  is 
the  cause,  not  we  ourselves,  that  the  proper-false  deceive  us  ;  because  such  as  we  are 
made  frail  if  we  be  frail.'     The  poet  did  not  mean  the  reasoning  to  be  very  con- 
clusive.    [I  think  Knight's  meaning  would  be  more  clearly  expressed  if  a  comma 
were  placed  before  and  after  '  as  we  '  :  —  '  because  such,  as  we,  are  made  frail,'  etc. 
—  ED.]  —  COLLIER  (ed.  ii)  :  [Tyrwhitt's  emendation]  seems  a  decided  error,  for  all 
that  Viola  means  to  say  is,  that  if  women  are  indeed  what  they  are  represented  to 
be,  the  frailty  of  the  sex  is  the  cause  of  it.  —  ABBOTT  (§  299,  p.  212)  adopts  Tyr- 
whitt's of,  but  retains  the  original  punctuation  ;  this,  combined  with  his  comment 
thereon,  I  do  not  quite  understand.     He  reads  and  punctuates  the  two  lines  as  fol- 
lows :  '  Alas,  our  frailty  is  the  cause,  not  we,  For  such  as  we  are  made,  of  such  we 
be.'     He  then  observes,   'it  can  scarcely  be  asserted  that  "For"  is  for  that  or 
because.''     Note  that  by  placing  a  comma  before  and  after  'not  we'  he  connects 
•cause,'  in  construction  directly  with  'For  such,'  etc.,  and  yet  will  not  allow  us 
to  interpret  '  For  '   as  for  that.      He  adds  :  '  It  is  more  probable  that  the  scene 
originally  ended  there,  and  that  Shakespeare  used  '  be  '  in  order  to  get  the  rhyme, 
which  so  often  terminates  a  scene.'     It  is  proper  to  explain  that  Abbott  is  discussing 
the  use  of  be  in  dependent  clauses.     I  think  that  the  correct  punctuation  after  '  wee  ' 
is  that  adopted  by  every  editor,  except  Collier  and  Delius,  since  Capell's  time.     The 
meaning  of  the  two  lines,  with  Tyrwhitt's  good  emendation,  seems  plain.  —  ED. 

35.  fadge]  BOSWELL  :  'Andar'  a  vanga,  to  fadge,  to  prosper  with,  to  go  as  one 
would  haue  it.'—  Florio,  A  Worlde  of  Wordes,  1598.—  BRADLEY  (N.  £.£).):  Ety- 
mology unknown  ;  first  found  late  in  1  6th  century.     The  various  uses  of  the  word  are 
substantially  identical  with  those  of  the  older  FAY,  verb,  (extant  representative  of 
Old  English  fegan),  of  which,  however,  it  can  neither  be  a  variant  nor  a  derivative 
by  any  known  process.     Possibly  it  may  have  been  a  new  type  formed  unconsciously 
on  the  suggestion  of  fay  and  some  word  ending  in  -dge.     The  close  correspondence 
of  the  senses  with  those  of  COT  ION,  verb,  is  remarkable.     [4.  intransitive]   To  fit 
in  with  or  suit  the  surroundings  ;  hence  to  get  on,  succeed,  thrive.     Of  an  event  : 
To  come  off.     Often  with  an  indefinite  subject,  It,  that,  this,  matters,  things,  etc. 

•  36.  monster]  DELIUS  :  This  refers  to  her  present  androgynous  state,  neither  man 
nor  woman  ;  just  as  she  afterward  says,  '  As  I  am  man,'  and  •  as  I  am  woman.' 

36.  fond]  BRADLEY  (N.  E.  £>.),  under  the  second  division  of  'fond'  as  a  verb, 
constructed  with  on,  over,  upon,  gives,  as  its  meaning  of  '  doting  upon,'  etc.,  the 
following  examples  :   1530  PALSGRAVE,  553  :  '  I  fonde,  or  dote  upon  a  thyng  for 
inordynate  love.'      1567   TURBERVILLE,    Ovid's   Epistles,    154:  '  Whilst  thou  ... 


I06  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  n,  sc.  ii. 

And  me  (miftaken)  feemes  to  dote  on  me :  37 

What  will  become  of  this  ?    As  I  am  man, 

My  ftate  is  defperate  for  my  maifters  loue : 

As  I  am  woman  (now  alas  the  day)  40 

What  thriftleffe  fighes  fhall  poore  Oliuia  breath  ? 

O  time,  thou  muft  vntangle  this,  not  I, 

It  is  too  hard  a  knot  for  me  t'vnty.  43 

38.  man]  a  man  F3F4,  Rowe.  41.  breath]  F3-  Cap.     breathe  F2F4. 

39.  maijlers}  majlers  ff  43.  fvnty\  Ff,  Rowe,  4- ,  Coll.  Wh.  i, 

40.  -woman]  a  woman  Rowe  i.  Sta.  Dyce.     to  unty  Cap.  et  cet. 

did  fonde  on  Phyllis.'     1590  FENNE,  Frutes,  I,  53  :  '  Immoderately  fonding  over 
wife,  sonne,  daughter.'     And,  lastly,  the  present  instance. 

37.  And  she]  DYCE  (ed.  i)  :   To  this,  as  far  as  I  am  aware,   no  editor  has 
objected;  but  I  question  if  we  ought  not  to  read, — 'As  she,'  etc.     [In  his  ed.  ii, 
Dyce  adopted  this  conjecture  (and  was  followed  by  HUDSON)  because  'And'  was, 
'  no  doubt,  repeated  from  the  line  above.'] 

38.  of  this]  For  other  examples  where  '  of  means  in  consequence  of,  see  ABBOTT, 
§  168,  p.  in. 

43.  t'vnty]  Albeit  that  we  have  this  contraction  veritably  printed  before  us  in  the 
Folio,  and  albeit  that  ABBOTT  (§  462)  gives  these  words  as  an  example  of  contrac- 
tion in  pronunciation,  I  nevertheless  hope  and  trust  that  tuntie  is  due  to  the  com- 
positor or  to  his  reader,  and  that  such  a  contraction  was  never  adopted  by  Shake- 
speare, or  by  any  one  else, — aloud. 

From  all  that  I  can  read  or  learn,  the  impersonators  of  Viola  appear  to  have  given 
to  this  soliloquy  an  air  of  mirth  at  the  discovery  that  Olivia  had  fallen  in  love  with 
the  page, — an  interpretation  which  I  cannot  but  regard  as  far  astray,  not  only  from 
Viola's  character  in  general,  but  from  her  present  circumstances.  At  the  very  first 
mention  of  Olivia,  in  the  second  scene  of  the  play,  Viola's  heart  had  gone  out  in 
sympathy  to  one  whose  profound  grief  over  the  loss  of  a  brother  was  so  identical  with 
her  own  ;  and  now  when  she  discovers  that  Olivia  is  destined  to  cherish  a  hopeless 
passion,  similar  to  her  own,  their  twinship  in  despair  again  most  deeply  touches  her 
heart,  and  the  whole  soliloquy  is  pervaded  with  a  gentle  sadness.  This  inter- 
pretation is  also  Spedding's,  who,  in  his  criticism  of  Miss  Kate  Terry's  acting  of 
Viola,  remarks  as  follows  :  4  The  messenger  being  gone,  Viola  proceeds  to  consider 
what  the  meaning  of  it  is.  And  it  is  in  the  soliloquy  which  follows  (though  deliv- 
ered with  admirable  spirit  and  skill)  that  Miss  Terry  seemed  to  us  to  commit  her 
gravest  fault.  Following  again  the  traditions  of  the  stage, — where  "  I  am  the  man  " 
is  commonly  made  the  "point"  of  the  speech, — and  forgetting  how  sad  Viola's 
heart  was,  and  how  forlorn  her  prospects, — she  represented  her  as  taking  a  light 
pleasure,  as  of  gratified  vanity,  in  Olivia's  mistake,  and  as  rather  enjoying  the  per- 
plexity of  the  situation  ;  for  she  made  her  exit  with  a  laugh,  musical  enough  in 
itself,  but  terribly  out  of  tune  with  the  sentiment  of  the  play.  According  to  Shake- 
speare, Viola's  sense  of  the  humour  of  the  si/'iation  is  immediately  lost  in  sympathy 
and  sad  reflection,  accompanied  with  a  kind  of  self-reproach  [see  lines  27,  etc.]. 
And  most  certainly  it  fc  with  a  sigh  and  not  with  a  laugh,  that  she  gives  up  the 
attempt  to  see  how  it  can  all  end.' — Fraser's  Maga.  1865,  Aug.,  p.  265. — ED. 


ACT  ii,  sc.  iii.]  OR,  WHAT  YOU  WILL  107 

Scoena  Tertia. 

Enter  Sir  Toby,  and  Sir  Andrew.  2 

To.     Approach  Sir  Andrew  :  not  to.  bee  a  bedde  after 
midnight,  is  to  be  vp  betimes,  and  Deliculo  furgere,  thou 


And.  Nay  by  my  troth  I  know  not  :  but  I  know,  to 
be  vp  late,  is  to  be  vp  late. 

To.  A  falfe  conclufion  :  I  hate  it  as  an  vnfill'd  Canne. 
To  be  vp  after  midnight,  and  to  go  to  bed  then  is  early: 
fo  that  to  go  to  bed  after  midnight,  is  to  goe  to  bed  be-  10 

times.     Does   not   our   Hues  confift   of  the  foure  Ele- 
ments ? 

And.  Faith  fo  they  fay,  but  I  thinke  it  rather  confifts 
of  eating  and  drinking. 

To.    Th'art  a  fcholler  ;  let  vs  therefore  eate  and  drinke.  15 

Marian  I  fay,  a  ftoope  of  wine. 

I.  Act  III.  Scene  i.  Spedding.  Knt,  Coll.  Hal.  Dyce  i.     Does  not  our 

Olivia's  House.   Rowe.  life  Rowe  ii  et  cet. 

3.  a  bedde}  a  bed  Ff.     a-bed  Rowe.  15.    TK  arf\   Ff,  Rowe,-K      Thou'rt 

4.  Deliculo]  Diliculo  Ff.     Diluculo  Cap.  Wh.  Dyce,  Cam.  Sta.  Rife,  Huds. 
Rowe  et  seq.  (subs.)  Thou  art  Var.  '78  et  cet. 

5.  know/I]    know'st,  —    Theob.    et  16.  Marian]    Maria    Pope,  +  ,   Cap. 
seq.  Dyce  ii,  iii,  Coll.  iii,  Huds. 

ii.  Does  not  our  Hues']  Ff,  Rowe  i,  fayt]  sa?  •  Theob. 

Ktly.    Do  not  our  lives  Mai.  Steev.  Var.  Jloope~\  Jtoop  F4.    stoup  Cam. 

4.  Deliculo  surgere]  MALONE  :  Diluculo  surgere  saluberrimum  est.  This  adage 
our  author  found  in  Lilly's  Grammar,  p.  51.  ['  To  get  up  at  dawn  is  most  healthy.'] 

II.  our  Hues]  R.  G.  WHITE  (ed.  i)  :  That  '  liues  '  is  an  error  for  life  is  shown 
not  only  by  the  demonstrative  'it'  in  Sir  Andrew's  reply,  but  by  the  consideration 
that  the  four  elements  were  supposed  to  constitute  life,  not  individual  lives. 

ii,  12.  the  foure  Elements]  MALONE:  Thus,  in  Hen,  V:  III,  vii,  22:  'he  is 
pure  air  and  fire  ;  and  the  dull  elements  of  earth  and  water  never  appear  in  him.' 
Again,  in  Ant.  6"  Cleop.  V,  ii,  292  :  '  I  am  fire  and  air  ;  my  other  elements  I  give 
to  baser  life.'  ['  So  mans  bodie  is  made  of  foure  Elements,  that  is  to  wit,  of  Earth, 
Water,  Fire  &  Aire.'  —  Batman  vppon  Bartholome,  Lib.  iv,  cap.  I,  p.  24.  —  ED.] 

16.  Marian]  WALKER  (Crit.  i,  232)  has  an  Article  on  the  'Double  Forms  of 
some  Proper  Names  '  ;  in  it  he  quotes  this  passage  with  the  remark,  '  Marian  occurs 
nowhere  else  in  Twelfth  Night.  Can  it  ever  have  been  synonymous  with  Maria 
and  Mary  ?  ' 

16.  stoope]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  A  stoup  is  a  drinking  cup,  and  the  word  is  still 
used  in  our  college  halls  and  butteries.  See  Hamlet,  V,  i,  68  :  '  Fetch  me  a  stoup 
of  liquor.'  It  was  a  vessel  of  varying  capacity. 


I08  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  11,  sc.  iii. 

Enter  Clowne.  17 

And.     Heere  comes  the  foole  yfaith. 

Clo.  How  now  my  harts  :  Did  you  neuer  fee  the  Pic- 
ture of  we  three?  20 

To.     Welcome  affe,  now  let's  haue  a  catch. 

And.  By  my  troth  the  foole  has  an  excellent  breaft.  I 
had  rather  then  forty  Shillings  I  had  fuch  a  legge,  and  fo  23 

17.  Enter   Clowne.]    After   line    18,  20.  we  three}  As  a  quotation,   Hal. 

Dyce.  Cam.  Coll.  iii. 

20.  we  three]  HENLEY  :  An  allusion  to  an  old  print,  sometimes  pasted  on  the 
wall  of  a  country  ale-house,  representing  two,  but  under  which  the  spectator  reads, 
— '  We  three  are  asses.' — MALONE  believes  the  print  or  sign  represented  two  wooden 
heads,  with  the  inscription  under  them  :  '  We  three  loggerheads  be.'     '  The  Clown 
means  to  insinuate  that  Sir  Toby  and  Sir  Andrew  had  as  good  a  title  to  the  name 
of  fool  as  himself.' — DOUCE:  The  original   picture  seems  to  have  been  two  fools. 
Thus  in  Shirley's  The  Bird  in  a  Cage,  Morello,  who  counterfeits  a  fool,  says  :   '  we 
be  three  of  old,  without  exception  to  your  lordship,  only  with  this  difference,  I  am 
the   wisest  fool.'   [IV,  i,  Douce  errs   in  saying  Morello   'counterfeits  a  fool, ' — 
Morello  was  'disguised  like  a  lady.']  Sometimes,  as  Henley  has  stated,  it  was  two 
asses.     Thus,  in  Beaumont  &  Fletcher's  Queen  of  Corinth,  III,  i :  '  Neanthes.   He 
is  another  ass,  he  says;  I  believe  him.      Uncle.  We  be  three,  heroical  prince — 
Neanthes.   Nay  then,  we  must  have  the  picture  of  'em,  and  the  word  [motto]  Nos 
sumus.'   [p.  438,  ed.  Dyce.] — HALLIWELL  :  The  sign  is  still  preserved  in  England, 
where  a  few  taverns  still  exist,  the  sign  consisting  of  two  grotesque  or  idiotic  heads, 
and  the  inscription  being:   'We  three  loggerheads  be.'     '  Plaine  home-spun  stuffe 
shall  now  proceed  from  me,  Much  like  unto  the  Picture  of  Wee  Three.' — Taylor's 
Farewell  to  the  Tower-Bottles,  1622.     The  marginal  note  to  this  is, — '  The  picture 
of  two  fooles,  and  the  third  looking  on,  I  doe  fitly  compare  with  the  two  black 
bottles  and  myselfe.'     [The  Clown  referred  to  the  picture  of  three  fools,  and  Sir 
Toby  retaliated  by  referring  to  the  picture  of  three  asses. — ED.] 

21.  catch]  MURRAY  (A/.  E.  Z>.)  quotes  Grove  :   'The  catch  was  for  each  suc- 
ceeding singer  to  take  up  or  catch  his  part  in  time.'   [See  line  66,  below.] 

22.  breast]  In  Nichols's  Lit.  Hist,  (ii,  631)  there  is  a  number  of  conjectural 
emendations  of  Shakespeare's  text,  which  were  sent  to  Theobald's  printer  by  an 
anonymous  correspondent,  signing  himself  '  L.  H.';  some  of  these  conjectures  are 
more  than  usually  ingenious ;  among  those,  however,  which  are  less  happy,  is  that 
of  breath  for  'breast,'  in  the  present  passage. — MURRAY  {N.  E.  D.)  gives,  in  addi- 
tion to  the  present  passage,  the  following   examples  of  '  breast '  in  the  sense  of 
breath,  voice  in  singing:     1547  J.   Heywood  Four  P's  :  'I  have  some  syght  in 
syngynge.     But  is  your  brest  any  thynge  sweet?'    ante  1553  Udall   Roister  Dois- 
ter,  p.  14,  ed.  Arber :  'So  loe,  that  is   a  breast  to  blow  out  a  candle.'       1621 
Fletcher's  The  Pilgrim,  III,  vi.  (N.)  :  '  Let's  hear  him  sing,  he  has  a  fine  breast.' 
1711    Strype   Parker  9  (N.):    '  Queristers,   after  their  breasts  are   changed.' — 
HALLIWELL  gives  a  folio  page  of  similar  examples. — STAUNTON  says,  the  phrase  is 
so  common  in  our  old  writers,  that  it  would  be  superfluous  to  cite  examples  of  its 
use  in  this  sense. 

23.  such  a  legge]  Precisely  what  this  means,  it  is  difficult  to  say.     A  'leg'  is  a 


ACT  ii,  sc.  iii.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  log 

fweet  a  breath  to  fing,  as  the  foole_  has.  Infooth  thou  waft 

in  very  gracious  fooling  laft  night,  when  thou  fpok'ft  of  25 

24.  Infooth~\    In  sooth  Theob.  ii.  et  25.  fpok'Jl'}  spokest  Mai.  Knt,  Dyce, 
seq.                                                                        Cam. 

common  term  for  a  bow,  or  an  obeisance ;  thus  in  How  a  Man  may  choose  a  Gooa 
Wife  from  a  Bad,  '  do  not  come  With  foolish  sonnets  to  present  her  with,  With 
legs,  with  curtsies,  congees,  and  such  like.' — p.  18,  ed.  Hazlitt-Dodsley.  Feste 
may  have  entered  with  a  graceful  bow  to  all  the  company, — he  could  do  nothing 
awkwardly, — and  to  this  Sir  Andrew  may  have  referred.  Or,  Feste  may  have  had 
aristocratic  small  legs,  '  a  fashionable  characteristic  of  a  fine  gentleman,'  says 
Gifford,  in  a  note  on  Chloe's  remark  in  Jonson's  Poetaster,  that  'a  man  borne 
upon  little  legs  is  always  a  gentleman  born.'  II,  i,  p.  417.  To  this  feature,  'there 
are,'  adds  Gifford,  'innumerable  allusions  in  our  old  writers,'  and  he  proceeds  to 
give  several.  I  prefer  the  picture  of  the  conciliatory  sweep  of  Feste' s  graceful  arms 
(which  Sir  Andrew  finds  so  enviable)  to  that  of  any  legs  however  fashionably  thin 
and  small.  Schmidt  gives  many  examples  of  '  leg  '  meaning  a  bow. — ED. 

25.  gracious   fooling]    STAUNTON  :  All   clowns  were  capable,   more  or  less, 
of    the    biting    sarcasms    and    coarse    practical  merriment   which   their   vocation 
licensed  ;  but  few,   probably,   had   sufficient   information,   not  to  say  learning,  to 
garnish  their  discourse  with   the  mock  erudition  and  the  snatches  of  axiomatical 
philosophy  exhibited  by  the  jesters  of  Twelfth  Night  and  As  You   Like  It ;   and 
from  them  any  reasoning  admitting  a  sensible  interpretation  must  not,  of  course,  be 
looked  for ;  though  something  may  be  traced  in  them  which  bears  a  close  affinity 
to  the  fantastic  extravagance  and  wild  conceits  of  Rabelais.     The  source,  however, 
of  their  sham  sententiousness  is  of  an  earlier  date  than  the  romance  of  the  great 
French  satirist.     The  first  known  edition  of  that  work  is  dated  1532 ;  but  in  the 
library  of  M.  de  Bure  were  found  two  more  ancient  though  undated  books,  entitled 
Lfs  Chroniques  de  Gargantua,  which  have  much  of  this  peculiar  humour.     The  his- 
tory of  Gargantua,  as  an  enormous  giant,  was  well  known  too  in  England  during 
the  sixteenth  century,  though  the  romance  relating  to  him  contains  nothing  of  the 
amusing  rhodomontade  indulged  in  by  Rabelais  and  the  humourists  in  question.     A 
remote  resemblance  to  it  may  be  detected  in  some  parts  of  the  poems  of  William 
Langland,  The  Vision  and  Creed  of  Piers  the  Plowman  ;  and  there  is  extant  a  genu- 
ine specimen  of  the  'gracious  fooling'  for  which  the  Clowns  of  Shakespeare  stand 
unrivalled,  in  the  form  of  a  mock  sermon,  in  a  manuscript  of  the  fifteenth  century, 
preserved  in  the  Advocates'  Library  at  Edinburgh,  which,  with  other  burlesques  of 
the  same  date,  was  printed  in   1841  by  Mr  T.  Wright,  in  the  Reliquice  Antiques,  i, 
82.     One  extract  from  this  effusion,  with  the  orthography  partly  modernised,  will 
convey  no  very  imperfect  notion  of  the  Clown's  'gracious  fooling'  with  Sir  Toby 
and  his  companion  knight : — '  Why  hopest  thou  not,  for  sooth,  that  there  stood  once 
a  cook  on  St.    Paul  steeple  top,  and   drew  up  the  strapuls  of  his  breech  ?     How 
provest  thou  that  ?     By  all   the  four  doctors  of  Wynebere  hylles ;  that  is  to  say, 
Vertas,  Gadatryme,  Trumpas,  and  Dadyl  Trimsert ;  the  which  four  doctors  say,  that 
there  was  once  an  old  wife  had  a  cook   to  her  son  ;  and  he  looked  out  of  an  old 
dove-cote,  and  warned  and  charg'd  that  no  man  should  be  so  hardy  neither  to  ride 
nor  to  go  on  St.  Paul  steeple  top  but  if  he  rode  on  a  three-footed  stool,  or  else  that 
he  brought  with  him  a  warrant  of  his  neck,  and  yet  the  lewd  letherand  lurdon  went 
forth,  and  met  seven  acres  of  land  betwixt  Dover  and  Quicksand,  and  he  brought 


HO  TWELFE    NIGHT  [ACT  11,  sc.  iii. 

Pigrogromitus,  of  the  Uapians  pafsing  the  Equinoctial  of          26 

Queubus:  'twas  very  good  yfaith:  I  fent  thee  fixe  pence 

for  thy  Lemon,  hadft  it  ?  28 

26.  Pigrogromitus]  Pigrogomitus  Var.  sixpence  Var.  '03. 

'21  (misprint?)  28.   Leinon~\  Ff,  Rowe,  Pope,  Johns. 

26,  27.  £<fuinotfta/o/Que\ibus]  equi-  Coll.   i.      leman  Theob.   Han.   Warb. 

noctial ;  of  Queubus ;  Tiessen.  Cap.  et  seq. 

27>  34-  ./£**  pence\  six-pence  Theob. 

an  acre  in  his  recke  [hand-basket]  from  the  Tower  of  London  unto  the  Tower  of 
Babilon  ;  and,  as  he  went  by  the  way,  he  had  a  foul  fall,  and  he  fell  down  at  the 
Castle  of  Dover  into  a  gruel-pot,  and  brake  both  his  shins.  Thereof  came  tripping 
to  the  king  of  Hongre,  that  all  people  which  might  not  lightly  come  to  the  Plain 
of  Salisbury,  but  the  fox  and  the  grey  convent,  should  pray  for  all  the  old  shoe-soules 
that  ben  roasted  in  the  king's  dish  on  Saturday.' 

26,  27.  Pigrogromitus  .  .  .  Queubus]  LEIGH  HUNT  ( Wit  and  Humour,  p.  86) : 
Not  that  Shakespeare  was  habitually  melancholy.  He  had  too  healthy  a  brain  for 
that,  and  too  great  animal  spirits ;  but  in  running  the  whole  circle  of  thought,  he 
must  of  necessity  have  gone  through  its  darkest  as  well  as  brightest  phases  ;  and 
the  sunshine  was  welcome  in  proportion.  Shakespeare  is  the  inventor  of  the  phrase, 
'  setting  the  table  in  a  roar ' ;  of  the  memory  of  Yorick  ;  of  the  stomach  of  Falstaff, 
stuffed  as  full  of  wit  as  of  sack.  He  '  wakes  the  night-owl  with  a  catch  ' ;  draws 
'  three  souls  out  of  one  weaver';  passes  the  '  equinoctial  of  Queubus  '  (some  glori- 
ous torrid  zone,  lying  beyond  three  o'clock  in  the  morning). — BREWER  (Reader's 
Handbook)  :  '  The  Equinoctial  of  Queubus,'  a  line  in  the  '  unknown  sea,'  passed 
by  the  Vapians  on  the  Greek  kalends  of  the  Olympiad  era  B.  c.  777,  according  to 
the  authority  of  Quinapalus.  [However  settled  the  conviction  that  these  are  mere 
nonsense  names  invented  by  the  Clown  on  the  spur  of  a  convivial  moment,  it  is  vain 
to  deny  that  a  curiosity,  almost  invincible,  possesses  us  all  to  know  something  more 
of  these  Vapians,  whose  passing  of  the  Equinoctial  of  Queubus  was  so  infinitely 
droll  that  the  humour  thereof  permeated  even  the  thin  and  watery  wits  of  Sir 
Andrew.  Almost  instinctively,  we  all  turn  to  Rabelais  ;  I  am  sure  that  I  have 
merely  followed  many  editorial  predecessors  in  reading  his  volumes  from  the  first 
line  to  the  last  on  a  keen  but  futile  scent  for  the  possible  originals  of  these  fictions 
of  the  Clown.  Wheresoever  we  may  search,  of  one  fact,  however,  we  may  rest 
assured,  and  this  is,  that  these  names  are  not  precisely  those  which  the  Clown  used. 
Sir  Andrew  would  not  be  Sir  Andrew,  if  he  repeated  them  correctly.  They  must 
be  ludicrous  distortions;  possibly,  readily  recognised  as  such  by  Shakespeare's 
audience,  to  whom  the  true  names  may  have  been  familiar  enough  in  some  jest  of 
the  day.  Furthermore,  the  reference  to  '  passing  the  Equinoctial '  should  show 
us,  I  think,  that  it  is  not  exclusively  to  Rabelais  that  we  should  look  for  light,  but 
also  to  Astrology  and  to  conjuring.  And  this  leads  to  the  only  feeble  little  ray 
that  here  dawns  on  me.  At  the  risk  of  being  deemed  a  copesmate  of  Sir  Andrew, 
I  am  willing  to  confess  that  in  the  distorted  « Pigrogromitus '  I  think  we  may  possi- 
bly find  Sir  Andrew's  version  of  the  Tetragrammaton. — ED.] 

28.  Lemon]  THEOBALD:  The  Clown  was  neither  pantler  nor  butler.  The  poet's 
word  was  certainly  mistaken  by  the  ignorance  of  the  printer.  I  have  restored 
leman,  i.  e.  I  sent  thee  sixpence  to  spend  on  thy  mistress. — STEEVENS  :  We  still 
have  '  Z«wa«-street '  in  Goodman's  fields.— HALLIWELL  :  The  spelling  'lemon'  is 


ACT  II,  sc.  iii.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  III 

Clo.     I  did  impeticos  thy  gratillity  :  for  Mcduolios  nofe  29 

is  no  Whip-ftocke     My  Lady  has  a  white  hand,  and  the 
Mermidons  are  no  bottle-ale  houfes.  3 1 

29.  impeticos  thy  gratillity\  impeticoat  31.   Mermidons~\    Mirmidons   Rowe, 

thy  gratility  Var.  '73.     impeticoat  thy  Pope.     Myrmidons  Theob.  etseq. 

gratuity  Johns,   conj.   Var.  '78,  Ran.  bottle-ale  houfes~\  bottle  ale  houfes 

Var.  '85.  impeticos  thy  gratulity  Kin-  F3.  Bottle- Ale-houfes  F4,  Rowe  i,  Cap. 
near. 

a  very  common  form  of  the  word.  [Halliwell  devotes  two  folio  pages  to  quotations, 
many  of  them  quibbles  on  leman  and  lemon,  which  are  neither  witty  nor  pretty. 
Cotgrave  gives:  Amie :  f.  A  loue,  a  lemman,  a  she-friend,  a  sweet-heart. — ED.] 
— W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  In  Middle  English  the  word  appears  in  the  forms  leofmon, 
lefmon,  and  lefman,  of  which  lemman  or  leman  is  the  abbreviation.  It  is  used  of 
either  sex.  See  Merry  Wives,  IV,  ii,  172 :  '  As  jealous  as  Ford,  that  searched  a 
hollow  tree  for  his  wife' s  leman. ' 

28.  hadst  it  ?]  The  common  omission  of  the  nominative  in  familiar  questions, 
like  the  present,  or  like  'Art  any  more  then  a  Steward,'  line  1 12,  or  like  Hamlet's 
'Didst  perceive?'  Ill,  ii,  275;  or  Lear's  'Wilt  break  my  heart?'  Ill,  iv,  4 ;  or 
Touchstone's  'Hast  any  philosophy  in  thee,  shepherd?'  Ill,  ii,  22;  is  not  pre- 
cisely similar  to  such  phrases  as  '  Has  been  told  so,'  I,  v,  147,  or  'then  cam'st  in 
smiling,'  V.  i,  368  (if  this  last  be  the  true  reading). 

29.  impeticos  thy  gratillity]  HANMER  :  He  means  to  say,  impocket  thy  gratuity. 
— JOHNSON  :  Hanmer  is  undoubtedly  right ;  but  we  must  read, — '  I  did  impeticoat 
thy  gratuity?  [Thus,  too,  Collier's  MS.]  The  fools  were  kept  in  long  coats,   to 
which  the  allusion  is  made.     There  is  yet  much  in  this  dialogue  which  I  do  not 
understand. — RiTSON  :  It  is  a  very  gross  mistake  to  imagine  that  this  character  was 
habited  like  an  idiot.     Neither  he  nor  Touchstone,  though  they  wear  a  particoloured 
dress,  has  either  coxcomb  or  bauble,  nor  is  he  by  any  means  to  be  confounded  with  the 
Fool  in  King  Lear,  nor  even,  I  think,  with  the  one  in  AW  s  Well.   [See  note  on  I, 
v,  2.] — B.   NICHOLSON  (N.  &*  Qu.   3rd,  V,   229)  :   I   would   read   impiticos  or 
impiticose.     In  Florio's  Queen  Anna's  New  World  of  Words,  we  find  the  following  : 
. — '  Pitocare,  to  beg  up  and  down  for  broken  pieces  of  meat  or  scraps.     Also  to 
dodge  and  patter.     Pitocco,  an  old  crafty  beggar,  a  micher,  a  patchtcoat  beggar,  a 
dodger,  a  patterer,  a  wrangler.   [Nicholson  goes  on  to  assert  that  begging  is  a  dis- 
tinctive characteristic  of  the  Clown,  and  that  seeing  how  much   money  Sir  Toby 
extracted  from  Sir  Andrew,  the  Clown  had  endeavoured  to  do  the  like,  but  had 
received  for  his  pains  only  a  paltry  sixpence.]     With  a  covert  sneer,  therefore,  he 
coins  a  diminutive  to  express  the  smallness  of  the  gift,   and  acknowledges   the 
gratillity,  and  in  the  same  vein  coins  impiticose,  (s  being  the  usual  causative,  and 
im  the  usual  intensive  augment)  ;  and  says,  I  did  make  a  great  '  begging  up  and 
down,'  and  after  much  ado  and  importunity,  I  received  'a  scrap'  of  your  bounty,  a 
crumb  from  Dives — I  did  impiticose  thy  gratillity.   [This  is  ingenious,  but  not  con- 
vincing.— ED.] 

29-31.  Maluolios  nose  .  .  .  bottle-ale  houses]  STEEVENS  :  The  Clown  says 
he  did  impeticoat  the  gratuity,  i.  e.  he  gave  it  to  his  petticoat  companion ;  for  (says 
he)  '  Malvolio's  nose  is  no  whip-stock,'  /'.  e.  Malvolio  may  smell  out  our  connection, 
but  his  suspicion  will  not  prove  the  instrument  of  our  punishment.  '  My  mistress 
has  a  white  hand,  and  the  myrmidons  are  no  bottle-ale  houses,'  i.  e.  my  mistress 


H2  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  11,  sc.  Hi. 

An.     Excellent  :  Why  this  is  the  beft  foolmgj   when  32 

all  is  done.     Now  a  fong. 

To.    Come  on,  there  is  fixe  pence  for  you.    Let's  haue 
a  fong.  35 

An.     There's  a  teftrill  of  me  too  :  if  one  knight  giue  a 

33-  fong-]  song—  Var.  '73.  36.  giue  a\  give  a-  Fa.    give  a-  -  Fy 

give  a —  F4. 

is  handsome,  but  the  houses  kept  by  officers  of  justice  are  no  places  to  make  merry 
and  entertain  her  at.  Such  may  be  the  meaning  of  this  whimsical  speech. — HUT- 
SON  (p.  484) :  This  reply  of  the  Clown  is  apparently  a  whimsical  series  of  incon- 
secutive ideas  ;  but,  examined  closely,  it  will  be  found  not  to  lack  continuity  : — '  I 
pocketed  thy  trifling  gratuity  [for  he  seems  to  me  to  mean  a  hidden  sneer  by  his 
diminutive],  because  Malvolio  would  soon  nose  me  out  if  I  abstracted  wine  from 
the  steward's  stores ;  my  lady  [not  Olivia,  but  the  girl  Sir  Andrew  sent  him  the 
sixpence  for]  has  too  white  a  hand  to  condescend  to  common  tipple,  and  the  tavern 
called  The  Myrmidons,  where  I  would  regale  her,  is  no  place  for  cheap  drink.' 

30.  Whip-stocke]  STEEVENS  says  he  '  believes '  that  this  is  « the  handle  of  a 
whip  '  and  quotes  two  or  three  examples  from  old  dramas.     As  ROLFE  remarks,  il 
has  survived  in  this  sense,  in  this  country,  and  is  still  in  common  use. — ED. 

31.  bottle-ale]  WEISS  (p.  200)  :  This  phrase  occurs  once  more  in  2  Hen.  IV :  II, 
iv,  140,  to  express  contempt, — '  Away,  you  bottle-ale  rascal  !'     Was  the  bottling  of 
ale  just  coming  in,  to  the  immense  disgust  of  the  loyal  Briton,  who  thought  nobly 
of  the  ancient  brew  and  would  not  have  it  save,  mightily,  on  tap? 

36.  testrill]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  A  sixpence  ;  like  '  tester,'  which  occurs  in  2  Hen. 
IV :  III,  ii,  296,  a  corruption  of  '  teston,'  which  was  borrowed  from  the  French.  It 
may  be  that '  testril '  is  a  diminutive  of  '  tester.'  Cotgrave  defines  '  Teston  :  m.  .  .  . 
a  Testoone  ;  a  piece  of  siluer  coyne  worth  xviij  d.  sterling.'  It  was  struck  by  Louis 
XII.  and  so  called  because  it  had  a  head  (teste)  stamped  upon  it.  See  Ruding's 
Annals  of  the  Coinage,  ii,  86.  In  England  testoons  were  first  struck  by  Henry 
VIII.  in  I543>  g°'ng  f°r  twelve  pence  a  piece,  the  pound  of  silver  being  ten  ozs.  fine 
and  two  ozs.  alloy.  In  the  reign  of  Edward  VI.  the  coinage  was  so  far  debased  that 
a  testoon  was  only  current  for  sixpence,  and  in  1560  the  better  sort  were  marked 
with  a  portcullis  and  passed  for  ^/td.,  while  the  inferior  were  marked  with  a  grey- 
hound, and  passed  for  2}£d.  See  Stow's  Annals  (ed.  1580),  p.  1115. 

36.  of  me]  Compare  '  She  tooke  the  Ring  of  me,'  II,  ii,  14,  or  see  ABBOTT, 
§165,  p.  1 10. 

36.  knight  giue  a]  COLLIER'S  MS  Corrector  supplies  a  line, which  the  hyphen 
(in  the  Second  Folio)  seems  to  indicate  had  been  carelessly  omitted,  as  follows: 
1  if  one  knight  give  &-way  sixpence,  so  -will  I  give  another  ;  go  to,  a  song.1  In  his 
Second  Edition,  Collier  remarks, '  The  new  words  are  in  themselves  of  comparatively 
little  value,  but  they  are  a  recovery  of  what,  in  all  human  probability,  must  have 
come  from  Shakespeare's  pen,  and  therefore  ought  to  be  studiously  preserved.' — • 
SINGER  (Shakespeare  Vindicated,  etc.,  p.  65)  :  The  Corrector's  addition  is  an 
improbable  one  which  I  cannot  hail  as  -welcome  [Collier,  in  his  Notes  and  Emenda- 
tions, had  termed  the  line  a  '  welcome  addition.' — ED.]  ;  and  what  would  fully  answer 
all  the  purposes  of  filling  up  the  hiatus,  should  it  be  thought  necessary,  would  be  to 
complete  the  sentence  thus:  'if  one  knight  give  another  should.'1  This  avoids 


ACT  ii,  sc.  iii.]  OK,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  1 13 

Clo.   Would  you  haue  a  loue-fong,  or  a  fong  of  good  37 

life? 

To.     A  loue  fong,  a  loue  fong. 

An.     I,  I.     I  care  not  for  good  life.  40 

Clowne  Jings. 
O  Mi/Iris  mine  where  are  you  roming  ?  42 

40.  /,  /,]  Ay,  ay.  Rowe.  42.  mine]  mine,  F3F4. 

supplying  too  many  words  to  the  poet. — DYCE  (ed.  i)  :  Mr  Collier  ought  to  have 
said,  'an  addition  welcome  to  those  who  will  have  the  speech  filled  up.' — EDIN- 
BURGH REVIEW  {Collier  and  Singer,  April,  1856,  p.  372)  :  We  need  scarcely  inti- 
mate the  trouble  which  the  mutilated  text  has  given  the  critics  [This  is  somewhat  of 
an  exaggeration  ;  every  critic  and  editor  from  Rowe  to  Collier  accepted  the  line, 
without  comment,  as  an  interrupted  one. — ED.]  ;  or  how  far  every  one  of  them,  we 
believe,  has  been  from  guessing  that  a  line  had  dropt  through.  And  yet,  how  self- 
evident  the  change  appears  when  suggested  ;  and  what  incredible  boldness  of  con- 
ception, as  well  as  neatness  of  execution,  such  an  alteration  on  conjecture  would 
evidence.  Were  we  inclined  to  rest  the  Corrector's  reputation  for  authority  on  any 
single  passage,  there  is  none  we  would  sooner  fix  on.  Mr  Singer's  objection,  as  he 
must  needs  object,  simply  is,  that  the  Corrector  being  a  guesser,  ought  not  to  have 
guessed  so  boldly, — which  is  only  one  instance  in  a  hundred  of  his  practice  of 
taking  the  point  in  issue  for  granted, — and  he  proceeds  to  insinuate  a  most  innocent 
conjecture  of  his  own  ;  which  he  is  not  ashamed  again  to  propose  in  his  new  edition 
of  the  plays,  without  even  noticing  the  Corrector's  line  at  all  ! — BoWEN  (p.  495)  : 
He  who  was  capable  of  inventing  [the  MS  Corrector's  addition],  so  perfectly  in 
keeping  with  Sir  Andrew's  character  and  manner,  might  have  written  without  effort 
the  whole  comic  portion  of  The  Twelfth  Night.  [Can  it  be  possible  that  Professor 
Bowen  meant  this  seriously? — ED.]  In  mercy  to  Mr  Singer,  we  forbear  to  quote  his 
comment,  and  the  way  in  which  he  proposes  to  fill  up  the  gap.  [I  much  prefer  to 
believe  that  Feste  interrupts  Sir  Andrew's  twaddle. — ED.] 

37,  38.  good  life]  STEEVENS  :  I  do  not  suppose  that  by  a  song  of  '  good  life,' 
the  Clown  means  a  song  of  a  moral  turn  ;  though  Sir  Andrew  answers  to  it  in  that 
signification.  'Good  life,'  I  believe,  is  'harmless  mirth  and  jollity.' — MALONE  :  In 
The  Merry  Wives,  III,  iii,  127,  these  words  are  used  for  a  virtuous  character: 
'  Defend  your  reputation,  or  farewell  to  your  good  life  for  ever.'  [The  general 
opinion  seems  to  hold,  with  Sir  Andrew,  that  this  means  a  sententious  song  or  a 
song  of  virtuous  conduct  with  a  moral  in  it.  But  I  incline  to  think  that  the  Clown 
knew  his  company  too  well  to  propose  any  such  entertainment  at  this  hour  of  the 
night,  and  that  Steevens  more  justly  interprets  it  as  of  '  harmless  mirth  and  jollity ' — 
possibly,  omitting  the  'harmless.' — ED.] 

42,  etc.  O  Mistris,  etc.]  CHAPPELL  (i,  209)  notes  that  this  is  contained  in  both 
editions  of  Morley's  Consort  Lessons,  1599  and  1611.  '  It  is  also  found  in  Queen 
Elizabeth's  Virginal  Book  [1603],  arranged  by  Byrd.  As  it  is  to  be  found  in  print 
in  1599,  it  proves  either  that  Twelfth  Night  was  written  in  or  before  that  year,  or 
that,  in  accordance  with  the  then  prevailing  custom,  "O  Mistress  mine  "  was  an  old 
song,  introduced  into  the  play.' — DYCE  (ed.  ii)  :  The  latter  supposition  is  doubtless 
the  true  one. — CAPELL  (p.  145)  :  This  song  should  be  a  new  composition,  and  not 
borrow'd  as  are  the  scraps  that  come  after  it;  but  excepting  that  it  breaths  better 
8 


!  I4  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  11,  sc.  iii. 

O  flay  and  heare,  your  true  loues  coming,  43 

TJiat  can  Jing  both  high  and  low. 

Trip  no  further  prettie  fweeting :  45 

Journeys  end  in  louers  meeting, 

Euery  wife  mans  fonne  doth  know. 
An.     Excellent  good,  ifaith. 
To.    Good,  good. 
Clo.  What  is  loue,  tis  not  heereafter,  50 

Prefent  mirth,  tiath prefent  laughter: 

What's  to  come,  is  flUl  vnfure. 

In  delay  there  lies  no  plentie, 

Then  come  kijfe  me  fweet  and  twentie:  54 

43.  and  heare,]  for  here  Coll.  MS.  50.  loue,]  love  ?  Pope  et  seq. 

true  loues]   true  Love's    Rowe.  53.  In  delay]  Indelay  F3.     In  decay 

true-love's  Cap.  Dyce,  Sta.  Huds.  Warb. 

46.  louers]   Ff,  Rowe,  Pope,  Theob.  54.  fweet  and  twentie]   sweet,  and 
i,  Han.  Cam.  Rife,  Dtn,  Wh.  ii.     /overs'  twenty  Theob.  + ,  Cap.  Var.  '73.    sweet- 
Theob.  ii  et  cet.  and-twenty  Var.  '  03,   '13,  '21,   Hal. 

47.  wife  mans]  wise  man's  Rowe.  Dyce,  Sta.  KUy,  Huds.  Wh.  ii. 

sense  than  those  old  ballads,  it  has  all  the  cast  of  them.   [See  Preface  to  the  present 
play.     For  the  music,  see  Appendix,  p.  323. — ED.] 

54.  sweet  and  twentie]  CAPELL  (p.  145)  :  What  we  are  to  conceive  by  it  is 
this, — then  give  me  a  kiss,  sweet,  give  me  twenty  kisses. — JOHNSON  :  This  line  is 
obscure  ;  we  might  read  :  '  Come,  a  kiss  then,  sweet  and  twenty.'  Yet  I  know  not 
whether  the  present  reading  be  not  right,  for  in  some  counties  '  sweet  and  twenty,' 
whatever  be  the  meaning,  is  a  phrase  of  endearment. — STEEVENS  :  So  in  Wit  of  a 
Woman,  1604:  'Sweet  and  twenty;  all  sweet  and  sweet.'  Again  in  The  Life 
and  Death  of  The  Merry  Devil  of  Edmonton,  by  T.  B.,  1631  :  ' — his  little  wanton 
wagtailes,  his  sweet  and  twenties,  his  pretty  pinckineyd  pigsnies,  etc.,  as  he  himself 
was  wont  to  call  them.' — NARES  (s.  v.  '  sweet  and  twenty')  :  Without  a  change  of 
the  reading,  it  cannot  be  otherwise  explained  than  as  a  term  of  endearment.  If  we 
read  as  suggested  by  Johnson,  or,  '  Then  a  kiss,  my  sweet,  and  twenty '  all  would 
be  easy. — MALONE  :  Compare  Merry  Wives,  II,  i,  203  :  '  Good  even  and  twenty, 
master  Page.' — STAUNTON  :  A  proverbial  endearment ;  thus  in  The  Merry  Devil 
of  Edmonton  [Staunton  then  gives  the  same  quotation  as  Steevens,  above]. — 
HALLIWELL  :  That  is,  twenty  times  sweet.  There  is  no  necessity  for  alteration.  It 
may  be  worth  observation  that  twain-ty  occurs  in  the  Devonshire  dialect  as  a  term  of 
endearment  to  little  children,  possibly  in  the  sense  of,  double  sweet. — WALKER 
(Crit.  iii,  84)  :  Does  the  Clown  mean,  'Then  come  kiss  me,  sweet,  and  twenty,' 
subaudi,  kisses?  Compare  Merry  Wives  [as  above].  Beaumont  and  Fletcher, 
Wit  at  Several  Weapons,  III,  i,  '  Sir  Gregory.  Good  morrow,  mistress !  Niece. 
An  ill  day  and  a  thousand,  come  upon  thee  !  Sir  Gregory.  'Light,  that's  six  hun- 
dred more  than  any  almanack  has.' [p.  45,  ed.  Dyce.]  Reversing  the  common  form  ; 
a  little  below,  '  Good  morrow,  niece.  Niece.  Many  fair  ones  to  you,  sir.'  Peele, 
Old  Wife's  Tale,  '  Neighbour,  farewell.  Lampriscus.  Farewell,  and  a  thousand.' 


ACT  ii,  sc.  iii.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  H5 

[54.  sweet  and  twentie] 

p.  217,  ed.  Dyce.  .  .  .  The  passage  quoted  by  Steevens  from  The  Merry  Devil  of 
Edmonton,  ...  is  perhaps  decisive.  [Dyce's  note  on  Peele,  ad  loc.  fit,  adds  two 
more  examples  :  Middleton,  A  Trick  to  catch  the  old  one,  1608,  Sig.  G.  4 :  '  let  me 
hug  thee  farewell,  and  a  thousand."  And  Rowley,  When  you  see  me  you  know  me 
[p.  26,  ed.  El/e],  'God  ye  god  night  and  Twenty,  sir.'] — DYCE  (  Gloss.)  :  That  is, 
twenty  times  sweet ;  A  term  of  endearment ;  Steevens  cites,  from  The  Merry  Devil 
of  Edmonton,  etc. — DEIGHTON  :  A  term  of  endearment,  said  to  mean  twenty  times 
sweet.  Steevens  quotes  The  Merry  Devil  of  Edmonton,  etc. — W.  A.  WRIGHT : 
That  is,  sweet  kisses  and  twenty  of  them,  twenty  being  used  as  a  round  number.  .  .  . 
To  read  '  sweet  and  twenty '  as  a  vocative  with  Boswell  [qu.  Reed  ?]  is  certainly 
wrong.  Compare  Merry  Wives,  II,  i,  203,  and  Rowley  [as  above],  and  Two  Noble 
Kinsmen,  V,  ii :  '  Wooer.  I  told  her  presently,  and  kiss'd  her  twice.  Doctor.  'Twas 
well  done ;  twenty  times  had  been  far  better. '  And  again  in  the  same  scene, 
'Daughter.  And  shall  we  kiss  too?  Wooer.  A  hundred  times.  Daugh.  And 
twenty?  Wooer.  Ay,  and  twenty.'  [These  lines  are  omitted  in  the  eds.  of  Knight, 
Simms,  Skeat,  and  Rolfe.  Steevens' s  quotation,  which  many  of  those,  who  have 
accepted  it  as  decisive,  assert  is  to  be  found  in  The  Merry  Devil  of  Edmonton,  is 
not  in  that  play.  Editors,  as  careful  and  exact  as  Dyce  even,  have  been  led  into 
this  erroneous  assertion.  They  overlooked  the  fact  that  Steevens  quotes  from  The 
Life  and  Death  of  The  Merry  Devil  of  Edmonton, — another  play.  I  regret  that  I 
cannot  verify  Steevens' s  quotation.  I  do  not  own  the  play,  nor  do  I  know  where  in 
this  country  it  is  to  be  found.  It  is  not  in  the  Catalogue  of  The  Barton  Library  in 
Boston,  nor  in  Allibone's  Catalogue  of  the  Shakespeare  Department  in  The  Lenox 
Library  in  New  York;  nor  is  it  among  the  Spurious  Plays  (wherein  The  Merry 
Devil  of  Edmonton  is  sometimes  reckoned)  in  the  Shakespearian  Catalogue  of 
the  British  Museum.  Certain  it  is,  that  it  is  not  the  same  as  The  Merry  Devil 
of  Edmonton.  In  the  Stationers'  Registers,  under  the  date  '  22  Octobris*  (1607), 
we  find  entered,  'A  plaie  called  the  Merry  Devill  of  Edmonton.' ( — Arber's  Tran- 
script, vol.  iii,  p.  362.)  Then  on  the  '5'°  Aprilis'  (1608)  there  is  entered 
'  a  booke  called,  the  lyfe  and  deathe  of  the  Merry  Devill  of  Edmonton  with  the 
pleasant  prankes  of  Smugge  the  Smythe.  Sir  John,  and  myne  Hoste  of  the  George 
about  their  stealynge  of  Venson.  by  T.  B.'  ( — Ib.  p.  374,  where  Arber  adds  after  the 
initials  T.  B.  '  [i.  e.  Thomas  Brewer],'  on  what  authority  he  does  not  state.)  These 
are  the  same  characters  as  those  in  The  Merry  Devil,  and  what  is  strange  is  that 
their  poaching  expedition  after  venison  is  an  essential  feature  in  the  plot  of  the  earlier 
play,  which  looks  as  though  the  later  work  were  an  enlargement  or  a  revision  of  the 
earlier;  and  it  may  not  have  been  a  play  at  all.  The  Stationer's  entry  terms  it  a 
'  booke';  but  no  great  stress  can  be  laid  on  this ;  the  clerk  was  by  no  means  scrupu- 
lously exact  in  his  definitions.  No  author  would  willingly  let  die,  so  good  a  char- 
acter as  Sir  John,  the  Priest,  with  his  solvent  for  every  circumstance  whether  good 
or  ill,  'ahem, — grass  and  hay, — we're  all  mortal, — let's  live  till  we  die,  and  be 
merry,  and  there's  an  end';  he  would  be  tempted  to  revive  him  in  a  second  play, 
as  Shakespeare  continued  Falstaff.  (See  Appendix,  p.  418.) 

Many  of  the  foregoing  quotations  are  not,  I  think,  exactly  parallel  to  the  present 
phrase  ;  the  '  twenty '  or  the  '  hundred'  or  the  '  thousand '  is  repeated  directly  after 
a  noun,  such  as  'evening,'  'day,'  'night,'  'farewell,'  'times.'  Thus  here,  had 
the  expression  been,  '  give  me  kisses  sweet  and  twenty '  the  meaning  would  have 
been  clear  and  Theobald's  punctuation  inevitable.  But  in  the  text  before  us  I  can- 


Il6  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  n,  sc.  iii. 

You  f /is  a  fluff e  will  not  endure.  55 

An.     A  mellifluous  voyce,  as  I  am  true  knight. 

To.     A  contagious  breath. 

An.     Very  fweet,  and  contagious  ifaith. 

To.     To  heare  by  the  nofe,  it  is  dulcet  in  contagion. 
But  fhall  we  make  the  Welkin  dance  indeed  ?    Shall  wee  60 

rowze  the  night-Owle  in  a  Catch,  that  will  drawe  three 
foules  out  of  one  Weauer  ?   Shall  we  do  that  ?  62 

^  Youths]  Youth's  F3F4.  '78,  Ran. 

56.  true]  a  true  Rowe,  +  ,  Var.  '73,  59,  60.   Line  runs  on,  Rowe  et  seq. 

not  but  see  a  vocative  term  of  endearment,  and  find  therein  the  indescribable  charm 
which  differentiates  poetry  from  prose. — ED.] 

57-59.  contagious  ...  contagion.]  DEIGHTON  :  By  a  misuse  of  'contagious' 
Sir  Toby  ridicules  Sir  Andrew' s  '  mellifluous  voice,'  and  Sir  Andrew  echoes  the 
expression  as  though  it  were  an  apt  description.  Then,  punning  on  the  word 
'  breath,'  which  he  had  just  now  used  in  the  sense  of  voice,  and  perhaps  imitating 
the  Clown's  fooling,  so  highly  commended  by  Sir  Andrew,  Sir  Toby  says,  'judging 
of  the  merit  of  his  breath  (i.  e.  his  singing)  by  the  nose,  as  we  judge  of  scent,  it  is 
sweet  in  contagion,  not  foul  as  contagious  breath  (in  its  ordinary  sense)  usually  is.' 
[Sir  Toby  may  use  'contagious'  as  a  high-sounding  word  to  match  Sir  Andrew's 
'  mellifluous,'  but  I  doubt  that  he  misuses  it,  or  that  he  intends  it  otherwise  than  as  a 
compliment  to  Feste.  He  uses  '  breath'  for  the  song  (or  the  tune),  and  pronounces 
it  catching  or,  in  modern  slang,  'catchy.'  (Helena  in  Mid.  N.  D.  (I,  i,  198)  says 
'  sickness  is  catching,'  i.  e.  contagious,  '  O  were  favour  so  ...  My  tongue  should 
catch  your  tongue's  sweet  melodic.')  When  Sir  Toby  sees  that  Sir  Andrew  has 
not  perceived  his  meaning  but  takes  'contagious'  in  its  ordinary  sense,  then  he 
replies,  in  effect,  '  ay,  if  a  tune  be  contagious,  or  catching,  then  it  must  be  caught, 
like  contagion,  through  the  nose,  and  this  song  is,  in  truth  ['is'  is  the  emphatic 
word]  sweet  in  its  contagiousness.'  'It'  refers  to  song,  not  to  the  whole  preceding 
clause. — ED.] 

60.  Welkin  dance]  JOHNSON  :  That  is,  drink  till  the  sky  seems  to  turn  round. 
— STEEVENS  :  So,  in  Ant.  &•»  Cleop.  II,  vii,  124  :  '  Cup  us,  till  the  world  go  round.' 

61,  62.  three  soules  .  .  .  Weauer]  WARBURTON  :  The  expression  of  the  power 
of  music  is  familiar  with  our  author.     Much  Ado,  II,  iii,  6l  :  '  Now  is  his  soul  rav- 
ished.    Is  it  not  strange  that  sheeps'  guts  should  hale  souls  out  of  men's  bodies?' 
— Why  he  says,  *  three  souls,'  is  because  he  is  speaking  of  a  catch  of  three  parts; 
and  the  peripatetic  philosophy,  then  in  vogue,  very  liberally  gave  every  man  three 
souls.     The  vegetative  or  plastic,  the  animal,  and  the  rational.     To  this,  too,  Jon- 
son  alludes  in  his  Poetaster  :  '  What !  will  I  turn  shark  upon  my  friends  ?  or  my 
friends'  friends?  I  scorn  it  with  my  three  souls'  [V,  i,  p.  513,  ed.  Gifford].  By  the 
mention    of  these  three,  therefore,    we  may   suppose   it   was  Shakespeare's  pur- 
pose to  hint  to  us  those  surprising  effects  of  music,  which  the  ancients  speak  of, 
when  they  tell  us  of  Amphion,  who  moved  stones  and  trees;  Orpheus  and  Arion, 
who  tamed  savage  beasts  ;  and  Timotheus,  who  governed,  as  he  pleased,  the  passions 
of  his  human  auditors.     So  noble  an  observation  has  our  author  conveyed  in  the 
ribaldry  of  this  buffoon  character.   [I  have  squandered  the  space  for  this  note  of 
Warburton  in  order  to  give  the  comment  on  it  by]  COLKRIDGE  (p.  120)  :  O  genuine, 


ACT  ii,  sc.  iii.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  117 

And.    And  you  loue  me,  let's  doo't :  I  am  dogge  at  a  63 

Catch. 

Clo.    Byrlady  fir,  and  fome  dogs  will  catch,  well.  65 

An.     Moft  certaine  :  Let  our  Catch  be,  Thou  Knaue. 

63.  And]  An  Pope  et  seq.  Rowe, +  ,  Var.  '73,  '78,  Ran.  Var.  '85, 

am    dogge]     am     a     dog    F3F4,         Wh.  i,  Coll.  ii. 

and  inimitable  (at  least  I  hope  so)  Warburton  !  This  note  of  thine,  if  but  one  in 
five  millions,  would  be  half  a  one  too  much. — FARMER  :  In  Carew's  translation  of 
Huarte's  Triall  of  Wits,  1594,  there  a  curious  Chapter  concerning  the  three  souls. 
[The  heading  of  Chap.  IIII.  is  '  It  is  prooued  that  the  soule  vegetatiue,  sensitiue, 
and  reasonable,  haue  knowledge  without  that  any  thing  be  taught  them,  if  so  be 
that  they  possesse  that  conuenient  temperature,  which  is  requisite  for  their  operation.' 
p.  32. — ED.} — MALONE  :  I  believe  Shakespeare  here  only  means  to  describe  Sir 
Toby's  catch  as  so  harmonious  that  it  would  hale  the  soul  out  of  a  weaver  (the 
warmest  lover  of  a  song)  thrice  over ;  or  in  other  words,  give  him  thrice  more 
delight  than  it  would  give  any  other  man. — HALLIWELL  quotes  from  Batman  vppon 
Bartholome,  1582  :  '  If  we  take  heed  to  the  soule  in  comparison  to  his  working,  wee 
finde  three  manner  of  vertues,  Vegetabilis,  that  giueth  lyfe,  Sensibilis,  that  giueth 
feeling,  Radonalis,  that  giueth  reason,'  etc.  [Liber  Tertius,  Chap.  7,  p.  14.] — W. 
A.  WRIGHT  :  That  Shakespeare  had  in  mind  the  three  souls  given  to  man  by  the 
peripatetic  philosophers,  as  Warburton  suggests,  is  open  to  serious  doubt.  To  draw 
three  souls  out  of  one  starved  weaver  can  be  nothing  more  than  a  humorously  exag- 
gerated consequence  of  the  power  exerted  by  music,  and  to  bring  this  about  by  a 
drinking  song  was  a  greater  triumph  still,  for  weavers  were  given  to  psalms.  Com- 
pare /  Hen.  IV :  II,  iv,  147  :  '  I  would  I  were  a  weaver;  I  could  sing  psalms  or 
anything.'  See  also  Jonson,  The  Silent  Woman,  III,  ii :  'He  got  this  cold  with 
sitting  up  late,  and  singing  catches  with  cloth- workers.' — DEIGHTON  :  An  allusion 
to  the  peripatetic  philosophy  would  spoil  the  point  of  the  joke,  and  if  it  had  been 
intended,  we  should  have  had  'a  weaver'  instead  of  '  one  weaver.'  A  like  fond- 
ness for  singing  is  ascribed,  /  Hen.  IV:  III,  i,  264,  to  tailors  whose  occupation 
like  that  of  weavers  is  a  sedentary  one.  [Hotspur.  Come  sing.  Lady  Percy.  I  will 
not  sing.  Hotspur.  'Tis  the  next  way  to  turn  tailor.'] 

63.  I  am  dogge]  HALLIWELL  :  There  does  not  appear,  from  the  annexed  exam- 
ples, to  be  a  necessity  for  the  particle  ['  a  '  supplied  in  the  Third  and  Fourth  Folios]  : 
<I  remember  my  great  grandfather's  grandmother's  sister's  coosen  told  race,  that 
pigges  and  French-men  speake  one  language,  awee,  awee ;  I  am  dogg  at  this,' — 
Englishmen  for  my  Money.  [Written  in  1598,  by  William  Haughton.]  '  I  myselfe 
have  knowne  many  old  women  old  dogge  at  this  kind  of  divination.' — Melton's 
Astrologaster,  1620.  'Jane.  No,  no,  we'll  have  a  bout  at  blindmans-buff  and  a 
dance  first.  Jobson.  Ay,  ay,  come,  I'm  old  dogg  at  that.' — The  Devil  of  a  Wife, 
1686.  [Thus  also  Lodge's  Wits  Miserie  :  '  He  is  dog  at  recognisances  and  statutes.' 
p.  33,  ed.  Hunterian  Club. — ED.] 

65.  Byrlady]  In   Tit.  And.  IV,  iv,  48,  this  is  spelled  '  her  Lady '  in  the  First 
Folio ;  and  in  Hamlet,  II,  ii,  406,  it  appears  as  '  Berlady '  in  the  Second,  Third,  and 
Fourth  Folios.      WALKER   (  Vers.    191)   says  it  was  pronounced  'beer  lady,'   but 
possibly,  he  has  given  too  long  a  sound  of  e. — ED. 

66.  Thou  knaue]  HAWKINS  :  A  'catch'   is  a  species  of  vocal  harmony  to  be 


!  1 8  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  n>  sc.  Ui. 

£70.    Hold  thy  peace,  tliou  Knane  knight.  I  lhall  be  con-  67 

ftrain'd  in't,  to  call  thee  knaue,  Knight. 

An.    'Tis  not  the  firft  time  I  haue  conftrained  one  to 
call  me  knaue.     Begin  fooje- :  it  begins,  Hold  thy  peace.  70 

Clo.    I  (hall  neuer  begin  if  I  hold  my  peace. 

67.  Knaue   knight.']   knave,    knight.        '78  et  seq.  (subs. ) 
Rowe,  +,    Var.   '73.      knave    knight?  71.  I Jliall]  Shall  I  F3F4. 

Cap.  (Errata),      knave,   knight?  Var. 

sung  by  three  or  more  persons  ;  and  is  so  contrived,  that  though  each  sings  precisely 
the  same  notes  as  his  fellows,  yet  by  beginning  at  stated  periods  of  time  from  each 
other,  there  results  from  the  performance  a  harmony  of  as  many  parts  as  there  are 
singers.  Compositions  of  this  kind  are,  in  strictness,  called  Canons  in  the  unison  ; 
and  as  properly  Catches,  when  the  words  in  the  different  parts  are  made  to  catch  or 
answer  each  other.  One  of  the  most  remarkable  examples  of  a  true  catch  is  that  of 
Purcell,  Let's  live  good  honest  lives,  in  which,  immediately  after  one  person  has 
uttered  these  words,  '  What  need  we  fear  the  Pope  ?'  another  in  the  course  of  his 
singing  fills  up  a  rest  which  the  first  makes,  with  the  words  'The  devil.'  The 
'  catch  '  to  be  sung  by  Sir  Toby,  Sir  Andrew,  and  the  Clown,  from  the  hints  given 
of  it,  appears  to  be  so  contrived  as  that  each  of  the  singers  calls  the  other  knave  in 
turn ;  and  for  this  the  Clown  means  to  apologise  to  the  knight,  when  he  says  he 
shall  be  constrained  to  call  him  knave.  I  have  here  subjoined  the  very  catch,  with 
the  musical  notes  to  which  it  was  sung  in  the  time  of  Shakespeare,  and  at  the  origi- 
nal performance  of  this  comedy.  The  evidence  of  its  authenticity  is  as  follows : 
There  is  extant  a  book  entitled,  '  Pammelia,  Musickes  Miscellanie,  or  mixed  Varietie 
of  pleasant  Roundelays  and  delightful  Catches  of  3,  4,  5,  6,  7,  8,  9,  10  Parts  in  one.' 
Of  this  book  there  are  at  least  two  editions,  the  second  printed  in  1618.  In  1609, 
a  second  part  of  this  work  was  published  with  the  title  of  Deuteromelia,  and  in  this 
book  is  contained  the  catch  here  given.  [Instead  of  the  antiquated  notes  reproduced 
by  Sir  John  Hawkins,  Knight's  setting  is  here  given,  '  put  into  the  treble  clef,  instead 
of  the  contratenor,' — 


dh.  (*' 

—  H 

p 

IS 

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—  U 

Hold       thy   peace  !     and    I       pri  - 

thee 

hold    thy 

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peace. 

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. 

xT    (  *      1                           •§ 

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—  J- 

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Thou    knave                               Hold 
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thy 

peace, 

thou      knave  ! 

V                                       i 

_                              II 

xT     /»            tm                   1             1 

II 

fcU-i-i.--  ~                 J 

II 

Thou    knave ! 

COLLIER  :  A  performance  of  the  same  character,  where  the  singers  call  each  other 
'fool,'  (the  music  by  John  Bennett,)  is  in  Ravenscroft' s  Briefe  Discourses,  etc., 
London,  1614. 


ACT  ii,  sc.  iii.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  119 

An.     Good  ifaith  :  Come  begin.  Catch  fung          72 

Enter  Maria. 

Mar.    What  a  catterwalling  doe  you  keepe  heere  ?    If 
my  Ladie  haue  not  call'd  vp  her  Steward  Maluolio,  and          75 
bid  him  turne  you  out  of  doores,  neuer  truft  me. 

To,   My  Lady's  a  Catayan,  we  are  politicians,  Maluolios 
a  Peg-a-ramfie,  and  Three  merry  men  be  wee.    Am  not  I  78 

72.  Catch   fung]    Catch    fing.    F  F4.  74.  catterwalling~\         catterwauling 
They  sing  a  catch.  Rowe.                               Theob. 

73.  Scene  IV.  Pope,  +  .  77.  Maluolios]  Maluolio' s  F3F4. 

77.  Catayan]  More  than  a  hundred  and  twenty  years  ago  STEEVENS  said  that  it 
is  in  vain  to  seek  for  the  precise  meaning  of  this  term  of  reproach,  and  the  remark, 
unfortunately,  still  holds  good.  DR  MURRAY  ( N.  E.  D. )  is  reduced  to  quoting  NARES, 
whose  definition  is  founded  on  what  Steevens  had  said  in  a  note  on  the  word  in  The 
Merry  Wives,  II,  i,  148:  'I  will  not  believe  such  a  Catalan,  though  the  priest  o' 
the  town  commended  him  for  a  true  man,'  where  Steevens  suggests  that,  the  con- 
trast with  '  true  man '  shows  that  '  Cataian '  means  a  thief.  THEOBALD  (Nichols, 
Illust.  ii,  276)  suggested  as  a  cause  of  its  obnoxious  signification  the  lamentable  fail- 
ure on  the  part  of  Frobisher  to  make  good  his  golden  promises  of  treasure  from 
his  voyages  to  China,  or  Cataia,  as  it  was  then  called  ;  hence  a  '  Cataian '  became  a 
byeword  for  one  who  promised  more  than  he  could  perform,  and  therefore  a  liar. 
STEEVENS  notes  that  'Cataian'  is  found  in  D'Avenant's  Love  and  Honour,  and 
NARES  adds,  in  the  sense  of  sharper.  The  whole  passage,  not  given  by  Steevens,  is 
as  follows :  '  Hang  him,  bold  Cataian,  he  indites  finely ;  And  will  live  as  well  by 
sending  short  epistles,  Or  by  sad  whisper  at  your  gamester1  s  elbow  ...  as  any  bash- 
ful Gallant  of  'em  all.' — II,  i.  '  Cataian '  may  here  bear  the  meaning  Nares  ascribes 
to  it,  but  it  is  somewhat  doubtful  ;  the  Cataian  referred  to  by  his  detractor,  was  a 
valiant  high-souled  Prince  of  Parma.  It  is,  perhaps,  not  difficult  to  see  how  Sir 
Toby  happens  to  call  his  niece  a  '  Cataian ' ;  he  was  in  that  stage  of  drunken- 
ness when  mere  sounds  connect  words  having  no  relationship  to  each  other ;  he 
had  heard  Maria  accuse  the  whole  party  of  '  caterwauling,'  and  straightway  the 
sequence  was  clear  to  him  that  if  he  was  a  '  ra/erwauler'  his  niece  was  a  '  C<z/aian.' 

—ED. 

77.  politicians]  Shakespeare  generally  uses  '  politician '  in  a  derogatory  sense ; 
it  is  possible,  therefore,  that  its  present  use  by  Sir  Toby  may  be  intended  to  show  that 
the  knight  was  too  drunk  to  know  that  his  epithet  was  by  no  means  complimentary. 
See  Sir  Andrew's  use  of  the  word,  III,  ii,  32. — ED. 

78.  Peg-a-ramsie]  CHAPPELL  (p.  218)  :  There  are  two  tunes  under  the  name 
of  Peg-a- Ramsey,  and  both  as  old  as  Shakespeare's  time.     The  first  is  called  Peg-a- 
Ramsey  in  William  Ballets  Lute  Book,  and  is  given  by  Sir  John  Hawkins  as  the 
tune  quoted   in    Twelfth  Night.     Ramsey,  in  Huntingdonshire,   was  formerly  an 
important  town.   [The  music  is  given  by  HAWKINS,  in  the  Variorum  ;  by  KNIGHT, 
in  his  Illustrations;  and  by  NAYLOR,  p.  188  ;  it  is  superfluous  to  repeat  it  here. 
Sir  Toby  does  not  allude  to  '  Peg-a-Ramsey '  as  a  song,  and  no  words  are  given 
with   the   music,  indeed,  they  could  not  be  with  propriety,  if,  as  it  is  alleged, 
they  are  the  same  as  a  coarse  Song  in  D'Urfey's  Songs  Compleat,  etc.,  v,   139. 
I  cannot  see  that  Chappell's  note,  quoted  at  greater  length  by  Dyce,  Halliwell,  and 


I2O 


TWELFE  NIGHT 


[ACT  ii,  sc.  iii. 


confanguinious?  Am  I  not  of  her  blood  :  tilly  vally. 
die,  There  dwelt  a  man  in  Babylon,  Lady,  Lady. 


La- 


79.  Am  I  noi\  Am  not  I F3F4,  Rowe, 
Pope,  Han. 

79,  80.  vally.   Ladle,]  vally.    Lady! 


80 


vally  f 


Ff.      vally,   Lady  !    Rowe,  -I- . 
Lady  !  Cap. 

80.   Lady.]  Lady  [Singing]  Rowe. 


others,  throws  any  illumination  whatever  on  the  text.  Why  Sir  Toby  called  Mal- 
volio  a  Peg-a-Ramsey,  or  wherein  consisted  the  opprobrium,  no  one,  I  suppose, 
but  Sir  Toby  can  tell.— ED.] 

78.  Three  .  .  .  wee]  STEEVENS  :  The  fragment  of  some  old  song  ;  perhaps  the 
following,  in  The  Old  Wiues  Tale  by  Peele,  1595,  may  be  the  original.  Anticke, 
one  of  the  characters,  says  :  '  — let  us  rehearse  the  old  proverb  :  Three  merry  men, 
and  three  merry  men,  And  three  merry  men  be  we ;  I  in  the  wood,  and  thou  on  the 
ground,  And  Jack  sleeps  in  the  tree. '[I,  i,  p.  208,  ed.  Dyce.]  I  find  it  repeated  in 
Dekker  and  Webster's  Westward  Ho,  1607,  [V,  iii,  p.  125,  ed.  Dyce]  ;  and  by 
Beaumont  &  Fletcher,  in  The  Knight  of  the  Burning  Pestle,  [1611,  II,  viii,  ed. 
Dyce,]  ;  again,  in  The  Bloody  Brother,  of  the  same  authors  :  '  Three  merry  boys, 
and  three  merry  boys,  And  three  merry  boys  are  we,  As  ever  did  sing  in  a  hempen 
string  Under  the  gallow-tree'  [III,  ii,  ed.  Dyce];  again,  in  Ram  Alley,  1611 
[II,  i]. — HAWKINS  :  This  is  a  conclusion  common  to  many  old  songs.  One  of  the 
most  humourous  that  I  recollect,  is  the  following  :  '  The  Wisemen  were  but  seven, 
nere  more  shall  be  for  me  ;  The  Muses  were  but  nine,  the  Worthies  three  times  three  ; 
And  three  merry  boyes,  and  three  merry  boyes  are  we.  The  Virtues  were  but  seven, 
and  three  the  greater  be ;  The  Caesars  they  were  twelve,  and  fatal  Sisters  three ; 
And  three  merry  girles,  and  three  merry  girles  are  we. '[Antidote  against  Melancholy, 
1661,  p.  85,  Collier's  Reprint.} — CHAPPELL  (p.  216) :  The  tune  is  contained  in  a 
MS  commonplace  book,  in  the  handwriting  of  John  Playford,  the  publisher  of  The 
Dancing  Master.  [The  following  arrangement,  which  is  somewhat  simpler  than 
Chappell's,  is  given  from  NAYLOR  (p.  188). 


zacs  /»    z        * 

—  j 

i            1     -4 

fm7   IE 

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J 

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» 

.1 

Three      mer  -  ry      men,       and      three       mer  -  ry      men,      and 


three      mer  -  ry      men         be          we,          I         in     the  wood      and 


thou       on      the   ground,   And      Jack    sleeps      in  the          tree. 

79.  tilly  vally]  JOHNSON  :  An  interjection  of  contempt,  which  Sir  Thomas 
More's  lady  is  recorded  to  have  had  very  often  in  her  mouth. — STEEVENS  :  It  may 
be  a  corruption  of  the  Roman  word  (without  a  precise  meaning,  but  indicative  of 
contempt)  Titivilitium.  See  the  Casina  of  Plautus.  ['Non  ego  istuc  verbum 
emissim  titivillitio' — II,  v,  39.  One  can  never  be  sure  that  Steevens  is  in  earnest. 
The  Century  Dictionary  pronounces  the  origin  obscure.  — ED.] — NARES  :  The 


ACT  ii,  sc.  Hi.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  121 

Clo.     Beflirew  me,  the  knights  in  admirable  fooling,  81 

An.  I,  he  do's  well  enough  if  he  be  difpos'd,  and  fo 
do  I  too  :  he  does  it  with  a  better  grace,  but  I  do  it  more 
naturall.  84 

8l.  knights]  knight's  Ff. 

Hostess  corrupts  it  to  '  tilly-fally '  in  2  Hen.  IV:  II,  iv,  90:  'Tilly-fally,  Sir  John, 
ne'er  tell  me ;  your  ancient  swaggerer  comes  not  in  my  doors.'  We  read,  in  the 
life  of  Sir  Thomas  More,  that  his  wife,  who  was  a  loquacious  troublesome  woman, 
was  much  addicted  to  the  use  of  this  expression  ;  of  which  two  remarkable  instances 
are  given.  One  when  Sir  Thomas  had  resigned  the  seals,  she  said  :  ' Tillie  vallie, 
tillie  vallie,  what  will  you  do,  Mr.  More,  will  you  sit  and  make  goslings  in  the 
ashes  ?'  The  other,  when  he  was  in  prison  in  The  Tower,  where,  when  he  asked, 
'  Is  not  this  house  as  near  heaven  as  mine  own?'  she  answered,  after  her  custom, 
•Tillie  vallie,  tillie  vallie.'  Both  these  are  in  Dibdin's  Introd.  to  Utopia,  p.  xv. 
— H  EATH  says  it  corresponds  to  fiddle  faddle. 

79,  80.  vally.     Ladie]  From  ROWE  to  CAPELL  the  words  '  tilly  vally.     Ladie ' 
are  printed  in  Italics,  as  though  part  of  the  song  ;   (Caulfield  actually  gives  the  music 
for  them).    STAUNTON  prints  '  Lady'  in  Italics,  apparently  for  the  same  reason  that 
Rowe  so  printed  the  whole  phrase.     It  was  CAPELL  who  first  perceived  that  they 
were  part  of  Sir  Toby's  speech,  and  punctuates,  as  I  think,  properly.     'Lady' 
might  be,  possibly,  in  quotation  marks;  it  refers,  I  think,  to  Maria's  use  of  it  to 
intimidate  Sir  Toby  into  better  behaviour.     This  it  is,  which  rouses  his  indignation, 
that  she  should  be  '  Lady '  to  him  who  was  consanguineous,  one  of  her  blood ;  and 
he    pronounces   the  word    contemptuously.     Again,   as  before   in    '  caterwauling,' 
'Lady'  here  suggests  the  Babylonian  song. — ED. 

80.  There  dwelt,  etc.]  T.  WARTON  :  The  ballad  whence  this  line  is  taken  was 
licensed  by  T.  Colwell,  in  1562,  under  the  title  of  'the  godly  and  constante  Wyfe 
Susanna'    [Arber's    Transcript  (i,   210)  reads  'wise  Susanna. — ED.] — PERCY  (i, 
187)  :  This  old  ballad  is  preserved  in  the  Pepys  Collection,  but  is  so  poor  a  perform- 
ance that  it  will  be  sufficient  here  to  give  the  first  stanza  :  '  There  dwelt  a  man  in 
Babylon  Of  reputation  great  by  fame,  He  took  to  wife  a  faire  woman,  Susanna  she 
was  callde  by  name  ;  A  woman  fair  and  vertuous  ;  Lady,  lady  ;  Why  should  we  not 
of  her  learn  thus  To  live  godly?' — TYRWHITT:  A  song  with  the  same  burthen  is 
alluded  to  in  Jonson's  Magnetic  Lady,  '  Compass.  As  true  it  is,  lady,  lady,  in  the 
song.' [IV,  iii.] — MALONE  :  The  oldest  song  that  I  have  seen  with  this  burden  is 
in  the  old  Morality,   entitled   The   Trial  of  Treasure,   1567. — COLLIER  :   In  the 
volume  of  Old  Ballads,  printed  for  the  Percy  Society,  1840,  is  one  by  Elderton  to 
the  same  tune,  printed  as  early  as  1559.     It  is  entitled,  '  The  Panges  of  Love,  and 
Lovers'  Fittest — HALLIWELL  :  Sir  Hugh,  in  the  original  sketch  of  the  Merry  Wives, 
ed.  1602,  quotes  the  first  line  of  this  ballad.     There  are  several  known  black-letter 
editions  of  the  ballad,  varying  slightly  from  each  other.     The  burden  '  Lady,  lady '  is 
very  common  in  old  ballads. — NAYI.OR  (p.  189)  gives  a  musical  setting  of  this  ballad 
which  is  anonymous,  and,  he  remarks,  '  most  probably  later  than  Shakespeare's  time.' 

Si.  Beshrew  me]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  Literally,  may  mischief  befall  me.  It  was 
used  merely  as  a  strong  asseveration,  as  similar  expressions  are  still  by  persons  whose 
vocabulary  is  limited. 

84.  natural]  Inasmuch  as  a  'natural'  means  an  idiot,  ABBOTT  (p.  497)  thinks 
that  there  is  here  '  a  pun.' 


122  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  n,  sc.  iii. 

To.     0  the  twelfe  day  of  December.  85 

Mar.     For  the  loue  o'God  peace. 
Enter  Maluolio. 

Mai.  My  mafters  are  you  mad?  Or  what  are  you  ? 
Haue  you  no  wit,  manners,  nor  honeftie,  but  to  gabble 
like  Tinkers  at  this  time  of  night  ?  Do  yee  make  an  Ale-  90 

houfe  of  my  Ladies  houfe,  that  ye  fqueak  out  your  Cozi- 
ers  Catches  without  any  mitigation  or  remorfe  of  voice? 
Is  there  no  refpecl:  of  place,  perfons,  nor  time  in  you  ? 

To.    We  did  keepe  time  fir  in  our  Catches.    Snecke  vp.  94 

85.  O]  Oh!  Ktly.  91,  92.   Coziers]   Cosier?  Han.  Dyce. 

the    twelfe]     Fa.       twelf    F3F4.  Cottiers    Warb.        Clothiers'     Quincey 

twelfth  Rowe,  Pope,   the  twelfth  Theob.  MS. 

et  seq.  94.  Snecke  "vp.~\  F7.   Strike  up.  Rowe 

December.]  December.  [Singing]  ii,  Pope,  Han.   Sneck  up!  [Hiccoughs.] 

Rowe    et    seq.    (subs.)       December, —  Theob.  Warb.  Johns.     Sneck-up !  Cap. 

Theob.  Warb.  et  seq.  Sta.   sneak-cup  ?  Cap.  conj.  Ran.    Snick 

89.  gabble]  gobble  Coll.  MS,  ap.  Cam.  up!    Coll.       Snick-up!    Dyce,    Huds. 

91.  ye~\  you  Han.  Huds.  Sneck  up.  or  sneck  up  !  F  F4  et  cet. 

85.  O  the  twelfe]  WALKER  (Crit.  i,  104)  :  Read  '  O'  th'  twelfth,'  etc.  It  is 
the  first  line  of  a  narrative  ballad. — COLLIER  (ed.  ii.)  :  No  other  trace  remains  of 
this  ballad.  Opposite  these  words,  in  the  MS,  we  find  written  '  17  Nov.,'  which 
may  mean  that  in  the  time  of  the  annotator  a  song  on  the  iyth  Nov.  (the  anniver- 
sary of  Elizabeth's  accession)  was  substituted  for  the  then  perhaps  forgotten  piece 
«  O  !  the  twelfth  day  of  December.' 

89.  but  to  gabble]  ABBOTT  (§  122)  :  That  is,  to  prevent  you  from  gabbling. 
[Where  see  other  examples  of  this  '  but '  signifying  prevention.] 

90.  Tinkers]  SCHMIDT  (Lex. ):  Proverbial  tipplers    and  would-be   politicians. 
[That  tinkers  were  of  the  lowest  order,  classed  with  gipsies  and  vagabonds,  and 
their  trade  a  noisy  one,  are  sufficient  reasons  for  Malvolio's  application  of  the  word. 
It  is  their  gabbling  like  tinkers,  not  their  drinking  like  tinkers  that  he  denounces. 
—ED.] 

91.  92.  Coziers]  MURRAY  (N.  E.  Z>.) :  A  Cobbler;  an  adaptation  of  the  Old 
French  coustre  seamster,  tailor,  accusative  couseor,  -eur,  formed  on  coudre,  cousant, 
to  sew  ;  cf.  Spanish  coser,  to  sew. 

94.  keepe  time]  NAYLOR  (p.  87)  :  To  'keep  time'  is  almost  the  only  virtue  a 
catch  singer  must  have. 

94.  Snecke  vp]  STEEVENS  :  The  modern  editors  seem  to  have  regarded  this 
unintelligible  phrase  as  the  designation  of  a  hiccup  [See  Text.  Notes}.  It  is,  how- 
ever, used  in  Beaumont  &  Fletcher's  Knight  of  the  Burning  Pestle:  '  No,  Michael, 
let  thy  father  go  sneck  up.'  [II,  ii,  'snick-up,'  ed.  Dyce.]  Again,  in  the  same  play: 
'  give  him  his  money,  George,  and  let  him  go  sneck  up.'  [Ill,  ii,  'snick-up,'  ed. 
Dyce.]  Again,  in  Wily  Beguiled:  'An  if  my  mistress  would  be  ruled  by  him, 
Sophos  might  go  snick-up.'  [p.  285,  ed.  Hazlitt-Dodsley.]  Again,  in  Two  Angrie 
Women  of  Abington,  1599  :  '  his  men  be  good  fellows,  so  it  is  ;  if  they  be  not,  let 
them  go  snick  up.'  [p.  272,  ed.  Hazlitt-Dodsley.]  Again,  in  Heywood's  Fair  Maid 


ACT  ii,  sc.  iii.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  123 

Mai.     Sir  Toby,  I  muft  be  round  with  you.    My  Lady  95 

bad  me  tell  you,  that  though  (he  harbors  you  as  her  kinf- 
man,  she's  nothing  ally'd  to  your  diforders.  If  you  can 
feparate  your  felfe  and  your  mifdemeanors,  you  are  wel- 
come to  the  houfe  :  if  not,  and  it  would  pleafe  you  to  take 
leaue  of  her,  (he  is  very  willing  to  bid  you  farewell.  100 

96.  that  though']   that   F$F4,   Rowe,  96,97.  kin/man]  Uncle  Rowe  ii,  + . 

Pope,  Han.  99.  and  if]  an  it  Pope  et  seq. 

of  the  West :  '  I  Drawer.  Bess,  you  must  fill  some  wine  into  the  Portcullis ;  the 
gentlemen  there  will  drink  none  but  of  your  drawing.  Spencer.  She  shall  not  rise, 
sir.  Go,  let  your  master  snick-up.  I  Draw.  And  that  should  be  cousin-german  to 
the  hick-up.'  [p.  12,  ed.  Sh.  Soc.]  In  /  Hen.  IV:  III,  iii,  99,  Falstaff  says,  '  How  ! 
the  prince  is  a  Jack,  a  sneak-cup,'  i.  e.  one  who  takes  his  glass  in  a  sneaking  manner. 
I  think  we  might  safely  read  sneak-cup,  at  least,  in  Sir  Toby's  reply  to  Malvolio. 
[Capell's  conjecture ;  see  Text.  Notes.] — MALONE :  This  cant  phrase  occurs  in 
many  of  the  old  comedies.  From  the  connection  in  all  of  them,  it  seems  to  have 
been  synonymous  to  the  modern  expression,  'Go  hang  yourself.' — CROFT  (p.  10) 
would  omit  all  punctuation  in  the  line,  and  interpret  it,  '  We  did  keep  time  in  our 
catches  close  together.' — BOSWELL  :  Weber,  in  a  note  on  the  passage  from  The 
Knight  of  the  Burning  Pestle,  has  clearly  shown  that  '  snick  up '  meant  go  hang 
yourself,  by  the  following  very  apposite  quotation  from  Taylor,  the  Water  Poet's 
Praise  of  Hempseed :  'To  end  this  matter,  thus  much  I  assure  you,  A  Tiburne 
Hempen-caudell  well  will  cure  you.  It  can  cure  Traytors,  but  I  hold  it  fit  T' apply 't 
ere  they  the  treason  doe  commit ;  Wherefore  in  Sparta  it  ycleped  was,  Snickup, 
which  is  in  English  Gallow-grasse.'  [p.  552,  ed.  Spenser  Soc. — ap.  Wright.] — '  R.  R.' 
(jV.  &°  Qu.  1st,  i,  467,  May,  1850)  quotes  from  HalliwelPs  Archaic  Diet.  :  '  Sneck, 
that  part  of  the  iron  fastening  of  a  door  which  is  raised  by  moving  the  latch.  To  sneck 
a  door  is  to  latch  it ' ;  and,  therefore,  concludes  that  Sir  Toby  means,  close  up,  shut 
up. — HALLIWELL  :  A  phrase  of  great  indignation  and  contempt,  equivalent  to,  be 
hanged  !  It  was  possibly  a  corruption  of,  his  neck  up  !  A  rural  charm  for  the 
hiccough  commences  'hick-up,  snick-up.'  The  phrase  snick  up  is  still  used  in  the 
eastern  Counties  in  England  in  the  sense  of  begone,  away  with  you !  [Halliwell 
here  adds  two  or  three  examples  to  those  given  above,  of  the  use  of  the  phrase,  but 
none  more  conclusive  than  that  from  Taylor  the  Water  Poet,  nor  better  than  the  fol- 
lowing from  CHAPPELL  (p.  289),  quoted  by  Staunton  ;  it  is  somewhat  late  in  date, 
but  '  'twill  serve";  it  is  from  a  song  'by  Patrick  Carey,  a  loyal  cavalier,  on  bidding 
farewell  to  his  hospitable  entertainers  at  Wickham,  in  1651]  :  'And  now,  helter- 
skelter,  to  th'  rest  of  the  house  ;  The  most  are  good  fellows,  and  love  to  carouse  ; 
Who's  not,  may  go  sneck-up ;  he's  not  worth  a  louse  That  stops  a  health  i'  th' 
round.' 

95.  round]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  That  is,  plainspoken,  straightforward.  So  in  Hen. 
V :  IV,  i,  216  :  '  Your  reproof  is  something  too  round.'  And  Hamlet,  III,  ii,  191  : 
'  Let  her  be  round  with  him.'  Again  in  Bacon,  Essay  i,  p.  3  :  'It  will  be  acknowl- 
edged, even  by  those,  that  practise  it  not,  that  cleare  and  Round  dealing  is  the  Hon- 
our of  Mans  Nature.' 

99,  100.  it  would  .  .  .  she  is]  See  ABBOTT,  §  371,  for  other  examples  where 
'  the  consequent  does  not  answer  to  the  antecedent  in  mood  or  tense.' 


I24 


TWELFE  NIGHT 


[ACT  ii,  sc.  Hi. 


To.    Farewell  deere  heart,  fince  I  muft  needs  be  gone.          101 

Mar.     Nay  good  Sir  Toby. 

Clo.     His  eyes  do  fhevv  his  dayes  are  almoft  done. 

Mai.     Is't  euen  fo  ? 

To.     But  I  will  neuer  dye.  105 

Clo.    Sir  Toby  there  you  lye. 

Mai.     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  f pare  not  ?  1 10 

Clo.    0  no ,  no ,  no ,  no ,  you  dare  not . 


101.  As  a  quotation,  Theob.  et  seq. 
[Singing.  Han. 

1 02.  Mar.]  Mai.  Pope, +  ,Var.  Ran. 
Mai.  Steev.  Sta. 

103.  As  a  quotation,  Theob.  et  seq. 
105.  As  a  quotation,  [singing]    Han. 

[Falls  down  drunkenly.  Hal. 


105.   neuer\  nevery  Fa. 

108.  go.]  goe?   Ff.    go?   [Singing} 
Rowe. 

109.  and  if]  an  if  Theob.  et  seq. 
in.   no,  no,  no,  no,]  no,  no,  no,  F4, 

Rowe,  + . 


101-106.  It  will  be  noticed  that  the  snatches  of  the  Song  are  not  printed  in 
Italics,  as  they  should  be,  until  we  come  to  line  108.  For  this  I  know  of  no  expla- 
nation other  than  that,  owing  to  the  interspersed  prose,  the  compositor  did  not  at  first 
recognise,  from  his  reader's  voice,  that  they  were  lines  of  a  song.  From  Maria's 
remonstrance,  '  Nay,  good  sir  Toby,'  it  is  to  be  inferred  that  the  knight  addressed 
his  'Farewell,  dear  heart'  personally  to  her,  accompanied  with  some  tipsy  demon- 
strations of  affection.  In  the  Clown's,  'Sir  Toby  there  you  lye,'  CAPELL  (ii,  146) 
detects  '  a  waggish  remark  in  tune  upon  a  great  stumble  of  Sir  Toby's  which  brings 
him  almost  upon  his  nose.'  See  Halliwell's  stage-direction  in  Text.  Notes. — ED. 

1 01- 1 1 1.  Farewell  deere  heart,  etc.]  PERCY  (i,  187)  :  Corydon's  Farewell  to 
Phyllis — is  an  attempt  to  point  a  lover's  irresolution,  but  so  poorely  executed,  that 
it  would  not  have  been  admitted  into  this  collection,  if  it  had  not  been  quoted  in 
Twelfth  Night.  It  is  found  in  a  little  ancient  miscellany  intitled  The  golden  Gar- 
land of  princely  delights,  12  mo.  bl.  let.  [The  '  Farewell '  extends  to  five  stanzas  ;  it 
is  only  from  the  first  two,  here  given,  that  Sir  Toby  and  Feste  sing  snatches]  : 

Farewell,  dear  love ;  since  thou  wilt  needs  begone, 
Mine  eyes  do  shew,  my  life  is  almost  done. 
Nay  I  will  never  die,  so  long  as  I  can  spie 
There  be  many  mo,  though  that  she  doe  goe. 
There  be  many  mo,  I  fear  not ; 
Why  then  let  her  goe,  I  care  not. 

Farewell,  farewell  ;  since  this  I  find  is  true, 
I  will  not  spend  more  time  in  wooing  you  ; 

But  I  will  seek  elsewhere,  if  I  may  find  love  there ; 
Shall  I  bid  her  goe  ?  what  and  if  I  doe  ? 
Shall  I  bid  her  goe  and  spare  not  ? 
O  no,  no,  no,  I  dare  not. 


ACT  ii,  sc.  Hi.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  125 

To.     Out  o'tune  fir,  ye  lye  :  Art  any  more  then  a  Stew-         1 1 2 


112.  tune  fir, ~\  tune,  sir,  Rowe,  Pope, 
Han.  Cap.  Var.  '78,  '85.  time,  sir? 
Theob.  Wh.  i,  Dyce,  Rife,  Huds.  time, 
sir,  Warb.  Johns.  Var.  '73,  Ran.  Mai. 
Wh.  ii.  time?  sir,  Steev.  Var.  '03,  '13, 


'21,  Knt,  Hal.     tune  .'—Sir,  Coll.  i,  ii, 
Ktly.     tune,  sir?  Sta.     tune,  sir:  Glo. 
Cam.     time! — sir,  Coll.  iii. 
112.  Art]  Art  thou  Rowe,  +  . 


HALLIWELL-PHILLIPPS  (Outlines,  etc.,  p.  264)  :  This  ballad  first  appeared  in  the 
Booke  of  Ayres  composed  by  Robert  Jones,  1601.  Jones  does  not  profess  to  be  the 
author  of  the  words  of  this  song,  for  he  observes, — 'If  the  ditties  dislike  thee,  'tis 
my  fault  that  was  so  bold  to  publish  the  private  contentments  of  divers  gentlemen 
without  their  consents,  though,  I  hope,  not  against  their  wils ' ;  but  there  is  every 
reason  to  believe  that  the  ditty  referred  to  in  Twelfth  Night  was  first  published  in 
this  work,  a  collection  of  new,  not  of  old,  songs.  [The  music  in  the  Booke  of  Ayres, 
I  am  not  able  to  give  ;  I  do  not  know  that  it  has  been  ever  reprinted.  It  is  not  in 
Chappell.  The  following  is  from  John  Caulfield's  Collection  of  the  Vocal  Music 
of  Shakespear 's  Plays  .  .  .  Chiefly  from  the  Collection  of  IV.  Kitchener,  Esf  M.  D. 
.  .  .  Arranged  by  Mr.  Addison.  n.  d. 


TOBY. 


CLOWN. 


Fare    well    dear  heart,  since  I   must   needs     be    gone      His   eyes  do 

TOBY. 


shew    his  days  are    al    -    most  done.     But     I     will    nev  -  er,   nev  -  er 
CLOWN. 


nev  -  er    die.       Oh  there  Sir     To  -  by,  there,  oh     there   you     lie. 


This  is  reprinted  by  Naylor  (p.  190),  who  adds  that  it  'can  hardly  be  the  original 
tune  of  Corydon's  Farewell  to  Phillis.' — ED.] 

106.  you  lye]  R.  G.  WHITE  (ed.  i)  :  The  original  has  '  there  thou  lie,' — a  mis- 
take caused  by  the  common  use  of  y  for  th  in  monosyllables.  [This  may  possibly  be 
an  illustration  of  the  fact  that  copies  of  the  First  Folio,  like  many  other  books 
printed  at  that  time,  vary  in  trifling  particulars.  The  word  is  '  you  '  in  my  own 
copy  of  the  Folio ;  it  is  'you'  in  Booth's  inimitable  Reprint;  also  in  Staunton's 
Photolithograph,  and  the  CAMBRIDGE  EDITORS  have  no  record  of  any  other  reading. 
If  White  had  access  to  a  First  Folio,  and  spoke  from  personal  knowledge,  the  vari- 
ation would  be  undoubted,  but,  I  think,  he  must  have  consulted  Vernor  &  Hood's 
Reprint,  of  1807,  where  the  word  in  question  is  printed  '  thou.'  In  a  MS  list  (made 
by  UPCOTT,  and  now  before  me)  of  errors  in  this  Reprint,  thou  in  the  present  line 
is  marked  as  a  misprint  for  'you.' — ED.] 

112.  Out  o"  tune]  THEOBALD  silently  changed  'tune'  to  time,  presumably  to 
bring  it  into  accord  with  what  Sir  Toby  had  said  in  line  94  ;  he  has  been  followed 


126  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  n,  sc.  iii. 

ard  ?    Doft  thou  thinke  becaufe  thou  art  vertuous,  there         1 1 3 
fliall  be  no  more  Cakes  and  Ale  ? 

C/o.     Yes  by  6". Anne,  and  Ginger  fliall  bee  hotte  y'th         115 
mouth  too. 

115.  S.  Anne,~\  S.  Ann,  F  .    Saint  Anne,  Ran.  Cam.  Rife.     Saint  Anne  ;  Rowe 
et  cet. 

hy  the  majority  of  editors. — M ALONE  :  In  the  MSS  of  our  author's  age,  tune  and 
time  are  often  quite  indistinguishable  ;  the  second  stroke  of  the  u  seeming  to  be  the 
first  stroke  of  the  m,  or  -vice  versa.  Hence,  in  Macbeth,  IV,  iii,  235,  in  the  First 
Folio  we  have  'This  time  goes  manly'  instead  of  'This  tune,  etc.  [See  also 
'  untunable'  in  As  You  Like  It,  V,  iii,  36,  37,  where  the  context  makes  it  doubtful 
that  the  true  reading  be  not  untimeable. — ED.] — COLLIER  (who  adhered  to  'tune' 
in  two  editions,  but  silently  adopted  time  in  his  third)  :  All  that  Sir  Toby  means  is, 
that  the  Clown  had  sung  out  of  tune.  '  Sir,  ye  lie  !'  is  addressed  to  Malvolio  for 
the  purpose  of  affronting  him. — DYCE  :  The  whole  of  this  line  is  obviously  spoken 
to  Malvolio.  TTte  Clown  would  hardly  sing  out  of  tune  ;  he  ist&e  singer  of  the  play. 
— R.  G.  WHITE  {Shakespeare's  Scholar,  p.  285)  :  Theobald's  correction,  time,  is 
manifestly  demanded.  .  .  .  The  intoxicated  knight  reverts,  in  the  true  revolving  style 
of  drunken  thought,  to  the  remark  [of  Malvolio  in  line  93]  to  which  he  had  first 
replied ;  and  again,  with  comical  earnestness,  defends  the  party  against  the  sup- 
posed or  assumed  attack  upon  their  musical  accuracy.  The  text  [of  the  First  Folio] 
destroys  one  fine  exhibition  of  the  poet's  knowledge  of  the  workings  of  the  mind 
under  all  circumstances. — STAUNTON  :  Very  needlessly  changed  to  'out  of  time!'' 
in  most  editions.  Sir  Toby  desires  an  excuse  for  insulting  the  Steward,  and  finds  it 
in  pretending  he  had  decried  their  singing.  [I  think  the  Folio  is  exactly  right,  and 
that  the  words  are  addressed  to  Feste.  Throughout  the  singing  both  Sir  Toby  and 
Feste  have  changed  the  sex  in  the  original  Song  from  '  her '  to  him,  in  order  to  make 
it  fit  the  hour  and  Malvolio.  To  Sir  Toby's  question,  '  Shall  I  bid  him  go  and  spare 
not  ?'  Feste  gives  a  more  emphatic  denial  than  the  metre  allows ;  the  original  has 
only  three  '  noes,'  Feste  adds  a  fourth,  this  extra  'no'  of  course  demanded  an  extra 
note  (possibly  sung  fortissimo),  which  Sir  Toby  detects  and  says  'Out  o'  tune,  sir  !' 
then,  resenting  this  most  pronounced  imputation  on  his  courage,  that  he  dare  not  bid 
Malvolio  go,  he  adds  '  ye  lie.'  Whereupon,  to  prove  his  courage  he  turns  on  Mal- 
volio with,  'Art  any  more,'  etc. — ED.] 
112.  Art]  See  line  28,  above. 

114.  Cakes  and  Ale]  LETHERLAND  :  It  was  the  custom  on  holidays  and  saints' 
days  to  make  cakes  in  honour  of  the  day.     The  Puritans  called  this   superstition. 
See  Quarlous's  account  of  Rabbi  Busy  in  Jonson's  Bartholomew  Fair.     [The  scene 
referred  to,  is  as  follows  :  '  Winwife.  What  call  you  the  reverend  elder  you  told  me 
of,  your  Banbury  man  ?     Littlevnt.  Rabbi  Busy,  sir  ;  he  is  more  than  an  elder,  he 
is  a  prophet,  sir.      Quarlous.  O,  I  know  him  !  a  baker,  is  he  not  ?     Lit.  He  was 
a  baker,   sir,   but  he  does  dream   now,   and   see  visions ;   he  has  given  over  his 
trade.      Quar.  I  remember  that  too  ;  out  of  a  scruple  he  took,  that,  in  spiced  con- 
science, those  cakes  he  made,  were  served  to  bridales,  may-poles,  morrices,  and 
such  profane  feasts  and  meetings.     His  Christian -name  is  Zeal-of-the-land.     Lit. 
Yes,  sir;  Zeal-of-the-land  Busy.'  I,  i,  p.  385,  ed.  Gifford.] 

115.  S.Anne]  Why   Feste  and   Christopher  Sly   should  both   swear  by   Saint 


ACT  ii,  sc.  iii.]  OR,    WHAT  YOU  WILL  1 27 

To.     Th'art  i'th  right.     Goe  fir,  rub  your  Chaine  with         117 
crums.     A  ftope  of  Wine  Maria. 

Mai.     Miftris  Mary,  if  you  priz'd  my  Ladies  fauour 
at  any  thing  more  then  contempt,   you  would  not  giue         1 20 
meanes  for  this  vnciuill  rule ;  fhe  fhall  know  of  it  by  this 
hand.  Exit         122 

117.  TWarl\  T/tou'rt  Rowe  et  seq.  121.  this]  his  Ktly. 

1 1 8.  Jlope\    Ff.      stoup  Cam.    Rife,  of  it  by\  of  it,  by  Rowe  et  seq. 
Dtn,  Wh.  ii.     stoop  Rowe  et  cet. 

Anne,  I  do  not  know.  In  Chambers'  Book  of  Days  (ii,  389)  a  '  whimsical  satire  of 
the  sixteenth  century '  is  given,  wherein  we  find  :  '  St.  Anne  gives  wealth  and  living 
great  to  such  as  love  her  most,  And  is  a  perfect  finder  out  of  things  that  have  been 
lost.'  In  The  Two  Angry  Women  of  Abington,  Mall  Barnes  says,  '  Now,  by  Saint 
Anne,  I  will  not  die  a  maid.'  p.  292,  ed.  Hazlitt-Dodsley. — ED. 

115.  Ginger]  Gerarde  (Herball,  p.  62)  classes  ginger,  'canded,  greene,  or  con- 
dited,'  among  the  aphrodisiacs. — ED. 

117,  118.  Chaine  with  crums]  JOHNSON:  I  suppose  it  should  be  read,  'rub 
your  chin  with  crums,'  alluding  to  what  had  been  said  before  that.  Malvolio  was  only 
a  steward,  and  consequently  dined  after  his  lady.  [This  emendation  continued  to 
appear  in  the  Variorums  of  1773  and  1778,  but  in  the  Variorum  of  1785,  the  first 
after  Dr  Johnson' s  death,  it  was  mercifully  suppressed. — ED.] — STEEVENS  :  Stewards 
anciently  wore  a  chain  as  a  mark  of  superiority  over  other  servants.  Thus,  in 
Love's  Cure  by  Beaumont  &  Fletcher,  '  Piorato.  Is  your  chain  right?  Bobadilla. 
It  is  both  right  and  just,  sir  ;  For  though  I  am  a  steward,  I  did  get  it  With  no  man's 
wrong.' [Ill,  ii.  Again  in  the  same  Play,  II,  ii,  Clara  says,  'Thou  false  and  per- 
emptory steward  !  For  I  will  hang  thee  up  in  thine  own  chain ' ;  Dyce  thereupon 
remarks  :  '  That  in  great  families,  a  gold  chain  was  worn  by  stewards  appears  from 
innumerable  passages  of  our  early  writers.'  It  is  needless,  therefore,  to  multiply 
examples.  The  following  apt  quotation  will  suffice,  it  not  only  confirms  the  wear- 
ing of  chains,  but  also  the  mode  of  cleaning  them  recommended  to  Malvolio ; 
Steevens  quotes  from  Webster's,  Dutchess  of  Malfi ,  'Fourth  Officer.  How  scurvy 
proud  he  would  look,  when  the  treasury  was  full  !  well,  let  him  go.  First  Officer. 
Yes,  and  the  chippings  of  the  buttery  fly  after  him,  to  scour  his  gold  chain.'  Ill,  ii, 
p.  241,  ed.  Dyce.  There  is  a  reference  to  a  '  usurer's  chain'  in  Much  Ado,  II,  i, 
183.— ED.] 

121.  vnciuill  rule]  JOHNSON:  'Rule'  is  method  of  life;  so  misrule  is  tumult 
and  riot. — STEEVENS  :  '  Rule '  on  this  occasion  is  something  less  than  common 
'method  of  life.'  It  occasionally  means  the  arrangement  or  conduct  of  a  festival  or 
merry-making,  as  well  as  behavior  in  general.  So,  in  Drayton,  Pclyolbion,  The 
twenty-seventh  Song,  '  Cast  in  a  gallant  round  about  the  hearth  they  go,  And  at  each 
pause  they  kiss,  was  never  seen  such  rule  In  any  place  but  here,  at  bonfire,  or  at 

Yule.'  [p.  375,  ed.  1748.]  Again,  in  Jonson's  Tale  of  a  Tub,  'Puppy. lei 

them  go  Into  the  barn  with  a  warrant,  seize  the  fiend,  And  set  him  in  the  stocks  for 
his  ill  rule.'  [IV,  v,  p.  217,  ed.  Gifford.]— HALLIWELL  quotes  from  Calthrop's 
Reports,  1670 :  '  No  man  shall  after  the  hour  of  nine  at  night,  keep  any  rule 
whereby  any  such  sudden  outcry  be  made  in  the  still  of  the  night,  as  making  any  affray 
or  beating  his  wife,  or  servant,  or  singing,  or  revelling  in  his  house,'  etc. — DYCE 


128  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  n,  sc.  iii. 

Mar.     Go  fhake  your  eares.  123 

An.    'Twere  as  good  a  deede  as  to  drink  when  a  mans 

a  hungrie,  to  challenge  him  the  field,  and  then  to  breake          125 

promife  with  him,  and  make  a  foole  of  him. 

123.  Mar.]  Mai.  F4.  125.  the  field'}  Ff,  Rowe  i,  Knt,  Coll. 

125.  a    hungrie\    hungry   Var.    '21.         ii,  Hal.  Dyce,  Cam.  Sta.   Rife,  Huds. 

a-hungry  Coll.  Dyce,  Cam.  Ktly.  Dtn,  Wh.  ii.    to  the  field  Rowe  ii  et  cet. 


(Gloss.}  :  I  believe  ['rule']  is  equivalent  to  'revel,  noisy  sport':  Coles  has  'Rule 
(stir),  Tumultus.'1 — Lot.  and  Eng.  Diet.;  and  compare  night-rule. 

121,  122.  by  this  hand]  See  I,  iii,  34. 

123.  shake  your  eares]  HALLIWELL  :  In  the  Epitaph  of  the  worthie  knight  Sir 
Henrie  Sidney,  Lord  President  of  Wales,  1591,  we  read, — '  Hence,  therefore,  Death  ! 
go  shake  thine  eares.'  Again,  in  Howell's  Familiar  Letters,  1650,  '  This  being  one 
day  done,  they  shut  their  gates  against  him,  and  made  him  go  shake  his  ears,  and 
to  shift  his  lodging,'  etc. — WALKER  (Crit.  iii,  85)  :  See  Beaumont  &  Fletcher's 
Coxcomb,  II,  iii, — '  Servant.  Cannot  I  deliver  it  [a  letter]  ?  Antonio.  No,  by  my 
trot  and  fait,  canst  thou  not,  man.  Servant.  Well,  sir,  I'll  call  her  to  you  ;  pray, 
shake  your  ears  Without  a  little.' — RUSHTON  (IV.  6°  Qu.  IVth,  x,  369)  calls  attention 
to  the  use  of  the  phrase  in  Lyly'  s  Euphues  and  his  England :  '  Philautus  was  glad 
he  slept  so  long,  and  was  awaked  in  so  good  time,  beeing  as  weary  of  the  seas,  as 
he  that  neuer  vsed  them.  Euphues  not  sorrowfull  of  this  good  newes,  began  to 
shake  his  eares,  and  was  soone  apparailed.'[p.  251,  ed.  Arber.j — W.  A.  WRIGHT: 
Compare  Jul.  Ctzs.  IV,  i,  26 :  '  And  having  brought  our  treasure  where  we  will, 
Then  take  we  down  his  load,  and  turn  him  off,  Like  to  an  empty  ass,  to  shake  his 
ears,  And  graze  in  common.'  [Thus,  Stubbes  (Ckristall  Glasse,  etc.,  1591,  p.  205, 
ed.  New  Sh.  Soc. )  reports  the  words  of  his  wife  which  she  addressed  to  Satan, 
shortly  before  her  death,  in  a  conflict  for  her  soul  :  '  thou  maist  get  thee  packing, 
thou  damned  dog,  &  go  shake  thine  eares,  for  in  me  hast  thou  nought.'  The  present 
passage  is  frequently  interpreted  as  equivalent  to  calling  Malvolio  an  ass.  But  in 
view  of  the  seriousness  with  which  the  phrase  is  used  in  the  foregoing  quotations, 
the  reference  to  an  ass  is  by  no  means  certain.  It  is  quite  probable  that  the  phrase 
might  have  been  originally  derived  from  that  animal,  but  long  usage  had  obscured 
its  origin  and  rendered  it  respectable.  At  the  same  time,  it  is  not  prudent  to  put 
limits  to  Maria's  contempt. — ED.] 

125.  him  the  field]  COLLIER  (ed.  ii)  :  The  authentic  expression  in  cases  of  the 
kind. — SCHMIDT  (Lex.  s.  v.  challenge) :  Perhaps  'to  field.'  Compare  Rom.  &°  Jul. 
Ill,  i,  61,  '  go  before  to  field.'  [Not  an  editor  gives  a  parallel  instance  of  this  use 
of  '  field '  without  a  preposition.  DYCE  notes  that  the  phrase  has  here  been  changed 
to  'to  the  field'  and  adds  'improperly,  I  believe.'  MURRAY  (N.  E.  D.  s.  v.  chal- 
lenge, fc)  gives  but  three  examples,  one  is  doubtful,  another  is  the  present  line,  and 
the  third  is  of  the  year  1693  ;  the  first  and  the  last  are  as  follows  :  '  [1556  Chron.  G. 
Friars  ( 1852)  7  '  Roberte  of  Vere  chalynched  them  in  the  field  and  was  ouercome.]  ' 
'  1693  W.  Robertson,  Phrastol.  Gen.  477  'The  disagreement  grew  so  high,  that  they 
challenged  the  field  one  of  another.'  [Ibid.  601,  To  challenge  one  into  the  field  : 
in  arenam provoc&re  .~\  The  foregoing  brackets  are  Dr  Murray's,  and  indicate,  I  pre- 
sume, that  the  example  thus  enclosed  is,  possibly,  of  doubtful  application.  If  this 
be  so,  there  then  remains  but  one  parallel  example,  and  this  example  is  nearly  a 


ACT  ii,  sc.  Hi.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  129 

To.  Doo't  knight,  lie  write  thee  a  Challenge  :  or  He  127 
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,  fhe  is  130 
much  out  of  quiet.  For  Monfieur  Maluolio,  let  me  alone 
with  him  :  If  I  do  not  gull  him  into  an  ayword,  and  make 
him  a  common  recreation,  do  not  thinke  I  haue  witte  e- 
nough  to  lye  ftraight  in  my  bed  :  I  know  I  can  do  it. 

To.     Poffeffe  vs,  poffeffe  vs,  tell  vs  fomething  of  him.          135 

Mar.     Marrie  fir,  fometimes  he  is  a  kinde  of  Puritane. 

129.  Sweet  Sir  Toby]  Sweet,  Sir  Toby,         Rowe  et  seq.  (subs.)    a  bye-word  L.  H. 
Rowe  i.  ap.  Nichols,  Illust.  ii,  633. 

130.  the  youth']  that  youth  Coll.  MS.  135.  To.]  Sir  And.  Walker,  Dyce  ii» 
Counts]  Duke's  Rowe,  + .  Huds. 

131.  Mon/ieur]  Mounfeeur  Ff.  136.   Puritane]  Fa.    a  Puritane  FJ?^ 

132.  an   ayword]    Ff.      a   nay-word  Rowe, +  . 

century  later.  Under  the  circumstances,  (albeit  that  'challenge  him  the  field' 
sounds  idiomatic,)  I  think  an  editor  would  be  excused,  should  he  yield  to  temp- 
tation and  add  a  to  before  'the  field.'  On  the  other  hand,  INNES  remarks, 
'  Considering  that  Sir  Andrew  is  so  drunk  as  to  talk  of  "  a-hungry  "  when  he  means 
"  thirsty,"  it  is  very  unnecessary  to  follow  the  commentators  who  desire  to  correct 
his  grammar  and  read  "  to  the  field."  '  I  have  always  supposed  that  Sir  Andrew 
thus  confused  the  two  appetites  because  he  was  Sir  Andrew. — ED. 

132.  an  ayword]  STEEVENS  :  This  has  since  been  called  a  byeword,  a  kind  of 
proverbial  reproach.— COLLIER  :  'Ayword'  may  be  the  true  reading,  the  meaning 
being  'an  everlasting  word  ' ;  'ay'  is  ever.— DYCE  (Remarks,  75):  The  explanation 
of  Steevens  is  right.  Forby,  in  his  Vocabulary  of  East  Anglia,  gives  «  Nay-word  .  .  . 
A  bye- word  ;  a  laughing-stock.'— HALLIWELL  :  Nayword  is  probably  a  crasis  for  an 
aye-word,  a  word  that  may  be  always  used,  a  proverbial  reproach.  I  doubt  whether 
Forby  had  heard  the  term  used,  there  being  a  possibility  that  this  word,  with  some 
others  from  Shakespeare,  were  merely  inserted  in  his  MS,  with  the  view  of  ascertain- 
ing whether  he  could  recover  a  provincial  example  of  it.  The  dialectical  glossaries 
are  unfortunately  not  always  to  be  implicitly  relied  upon.— W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  In  the 
Merry  Wives,  II,  ii,  131,  a  '  nay-word '  is  used  for  a  password  :  '  In  any  case  have 
a  nay-word,  that  you  may  know  one  another's  mind,  and  the  boy  never  need  to 
understand  anything.'  And  again,  V,  ii,  5  :  '  We  have  a  nay-word  to  kn«>w  one 
another.'  Possibly  a  'nay-word'  may  have  been  a  word  which  had  no  meaning  to 
anyone  but  the  persons  using  it.  ...  It  is  included  by  Canon  Forman  in  his  Upton- 
on-Severn  Words  and  Phrases  (Eng.  Dialect  Soc.).  [To  the  ear  of  the  compositor 
'an  ayword'  and  a  nayword  were  indistinguishable. — ED.] 

135.  To.]  WALKER  (Crit.  ii,  188)  :  Surely  Sir  Toby  needed  no  information 
respecting  Malvolio.  Rather  Sir  Andrew.  Note,  too,  Maria's  reply,—'  Marry,  sir, 
sometimes,'  etc. 

135.  Possesse  vs]  JOHNSON:  That  is,  inform  us,  tell  us,  make  us  masters  of 
the  matter. 

136.  Puritane]  HALES   (Contemporary  Rev.  Jan.,   1895,  p.  65):  The  play  in 

9 


I3o  TWELFE   NIGHT  [ACT  n,  sc.  iii. 

An.     O,  if  I  thought  that,  Ide  beate  him  like  a  dogge.         137 

To.  What  for  being  a  Puritan,  thy  exquifite  reafon, 
deere  knight. 

An.  I  haue  no  exquifite  reafon  for' t,  but  I  haue  reafon  140 
good  enough. 

Mar.  The  diu'll  a  Puritane  that  hee  is,  or  any  thing 
conftantly  but  a  time-pleafer,  an  affe&ion'd  Affe,  that 
cons  State  without  booke,and  vtters  it  by  great  fwarths.  144 

138.  Puritan,]  Puritan  ?    F4,  Rowe  143.  affeflion'd]  affected  Han.  Ran. 
et  seq.  Var.  '85. 

139.  knight. ~\    knight?  Cap.  et    seq.  144.  fwarths\   swaths   Coll.   Wh.    i, 
(except  Coll.  who  has  knight!)  Dyce  ii,  Huds. 

which  Shakespeare  most  nearly  approaches, — but  only  approaches, — the  subject  of 
Puritanism  is  unquestionably  Twelfth  Night.  There  is  a  touch  of  the  Puritan  in 
Malvolio,  but  the  merest  touch.  Fabian's  remark,  'You  know  he  brought  me  out 
o'  favour  with  my  lady  about  a  bear-baiting  here'  (II,  v,  8),  cannot  but  remind  one 
of  the  Puritan  disapproval  of  popular  sports ;  and  the  stiff  and  ungenial  respecta- 
bility, and  the  acrid  manner  of  the  Steward  were  certainly  features  vulgarly  asso- 
ciated with  those  unpopular  pharisees,  who  often  enough  seemed,  rightly  or  wrongly, 
to  '  the  man  in  the  street'  to  cultivate  the  art  of  being  disagreeable. — ROLFE  {Poet- 
lore,  July,  1898,  p.  420)  :  Malvolio  at  no  time  talks  like  a  Puritan,  as  he  would 
naturally  have  done  if  he  had  been  one,  when  he  catoe  in  to  reprove  the  midnight 
roysterers.  It  is  the  noise  and  disturbance  they  are  making  at  that  unseasonable  hour 
for  which  he  reproaches  them,  not  the  sin  of  their  drunken  revelry,  against  which  a 
Puritan  would  have  inveighed.  Falstaff  was  a  better  Puritan  when  he  played  the 
part  of  one  at  The  Boar's  Head  (/  Hen.  IV :  II,  iv,  421)  and  lectured  Prince  Hal 
on  his  profligate  habits. 

137.  if  ...  dogge]  W.  A.  WRIGHT:  Sir  Andrew  anticipates  The  Shortest 
Way  with  the  Dissenters. — HALES  (Contemporary  Revie^i),  Jan.,  1895,  p.  65): 
Surely  the  notion  that  Puritanism  qua  Puritanism  deserved  only  kicks  and  lashes  is 
sufficiently  exposed  and  censured  by  putting  it  into  the  mouth  of  such  an  arrant  fool 
as  Sir  Andrew  Aguecheek,  who  also  informs  us  he  had  '  as  lief  be  a  Brownist  as  a 
politician.'  Even  the  reckless  Sir  Toby  has  misgivings  as  to  its  justifiableness. 
However  this  may  be,  the  quick-witted  Maria  at  once  revokes  a  term  which  she  is 
not  slow  to  see  she  has  hastily  misapplied. 

142.  The  diu'll]  When  Maria  is  trying  to  smooth  a  rough  asseveration  into  a 
'  sarcenet  surety,'  is  it  fair,  is  it  courteous  to  disregard  her  delicacy,  as  do  all  editors, 
and  make  her  blurt  out  devil,  when  she  uses  only  an  equivalent  to  the  modern  and 
innocent  •  de'il '? — ED. 

143.  affedion'd]  W.  A.  WRIGHT:  That  is,   affected,  full  of  affectation.      In 
Hamlet,  II,  ii,  464,  '  nor  no  matter  in  the  phrase  that  might  indite  the  owner  of 
affectation,'  is  the  reading  of  the  folios,  while  the  quartos  have  '  affection.'     Compare 
Love's  Lad.  L.  V,  i,  4 :  '  Witty  without  affection ' ;  which  is  the  reading  of  the  first 
folio,  changed  in  the  later  editions  to  'affectation.' 

144.  cons  .  .  .  booke]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  That  is,  learns  by  heart,  as  an  actor  his 
part.     A  word  of  the  theatre,  as  '  without  book '  that  follows.     See  Rom.  <&>  Jul. 


ACT  ii,  sc.  iii.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  131 

The  beft  perfwaded  of  himfelfe  :  fo  cram'd(as  he  thinkes)         145 
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  caufe  to  worke. 

To.     What  wilt  thou  do  ? 

Mar.     I  will  drop  in  his  way  fome  obfcure  Epiftles  of         150 
loue,  wherein  by  the  colour  of  his  beard,  the  fhape  of  his 
legge,  the  manner  of  his  gate,   the  expreffure  of  his  eye, 
forehead,  and  completion,  he  ftiall  finde  himfelfe  moft 
feelingly  perfonated.     I  can  write  very  like  my  Ladie 
your  Neece,  on  a  forgotten  matter  wee  can  hardly  make         155 
diftinftion  of  our  hands. 

To.     Excellent,  I  fmell  a  deuice. 

An.     I  hau't  in  my  nofe  too. 

To.     He  fhall  thinke  by  the  Letters  that  thou  wilt  drop 
that  they  come  from  my  Neece,  and  that  fhee's  in  loue         160 
with  him. 

Mar.     My  purpofe  is  indeed  a  horfe  of  that  colour. 

An.     And  your  horfe  now  would  make  him  an  Affe.  163 

145.  himfelfe:}  himself,  Cap.  et  seq.  159.   Letters}  letter  Coll.  MS. 

146.  excellencies'}      excellences     Knt,  160.  they  come}  it  comes  Coll.  MS. 
Coll.  Wh.  i.  Jhee-i}  FaF3,  Wh.  Dyce,  Cam. 

grounds}  Cap.  Dyce,  Cam.  Dtn.  Sta.  Rife,  Huds.    Jhe  is  F4  et  cet. 

ground  Ff  et  cet.  163.  An.]  Sir  Toby.  Tyrwhitt,  Har- 

152.  gate}  gait  Johns.  ness,  Dyce  ii,  iii,  Huds. 

153.  completion}  Fa.  complexion  F  F .,  horfe  now}  horse,  now,  Coll. 
Rowe  et  seq. 

I,  iv,  6 :  '  Nor  no  without-book  prologue,  faintly  spoke  After  the  prompter.'  In 
Ben  Jonson's  Every  Man  out  of  his  Humour  it  is  said  in  the  description  of  Shift, 
'  He  waylays  the  reports  of  services,  and  cons  them  without  book.'  For  '  cons  state 
without  book '  it  has  been  proposed  to  read  '  cons  stale  wit  out  of  books.'  But  Mal- 
volio's  affectation  was  not  wit,  but  deportment. 

144.  swarths]  STEEVENS  :  A  '  swarth '  is  as  much  grass  or  corn  as  a  mower  cuts 
down  at  one  stroke  of  his  scythe. — COLLIER  :  This  word  occurs  again  in  the  same 
sense  in  Tro.  &*  Cress.  V,  v,  25  :  '  And  there  the  strawy  Greeks,  ripe  for  his  edge, 
Fall  down  before  him,  like  the  mower's  swath';  but  there,  in  the  old  copies,  it  is 
spelled  'swath.' — W.  A.WRIGHT:  More  properly  swath.     The  spelling  '  swarth ' 
indicates  the  pronunciation. 

145.  best  perswaded  of  himselfe]  That  is,  having  the  best  opinion  of  himself. 

146.  grounds]  Needlessly  changed  to  ground  in  the  Ff. 
152.  expressure]  Compare  '  impressure.'  II,  v,  91. 

162.  horse  of  that  colour]  Compare,  '  lx>yes  and  women  are  for  the  most  part, 
cattle  of  this  colour.' — As  You  Like  It,  III,  ii,  393. 

163.  An.]  CAPELL  (p.   146)  says  that  words  are  here  put  into  Sir  Andrew's 


1 32  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  n,  sc.  iii. 

Mar.     Afie,  I  doubt  not. 

An.     O  twill  be  admirable.  165 

Mar.  Sport  royall  I  warrant  you  :  I  know  my  Phy- 
ficke  will  worke  with  him,  I  will  plant  you  two,  and  let 
the  5ople  make  a  third,  where  he  fhall  finde  the  Letter : 
obferue  his  conftruclion  of  it :  For  this  night  to  bed,  and 
dreame  on  the  euent :  Farewell.  Exit  170 

To.     Good  night  PenthiJUea. 

An.     Before  me  flic's  a  good  wench. 

To.  She's  a  beagle  true  bred,and  one  that  adores  me  : 
what  o'that?  174 

164.  AJJTe,   /]  Ass— I  Cap.      Ass  I  169.  his\  this  Ff. 

Ran.  Coll.  170.  Exit]  After  line  171,  Dyce. 

167.  with  Aim,"]  him  him.  Rowe  ii.  171.  Penthifilea]  Penthesilea  Johns. 
with  him.  Rowe  i  et  cet. 

mouth  'that  are  something  too  good  for  him,  but  the  temptation  was  strong.' 
TYRWHITT  goes  even  further.  '  This  conceit,'  he  observes,  '  though  bad  enough, 
shews  too  quick  an  apprehension  for  Sir  Andrew.  It  should  be  given,  I  believe, 
to  Sir  Toby;  as  well  as  the  next  short  speech:  "  O,  'twill  be  admirable."  Sir 
Andrew  does  not  usually  give  his  own  judgement  on  any  thing,  till  he  has  heard 
that  of  some  other  person.'  WALKER  (Crit.  ii,  188)  proposed  the  same  arrangement, 
not  knowing  that  he  had  been  anticipated  by  Tyrwhitt.  '  This  seems,'  he  says, 
'  too  witty  for  Sir  Andrew  ;  I  think  it  belongs  to  Sir  Toby.'  DYCE  (ed.  ii)  adopted 
the  change. — W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  The  mistake  in  assigning  it  might  easily  have  arisen 
from  the  first  word  '  And '  being  supposed  to  indicate  the  speaker.  — HALLIWELL  : 
The  objection  to  this  [change],  otherwise  a  probable  one,  consists  in  the  reply  of 
Maria,  who  evidently  intends  to  be  witty  at  the  expense  of  Sir  Andrew,  although 
she  very  possibly  alludes  at  the  same  time  to  Malvolio.  A  practical  actress  would 
have  no  difficulty  in  aiming  at  both. 

164.  Asse,  I  doubt  not]  It  is  strange  that  WALKER,  with  his  noteworthy  acute- 
ness,  should  have  had  a  doubt  concerning  this  pun,  as  palpable  as  it  is  poor.  '  Is 
there  a  pun  here,  he  asks  (Crit.  iii,  85),  "As  I  doubt  not"  ?'  W.  A.  WRIGHT  calls 
attention  to  a  similar  play  on  '  As '  and  '  Ass '  in  Hamlet,  V,  ii,  43  :  '  And  many 
such-like  "As'es"  of  great  charge.' 

1 68.  Foole  make  a  third]  For  some  reason  or  other,  this  intention  of  Maria, 
was  not  carried  out ;  Fabian  takes  the  place  of  Feste.     Of  this  change  I  do  not  see 
the  cause.    Fleay  would  doubtless  find  in  it  a  proof  of  patchwork  due  to  the  different 
times  at  which  Shakespeare  wrote  the  play.     I  think  it  likely  that  it  arose  from  some 
exigencies  in  the  staging. — ED. 

171.  Penthisilea]  As  we  all  know,  the  Queen  of  the  Amazons,  slain  by  Achilles. 
If  Maria  was  of  a  diminutive  size,  and  there  seem  to  be  several  indications  of  it, 
the  incongruity  between  her  figure  and  the  heroic  mould  of  Penthesilea,  must  have 
been  comic  enough,  to  Shakespeare's  audience. 

172.  Before  me]  A  conversion  of  '  Before  God  !'  into  a  'pretty  oath  that  is  not 
dangerous. ' 

173.  beagle  true  bred]  Again  an  allusion  to   Maria's  small  size.     MADDEN 


ACT  ii,  sc.  iii.]  OR,   1&HAT  YOU  WILL 


133 


An.     I  was  ador'd  once  too.  175 

To.     Let's  to  bed  knight :  Thou  hadft  neede  fend  for 
more  money. 

An.     If  I  cannot  recouer  your  Neece,  I  am  a  foule  way 
out. 

To.     Send  for  money  knight,  if  thou  haft  her  not  i'th         1 80 
end,  call  me  Cut. 

181.  Cuf]  cut  Theob.  Warb.  Cap.  Coll.  Dyce,  Cam. 

(p.  179)  :  I  cannot,  therefore,  say  for  certain  that  the  Justice  kept,  in  addition  to 
his  kennel  of  running  hounds  suitable  for  every  chase,  a  pack  of  beagles  devoted 
exclusively  to  the  hunting  of  the  hare.  I  know,  however,  that  they  were  in  high 
favour  with  Gloucestershire  sportsmen.  The  sordid  pot-hunter,  when  he  uncouples 
at  his  game,  may  care  only  to  'score  their  backs,  And  snatch  'em  up,  as  we  take 
hares,  behind.'  (Ant.  &*  Cleop.  IV,  vii,  12.)  But  the  true  sportsman  took  delight  in 
the  music  of  a  pack  composed  of  '  the  little  beagle  which  may  be  carried  in  a 
man's  glove,  and  bred  in  many  countries  for  delight  onely,  being  of  curious  scents, 
and  passing  cunning  in  their  hunting ;  for  the  most  part  tyring  (but  seldom  killing; 
the  prey  except  at  some  strange  advantage. '(Gervase  Markham,  Country  Content- 
ments. )  Thus  when  Sir  Toby  said  of  Maria,  '  she  is  a  beagle  true-bred,'  he  meant 
to  compliment  her  keenness  and  sagacity. 

176.  send]  See  I,  v,  299;  or  ABBOTT,  §  349,  p.  249.  lago's  similar  advice  to 
Roderigo  will  occur  to  every  one. 

178.  recouer]  SCHMIDT  (Lex.)  furnishes  many  examples  of  this  verb  with  the 
meaning  to  get,  to  gain. 

178,  179.  a  foule  way  out]  SCHMIDT  (Lex.)  defines  'out'  in  the  present  passage 
as  '  on  the  wrong  scent,  aiming  or  going  a  wrong  way.' — W.  A.  WRIGHT  defines  it, 
'  out  of  my  reckoning.'  But  I  agree  with  DEIGHTON  that  it  means  '  out  of  pocket,' 
— a  use  of  'out'  still  current  in  this  country. — ED. 

181.  Cut]  STEEVENS  :  So,  in  A  Womarfs  a  Weathercock,  1612,  '  and  for  pleas- 
ure, if  I  help  you  not  to  that  as  cheap  as  any  man  in  England,  call  me  cut.' 
[IV,  ii,  p.  69,  ed.  Hazlitt-Dodsley.]  Again,  in  The  Two  Angry  Women  of  Abing- 
ton,  1599,  '  I'll  meet  you  there  ;  and  I  do  not  call  me  Cut.'  [p.  336.  Ibid.~\  This  term 
of  contempt,  perhaps,  signifies  only — call  me  gelding. — MALONE  :  '  Call  me  Cut'  is 
'call  me  horse.'  So,  Falstaff  in  /  Hen.  IV:  II,  iv,  215,  «I  tell  thee  what,  Hal, 
if  I  tell  thee  a  lie,  spit  in  my  face,  call  me  horse.'  That  this  was  the  meaning  of 
this  expression  is  ascertained  by  a  passage  in  The  Two  Noble  Kinsmen,  '  He's  buy 
me  a  white  cut,  forth  for  to  ride.'  [Ill,  iv,  22.]— RiTSON  (Quip  Modest,  8)  :  This 
expression,  having  induced  a  suspicion  that  curtailing  or  cutting  the  tail  of  either 
horse  or  dog,  implied  some  degree  of  infamy  or  shame,  I  was  glad  to  meet  with  a 
passage  in  Bracton,  which  may  serve  to  give  us  a  pretty  clear  idea  of  the  matter. 
'  Of  the  punishment  of  a  ravisher,'  says  this  ancient  writer,  '  according  to  the  laws 
of  the  Romans,  Franks,  and  English,  if  he  were  a  knight,  his  horse,  to  his  disgrace, 
shall  have  the  skin  cut  off  the  upper  lip,  and  the  tail  ought  to  be  cut  off  close  to  the 
buttock.  So  a  dog,  if  he  have  one  with  him,  greyhound,  or  other,  shall  be  dis- 
graced in  the  same  manner.' — L.  3,  t.  2,  c.  28.  ...  [This  law]  leads  one  to  sup- 
pose that,  in  feudal  times  the  distinction  between  the  horse  or  dog  of  a  knight 


TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  n,  sc.  iii. 

An.     If  I  do  not,  neuer  truft  me,  take  it  how  you  will.         182 
To.     Come,  come,  He  go  burne  fome  Sacke,  tis  too  late 
to  go  to  bed  now  :  Come  knight,  come  knight.       Exeunt         \  84 

and  that  of  a  villain,  appeared  by  the  tail ;  and  hence  the  word  '  cut '  might  be  as 
reproachful  as  the  word  villain;  the  former  implying  the  horse  or  dog  of  a  clown, 
the  latter  the  clown  himself. — NARES  :  A  familiar  appellation  for  a  common  or 
labouring  horse.  [This  definition  Dr  MURRAY  (Ar.  E.  D. )  adopts,  and  adds  :]  It  is 
doubtful  whether  the  sense  is  'cut-tail  horse'  or  'gelding.'  As  'a  term  of  abuse, 
applied  to  a  man  or  woman '  the  same  authority  gives  the  following  examples,  in 
addition  to  the  present  passage :  c  1490  H.  MEDWAI.L,  Nature,  '  If  thou  se  hym 
not  take  hys  owne  way  Call  me  cut  when  thou  metest  me  another  day.'  1575 
J.  STILL,  Gammer  Gurton's  Needle,  V,  ii,  '  That  lying  cut  is  lost,  that  she  is  not 
swinged  and  beaten.'  1605  London  Prodigal,  Cij  b,  'And  I  doe  not  meete  him, 
chill  giue  you  leaue  to  call  me  cut.'  1820  SCOTT,  Abbot,  xix,  '  "  You  shall  call  me 
cutt  if  I  do  go  down,"  said  Adam.' — W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  A  curtal  horse  was  a  horse 
whose  tail  had  been  docked,  as  a  curtal  or  curtail  dog  was  one  who  had  been  treated 
in  a  similar  manner ;  and  as  from  the  latter  the  abbreviation  '  cur'  came  to  be  used 
as  a  term  of  contempt,  so  '  cut '  from  '  curtal '  was  employed  in  the  same  way. 
[Fanciful  derivations  have  not  been  lacking.  CROFT  (p.  10)  affirmed  that  '  "  cutt" 
was  a  moss-trooper  ;  the  Cutts  were  the  worst  of  the  Scotch  borderers.'  J.  WETH- 
ERELL  {N.  &  Qu.  Illrd,  vsi,  317,  1865)  suggests  that  the  phrase  may  haVe  come 
from  '  a  boyish  game  still  in  vogue  in  Cumberland '  wherein  lots  were  drawn  by 
straws 'cut'  indifferent  lengths.  HAZLITT  in  a  note  in  his  edition  of  Dodsley's 
Gammer  Gurton  (p.  216)  remarks  :  '  It  appears  probable  to  me  that  the  opprobrious 
epithet  '  Cut'  arose  from  the  practice  of  cutting  the  hair  of  convicted  thieves.'] 

183.  Sacke]  DYCE  (  Gloss. ) :  '  It  seems  to  be  admitted,  on  all  hands,  that  the  term 
Sack  was  originally  applied  to  certain  growths  of  Spain.  Dr  Percy  has  the  credit  of 
restoring  the  original  interpretation  of  the  term.  In  a  manuscript  account  of  the  dis- 
bursements by  the  chamberlain  of  the  city  of  Worcester,  for  the  year  1592,  he  found 
the  ancient  mode  of  spelling  to  be  seek,  and  thence  concluded  that  "Sack"  was 
merely  a  corruption  of  sec,  signifying  a  dry  wine.  Minshew  renders  the  term  i>in  sec  ; 
and  Cotgrave  gives  the  same  translation.  The  most  satisfactory  evidence,  however, 
in  support  of  this  opinion  is  furnished  by  the  French  version  of  a  proclamation  for 
regulating  the  prices  of  wines,  in  1633,  where  the  expression  vins  sees  corresponds 
with  the  word  "sacks"  in  the  original  copy  (Rymer's  Fcedera,  Tome  viii,  Part  iv, 
p.  46).  It  may  also  be  remarked  that  the  term  sec  is  still  used  as  a  substantive  by  the 
French,  to  denote  a  Spanish  wine  ( "  on  dit  aussi  quelquefois  absolument  du  sec,  pour 
dire,  du  vin  d'Espagne." — Diet,  de  Trevoux] ;  and  that  the  dry  wine  of  Xerez  is  dis- 
tinguished at  the  place  of  its  growth  by  the  name  of  vino  seco.  These  several  author- 
ities, then,  appear  to  warrant  the  inference  that  "Sack"  was  a  dry  Spanish  wine. 
But,  on  the  other  hand,  numerous  instances  occur  in  which  it  is  mentioned  in  con- 
junction with  wines  of  the  sweet  class.'  [To  reconcile  this  discrepancy  a  learned 
examination  here  follows  of  the  character  ascribed  to  Sack  by  the  few  writers  who 
have  described  it,  with  a  side  reference  to  the  general  custom  of  the  English  to  add 
sugar  to  their  wines,  which  is  generally  considered  a  proof  that  the  wines  thus  treated 
were  dry.]  '  The  conclusion  at  which  we  thus  arrive  is  so  far  satisfactory,  as  it  proves 
that  the  wines  formerly  known  under  the  name  of  Sacks,  though  they  may,  upon 
the  whole,  have  been  inferior,  yet  differed  in  no  essential  quality  from  those  with 


ACT  ii,  sc.  iv.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL 


Scena  Quarta. 

Enter  Dttke,  Viola,  Curio,  and  others.  2 

Z>«.Giue  me  fome  MufickjNow  good  morow  Trends. 
Now  good  Cefario,  but  that  peece  of  fong,  4 

I.  Scena...]  Scene  V.  Pope, -t-.  F2.    friends —  Johns,     friends;   F3F4 

The  Palace.  Rowe.  et  cet. 

3.  frends.]  Coll.  Wh.  Cam.    friends 

which  we  are  at  present  supplied  by  the  same  countries  which  originally  produced 
them,  and  which  are  still  held  in  such  deserved  estimation.  They  probably  first  came 
into  favour  in  consequence  of  their  possessing  greater  strength  and  durability,  and 
being  more  free  from  acidity  than  the  white  wines  of  France  and  Germany  ;  and  owed 
their  distinctive  appellation  to  that  sub-astringent  taste  which  characterises  all  wines 
prepared  with  gypsum.' — Henderson,  Hist,  of  Ancient  and  Modern  Wines  t  pp.  298- 
308. 

i.  Scena  Quarta]    F.  A.   MARSHALL:  With  this  scene,  in  [Irving' s]  acting- 
edition,  Act  III.  commences. 

3,  4.   Now  good  .  .  .  Now  good]  The  awkwardness  of  this  repetition  seems  to 
have  been  perceived,  with  but  one  exception,  by  no  editor ;  at  least  no  attempt  has 
been  made  greatly  to  vary  the  punctuation  of  the  Folio.     The  exception  is  JOHN- 
SON, of  whose  text  no  notice,  that  I  can  find,  has  ever  been  taken.     He  punctuates 
thus  :  '  Give  me  some  music  now. — Good  morrow  friends — Now,  good  Cesario,' 
etc.    This  is,  certainly,  an  improvement ;  it  avoids  the  beginning  of  two  consecutive 
sentences  with  '  Now,'  and  it  makes  the  salutation  to  the  Musicians  and  others  a 
courteous  side-remark.     It  leads  the  way,  moreover,  to  an  arrangement  (which 
occurred  to  me,  but  wherein  I  have  been  anticipated.  Pereant  qui  ante  nos,  etc. ) 
recorded  in  the  CAMBRIDGE  EDITION  (ed.  ii),by  Mr  BLAIR,  who  has  suggested 
the  following  punctuation  :  '  Give  me  some  music.  [  To  Viola.]  Now, — [Enter  Musi- 
dans^  good  morrow  friends, — Now,  good  Cesario,'  etc.    This  is  better  than  Dr  John- 
son's; it  avoids  the  ending  of  the  Duke's  first  sentence  with  a  weak  «now,'  and 
makes  the  second  '  Now '  a  mere  repetition  of  the  first,  and  not  the  beginning  of  a 
new  address. — ED. 

4.  Cesario]  FLEAY  (Sh.  Manual,  p.  228)  believes  that  this  play  was  written  at 
two  different  times,  and  the  first  indication  of  it  is  the  present  passage,  '  where 
Viola  was  evidently  intended  to  be  the  singer.'     'Compare,  'he  continues,  '  "  for  I 
can  sing,  And  speak  to  him  in  many  sorts  of  music,"  I,  ii,  62.     This  was  from  the 
first  draft ;  but  in  the  revised  play  Curio  makes  the  strange  answer  (in  prose,  as  all, 
or  nearly  all,  the  later  work  is  in  this  drama),  "  He  is  not  here  that  should  sing 
it,"  and  the  Duke  says,  "Who  was  it?"   forgetting  the  singer  he  had  heard  the 
night  before.     He  afterwards  points  out  the  special  character  of  the  song  (lines 
51-56)  to  Cesario,  who  had  also  heard  it,  and  who  had  just  been  asked  to  sing  it ; 
all  this,  I  think,  could  not  have  been  written  at  one  time.' — WEISS  (p.  196)  :  The 
Duke  has  forgotten  that  Feste  and  not  Cesario  was  the  singer.     Fleay  overlooks  this 
touch  of  nature.     But  the  Duke  is  mooning  about  in  his  sentimental  fashion,  and 


1 36  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  n,  sc.  iv. 

That  old  and  Anticke  fong  we  heard  laft  night ;  5 

Me  thought  it  did  releeue  my  paflion  much, 

More  then  light  ayres,  and  recollected  termes  7 

5.  Anticke}  Antick  F F4,  Rowe.    an-  6.   Me  thought}  Methought  Rowe. 

tique  Pope. 

vaguely  recollects  that  Cesario  was  presented  to  him  as  one  that  could  sing  and 
•speak  to  him  in  many  sorts  of  music.'  He  had  done  so,  no  doubt,  so  that  the 
mistake  was  natural  to  the  distraught  mind  of  the  Duke  who  seems  to  allude  to  it 
when  he  says  immediately  to  Cesario,  'If  ever  thou  shalt  love,'  etc.,  lines  18-23. 
His  obliviousness  is  indeed  so  profound  that  he  blunders  in  dismissing  Feste  when 
the  song  is  over,  saying  to  him,  'Give  me  now  leave  to  leave  thee.'  This,  so  far 
from  being  an  imperfect  reading,  is  a  perfect  touch  of  his  abstruse  mood.  [See  notes 
on  line  77  below.]  It  amuses  Feste,  who  says,  aside,  'Now  the  melancholy  god 
protect  thee,'  etc.  Every  line  and  word  of  this  beautiful  scene  is  unalterably  well 
placed. — ELZE  (p.  179)  :  It  seems  evident  that  according  to  the  poet's  intention  two 
singers  were  required  for  the  performance  of  this  play  :  one  to  sing  in  Orsino's  pal- 
ace (the  performer  of  Viola)  and  another  to  sing  in  Lady  Olivia's  house  (the 
Clown).  As,  however,  at  some  time  or  other,  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  men  could 
boast  of  only  a  single  singer,  and  that  one  the  Clown,  they  gave  him  access  to  the 
Duke's  palace  and  made  him  do  the  singing  of  both  parts.  [See  note  on  Devrient's 
Acting  Version,  line  59  below.  ] 

5.  old   and   Anticke]  R.  G.   WHITE  (ed.   i)  :    This   is   not   mere   pleonasm ; 
'  antique '  carried,  and,  perhaps  we  may  say,   still  carries,  the  idea  of  quaintness 
added  to  antiquity. — W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  '  Antique '  has  the  accent  on  the  first  syllable 
as  always  in  Shakespeare. 

6.  passion]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  That  is,  suffering,  grief ;  used  of  strong  emotions 
of  any  kind.     Compare    Tempest,  I,  ii,  392  :    '  Allaying  both  their  fury  and  my 
passion  With  its  sweet  air.' — INNES  :  That  is,  fever  of  his  love,  for  which  Orsino 
regards  music  as  a  sort  of  medicine,  as  in  the  opening  lines  of  the  play.    [The 
'passion'  of  Ferdinand  weeping  for  his  father  is  not  the  'passion'  from  which 
Orsino  suffers.     It  must  be  remembered  that  Orsino  was  enduring  the  '  pangs  of  dis- 
prized  love,'  one  of  the  calamities  of  life  which  Hamlet  enumerates  as  justifying  a 
quietus  with  a  bare  bodkin.    Wherefore,  I  think  that  Wright's  definition,  '  suffering ' 
(but  not  'grief')  is  the  best. — ED.], 

7.  recollected]  WARBURTON  :  That  is,  studied.— JOHNSON  :  I  rather  think  that 
'  recollected '   signifies,  more  nearly  to  its  primitive  sense,  recalled,  repeated,  and 
alludes  to  the  practice  of  composers,  who  often  prolong  the  song  by  repetitions. 
[Though  I  cannot  accept  this  definition,  it  is  only  fair  to  suggest  that  Dr  Johnson 
might  have  adduced,  as  an  illustration,  Thomas  Morley's  music,  written  about  1 600, 
for  the  Song  in  As  You  Like  It:  'It  was  a  lover  and  his  lass,'  where  each  stanza 
thus  ends :  '  In  the  spring  time,  the  spring  time,  In  spring  time,  the  only  pretty  ring 
time,  When  birds  do  sing,  hey  ding  a  ding-ding,  hey  ding  a  ding-ding,  hey  ding  a 
ding-ding,  Sweet  lovers  love  the  spring.  In  spring  time.  In  spring  time,  the  only 
pretty  ring  time,  When  birds  do  sing,  hey  ding  a  ding-ding,  hey  ding  a  ding-ding, 
hey  ding  a  ding-ding,  sweet  lovers  love  the  spring.' — ED.] — KNIGHT:    'Term' 
forms  no  part  of  the  technical   language  of  music.      Its  plural  may  possibly  be 
intended  by  Shakespeare  to  signify  those  passages  called  phrases ;  but  it  is  more 
likely  that  the  word  was  originally  written  tunes,  which  would  render  the  expression 


ACT  ii,  sc.  iv.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  137 

Of  thefe  moft  b  riske  and  giddy-paced  times.  8 

Come,  but  one  verfe. 

Cur.     He  is  not  heere  (fo  pleafe  your  Lordfhippe)  that  10 

fhould  fing  it  ? 

Du.     Who  was  it  ? 

Cur.  Fejle  the  lefter  my  Lord,  a  foole  that  the  Ladie 
Oliuiaes  Father  tooke  much  delight  in .  He  is  about  the 
houfe.  15 

Du.     Seeke  him  out,  and  play  the  tune  the  while. 

Muficke  pi  ayes. 
Come  hither  Boy,  if  euer  thou  lhalt  loue  18 

8.  giddy-paced]    giddy-pated  Han.  16.   Seeke]  Go,  seek  Cap.  Ktly. 

giddy-pac'd    Var.     '85.       giddy-paced  17.    [Exit  Curio.  Pope  et  seq. 

Dyce.  1 8.   [To  Viola.  Coll.  ii  (MS). 

13.  Fefte]  Fejfe  Ktly.  loue'}  l<rve,  Rowe. 

14.  Ohuiaes]  Olivia's  F3F4. 

intelligible.  In  not  very  clear  manuscript  '  termes '  might  easily  have  been  mistaken 
by  the  compositor  for  tunes.  We  agree  with  Dr  Johnson's  recalled,  if  by  '  recalled ' 
is  to  be  understood  known  by  heart, — by  memory. — R.  G.  WHITE  (ed.  i)  :  '  Terms ' 
does  not,  I  think,  mean  musical  phrases,  nor  is  it  a  misprint  for  tunes.  A  song  con- 
sists of  both  music  and  words ;  and  this  song,  which  was  'old  and  plain,'  suited  the 
lover's  mood  by  reason  of  the  simple  sweetness  of  its  air  and  the  homely  directness 
of  its  phrase,  more  than  the  'light  airs'  (gay,  trivial  music)  to  which  the  'recol- 
lected terms'  (carefully  culled  expressions)  in  the  songs  of  those  'most  brisk  and 
giddy-paced  times '  were  set.  '  Recollected  terms '  is  a  phrase  which  might  well  be 
applied  to  the  words  of  a  song  written  under  the  influence  of  Euphues  and  his 
England. — The  CowDEN-CLARKES :  The  poet  probably  means  what  musicians 
call  'phrases  of  repetition,'  or  'passages  of  imitation';  where  rapid  successions 
of  notes,  and  florid  ornamentation,  produce  the  effect  of  liveliness  which  the  Duke's 
love-melancholy  shrinks  from,  and  contrast  with  the  simplicity  he  so  much  prefers. 
— SCHMIDT  (Lex.):  Equivalent  to  picked,  refined?  or  trivial? — W.  A.  WRIGHT-. 
That  is,  phrases  gathered  with  pains,  not  spontaneous.  Knight  proposed  tunes,  but 
we  have  already  had  the  tunes  in  the  'airs,'  and  the  'terms'  must  therefore  be  the 
words  set  to  music.  So  'festival  terms,'  in  Afttch  Ado,  V,  ii,  41,  are  'holiday 
phrases.'  Compare  Love's  Lab.  L.  V,  ii,  406:  'Taffeta  phrases,  silken  terms  pre- 
cise.' The  sense  here  given  is  confirmed  by  a  passage  in  Pericles,  II,  i,  54 :  '  How 
from  the  finny  subject  of  the  sea  These  fishers  tell  the  infirmities  of  men  ;  And  from 
their  watery  empire  recollect  All  that  may  men  approve  or  men  detect !'  [The  most 
concise  definition  is  given  by  Warburton,  viz :  studied.  This  is  virtually  the  same 
as  both  White's  and  Wright's:  'studied  expressions'  are  ' carefully  culled  expres- 
sions,' and  they  are  also  'phrases  gathered  with  pains,  not  spontaneous.'  INNES 
says  that  'recollected  terms'  '  apparently  conveys  the  same  sort  of  idea  as  "light 
airs."  '  I  cannot  at  all  agree  with  him  when  he  adds,  in  reference  to  Wright's 
interpretation,  that  it  'might  be  true  if  it  did  not  appear  wholly  inappropriate.' 
On  the  contrary,  it  is,  I  think,  exactly  in  the  trending  of  the  true  explanation. 
—ED.] 


138  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  11,  sc.  iv. 

In  the  fweet  pangs  of  it,  remember  me : 

For  fuch  as  I  am,  all  true  Louers  are,  20 

Vnftaid  and  skittifh  in  all  motions  elfe, 

Saue  in  the  conftant  image  of  the  creature 

That  is  belou'd.     How  doft  thou  like  this  tune  ? 

Via.     It  giues  a  very  eccho  to  the  feate 
Where  loue  is  thron'd.  25 

Du.     Thou  doft  fpeake  mafterly, 
My  life  vpon't,  yong  though  thou  art,  thine  eye 
Hath  ftaid  vpon  fome  fauour  that  it  loues  : 
Hath  it  not  boy  ? 

Vio.    A  little,  by  your  fauour.  30 

Du.     What  kinde  of  woman  ift  ? 

Uio.     Of  your  completion. 

Du.     She  is  not  worth  thee  then.    What  yeares  ifaith? 

Vio.     About  your  yeeres  my  Lord. 

Du.     Too  old  by  heauen  :  Let  ftill  the  woman  take  35 

An  elder  then  her  felfe,  fo  weares  (he  to  him; 

19.  me .•]  me?  F^Fj.     me;  F4>  30.  fauour. ~\  favour ;  F4. 

21.  motions]    notions    Theob.    conj.  31.  i/i]  is't  F F4. 

Warb.  32.  completion]  complexion  F.F4. 

24,  25.  Mnemonic  lines,  Warb.  35~37-  Mnemonic,  Warb. 
24.  to]  from  Warb. 

21.  motions]  That  is,  emotions  ;  frequently  used  with  especial  reference  to  love. 
Thus,  'teach  me.  .  .  with  what  art  You  sway  the  motion  of  Demetrius'  heart.' — 
Mid.  N.  D.  I,  i.  204.  Again,  '  A  maiden  ...  Of  spirit  so  still  and  quiet,  that  her 
motion  Blush'd  at  her  self.' — Othello,  I,  iii,  113. 

24.  to  the  seate]  WARBURTON  :  We  should  read,  'from  the  seat,'  i.  e.  it  reaches 
the  throne  of  love  and  reverberates  thence. — HEATH  (p.  190)  :  The  tune  could  not 
properly  be  said  to  be  in  the  heart,  and  therefore  could  not  give  an  echo  from  it. 
The  common  reading,  therefore,  is  certainly  right.     It  gives  the  heart  a  very  echo  ; 
that  is,  It  is  so  consonant  to  the  emotions  of  the  heart  that  they  echo  it  back  again. 
[The  emotion  issuing  from  the  heart,  is  caught  up  and  interpreted  by  the  music  which 
returns  it  as  an  echo. — ED.] 

25.  thron'd]  See  I,  i,  43. 

30.  by  your  fauour]  JOHNSON  :  The  word  'favour'  is  ambiguously  used. — 
STEEVENS  :  '  Favour,'  in  the  preceding  speech,  signifies  countenance.  [There  is 
also  a  play  upon  the  word  'by,'  which,  as  ABBOTT  (§  145,  p.  97)  points  out,  may 
be  here  taken  in  its  original  meaning,  near.] 

30,  etc.]  To  this  passage  COLLIER  finds  an  indistinct  parallel  in  G!'  Inganni. 
See  Appendix,  Source  of  the  Plot. 

36.  An  elder  then  her  selfe]  MALONE  (Life,  Var.  1821,  ii,  112):  Anne 
Hathaway  whom  our  poet  married  in  June  or  July,  1582,  was  then  in  her  twenty- 
sixth  year,  that  is,  seven  years  and  a  half  older  than  her  husband ;  a  disproportion 


ACT  ii,  sc.  iv.]  OR.   WHAT  YOU  WILL  139 

[35,  36.  Let  still  the  woman  take  An  elder  then  her  selfe] 
of  age,  which  seldom  fails,  at  a  subsequent  period  of  life,  to  be  productive  of 
unhappiness,  and  which  . .  .  perhaps,  suggested  the  judicious  precept  [in  the  present 
lines]. — DE  QUISCEY  (p.  46)  :  Shakespeare,  looking  back  on  this  part  of  his  youth- 
ful history  from  his  matures!  years,  breathes  forth  pathetic  counsels  against  the  errors 
into  which  his  own  experience  had  been  ensnared.  The  disparity  of  years  between 
himself  and  his  wife  he  notices  in  a  beautiful  scene  in  the  Twelfth  Night.  .  .  . 
These  counsels  were  uttered  nearly  twenty  years  after  the  event  in  his  own  life  to 
which  they  probably  look  back  ;  for  this  play  is  supposed  to  have  been  written  in 
Shakespeare's  thirty-eighth  year  [?].  And  we  may  read  an  earnestness  in  pressing 
the  point  as  to  the  inverted  disparity  of  years,  which  indicates  pretty  clearly  an 
appeal  to  the  lessons  of  his  personal  experience. — KNIGHT  (p.  189  :  [This  passage] 
has  been  supposed  to  bear  upon  the  domestic  history  of  Shakspere.  We  believe 
that  such  conjectures  are  in  general  founded  on  a  misapprehension  of  the  dramatic 
spirit  in  which  he  worked  ;  and  that  such  notions,  especially  as  that  he  was  himself 
jealous,  because  he  has  so  truly  depicted  the  passion  of  jealousy, — or  that  he  had 
himself  felt  the  bitter  pang  of  filial  irreverence,  because  he  had  written  [certain 
passages  in  Lear\  are  altogether  idle  and  worthless.  The  details,  however,  of 
Shakspere' s  private  life  are  so  few,  and  the  facts  and  traditions  which  have  come 
down  to  us  require  such  careful  examination,  that  we  need  not  be  surprised  that  the 
language  which  he  has  held  to  be  characteristic  of  the  persons  and  incidents  of  his 
dramas  should  have  been  deemed,  with  more  or  less  ingenuity,  to  be  characteristic 
of  himself,  his  actions,  and  his  circumstances.  Amongst  the  least  overstrained  of 
these  applications  is  the  [present  passage].  .  .  .  Upon  the  general  principle  which 
we  have  stated, — that  is,  the  wonderful  subjection  of  his  conception  of  what  was 
individually  true  to  what  was  universally  true, — he  would,  we  think,  have  rejected 
whatever  was  peculiar  to  his  own  experience,  if  it  had  been  emphatically  recom- 
mended to  his  adoption  through  the  medium  of  his  self-consciousness.  [Knight 
then  proceeds  to  the  more  immediate  purpose  of  this  'Postscript,' — an  extremely 
valuable  contribution  to  those  who  are  interested  in  the  Life  of  Shakespeare, — 
which  is,  to  prove  that  the  poet's  domestic  life  was  not  unhappy  owing  to  the  dis- 
parity in  years  between  himself  and  his  wife,  and  that  the  bequest  to  her  of  his  '  second- 
best  bed '  betokened  no  neglect,  nor  lack  of  affection  for  her,  inasmuch  as  she  had 
her  right  of  dower  in  his  freehold  property,  wherein  the  bulk  of  his  large  estate  con- 
sisted.]— HALLIWELL  :  The  suggestion  that  the  dialogue  was  intended  to  allude  in 
any  way  to  the  poet's  domestic  unhappiness,  not  only  destroys  the  independence  of 
one  of  his  best  scenes,  but  is  in  itself  exceedingly  improbable. — COLLIER  (ed.  ii, 
Life,  i,  64)  :  Whether  these  lines  did  or  did  not  originate  in  the  author's  reflections 
upon  his  own  marriage,  they  are  so  applicable  to  his  own  case,  that  it  seems  impos- 
sible he  should  have  written  them  without  recalling  the  circumstances  attending  his 
hasty  union,  and  the  disparity  of  years  between  himself  and  his  wife.  Such,  we 
know,  was  the  confirmed  opinion  of  Coleridge,  expressed  on  two  distinct  occasions  in 
his  Lectures,  and  such,  we  think,  will  be  the  conclusion  at  which  most  readers  will 
arrive  :  '  I  cannot  hesitate  in  believing,'  observed  Coleridge  in  1811-12,  '  that  in  this 
passage  from  Twelfth  Night,  Shakespeare  meant  to  give  a  caution,  arising  out  of  his 
own  experience  ;  and,  but  for  the  fact  of  the  disproportion  in  point  of  years  between 
himself  and  his  wife,  I  doubt  much  whetner  the  dialogue  between  Viola  and  the 
Duke  would  have  received  this  turn.' — IBID.  (ed.  ii,  vol.  ii,  638)  :  It  was  an  opinion 
confidently  stated  by  Coleridge  in  his  Lectures  in  1818,  that  this  present  passage  had 


I40  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  n,  sc.  iv. 

So  fwayes  fhe  leuell  in  her  husbands  heart :  37 

For  boy,  howeuer  we  do  praife  our  felues, 

Our  fancies  are  more  giddie  and  vnfirme, 

More  longing,  wauering,  fooner  loft  and  worne,  40 

Then  womens  are. 

40.  u<orne\  F2F  .  won  Han.  Ran.  Wh.  i,  Coll.  ii,  iii  (MS),  Dyce  ii,  iii,  Ktly, 
Huds.  worn  F4  et  cet. 

a  direct  application  to  the  circumstances  of  Shakespeare's  marriage  with  Anne  Hath- 
away. .  .  .  Coleridge  took  the  opportunity  of  enlarging  eloquently  on  the  manner  in 
which  young  poets  have  frequently  connected  themselves  with  women  of  very  ordi- 
nary personal  and  mental  attractions,  the  imagination  supplying  all  deficiencies, 
clothing  the  object  of  affection  with  grace  and  beauty,  and  furnishing  her  with  every 
accomplishment. — R.  G.  WHITE  (Life,  i,  xxxiv)  :  Who  can  believe  that  the  well- 
known  counsel  in  [these  present  lines]  was  not  a  stifled  cry  of  anguish  from  [Shake- 
speare's] tormented,  over-burdened  soul,  though  he  had  left  his  torment  and  his 
burden  so  far  behind  him  ?  It  is  impossible  that  he  could  have  written  it  without 
thinking  of  his  own  experience ;  the  more,  that  the  seeming  lad  to  whom  it  is 
addressed  is  about  his  years,  and  the  man  who  utters  it  about  Anne  Hathaway' s  at 
the  time  when  they  were  married. — DYCE  (ed.  ii,  Life,  i,  33)  :  It  is  unfair  to  con- 
clude, as  Malone  and  others  have  done,  from  certain  passages  in  our  author's  plays, — 
each  of  which  passages  more  or  less  grows  out  of  the  incidents  of  the  play, — that  he 
had  cause  to  complain  of  domestic  unhappiness  :  indeed,  without  taking  into  account 
the  tradition  of  his  regular  visits  to  Stratford,  we  have  strong  presumptive  evidence 
to  the  contrary  in  the  fact,  that  the  wife  of  his  youth  was  the  companion  of  his  latest 
years,  when  he  had  raised  himself  to  opulence  and  to  the  position  of  a  gentleman. 
— W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  Shakespeare  was  seldom  autobiographical,  and  did  not  wear  his 
heart  upon  his  sleeve. — INNES  :  Shakespeare  was  not  in  the  habit  of  making  his 
characters  mouthpieces ;  the  Duke's  opinion  must,  in  this  case  as  in  others,  be  taken 
for  what  it  is  worth,  as  his  own  view  and  not  necessarily  that  of  the  poet. — LEE 
(p.  25):  Although  it  is  dangerous  to  read  into  Shakespeare's  dramatic  utterances 
allusions  to  his  personal  experience,  the  emphasis  with  which  he  insists  that  a 
woman  should  take  in  marriage  an  '  elder  than  herself,'  and  that  prenuptial  intimacy 
is  productive  of  'barren  hate,  sour-eyed  disdain,  and  discord,'  suggest  a  personal 
interpretation.  [Not  only  do  I  not  believe  that  Shakespeare  was  here  referring  to 
his  own  experience,  but  I  do  not  believe  that  Orsino's  assertion  itself  is  true.  The 
record  of  marriages  where  the  woman  is  the  elder  will  prove,  I  think,  that,  as  a 
rule,  such  unions,  founded  as  they  are,  not  on  the  fleeting  attractions  of  youth,  which 
is  '  a  stuff  will  not  endure,'  but  on  the  abiding  elements  of  intellectual  congeniality, 
have  been  unusually  happy. — ED.] 

39-41.  Our  .  .  .  are]  INNES  :  This  admission  hints  that  Orsino  is  becoming  alive 
to  the  fact  that  his  constitution  has  more  to  do  with  his  fitfulness  than  the  ardour  of 
his  passion. 

40.  lost  and  worne]  JOHNSON  :  Though  '  lost  and  worn '  may  mean  '  lost  and 
worn  out?  yet  'lost  and  won'  being,  I  think,  better,  these  two  words  coming  usually 
and  naturally  together,  and  the  alteration  being  slight,  I  would  so  read  in  this  place 
with  Hanmer.  [And  yet  he  did  not. — ED.] — CAPELL  (p.  146)  :  Won  carries  strong 
marks  of  genuineness  ;  it  is  coupl'd  often  with  'lost'  in  these  writings,  and  seems 


ACT  ii,  sc.  iv.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  14 1 

Uio.    I  thinke  it  well  my  Lord.  42 

Du.     Then  let  thy  Loue  be  yonger  then  thy  felfe, 
Or  thy  affection  cannot  hold  the  bent : 

For  women  are  as  Rofes,  whofe  faire  flowre  45 

Being  once  difplaid,  doth  fall  that  verie  howre. 

Vio.     And  fo  they  are  :  alas,  that  they  are  fo  : 
To  die,  euen  when  they  to  perfection  grow. 
Enter  Curio  &  Clowne. 

Du.     O  fellow  come,  the  fong  we  had  laft  night :  50 

Marke  it  Cefario,  it  is  old  and  plaine  ; 
The  Spinfters  and  the  Knitters  in  the  Sun, 
And  the  free  maides  that  weaue  their  thred  with  bones,  53 

42.  -well  my]  well,  my  Rowe  et  seq.  Theob.  -I- ,  Sta. 

46.  that]  the  F4  Rowe  i.  52.  and  the]  and  Vernor  &  Hood's 

47-  fo :]  so.   Rowe  i.     so,  Rowe  ii.  Rep. 

so, —  Dyce.  52-56.  Mnemonic,  Warb. 

50.  night:]  night.  Rowe,  Pope,  Han.  53.  the  free]  the  fair  Grey,     thrifty 

Coll.    Dyce,    Cam.    Ktly.        night,—  J.  Addis,  Jr.  (N.  &  Qu.  Ill,  xi,  252). 

wanted  to  sort  with  'giddy'  and  'longing,'  as  'lost'  does  with  the  other  two. — 
MALONE  :  The  text  is  undoubtedly  right,  and  '  worn '  means  consumed,  worn  out. 
So  Lord  Surrey,  describing  the  Spring,  says  :  '  Winter  is  worn,  that  was  the  flowers' 
bale.'  [Description  of  Spring.]  Again,  2  Hen.  VI:  II,  iv,  69  :  '  These  few  days' 
wonder  will  be  quickly  worn.'  Again,  in  Wint.  Tale,  V,  i,  142  :  '  and  but  infirm- 
ity Which  waits  upon  worn  times.' — WALKER  (Crit.  iii,  85)  :  It  seems  wonderful 
that  any  one  should  have  hesitated  between  this  and  the  true  reading  won. — 
LETTSOM  (Footnote  to  Walker)  :  So  in  the  Mer.  of  Ven.  I,  iii,  50,  the  Folio  has 
'  well-worne  thrift,'  and,  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  Quartos,  the  corruption  might 
have  deformed  modern  texts.  [W.  A.  WRIGHT  is,  I  think,  a  little  too  emphatic  when 
he  says  that  won  '  would  have  no  meaning  here';  does  not  the  word  'wavering' 
imply  now  lost  now  won  ?  but  he  is  altogether  right  in  retaining  '  worn ' ;  even 
apart  from  its  appropriate  meaning  of  '  lost  and  consumed,'  the  very  triteness  of  the 
phrase  '  lost  and  won '  is  against  its  adoption.  Here,  if  anywhere,  the  well-worn 
Durior  lectio  preferenda  est  should  prevail. — ED.] 

44.  bent]  MURRAY  (N.  E.  D.  s.  v.  Bent,  9)  :  Extent  to  which  a  bow  may  be 
bent,  or  a  spring  wound  up,  degree  of  tension  ;  hence  degree  of  endurance,  capacity 
for  taking  in  or  receiving ;  limit  of  capacity,  etc.  [See  Much  Ado,  II,  iii,  214 ; 
IV,  i,  194,  of  this  ed.] 

48.  euen  when]  ABBOTT  (§  38,  p.  42)  :  This  means  here,  'just  when.' 
53.  free  maides]  JOHNSON  :  That  is,  perhaps,  vacant,  unengaged,  easy  in  mind. 
— KNIGHT:  Upon  the  passage  in  Milton's  L1  Allegro, — 'But  come,  thou  goddess, 
fair  and  free,  In  heaven  yclep'd  Euphrosyne,' — Warton  remarks  that  'in  the 
metrical  romances  these  two  words,  thus  paired  together,  are  a  common  epithet  for 
a  lady,'  as  in  Syr  Eglamour,  'The  erles  daughter  fair  and  free.'  'But  in  these 
cases,"  observes  W.  A.  WRIGHT,  '"free"  denotes  one  of  gentle  or  noble  birth. 
See  I,  v,  258.  Thus  in  the  Romance  of  Sir  Perceval  of  Galles  (  Thornton  Romances, 
Camden  Soc.)  521,  we  find  "  Percyvelle  the  free";  and  in  Robert  of  Gloucester's 


I42  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  n,  sc.  iv. 

Do  vfe  to  chaunt  it  :  it  is  filly  footh, 

And  dallies  with  the  innocence  of  loue,  55 

Like  the  old  age. 

Clo.     Are  you  ready  Sir  ? 

Duke.     I  prethee  fing.  Mujlcke. 

The  Song.  59 

54.  filly  footh,]  silly,  sooth,  Wh.  i.  Pope,  Han.     Ay  ;  pr'y  thee  (or  prithee) 

55.  dallies]  tallies  Warb.  Theob.  ii  et  seq. 

58.  I  prethee]  Ff,  Rowe.     I  pr'y  thee  59.  The  Song.]  Song.  Rowe  et  seq. 

Chronicle  (ed.  Hearne),  p.  420,  Henry  I.  is  described  as  "Of  fayrost  fourme  and 
maners  and  mest  gentyl  and  fre."  '  Wright,  therefore,  defines  'free*  in  the 
present  instance,  as  '  free  from  care,  careless,  happy,'  and  therein  agrees  with  Dr 
Johnson  ;  among  the  many  meanings  which  can  be  properly  given  to  the  word,  this 
appears  to  suit  the  present  context  best. — HALLIWELL  quotes  the  following,  from 
Miss  Baker's  Northamptonshire  Glossary:  Lace-songs,  jingling  rhymes,  sung  by 
young  girls  while  engaged  at  their  lace-pillows.  The  movement  of  the  bobbins  is 
timed  by  the  modulation  of  the  tune,  which  excites  them  to  regularity  and  cheerful- 
ness ;  and  it  is  a  pleasing  picture,  in  passing  through  a  rural  village,  to  see  them,  in 
warm  sunny  weather,  seated  outside  their  cottage  doors,  or  seeking  the  shade  of  a 
neighbouring  tree ;  where  in  cheerful  groups  they  unite  in  singing  their  rude  and 
simple  rhymes. 

53.  bones]  W.  A.  WRIGHT:  In  Beaumont  &  Fletcher's  Scornful  Lady,  V,  ii, 
among  the  accomplishments  of  a  good  housewife,  it  is  said,  '  She  cuts  cambric  at  a 
thread,  weaves  bone  lace,  and  quilts  balls.' — MURRAY  (TV.  £.2).):  Bone-lace  is 
usually  of  linen  thread,  made  by  knitting  upon  a  pattern  marked  by  pins,  with  bob- 
bins originally  made  of  bone. 

54.  silly  sooth]  JOHNSON  :  That  is,  it  is  plain,  simple  truth. 

55.  dallies]  STEEVENS  :  That  is,  play,  trifle.     So  in  III,  i,  16. 

56.  the  old  age]  JOHNSON  :  That  is,  the  ages  past,  the  times  of  simplicity. — 
HUNTER  (i,  403)  :  Dr  Johnson's  interpretation  is  confirmed  by  what  goes  before, 
'  it  is  old  and  plain.'     The  poets  have  always  had  their  golden  age  of  innocence 
and  truth.     In  Sonnet,  cxxvii,  we  have,  '  In  the  old  age  black   was  not  counted 
fair.'    [Compare  Orlando's  speech  to  Adam  ;  'how  well  in  thee  appears  The  constant 
service  of  the  antique  world,'  etc.,  II,  iii,  58. — ED.] 

59.  The  Song]  CAPELL  (p.  146)  :  This  song  is  undoubtedly  ancient,  but  is  not 
met   with   as   some  are  of  Sir  Toby's. — STAUNTON  :  On  comparing   the   Duke's 
description  of  that  '  antique  song '  he  heard  last  night,  with  this  ballad,  the  differ- 
ence is  so  striking,  as  to  beget  suspicion  that  the  latter  was  an  interpolation,  and 
not  the  original  song  intended  by  the  poet.     It  appears,  indeed,  to  have  been  the 
privilege  of  the  singer  formerly,  whenever  the  business  of  the  scene  required  a  song, 
to  introduce  one  of  his  own  choice  ;  hence  we  frequently  find  in  our  old  dramas, 
instead  of  the  words  of  a  ballad,  merely  a  stage  direction,  '  A  Song,'  or  '  He  sings.' 
— INNES  :  Nevertheless,  a  song  of  the  woeful  fate  of  a  swain  who  dies  of  love  may 
Yery  fitly  be  described  as  'dallying  with  the  innocence  of  love,'    especially  by  the 
Duke,  who  would  rather  like  to  believe  that  he  is  dying  of  love  himself. — HUTSON 
(p.  489)  :  The  true  significance  of  the  great  dramatist's  putting  this  wailing  dirge 
into  the  Clown's  mouth  seems  to  me  to  be  that  he  wishes  to  indicate  his  conception 


ACT  H,  sc.  iv.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  143 

Come  away, come  away  death,  60 

And  in  fad  cyprejfe  let  me  be  laide  . 

Fye  away,  fie  away  breath, 

I  amjlaine  by  a  fair e  cruell  maide  :  63 

62.  Fye  away,  fie]  F2.     Fie  away,  fie  F3F4.     Fly  away,  fly  Rowe  et  seq. 

of  the  character  as  that  of  one  whose  culture  and  native  gifts  have  been  both  over- 
borne by  some  imperious  and  ineradicable  foibles,  aided  by  the  force  of  circum- 
stances. Capacity  for  thought,  still  manifested  in  metaphysical  tendencies  of  expres- 
sion, .  .  .  and  capacity  for  sentiment,  still  manifested  in  his  musical  ability,  and 
the  power  with  which  he  evidently  rendered  this  song,  indicate  versatility  of  mind 
and  character.  To  this  we  must  add  the  histrionic  capacity  afterwards  shown  when 
he  deceives  Malvolio  by  feigned  voice  and  style  into  mistaking  him  for  the  Parson. 
This  versatility  might  have  borne  better  fruit  than  the  life  of  a  great  lady's  jester 
but  for  the  large  developement  of  certain  lower  tastes  and  passions,  which  one  can- 
not help  noting  in  Feste,  and  also  the  opportune  opening  for  him  in  the  new  pro- 
fession, when  his  lively  pranks  shut  him  off  from  the  clerical  career  for  which  he 
seems  to  have  been  originally  destined.  Something  in  his  personal  appearance,  too, 
operated  against  his  entering  that  profession,  and  fitted  him  peculiarly  for  the  cap- 
and-bells  and  the  motley  garb.  [See  IV,  ii,  8.  In  the  Acting  Version  of  EDUARD 
and  OTTO  DEVRIENT  this  Song  is  sung  by  Viola.  In  the  Introduction  to  the  play, 
the  Editors,  who  were  themselves  eminent  actors,  express  the  belief  that  in  this  dis- 
tribution of  parts  they  were,  in  reality,  restoring  Shakespeare's  original  intention. 
That,  in  the  Folio,  this  Song  is  sung  by  Feste,  they  attribute  to  the  changes  which 
were  introduced  by  the  company  at  The  Globe,  after  Shakespeare  had  left  the  stage, 
—changes  which  may  have  been  due  at  first  to  some  temporary  expediency  and 
became  afterward  permanent.  At  the  very  outset  of  the  play  we  are  led  to  suppose 
that  Viola's  chief  attraction  is  her  singing;  and  yet  here  at  the  supreme  moment 
when  her  singing  is  to  have  its  most  powerful  effect,  she  is  silent,  and  the  power  to 
stir  the  Duke's  heart  to  the  inmost  is  given  to  the  Clown.  The  whole  sentiment 
of  the  Song  points  to  Viola  as  the  Singer  ;  in  it  she  pours  out  her  soul.  « Is  it  to 
be  imagined,'  they  ask,  '  that  Shakespeare  should  have  allowed  our  expectations  of 
Viola's  singing  to  be  aroused  only  to  have  them  fulfilled  by  the  Clown?'  Further- 
more, they  say  that  '  if  we  examine  the  text  which  sets  forth  the  substitution  of  the 
Clown  for  Viola,  we  cannot  for  a  moment  doubt  that  we  are  dealing  with  an  inser- 
tion by  a  Stage  manager,  who  has  had  to  meet  a  sudden  and  unexpected  misadvent- 
ure,— possibly  an  attack  of  hoarseness  in  Viola,  and  Feste,  ever  ready  with  his 
songs,  must  help  her  out.  But  why  this  substitution  was  permanent,  and  why  Viola 
was  not  reinstated,  and  why  the  impromptu  jokes  of  the  Clown  were  retained  in  the 
Folio  are  questions  as  hard  to  answer  as  why  these  noteworthy  inconsistencies  have 
not  been  hitherto  noticed.'  The  Editors  then  go  on  to  say  that  on  the  stage,  in 
many  performances  at  Carlsruhe,  the  change  from  Feste  to  Viola  has  been  extremely 
effective. — CONRAD  ( Preuss.  Jahrb.  July,  1887,  p.  17)  suggests  that  when  Shake- 
speare first  wrote  this  play,  the  boy,  who  took  the  part  of  Viola,  had  a  fresh  young 
voice,  but  when,  at  a  later  date,  he  enlarged  the  play  the  boy  had  grown  up,  and  the 
only  good  tenor  in  the  company  was  the  Clown. — ED.] 

61.  cypresse]  MALONE  :  In  the  books  of  our  author's  age  the  thin  transparent 
lawn  called  cyprus,  which  was  formerly  used  for  scarfs  and  hatbands  at  funerals,  was, 


144 


TWELFE  NIGHT 


[ACT  ii,  sc.  iv. 


Myflirowd  of  white, flue k  all  with  Ew,  0  prepare  it. 

My  part  of  death  no  one  fo  true  did  fliare  it.  65 

Not  a  flower,  not  a  flower  fweete 

On  my  blacke  coffin,  let  there  be  flrewne  : 

Not  a  friend,  not  a  friend  greet 

My  poore  corpes, where  my  bones  Jhall  be  throwne  : 

A  thoufand  thoufandjighes  to  faue  Jay  me  d  where  70 

Sad  true  louer  neuerfind  my  graue  ,to  weepe  there. 

Du.     There's  for  thy  paines. 

Clo.    No  paines  fir,  I  take  pleafure  in  fmging  fir. 

Du.     He  pay  thy  pleafure  then.  74 


64.   Ew]  Ff.     Yew  Rowe. 

64,  65.  O  prepare  it... did  (hare  it] 
Separate  lines,  Pope  et  seq. 

64.  O  prepare]  Prepare  Pope,  Han. 

66.  flower  fwecte]y?<?w<?r,  sweet,  Anon, 
ap.  Cam. 

70,  71.  lay  me  o  where... to  weepe 
there]  Separate  lines,  Pope  et  seq. 


70.  6]  O  Ff.     Om.  Pope,  Han. 

71.  Sad]  Om.  Pope,  +  ,  Var.  '73. 
true   louer]    true-love   Cap.  Var. 

'78,  '85,  Dyce  ii,  iii,  Huds. 

neuer]    ne'er   Han.    Mai.  Steev. 
Var.  '03,  '13,  Sta. 

72.  [Giving  money.  Coll.  ii  (MS.) 


I  believe,  constantly  spelt  cypress.  So,  in  the  Wint.  Tale,  IV,  iv,  251  :  '  Cypresse 
blacke  as  ere  was  Crow,'  where  undoubtedly  Cyprus  was  meant.  [See  note,  ad  loc. 
in  this  ed.]  So,  again  in  the  play  before  us,  III,  i,  123,  'a  Cipresse,  not  a  bosome 
Hides  my  heart.'  It  is  from  the  context  alone,  therefore,  that  we  can  ascertain 
whether  cyprus  or  cypress  was  intended.  Mr  Warton  has  suggested,  in  his  edition 
of  Milton's  Poems,  that  the  meaning  here  is, — 'Let  me  be  laid  in  a  shroud  made 
of  cyprus,  not  in  a  coffin  made  of  cypress  wood.'  But  in  a  subsequent  line  of  this 
song  the  shroud  (like  that  of  Polonius),  we  find,  is  white.  There  was,  indeed,  white 
Cyprus  as  well  as  black  ;  but  the  epithet  '  sad '  is  inconsistent  with  white,  and, 
therefore,  I  suppose  the  wood  to  have  been  here  meant.  Coffins  being  frequently 
made  of  cypress  wood  (perhaps  in  consequence  of  cyprus  being  used  at  funerals) 
the  epithet  '  sad '  is  here  employed  with  strict  propriety.  [Malone  then  quotes  from 
Speed  an  incident  which  occurred  at  the  '  solemne  funerals '  of  Robert  de  Vere. 
Stow,  Speed's  predecessor,  gives  the  same  incident  as  follows  :  '[King  Richard  II.] 
caused  the  Coffin  of  Cipres,  wherein  his  body  being  embalmed  lay,  to  be  opened, 
that  he  might  behold  his  face,  &  touch  him  with  his  fingers.' — Annales,  p.  503,  ed. 
1600.] — KNIGHT:  It  is  difficult,  and  perhaps  unnecessary,  to  decide  the  question 
[whether  a  coffin  or  a  shroud  be  here  meant ;]  the  sentiment  is  the  same,  whichever 
meaning  we  receive. — W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  It  is,  either  a  coffin  of  cypress  wood  or  on 
a  bier  strewn  with  branches  or  garlands  of  cypress. 

65.  My  part  .  .  .  share  it]  JOHNSON  :  Though  '  death  '  is  a  '  part '  in  which 
every  one  acts  his  '  share,'  yet  of  all  these  actors  no  one  is  '  so  true '  as  I. 

70.  8]  This  '6,'  with  a  circumflex,  WALKER  (Crit.  i,  105)  notes  as  frequently 
used  (though,  of  course,  not  here)  as  the  o  in  the  forms  o1  my  truth,  o1  my  life,  etc. 


ACT  ii,  sc.  iv.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  145 

Clo.    Truely  fir,  and  pleafure  will  be  paide  one  time, or  75 

another. 

Du.     Giue  me  now  leaue,  to  leaue  thee. 

Clo.  Now  the  melancholly  God  proteft  thee,  and  the 
Tailor  make  thy  doublet  of  changeable  Taffata,  for  thy 
minde  is  a  very  Opall .  I  would  haue  men  of  fuch  conftan-  80 

76.  another}  other  Rowe,  +  ,  Var.  '73,  77,  78.  Giue  me. ..Now]  Give  me  new 
'78, '85,  Ran.  leave.     Clo.  To  leave  thee  !—  N<rw  Mac- 

77.  Giue... thee~\  I  give  thee  now. ..me.  donald,  ap.  Cam. 
Harness,  Coll.  iii  (MS.)  78.  Clo.]  Duk.  F2. 

75,  76.  pleasure  will  be  paide,  etc.]  DEIGHTON  :  Sooner  or  later  pleasure  (*'.  e. 
indulgence)  will  be  requited  by  pain,  will  have  to  pay  the  penalty  of  pain. 

77.  Giue  me  now  leaue,  etc.]  HARNESS:  There  are  here  two  errors  of  the 
press :  the  omission  of  the  preposition  [«V]  /,  and  a  transposition  of  '  me '  and 
'  thee.'  According  to  the  old  reading,  the  Duke's  [speech]  is  not  only  contrary  to 
the  rank  and  situation  of  the  characters  but  to  the  circumstances  which  immediately 
follow.  [Harness's  text  reads  :  '  I  give  thee  now  leave  to  leave  me ' ;  which  is  also 
the  reading  of  Collier's  MS.] — HALUWELL,  after  quoting  Harness's  note,  observes  : 
The  Duke  is  scarcely  solicitous  to  preserve  the  language  belonging  to  the  dignity  of 
his  position  in  his  conversation  with  the  Clown.  He  is  here  speaking  either  jocu- 
larly or  ironically,  or  both. — DYCE  (ed.  ii,  asks,  concerning  the  present  text)  Is  not 
this  a  courteous  form  of  dismissal  ? — W.  A.  WRIGHT  answers  that  it  is,  and  adds  : 
When  Henry  says  to  Worcester  (/  Hen.  IV:  I,  iii,  20),  'You  have  good  leave  to 
leave  us,'  it  amounts  to  a  command  to  withdraw.  [See  WEISS'S  note  on  line  4 
above.  ] 

79.  changeable  Taffata]  HALLIWELL  :  '  — as  our  changeable  silk  turned  to  ye 
Sunne  hath  many  colours,  and  turned  backe  the  contrary,  so  wit  shippeth  ['sharp- 
eth,'  ap.  Halliwell  ;  qu.  shapeth  ? — ED.]  it  self  to  euery  conceit  being  constant  in 
nothing  but  inconstancie.' — Lily,   Euphxes  and  his  England,  [1580,   p.   320,  ed. 
Arber.] — W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  Taffeta  was  originally  any  kind  of  plain  silk,  but  it  now 
denotes  many  other  varieties.     The  word  is  said  to  be  Persian  in  origin,   from 
taftah,   woven,    which  is  the  participle  of  t&ftan,    to   intertwine.     It  appears  in 
French  as  taffetas,  in  Italian  as  taffeto,  and  in  Spanish  as  tafetan.     In  Chaucer 
(C.  T.  442)  the  Doctor  of  Physic's  robe  was,  '  Lyned  with  taffata  and  with  sendal." 
The  earliest  example  given  by  Littr6  is  of  the  I5th  century  :  '  Une  piece  de  taffetas 
changeant  de  Levant.' 

80.  Opall]   '  Optallio  is  called  Oppalus  also,  and  is  a  stone  distinguished  with 
colors  of  diuers  precious  stones,  as  Isid.  saith.     Therein  is  the  firie  colour  of  ye 
Carbuncle,  the  shining  purple  of  the  Ametistus,  the  bright  greene  colour  of  Smar- 
agdus,  and  all  the  colours  shine  therein,  with  a  manner  diuersitie,  and  hath  the  name 
of  the  Countrie.    This  stone  breedeth  onely  in  Inde,  and  is  deemed  to  haue  as  many 
vertues,  as  hiewes  and  colours.     Of  this  Optallius,  it  is  said  in  Lapidario,  that  this 
stone  Optallius  keepeth  and  saueth  his  eyen  that  beareth  it,  cleere   and  sharp  and 
without  griefe,  and  dimmeth  other  mens  eyen  that  be  about,  with  a  maner  clowde, 
and  smiteth  them  with  a  maner  blindnesse,  that  is  called  Amentia,  so  that  they  may 
not  see  neither  take  heede  what  is  done  before  their  eyen.     Therefore  it  is  said,  that 


146  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  11,  sc.  iv. 

cie  put  to  Sea,  that  their  bufmeffe  might  be  euery  thing,  81 

and  their  intent  euerie  where,  for  that's  it,  that  alwayes 
makes  a  good  voyage  of  nothing.    Farewell.  Exit 

Du.     Let  all  the  reft  giue  place  :  Once  more  Cefario, 
Get  thee  to  yond  fame  foueraigne  crueltie  :  85 

Tell  her  my  loue,  more  noble  then  the  world 
Prizes  not  quantitie  of  dirtie  lands, 
The  parts  that  fortune  hath  beftow'd  vpon  her : 
Tell  her  I  hold  as  giddily  as  Fortune : 

But 'tis  that  miracle, and  Queene  of  lems  90 

That  nature  prankes  her  in,  attracts  my  foule. 

82.  that's    it,  that}    Mat's    it    that  '78,  '85.     yona"  Coll. 
Rowe.  87,  88.  lands,  ...  her,]   lands,  ...  her, 

84.  Scene  VI.  Pope,  +  .  Ff,  Rowe.     lands ;... her,  Pope  et  seq. 
place:]  place.     [Exeunt.  Johns.  90.  Jems']  Jems  FF,  Rowe.     gems 

[Exeunt  Cur.  and  Att.  Cap.  Pope. 

85.  yond~\  yon'  Cap.  Steev.  Var.  '73, 

it  is  the  most  sure  patron  of  theeues.' — Batman  vppon  Bartholome,  1582,  Lib.  xvi, 
cap.  73,  p.  264.— ED. 

82.  euerie  where]  WARBURTON  :  Both  the  preservation  of  the  antithesis  and  the 
recovery  of  the  sense,  require  we  should  read, — '  and  their  intent  no  where.'  Because 
a  man  who  suffers  himself  to  run  with  every  wind,  and  so  makes  his  business  every 
where,  cannot  be  said  to  have  any  intent ;  for  that  word  signifies  a  determination  of 
the  mind  to  something.  Besides,  the  conclusion  of  '  making  a  good  voyage '  of 
nothing  directs  to  this  emendation. — HEATH  (p.  191) :  An  intent  every  where  is 
much  the  same  as  an  intent  no  where,  as  it  hath  no  one  particular  place  more  in 
view  than  another. — M.  MASON  (p.  116)  :  We  cannot  accuse  a  man  of  inconstancy 
who  has  no  intents  at  all,  though  we  may  the  man  whose  intents  are  every  where  ; 
that  is,  are  continually  varying.  [Just  as  the  incomparable  Feste  had  detected 
Maria's  scheme  to  capture  Sir  Toby,  (I,  v,  27,)  so  here  he  shows  with  what  exact- 
ness he  had  read  the  Duke's  character. — ED.] 

86.  world]  That  is,  the  social  world. 

87.  dirtie  lands]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  Like  Osric,  in  Hamlet,  Olivia  was  '  spacious 
in  the  possession  of  dirt.' 

89.  giddily]  That  is,  carelessly,  indifferently. 

91.  prankes  her  in]  WARBURTON  :  What  is  '  that  miracle  and  queen  of  gems,' 
we  are  not  told  in  this  reading.  Besides,  what  is  meant  by  '  nature  pranking  her  in 
a  miracle'?  We  should  read,  'That  nature  pranks,  her  mind' — i.  e.  what  'attracts 
my  soul '  is  not  her  '  fortune,'  but  her  mind,  '  that  miracle  and  queen  of  gems  that 
nature  pranks,'  i.  e.  sets  out,  adorns. — JOHNSON  :  The  '  miracle  and  queen  of  gems ' 
is  her  beauty,  which  the  commentator  might  have  found  without  so  emphatical  an 
enquiry.  As  to  her  mind,  he  that  should  be  captious  would  say,  that  though  it  may 
be  formed  by  nature,  it  must  be  '  pranked '  by  education.  Shakespeare  does  not  say 
that  nature  pranks  her  in  a  miracle,  but  in  the  miracle  of  gems,  that  is,  in  a  gem 
miraculously  beautiful. 

91.  attracts]  For  the  omission  of  the  relative,  see  I,  v,  99. 


ACT  ii,  sc.  iv.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL 


147 


Vio.     But  if  fhe  cannot  loue  you  fir.  92 

Du.     It  cannot  be  fo  anfwer'd. 

Vio.     Sooth  but  you  muft. 

Say  that  fome  Lady,  as  perhappes  there  is,  95 

Hath  for  your  loue  as  great  a  pang  of  heart 
As  you  haue  for  Oliuia  :  you  cannot  loue  her: 
You  tel  her  fo  :  Muft  fhe  not  then  be  anfwer'd  ? 

Du.     There  is  no  womans  fides 

Can  bide  the  beating  of  fo  flrong  a  paffion,  loo 

As  loue  doth  giue  my  heart  :  no  womans  heart 
So  bigge,  to  hold  fo  much,  they  lacke  retention.  102 

92.  fer.  ]  Ff,  Rowe.    Sir,—  Theob.  + .         /  Han.  et  seq. 

sir?  Pope  et  seq.  94.  Sooth}  'Sooth  Cap.  Var.  Steev. 

93.  7<]Ff,  Rowe,  Pope,Theob. Coll.  i.  100.  bide}  abide  F3F4. 

93.  It  cannot]  MALONE  :  I  am  not  sure  that  [Hanmer's  change  '/  cannot']  is 
necessary.  The  Duke  may  mean,  '  my  suit  cannot,"  etc. — COLLIER  (ed.  i)  :  That 
is,  my  love  cannot  be  so  answered.  Viola's  reply  means,  that  if  your  love  cannot  be 
so  answered,  you  must  be  content  with  the  answer. — DYCE  :  The  Folio  is  proved 
to  be  wrong  by  the  next  speech  ;  '  Sooth,  but  you  must .  .  .  must  she  not,  then,  be 
answer'd?' — COLLIER  (ed.  ii)  :  We  have  doubts  whether  the  old  text  should  be 
altered  here.  .  .  .  We  follow  [Hanmer's]  example  with  some  hesitation.  [Hanmer 
is  probably  right. — ED.] 

99.  There  is  ...  sides]  ABBOTT  (§  335)  :  When  the  subject  is  as  yet  future, 
and,  as  it  were,  unsettled,  the  third  person  singular  might  be  regarded  as  the  normal 
inflection.  Such  passages  are  very  common,  particularly  in  the  case  of  'There  is.' 
— SKEAT  (N.  &  Qu.  IXth,  v,  360,  May,  1900)  thus  excellently  formulates  the  usage 
founded  on  the  practice  of  old  authors : — When  a  verb  occurs  as  the  second  word  in 
a  sentence,  and  is  preceded  by  such  words  as  it,  that,  what,  where,  here,  and  the 
like,  such  a  verb  is  usually  employed  in  the  singular  number,  irrespective  of  the 
number  of  the  substantive  which  follows  it.  Examples  of  such  usage  are  common 
from  the  ninth  century  onwards.  Hence  a  ballad  may  begin,  '  It  was  a  lover  and 
his  lass,'  or  we  may  begin  a  sentence  with  'There  is  tears,'  or  'Here  is  pansies.' 
This  is  the  right  explanation  of  the  famous  line  in  The  Tempest :  '  What  cares  these 
roarers  for  the  name  of  king  ?'  If  I  remember  rightly,  the  form  '  cares '  has  been 
explained  as  '  a  Northern  plural.'  But  what  had  a  Warwickshire  man  to  do  with  '  a 
Northern  plural '  ? 

102.  to  hold]  For  the  omission  of  as,  see  II,  ii,  n. 

102.  retention]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  That  is,  the  power  of  retaining.  See  Sonnet 
cxxii,  9  :  '  That  poor  retention  could  not  so  much  hold.' — The  CowDEN-CLARKES  : 
The  Duke  one  moment  owns  his  sex's  fickleness,  the  next  maintains  its  superior 
strength  of  passion;  in  one  speech,  proclaims  women's  greater  constancy;  in 
another,  accuses  them  of  incapacity  for  steady  attachment. — INNES  :  The  Duke, — 
very  properly  and  entirely  in  character, — makes  two  flatly  contradictory  statements 
about  women  in  general  in  the  course  of  a  single  scene, — consequently  there  are 
plenty  of  people  who  will  quote  one  opinion  or  the  other,  and  say  we  have  not 
Orsino's  but  Shakespeare's  authority  for  taking  that  view.  What  Shakespeare 


I48  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  n,  sc.  iv. 

Alas,  their  loue  may  be  call'd  appetite,  103 

No  motion  of  the  Liuer,  but  the  Pallat, 

That  fuffer  furfet,  cloyment,  and  reuolt,  105 

But  mine  is  all  as  hungry  as  the  Sea, 

And  can  digeft  as  much,  make  no  compare 

Betweene  that  loue  a  woman  can  beare  me, 

And  that  I  owe  Oliuia. 

Uio.     I  but  I  know.  HO 

Du.     What  doft  thou  knowe  ? 

103.  104.  appetite, ...Pallat,'}  Fa.    «/-  107.  digejl]  difgejl?f 
J>ftrte:...Pattati¥3F4,Rovre,+.     appe-  much,     make]     much;      make 
tite, — ...palate, —  Cap.  et  seq.  (subs. )            Rowe  et  seq. 

105.  fuffer\    suffers  Rowe,  + ,   Ran.  I IO.  know.]    know —  Rowe  et   seq- 

Coll.  Dyce  ii,  iii,  Huds.  Dtn.  (subs.) 

thought  on  the  subject  we  may  infer  from  the  characters  of  the  women  he  drew 
more  accurately  than  from  the  various  opinions  expressed  by  his  dramatis  persona. 
103-105.  their  .  .  .  That]  For  the  construction,  see  I,  v,  287, — if  the  antecedent 
of  'That'  be  '  their,' — which  is  doubtful. 

104.  motion  of  the  Liuer]  That  is,  no  emotion  of  the  liver.     That  the  liver  is 
the  seat  of  love  and  valour  has  been  the  belief  from  time  immemorial.     The  follow- 
ing from  Bartholomseus,  who  flourished  about  1 360,  is  noteworthy  merely  as  showing 
the  prevalence  of  the  belief  in  the  Middle  Ages  :  '  the  lyuer  is  the  chiefe  foundation 
of  kindly  vertue,  and  gretest  helper  of  the  first  digestion  in  the  stomacke .  .  .  and 
sendeth  feeding  to  all  the  members,  and  exciteth  loue  or  bodelye  lust,  and  receiueth 
diuers  passions.' — Batman  vppon  Bartholome,  1582,  Lib.  V,  cap.  39,  p.  57. 

105.  That  suffer  surfet]  MALONE  :   '  Suffer '   is  governed  by  -women,  implied 
under  the  words  ' their  love.'    The  love  of  women,  etc.,  -who  suffer. — DYCE  (ed.  ii) : 
Malone  attempts  in  vain  to  defend  '  suffer.' — DEIGHTON  :  The  line  '  No  motion  .  .  . 
Pallat '  is  parenthetical.     The  fact  that  the  Duke  immediately  afterwards  contrasts 
his  appetite  as  never  suffering  surfeit,  etc.,  with  that  of  women  seems  to  show  that 
'  That '  refers  to  appetite,  and  consequently  that  we  must  have  the  singular  verb, 
suffers.    The  final  s  might  be  easily  omitted  before  '  surfeit.' — INNES  :  'That'  refers 
back  to  « their,'  not  to  palate.     [In  a  case  like  this,  where  the  ear  can  only  with 
difficulty  detect  a  difference  between  '  suffer  surfeit'  and  '  suffers  surfeit,'  it  is  hardly 
safe  to  be  dogmatic.      The  terms :  '  surfeit,   cloyment '   and,  especially,   '  revolt,' 
certainly  seem  more  applicable  to  'appetite'  than  to  -women. — ED.] 

105.  cloyment]    W.   A.  WRIGHT  :   Apparently  a  word  of  Shakespeare's  own 
coinage. 

106.  hungry  as  the  Sea]  STEEVENS  :  So,  in  Coriolanus,  V,  iii,  58 :  « Then  let 
the  pebbles  on  the  hungry  beach  Fillip  the  stars.' 

109.  I  owe  Oliuia]  I  suppose  the  general  pronunciation  of  '  Olivia '  is  with  a 
long  O,  which  is  shortened  in  the  abbreviation,  Olive.  Is  it  fanciful  to  infer,  from 
the  present  phrase,  that  Shakespeare's  pronunciation  was  the  snme  in  both  cases,  and 
that  he  pronounced  'Olivia'  with  a  short  O?  Otherwise  it  is  difficult  to  suppose 
that  his  ear  would  not  have  detected  the  cacophony  of  the  iterated  long  o  in  '  owe 
Olivia.'— ED. 


ACT  II,  sc.  iv.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  149 

Uio.     Too  well  what  loue  women  to  men  may  owe  :  112 

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  115 

I  fhould  your  Lordfhip. 

Du.     And  what's  her  hiftory  ? 

Vio.     A  blanke  my  Lord  :  me  neuer  told  her  loue,  1 18 

112.  may   owe]    owe   F3F4.     do   owe  118—123.  Mnemonic      lines,      Pope, 

Rowe  i.  Warb. 

117.  And  what's]  What's  Pope,  Han. 

114.  lou'd]  For  a  similar  omission  of  the  relative,  see  I,  v,  99. 

118,  etc.  A  blanke,  etc.]  HAZLITT  (p.  259):  The  great  and  secret  charm  of 
Twelfth  Night  is  the  character  of  Viola.     Much  as  we  like  catches  and  cakes  and 
ale,  there  is  something  we  like  better.     We  have  a  friendship  for  Sir  Toby ;  we 
patronise  Sir  Andrew  ;  we  have  an  understanding  with  the  Clown,  a  sneaking  kind- 
ness for  Maria  and  her  rogueries ;  we  feel  a  regard  for  Malvolio,  and  sympathise 
with  his  gravity,  his  smiles,  his  cross-garters,  his  yellow-stockings  and  his  imprison- 
ment in  the  stocks.  [?]     But  there  is  something  that  excites  in  us  a  stronger  feeling 
than  all  this, — it  is  Viola's  confession  of  her  love.     What  we  so  much  admire  here 
is  not  the  image  of  Patience  on  a  monument,  which  has  been  generally  quoted,  but 
the  lines  before  and  after  it.     '  They  give  a  very  echo  to  the  seat  where  love  is 
throned.'     How  long  ago  it  is  since  we  first  learned  to  repeat  them  ;  and  still,  still 
they  vibrate  on  the  heart,  like  the  sounds  which  the  passing  wind  draws  from  the 
trembling  strings  of  a  harp  left  on  some  desert  shore  ! — COLERIDGE  (p.  121)  :  After 
the  first  line  (of  which  the  last  five  words  should  be  spoken  with,  and  drop  down  in, 
a  deep  sigh),  the  actress  ought  to  make  a  pause  ;  and  then  start  afresh,  from  the 
activity  of  thought,  born  of  suppressed  feelings,  and  which  thought  had  accumulated 
during  the  brief  interval,  as  vital  heat  under  the  skin  during  a  dip  in  cold  water. 
— CHARLES  LAMB  (ii,  366)  :  Those  who  have  only  seen  Mrs  Jordan  within  the  last 
ten  or  fifteen  years  can  have  no  adequate  notion  of  her  performance  of  such  parts 
as  Ophelia ;    Helena  in  Air 's   Well  that  Ends   Well;  and  Viola.  .  .  .  Her  joyous 
parts,  in  which  her  memory  now  chiefly  lives,  in  her  youth  were  outdone  by  her 
plaintive  ones.     There  is  no  giving  an  account  of  how  she  delivered  the  disguised 
story  of  her  love  for  Orsino.     It  was  no  set  speech,  that  she  had  foreseen,  so  as  to 
weave  it  into  a  harmonious  period,  line  necessarily  following  line,  to  make  up  the 
music, — yet  I  have  heard  it  so  spoken,  or  rather  read,  not  without  its  grace  and 
beauty, — but,  when  she  had  declared  her  sister's  history  to  be  a  *  blank,'  and  that 
she  '  never  told  her  love,'  there  was  a  pause,  as  if  the  story  had  ended, — and  then 
the  image  of  the  '  worm  in  the  bud,'  came  up  as  a  new  suggestion, — and  the  height- 
ened image  of  'Patience'  still  followed  after  that,  as  by  some  growing  (and  not 
mechanical)  process,  thought  springing  up  after  thought,  I  would  almost  say,  as 
they  were  watered  by  her  tears.     So  in  those  fine  lines,  '  Write  loyal  cantons  of  con- 
temned love,'  etc.     There  was  no  preparation  made  in  the  foregoing  image  for  that 
which  was  to  follow.     She  used  no  rhetoric  in  her  passion  ;  or  it  was  Nature's  own 
rhetoric,  most  legitimate  then,  when  it  seemed  altogether  without  rule  or  law.    [This 
description  of  Mrs  Jordan's  acting  agrees  so  fully  with  Coleridge's  assertion  of  the 


I5o  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  n,  sc.  iv. 

But  let  concealment  like  a  worme  i'th  budde 

Feede  on  her  damaske  cheeke  :  fhe  pin'd  in  thought,  120 

And  with  a  greene  and  yellow  melancholly, 

She  fate  like  Patience  on  a  Monument, 

Smiling  at  greefe.     Was  not  this  loue  indeede  ?  123 

122.  fate  like}  sat,  like  Knt,  Wh.  Ktly,  Huds.  Dtn. 

way  in  which  the  present  passage  should  be  acted,  that  I  am  inclined  to  think 
that  Coleridge  must  have  been,  quite  unconsciously,  drawing  on  his  memory  of 
this  charming  actress's  performance.  He  had  the  same  opportunities  that  Lamb 
had  of  seeing  Mrs  Jordan,  who,  as  Boaden  says,  '  long  continued  to  delight  the 
town  in  Viola,  which  she  acted  for  the  first  time'  in  November,  1785,  and  she 
retired  from  the  stage  only  a  few  years  before  Coleridge's  Notes  were  written,  if  they 
were  written,  as  I  think,  in  1818. — ED.] 

119,  1 20.  let  concealment  .  .  .  Feede,  etc.]  With  this  expression  HENRY  (ii, 
553)  compares,  'At  Regina .  .  .  Vulnus  alit  venis  et  caeco  carpi  tur  igni.' — Aeneid, 
IV,  2 ;  and  strangely  enough  asserts  that  Virgil  is  more  correct  than  Shakespeare, 
inasmuch  as  it  is  '  not  concealment,  but  the  love  which  is  concealed,  which  feeds  on 
the  cheek. '    This  form  of  metonymy  is  too  common  for  criticism.     Henry  overlooked 
the  first  clause  in  the  line,  where  there  is  a  metonymy  as  marked  as  Viola's :  '  Vulnus 
alit  venis ' ;  Dido  does  not  foster  the  wound  with  her  veins,  but  with  the  blood  in  her 
veins. — ED. 

1 20.  in  thought]  This  has  been  variously  defined  as  melancholy,  grief,  sorrow, 
sorrowful  reflection,   sadness,   etc.     I  think,  however,   that  the  best  and  simplest 
paraphrase  is  given  by  DEIGHTON  :  '  in  brooding  over  her  love.' 

122,  123.  Patience  .  .  .  greefe]  THEOBALD  (ed.  i)  suggests  that  it  is  not  impos- 
sible that  Shakespeare  might  have  '  borrowed '  this  '  very  fine  image '  from  Chaucer' s 
Assembly  of  Fowls,  242,  '  Dame  Pacience,  sittynge  ther  I  fonde,  With  face  pale, 
upon  an  hille  of  sonde.'  Compare,  also,  Pericles,  V,  i,  138:  'yet  thou  dost  look 
Like  Patience  gazing  on  kings'  graves,  and  smiling  Extremity  out  of  act.'  [Much 
of  the  discussion  on  this  passage,  (and  it  is  so  voluminous  that  Boswell  transposed 
it,  in  the  Variorum  of  1821,  to  the  end  of  the  play,)  was  set  abroach  by  MALONE, 
who  could  not  comprehend  how  Patience  could  smile  at  grief,  unless  grief 
were  actually  before  her  face  as  an  object  to  smile  at.  It  never  occurred  to  him 
that  she  who  smiled,  was  not  Patience  but  Viola's  sister;  he  evidently  supposed 
that  all  Viola's  sister  had  to  do  was  to  sit.  In  order,  therefore,  that  Patience's 
smiles  should  not  be  wasted  he  projected  a  second  monumental  figure,  Grief; 
and  took  much  comfort  in  a  quotation  from  Rich.  III.,  which,  as  he  said, 
'countenanced'  his  idea, — 'like  dumb  statuas,  or  breathing  stones,  Gaz'd  each  on 
other,  and  look'd  deadly  pale.'  Ill,  vii,  25.  If  there  were  only  one  figure,  he 
argues,  we  cannot  suppose  that  '•at  grief  meant  ( in  grief,'  because  'no  statuary 
could  form  a  countenance  on  which  smiles  and  grief  should  be  at  once  expressed.' 
DR  PERCY  afforded  so  much  relief  by  suggesting  that  'grief  meant  grievance,  that 
Malone  finally  acknowledged  that  this  interpretation  might  be  the  true  one,  but  to 
the  last  would  not  acknowledge  that  his  objection  to  at,  and  to  the  impossibility  of 
a  sculptor's  making  a  face  expressing  two  contrary  emotions,  was  without  foundation. 
STEEVENS  professed  himself  '  unwilling  to  suppose  that  a  monumental  image  of 
Patience  was  ever  confronted  by  an  emblematical  figure  of  Grief,  on  purpose  that  one 


ACT  ii,  sc.  iv.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  151 

We  men  may  fay  more,  fweare  more,  but  indeed 

Our  fhewes  are  more  then  will  :  for  ftill  we  proue  125 

Much  in  our  vowes,  but  little  in  our  loue. 

Du.     But  di'de  thy  fifter  of  her  loue  my  Boy  ? 

Via.     I  am  all  the  daughters  of  my  Fathers  houfe, 
And  all  the  brothers  too :  and  yet  I  know  not. 
Sir.  fhall  I  to  this  Lady?  130 

Du.     I  that's  the  Theame, 
To  her  in  hafte  :  giue  her  this  lewell  :  fay, 
My  loue  can  giue  no  place,  bide  no  denay.  exeunt         133 

124.  more,  buf\   more:   but  Cap.   et  129.  too: and... not.']  too — and. ..not — 

seq.  (subs.)  Rowe, +  .      too; — and  ...  not ; —    Cap. 

128.  I  am]  I'm  Pope,  Theob.  Warb.  too; — and..  .not.—Knl. 

Johns.  Huds.  133.   My\  Thy  F2. 

128,  129.  /  am. ..all  the  brothers  too  :  bide}  6idF4,  Rowe. 
and~\  She's...!  am  all  the  sons,  £«/Han. 

might  sit  and  smile  at  the  other ;  because  such  a  representation  might  be  considered  as 
a  satire  on  human  insensibility ' ;  and  concludes  his  note  with  the  remark,  '  that  to 
"  smile  at  grief  "  is  as  justifiable  an  expression  as  to  "rejoice  at  prosperity,"  or  repine 
at  ill  fortune.'  BOSWELL'S  note,  one  of  the  best  he  ever  wrote,  is  : — '  The  meaning 
appears  to  me  to  be  this  :  "  While  she  was  smiling  at  grief,  or  in  the  midst  of  her 
grief,  her  placid  resignation  made  her  look  like  patience  on  a  monument."  The 
monumental  figure,  I  apprehend,  is  no  more  said  to  have  smiled  at  grief  than  to 
have  pined  in  thought,  or  to  have  been  of  a  green  or  yellow  hue.'  This  just  inter- 
pretation of  the  passage  has  been  accepted  by  all  editors,  I  believe,  since  the  year 
it  was  published.  Knight's  punctuation,  I  think,  is  the  best.  Among  modern 
critics,  HUNTER  (i,  404)  alone  accepts  Malone's  two  monumental  figures.  W.  A. 
WRIGHT  remarks  with  quiet  humour  :  '  Shakespeare  may  very  well  have  seen  some 
such  emblematical  figure  on  a  funeral  monument,  or  he  may  even  have  imagined  it, 
as  he  was  not  wanting  in  imagination.1  '  Grief,'  here,  is  suffering. — ED.] 

123.  Was  not  this  loue  indeede  ?]  GERVINUS  (i,  549)  :  As  she  utters  these 
words,  overcome  by  tears,  she  breaks  off  her  speech  and  leaves.  ['  Undgleick  darauf 
bricht  sie  von  Thrdnen  ueberwdltigt  ihre  Rede  ab  und  geht.' — I  repeat  the  original 
that  there  can  be  no  question  of  the  fact  that  Gervinus  believed  that  the  young 
man,  Cesario,  bursts  into  tears  and  cries  before  the  Duke. — ED.] 

129.  and  yet  I  know  not]  She  is  thinking  of  Sebastian,  and  of  the  possibility 
of  his  having  been  saved. 

133.  denay]  STEEVENS  :  That  is,  denial.  To  denay  is  an  antiquated  verb  some- 
times used  by  Holinshed.  So,  p.  620  :  '  the  cardinall,  then  being  bishop  of  Win- 
chester, tooke  vpon  him  the  state  of  cardinall,  which  was  naied  and  denaied  him.' 
\_Henrie  the  sixt,  ed.  1587.]  Again,  in  Warner's  Albions  England,  1602,  2  booke, 
chap.  10  :  '  The  old-wife  .  .  .  thus  did  say  :  The  thing  (friend  Battus)  you  demaund 
not  gladly  I  denay.'  [p.  46. ] — DYCE  ( Gloss. )  :  '  Of  milde  denaies,  of  tender  scornes,' 
etc.  Fairfax's  trans,  of  Tasso's  Gerusalemme,  B.  xvi.  st.  25. 


1 52  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  n,  sc.  v. 


Scena  Quinta. 

Enter  Sir  Toby,  Sir  Andrew,  and  Fabian.  2 

To.     Come  thy  wayes  Signior  Fabian. 

Fab.     Nay  He  come  :  if  I  loofe  a  fcruple  of  this  fport, 
let  me  be  boyl'd  to  death  with  Melancholly.  5 

To.     Wouldft  thou  not  be  glad  to  haue  the  niggard- 
ly Rafcally  fheepe-biter,  come  by  fome  notable  fhame?  7 

I.  Scene...]  Scene  VII.  Pope,  +  .  4.  loofe]  lofe  Ff. 

Olivia's  Garden.  Pope. 

3.  wayes]  See  ABBOTT  (§  25,  p.  35)  for  adverbs  ending  in  s  formed  from  the 
possessive  inflection  of  nouns.  Compare  '  other  gates,'  V,  i,  206. — W.  A.  WRIGHT  : 
'Ways'  is  here  the  old  genitive,  used  adverbially. — INNES  demurs;  'but  surely,' 
he  says,  '  "  thy"  makes  this  a  very  difficult  explanation.  May  it  not  be  the  plural, 
and  object  of  "come"?' 

3.  Fabian]  See  II,  iii,  168.  INNES  :  Fabian  is  described  as  '  a  servant  of 
Olivia,'  but  he  treats  the  two  knights  as  if  he  were  very  much  on  an  equality  with 
them.  [It  is  Rowe  who  gives  us  the  Dramatis  Persons,  and  who  first  desig- 
nated Fabian  as  a  '  servant.'  Fabian  uniformly  addresses  the  two  knights  with  the 
respectful  'you'  of  an  inferior. — ED.] 

5.  boyl'd]  GREY  (i,  229)  calls  attention  to  the  fact  that  there  was  only  one 
crime  for  which  the  penalty,  under  English  laws,  was  boiling  to  death,  and  that 
was,  poisoning.  This  law  was  enacted  in  Henry  VIII. 's  time,  and  under  it  two 
cases  occurred  where  the  culprits  were  so  executed.  It  was  repealed  by  the  first  of 
Edward  VI.  Grey  thinks  it  probable  that  '  boiled '  should  be  here  broiled,  not,, 
however,  on  legal,  but  physiological,  grounds,  because,  as  he  asserts,  '  melancholy' 
arises  from  '  a  black  bile,  which  lies  broiling  upon  the  stomach.' 

7.  sheepe-biter]  RANN,  HALLIWELL,  DYCE  :  That  is,  a  thief.  Halliwell 
quotes  from  Taylor,  the  Water  Poet,  Works,  1630:  'Although  it  be  not  found  in 
ancient  writers  I  finde  all  mutton-eaters  are  sheepe-biters,  And  in  some  places  I 
have  heard  and  scene,  That  currish  sheepe-biters  have  hanged  beene.' — R.  G. 
WHITE  (ed.  i):  Unless  this  is  Sir  Toby's  phrase  for  cur,  or  mutton-eater, — more 
probably  the  former, — I  am  at  a  loss  to  explain  it. — SCHMIDT  (Lex.}  :  Evidently 
equivalent  to  a  morose,  surly,  and  malicious  fellow.— R.  G.  WHITE  (Studies, 
etc.,  p.  310)  :  'Sheep-biter'  does  not  mean  'a  morose,  surly,  malicious  fellow,'  nor 
anything  like  that.  If  Dr  Schmidt  had  said  it  meant  a  thief,  he  would  have  had 
the  support  of  good  '  authority'  (whatever  that  may  be).  It  was  indeed  applied  to 
thieves,  as  in  this  line:  '  How  like  a  sheep-biting  rogue,  taken  i'  the  manner!'  — 
Fletcher,  Rule  a  Wife,  etc.,  V,  iv,  and  so  it  was  to  malicious  persons,  as  in  the  follow- 
ing line  :  '  His  hate  like  a  sheep-biter  fleering  aside.'  Tusser,  Envious  and  Naughtie 
Neighbour,  p.  112,  ed.  1610.  But  it  was  so  applied  merely  because  it  was  a  gen- 
eral term  of  reproach.  It  means  merely  'mutton-eater.'  This  I  suggested  in  my 
first  edition,  and  afterwards  I  found  the  following  reference  to  the  phrase  by  Addi- 
son :  '  Mutton .  .  .  was  formerly  observed  to  be  the  food  rather  of  men  of  nice  and 


ACT  ii,  sc.  v.]  OR,    WHAT  YOU  WILL  153 

Fa.    I  would  exult  man  :  you  know  he  brought  me  out  8 

o'fauour  with  my  Lady,  about  a  Beare-baiting  heere. 

To.     To  anger  him  wee'l  haue  the  Beare  againe,  and  10 

we  will  foole  him  blacke  and  blew,  fhall  we  not  fir  An- 
drew? 

An.     And  we  do  not,  it  is  pittie  of  our  Hues. 
Enter  Maria. 

To.     Heere  comes  the  little  villaine  :  How  now  my  15 

9.  o'fauour]  Coll.  Wh.  Dyce,  Cam.  ii,  + . 

Sta.     of  favour  Ff  et  cet.  14.  Enter...]  After  villaine,  line  15, 

13.  And]  An  Pope  et  seq.  Dyce,  Cam. 
it  is"]    'tis   Rowe  i.     it's  Rowe 

delicate  appetites  than  those  of  strong  and  robust  constitution.  For  which  reason 
even  to  this  day  we  use  the  word  Sheep-biter  as  a  term  of  reproach,  as  we  do  Beef- 
eater in  a  respectful,  honourable  sense.' — Tatler,  No.  148.  Addison's  testimony 
(and  he  mentions  that  he  had  consulted  antiquaries — in  1709 — on  the  subject  of 
his  paper)  leaves  no  doubt  as  to  the  meaning  of  the  compound,  and  as  to  its  use  as 
a  general  term  of  reproach.  But  I  venture  a  dissent  from  his  inference  in  regard  to 
delicate  appetites.  Mutton  two  and  three  hundred  years  ago  was  looked  upon  as 
very  inferior  food  to  venison  and  to  beef ;  and  '  mutton-eater,'  coarsened  into  '  sheep- 
biter,'  corresponded  to  the  modern  'tripe-eater.' — W.  A.  WRIGHT:  A  term  of 
reproach,  taken  from  a  vicious  dog.  It  usually  denotes  a  niggard.  So,  in  Dekker, 
The  Honest  Whore  {Works,  ii,  121 )  :  'A  poor  man  has  but  one  Ewe,  and  this 
Grandee  Sheepe-biter  leaues  whole  Flockes  of  fat  Weathers  (whom  he  may  knocke 
downe),  to  deuoure  this.'[Second  Part,  II,  i,  p.  162,  Middleton's  Works,  ed. 
Dyce.  It  may  be  doubted  that  Addison  is  to  be  followed  as  to  the  use,  in  his  own  time, 
of  words  current  a  hundred  years  earlier,  in  Elizabethan  times.  Among  the  lower 
classes,  where  such  terms  of  reproach  mostly  originate,  it  is  hardly  conceivable 
that  an  eater  of  mutton  should  have  been  held  in  disgrace.  Given  the  word, '  sheep- 
biter,'  and  any  mind  of  a  humorous  turn  could  have  detected,  as  did  Taylor,  the  Water 
Poet,  that  it  is  equivalent  to  mutton-eater  ;  but  this  does  not  make  it  a  term  of  reproach. 
There  can  be  little  doubt,  from  the  foregoing  quotations  from  Fletcher  (supplied  by 
White  himself)  and  from  Dekker  that  the  word  was  originally  applied  to  a  dog  that 
bit  or  worried  sheep, — a  dog  that  has  once  indulged  in  this  practice,  becomes  so 
worthless  and  incorrigible  that  it  has  to  be  incontinently  killed  ('  hanged,'  says 
Taylor,  the  Water  Poet,  supra),  as  every  one  knows  who  has  had  any  experience  in 
the  keeping  of  sheep.  A  third  pertinent  quotation  is  in  Nashe's  Pierce  Pennilesse, 
1592  :  'What  curre  will  not  bawle,  &  be  ready  to  flye  on  a  mans  face,  when  he  is 
set  on  by  his  master,  who,  if  hee  bee  not  by  to  encourage  him,  he  casts  his  taile 
belwixt  his  legges,  &  steales  away  like  a  sheepe  byter.'  p.  35,  ed.  Grosart. — ED.] 

9.  Beare-baiting]  Every  one  will  recall  Macaulay's  remark  that  the  Puritans 
objected  to  bear-baiting  not  because  it  gave  pain  to  the  bear  but  because  it  gave 
pleasure  to  the  spectators. — ED. 

13.  pittie  of  our  Hues]  Compare,  '  If  you  thinke  I  come  hither  as  a  Lyon,  it 
were  pitty  of  my  life.' — Mid.  N.  D.  Ill,  i,  41. 

15.  little]  C.   C.   CLARKE  (Gentleman's  Maga.  1873,  p.  538)  :  With  his  usual 


TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  n,  sc.  v. 

Mettle  of  India  f  16 

16.   Mettle']   Nettle  Ff,  Rowe,  +  ,  Cap.   Var.   Ran.  Steev.  Var.  Sing.  Sta.   Ktly. 
metal  Mai.  Var.  '21  et  cct. 

felicity,  harmony,  and  consummate  taste,  the  poet  has  made  Maria  a  little  woman, 
and  he  constantly  keeps  that  fact  fresh  and  green  in  the  mind  of  the  reader.  A 
woman  of  Amazonian  stature  indulging  in  such  pranks  would  be  too  horrible 
an  infliction  ;  no  one  short  of  Theseus  himself, — that  queller  of  Amazons, — could 
have  fitly  coped  with  her.  As  she  is,  Maria  is  perfection, — in  her  small-sized  way. 
16.  Mettle  of  India]  STEEVENS  (who  adopted  in  his  text,  Nettle  of  F2)  :  The 
poet  must  here  mean  a  zoophyte,  called  the  Urtica  Marina,  abounding  in  the  Indian 
seas.  '  Quae  tacta  totius  corporis  pruritum  quendam  excitat,  unde  nomen  urticie  est 
sortita.' — Wolfgangi  Franzii  Hist.  Animal.,  1665,  p.  620.  Perhaps  the  same  plant 
is  alluded  to  by  Greene  in  his  Carde  of  Fancie,  1608:  'the  flower  of  India  pleas- 
ant to  be  scene,  but  who  so  smelleth  to  it,  feeleth  present  smart.' [p.  46,  ed. 
Grosart.]  Again,  in  his  Mamillia,  1593  :  '  Consider  the  hearbe  of  India  is  of  pleas- 
sant  smell,  but  who  so  commeth  to  it  feeleth  present  smart.' [p.  265,  ed.  Grosart.] 
'  Mettle '  of  the  First  Folio  may  mean,  my  girl  of  gold,  my  precious  girl. — M. 
MASON:  'Nettle  of  India,'  which  Steevens  has  ingeniously  explained,  certainly  bet- 
ter corresponds  with  Sir  Toby's  description  of  Maria, — 'here  comes  the  little  vil- 
lain.' The  nettle  of  India  is  the  plant  that  produces  what  is  called  cow-itch,  a 
substance  only  used  for  the  purpose  of  tormenting,  by  its  itching  quality. — MALONE 
(who,  in  1790,  was  the  first  to  restore  the  present  text):  So,  in  /  Hen.  IV:  II,  iv, 
307  :  '  Lads,  boys,  hearts  of  gold,'  etc.;  again  Ib.  Ill,  i,  169  :  '  — and  as  bountiful 
As  mines  of  India';  again  in  Hen.  VIII :  I,  i,  18  :  '  To-day  the  French,  All  clin- 
quant, all  in  gold,  like  heathen  gods,  Shone  down  the  English  ;  and  tomorrow  they 
Made  Britain  India  ;  every  man  that  stood,  Show'd  like  a  mine.'  So  Lyly,  Euphues 
and  his  England,  1580 :  '  I  see  that  India  bringeth  golde,  but  England  breedeth 
goodnesse.' [p.  311,  ed.  Arber.]  Again,  in  Wily  Beguiled,  1 606 :  'Come,  my  heart 
of  gold,  let's  have  a  dance  at  the  making  up  of  this  match. '[p.  254,  ed.  Hazlitt- 
Dodsley.]  The  person  there  addressed,  as  in  Twelfth  Night,  is  a  woman.  The 
two  words  \metal  and  nettle~\  are  very  frequently  confounded  in  the  early  editions  of 
our  author's  plays. — KNIGHT  :  If  Shakespeare  had  wished  to  call  Maria  a  stinging 
nettle,  he  would  have  been  satisfied  with  naming  the  indigenous  plant, — as  he  has 
been  in  Rich.  If.  and  Hen.  V., — without  going  to  the  Indian  seas. — COLLIER: 
'  Metal  of  India'  is  merely  a  paraphrase  for  gold.  The  supposition  that  there  was 
some  allusion  to  the  'nettle  of  India'  is  a  mere  fancy.  Robert  Greene,  who  has 
been  vainly  quoted  on  the  point,  would  never  have  called  a  nettle  of  India  a 
'  flower  of  India.' — HUNTER  (i,  406)  :  Neither  phrase  has  been  justified  by  exhibit- 
ing it  as  used  elsewhere  by  Shakespeare,  or  by  any  other  writers.  So  far  then  the 
two  expressions  stand  on  equal  grounds.  To  me  nettle  appears  by  far  the  better 
reading.  Maria  was  about  to  sting  Malvolio,  to  be  a  nettle  to  him.  [According  to 
Dyce,  it  was  with  LETTSOM  a  matter  of  doubt  whether  Nettle  of  the  Second  Folio  were 
not  a  mere  misprint  for  '  Mettle.'  I  share  this  doubt  to  the  full.  Shakespeare  did 
not  need  to  go  to  India  for  nettles,  nor  is  there  any  proof  that  the  Urtica  Marina 
was  ever  called  the  Urtica  Indica  or  Urtica  Marina  Indica,  or  even  '  nettle  of 
India';  nor  does  it  follow  that  the  'flower'  or  'the  hearbe  of  India'  is  a  nettle. 
To  suppose  that  Sir  Toby  salutes  Maria  as  a  nettle,  because  she  was  about  to  tor- 
ment Malvolio,  is  to  endow  the  bibulous  Knight  with  the  gift  of  prophecy.  Sir  Toby 


ACT  ii,  sc.  v.]  OR,    WHAT  YOU  WILL  155 

Mar.     Get  ye  all  three  into  the  box  tree  :   Maluolio's  17 

comming  downe  this  walke,  he  has  beene  yonder  i'the 
Sunne  practifing  behauiour  to  his  own  fhadow  this  halfe 
houre  :  obferue  him  for  the  loue  of  Mockerie  :  for  I  know  20 

this  Letter  wil  make  a  contemplatiue  Ideot  of  him.  Clofe 
in  the  name  of  ieafting,  lye  thou  there  :  for  heere  comes 
the  Trowt,  that  muft  be  caught  with  tickling.  Exit 

Enter  Maluolio. 

Mai.     'Tis  but  Fortune,  all  is  fortune.     Maria  once  25 

told  me  (he  did  affecl:  me,  and  I  haue  heard  her  felf  come 
thus  neere,  that  fhould  fhee  fancie,  it  fhould  bee  one  of 
my  completion.  Befides  fhe  vfes  me  with  a  more  ex- 
alted refpeft,  then  any  one  elfe  that  followes  her.  What 
fhould  I  thinke  on't  ?  30 

To.    Heere's  an  ouer-weening  rogue. 

17.  box  tree]  box-tree  F4.  (after  there,  line  22)  Han.  Cap. 

18.  has'}  Aa's  F3F4.  24.  Scene  VIII.  Pope,-!-. 

21,22.    Clofe  in\  Close,  in  Rowe.  28.  completion}  F2.  complexion  F3F4. 

22.  iea/ling,  lye]    Ff,   Rowe,    Pope.  31,  etc.  Until     M.'s     exit,     all     the 
jesting!  lye  Theob. -K     jesting.   [Men  speeches  of  Toby,  And.   and  Fab.  are 
hide  themselves]  Cap.  marked  as  aside,  by  Cap. 

23.  Exit.]    [Throws   down    a  letter,  weening]  weaning  Rowe,  Pope, 
and   exit.]   Theob.      [Drops  a   letter]  Theob.  Warb. 

cannot  know  Maria's  errand  before  she  discloses  it.  There  may  be  truth  in  wine, 
but  not  prophesying.  Steevens's  concluding  sentence  shows  that  he  clearly  under- 
stood the  meaning  of  the  text  of  the  First  Folio. — ED.] 

21.  contemplatiue]  ABBOTT  (p.  497)  refers  to  As  You  Like  It,  II,  vii,  33  : 
'  That  Fooles  should  be  so  deepe  contemplatiue.' 

23.  tickling]  STEEVENS  :  Thus,  Cogan,  in  his  Haven  of  Health,  1595,  'This 
fish  of  nature  loveth  flatterie ;  for,  being  in  the  water,  it  will  suffer  it  selfe  to  be 
rubbed  and  clawed,  and  so  be  taken.' — HALLFWELL:  'Grope  or  tickle,  a  kind  of 
fishing,  by  putting  one's  hand  into  the  water-holes  where  fish  lye,  and  tickling  them 
about  the  gills ;  by  which  means  they'll  become  so  quiet,  that  a  man  may  take  them 
in  his  hand,  and  cast  them  to  land,  or  if  large  fish,  he  may  thrust  his  fingers  into 
their  gills  and  bring  them  out.' — Diet.  Rust.  Catching  trout  in  this  manner  is  an 
old  and  deadly  mode  of  poaching,  but  it  can  only  be  practised  in  very  dry,  sultry 
weather,  and  when  the  water  is  exceedingly  low  ;  then  the  country  urchins,  early 
instructed  in  this  destructive  practice,  wade  into  the  pools,  grope  for,  and  easily  take 
large  trout  by  tickling  them.  '  Whoop :  fut,  how  he  tickles  yon  trout  under  the 
gilles !  you  shall  see  him  take  him  by  and  by,  with  groping  flattery.' — Marston's 
Antonio  and  Mellida.  [II,  p.  23,  ed.  Halliwell.]  'This  is  the  tamest  trout  I  ever 
tickled.' — Beaumont  &  Fletcher,  The  Humorous  Lieutenant.  [Ill,  v.]  Hence  the 
term  trout  came  to  be  used  as  applied  to  a  foolish  person,  easily  entrapped. 

26.  she]  This  refers,  of  course,  to  Olivia. 

27.  fancie]  That  is,  love. — W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  It  is  used  again  absolutely  in  Tro.  6^ 
Cress.  V,  ii,  165  :  'Never  did  young  man  fancy  With  so  eternal  and  so  fix'd  a  soul.' 


!  56  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  n,  sc.  v. 

Fa.  Oh  peace  :  Contemplation  makes  a  rare  Turkey  32 

Cocke  of  him,  how  he  iets  vnder  his  aduanc'd  plumes. 

And.     Slight  I  could  fo  beate  the  Rogue. 

To.     Peace  I  fay.  35 

Mai.     To  be  Count  Maluolio. 

To.    Ah  Rogue. 

An.     Piftoll  him,  piftoll  him. 

To.    Peace,  peace. 

Mai.  There  is  example  for't :  The  Lady  of  the  Stra-  40 
chy,  married  the  yeoman  of  the  wardrobe. 

33.  aduancd~\  advan'd  F  F4.  Cam.  Sta.  Rife,  Dtn.  Innes.    the  Trachy 

34.  Slight}  'S/i/e  Rowe,  +  .     'Slight         Warb.     the  strachy  Var.  '78  et  cet.    the 
F  F   et  cet.  duchy   Bailey    (ii,   238).      the   Tragedy 

Rogue.~\    rogue: —   Cap.  et  seq.  Bulloch    (no).       the    County   Kinnear 

(subs.)  (p.    168).     Malfi  Elze   (p.    180).     the 

36.   Maluolio.]     Malvolio, —  Theob.  Stracci   Lloyd  ap.   Cam.     the  Starosty 

Warb.  et  seq.  (subs.)  Erfurdt  (Archivf.  d.  S.  d.  n.  Sp.  1862, 

40,  41.  the  Strachy]  Ff,  Johns.  Cap.  xxxi,  92). 
Var.  '73,  Knt,  Coll.   Hal.  Wh.  Dyce, 

33.  iets]  STEEVENS  :  That  is,  to  strut,  to  agitate  the  body  by  a  proud  motion. 
So,  in  Arden  of  Feversham,  1592  :  '  Is  now  become  the  steward  of  his  house  And 
brauely  iets  it  in  his  silken  gowne.'  [p.   2,  ed.    Bullen.]       Again,  in  Chapman's 
Bussy  d'Ambois,  1607  :  '  They  foolish-proud  To  jet  in  others  plumes  so  haughtely.' 
[p.  15,  ed.   1873.] — HALLIWELL  :  Palsgrave  (1530)  has,   I  jelte  with  facyon  and 
conntenaunce  to  set  forthe  my  selfe,  je  braggue.     I  pray  you,  se  how  this  felowe 
jetteth  :  je  vous  prie,  aduisez  comment  ce  compaignon  braggue.     [Hereupon  follow 
nine  or  ten  quotations  from  the  dramatists  and  elsewhere,  none,  however,  so  good  as 
that  furnished  by  Shakespeare  himself  in  Cym.  Ill,  iii,  5  :   '  The  gates  of  monarchs 
Are  arch'd  so  high  that  giants  may  jet  through  And  keep  their  impious  turbans  on.'] 

34.  Slight]  HALLIWELL  :  A  contracted  form  of  the  petty  oath,  by  this  light. 
'This  morning,  being  the  gth  of  January,  1633,  the  kinge  was  pleas'd  to  call  mee 
into  his  withdrawinge  chamber  to  the  windowe,  wher  he  went  over  all  that  I  had 
crosste  in  Davenants  play-booke,  and  allowing  of  faith  and  slight  to  bee  assevera- 
tions only,  and  no  oathes,  markt  them  to  stande,  and  some  other  few  things,  but  in 
the  greater  part  allowed  of  my  reformations.     This  was  done  upon  a  complaint  of 
Mr.   Endymion  Porters  in  December.     The  kinge  is  pleasd  to  take  faith,  death, 
slight,  for  asseverations,  and  no  oaths,  to  which  I  doe  humbly  submit  as  my  masters 
judgment ;  but  under  favour  conceive  them  to  be  oaths,  and  enter  them  here,  to 
declare  my  opinion  and  submission.' — Herbert's  Diary.    [Sir  Andrew  uses  this  oath 
again  at  III,  ii,  14  ;  and  another  weak  one  :  'Odd's  lifelings.'  at  V,  i,  195.     These 
were  the  kind  of  oaths  that  Rosalind  considered  safe :  '  By  my  troth,  and  in  good 
earnest,  and  so  God  mend  mee,  and  by  all  pretty  oaths  that  are  not  dangerous.'  — 
As  You  Like  It,  IV,  i,  179.— ED.] 

35»  39-  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  These  speeches  are  more  appropriate  to  Fabian  than 
Sir  Toby. 

40,  41.   Lady  of  the  Strachy,  etc.]  HANMER  :  It  is  not  easy  to  conjecture  what 


ACT  ii,  sc.  v.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  157 

[40,  41.  The  Lady  of  the  Strachy,] 

'  Strachy '  should  be ;  perhaps  Stratarch,  which  (as  well  as  Strategue}  signifies  a 
General  of  an  Army,  a  Commander-in-chief.  [In  Hantner's  First  Edition  the  fore- 
going note  is  signed  '  Sir  T.  H.';  in  his  Second  Edition,  it  is  signed  '  Warburton.' 
— ED.]  WARBURTON  wrote  to  Theobald  (Nichols,  lllust.  ii,  642)  that  'Strachy' 
should  be  '  Satrape,  i.  e.  governor.'  In  his  subsequent  edition,  we  find  :  We  should 
read  Trachy,  i.  e,  Thrace;  for  so  the  old  English  writers  called  it.  Mandeville 
says  :  '  As  Trachye  and  Macedoigne,  of  which  Alisandre  was  kynge.'  It  was  com- 
mon to  use  the  article  the  before  names  of  places  ;  and  this  was  no  improper  instance, 
where  the  scene  was  in  Illyria.  [Ashton's  admirable  edition  of  Maundeville  is  a 
reprint  of  East's  reprint  of  Pynson's  edition,  1568.  On  p.  15,  the  foregoing  sen- 
tence quoted  by  Warburton  reads  thus  :  '  that  is  to  say  . .  .  Tracy  &  Macedony,  of 
which  Alexander  was  king.' — ED.] — CAPELL  (p.  146)  :  A  great  stumbling-block, 
and  like  to  continue  so ;  for  what  the  editor  has  to  propose,  is  almost  too  hardy  to 
expect  it  will  meet  with  such  an  assent  as  shall  preclude  future  guesses.  First  then, 
it  appears  to  him  that  '  Strachy '  is  not  the  only  corruption,  for  the  multitude  of  defi- 
nite articles,  and  other  causes,  create  suspicion  that  there  is  error  in  them  too  ; 
'Strachy'  should  be  the  name  of  some  place;  the  'example'  Malvolio  wants,  is 
of  a  lady  having  sov'reignty  somewhere  who  had  marry'd  beneath  herself;  Thessaly 
(a  neighbour  country  to  his)  has  a  city — Trachyna,  in  English — Trachym ;  and,  to 
be  brief,  the  editor  would  read  if  he  might — 'the  lady  of  Trachyne  marry'd  the 
yeoman  of  her  wardrobe.' — JOHNSON  :  What  we  should  read  is  hard  to  say.  Here 
is  an  allusion  to  some  old  story  which  I  have  not  yet  discovered. — REV.  MR  SMITH 
(ap.  Grey,  i,  230)  :  Straccio  (see  Torriano's  and  Altieri's  Dictionaries)  signifies  rags, 
clouts,  and  tatters  ;  and  Torriano,  in  the  Grammar,  at  the  end  of  his  Dictionary,  says 
that  straccio  was  pronounced  stratchy.  So  that  it  is  probable  that  Shakespeare's  mean- 
ing was  this,  that  the  chief  Lady  of  the  queen's  wardrobe  married  a  yeoman  of  the 
king's,  who  was  vastly  inferior  to  her. — STEEVENS  :  It  does  not  appear  that  strachy 
was  ever  an  English  word,  nor  will  the  meaning  given  it  by  the  Italians  be  of  any 
use  on  the  present  occasion.  Perhaps  a  letter  has  been  misplaced,  and  we  ought  to 
read  starchy ;  i.  e.  the  room  in  which  linen  underwent  the  once  most  complicated 
operation  of  starching.  I  do  not  know  that  such  a  word  exists  ;  and  yet  it  would 
not  be  unanalogically  formed  from  the  substantive  starch.  In  Harsnet's  Declaration, 
1603,  we  meet  with  '  a  yeoman  of  the  sprucery ' ;  i.  e.  wardrobe  ;  and  in  the  North- 
umberland Household-Book,  nursery  is  spelt  nurcy.  Starchy,  therefore,  for  starch- 
try,  may  be  admitted.  In  Rom.  &  Jul.,  the  place  where  paste  was  made  is  called 
the  pastry.  The  lady  who  had  the  care  of  the  linen  may  be  significantly  opposed 
to  the  yeoman,  i.  e.  an  inferior  officer  of  the  wardrobe.  While  the  five  different 
coloured  starches  were  worn,  such  a  term  might  have  been  current.  In  the  year 
1564,  a  Dutch  woman  professed  to  teach  this  art  to  our  fair  country-women.  '  Her 
usual  price,'  says  Stowe,  '  was  four  or  five  pounds  to  teach  them  how  to  starch,  and 
twenty  shillings  how  to  seeth  starch.'  The  alteration  was  suggested  to  me  by  a 
typographical  error  in  The  World  toss' '  d  at  Tennis,  no  date,  by  Middleton  and 
Rowley  ;  where  straches  is  printed  for  starches.  I  cannot  fairly  be  accused  of  having 
dealt  much  in  conjectural  emendation,  and  therefore  feel  the  less  reluctance  to  hazard 
a  guess  on  this  desperate  passage. — M.  MASON  (p.  117)  :  It  probably  denotes  some 
country  ;  perhaps  Austrasia,  the  ancient  name  for  Lorraine. — MAI.ONE  :  The  place 
in  which  candles  were  kept,  was  formerly  called  the  chandry ;  and  in  Jonson's 
Bartholomeiv  Fair,  a  ginger-bread  woman  is  called  '  lady  of  the  basket.'  The  great 


158  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  11,  sc.  v. 


[40,  41.  The  Lady  of  the  Strachy,] 

objection  to  this  emendation  [Steevens'  s]  is,  that  from  the  starchy  to  the  wardrobe  is 
not  what  Shakespeare  calls  a  very  'heavy  declension.'  The  'yeoman  of  the  ward- 
robe' is  not  an  arbitrary  term,  but  was  the  proper  designation  of  the  wardrobe- 
keeper  in  Shakespeare's  time.  Thus,  Florio,  Worlde  of  Wordes,  1598:  'Vestiario, 
...  a  wardrobe  keeper,  or  a  yeoman  of  a  wardrobe.'  The  story  which  our  poet  had 
in  view  is  perhaps  alluded  to  by  Lyly  in  Euphues  and  his  England,  1580:  '  assuring 
my  selfe  that .  .  .  there  was  a  certain  season  when  women  were  to  be  won,  in  the 
which  moment  they  have  neither  will  to  deny,  nor  wit  to  mistrust.  Such  a  time 
I  haue  read  a  young  Gentleman  found  to  obtaine  the  loue  of  the  Duchesse  of 
Millayne ;  such  a  time  I  haue  heard  that  a  poore  yeoman  chose  to  get  the  fairest 
Lady  in  Mantua.' [p.  273,  ed.  Arber.] — BOSWELL  :  'The  dutchesse  of  Malphey 
chose  for  her  husband  her  seruant  Vlrico.' — Greene,  Carde  of Fan  fie,  1593.  [p.  119, 
ed.  Grosart.  In  Webster's  play,  the  'servants'  name  is  Antonio  Bologna. — ED.] — 
R.  P.  KNIGHT  :  The  Governors  employed  by  the  Greek  Emperors  in  Sicily  and 
Italy  from  the  sixth  to  the  tenth  century,  were  called  ZrpaTijyoi,  Generals,  or  Prcetors, 
corrupted  by  the  Italians,  partly  through  their  own,  and  partly  through  the  Byzantine 
pronunciation,  to  itratid,  pronounced  stratichi ;  which  continued  to  be  a  title  of 
magistracy  in  many  states  long  afterwards  ;  and  this  word  '  Strachy'  is  only  a  further 
corruption  of  it  acquired  in  its  passage  through  successive  French  and  English  trans- 
lations of  some  old  Italian  novel,  in  which  the  widow  of  one  of  those  magistrates  had 
married  an  inferior  officer  of  her  household.  See  Giannone  Hist,  di  Napoli,  1.  xi, 
c.  vi.  [R.  G.  WHITE  (ed.  i)  pronounced  this  suggestion  '  somewhat  plausible.'] — 
NARES  :  Whatever  becomes  of  the  name  'Strachy,'  similar  occurrences  were  never 
wanting,  which  might  be  the  subject  of  allusion.  R.  Brome  produces  parallel 
instances  in  the  song  of  a  servant  to  his  lady  :  '  Madam,  Faire  truth  have  told  That 
queens  of  old  Have  now  and  then  Married  with  private  men.  A  countess  was  no 
blusher  To  wed  her  usher.  Without  remorse  A  lady  took  her  horse-Keeper  in  wed- 
lock.'— New  Acad.  IV,  i.  One  of  these  might  be  a  lady  of  the  stretchy.  Such 
examples  were  never  rare.  Lord  Bacon's  daughter  married  her  gentleman-usher, 
Underbill ;  and,  though  she  was  not  a  countess,  her  birth  was  noble.  It  is  also 
asked  by  another  dramatist,  '  Has  not  a  deputy  married  his  cook-maid?  An  alder- 
man's widow  one  that  was  her  turn-broach  \i.  e.  turn-spit]  ?' — Beau.  &  Fl.  Wit  at 
Seven  Weapons,  III,  i.— BECKET  (p.  241)  :  I  would  read  'the  lady  of  the  stitcVry'; 
this  will  mean  the  companion  of  some  distinguished  female  ;  one  who  sits  at  needle- 
work with  her,  and  consequently  of  a  superior  situation  in  life  to  the  'yeoman.' 
Thus,  in  Coriolanus,  I,  iii,  75  :  '  Come,  lay  aside  your  stitchery.' — COLLIER  : 
'  Strachy '  [may  have  been]  the  name  of  some  noble  family  of  which  one  of  the 
female  branches  had  condescended  to  marry  a  menial.  Possibly  that  family  was  the 
Strozzi  of  Florence,  [which  the  copyist  of  Shakespeare's  MS  converted  into]  Strozzi 
or  Strozzy.  Strozzy  in  old  writing  would  look  like  '  Strachy.'— KNIGHT  :  The  context 
points  to  some  corruption  of  the  name  of  a  place.  Malvolio  would  hardly  say  '  the 
lady'  of  the  governor,  for  the  widow  of  the  governor;  but  he  would  say,  the  lady 
of  such  a  land,  for  the  princess.  Where  the  scene  of  the  elevation  of  '  the  yeoman 
of  the  wardrobe '  was  placed  is  of  little  consequence.  It  might  be  Astrakhan— 
Astracan — easily  enough  contracted  into  A-strachy,  and  as  easily  metamorphosed  by 
a  printer  into  the  Slrachy. — HUNTER  (i,  380),  in  discussing  the  Date  of  the  present 
play,  suggests  that,  in  the  ridicule  which  Shakespeare  throws  on  Malvolio,  and  on  the 
Puritan  character  in  general,  he  was  giving  what  aid  and  countenance  he  could  to 


ACT  n,  sc.  v.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  159 


[40,  41.  The  Lady  of  the  Strachy,] 

Dr  Harsnet,  who  made  a  bitter  attack  on  certain  Puritans,  in  his  Discovery  of  the 
fraudulent  practices  of  John  Darrel,  etc.,  1599  ;  these  'practices'  took  place  in  the 
house  of  Nicholas  Starkey  or  Starchy,  and  Hunter  thinks  it  '  as  reasonable  a  con- 
jecture as  is  likely  to  be  offered '  that  Shakespeare  introduced  the  name  '  Strachy '  on 
account  of  its  '  near  resemblance  to  the  name  Starchy,  and  as  a  kind  of  intimation  to 
his  audience  to  expect  something  on  a  topic  which  was  at  that  time  of  no  small 
public  interest.'  This  expectation  was  afterwards  fulfilled  in  the  supposed  lunacy  of 
Malvolio,  and  the  ludicrous  travestie  of  exorcism  perpetrated  by  Feste. — HALLI- 
WELL  :  That  is,  the  lawyer's  or  judge's  lady  or  widow.  The  term  is  now  only  pre- 
served in  the  Russian  language,  but  it  was  probably  taken  by  Shakespeare  from 
some  novel  or  play,  upon  which  he  may  have  founded  the  comic  incidents  of  this 
drama.  '  From  the  list  of  all  the  crown  servants  of  Russia,  sent  every  year  to  the 
State  Secretary  of  the  Home  Department  at  St.  Petersburg  ;  in  which,  for  1825  and 
1826,  Procureur  Botwinko  was  reported  to  be  imprisoned  at  Vilna  for  the  above  case, 
and  the  Strapchy  of  Oszmiana  was  acting  in  his  stead  as  procureur  pro  tent.'1  — 
Household  Words,  15  March,  1851.  Various  alterations  of  '  Strachy'  have  been 
suggested  :  .  .  .  saucery,  sophy.  Strachy  was  and  is  an  English  family  surname. 
William  Strachey  published  Lawes,  etc.,  for  Virginia,  1612,  and  there  are  verses  by 
him  preserved  in  MS,  Ashmol,  781.  [See  Tempest,  p.  313,  of  this  ed.]  It  may  be 
worth  notice  that  one  of  the  characters  in  GT  Inganni,  by  Secchi,  is  described  as, 
'  Straccia,  Servidor  del  Capitano,'  though  there  is  no  probability  that  the  name  of 
this  inferior  personage  could  have  suggested  that  found  in  the  present  comedy. 
— Colonel  HENRY  STRACHEY  (p.  5)  :  I  think  it  may  be  shown  that  Steevens  was 
probably  right  in  his  conjectural  emendation,  and  failed  only  to  state  his  own  case 
in  a  conclusive  way.  A  corroboration  of  this  may  be  found  in  the  very  passage  of 
the  old  annalist  to  which  he  refers, — too  briefly, — and  I  now  subjoin  it,  from  Stow's 
Annals,  p.  868,  ed.  1631  :  'In  the  year  1563,  at  which  time  began  the  civill  dis- 
sention  in  Flanders,  and  very  many  Netherlanders  fled  into  this  land,  with  their 
wives  children  and  whole  families.'  (Page  869)  :  '  In  the  year  one  thousand  five 
hundred  and  sixty  foure,  Mistris  Dinghen  Van-den-Plasse,  born  at  Teenen  in 
Flanders,  daughter  to  a  worshipfull  Knight  of  that  province,  with  her  husband,  came 
to  London  for  their  better  safeties,  and  there  professed  herself  a  Starcher  ;  wherein 
she  excelled,  and  [to]  whom  her  own  nation  presently  repaired ;  and  payed  her  very 
liberally  for  her  work.  Some  very  few  of  the  best  and  most  curious  wives  of  that 
time  observing  the  neatnesse  and  delicacy  of  the  Dutch  for  whiteness  and  fine  wear- 
ing of  linen,  made  them  Cambricke  Ruffes,  and  sent  them  to  Mistris  Dinghen  to 
starch  ;  and  after  a  while  they  made  them  ruffes  of  lawn,  which  was  at  that  time  a 
stuffe  most  strange  and  wonderfull ;  and  thereupon  rose  a  generall  scoffe  or  byword 
that  shortly  they  would  make  Ruffes  of  spiders'  web  ;  and  then  they  began  to  send 
their  daughters  and  neatest  \sic.  qu.  nearest?]  kinswomen  to  Mistris  Dinghen  to 
learn  how  to  starch.  Her  usual  price  at  that  time  was  foure  or  five  pounds  to  teach 
them  how  to  starch,  and  twenty  shillings  how  to  seethe  starch.  This  Mistris 
Dinghen  was  the  first  that  ever  taught  starching  in  England.'  Here  we  find  that 
the  '  Dutch  woman '  of  Steevens  was  a  Flemish  Lady  of  equestrian  parentage,  and 
therefore  a  born  gentlewoman  ;  and  there  is  no  ground  for  supposing  that  her  hus- 
band, who  accompanied  her  from  Flanders,  was  anything  less  than  a  gentleman  of 
the  same  country  and  rank.  So  that  they  themselves  cannot  with  any  probability  be 
identified  with  the  'Lady'  and  the  'Yeoman'  of  the  mesalliance.  The  Lady  we 


160  Tll'ELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  n,  sc.  v. 


[40,  41.  The  Lady  of  the  Strachy,] 

are  in  quest  of  would  be  more  probably  one  of  the  English  patronesses  or  pupils  of 
the  Flemish  artist ;  among  '  the  best  and  most  curious  wives  of  that  time ' ;  or  one 
of  '  their  daughters  or  nearest  kinswomen' — presumably  of  the  same  rank,  as  'the 
daughter  of  a  worshipfull  knight.'  We  know  that  new  fashions  in  dress  begin  at  the 
upper  end  of  the  social  scale,  and  descend  afterwards,  through  old  clothes  and  infe- 
rior copies,  to  '  the  lower  orders ' ;  and  in  those  days  ladies  of  the  higher  class  put 
their  own  hands  to  many  details  of  domestic  work  since  relegated  to  servants.  The 
'  Cambricke '  and  '  Lawn,'  now  common  enough,  but  then  '  most  strange  and  won- 
derfull  stuffe,'  must  have  been  costly  materials  at  that  time ;  and  '  the  usual  price ' 
charged  by  the  Flemish  Professor  '  for  teaching  how  to  starch  '  them, — considering 
the  relative  value  of  money  in  the  middle  of  the  i6th  century  and  the  end  of  the 
igth — far  exceed  the  fees  now  paid  by  our  west-end  young  ladies  for  a  course  of 
lectures  on  cookery  or  other  of  the  finer  arts  and  sciences  at  the  University  of  South 
Kensington.  A  Lady, '  therefore,  may  be  admitted '  for  the  direction  of  a  Starchery,— 
in  the  early  days  of  the  new  art, — at  that  time  Queen  Elizabeth  was  in  her  prime, — 
act.  31, — but  (if  it  may  be  said  without  lese-majest£)  her  beauty  was  not  like  that 
of  her  remote  ancestress, — 'when  unadorned  adorned  the  most,' — nor  was  Queen 
Bess  '  the  farest  of  her '  subjects ;  and  she  certainly  was  not  behind  the  '  best  and 
most  curious '  of  her  country  women,  in  resorting  to  the  decorations  of  the  new 
Flemish  art,  as  testified  by  the  noli-me-osculari  chevaux-de-frise  of  her  contempo- 
rary portraits.  The  Starchery  would  thus  become  a  necessary  adjunct  to  the  royal 
laundry,  of  sufficient  importance  to  be  placed  under  the  charge  of  a  lady  attached 
to  the  Queen's  court.  Such  a  person  might  have  been  '  the  daughter  of  a  Count,' 
like  'the  fair  Olivia,' — or  of  a  '  worshipful  1  knight,' — as  '  Mistress  Dingen-van-den- 
Plasse'  of  Brabant, — or  as  the  Queen's  own  mother  Anne,  daughter  of  Sir  Thomas 
Boleyne, — perhaps  some  Alice  Ford  or  Anne  Page  of  Windsor,  whose  '  articles  of 
gentry  '  were  not  to  be  bartered  for  '  hack '  knighthood.  The  least  of  these  would 
be  as  far  above  the  Yeoman  in  social  rank  as  the  Countess  was  to  her  Steward,  who 
is  repeatedly  spoken  of  as  a  '  gentleman,'  and  was  superior  in  manners  and  educa- 
tion to  the  two  Knights.  We  cannot  positively  identify  the  Yeoman  in  question  ; 
but  indirect  evidence  of  the  existence  of  such  a  person  may  be  found  in  the  history 
of  '  the  King's  wardrobe.'  This  was  formerly  a  separate  department  of  the  royal 
household,  and  the  office  of  Master  of  the  Wardrobe  was  held  by  a  person  of  high 
rank.  In  the  latter  part  of  Elizabeth's  reign  the  Master,  Sir  John  Fortescue,  also 
held  other  high  offices,  and  the  so-called  Wardrobe  was  also  used  as  a  depository  for 
important  state  papers.  Under  such  conditions,  it  is  obvious,  that  the  lower  duties 
of  the  Wardrobe  proper  must  have  been  committed  to  a  subordinate  of  inferior  rank, 
who,  according  to  the  custom  of  that  time,  would  be  called  '  the  Yeoman  ' ;  an  indis- 
pensable person  ;  though  not  so  important  as  to  claim  particular  mention  in  historical 
records.  The  office  of  the  Warbrobe  was  abolished  a  hundred  years  after  Elizabeth's 
death  in  1603,  and  nothing  now  remains  of  the  old  habitation  but  its  locality  and 
name.  The  Starchery,  as  a  distinct  department  of  the  royal  laundry,  would  prob- 
ably disappear  with  Elizabeth  herself;  the  yeoman  still  survives  in  the  ranks  of  the 
royal  body-guard.  .  .  .  The  rending  Starchy,  proposed  by  Steevens,  thus  becomes 
intelligible  and  appropriate,  when  applied  to  the  Queen's  house-hold.  [As  to  the 
English  family  named  Strachey,  mentioned  by  Halliwell,  whereof  the  head  and 
earliest  known  ancestor  has  been  brought  into  an  imaginary  connection  with  Shake- 
speare, Col.  Strachey  remarks  in  conclusion  that  '  this  family  could  not,  in  any  way, 


ACT  II,  sc.  v.J  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  l6l 

An.    Fie  on  him  lezabel.  42 

Fa.     O  peace,  now  he's  deepely  in  :  looke  how  imagi- 
nation blowes  him. 

MaL     Hauing  beene  three  moneths  married  to  her,  45 

fitting  in  my  date. 

To.     O  for  a  ftone-bow  to  hit  him  in  the  eye.  47 

43.  in:  looke~\  in.  Look  Ktly.  46.  Jiate]  state — Pope  et  seq.  (subs.) 

be  connected  with  Shakespeare's  "  Lady  of  the  Strachy."  '  To  me  the  insuperable 
objection  to  all  the  foregoing  emendations  is  that  we  are  not  thereby  advanced  one 
jot.  What  help  is  there  to  be  found  in  hearing  that  the  Lady  of  the  Stracci  or  of 
the  Strozzi  or  of  the  Starchy  married  the  Yeoman  of  the  Wardrobe,  when  we  know 
no  more  about  any  of  them  than  we  do  about  the  Lady  of  the  Strachy  herself? 
Unless  the  instance  of  some  particular  Lady,  with  a  story  attached,  be  adduced, 
it  is  merely  an  exchange  of  one  unknown  name  for  another  unknown  name  ;  and, 
like  Dr  Johnson's  whirlpool,  it  becomes  motion  without  progression.  In  a  '  desper- 
ate '  case  like  the  present,  there  can  be  no  possible  objection  to'  the  assumption  that 
we  have  here  a  misprint  No  one  who  has  examined  Halliwell's  Dictionary  of 
Misprints,  where  we  find  that  '  Juggler '  has  been  misprinted  tailor,  and  '  oysters ' 
misprinted  eye-sores,  will  hesitate  to  agree  with  Halliwell  when  he  says  that  '  the 
unsettled  spellings  of  our  ancestors  render  almost  any  emendation,  however  extrav- 
agant, a  typographical  possibility ' ;  but,  first,  the  misprint  must  be  proved  to  be  a 
misprint,  and,  next,  the  emendation  must  be  an  emendation.  Steevens's  'Straches' 
for  Starches  undoubtedly  suggests  the  possibility  of  a  misprint  here  ;  this  possibility 
would  become  a  certainty  were  there  known  to  history  any  Lady  of  the  Starchy 
who  had  married  beneath  her ;  without  this  knowledge,  Starchy  is  no  better  than 
'Strachy,'  and  the  change  can  hardly  be  called  a  genuine  emendation. — ED.] 

42.  lezabel]  It   is  sufficient  for  Sir  Andrew  that  '  Jezebel '    sounds  insulting. 
According  to  the  Cam.  Ed.,  LLOYD  conjectured  that  we  should  read  her  instead  of 
'him.'     This  ingeniously  makes  Sir  Andrew's  remark  apply  to  the  Lady  of  the 
Strachy.     It  saves  the  knight's  weak  intellect  at  the  expense  of  two  letters.     Is  it 
worth  them  ? — ED. 

43.  deepely  in]  This  has  been  interpreted  by  DEIGHTON,  'now  he's  well  into 
the  snare  ' ;  but  he  has  not  yet  been  caught  in  the  snare.     It  rather  means,  I  think, 
now  he  is  deeply  lost  in  his  wild  fancies. — ED. 

44.  blowes  him]  STEEVENS  :  That  is,  puffs  him  up.     So,  in  Ant.  fir*  Cleop.  V, 
ii,  352:  '  Here  on  her  breast  There  is  a  vent  of  blood  and  something  blown.' 

46.  state]  STEEVENS  :  This  signified  a  chair  w»th  a  canopy  over  it.      So,  in 
/  Hen.  IV:  II,  iv,  416:  'This  chair  shall  be  my  state.'— W.  A.  WRIGHT:  The 
'  state '    was  properly  the  canopy  itself.      Compart   Milton,    x,   445  :    '  Invisible 
Ascended  his  high  throne,   which,  under  state  Of   richest  texture  spread,  at  the 
upper  end  Was  placed  in  regal  lustre.'      [Cotgrave  has  '  Dais  or  Diaz.     A  cloth 
of  Estate,  Canopie,  or  Heauen,  that  stands  ouer  the  heads  of  Princes  thrones  ;  also 
the  whole  State,  or  seat  of  Estate ;  also  the  boords  of  a  beds  teaster  whereat  the 
valances  be  hanged.'] 

47.  stone-bow]  JOHNSON  :  That  is,  a  cross-bow,  a  bow  which  shoots  stones. — 
STEEVENS  :  Thus,  in  Marston's  Dutch  Courtezan,  1605  :  'the  drawer .  .  .  knowing 
that  whosoever  will  hit  the  mark  of  profit  must,  like  those  that  shoot  in  stone-bows, 


1 62  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  n,  sc.  v. 

Mai.     Calling  my  Officers  about  me,  in  my  branch'd  48 

Veluet  gowne  :  hauing  come  from  a  day  bedde,  where  I 
haue  left  Oliuia  fleeping.  50 

To.    Fire  and  Brimftone. 

Fa.     O  peace,  peace. 

Mai.  And  then  to  haue  the  humor  of  ftate  :  and  after 
a  demure  trauaile  of  regard  :  telling  them  I  knowe  my 
place,  as  I  would  they  mould  doe  theirs  :  to  aske  for  my  55 

kinfman  Toby. 

To.    Boltes  and  fliackles. 

Fa.     Oh  peace,  peace,  peace,  now,  now. 

Mai.     Seauen  of  my  people  with  an  obedient  ftart,  59 

49.  day  bedde~\  day-bed  Rowe.  (subs.) 

50.  Jleeping.~\  deeping:  Cap.  et  seq.  56.  kinfman]  Uncle  Rowe  ii,  + . 
(subs.)  Toby.]    Toby —    Rowe    et    seq. 

54.  regard .•]  regard,  Rowe  et   seq.         (subs.) 

(subs.)  58-  peace,  now]  peace ;  now  Rowe  ii. 

55.  theirs:"]    theirs —  Rowe  et   seq.         peace!  now  Cap.  et  seq.  (subs.) 

wink  with  one  eye.'  [I,  i.]  Again,  in  Beaumont  &  Fletcher,  A  King  and  no  King  : 
•Children  will  shortly  take  him  for  a  wall  And  set  their  stone-bows  in  his  forehead.' 
[V,  i.] — HALLIWELL:  Thus,  'Hailstones  full  of  wrath  shall  be  cast  as  out  of  a 
stone  bow.' — Book  of  Wisdom,  v,  22. 

48.  branch'd]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  That  is,  ornamented  with  patterns  of  leaves 
and  flowers.     Cotgrave  gives  :  '  Fueillage  :  m.  Branched  worke,  in  Painting,  or  in 
Tapistrie.'     And,  '  Velours  figuri.  Branched  Veluet.'     Compare,  Ford,  The  Witch  of 
Edmonton,  III,  iii :  « Th"  other's  cloak  branch'd  velvet,  black,  velvet-lin'd  his  suit.' 

49.  day  bedde]  That  is,  a  couch,  or  sofa.     '  Day-beds '  were  apparently  quite 
as  common  formerly  as  are  couches  or  lounges  now.    Thus,  in  Beaumont  &  Fletcher, 
Rule  a  Wife  and  have  a  Wife,  III,  i :  '  Is  the  great  couch  up,  the  Duke  of  Medina 
sent?     Allea.  'Tis  up  and  ready.     Margarita.  And  day-beds  in  all   chambers? 
Altea.  In  all,  lady.' 

53.  humor  of  state]  COLLIER  (ed.  ii)  :  Few  words  have  been  more  frequently 
printed  for  each  other  than  'humour'  and  honour;  here  the  MS  wrote  honour  in 
the  margin  and  erased  '  humour '  in  the  text.     The  '  honour  of  state '  must  mean  the 
honour  due  to  state  ;  and  the  '  humour  of  state '  the  airs  Malvolio  may  mean  to  give 
himself  upon  his  exaltation.    As  the  case  is  doubtful,  we  [retain  the  original  word]. 
— R.  G.  WHITE:  Honour  is  possibly  the  right  word,  as  'humour'  might  also  possi- 
bly have  been,  if  'honour'  had  been  found  in  the  text. — ANON.  (Blackwood,  Aug. 
1853,  p.  201 )  :  '  Humour  of  state'  means  the  high  airs,  the  capricious  insolence,  of 
authority,  which  is  what  Malvolio  is  glorying  that  he  shall  by  and  by  have  it  in  his 
power  to  exhibit. 

54.  demure  trauaile  of  regard]  That  is,  scanning  his  '  officers '  gravely  one  by 
one. 

57.  Boltes  and  shackles]  Suggestive  of  a  prison. 

59.   Seauen  of  my  people]  This  extravagant  number  shows  how  '  deeply '  Mal- 
volio was  '  in.' 


ACT  II,  SC.  V.] 


OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL 


163 


make  out  for  him  :  I  frowne  the  while,     and  perchance  60 

winde  vp  my  watch,  or  play  with  my  fome  rich  lewell  : 
Toby  approaches;  curtfies  there  to  me. 

To.    Shall  this  fellow  Hue  ? 

Fa.     Though  our  filence  be  drawne  from  vs  with  cars, 
yet  peace.  65 


61.  my  fome]  F2,  Mai.  Var.  '21,  Knt, 
Hal.  Sing.  Dyce  i.    my — some  Coll.  Wh. 
Cam.  Ktly,  Rife,   Dtn.     my  handsome 
Daniel,     fome  F3F4  et  cet. 

62.  curtfies]  courtesies  Mai.  courtesies 
Knt. 

me.~\  me:  Cap.  et  seq.  (subs.) 
64.  with  cars]  with  ozra-Ff,Rowe,  -f, 
Cap.  Var.  '73.    by  th'ears  Han.  Coll.  ii, 


iii  (MS),  Dyce  ii,  iii,  Rife,  Huds.  -with 
ears  Knt  (misprint?),  -with  cats  (i.e. 
whips)  Jackson,  with  cords  Wh.  with 
screws  Bailey  (i,  206).  with  crows  (i.e. 
crow-bars)  Orger.  with  cues  Joicey 
(N.  6*  Qu.  VIII,  vi,  283,  1894).  with 
racks  Mitford  ap.  Cam.  with  curs  Anon, 
ap.  Cam. 


61.  watch]  Watches  were  first  brought  to  England  from  Germany  in  1577. 
Spring  pocket- watches  (watches  properly  so  called)  have  had  their  invention 
ascribed  to  Dr  Hooke,  ...  he  appears  certainly  to  have  produced  what  is  called  the 
pendulum  watch  about  1658. — HAYDN,  Diet,  of  Dates. 

61.  with  my  some  rich  lewell]  STEEVENS  :  This  may  signify,  'and  play  with 
some  rich  jewel  of  my  own,'  some  ornament  appended  to  my  person.     He  is  enter- 
taining himself  with  ideas  of  future  magnificence. — COLLIER  :  It  is  more  natural  to 
suppose  that  Malvolio,  having  mentioned  his  watch,  then  rather  a  rarity,  wishes  to 
enumerate  some  other  valuable  in  his  possession,  and  pauses  after  « or  play  with  my,' 
following  it  up  with  the  words  '  some  rich  jewel,'  not  being  able  on  the  sudden  to 
name  any  one  in  particular. — DYCE  (ed.  ii) :  '  My'  is  an  accidental  repetition,  occa- 
sioned by  the  preceding  '  my  watch.' — B.  NICHOLSON  (New  Sh.  Soc.  Trans.  1875-6, 
p.  154)  :  There  is  here  a  true  touch  of  nature  and  a  most  humorous  one.     While 
Sir  Toby  is  being  fetched  to  the  presence,  the  Lord  Malvolio  would  frowningly 
wind  up  his  watch  or  play  with — and  here  from  force  of  habit  he  fingers  [his  badge 
of  office],  and  is  about  to  add  '  play  with  my  chain,'  but  suddenly  remembering  that 
he  would  be  no  longer  a  steward,  or  other  gold-chained  attendant,  he  stops  short, 
and  then  confusedly  alters  his  phrase  to — 'some  rich  jewel.'    [This  explanation 
carries  instant  and  complete  conviction  to  the  present — ED.] 

62.  Toby]  W.  A.  WRIGHT:  Malvolio's  'humour  of  state'  begins  to  show  itself 
in  this  familiarity  with  Sir  Toby's  Christian  name. 

62.  curtsies]  REED  :  This  word  was  employed  to  express  acts  of  civility  and 
reverence  by  either  men  or  women.     Lord  Herbert  of  Cherbury,  in  his  Life,  speak- 
ing of  dancing,  recommends  that  accomplishment  to  youth,  '  that  he  may  know  how 
to  come  in  and  go  out  of  a  room  where  company  is,  how  to  make  courtesies  hand- 
somely, according  to  the  several  degrees  of  persons  he  shall  encounter.' 

63.  Shall  this  fellow  Hue?]  Note  the  ascending  degrees  of  Sir  Toby's  wrath. 
First  'rogue,'  then  'hit  him  in  the  eye,'  then  'Fire  and  brimstone,'  next,  to  clap 
him  in  prison,  and  here,  to  hang  him.     From  this  point  his  fury  subsides  and  the 
humour  of  the  situation  begins  to  have  sway. — ED. 

64.  drawne  from  vs  with  cars]    JOHNSON  :    I   believe   the   true   reading   is : 
'drawp  from  us  with  carts.'     Compare  Two  Gent.  Ill,  i,  265  :  'yet  I  am  in  love; 


1 64  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  n,  sc.  v. 

Mai.     I  extend  my  hand  to  him  thus  :  quenching  my  66 

familiar  fmile  with  an  auftere  regard  of  controll. 

To.    And  do's  not  Toby  take  you  a  blow  o'the  lippes, 
then  ?  69 

67.  control!.]  controul ;  Cap.  et  seq.  68.  o'the']  on  the  Rowe  i. 

( subs. ) 

but  a  team  of  horse  shall  not  pluck  that  from  me.'  So,  in  this  play,  III,  ii,  60 : 
'  oxen  and  wainropes  cannot  hale  them  together.' — STEEVENS  :  It  is  well  known 
that  'cars'  and  carts  have  the  same  meaning. — TYRWHITT  (p.  27)  :  If  I  were  to 
suggest  a  word  in  place  of  '  cars,'  which  I  think  is  a  corruption,  it  should  be  cables. 
[COLERIDGE  (p.  121)  makes  the  same  suggestion.]  It  may  be  worth  remarking  that 
the  leading  ideas  of  Malvolio,  in  his  '  humour  of  state,'  bear  a  strong  resemblance 
to  those  of  Alnaschar  in  The  Arabian  Nights. — HUNTER  (i,  406)  :  If  we  must  alter 
'  cars,'  I  would  suggest  cart-ropes,  on  the  ground  that  this  may  be  one  of  the  many 
allusions  to  passages  of  Scripture  which  are  found  in  these  plays.  '  Woe  unto  them 
that  draw  iniquity  with  cords  of  vanity,  and  sin,  as  it  were,  with  a  cart-rope.' — 
Isaiah  v,  18.  [From  this  same  verse  of  Isaiah,  R.  G.  White  subsequently  drew  his 
emendation,  cords. — ED.] — WALKER  (Crit.  ii,  7) :  I  believe  that  the  true  reading 
is  racks,  and  that  it  was  written  '  cars '  by  a  species  of  mental  confusion,  which  we 
have  all  at  times  experienced,  the  c  and  the  r  changing  places  in  the  writer's 
thoughts.  [In  proposing  racks  Walker  was  anticipated  by  '  Dent,  MS,'  according 
to  Halliwell,  and  also  by  Mitford,  according  to  the  Text.  Notes  of  the  Cam.  Ed.] 
— LETTSOM  (Footnote  to  Walker)  approves  of  Walker's  emendation,  and  remarks 
that  it  '  speaks  for  itself.' — STAUNTON  considered  it  preferable  to  any  suggestion 
that  had  been  previously  made. — SINGER  (SA.  Vind.  p.  66)  :  We  should  read, 
4  with  tears.''  Their  risible  faculties  were  so  excited  by  the  ridiculous  conduct  of 
Malvolio,  that  to  suppress  loud  laughter  brought  tears  into  their  eyes. — DYCE 
(ed.  ii)  :  Hanmer's  reading,  I  feel  convinced,  is  what  the  author  wrote.  Formerly 
'  bith '  was  very  common  as  the  contraction  of  '  by  the ' ;  and  therefore  '  bith  ears ' 
might  easily  be  corrupted  into  '  with  cars.' — R.  G.  WHITE  (ed.  i)  :  Cords  for  '  cars ' 
would  seem  an  obvious  correction.  [In  White's  Second  Edition  the  text  reads  cords, 
without  any  note  or  comment  to  intimate  that  it  is  the  Editor's  own  word,  and  not 
in  the  Folio.  In  his  general  Preface,  White  tells  us  that  '  in  determining  what 
passages  were  sufficiently  obscure  to  justify  explanation  [he]  took  advice  of  his 
washerwoman.'  It  is  evident  that  he  had  consulted  her  on  the  present  occa- 
sion, and  that  she  had  emphatically  decided  in  favour  of  cords,  as  synonymous  to 
lines.  It  is  a  little  remarkable  that  her  voice  did  not  plead  successfully  for  the 
Lady  of  the  Starchy. — ED.] — HUDSON:  I  have  little  doubt  the  text  should  be 
•wf  tV  ears :  for  the  Poet  very  often  uses  with  in  such  cases  where  we  should 
use  by,  and  the  double  elision  of  with  and  the,  so  as  to  make  one  syllable,  is  very 
frequent  with  him. — W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  Shakespeare  may  have  read  of  the  fate  of 
Mettus  Fuffetius  who  was  torn  asunder  by  chariots  for  treachery  by  the  orders  of 
Tullus  Hostilius.  See  Virgil,  ^En.,  viii,  642-5.  [Fabian  means  that  they  must  not 
speak  even  though  the  greatest  imaginable  strain  were  applied  to  make  them  break 
silence.  To  express  this  heavy  strain,  Shakespeare  uses  the  word  '  cars ' ; 
therewith  I  am  content ;  and  do  not  wish  to  abridge  the  happiness  of  my  neighbour 
if  he  find  more  vigorous  agents  in  cart-ropes,  racks,  screws,  cords,  cats,  or  crows. 
—ED.] 


ACT  ii,  sc.  v.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  165 

Mai.     Saying,  Cofine  Toby,  my  Fortunes  hauing  caft  70 

me  on  your  Neece,  giue  me  this  prerogatiue  of  fpeech. 

To.    What,  what  ? 

Mai.     You  muft  amend  your  drunkenneffe . 

To.    Out  fcab. 

Fab.     Nay  patience,  or  we  breake  the  finewes  of  our          75 
plot  ? 

Mai.     Befides  you  wafte  the  treafure  of  your  time, 
with  a  foolifh_  knight . 

And.     That's  mee  I  warrant  you. 

Mai.     One  fir  Andrew.  80 

And.     I  knew  'twas  I,  for  many  do  call  mee  foole. 

Mai.     What  employment  haue  we  heere  ? 

Fa.   Now  is  the  Woodcocke  neere  the  gin.  83 

70.  Cofme\  Uncle  Rowe  ii,-f .  79.  you.]  you:  Ff. 

71.  giue]  gives  Coll.  MS.  ap.  Cam.  80.  Andrew.]      Andrew, —   Theob. 
fpeech.]  fpeech:    Ff.      speech —         Andrew:  Cap.  et  seq.  (subs.) 

Rowe.  82.  employment]    implement   Theob. 

76.  plotl]  Ff.    plot.  Rowe.  conj.    Han. 

78.  knight.]  Ff.     knight —  Rowe,  +  [Taking  up  a  Letter.  Rowe.  (the 

knight;  Cap.  et  seq.  (subs.)  Letter.  Theob.) 

68.  Toby]  Possibly,  in  a  modern  text,  this  might  be  placed  in  quotation  marks, 
as  an  echo  of  Malvolio's  '  Toby'  in  line  62. — ED. 

68.  take  you  a  blow]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  Compare  Hen.  V:  IV,  i,  231 :  '  By  this 
hand,  I  will  take  thee  a  box  on  the  ear.' — DEIGHTON  :  Compare  Meas.  for  Meas. 
II,  i,  189  :  'he  took  you  a  box  on  the  ear';  Tarn,  of  the  Shr.  Ill,  ii,  165  :  'took 
him  such  a  cuff.' 

74.  scab]  Still  in  current  use  in  this  country,  applied  to  those  who  refuse  to  join 
in  a  workman's  strike.  See  Much  Ado,  III,  iii,  99  (of  this  ed.),  where  it  is  used  in 
a  double  sense. — ED. 

82.  employment]  WARBURTON  :  Equivalent  to,  'What's  to  do  here?'  [In  V,  i, 
of  Chapman's  Widow's  Tears,  Lysander  enters  with  a  crow-bar,  halter,  etc.,  where- 
with to  remove  from  the  tomb  a  corpse  which  was  supposed  to  be  that  of  himself, — 
the  plot  is  the  familiar  story  of  the  Matron  of  Ephesus, — and  says  to  Cynthia  'my 
stay  hath  been  prolong'd  With  hunting  obscure  nookes  for  these  emploiments. '  In 
a  note  REED  says  that  '  employments '  is  here  used  in  the  same  sense  as  implements, 
and  that  it  may  be  defended  by  its  use  by  Malvolio  in  the  present  passage.  WALKER 
(Crit.  iii,  86)  quotes  the  lines  from  The  Widow's  Tears,  with  Reed's  note  thereon  ; 
and  observes  :  '  Surely  we  should  read,  in  both  passages,  implement  and  implements, 
Imploiment — implement '.'  However  needful  may  be  the  change  in  Chapman's 
Comedy,  it  is  not  so  manifest  an  improvement  here.  Lysander  is  not  Malvolio. 
The  steward  is  still  acting  the  imaginary  Ixsrd,  and  therefore  lofty  speech  is  appro- 
priate. I  think  'employment'  should  stand.  Neither  Reed  nor  Walker  seems  to 
have  been  aware  that  THEOBALD  (Nichols,  Illust.  ii,  356)  had  proposed  implement, 
and  that  HANMER  had  adopted  it. — ED.] 


166  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  11,  sc.  v. 

To.  Oh  peace,  and  the  fpirit  of  humors  intimate  rea- 
ding aloud  to  him.  85 

Mai,  By  my  life  this  is  my  Ladies  hand :  thefe  bee  her 
very  Cs,  her  U's,  and  her  T's,  and  thus  makes  fhee  het 
great  P's.  It  is  in  contempt  of  queftion  her  hand.  88 

84.  and]  Now  Rowe,-t-.  her  U's  F3. 

85.  him.'}  him!  Rowe  ii  et  seq.  87.  het\  Ff. 

87,89.  her  U's]   FV      her  V's   Fa.  88.   contempt  of\  contempt  to  $ '3F \. 

83,  84.  Fa.  .  .  .  To.]  ELZE  (p.  181)  :  A  nice  discrimination  between  the  charac- 
ters of  Fabian  and  Sir  Toby  leads  to  the  suspicion  that  the  prefixes  of  these  two 
speeches  have  been  most  likely  transposed  and  should  be  altered. 

83.  Woodcocke]  WILLUGHBY  (p.  290)  :  Among  us  in  England  this  Bird  is 
infamous  for  its  simplicity  or  folly ;  so  that  a  Woodcock  is  Proverbially  used  for  a 
simple  foolish  person.  [The  incomparable  Feste  uses  the  bird  with  effect  in  his 
exorcism  of  Malvolio. — ED.] 

83.  gin]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  An  abbreviated  form  of  engine,  which  originally 
denoted  anything  made  with  skill  (Lat.  ingenium).  So  in  Chaucer's  Squire's  Tale 
(10442):  'He  that  it  wrought,  he  cowthe  many  a  gyn';  that  is,  a  skilful  con- 
trivance. 

87.  To  understand  the  Text,  Note,  it  is  to  be  observed  that  the  Italic  '  V  is  one 
which  is  used  indifferently  for  Italic  V  or  U;  as  is  frequently  to  be  seen  in  the  pre- 
fixes to  Viola's  speeches.     It  is  the  same  letter  in  F4.     It  is  an  Italic  V  in  Fa,  and 
an  unmistakeable  Italic  U  in  F  .     As  far  as  the  Folio  is  concerned,  we  have  quite 
as  much  right  to  say  that  the  letter  is  a  V  as  a  U. — ED. 

88.  great  P's]  STEEVENS  :  In  the  direction  of  the  letter  which  Malvolio  reads, 
there  is  neither  a  C,  nor  a  P,  to  be  found. — MALONE  :  This  was  perhaps  an  over- 
sight in  Shakespeare.     It  is  remarkable,  that  in  the  repetition  of  the  passages  in 
letters,  which  have  been  produced  in  a  former  part  of  a  play,  he  very  often  makes 
his  characters  deviate  from  the  words  before  used,  though  they  have  the  paper  itself 
in  their  hands,  and  though  they  appear  to  recite,  not  the  substance,  but  the  very 
words.     So,  in  All's  Well,  V,  iii,  312,  Helen  says,  '  here's  your  letter ;  this  it  says  : 
"When  from  my  finger  you  can  get  this  ring  And  are  by  me  with  child,"  etc.';  yet 
in  III,  ii,  60,  she  reads  this  very  letter  aloud  ;  and  there  the  words  are  different  and 
in  plain  prose  :  '  When  thou  canst  get  the  ring  upon  my  finger,  which  never  shall 
come  off,  and  shew  me  a  child  begotten  of  thy  body,'  etc.     Had  she  spoken  in 
either  case  from  memory,  the  deviation  might  be  easily  accounted  for ;  but,  in  both 
places,  she  reads  the  words  from  Bertram's  letter. — RITSON  :  From  the  usual  custom 
of  Shakespeare's  age,  we  may  easily  suppose  the  whole  direction  to  have  run  thus  : 
'  To  the  Unknown  belov'd,  this,  and  my  good  wishes,  with  Care  Present.' — HALLI- 
WELL :  The  usual  address  of  letters,  in  Shakespeare's  time,  amongst  equals,  was 
merely,  'to  my  loving  friend  give  this,'  to  which  the  words  with  speed  were  some- 
times added.     Instead  of  give  this  were  sometimes  the  words,  these  be  delivered,  or 
deliver  these. — W.  A.  WRIGHT:  If  Ritson's  supposition  be  correct,  no  more  needs 
be  said  on  the  point ;  but  I  have  grave  doubts  about  it. — INNES  :  It  is  an  obvious 
and  simple  way  out  of  the  difficulty  to  suppose  that  Malvolio  does  not  read  the 
whole  of  the  address  aloud,  but  that  would  not  fit  well  with  so  precise  a  character. 
Probably  Shakespeare  merely  named  letters  that  would  sound  well,  knowing  that  no 
audience  would  detect  a  discrepancy.     [See  'throwne,'  V.  i,  391.] 


ACTII,  sc.  v.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  167 

An.     Her  C's,  her  U's,  and  her  Ts:  why  that? 

Mai.  To  the  vnknoivne  belou'd,  this,  and  my  good  Wifhes  :  90 

Her  very  Phrafes  :  By  your  leaue  wax.  Soft,  and  the  im- 
preffure  her  Lucrece,  with  which  (he  vfes  to  feale  :  tis  my 
Lady :  To  whom  mould  this  be  ? 

Fab.     This  winnes  him,  Liuer  and  all. 

Mai.    loue  knowes  I  hue,  but  who,  Lips  do  not  moouc,  no          95 
man  mujl  know.     No  man  muft  know.    What  followes  ? 

89.  AtrTs:]  her  Ts  and Ps !  Ktly.          (reading  Alas!  but  who,}  Han.     Two 

90.  [Reads.]  Cap.    [Reads  the  super-         lines,  Johns.   Var.   '73,    Huds.      Four 
scription.]  Coll.  iii.  lines.  Cap.  et  seq. 

91.  Softt~\  Soft!  Rowe.     soft;  Cap.  95.  but  who,]  but  who  ?  Cap.  et  seq. 
93.   [Opes  the  Letter.]  Cap.  Lips]  Lips,  Cap.   (Errata.)  Wh. 
95,  loo.   [Reads.]  Cap.                               Glo.  Cam.  Dyce  ii,  iii,  Huds.  Dtn. 

95,  96.   loue  ...  know.]    Two    lines  96.  know.]  know — Rowe,-!-. 

88.  contempt  of  question]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  That  is,  beyond  the  possibility  of 
dispute  ;  so  obvious,  that  to  question  it  is  absurd. 

91.  wax.  Soft,]  Strangely  enough,  M ALONE  supposed  that  'Soft'  applied  to 
the  wax  ;  he  referred  to  the  custom  of  sealing  letters  with  soft  wax,  and,  in  proof, 
quoted  from  Middleton's  Your  Five  Gallants,  II,  iii :  '  Fetch  a  pennyworth  of  soft 
wax  to  seal  letters';  and  also  Falstaff's  speech  in  2  Hen.  IV :  IV,  iii,  140:  '  I  have 
him  already  tempering  between  my  finger  and  my  thumb,  and  shortly  will  I  seal  with 
him.' — STEEVENS  :  I  do  not  suppose  that  'Soft !'  has  any  reference  to  the  wax  ;  but 
is  merely  an  exclamation  equivalent  to  '  Softly !'  /'.  e.  be  not  in  too  much  haste. 
Thus,  in  The  Mer.  of  Ven.  IV,  i,  320 :  '  Soft !  The  Jew  shall  have  all  justice  ; 
soft !  no  haste.'  I  may  also  observe,  that  though  it  was  anciently  the  custom  (as  it 
still  is)  to  seal  certain  legal  instruments  with  soft  and  pliable  wax,  familiar  letters 
(of  which  I  have  seen  specimens  from  the  time  of  Henry  VI.  to  James  I.)  were 
secured  with  wax  as  glossy  and  firm  as  that  employed  in  the  present  year. 

91.  By  your  leaue]  Thus,  also,  in  Lear,  IV,  vi,  258,  when  Edgar  opens  a  let- 
ter he  says,    '  Leave,  gentle  wax.'     And  Imogen  says,  'Good  wax,  thy  leave.' — 
Cynt.  Ill,  ii,  35. 

92.  Lucrece]  WHITER  (p.  42,  footnote)  :  Everything  that  we  read  in  our  ancient 
authors  respecting  Lucretia  appears  to  remind  us  of  the  source  from  which  it  is 
derived,  and  to  point  out  how  familiarly  her  picture  or  representation  is  impressed 
on  the  mind  of  the  writer.     She  seems  to  have  been  a  common  subject  for  engraving 
on  seals.   [The  present  passage  is  here  quoted,  and  also  the  reference  to  '  Lucrece ' 
in  line  100.]  Nay,  so  common  were  her  portraits,  that  she  became  the  figure  on  the 
Sign  of  the  King's  Printer  Berthelette  in  Fleet-street,  who  flourished  about  the  year 
1540.     A  cut  of  her  is  sometimes  to  be  seen  in  his  books. — HALLIWELL  gives  an 
engraving  and  a  minute  description  of  an  antique  ring,  bearing  an  engraved  head  of 
Lucretia,  in  the  possession  of  Lord  Londesborough.     But  W.  A.  WRIGHT  says  that 
'  it  is  very  doubtful  indeed  whether  it  represents  Lucretia  at  all,  and  being  in  niello 
it  could  not  have  been  used  as  a  signet  ring.' 

95,  96.  loue  .  .  .  mooue,  no  man  must  know]  CAPELL'S  division  of  this  prose 
into  four  lines  of  verse  has  been  properly,  and  almost  uniformly,  followed.  Unfortu- 


1 68  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  n,  sc.  v. 

The  numbers  alter  d  :  No  man  muft  know,  97 

If  this  fhould  be  thee  Maluolio  ? 
To.     Marrie  hang  thee  brocke. 
Mai.   I  may  command  where  I  adore,  butfilence  like  a  Lu-         I  oo 

crejfe  knife ; 
With  bloodlejfe  Jlroke  my  heart  doth  gore,  M.  0.  A.  I.  doth 

fway  my  life.  103 

97.  numbers  otter  d .•]  Ff.     numbers  wife  F3F4.     Lucrece  knife  Rowe  ii  et 

alter  d —   Rowe  i.     number's  altered —  seq.     Lucrece^  knife  Walker  (Crtt.  ii, 

Rowe   ii,  Theob.   Warb.   Johns.    Knt,  101),  Dyce,  Huds. 

Coll.   Wh.    i.      numbers  alter —   Han.  100-103.  Four  lines,  Han.  Johns,  et 

number  is  altered  Var.  '73.      numbers  seq. 

altered!  Cap.  et  cet  IO2.  bloodleffe]  boldness  Rowe  i. 

100,101.  Lucrefie  knife]  Fa.  Lucrefs 

nately,  not  so  uniform  has  been  the  adoption  of  his  excellent  comma  after  'Lips', 
which  converts  the  phrase  into  a  command  to  'Lips'  not  to  move. — ED. 

97.  The  numbers  alter  d]  That  is,  the  versification.  Thus,  Hamlet,  II,  ii, 
1 20:  'O  dear  Ophelia,  I  am  ill  at  these  numbers.'  It  will  not  escape  notice  that 
lines  97  and  98  are  printed  as  a  rhyming  couplet ;  an  arrangement  which  can  be 
merely  the  vagary  of  a  compositor.  Although  Malvolio  says,  in  reference  to  lines 
100-103,  that  the  metre  is  altered,  he  does  not  proceed  at  once  to  read  these  lines, 
but  is  distracted  by  the  enigma  in  what  he  has  already  read. — ED. 

99.  brocke]  RITSON  (Remarks,  p.  64)  :  That  is,  a  badger.  Sir  Toby  uses  the 
word  as  a  term  of  contempt,  as  if  he  had  said,  'hang  thee,  cur  T  'Out,  filth  T — 
M  ALONE:  That  is,  thou  vain,  conceited  coxcomb,  thou  over- weening  rogue  !  So,  in 
The  Aferrie  Conceited  Jests  of  George  Peele,  1657:  'This  self-conceited  brock  had 
George  invited  to  half  a  score  sheets  of  paper,'  [ii,  289,  ed.  Dyce.  As  W.  A. 
WRIGHT  says,  the  epithet  here,  in  this  quotation  from  Peele,  '  supplies  the  sense 
which  Malone  would  attribute  to  "  brock."  '] — HALLIWELL  :  The  word  is  frequently 
used  by  Jonson,  and  is  of  common  occurrence  in  many  contemporary  writers.  As  a 
term  of  contempt  it  is  still  used  in  Scotland  and  in  some  of  the  counties  of  England. 

102.  M.  O.  A.  I.]  HALLIWELL  :  This  '  fustian  riddle,'  either  purposely  mean- 
ingless, or  intended  for,  My  Own  Adored  Idol,  or  some  such  words,  or  cypher,  is 
imitated  from  similar  enigmas  which  were  current  at  the  time.  An  example  occurs 
in  the  Book  of  Merry  Riddles,  1629  :  '  M.  and  J.  made  great  mone,  When  C.  upon 
C.  was  left  alone. — Solution.  That  is,  Mary  and  John  made  great  mone,  When 
Christ  on  a  Crosse  was  left  alone.'— FLEAV  (Shakespeariana,  1884,  i,  136)  :  I 
believe  that  Malvolio  was  a  representation  of  Marston's  vanity.  ...  At  any  rate, 
there  is  a  singular  likeness  between  the  names  of  Malevole  [in  Marston's  Malcon- 
tent] and  the  steward  Malvolio,  and  a  still  more  singular  agreement  between  IO  : 
MA  :,  Marston's  abbreviated  signature,  and  the  M.  O.  A.  I.  of  the  letter  addressed 
to  MAlvolIO.  These  anagram  conceits  are  so  common  in  the  sixteenth  and  seven- 
teenth centuries  as  to  need  no  further  notice ;  and  no  satisfactory  explanation  of 
M.  O.  A.  I.  has  hitherto  been  given.  SMALL  (p.  139),  while  acknowledging  the 
shrewdness  of  this  suggestion  of  Fleay,  intimates  that  it  is  unsound,  because,  '  unfor- 
tunately for  Fleay,'  '  Malvolio  bears  not  the  least  resemblance  to  Malevole  except  in 
name.  Malevole,  moreover,  is  clearly  not  intended  to  represent  Marston  himself; 


ACTII.SC.  v.]  OK,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  169 

Fa.     A  fuftian  riddle. 

To.     Excellent  Wench,  fay  I.  105 

Mai.     M.  0.  A.  I.  doth  fway  my  life.     Nay  but  firft 
let  me  fee,  let  me  fee,  let  me  fee. 

Fab.     What  difh  a  poyfon  has  fhe  dreft  him  ? 

To.     And  with  what  wing  the  ftallion  checkes  at  it  ? 

Mai.     I  may  command^where  I  adore  :  Why  fhee  may         no 
command  me  :  I  ferue  her,  fhe  is  my  Ladie.   Why  this  is 
euident  to  any  formall  capacitie.   There  is  no  obftruction          112 

106,  107.  firjt  let  me  fee]  firft  F3F4,  108.  dijh  a]  F2.     dijh  o'  Wh.  Dyce, 

Rowe,  +  ,  Var.  '73.  Cam.  Rife,  Huds.     dish  a'   Hal.     dijh 

108.   What]   What  a  Rowe,  + ,  Cap.  of  F3F4  et  cet. 

Var.  Ran.  Var.  Mai.  Steev.  Var.  Knt,  109.  Jlallion]  stanyel  Han.  et  seq. 
Coll.  Ktly. 

and,  lastly,  Twelfth  Night,  mentioned  by  Manningham  in  February,  1601-2,  must 
have  appeared  at  least  eighteen  months  before  The  Malcontent,  with  its  imitation 
of  the  version  of  Hamlet  acted  in  1603  and  its  allusion  to  the  Scots  that  came  in 
with  James  I.' 

102,  103.  doth  sway  my  life]  MALONE  :  This  phrase  is  seriously  employed  in 
As  You  Like  It,  III,  ii,  5  :  '  Thy  Huntresse  name,  that  my  full  life  doth  sway.' 

108.  drest  him  ?]  DYCE  (ed.  ii)  :  The  interrogation-point  at  the  end  of  this  speech 
and  the  next  is  wrong.     The  meaning  is,  '  What  a  dish  of  poison,'  etc. 

109.  stallion]    The   mention   of   'wings'    and   'checking'    makes   HANMER'S 
stannyel  an  emendatio  certissima. — WILLUGHBY  (p.  84)  gives  a  full  description  of 
'  The  Kestrel,  Stannel,  or  Stonegall,  in  Latine  Tinnunculus  or  CenchrisJ  and  con- 
cludes with  saying  :  '  Kestrils  are  wont  commonly  with  us  in  England  to  be  reclaimed 
and  trained  up  for  fowling,  after  the  manner  of  other  Rapacious  birds.     They  catch 
not  only  small  birds  but  also  young  Partridge.  .  .  .  This  bird  is  by  some  called  the 
Wind-hover* — MALONE  :  Here  is  one  of  at  least  a  hundred  instances  of  the  tran- 
scriber of  these  plays  being  deceived  by  the  ear.     The  eye  never  could  have  con- 
founded stannyel  and  'stallion.' — COLLIER  (ed.  iij  :  This  altered  to  falcon  in  the 
MS  is  decidedly  wrong,  but  probably  the  word  was  used  on  the  stage  at  a  time  when 
'stannyel'  was  not  understood,  or  considered  obsolete.     [Malone's  remark  is  emi- 
nently just,  but  had  he  been  familiar  with  the  practice  of  the  early  printing  estab- 
lishments he  would  have  said  that  it  was  the  ear  of  the  compositor,  not  of  the 
'  transcriber,'  that  was  deceived. — ED.] — NARES  :   '  This  beautiful  species  of  hawk,' 
says  Montagu  (  Ornith.  Diet.},  'feeds  principally  on  mice,'  which  accounts  for  its 
not  being  noticed  at  all  by  Latham  and  other  writers  on  Falconry. 

109.  checkes  at  it]  STEEVENS:  'To  checke,'  says  Latham,  Falconry,  1633,  'is 
when  crows,  rooks,  pies,  or  other  birds,  comming  in  the  view  of  the  hawke,  she 
forsaketh  her  natural!  flight  to  flie  at  them.'  [See  III,  i,  64.] 

112.  formall  capacitie]  STEEVENS:  That  is,  any  one  in  his  senses,  any  one 
whose  capacity  is  not  disarranged,  or  out  of  form.  [Or,  as  W.  A.  WRIGHT 
expresses  it,  'any  one  of  a  well-regulated  mind.']  So  in  Com.  of  Err.  V,  i,  105  : 
'  Till  I  have  used  the  approved  means  I  have,  With  wholesome  syrups,  drugs,  and 
holy  prayers,  To  make  of  him  a  formal  man  again.' 


1 70  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  11,  sc.  v. 

in  this,  and  the  end  :  What  fhould  that  Alphabeticall  po-         113 

fition  portend ,  if  I  could  make  that  refemble  fomething 

in  me  ?  Softly,  M. O.A.I.  115 

To.     O  I,  make  vp  that,  he  is  now  at  a  cold  fent. 

Fab.     Sowter  will  cry  vpon't  for  all  this,  though  it  bee 
as  ranke  as  a  Fox.  1 18 

113.  this,"]  (his — Roweetseq.  (subs.)  115.  I.]/, —  Dyce,  Cam. 

end:}    end—    Rowe     et    seq.  116.   O  /]  O,  /,  F3F4.    O,  ay!  Rowe 

(subs.)  et  seq. 

114, 115.  portend, ...me?}  Ff.  portend.  make  vp}  make  out  Han.     take 

...me?  Rowe  i,  portend?... me?  Rowe  up  Anon.  ap.  Cam. 

ii, +  ,  Var. '73.     portend ? ...me.     Han.  117.  it  bee}  it  ben 't  Han.     it  be  not 

portend?. ..me, —  Cap.  et  cet.  Johns.  Ktly. 

1 16.  O  I]  Sir  Toby's  echo  of  the  letters  is  caught  by  the  eye  a  little  quicker  in  the 
Folio  than  in  Rowe's  'O,  ay.' — ED. 

117.  Sowter]  STEEVENS  :  A  'sowter'  was  a  cobbler;  it  is  here,  I  suppose,  the 
name  of  a  hound.     Thus,  in  Greene's  Carde  of  Fancie,  1 608 :  'If  Appelles  that 
cunning  Painter,  suffer  the  greasie  Souter  to  take  a  view  of  his  curious  worke,  hee 
will    grow   so    malapert,    as   to  meddle  with   his  picture.' [p.    102,   ed.  Grosart.] 
— MADDEN   (p.    52,   footnote):    Beckford,   in  his    Thoughts   on   Hunting  (1781), 
includes  among  the  names  of  hounds  in  common   use,    Fury,   Tyrant,  .  .  .  Echo, 
Mounter,  and  Saunter.      For  these,  Shakespeare's  Mountain  and  Sowter  may  be 
misprints.     All  the  other  names  have  some  meaning  applied  to  hounds  ;  but  Moun- 
tain and  Sowter  (cobbler]  absolutely  none.     [But  are  we  certain  that  'Souter'  (so 
spelled  in  the  foregoing  quotation  from  Greene)  was  not  pronounced  Shouter  ? — 
just  as  suitor  was  pronounced  shooter.    Would  there  then  be  absolutely  no  meaning, 
as  a  hound's  name,  in  '  Shouter'?    Would  it  not  be  as  appropriate  as  Echo ? — ED.] 

118.  ranke  as  a  Fox]  CAPELL  (p.  147)  :  The  fourth  modem  [Hanmer]  thought 
a  negative  was  here  wanted,  but  this  quest  that  Malvolio  is  upon  is  rank  as  a  fox, 
and  to  be  follow'd  without  a  cry  (without  op'ning)  by  any  dog  but  a  '  Sowter,'  and, 
so  taken,  a  negative  lessens  the  speech's  wit. — MALONE  :  I  believe  the  meaning  is  : 
This  fellow  will,  notwithstanding,  catch  at  and  be  duped  by  our  device,  though  the 
cheat  is  so  gross  that  any  one  else  would  find  it  out. — HALLIWELL  :  The  original 
text  seems  to  be  correct.     Fabian,  comparing  Malvolio  to  a  hound,  says  that  he  will 
cry  upon  it,  that  is,  hunt  after  it,  though  it  be  gross  and  palpable. — The  COWDEN- 
CLARKES  :  'Though  it  be'  seems  here  to  mean  since  it  is  or  being  as  it  is. — B. 
NICHOLSON  suggested  (N.  <5r»  Qu.  VHth,  xii,  63,  1X91)  crank;  that  is,  ' though  it  be 
as  twisting  or  winding  as  the  wiles  of  a  hunted  fox.     In  fact,  it  would  be  used  in 
exactly  the  sense  in  which  Shakespeare  uses  it  in  Ven.  dr»  Ad.  when  speaking  of  the 
hare  :  "  How  he  outruns  the  wind,  and  with  what  care  He  cranks  and  crosses  with 
a  thousand  doubles."  lines  68l,  682.' — W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  Fabian  speaks  ironically  : 
'  Malvolio  will  make  it  out  in  time,  though  it  is  plain  enough.' — INNES  :  'Sowter,' 
literally  '  cobbler ';  so  equivalent  to  bungler.     'Bungler'  (as  though  Malvolio  were 
a  stupid  dog  named  Bungler)  '  will  open  cry  '  (i.  e.  '  will  recover  the  scent ' ),  '  though 
a  very  inferior  hound  could  do  that  seeing  how  rank  it  lies.'      [We  need  here  the 
indicative,  though  it  is,  not  the  subjunctive,  '  though  it  bee ' ;  and  a  majority  of  the 
preceding  paraphrases  boldly  substitute  it.     The  only  way,  it  seems  to  me,  whereby 


ACT  ii,  sc.  v.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  171 

Mai.     M.  Maluolio,  M.  why  that  begins  my  name. 

Fab.    Did  not  I  fay  he  would  worke  it  out,    the  Curre         120 
is  excellent  at  faults. 

Mai.  M.  But  then  there  is  no  confonancy  in  the  fequell 
that  fuffers  vnder  probation  :  A.  fhould  follow,  but  O. 
does. 

Fa.     And  O  fhall  end,  I  hope.  125 

To.    I,  or  I  le  cudgell  him,  and  make  him  cry  0. 

Mai.     And  theii  /.  comes  behind. 

Fa.  I,  and  you  had  any  eye  behinde  you,  you  might 
fee  more  detraction  at  your  heeles ,  then  Fortunes  before 
you.  1 30 

119.  M.  Maluolio,...«aw<?]  M, — why  122,  123.  fequell  thaf\   sequel ;   that 

...name.    M, — Malvolio  !  or  M, — M, —  Rowe  et  seq. 

M, —  why  ...name  Cam.  conj.  128.  and  you]  an  you  Han.  Cap.  Var. 

119.  122.  M.]  M, —  Cap.  '78  et  seq. 

120.  out,']  out?  Pope  et  seq. 

we  can  retain  the  present  text  is  by  laying  a  strong  emphasis  on  '  be,'  and  thus 
impart  to  it  an  indicative  force.  I  would  paraphrase  the  passage  thus  :  '  For  all  this, 
that  he  is  now  at  a  cold  scent,  the  dog  will  find  it  out,  though  it  be  as  rank  as  a  fox.' 
This,  I  think,  helps  to  make  the  phrase  equivalent  to  'because  it  really  is.'  I  can 
find  no  reason  why  '  Sowter'  (or,  possibly,  Shouter,  see  preceding  note)  should  be 
more  contemptuous  than  any  other  name  of  a  dog ;  it  is  sufficient  that  it  is  equiv- 
alent to  dog,  and,  possibly,  there  is  a  play  on  the  words  '  Shouter '  and  '  cry.' — ED.] 

121.  at  faults]  BRADLEY  (JV.  £.  D.  s.  v.  Fault,  8)  :  Hunting.  A  break  in  the 
line  of  scent;  loss  of  scent ;  a  check  caused  by  failure  of  scent.     Thus,  Ven.  &JAat. 
694  :  '  The  hot  scent-snuffing  hounds  .  .  .  have  singled  .  .  .  the  cold  fault  cleanly  out.' 

123.  probation]  Knowing  that  'probation'  means  proof,  it  is  not  hard  to  trans- 
late Malvolio's  lordly  style.  If  we  retain  the  punctuation  of  the  Folio  by  discarding 
Rowe's  semicolon  after  'sequel,'  an  Anonymous  conjecture,  recorded  in  the  CAM. 
ED.,  of  suffices  for  'suffers,'  becomes  plausible.  I  think  Rowe's  semi-colon  should 
be  merely  a  comma. — ED. 

125.  O  shall  end]  JOHNSON  :  By  '  O '  is  here  meant  what  we  now  call  a  hempen 
collar. — STEEVENS  :  I  believe  he  meant  only  '  it  shall  end  in  sighing.'     So,  in  Rom. 
&  Jul.  Ill,  iii,  90  :  '  Why  should  you  fall  into  so  deep  an  O  ?'    [As  W.  A.  WRIGHT 
says,  '  the  jesters  never  intended  to  carry  their  joke  as  far  as'  a  hempen  collar.] 

126,  To.]  Does  this  failure  to  catch  Fabian's  joke  about '  O,'  or,  rather,  thus  repeat 
it  weakly,  sound  like  Sir  Toby  ?  After  having  longed  for  a  '  stone-bow,'  and  invoked 
'  Fire  and  Brimstone,'  '  Bolts  and  Shackles,'  and  after  having  even  questioned  whether 
Malvolio  should  live,  is  it  in  keeping  that  Sir  Toby  should  talk  of '  cudgels '?   The  anti- 
climax would  be  hardly  more  abrupt  had  he  said  that  Malvolio  should  be  spoken  to. 
In  this  speech  do  we  not  catch  the  tones  of  Sir  Andrew's  weak  treble? — ED. 

128.  and  you]  CAPELL,  in  his  text,  adopted  Hanmer's  '  an  you,'  but  in  his  Notes 
(p.  147)  he  withdraws  this  an,  and  says  '  the  reading  ought  to  have  been — "Ay,  and 
if  you  had  ";  for  "  you"  is  emphatical.' 


172  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  11,  sc.  v. 

Mai.   M,OjA,I.T\\\s  fimulation  is  not  as  the  former:         131 
and  yet  to  crufh  this  a  little,  it  would  bow  to  mee,  for  e- 
uery  one  of  thefe  Letters  are  in  my  name.    Soft ,  here  fol- 
lowes  profe :  If  this  fall  into  thy  hand,  reuoluc.   In  my  ftars 
I  am  aboue  thee,  but  be  not  affraid  of  greatneffe  :  Some         135 
are  become  great,  fome  atcheeues  greatneffe,  and  fome 
haue  greatneffe  thruft  vppon  em.     Thy  fates  open  theyr 
hands,  let  thy  blood  and  fpirit  embrace  them,  and  to  in- 
vre  thy  felfe  to  what  thou  art  like  to  be  :  caft  thy  humble 
flough,  and  appeare  frefh.     Be  oppofite  with  a  kinfman,          140 
furly  with  feruants  :  Let  thy  tongue  tang  arguments  of 

131.  Jitnulation\  similation  Cap.  (Er-  137.  thrujl  vppon  ent]  F7.     (reading 
rata),  Ran.                                                           'em    Sing,   ii,    Dyce,   Cam.    Sta.   Ktly, 

132.  bow  to  mee~\  bow  me  F3F4.  Rife.)    put  upon  em  ¥.   put  upon  them 

1 33.  are]  is  Rowe  ii,  Var.  Ran.  F4,  Rowe  i.     thrust  upon  them  Rowe  ii 
134-148.  If  tins...  Farewell,]  F2.    In        et  cet. 

Italics  F.,F4  et  seq.  137.  open]  upon  FSF4. 

134.  Jiars~\  state  Lettsom  ap.  Dyce  ii.  138,  139.  tfnm,...like  to  be .•]  them; 
136.  atcheeues]  atcheeve  Ff  et  seq.               ...like  to  be,  Rowe  et  seq.  (subs.) 

and  fome}  and  fome,  and  fome  ¥3. 

131.  simulation  is  not  as  the  former]  That  is,  this  disguise  is  not  so  easily 
detected  as  'I  may  command  where  I  adore.'     CAPELL,  in  his  Errata,  changed 
'  simulation  '  into  similation  on  the  ground,  I  suppose,  that  '  simulation '  implies  that 
Malvolio  suspected  some  deceit. — ED. 

132,  133.  euery  one  .  .  .  Letters  are]  The  not  uncommon  plural  by  attraction  ; 
here,  after  '  letters.'     For  many  other  examples,  see  ABBOTT,  §  412. 

136.  are  become  great]  This  phrase  is  afterward  quoted  twice,  once  by  Mal- 
volio, in  his  interview  with  Olivia  (III,  iv,  44),  and  again  by  the  Clown,  in  the  last 
scene  ( V,  i,  390)  ;  in  both  cases  it  is  given  '  some  are  born  great. '  ROWE,  accord- 
ingly, for  the  sake  of  uniformity,  changed  '  become '  to  born  in  the  present  passage, 
and  therein  has  been  uniformly  followed  by  succeeding  editors. 

136.  atcheeues]  CAMBRIDGE  EDITORS  :  The  First  Folio  here  reads  'atcheeues,' 
but  as  it  has  '  atcheeue '  in  III,  iv,  46,  and  '  atchieue  '  in  V,  i,  390,  it  is  plain  that 
the  first  is  a  mere  misprint.  In  many  other  passages,  doubtless,  the  incorrect  gram- 
mar found  in  the  oldest  editions  is  due  to  the  printer,  not  to  the  author. 

138.  blood  and  spirit]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  ' Blood '  is  used  metaphorically  for 
passion,  or  courage  and  high  temper.  Thus,  in  Hamlet,  III,  ii,  74 :  '  And  blest 
are  those  Whose  blood  and  temper  are  so  well  commingled,'  etc. 

140.  opposite]    MALONE:    That  is,   adverse,  hostile.     An  opposite  meant  an 
adversary.   [See  III,  ii,  64,  where  it  is  so  used.     Perhaps  « hostile '    is  too  strong  ; 
antagonistic,  contradictory,  seem  more  nearly  right.     It  is  not  easy  to  see  why  any 
note  is  needed  at  all ;  none  would  certainly  have  been  recorded  here  had  not  so 
very  many  editors  deemed  a  note  of  explanation  needful. — ED.] 

141.  tang]  This  word  occurs  again,  but  not  in  the  First  Folio,  at  III,  iv,  74, 
where  the  other  Folios  have  '  tang  with,'   which  HANMER  adopted  here.     He  has 
had,  however,  no  followers. — W.  A.  WRIGHT:  'Tang'  appears  to  be  used  of  a 


ACT  ii,  sc.  v.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL 


173 


ftate;  put  thy  felfe  into  the  tricke  of  fmgularitie.     Shee          142 
thus  aduifes  thee,  that  fighes  for  thee.     Remember  who 
commended  thy  yellow  ftockings,  and  wifh'd  to  fee  thce 
euer  croffe  garter'd  :  I  fay  remember,  goe  too,  thou  art         145 

145.   remember,  goe  too\  remember ;  go  to  Rowe  ii  et  seq.  (subs.) 


loud  dominant   sound.       See  Fletcher's  Night   Walker,   III,  iv  :  "Tis  a  strange 
noise !  and  has  a  tang  o'   the  justice.' 

142.  tricke  of  singularitie]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  That  is,  the  affectation  of  being 
eccentric,  which  has  before  this  done  duty  for  originality.  Compare  Wint.  Tale, 
IV,  iv,  839  :  «  He  seemes  to  be  the  more  Noble,  in  being  fantasticall.' 

144.  yellow  stockings]  PERCY  :  Before  the  civil  wars  yellow  stockings  were 
much   worn.     So   in    D'Avenant,    The  Wits,   [1636]:  'You  said,  my  girl,    Mary 
Queasy  by  name,  Did  find  your  uncle's  yellow  stockings  in  A  porringer,'  etc.  [IV, 
ii,  p.  236,  ed.  Maidment.     This  passage  is  to  be  found  only  in  the  ed.  1673,  and 
is  not  believed  to  have  been  written  by  D'Avenant. — ED.]— STEEVENS  :  So,  Mid- 
dleton  &  Rowley,  in   The   World  Tost  at  Tennis,  1620,  where  the  five  different- 
coloured  starches  are  introduced  as  striving  for  superiority,  Yellow  Starch  says  to 
White  :  '  since  she  cannot  Wear  her  own  linen  yellow,  yet  she  shews  Her  love  to  't, 
and  makes  him  [her  husband]  wear  yellow  hose.'    [p.  182,  ed.   Dyce.     The  hose 
here  referred  to  are  represented  as  yellow  merely  because  it  was  the  colour  of 
jealousy, — not  because  yellow  hose  were  fashionable. — ED.]     Again,  in  Dekker's 
Honest  Whore,  second  part,  1630,  Lodovico  says,  '  What  stockings  have  you  put  on 
this  morning,   madam?  if  they  be  not  yellow,   change  them.'   [I,  i,  p.  134,  ed. 
Dyce,  who,  in  a  footnote,  says,  '  Lodovico  means — it  is  time  for  you  to  be  jealous  : 
"  Since  citizens  wiues  fitted  their  husbands  with  yellow  hose,  is  not  within  the  mem- 
ory of  man."   Dekker's  O-wles  Almanacke,  1618,  p.  7.     The  word  "yellows"  was 
frequently  used  for  jealousv.'     These  last  two  quotations  given  by  Steevens  are  in 
reality  pointless,  and  would  not  have  been  repeated  here  were  it  not  that  they  have 
been  quoted  by  subsequent  editors  who  did  not  notice  that  they  were  inappropriate. 
The  following  quotation  is  to  the  point. — ED.]  From  Henry  Goldwell's  account  of  an 
entertainment  performed  before  Queen  Elizabeth,  in  1581,  I  find  that  '  The  yeomen 
attending  the  Earl  of  Arundel,  Lord  Windsor,  and  Mr  Fulke  Greville  were  dressed 
in  yellow  worsted  stockings.' — W.  A.  WRIGHT:  'Yellow  stockings'  were  appar- 
ently a  common  article  of  dress  in  the  l6th  century,  and  the  tradition  of  wearing 
them  survives  in  the  costume  of  the  boys  at  Christ's  Hospital.    They  had  apparently 
gone  out  of  fashion  in  Sir  Thomas  Overbury's  time,  for  in  his  Characters  he  says 
of  'A  Country  Gentleman,'  '  If  he  goes  to  Court,  it  is  in  yellow  stockings';  as  if 
this  were  a  sign  of  rusticity.     They  appear  to  have  been  especially  worn  by  the 
young,  if  any  importance  is  to  be  attached  to  the  burden  of  a  song  set  to  the  tune 
of  Peg  a  Ramsey  (Chappell,  Popular  Music,  etc.,  p.  218),  in  which  a  married  man 
laments  the  freedom  of  his  bachelor  days  :  '  Give  me  my  yellow  hose  again,  Give 
me  my  yellow  hose.'     Malvolio  may  have  affected  youthful  fashions  in  dress. 

145.  crosse  garter'd]   STEEVENS  :  So,  in  Ford,  The  Lover's  Melancholy,  1629 
[acted  in  1628]  :  'Cucttllus.  Do  I  not  look  freshly,  and  like  a  youth  of  the  trim? 
Grilla.   As  rare  an  old  youth  as  ever  walked  cross-gartered. '[Ill,  i,  p.  48,  ed. 
Dyce.]  Again,   in  [Field's]   A    Woman  is  a   Weathercock  :  "Tis  not  thy  leg,  no, 
were  it  twice  as  good,  Throws  me  into  this  melancholy  mood  ;  Yet  let  me  say  and 


i;4  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  n,  sc.  v. 

[145.  crosse  garter'd] 

swear,  in  a  cross-garter  Paul's  never  show'd  to  eyes  a  lovelier  quarter.' [IV,  ii, 
p.  70,  ed.  Hazlitt-Dodsley.]  It  appears  that  the  ancient  Puritans  affected  this  fash- 
ion. Thus,  Barton  Holyday,  speaking  of  the  ill-success  of  his  play  called  Techno- 
gamia,  [1618]  says:  '  Had  there  appear'd  some  sharp  cross-garter' d  man,  Whom 
their  loud  laugh  might  nickname  Puritan ;  Cas'd  up  in  factious  breeches,  and  small 
ruffe  ;  That  hates  the  surplice,  and  defies  the  cuffe,  Then,'  etc.  In  a  former  scene 
Malvolio  was  said  to  be  an  affecter  of  puritanism. — DOUCE  (i,  91)  :  In  the  English 
edition  of  Junius's  Nomenclator,  1585.  mention  is  made  of  'hose  garters,  going 
acrosse,  or  overthwart,  both  above  and  beneath  the  knee.'  In  Porter's  Two  angry 
Women  of  Abington,  1599,  a  serving-raa.n  is  thus  described  :  'He  tell  thee,  sirrah, 
he's  a  fine  neat  fellow,  A  spruce  slave  ;  I  warrant  ye,  he'll  have  His  cruel  garters 
cross  about  the  knee.' [p.  286,  ed.  Hazlitt-Dodsley.] — NARES  :  While  modes  are 
new,  they  are  confined  to  the  gay  or  affected  ;  when  obsolete,  they  are  yet  retained 
by  the  grave  and  old.  In  Shakespeare's  time  this  fashion  was  yet  in  credit,  and 
Olivia's  detestation  of  it  arose,  we  may  suppose,  from  thinking  it  coxcombical. 
Malvolio' s  puritanism  had  probably  nothing  to  do  with  this.  Yellow  stockings  were 
then  high  fashion,  and  so,  doubtless,  were  cross-garters.  The  following  passage 
proves  it:  'All  short-cloak'd  knights,  and  all  cross-garter' d  gentlemen,  All  pump 
and  pantofle,  foot-cloth  riders,  With  all  the  swarming  generation  Of  long  stocks, 
short  pan'd  hose,  and  huge  stuff' d  doublets,'  etc. — Fletcher,  The  Woman-hater, 
1607,  I,  ii.  But  when  Holyday  wrote  of  the  ill-success  of  his  Technogamia,  the 
fashion  was  exploded,  and  was  retained  only  by  Puritans  and  old  men. — HALLI- 
WELL  gives  four  wood-cuts  of  cross-garters.  The  first  is  copied  from  a  figure  of  one 
of  the  Magi  in  the  Benedictional  of  St.  Ethelwold,  a  MS  of  the  tenth  century,  and 
much  resembles  a  surgeon's  bandage  overlapping  from  the  ankle  to  the  knee  ;  the 
fourth  and  fifth  represent  the  cross-gartering  depicted  on  a  Tartar,  in  a  book  on 
costume  published  at  Antwerp  in  1582,  and  on  the  leg  of  a  Guerilla  in  1818, 
respectively ;  neither  of  these  is  very  greatly  to  the  purpose  for  obvious  reasons  ; 
but  Nos.  2  and  3  represent  '  the  front  and  back  views  of  the  knee  of  a  gentleman, 
from  a  piece  of  tapestry  of  the  early  part  of  the  sixteenth  century  ;  they  very  clearly 
show  the  mode  in  which  the  garter  was  brought  from  beneath  the  knee,  and 
secured  in  a  bow  above  it,  after  passing  behind  the  leg.' — FARMER  :  Thus  Sir 
Thomas  Overbury  presents  a  Footman,  '  Cards  hee  weares  none  ;  which  makes  him 
live  more  upright  than  any  crosse-gartered  gentleman-usher.' — Character  of  a  Foot- 
man, 1614. — W.  A.  WRIGHT:  Malvolio  was  to  be  cross-gartered,  not  like  a  stage 
bandit,  but  wearing  the  garters  both  above  and  below  the  knee,  so  as  to  be  crossed 
at  the  back  of  the  leg.  There  are  frequent  references  to  this  fashion.  When  Ford 
wrote  his  Lover's  Melancholy  '  cross-garters '  were  apparently  becoming  obsolete. 
.  .  .  The  Puritans  would  naturally  be  in  the  rearward  of  the  fashion  and  would  go 
cross-gartered  long  after  every  one  else  had  ceased  to  do  so.  And  it  by  no  means 
follows,  because  '  cross-gartered '  was  an  appropriate  epithet  for  a  Puritan  some 
fifteen  or  twenty  years  later,  that  Shakespeare  intended  Malvolio' s  Puritanism 
(which,  after  all,  had  its  existence  only  on  Maria's  sharp  tongue),  to  show  itself  in 
this  manner.  .  .  .  Sir  Thomas  Overbury,  when  he  wrote  his  Character  of  a  Footman, 
had  probably  Malvolio  in  his  mind. — DEIGHTON  :  From  the  'villanous'  way  in 
which,  according  to  Maria,  Malvolio  had  cross-gartered  himself,  and  from  his  own 
admission  of  the  '  obstruction  in  the  blood '  caused  by  so  doing,  we  may  perhaps, 
infer  that  in  the  present  instance  the  fashion  had  been  exaggerated,  travestied. 


ACT  ii,  sc.  v.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  175 

made  if  thou  defir'ft  to  be  fo  :  If  not,  let  me  fee  thee  a  fte-         146 
ward  ftill,  the  fellow  of  feruants,  and  not  woorthie  to 
touch  Fortunes  fingers  Farewell,  Shee  that  would   alter 
feruices  with  thee,  tht  fortunate  vnhappy   daylight  and 
champian  difcouers  not  more  :    This  is  open,  I  will  bee          150 
proud,  I  will  reade  pollticke  Authours,  I  will  baffle  Sir 
Toby,  I  will  wafh  off  groffe  acquaintance,  I  will  be  point 
deuife,  the  very  man.    I  do  not  now  foole  my  felfe,  to  let         153 

148.  fingers']  fingers.  Rowe  et  seq.  Dyce,  Glo.  Cam. 

149.  thee,     tht    fortunate    vnhappy  150.  difcouers  not]  discovers  no  Pope, 
day  light]  ¥1.    thee.''  The  fortunate  and  +.    discover    no    Han.      discover    not 
happy  Day-light  Rowe,  Pope,  Theob.  Dyce  ii,  iii,  Huds. 

thee  the  fortunate  and  happy.'   Daylight  151.  pollticke]  Ff. 

Han.  Warb.  Johns.      thee,    The  fortu-  152,  153.  point  deuife]  point  de  vice 

nate-unhappy.'    Daylight  Cap  et  cet.  Johns,    point-de-vice  Var.  '73.     point- 

tht  fortunate  vnhappy]  Separate  device  Ktly. 

line,  Cap.  Mai.  et  seq.  153.  not  now]  now  Ff,  Rowe,  Pope. 

150.  champian]       champion      F3F4.  not  1 1  an. 
champaign  Coll.   i,  Wh.   i.     champain 

149.  fortunate  vnhappy  daylight]  HANMER  was  the  first  to  perceive  that  the 
letter  ended  with  'vnhappy'  and  that  'daylight'  is  the  beginning  of  Malvolio's 
comment ;  but  like  all  the  editors  from  ROWE  to  JOHNSON,  he  vitiated  his  text  by 
reading  'fortunate  and  happy.'  CAPELL  was  the  first  to  perceive  that  'The  fortu- 
nate vnhappy '  is  the  subscription. 

149,  150.  daylight  and  champian]  WARBURTON  :  That  is,  broad  day  and  an 
open  country  cannot  make  things  plainer. — DYCE  :  I  have  not  retained  the  spelling 
of  the  Folio,  because  in  Lear  I,  i,  65,  it  has  '  With  shadowie  Forrests  and  with 
Champains  rich'd.' — W.  A.  WRIGHT:  'Champian'  is  the  spelling  of  the  word  in 
the  margin  of  the  Authorized  Version  of  Ezekiel,  xxxvii,  2. 

151.  pollticke  Authours]  That  is,  authors  on  state  craft ;  so  that  his  tongue  may 
tang  arguments  of  state. 

152.  153.  point  deuise]  STEEVENS  :  Chaucer  uses  this  phrase  in  The  Romaunt 
of  the  Rose,  \.  1215  :  '  Her  nose  was  wrought  at  point  devise.'  i.  e.  with  the  utmost 
possible  exactness. — SKEAT  :  A  shortened  form  of  the  older  phrase  at  point  device, 
equivalent  to  with  great  nicety  or  exactitude,  as  :  '  With  limmes  [limbs]  wrought  at 
point  device.' — Rom.  of  the  Rose,  1.  830  ;  a  translation  of  Old  French  "a  point  devis, 
according  to  a  point  [of  exactitude]  that  is  devised  or  imagined,  i.  e.  in  the  best  way 
imaginable. — W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  That  is,  precisely,  exactly.     The  full  phrase  was 
'at  point  devise,'  which  we  find  in  Chaucer,  Cant.  Tales  (ed.  Tyrwhitt),  1.  3689: 
'Up  rist  this  jolly  lover  Absolon,  And  him  arayeth  gay,  at  point  devise.'     And 
1.  10874 :  '  So  painted  he  and  kempt,  at  point  devise,  As  wel  his  wordes,  as  his 
contenance.'     Again  in  Rom.  of  the  Rose,  I.  830  and  1.  1215.     In  the  last-quoted 
passages  there  is  nothing  corresponding  in  the  French  Roman  de  la  Rose.    Steerens, 
by  printing  the  word  in  the  form  '  point-de-vice,'  suggested  another  etymology  which 
appears  to  have  no  authority.     Shakespeare  uses  '  point-device,'  or  '  point  devise,'  as 
an  adjective,  in  the  sense  of  '  precise,'  in  As  You  Like  It,  III,  ii,  367  :  '  You  are 
rather  point  deuice  in  your  accoutrements.'     And  in  Love's  Lab.  L.  V,  i,  21  :  'I 


176  TIVELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  11,  sc.  v. 

imagination  iade  mee  ;  for  euery  reafon  excites  to  this, 
that  my  Lady  loues  me.     She  did  commend  my  yellow         155 
ftockings  of  late,  mee  did  praife  my  legge  being  crofle- 
garterM,  and  in  this  fhe  manifefts  her  felfe  to  my  loue,  & 
with  a  kinde  of  injunction  driues  mee  to  thefe  habites  of 
her  liking.    I  thanke  my  ftarres,  I  am  happy :  I  will  bee 
ftrange,  ftout,  in  yellow  ftockings,  and  croffe  Garter5 d,          160 
euen  with  the  fwiftneffe  of  putting  on.     loue,  and  my 

158.  iniuncJion\     conjunction    F  F4,          1 60.  Blockings']  flocking  F2. 
Rowe  i. 

abhor  such  fanatical  phantasimes,  such  insociable  and  point-devise  companions.'  — 
INNES  :  The  word  is  used  in  two  other  places  in  Shakespeare  apparently  in  the  sense  of 
superfine.  Perhaps  we  should  here  also  take  it  in  this  sense  as  an  adjective,  placing 
a  comma  after  it.  Whether  it  is  adverb  or  adjective,  the  sense  of  '  superfine  '  rather 
than  « precise '  seems  to  predominate  in  Chaucer  as  well  as  in  Shakespeare.  [Here, 
'  superfine '  seems  to  me  to  miss  the  point.  Malvolio  is  resolving  that  he  '  will 
be  the  very  man '  down  to  the  minutest  particular  that  the  letter  enjoins  on  him. 
HALLIWELL  quotes  an  example  from  Palsgrave  :  '  This  shyppe  is  armed  or  decked 
poynte  devyse  :  ceste  nauire  est  betreschee  en  tous  poynts.'  p.  436. — ED.] 

154.  iade  mee]  That  is,  to  play  me,  what  Shakespeare  elsewhere  calls,  a  jade's 
trick.  What  the  precise  trick  is,  it  is  not  easy  to  define.  W.  A.  WRIGHT  thinks  it 
means  to  run  away  with  ;  but  this  seems  to  me  rather  too  vivacious  for  a  jade. 
SCHMIDT  (Lex.)  says  it  means  'to  make  appear  like  a  jade,'  which  is  wide  of  the 
mark,  but  then  he  adds,  '  to  make  ridiculous  and  contemptible,'  which  is  better,  but 
does  not  explain  a  jade's  agency  in  the  matter.  In  Muck  Ado,  I,  i,  142,  it  was 
suggested  that  a  jade's  trick  might  mean  to  slip  the  head  out  of  the  collar.  Possibly, 
this  may  approximate  the  meaning  here.  In  effect,  Malvolio  says  that  he  does  not 
intend  to  let  himself  be  so  led  on  by  his  imagination  that,  when  he  thinks  his  posi- 
tion is  secure,  through  his  interpretation  of  the  letter,  he  finds  he  has  been  deceiving 
himself,  and  that  his  substance  is  a  shadow  ;  that,  in  short,  the  jade  has  slipped  her 
collar  and  left  him  helpless. — ED. 

154,  158.  for  euery  reason  .  .  .  kinde  of  iniunttion]  CAPELL  conjectured  that 
we  should  here  read :  '  for  very  reason '  and  '  with  a  kind  injunction ' ;  both  con- 
jectures are  good,  but  somewhat  too  much  in  the  way  of  improving  Shakespeare. 
—ED. 

160.  stout]  DYCE  (ed.  ii)  :  Something  wrong  here,  it  would  seem. — An  Anon- 
ymous critic  conjectures,   apud    TTte   Cambridge  Shakespeare,  with  great  violence, 
'bestir  me,  strut  in,'  etc. — CARTWRIGHT  (p.  13)  :  Read  proud ;  after  reading  the 
letter  Malvolio  says,  '  I  will  be  proud.'    [Malvolio  is  repeating  the  items  of  the  letter 
which  tells  him  to  'be  opposite  with  a  kinsman,'  therefore  he  will  be  'strange'; 
to  be  '  surly  with  servants,'  therefore  he  will  be  '  stout.'     To  this  meaning  of '  stout ' 
SCHMIDT  (Lex. )  gives  us  a  parallel,  with  the  meaning,  proud,  overbearing :  'Oft 
have  I  seen  the  haughty  cardinal.  ...  As  stout  and  proud  as  he  were  lord  of  all.' — 
a  Hen.   VI:  I,  i,  187.] 

161,  165.  loue]   HALLIWELL  (Note  on  III,  iv,  78)  :  In  this,  and  in  most  of  the 
other  passages  where  Jove  is  mentioned  in  this  comedy,  the  probability  is  that  God 


ACTII.SC.  v.]  OR,    WHAT  YOU  WILL  177 

ftarres  be  praifed.     Heere  is  yet  a  poftfcript.     Thou  can/I         162 
not  clioofe  but  know  who  I  am.  Ifthou  entertain/I  my  loue,  let 
it  appear e  in  thyfmiling ,  thyfmiles  become  thee  well .    There- 
fore in  myprefenceflillfmile,  deero  myfweete,  Iprethee.  I  o  ue         165 
I  thanke  thee,  I  will  fmile,  I  wil  do  euery  thing  that  thou 
wilt  haue  me.  Exit 

Fab.     I  will  not  giue  my  part  of  this  fport  for  a  penfi- 
on  of  thoufands  to  be  paid  from  the  Sophy.  169 

162.  [Reads.]  Coll.  165.  deero]  deere  ¥,.     dear  F3F4. 

163.  but  know]  to  knew  Rowe  i.  1 68.  /  wilf]    I   would  Ktly    conj. 
entertaiuft]   FaF3,  Cap.  Wh.  i,         (withdrawn.) 

Sing,  ii,  Ktly,    Huds.     entertainejl  F4  part\  patt  F4- 

et  cet. 

was  the  original  word,  which  was  altered  on  account  of  the  statute  of  James  I. 
Even  in  a  play,  it  seems  to  me  there  is  more  impropriety  in  a  character  solemnly 
referring  to  a  fictitious  deity  than  in  his  using  the  natural  language  of  thankfulness. 
Malvolio,  with  Puritanical  sentiments,  would  freely  use  the  name  of  the  Almighty. 
The  change  was  one  frequently  made.  Thus,  in  The  Four  Prentices  of  London, 
'in  God's  name,'  in  the  first  edition,  is  altered  to  '  in  Jove's  name,'  in  the  second. 
— HUDSON  :  Malvolio  is  not  a  heathen  ;  he  is  rather  a  strait-laced  sort  of  Christian  ; 
such  a  one  as  would  be  very  apt  to  ascribe  his  good  fortune  to  the  fact  of  his  being 
among  'the  elect.'  So  I  suspect  that  'Jove'  was  inserted  by  some  second  hand  in 
compliance  with  the  well-known  statute  against  profanation.  Halliwell  prints  as  in 
[my  text]  ;  and  I  was  fully  convinced  it  ought  to  be  so,  long  before  I  knew  he 
printed  it  so.  [See  III,  iv,  78.] 

165.  deero]  DANIEL  (p.  43)  :  Is  this  a  misprint  for  '  dear,  O  my  sweet'?  [It  is 
not  improbable  ;  but  its  languishing  tone  might,  possibly,  impart  a  shade  of  exaggera- 
tion, which  might  tend  to  arouse  suspicion.  For  examples  like  '  dear  my  sweet,'  see 
Shakespeare  passim,  or  ABBOTT,  §  13. — ED.] 

169.  Sophy]  STEEVENS  :  Allusion,  as  Dr  Farmer  observes,  to  Sir  Robert  Shirley 
[or  Sherley]  who  was  just  returned  in  the  character  of  '  embassador  from  the  Sophy.' 
He  boasted  of  the  great  rewards  he  had  received,  and  lived  in  London  with  the 
utmost  splendor.— W.  A.  WRIGHT:  The  title  of  Sophy,  by  which  the  Shah  of 
Persia  was  most  commonly  known  in  the  i6th  and  1 7th  centuries,  was  derived  from 
the  Safavi  dynasty,  founded  in  1500  by  Shah  Ismail,  whose  descendants  occupied  the 
throne  till  1736,  when  the  power  was  seized  by  Nadir  Shah.  The  attention  of 
Englishmen  had  been  attracted  to  Persia,  at  the  beginning  of  the  1 7th  century, 
by  the  adventures  of  three  brothers,  Sir  Robert,  Sir  Anthony,  and  Sir  Thomas 
Shirley,  whose  account  of  their  travels  and  reception  by  the  Sophy  was  printed 
in  1600.  [MALONE  ( Var.  1821,  vol.  ii,  p.  444)  gives  some  further  particulars  con- 
cerning Sir  Thomas  Shirley  ;  among  them  that  he  arrived  as  ambassador  from  the 
Sophy  in  1611  ;  that  he  and  his  wife  (said  to  be  a  niece  or  sister  of  the  Sophy)  at 
this  time  made  much  noise  by  their  lavish  expenditure ;  in  1607  a  play  on  the  sub- 
ject, called  The  Travells  of  Three  Brothers,  was  written  by  Day,  Rowley,  and  Wil- 
kins.  See  also  Retrospective  Review,  ii,  351.  Neither  the  ambassador's  return 
in  1611  nor  the  play  in  1607  could  have  been  referred  to  in  Twelfth  Night,  which 


TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  11,  sc.  v. 

To.     I  could  marry  this  wench  for  this  deuice.  170 

An.     So  could  I  too. 

To.     And  aske  no  other  dowry  with  her,  but  fuch  ano- 
ther ieft. 

Enter  Maria. 

An.     Nor  I  neither.  175 

Fab.    Heere  comes  my  noble  gull  catcher. 

To.     Wilt  thou  fet  thy  foote  o'my  necke. 

An.     Or  o'mine  either  ? 

To.     Shall  I  play  my  freedome  at  tray-trip,  and  becom 
thy  bondflaue  ?  I 80 

170.  deuice.]     Ff,    Rowe,  +  ,     Coll.  174.  Enter...]  After  line  175,  Cap. 
Cam.  i,  Glo.  Ktly,  Rife,  Dtn,  Wh.  ii.  [Scene  IX.  Pope,  +. 
device,—  Wh.  i,  Dyce,  Sta.  Huds.  Cam.  176.  noble]    notable  Schmidt  (Lex.) 
ii.     device ;  Cap.  et  cet.  conj. 

171.  So]  And  so  Han,  177.  necke.]  necke  ?  Ff. 

172.  And]  —and  Wh.  i,  Huds.  179.  at]  at  a  F3F4. 

was  acted  in  1602.     Malone  adduced  them  when  he  supposed  that  the  date  of  the 
present  play  was  1617. — ED.] 

179.  tray-trip]  STEEVENS  :  This  is  mentioned  in  Glapthorne's  Wit  in  a  Con- 
stable, 1640 :  '  Meane  time  you  may  play  at  Tray-trip  or  cockall  for  blacke  puddings.' 
Again  :  '  With  lanthern  on  stall,  at  trea  trip  we  play  For  ale,  cheese,  and  pudding, 
till  it  be  day,'  etc. — TYRWHITT  :  The  following  passage  might  incline  one  to  believe 
that  tray- trip  was  the  name  for  some  game  at  tables  or  draughts.  '  There  is  great 
danger  of  being  taken  sleepers  at  tray-trip,  if  the  king  sweep  suddenly.' — Cecil's 
Correspondence,  Lett,  x,  p.  136.  Ben  Jonson  joins  tray-trip  with  mum-chance : 
'  Nor  play  with  costar-mongers  at  mum-chance,  tray-trip.' — Alchemist,  V,  ii. — 
REED:  We  find  the  following  in  Machiavell's  Dogge,  1617:  ' But,  leaving  cardes, 
lett's'goe  to  dice  awhile,  To  passage,  treitrippe,  hazarde,  or  mumchance.  .  .  .  And 
trippe  without  a  treye  makes  had-I-wist  To  sitt  and  mourne  among  the  sleeper's 
rancke.' — NARES  :  An  old  game,  undoubtedly  played  with  dice,  and  probably  in  the 
tables.  Some  commentators  [Hawkins,  Croft]  have  fancied  that  it  resembled  hop- 
scotch or  Scotch-hop  ;  but  this  seems  to  rest  merely  on  unauthorised  conjecture.  It 
is  joined  with  mum-chance,  also  a  game  at  dice ;  though,  perhaps,  sometimes 
played  with  cards.  [Reed's  quotation  from  Machiavell's  Dogge]  is  decisive  as  to 
both  games.  Success  in  it  depended  on  throwing  a  trois. — HALLIWELL  :  A  game 
at  cards,  played  with  dice  as  well  as  with  cards,  the  success  in  which  chiefly  depended 
upon  the  throwing  of  treys.  [DYCE  (Gloss.)  accepts  this  defintion.] — W.  A. 
WRIGHT  :  It  could  not  have  been  the  game  of  tables,  that  is,  backgammon,  or 
draughts,  as  now  played.  Torriano  (//.  Diet.,  1656)  gives  '  Giocare  al  nove,  to 
play  at  noven,  or  tray-trip,  also  to  play  at  nine-holes.'  There  appears  to  be  no 
ground  for  the  assertion  of  Hawkins  that  it  was  a  game  like  hop-scotch,  which 
could  hardly  be  played  by  watchmen  at  night  [as  in  Steevens's  first  quotation  from] 
Glapthorne's  Wit  in  a  Constable.  [But  in  the  second  quotation,  it  will  be  observed 
that  the  watchmen  put  their  lanthern  on  a  stall. — ED.] 


ACT  ii,  sc.  v.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  179 

An.     Ifaith,or  I  either?  181 

Tob.     Why,thou  haft  put  him  in  fuch  a  dreame,   that 
when  the  image  of  it  leaues  him,  he  muft  run  mad._ 

Ma.     Nay  but  fay  true,  do's  it  worke  vpon  him  ? 

To.     Like  Aqua  vite  with  a  Midwife.  185 

Mar.    If  you  will  then  fee  the  fruites  of  the  fport,  mark 
his  firft  approach  before  my  Lady  :  hee  will  come  to  her 
in  yellow  ftockings,  and  'tis  a  colour  fhe  abhorres,  and 
croffe  garter' d,  a  fafhion  fhee  detefts  :  and  hee  will  fmile 
vpon  her,  which  will  now  be  fo  vnfuteable  to  her  difpo-'        190 
fition,  being  addicted  to  a  melancholly,  as  fhee  is,  that  itj 
cannot  but  turn  him  into  zTnotaBTe  contempt :  if  you  wil 
fee  it  follow  me. 

To.   To  the  gates  of  Tartar,  thou  moft  excellent  diuell 
of  wit.  195 

And.     He  make  one  too.  Exeunt. 

Finis  Aft  us  fecnndus         1 97 

181.  /]  Om.  F3F4.  194.  gates  of  Tartar}  gates   Tartar 

185.  Aqua  vite~\  Aqua-vita  Ff.  F .     gates,    Tartar,  Rowe.     gates  of 

191.  to  a]  to  F3F4,  Rowe,  Pope.  7'artarus  Coll.  MS. 

193.  me.~\  me. —  Ff.  197.  fecnndus]  Secundi  Ff. 

185.  Aqua  vite]  JOHNSON:  This  is  the  old  name  of  strong -waters.  [Cotgrave 
has  '  Eau  de  vie.  Aquauite.'] 

189.  a  fashion  shee  detests]  ROLFE  :  I  am  not  aware  that  any  commentator 
has  noted  the  inconsistency  of  Maria's  assertion  that  cross-gartering  is  a  fashion  that 
Olivia  '  detests,'  and  what  she  had  written  in  the  forged  letter :  '  Remember  who 
commended  thy  yellow  stockings  and  wished  to  see  thee  ever  cross-gartered ' ;  which 
is  confirmed  by  Malvolio  :  '  She  did  commend  my  yellow  stockings  of  late,  she  did 
praise  my  leg  being  cross-gartered.'  Possibly,  Olivia  had  spoken  ironically,  and  the 
conceited  steward  took  it  as  serious  praise  ;  but  more  likely  it  is  one  of  Shakespeare's 
inconsistencies  in  minor  matters.  [It  is  doubtful  if  credence  should  be  placed  on  any 
of  Malvolio's  assertions  in  regard  to  Olivia's  demeanour  toward  him  in  the  past. 
He  was  in  such  an  exalted  frame  of  mind  that  by  the  light  of  memory  any  absent- 
minded  glance  cast  on  him  haphazard  by  Olivia  would  have  been  interpreted  by 
him  as  one  of  absorbing  devotion  ;  had  the  look  been  one  even  of  annoyance,  Mal- 
volio would  have  now  recalled  it  as  a  struggle  to  hide  her  tender  affection. — ED.] 

191.  addicted]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  This  is  now  generally  used  in  connexion  with 
some  bad  habit,  but  this  is  a  modern  sense,  for  it  is  said  with  praise  of  the  house  of 
Stephanas  (/  Cor.  xvi,  15),  that  they  had  'addicted  themselves  to  the  ministry  of  the 
saints.' 

194.  Tartar]  Compare,  '  If  that  same  demon  .  .  .  should  with  his  lion  gait  walk 
the  whole  world,  He  might  return  to  vasty  Tartar  back  And  tell  his  legions,'  etc. — 
Henry  V :  II,  ii,  123. 


!80  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  HI,  sc.  i. 


Attits  Tertius ,  Sccena  prima. 


Enter  Uiola  and  Clowne.  2 

Vio.  Saue  thee  Friend  and  thy  Mufick  :  doft  them  Hue 
by  thy  Tabor? 

Clo.    No  fir,  I  Hue  by  the  Church.  5 

Vio.     Art  thou  a  Churchman  ? 

Clo.  No  fuch  matter  fir,  I  do  Hue  by  the  Church  :  For, 
I  do  Hue  at  my  houfe,  and  my  houfe  dooth  ftand  by  the 
Church.  9 

A  Garden.  Rowe.      Olivia's  Gar-  playing  on  his  Tabor.  Coll.  iii. 

den.  Pope.  4.  tky~\  the  Ff,   Rowe,   Pope,   Han. 

2.  Enter...]   Enter...  meeting.   Cap.  Cap.  Var.  '73. 
Enter...  with  a  tabor.   Mai.      Enter... 

I.  Scsena  primaj  MARSHALL:  In  [Irving' s]  acting-edition,  this  scene  forms  a 
continuation  of  the  previous  one  and  concludes  Act  III.  The  arrangement  is  per- 
fectly justifiable,  as  the  events  of  Act  II,  Scenes  iv.  and  v,  and  of  Acts  III,  IV, 
and  V,  all  take  place  on  the  same  day.  For  stage  purposes  such  a  division  of  the 
Acts  is  preferable,  as,  with  Olivia's  declaration  of  love  to  the  supposed  Cesario,  an 
important  step  in  the  more  serious  interest  of  the  play  is  reached. 

4.  Tabor]  CAPELL  (p.  148)  :  Viola's  question  and  salute  show  that  she  meets  the 
downplaying  on  the  tabor.  [This  anticipates  Malone's  stage-direction.] — STEEVENS  : 
The  Clown,  I  suppose,  wilfully  mistakes  Viola's  meaning,  and  answers  as  if  he  had 
been  asked  whether  he  lived  by  the  '  sign  of  the  tabor,'  the  ancient  designation  of 
a  music  shop.  [This  unfortunate  misapprehension  by  Steevens  of  Viola's  innocent 
question  as  to  whether  or  not  the  Clown's  means  of  livlihood  were  the  tabor,  opened 
the  way  to  a  display  of  learning  on  a  subject  which  adds  nothing  to  the  elucidation 
of  the  text.  Malone,  Douce,  and  Boswell  learnedly  discuss  the  name  of  a  tavern 
kept  by  Tarleton. — ED.] — HALLIWELL  :  The  tabor  and  pipe  were  used  by  Fools 
long  before  Shakespeare's  time.  .  .  .  The  Clown's  equivoque  merely  turns  on  the 
different  meanings  of  the  particle  '  by,'  and  there  is  hardly  a  necessity  for  supposing 
that  he  chooses  to  take  Viola's  question  in  the  sense  of  an  enquiry  as  to  whether  he 
lived  by  the  sign  of  the  tabor. — INNES  :  If  there  is  any  such  hidden  jest  [as  that  in 
reference  to  an  inn],  which  is  extremely  doubtful,  it  might  rather  be  supposed  that 
the  Clown  pretends  to  mistake  Viola's  pronunciation  of  'tabor'  for  'tavern.'  [For 
'tabor'  see,  if  necessary,  Much  Ado,  in  this  ed.  II,  iii,  15.— ED.] 

7.  I  do]  CAPELL,  in  his  Various  Readings,  p.  35,  conjectures  that  this  should  be 
'yet  I  do ' ;  in  his  Notes,  p.  148,  he  says  '  and  yet  must  have  stood  before  "  I  " ;  nor 
will  the  reasoning  be  natural,  'till  these  words  are  replac'd.'  [With  a  strong  empha- 
sis on  'do,'  the  'reasoning'  becomes  'natural. — ED.] 

9.  Church]  HUTTSON  (May,  p.  481)  :  We  learn  that  Feste  had  been  'a  fool 
that  Lady  Olivia's  father  took  much  delight  in.'  He  was  therefore  a  long  estab- 
lished inmate  of  that  baronial  mansion,  which  we  are  to  imagine  Lady  Olivia's 


ACT  in,  sc.  i.]  OR,    WHAT  YOU  WILL  l8l 

Vio.    So  thou  maift  fay  the  Kings  lyes  by  a  begger,  if  a  10 

begger  dwell  neer  him  :  or  the  Church  ftands  by  thy  Ta- 
bor, if  thy  Tabor  ftand  by  the  Church. 

Clo.  You  haue  faid  fir  :  To  fee  this  age  :  A  fentence  is 
but  a  cheu'rill  gloue  to  a  good  witte,  how  quickely  the 
wrong  fide  may  be  turn'd  outward.  15 

Vio.  Nay  that's  certaine  :  they  that  dally  nicely  with 
words,  may  quickely  make  them  wanton.  1 7 

10.  maijl]  maiejl  F4.  ,/       13.  fir .•]  sir.  Steev. 

Kings]  King  Ff.  age  /]  age  !  Ff. 

lyei\   lives  Cap.  conj.   Var.  '73,  14.   cheu'rilf]  cheveril  Rowe.  cheveril 

Wh.  Coll.  ii,  iii  (MS),  Dyce  ii,  iii,  Huds.         Var.  '73. 

IO,  II.   begger\  beggar  ff  ivitte,"]  wit;  F3F4. 

house  to  be.  He  afterwards  tells  Viola,  '  I  do  live  at  my  house  and  my  house  doth 
stand  by  the  Church.'  When  Shakespeare  wrote  this,  he  was  probably  conceiving 
Feste  as  a  retainer  of  the  Lady  Olivia's  father,  settled  hard  by  the  Church  and  with 
some  hereditary  claim  to  service  and  preferment  in  it,  but  as  having  missed  his  voca- 
tion in  some  way,  and  fallen  back  upon  this,  his  real  vocation  as  a  jester,  in  lieu  of 
the  other  living,  greatly  helped  in  the  new  walk  by  the  clerical  training  he  had 
received. 

10.  Kings]  This  word  is  quoted,  as  well  as  '  wisemens,'  in  line  68,  by  WALKER 
(Crif.  i,  235)  in  his  valuable  chapter  on  the  omission  and  interpolation,  in  the  Folio, 
of  the  final  s.  This  peculiarity  is  so  strange  that  Walker  would  be  inclined  to  think 
that  it  originated  in  some  trick  in  Shakespeare's  handwriting  were  it  not  for  the 
varying  degrees  of  frequency  with  which  it  occurs,  being  comparatively  rare  in  the 
Comedies,  more  frequent  in  the  Histories,  and  quite  common  in  the  Tragedies. 
[This  variation  in  frequency  exonerates  Shakespeare  and  places  the  peculiarity 
wholly  on  the  compositors,  where  all  such  peculiarities  in  the  printing  of  the  Folio 
belong. — ED.] 

10.  lyes]  MALONE  :  That  is,  dwells,  sojourns ;  as  in  many  other  places  in  old 
books. — R.  G.  WHITE  (ed.  i)  :  The  context  conclusively  shows  that  this  is  a  mis- 
print ;  the  Clown' s  speech,  '  I  do  live  by  the  Church,'  requiring,  of  course,  in  Viola' s, 
1  So  thou  may'st  say  the  King  lives';  not  '  the  King  lies' — DYCE  (ed.  ii)  :  «  Lyes' 
is  well  enough  for  the  sense,  but  the  context  ('live'  occurring  four  times  in  what 
precedes)  determines  it  to  be  an  error.   [The  short  dialogue  at  the  beginning  of 
Othello,  III,  iv,  where  the  joke  turns  on  '  lyes,'  as  equivalent  both  to  lodge  and 
to  deceive,  strengthens  the  presumption  that  the  present  text  of  the  Folio  is  right. 
—Ea] 

11,  12.  Church  stands  by  thy  Tabor]  Again,  a  double  meaning.     '  Stand  by* 
may  be  equivalent  to  uphold,  to  maintain. — ED. 

14.  cheu'rill]  STEEVENS  :  That  is,  a  glove  made  of  kid  leather :  Ckevreau, 
French.  So  in  Rom.  &*  Jul.  II,  iv,  87  :  :O,  here's  a  wit  of  cheveril,  that  stretches 
from  an  inch  narrow  to  an  ell  broad.'  [It  is  due  to  this  stretching  quality  that  the 
glove  can  be  so  quickly  turned  wrong  side  outward. — ED.] 

16,  17.  dally  nicely  .  .  .  wanton]  That  is,  those  who  play  ingeniously  with 
words  may  quickly  give  them  a  double  meaning.  BARNETT  says  that  '  the  allusion 
is  still  to  the  playfulness  of  the  kid.' 


TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  in,  sc.  i. 

Clo.    I  would  therefore  my  fifter  had  had  no  name  Sir.  18 

Vio.     Why  man  ? 

Clo.    Why  fir,  her  names  a  word,  and  to  dallie  with  20 

that  word,  might  make  my  fifter  wanton  :    But  indeede, 
words  are  very  Rdfcals,  fince  bonds  difgrac'd  them. 

Vio.     Thy  reafon  man  ? 

Clo.     Troth  fir,  I  can  yeeld  you  none  without  wordes, 
and  wordes  are  growne  fo  falfe,  I  am  loath  to  proue  rea-  25 

fon  with  them. 

Vio.     I  warrant  thou  art  a  merry  fellow,  and  car'ft  for 
nothing. 

Clo. Not  fo  fir,  I  do  care  for  fomething:but  in  my  con- 
fcience  fir,  I  do  not  care  for  you  :  if  that  be  to  care  for  no-  30 

thing  fir,  I  would  it  would  make  you  inuifible. 

Uio.     Art  not  thou  the  Lady  Ottilia's  foole?  32 

18.  had  had}  hadff^  Rowe,  Pope,  32.  not  thou"}  thou  not  Steev.  ('cor- 

Han.  reeled  in  MS  '  ap.  Cam. ) 

20.  names']  name's  Ff. 

22.  words  are  very  Rascals,  since  bonds  disgrac'd  them]  HUDSON:  This 
probably  alludes  to  an  order  of  the  Privy  Council,  June,  1600,  laying  very  severe 
restrictions  on  the  Poet's  art.  The  order,  besides  that  it  allowed  only  two  houses 
to  be  used  for  stage-plays  in  the  city  and  suburbs,  interdicted  those  two  from  play- 
ing at  all  during  Lent,  or  in  any  time  of  great  sickness,  and  also  limited  them  to 
twice  a  week  at  all  other  times.  If  rigidly  enforced  it  would  have  amounted  almost 
to  a  total  suppression  of  play-houses.  As  the  penalty  was  imprisonment,  it  might 
well  be  said  that  words  were  disgraced  by  bonds. — DEIGHTON  :  A  play  upon  words 
in  the  sense  of  (i)  since  they  have  been  disgraced  by  being  put  into  bonds  (into  con- 
finement) and  (2)  since  they  were  used  in  money  bonds.  Hudson's  reference  to  the 
Privy  Council's  order  is  a  very  forced  meaning  to  put  upon  the  words. — CHAMBERS'S 
ED.  (1895)  :  A  quibble  upon  bonds,  in  the  sense  of  limits  and  of  money  bonds  or 
contracts  to  pay. — VERITY  (p.  vii)  :  It  is  thought  that  this  passage  alludes  to  certain 
restrictions  on  the  stage  ordered  by  the  Privy  Council  in  1600  and  1601.  [(Foot- 
note) In  view  of  the]  Order  of  the  Council  in  June  1600,  [and  in  view  of  the]  fur- 
ther steps  taken  by  the  Council  in  the  next  year  against  the  stage,  Dramatists  might 
well  complain  that  'bonds'  were  laid  upon  them. — CHOLMELEY  :  '  Since  bonds  dis- 
graced them '  by  using  them  in  the  trickeries  of  business.  Or  it  may  refer  to  the 
restrictions  laid  upon  acting  by  the  Privy  Council.  [I  have  given  every  explanation 
that  I  can  find  of  this  dark  passage  ;  and  I  confess  that  none  of  them  affords  me  a 
ray  of  light.  I  cannot  see  how  words  are  disgraced  by  being  used  in  contracts,  nor 
can  I  see  how  they  become  rascals  by  restrictions  placed  upon  Theatres.  The  only 
explanation  I  can  offer,  and  I  fear  it  is  quite  as  far  fetched  as  the  others,  is  that  words 
are  placed  in  bonds  when  they  are  accurately  defined.  To  have  strict,  unalterable 
meanings  attached  to  words  could  not  but  have  been  offensive  to  Feste,  whose 
delight,  and  even  profession,  it  was  to  be  a  'corrupter  of  words.' — ED.] 


ACT  in,  sc.  i.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  183 

Clo.    No  indeed  fir,  the  Lady  Oliuia  has  no  folly,  fhee  33 

will  keepe  no  foole  fir,  till  fhe  be  married,  and  fooles  are 
as  like  husbands,  as  Pilchers  are  to  Herrings,  the  Huf-  35 

bands  the  bigger,  I  am  indeede  not  her  foole,  but  hir  cor-    j 
rupter  of  words. 

Via.     I  faw  thee  late  at  the  Count  OrfinJs. 

Clo.  Foolery  fir,  does  walke  about  the  Orbe  like  the 
Sun,  it  mines  euery  where.  I  would  be  forry  fir,  but  the 
Foole  mould  be  as  oft  with  your  Mafter,  as  with  my  Mi- 
ftris  :  I  thinke  I  faw  your  wifedome  there. 

Vio.     Nay,  and  thou  paffe  vpon  me,  He  no  more  with  43 

35.  like]  like  to  Ktly.  38.  Count]  Duke  Rowe,  +  ,  Var.  '73. 

Pilchers]  pilchards  Cap.  et  seq.  39.  does]  he  does  Rowe  i. 

are]  Om.  Ktly  conj.  39,  40.    Orbe  ...  Sun,]     orb  ...  sun  ; 

35,  36.    husbands]    Fa.      husband's  Theob. +  .      orb,.. .sun;  Cap.      orb;... 
F3F4.  sun,  Dyce,  Huds. 

36.  hir]  Ft.  43.   and]  an  Pope  et  seq. 

35.  Pilchers]  R.  G.  WHITE  (ed.  i)  :  The  pilchard  is,  I  believe,  unknown  in 
this  country.  It  is  so  like  the  herring  that,  according  to  Lord  Teignmouth,  they 
can  only  be  distinguished  by  the  ability  of  the  pilchard  to  furnish  the  fat  in  which  it 
can  be  fried,  which  the  herring  lacks. — W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  The  spelling  varied  even 
in  Shakespeare's  time.  In  Minsheu's  Spanish  Diet.,  1599,  we  find,  'Sardina,  a 
little  pilchard,  a  sardine';  and  also,  'a  Pilcher,  vide  Sardina.'  So,  again,  in 
Florio's  Worlde  of  Wordes,  1598,  'Sardella,  a  little  pickled  or  salt  fish  like  an 
anchoua,  a  sprat  or  a  pilcher,  called  a  sardell  or  sardine ' ;  while  in  his  Italian 
Diet.,  1611,  and  in  Cotgrave,  of  the  same  date,  the  spelling  is  'pilchard.' 

39,  40.   Orbe  .  .  .  Sun,]  I  think  Dyce's  punctuation  doubtful. 

40.  I  would  be  sorry]  ABBOTT  (§  331,  p.  234) :  It  must  be  confessed  there 
seems  little  reason  here  for  'would.'     Inasmuch,  however,  as  the  Fool  is  speaking 
of  something  that  depends  upon  himself,  i.  e.  his  presence  at  the  Count's  court,  it 
may  perhaps  be  explained  as,  'I  would  not  willingly  do  anything  to  prevent,'  etc., 
just  as  we  can  say  '  I  would  be  loth  to  offend  him,'  in  confusion  between  '  I  should 
be  loth  to  offend  him,'  and  '  I  would  not  willingly,'  or  '  I  would  rather  not,  offend 
him.'     DEIGHTON  pronounces  this  explanation  by  Abbott,  'somewhat  subtle';  and 
in  Much  Ado,  II,  iii,  114,  where  Abbott  gives  a  similar  explanation  of  'I  would 
have  thought,'  etc.,  W.  A.  WRIGHT  denies  it  altogether,  and  says  'would'  is  here 
'  used  for  the  conditional  of  should.'1     Inasmuch  as  a  repeated  action  is  spoken  of, 
namely,  that  the  Fool  was  to  be  with  Orsino  as  often  as  with  Olivia,  may  it  not  be 
that  '  would'  is  here  used  in  the  sense  of  'it  would  be  my  custom  to  be  sorry'  or 
'I  would  always  be  sorry'?  just  as  when  Othello  says  (I,  iii,  170,  of  this  ed. )  of 
Desdemona,  '  But  still  the  house  Affaires  would  draw  her  hence,'  i.  e.  were  accus- 
tomed to  draw  her  hence. — ED. 

40.  but]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  '  But'  is  here  equivalent  to  if ' . .  .  not. 

42.  your  wisedome]  A  sarcastic  perversion  of  '  your  worship. ' 

43.  passe  vpon]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  The  Clown,  being  by  profession  a  corrupter 
of  words,  tried  some  of  his  word  fencing  upon  Viola  ;  and  to  this  she  seems  to  refer 


TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  in,  sc.  i. 

thee*     Hold  there's  expences  for  thee. 

Clo.    Now  loue  in  his  next  commodity  of  hayre,  fend  45 

thee  a  beard. 

Via.  By  my  troth  He  tell  thee ,  I  am  almoft  ficke  for 
one,  though  I  would  not  haue  it  grow  on  my  chinne .  Is 
thy  Lady  within  ? 

Clo      Would  not  a  paire  of  thefe  haue  bred  fir  ?  50 

Vio.     Yes  being  kept  together,  and  put  to  vfe. 

Clo.\  would  play  Lord  Pandarus  of  Phrygia  fir,  to  bring 
a  CreJJida  to  this  Troylus. 

Vio.     I  vnderftand  you  fir,  tis  well  begg'd.  54 

44.  thee.]  F,.  Rife,  Wh.  li. 

[Gives   him  a  piece  of  money.  54.   [Giving  him  more  money.  Coll. 

Han.  ii  (MS). 
48.  though... chinne~\    [Aside.]   Cam. 

when  she  uses  the  expression  '  pass  upon ' ;  to  pass  signifying  to  make  a  pass  in 
fencing,  and  such  word-play  being  elsewhere  called  'a  quick  venue  of  wit'  (Love's 
Lab.  L.  V,  i,  62).  But  to  '  pass  upon'  had  also  the  meaning,  '  to  impose  on,  play 
the  fool  with,'  as  in  V,  i,  371,  and  it  may  be  so  here. 

44.  there's  expences]  BADHAM  (p.  287)  :  As  the  Clown  has  not  been  laying 
out  money  for  Viola,  it  is  impossible  he  should  receive  '  expenses '  from  her,  even 
supposing  such  a  circumstance  could  justify  so  strange  an  expression.    It  is  probable 
that  he  would  be  rewarded  with  the  same  coin  he  had  already  got  from  the  two 
knights,  and  that  Viola  says  to  him  :  '  Hold  ;  here's  sixpence  for  thee.'    ['  Expenses ' 
here  means  not  money  that  has  been  spent,  but  money  that  is  to  be  spent.  ] 

45.  commodity]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  The  modern  mercantile  phrase  would  prob- 
ably be  'cargo'  or  'consignment.'     See  i  Hen.  IV:  I,  ii,  93  :  '  I  would  to  God 
thou  and  I  knew  where  a  commodity  of  good  names  were  to  be  bought.'     And  the 
old  play  of  Sir  Thomas  More  (e<l.  Dyce),  p.  63  :  '  What  will  he  be  by  that  time  he 
comes  to  the  commoditie  of  a  bearde  ?' 

50.  haue  bred]  M ALONE  :  I  believe  our  author  wrote  «  have  breed.'    The  Clown 
is  not  speaking  of  what  a  pair  might  have  done,  but  what  they  may  do  hereafter  in 
his  possession  ;  and  therefore  covertly  solicits  another  piece  from  Viola.     Compare, 

Ven.  fs3  Ad.  768:  '  Foul -cankering  rust  the  hidden  treasure  frets,  But  gold,  that's 
put  to  use,  more  gold  begets.'  [See  in  Mer.  of  Ven.  I,  iii,  98,  Shylock's  reply  to 
Anthonio's  question,  'is  your  gold  and  siluer  Ewes  and  Rams?'  '  I  cannot  tell,  I 
make  it  breede  as  fast.'  And  again,  Anthonio  says  (Ibid.  137),  '  when  did  friendship 
take  A  breede  of  barraine  mettall  of  his  friend?'  Possibly,  Malone  intended  to 
say  breed,  not  have  breed.  Hudson  adopted  breed  in  his  text.  No  change  is 
needed.  The  Clown  says,  in  effect,  '  Had  you  given  me  a  pair  would  they  not 
have  bred?'] 

51.  put  to  vse]   'Use'  is  here  interest;  as  in  Much  Ado,  II,  i,  267,  Beatrice, 
speaking  of  Benedick's  heart,  says  'hee  lent  it  me  a  while,  and  T  gave  him  vse  for 
it,  a  double  heart  for  a  single  one.'     See,  also,  Sonnet,  vi,  5  :  '  That  use  is  not  for- 
bidden usury  Which  nappies  those  that  pay  the  willing  loan.'    Again,  in  the  quotation 
from  Ven.  &*  Ad.  in  the  preceding  note  :  '  gold  that's  put  to  use.' 


ACT  in,  sc.  i.]  OK,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  185 

Clo.    The  matter  I  hope  is  not  great  fir;  begging,  but  a  55 

begger  :  CrcJJlda  was  a  begger.  My  Lady  is  within  fir.  I 
will  confter  to  them  whence  you  come,  who  you  are,  and 
what  you  would  are  out  of  my  welkin,  I  might  fay  Ele- 
ment, but  the  word  is  ouerworne.  exit  59 

55-  begging,~\  Begging  Pope.  Wh.  ii. 

56.  begger\  beggar  F3F4.  57.  come,]  come ;  Rowe  ii  et  seq. 

57.  confter\     construe     Steev.    Var.  58.  are~\    is   Ff,  Rowe,  4- ,  Var.  '73, 
Coll.  Hal.  Dyce,  Cam.  Sta.  Rife,  Huds.  '78,  Ran. 

55.  56.  begging,  but  a  begger]  In  his  preceding  speech,  Feste  has  begged  for 
a  Cressida,  who  was,  he  now  goes  on  to  say,  a  begger. 

56.  Cressida  was  a  begger]  THEOBALD  (ed.  i)  :  The  Poet  in  this  circumstance 
undoubtedly  had  his  eye  on  Chaucer's   Testament  of  Cresseid.     Cupid,  to  revenge 
her  profanation  against  his  Deity,  calls  in  the  Planetary  gods  to  assist  in  his  ven- 
geance.    They  instantly  turn  her  mirth  into  melancholy,  her  health  into  sickness, 
her  beauty  into  deformity,  and  in  the  end  pronounce  this  sentence  upon  her  :  '  This 
sail  thow  go  begging  fra  hous  to  hous,  With  cop  and  clapper  lyke  ane  lazarous.' 
[Henryson's    Works,  ed.  Laing,  p.   87,  as  quoted  by  W.  A.  Wright.]     CAPELL 
(p.  148)  quotes  from  the  same  source:  'And  greit  penuritie  Thow  suffer  sail,  and 
as  ane  begger  die.' — Op.  cit.  p.  86. — W.  A.  WRIGHT  :   The  Testament  of  Cresseid, 
once  attributed  to  Chaucer,  was  really  the  work  of  Robert  Henry  son.     Another 
reminiscence  of  it  occurs  in  Hen.  IV :  II,  i,  80  :  '  The  lazar  kite  of  Cressid's  kind.' 

57.  conster]    As   far   as    spelling   is   concerned,    Shakespeare's    printers   used 
'conster'  quite  as  often  as  construe.     To  be  exact,  'conster'   (including  consture 
and  constured)  is  so  spelled  in  the  Folios  and  Quartos  eight  times,  and  construe, 
seven  times.     (See  note  on  Othello,  IV,  i,  118,  of  this  ed.,  where  the  references  are 
given.)     It  is  really  a  matter  of  indifference  which  spelling  is  adopted.     In  the 
dramatists  of  Shakespeare's  time,  'conster'  is,  I  think,  the  commoner  form.     Dyce 
( Remarks,  p.  76)  commends  Knight  for  adhering  to  '  conster '  in  this  passage,  and  yet 
when  Dyce  himself  came  to  select  his  own  text  he  adopted  construe,  with  the  note 
that  'had  "conster"  been  a  mere  vulgarism,  I  should  have  retained  it,  as  perhaps 
not  inappropriate  in  the  mouth  of  the  Clown  ;  but  it  is  nothing  more  than  a  variety 
of  spelling.'     Dyce  gives  an  instance  of  the  use  of  '  conster'  as  late  even  as  Pope, 
who,  in  a  Letter  to  the  Duchess  of  Hamilton  (Add.  to  Works,  1776,  ii,  2),  writes, 
'  Lord  William  will  conster  this  Latine,  if  you  send  it  to  Thistleworth.'     In  my  copy 
of  Dyce's  Remarks,  Lettsom  has  written  in  the  margin  :  'The  word  was  pronounced 
conster  among  schoolboys  in  the  early  part  of  this  century.'     The  meaning  of  '  con- 
ster' is  here,  of  course,  to  explain,  unfold. — ED. 

57.  them]  HANMER  changed  this  to  her,  to  make  it  correspond  to  'My  Lady,' 
but  Feste  was  thinking,  of  course,  of  Olivia  and  her  gentlewoman,  Maria,  who  both 
enter  shortly  afterward. — ED. 

58,  59.   Element  .  .  .  ouer-worne]  See  I,   i,   31,  and   III,    iv,    127. — W.   A. 
WRIGHT  :  '  Element '  being  sometimes  used  for  sky,  the  Clown  makes  '  welkin ' 
synonymous  with  it  to  avoid  the  more  familiar  word. — R.  W.  BOODLE  (Shakespfar- 
iana,  March,  1887,  iv,  116)  :  In  Satiro-mastix  [which  SMALL  dates  in  1601,  there- 
fore written,  possibly,  earlier  than  Twelfth  Night.—  ED.]   Dekker  repeatedly  puts 
the  obnoxious  [word  '  element ']  in  the  mouth  of  Horace  (Ben  Jonson).     Speaking 


1 86  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  in,  sc.  i. 

Vio.     This  fellow  is  wife  enough  to  play  the  foole,  60 

And  to  do  that  well,  craues  a  kinde  of  wit : 
He  muft  obferue  their  mood  on  whom  he  iefts, 
The  quality  of  perfons,  and  the  time  : 
And  like  the  Haggard,  checke  at  euery  Feather  64 

60.  fellow  is\   fellow's    Steev.    Var.  64.  And~\    Not   Johns,    conj.    Ran. 

Coll.  Hal.  Sing.  Sta.  Ktly,  Huds.  Coll.  ii,  iii    (MS),   Sing.    Hal.    Dyce, 

63.  of  perfons]  of  the  persons  Rowe,  Rife,  Huds.     Nor  Harness.     And  not 
+  ,  Var.  '73,  '78,  Ran.  Var.  '85.  Ktly. 

of  Captain  Tucca,  he  says,  '  'tis  out  of  his  element  to  traduce  me ;  I  am  too  well 
ranked,  Asinius,  to  be  stabbed  with  his  dudgeon  wit.'  (p.  195,  ed.  Pearson). 
Asinius,  Horace's  friend,  also  uses  the  expression  as  a  favourite  one  with  '  his 
ningle'  (*'.  e.  Horace)  :  'Marry,  for  reading  my  book,  I'll  take  my  death  upon  't 
(as  my  ningle  says)  'tis  out  of  my  element.'  (p.  196).  Lastly,  the  words  are  among 
the  things  that  Horace  is  forced  to  abjure  :  '  Sir  Vaughan.  Thirdly,  and  last  of  all 
saving  one,  when  your  plays  are  misliked  at  Court,  you  shall  not . . .  say  you  are  glad 
you  write  out  of  the  courtiers'  element.  Tucca.  Let  the  element  alone,  'tis  out  of 
thy  reach.'  If,  as  seems  probable  enough,  Shakespeare  is  alluding  in  [the  present 
passage]  to  the  ridicule  bestowed  upon  the  expression  in  Satiro-mastix,  additional 
point  is  given  to  the  Clown's  remark. 

60,  61.  play  the  foole  .  .  .  craues  a  kinde  of  wit]  FEIS  (p.  159)  says  that 
there  is  a  reference  to  this  passage  in  the  following  from  Jonson's  Poetaster,  IV,  iii : 
'  I  have  read  in  a  book  that  to  play  the  fool  wisely  is  high  wisdom.'  The  reference 
is  extremely  doubtful.  The  Poetaster  was  produced,  says  Gifford,  in  1601,  the  same 
year  which  witnessed  the  production  of  Twelfth  Night,  unless  the  latter  was  per- 
formed for  the  first  time,  which  no  one  has  supposed,  at  the  Readers'  Feast  in  the 
Middle  Temple.  Jonson  could  not  use  the  words  '  read  in  a  book  '  when  in  truth  it 
had  been  only  heard  on  the  stage.  Possibly,  the  book  to  which  Jonson  refers  is 
Guazzo's  Civile  Conuersation,  translated  by  '  G.  pettie'  and  published  in  1586, 
wherein,  on  p.  74,  is  the  following :  '  To  plaie  the  foole  well,  it  behooueth  a  man 
first  to  be  wise.' — ED. 

64.  And  like  the  Haggard]  JOHNSON  :  The  meaning  may  be  that  he  must  catch 
every  opportunity,  as  the  wild  hawk  strikes  every  bird.     But  perhaps  it  might  be 
read  more  properly,  *Not  like  the  haggard.'     He  must  choose  persons  and  times, 
and  observe  tempers  ;  he  must  fly  at  proper  game,  like  the  trained  hawk,  and  not 
fly  at  large  like  the  unreclaimed  '  haggard  '  to  seize  all  that  comes  in  his  way.   [This 
emendation   is  pronounced    '  indispensable  '    by   DYCE  ;    '  obvious '    by  COLLIER  ; 
'essential'  by  HALLIWELL.]— W.  A.  WRIGHT:  The  text,  however,  appears  to  be 
right.     It  is  part  of  the  fool's  wisdom  to  make  a  jest  of  everything,  because  in  that 
case  his  jests  will  not  appear  directed  at  any  particular  person.  [To  the  same  effect, 
INNES.     Dr  Johnson's  interpretation  of  this  passage  erred,  I  think,  in  supposing 
that  the  two  clauses,  viz.  :  the  regard  to  moods  and  the  checking  at  every  feather,  are 
opposed  to  each  other,  instead  of  being  supplemental.     A  Fool  must  have  tact,  but 
without  a  sense  of  humour  he  will  have  nothing  wherewith  to  display  tact.     His 
sense  of  humour  must  reveal  jests  to  him  in  every  incident  of  life,   there  is  not  a 
feather  that  he  must  not  check  at.     But  to  see  a  jest  is  one  thing,  to  bring  it  forth 
with  discrimination  is  another  and  a  very  different  thing.     Dr  Johnson  seems  to 


ACT  in,  sc.  i.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  187 

That  comes  before  his  eye.     This  isa  practice,  65 

As  full  of  labour  as  a  Wife-mans  Art : 

For  folly  that  he  wifely  fhewes,  is  fit ; 

But  wifemens  folly  falne,  quite  taint  their  wit.  68 

65.  isa]  F,.  taints  Theob.     wise  men's  folly  shewn, 

66.  Wife-mans\    -wise    man's    Han.         quite  taints  Han.  Wh.  Rife,  Huds.    -wise 
Cap.  et  seq.  men's  folly-fall'' 'n,   quite   taints  Warb. 

68.  wifemens  folly  falne,  quite  taint]  wise  men,  folly  fall' n,  quite  taint  Ran. 

Wife  mens  folly  falne,  quite  taint  Fa.  wise    men's  folly,  fallen,   quite   taints 

•wife  mens  folly  fain,  quite  taint  ¥ J? ^  Mai.  Hal.    -wise  meri  s  folly  fair  n  quite 

Rowe  i.     "wise  mens  folly  fallen,  quite  taints  Coll.     wise  men,  folly-fain,  quite 

taints  Rowe  ii,  Pope,  Johns.  Var.  '73,  taint    Cap.    ef  cet.      wise   men,  folly- 

'78,  '85.     wise  men' s,  folly  fair  n,  quite  -blown,  quite  taint  Anon.  ap.  Cam. 

think  that  to  check  at  every  feather  means  to  strike  at  every  one.  It  rather  means, 
I  think,  that  materials  for  jests  must  be  gathered  from  every  possible  source,  every- 
thing mirthful  must  be  stored  to  be  mellowed  on  occasion  ;  and  this  practice  of  col- 
lecting materials,  Viola  goes  on  to  say,  is  as  full  of  labour  as  a  Wiseman's  art.  Over 
and  above  all,  a  Fool  must  have  address,  and  know  when  and  where  and  at  whom 
to  level  his  shafts,  and  he  must  gather  a  sheaf  of  shafts  by  checking,  like  the 
haggard,  at  every  feather  he  sees. — ED.] 

64.  Haggard]  MADDEN  (p.  147,  etc.) :  You  may  train  your  falcon  in  either  of 
two  ways.  You  may  take  from  the  eyrie  the  nestling  or  eyess,  rearing  and  making 
it  to  your  use  from  its  earliest  days.  Or  you  may  capture  a  full-grown  wild  hawk, 
after  she  has  been  taught  to  fare  for  herself  by  the  sternest  of  taskmasters  for  man  or 
bird — hunger.  The  lessons  learned  in  this  school  will  not  be  forgotten,  and  the 
wild  hawk  or  haggard,  reclaimed  and  manned,  has  learned  somewhat  to  which  the 
eyess  can  never  attain.  ...  If  you  would  have  a  hawk  at  once  high-spirited,  loving, 
and  tractable,  you  must  man  and  train  a  haggard  ;  that  is  to  say.  a  wild  hawk  which 
has  lived  and  fared  at  liberty  until  she  has  moulted  for  the  first  time  and  has  assumed 
her  adult  plumage.  On  this  point  all  the  masters  of  falconry  are  of  one  mind.  . .  . 
The  haggard  falcon  that  has  never  learned  constancy  to  her  legitimate  pursuit  will 
'  check,'  or  change  the  quarry  at  which  she  is  flown  for  any  magpie  or  crow  that 
fortune  may  throw  in  her  way.  '  The  peregrine  seems  often  to  strike  down  birds  for 
his  amusement,'  says  Mr  St.  John,  writing  of  the  male  haggard :  '  I  have  seen  one 
knock  down  and  kill  two  rooks  who  were  unlucky  enough  to  cross  his  flight,  without 
taking  the  trouble  to  look  at  them  after  they  fell.' 

64.   checke]  See  II,  v,  109. 

67.  folly  that  he  wisely  shewes]  BADHAM  (p.  273)  :  I  have  no  doubt  that  we 
should  read  :  '  For  he  that  folly  wisely  shows  is  fit ' ;  i.  e.  he  that  wisely  shows  folly 
is  a  skilful  man. 

68.  wisemens  folly  falne,  quite  taint]    In  1729  THEOBALD  wrote  to  War- 
burton  :  '  I  read  and  point  thus  :  "  But  wise  men,  folly-fall' n,  quite  taint  their  wit."  ' 
But  when  he  came  to  print  his  edition  four  years  later,  he  unfortunately  deserted  this 
excellent  reading,  and  did  not  even  allude  to  it.     In  1761  (probably)  CAPELL'S  text 
reads  as  Theobald,  in  his  private  letter,  had  proposed  to  Warburton  it  should  be  read ; 
but  of  this  Capell  was,  of  course,  entirely  ignorant.     In  his  Notes,  which  appeared 
in  1780,  he  has  the  following  (p.  148)  in  reference  to  the  present  line  :  'The  single 
error  of  printers  was  their  converting  a  comma  [which  should  follow  "  wisemen"] 


1 88  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  in,  sc.  i. 

Enter  Sir  Toby  and  Andrew. 

To.     Saue  you  Gentleman.  70 

Uio.     And  you  fir. 
And.     Dieu  vou  guard  Monjieur.  72 

Scene  II.  Pope, +  .  72,74.  And.]    Sir  Tob.    Theob.  +  , 

69.  Andrew.]  Sir  Andrew.  Rowe.  Var.  '73,  '78,  Ran.  Var.  '85. 

70.  To.  ]  Sir  And.  Theob.  +  ,  Var. '  73,  72.  vou  guard]   vous  guard    Rowe. 
'78,  Ran.  Var.  '85.  vous guarde  Pope,    vous garde  Var.  '73. 

into  an  s;  the  present  copy  restores  it ;  and  (with  it)  a  sense  sufficiently  clear,  under 
this  restriction,  that  "taint"  is — taint  it  in  man's  opinion,  call  their  wit  into  ques- 
tion.' In  the  meantime,  in  the  Variorum  of  1778,  TYRWHITT  proposed  the  same 
reading  which  is  to  be  found  in  Capell's  text.  Several  years  before,  in  the 
Variorum  of  1773,  JOHNSON,  who  adhered  to  Pope's  text,  gave  the  following 
explanation  :  '  The  folly  which  he  shews  with  proper  adaptation  to  persons  and 
times  is  fit,  has  its  propriety,  and  therefore  produces  no  censure ;  but  the  folly  of 
wise  men,  when  it  falls  or  happens,  taints  their  wit,  destroys  the  reputation  of  their 
judgement.'  This  is  a  good  explanation  of  a  text  which  might  be  improved. 
Indeed,  the  general  meaning  of  the  passage  is  obvious  ;  the  difficulty,  as  in  many 
and  many  another  phrase,  is  merely  to  harmonise,  with  the  least  possible  change, 
this  meaning  and  the  grammatical  construction. — HEATH  (p.  192}  :  I  suppose  '  folly- 
fall' n,'  in  one  word,  is  an  error  of  the  printer,  as  it  destroys  the  construction,  by 
depriving  it  of  a  substantive.  The  sense  is,  But  wise  men's  folly,  when  it  is  one* 
fallen  into  extravagance,  overpowers  their  discretion. — R.  G.  WHITE  (ed.  i)  justifies 
his  adoption  of  Hanmer's  '  folly  shewn ,'  in  the  remark  that  '  the  antithesis  is  plainly 
between  the  folly  which  the  fool  shows  and  that  which  the  wise  men  show.  The 
former  is  fit,  i.  e.  becoming  ;  but  the  latter,  being  unfit,  i.  e.  unbecoming,  quite  taints 
their  wit,  i.  e.  intelligence.'  There  is  one  point  in  favour  of  Hanmer's  reading,  to 
which  attention  was  called  by  M.  MASON  (p.  117),  namely,  that  the  use  of 
'  shewes '  in  the  preceding  line  seems  almost  to  demand,  for  the  sake  of  complete 
antithesis,  the  use  of  shewn  in  the  present  line.  Capell's  text  is  to  me  the  best. 
For  the  final  s  in  '  wisemens,'  see  Walker's  note  on  '  lies,'  in  line  10  of  the  present 
Scene. — ED. 

70,  72.  To.  .  .  .  And.]  THEOBALD  :  I  have  ventured  to  make  the  two  Knights 
change  speeches  [see  Text.  Notes}  in  this  dialogue  with  Viola ;  and,  I  think,  not 
without  good  reason.  It  were  a  preposterous  forgetfulness  in  the  Poet,  and  out  of 
all  probability,  to  make  Sir  Andrew  not  only  speak  French,  but  understand  what  is 
said  to  him  in  it,  who  in  the  First  Act  did  not  know  the  English  of  '  Pourquoi.'  — 
CAPELL  (Notes,  p.  148)  :  What  passes  within  very  few  lines  might  have  taught 
[Theobald]  that  [the  French]  are  words  the  Knight  had  got  'ready'  (see  line  72) 
instructed  by  his  Sir  Toby ;  and,  at  III,  iv,  218,  it  had  been  further  learnt  by  him, 
had  he  been  so  dispos'd,  that  Sir  Toby's  form  of  saluting  is  in  the  words  which  he 
takes  from  him. — MALONE  :  If  we  are  to  believe  Sir  Toby,  Sir  Andrew  could 
'  speak  three  or  four  languages  word  for  word  without  book.'  [The  four  words  of 
salutation  are  Sir  Andrew's  entire  stock  of  colloquial  French  ;  when  Viola  replies  to 
him  in  the  same,  he  is  out  of  his  depth  and  has  to  respond  in  English,  after  catching 
the  one  word,  '  serviteur.' — ED.] 


ACT  in,  sc.  i.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  189 

Vio.   Et  vouz  oujie  vojlre  feruiture.  73 

An.     I  hope  fir,  you  are,  and  I  am  yours. 

To.   Will  you  incounter  the  houfe,  my  Neece  is  defi-  75 

rous  you  fhould  enter,  if  your  trade  be  to  her. 

Vio.    I  am  bound  to  your  Neece  fir,  I  meane  (he  is  the 
lift  of  my  voyage. 

To.     Tafte  your  legges  fir,  put  them  to  motion. 

Vio.    My  legges  do  better  vnderftand  me  fir,  then  I  vn-  80 

derftand  what  you  meane  by  bidding  me  tafle  my  legs. 

To.     I  meane  to  go  fir,  to  enter. 

Vio.    I  will  anfwer  you  with  gate  and  entrance,  but  we 
are  preuented. 

Enter  Oliuia  and  Gentlewoman.  85 

Moft  excellent  accomplifh'd  Lady,  the  heauens  raine  O- 
dours  on  you.  87 

73.  vouz  oufie]  vouz  aufie  Ff.     vous  '73,  '78,  Ran.  Var.  '85. 

ausi  Rowe.     vous  aussi  Pope.  75.  ineonnter\  encounter  Rowe. 

voftre  feruiture]  F4.    voftre  fervi-  houfe,~\  house  ?  Theob.  et  seq. 

teure    FaF3.      vostre  servitur   Rowe   i.  82.  go]  go  in  Ktly. 

vostre  serviteur  Rowe  ii.  83.  gate~\  gaite  Johns. 

75,  76.  To.  Will,  etc.]  Continuation  85.  Gentlewoman]  Maria.  Rowe. 
of   preceding   speech,   Theob. +  ,    Var. 

75.  incounter]  It  has  been  supposed  that  the  elevated  language,  which  continues 
in  this  scene  until  Viola  and  Olivia  are  alone  together,  is  in  ridicule  of  euphuism,  but 
I  doubt  it.     Here,  of  course,  it  is  purposely  used  by  Sir  Toby  in  order  to  turn  Viola 
into  ridicule,  but  she  returns  as  good  as  she  gets. — ED. 

76.  trade]  BOSWELL  :  That  is,  business  or  employment  of  any  kind.     Thus,  in 
Hamlet,  III,  ii,  346  :  '  Have  you  any  further  trade  with  us  ?' 

77.  bound]  See  II,  i,  10. 

78.  list]  JOHNSON  :  That  is,  bound,  limit,  farthest  point. 

79.  Taste]  STEEVENS  :  Thus  in  Chapman's  Odyssey,  Bk.  2ist  :  '  He  now  began 
To  taste  the  bow,  the  sharp  shaft  took,  tugg'd  hard.'  [line  21 1,  ed.  Hooper,  who,  in 
a  footnote,   says :   '  Taste. — The  old  French   verb  taster  (derived  from  the    Teut. 
fasten)  was  to  handle,  feel,  touch,  to  try  by  the  touch.'    See  /  Hen.  IV :  IV,  i,  1 19  : 
'Let  me  taste  my  horse.'     Compare  also,  'taste  their  valour,'  III,  iv,  243,  of  the 
present  play. — HALLIWELL,  after  giving  many  examples  of  '  taste '  in  the  sense  of 
test,  feeling,  etc.,  makes  the  remarkable  suggestion  that  'Sir  Toby  is  perhaps  ridi- 
culing the  effeminate  appearance  of  Viola,  and  tells  her  to  taste  her  legs,  they  are  so 
tender  and  delicate.' — En. ] 

80.  vnderstand]  That  is,  stand  under. 

84.  preuented]  STKF.VKNS  :  That  is,  anticipated.  So,  in  Psalm  cxix,  148 : 
'  Mine  eyes  prevent  the  night-watches.'  Hamlet,  II,  ii,  305  :  '  so  shall  my  antici- 
pation prevent  your  discovery.' 

86,  etc.  Most  excellent,  etc.]  The  dialogue  between  Viola  and  Olivia,  when 
they  are  alone,  is  in  verse.  WALKER  (Crit,  i,  18)  thinks  that  the  verse  begins  here, 


I90  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  in,  sc.  i. 

And.    That  youth's  a  rare  Courtier,  raine  odours,  wel.  88 

Via.  My  matter  hath  no  voice  Lady,  but  to  your  owne 
moft  pregnant  and  vouchfafed  eare.  90 

And.  Odours,  pregnant,  and  vouchfafed  :  He  get  'em 
all  three  already. 

OL  Let  the  Garden  doore  be  fhut,  and  leaue  mee  to 
my  hearing.  Giue  me  your  hand  fir.  94 

88,  91.  [Aside.]  Cap.  Dyce  ii,  iii.  '21,  Knt,  Coll,  i,  ii,  Wh.  Dyce  i,  Cam. 

88.  odours,  •wel.']  Ff.     odours  ?  well.  Rife,     ready  F$F4  et  cet. 

Pope,  + .     odours !  well.  Rowe  et  cet.  92.   [Writing  in  his  table-book.    Coll. 

(subs.)  ii  (MS). 

91.  Odours... vouchfafed]  As   quota-  94.   [Exeunt  Sir  T,  Sir  A,  and  Maria, 
tions,  Cap.  Rowe  et  seq. 

92.  already"}  Fa.    all  ready  Mai.  Var.  Scene  III.  Pope, +. 

and  proposes  to  divide  the  lines  :  '  Most  excellent-accomplish'd  lady,  th'  heavens  Rain 
odours  on  you  !  .  .  .  My  matter  hath  no  voice,  lady,  but  to  Your  own  most  pregnant 
and  vouchsafed  ear.'  It  can  do  no  harm  thus  to  divide  the  lines  for  the  sake  of  the  eye, 
— for  the  ear  it  is  a  matter  of  indifference.  Walker's  hyphen  between  '  excellent' 
and  '  accompli sh'd'  is  well  placed. — ED. 

88.  raine  odours,]  I  am  not  sure  that,  in  place  of  this  comma,  Pope's  interroga- 
tion mark  is  not  better  than  Rowe's  exclamation. — ED. 

90.  pregnant]  See  II,  ii,  30. 

92.  all  three  already]  MALONE  judiciously  changed  '  already '  into  '  all  ready,' 
with  the  remark  that  '  the  repetition  of  the  word  all  is  not  improper  in  the  mouth 
of  Sir  Andrew.' — The  COWDEN-CLARKES  :  We  have  sometimes  thought  that  the 
Folio  misprinted  'I'll  get'  for  2've  got,  because  it  gives  'already'  instead  of  ' all 
ready.'   [Sir  Andrew  desires  to  have  them  all  ready  for  future  use  in  conversation. 
—ED.] 

93.  Let  .  . .  shut]  CAPELL  (p.  148),  in  the  belief  that  this  is  a  line  of  verse,  con- 
jectured that  it  should  read  :  '  Maria,  let  the  garden  door,'  etc. 

94.  Giue  me  your  hand  sir]  To  understand  the   scene   which   now   follows 
between  Olivia  and  Viola,  we  must  bear  in  mind  that  this  is  only  the  second  time 
that  Olivia  has  seen  the  lovely  Page,  and  that  since  the  first  interview  she  has  been 
'much  out  of  quiet,'    brooding  over  the  'enchantment'   Viola  had  wrought,  and 
growing  more  and  more  deeply  in  love,  until  at  last,  in  imagination,  Viola  is  become 
the   god  of  her   idolatry,    and    she  the  humble  worshipper  at  Viola's  feet.     It  is 
almost  with  timidity  that  she  asks  to  touch  Viola's  hand,  and  when  Viola,  highly 
resolved  to  discourage  the  passion  of  Olivia,  which  she  had  detected,  coldly  offers  only 
her  '  duty  and  humble  service,'  Olivia  could  interpret  the  action  only  as  springing 
from  exalted  rank,  and  at  once  asks  Viola's  name.     When  Viola  replies,  'Cesario 
is  your  servant's  name,'  this  was  an  inversion  of  their  position  which  Olivia  at  once 
resented  with  the  reply,  '  'Twas  never  merry  world  since  lowly  feigning  was  termed 
compliment,'  Viola  ought  not  to  pretend,  out  of  mere  compliment,  to  be  inferior  to 
her;  Cesario  was  servant  to  the  Duke  (and  a  Duke's  servants  might  be  of  high 
rank),  but  not  to  her  ;  in  Olivia's  imagination  Viola  was  enthroned  her  lord  and 
master.     This,  I   think,  explains  the  opening  of  the  dialogue. — ED. 


ACT  in,  sc.  i.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  191 

Uio.     My  dutie  Madam,  and  moft  humble  feruice  95 

Ol.     What  is  your  name  ? 

Vio.     Cefario  is  your  feruants  name,  faire  Princeffe. 

OL     My  feruant  fir  ?   'Twas  neuer  merry  world, 
Since  lowly  feigning  was  call'd  complement : 
y'are  feruant  to  the  Count  Orfino  youth.  IOO 

Vio.     And  he  is  yours,  and  his  muft  needs  be  yours  : 
your  feruants  feruant,  is  your  feruant  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  105 

On  his  behalfe. 

OL     O  by  your  leaue  I  pray  you. 
I  bad  you  neuer  fpeake  againe  of  him ; 
But  would  you  vndertake  another  fuite 

I  had  rather  heare  you,  to  folicit  that,  HO 

Then  Muficke  from  the  fpheares. 

95.  feruice}  feruice.  Ff.  \of>.  behalfe.}     Ff,    Rowe,  +  ,    Coll. 

100.  yore]    Ff,    Rowe,  +  .      you're        Cam.   Ktly,   Rife,  Wh.  ii.      behalf:— 
Cap.  Coll.  Wh.  Dyce,  Cam.   Sta.  Rife.         Cap.  et  cet.  (subs.) 

you  are  Var.  '73  et  cet.  107.  you.}  you ;  Rowe  et  seq. 

feruant']  fervaut  F4.  109.  fuite'}  F2.     fuit  ?  F3F4-      suit, 

Count]  Duke  Rowe,  + .  Rowe  et  seq. 

101.  his~\    he  Theob.   ii    (misprint?)  10.  I  had  ]  Fd  Pope,  + . 
Warb.     I  Warb.  MS,  conj.  (N.  6-  Qu.  that}  That  Theob.  Warb. 
VIII,  iii,  142). 

95.  seruice]  The  lack  of  a  period  after  this  word  in  the  Folio  is,  I  think,  merely 
accidental.  In  my  copy  there  is  a  faint  mark,  as  of  an  inverted  type.  See  I,  iii,  52> 
where  the  same  omission  occurs. 

98.  'Twas  neuer  merry  world]  This  phrase  occurs  again  in  Meas.  for  Meas. 
Ill,  ii,  6,  and  in  2  Hen.  VI :  iv,  ii,  9.  For  the  omission  of  the  article  both  here 
and  in  III,  iii,  33  ('you  slew  great  number'),  see  ABBOTT,  §84,  p.  60. 

loo.  y'are]  Now-a-days  we  do  not  slur  our  personality,  and,  therefore,  say 
you're. 

103.  For  .  .  .  for]  For  other  examples  where  '  for '  is  loosely  used  for  as  regards, 
see  ABBOTT,  §  149,  p.  100. 

no.  heare  you,  to  solicit]  For  this  grammatical  form,  see  I,  v,  299. 

in.  Musicke  from  the  spheares]  See  Plato's  Republic  (Book  x,  chap.  14) 
where  the  spheres,  wherein  the  fixed  stars  and  the  planets  roll,  are  represented  as 
eight  in  number,  and  are  like  casks,  fitted  one  within  another ;  on  each  sphere  sits  a 
Siren,  and  when  the  spheres  are  set  in  motion  by  the  distaff  of  Necessity  the  Sirens 
sing,  each  one  note  ;  from  the  heavenly  harmony  thus  produced  comes  '  the  music 
of  the  Spheres.'  See  Mer.  of  Ven.  V,  i,  74,  of  this  ed. — ED.  — W.  A.  WRIGHT  : 
The  passage  in  Milton's  Arcades,  63-73,  is  directly  taken  from  [the  passage  just 
cited  in  Plato's  Republic}.  Milton  himself  wrote  an  academical  Essay,  De  Spharo- 


I92  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  in,  sc.  i. 

Vto.     Deere  Lady.  112 

Ol.     Giue  me  leaue,  befeech  you  :  I  did  fend, 
After  the  laft  enchantment  you  did  heare, 

A  Ring  in  chace  of  you.     So  did  I  abufe  115 

My  felfe,  my  feruant,  and  I  feare  me  you  : 
Vnder  your  hard  conftruc"lion  muft  I  fit, 
To  force  that  on  you  in  a  fhamefull  cunning 
Which  you  knew  none  of  yours.    What  might  you  think?         119 

112.  Deere]  O  dearest  Han.  (hear  F3F4),  Rowe,  Pope,  Theob.     en- 
Lady.]  lady, —  Theob.  et  seq.  chantment  (you  did  hear)  Han.  Johns. 

113.  Giue\  Nay,  give  Cap.  Var.  '73,  '78,  '85.   enchantment  you  did 
befeech\    F7,  Knt,   Hal.   Dyce,  here  Thirlby,  Warb.  et  cet. 

Cam.  Sta.   Rife,  Wh.  ii.     'beseech  Mai.  115.   chace]  chafe  F4. 

Var. '21,  Coll.     I  befeech  F3F4  et  cet.  Il6.  me]  me,  F3F4. 

1 14.  enchantment  you  did  heare~\  Ff 

rum  Concentu,  which  is  printed  among  his  prose  works.     See  also  Paradise  Lost, 
V,  625. 

113.  beseech  you]  It  is  hardly  worth  while  to  call  attention  to  the  superfluous  / 
which  was  prefixed  by  the  Second  Folio.     Even  Malone's  apostrophe  is  as  needless 
as  would  be  apostrophes  in  the  phrase  good-bye. 

114.  enchantment  you  did]  For  other  examples  of  do  used  transitively,  see 
ABBOTT,  §  303,  p.  215.    Again,  V,  i,  146. 

114.  you  did  heare]  The  Text.  Notes  reveal  the  vitality  possessed  by  this  mis- 
print of  'heare'  for  here.     None  of  the  editors  who  followed  the  Folio  vouchsafed 
any  explanation,  but  when  WARBURTON  contemptuously  called  '  hear '  '  nonsense ' 
and  emended  it   to  here,  DR  JOHNSON  winced,  and  said  bluntly :    '  The  present 
reading  [hear]  is  no  more  nonsense  than  the  emendation,'  and  as  long  as  Dr  John- 
son lived,  '  hear '   kept  its  place  in  the  text  of  the  Variorums.     Of  Warburton'  s 
emendation,  M.  MASON  (p.  118)  observed  that  'there  is  not  perhaps  a  passage  in 
Shakespeare  where  so  great  an  improvement  of  sense  is  gained  by  changing  a  single 
letter.'    [This  change  of  '  hear '  to  here  was  proposed  by  Thirlby  in  a  letter  to  Theo- 
bald (Nichols,    Illust.    ii,    226)   dated  7    May,    1729;  but  so  little  attention  did 
Theobald  bestow  on  it  that,  in  December  of  the  same  year,  he  wrote  to  Warburton 
that  '  unless  the  punctuation  were  wrong '  he  did  not  understand  the  passage.  There 
is  no  evidence  that  Warburton  had  ever  seen  Thirlby' s  letter. — ED.] 

115.  abuse]  That  is,  beguile,  impose  upon.     See  V,  i,  22  :  'by  my  friends  I  am 
abused.'     So  also  Macbeth,  II,  i,  50:  'and  wicked  dreams  abuse  The  curtain'd 
sleep';  and  Hamlet,  II,  ii,  579:  'the  devil  .  .  .  Out  of  my  weakness  and  my  melan- 
choly Abuses  me  to  damn  me ' ;  and  Lear,  when  awaking  from  his  trance,  '  I  am 
mightily  abused,'  IV,  vii,  53. 

118.  To  force]  For  other  examples  of  the  gerundive  use  of  the  infinitive,  see 
ABBOTT,  §  356,  p.  256. 

118.  shamefull]  COLLIER  (ed.  ii)  :  '  In  a  shame-fac'd  cunning,'   says  the  MS 
Corrector ;  but  Olivia  means  that  the  artifice  to  which  she  had  resorted  was  full 
of  shame,  and  put  her  to  the  blush  upon  reflection. 

119.  might]  For  other   examples,   where  'might'   is  equivalent  to  could,   see 
ABBOTT,  §  312,  p.  221. 


ACT  in.  sc.  i.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  193 

Haue  you  not  fet  mine  Honor  at  the  flake,  120 

And  baited  it  with  all  th'vnmuzled  thoughts 
That  tyrannous  heart  can  thinkf  To  one  of  your  receiuing 
Enough  is  fhewne,  a  Cipreffe,  not  a  bofome,  123 

121.  th'vnmuzled]      the    unmuzzl'd  123.  Ciprejfe}    F3F3>        Ciprefs     F4. 
Cap.  Var.  '73,  '78,    Dyce,    Cam.   Sta.  cypress  Rowe,  Pope,  Han.  Cam.  Glo. 
Rife,  Wh.  ii.  Rife,  Dtn,  Wh.   ii.     cyprus  Theob.  et 

1 22.  receiuing]  conceiving  Mason.  cet. 

123.  Jhewne,~\  shewn;  Rowe  et  seq. 

120,  etc.  stake  .  .  .  baited  .  .  .  vnmuzled]  Metaphors  taken  from  the  Bear- 
garden. 

122.  That  tyrannous  .  .  .  your  receiuing]  A  line  of  unmanageable  scansion, 
as  it  stands.  HANMER,  the  only  editor  except  HUDSON  who  has  attempted  a  remedy, 
reads  '  To  your  receiving,"  omitting  '  one  of;  but  this  is  only  a  partial  recovery,  not 

a  cure.  WALKER  (Crit.  iii,  86)  proposes  to  arrange  as  follows:  ' To  one  of 

your  receiving  |  Enough  is  shown  ;  |  A  ciprus,  not  a  bosom,  hides  my  heart :  |  So 
let  me  hear  you  speak.  I  pity  you.  |  That's  a  degree  to  love.'  «  At  any  rate,'  he 
adds,  'the  present  disposition  of  the  lines  is  wrong. — Malone's  ears!'  Honest 
Malone  is  not  responsible  for  the  present  disposition,  which,  as  we  see,  is  as  old  as 
the  First  Folio.  If  Lettsom  has  correctly  reproduced  Walker's  note,  Walker  has 
left  untouched  the  present  monstrous  line — Walker's  ears!  DYCE  says  properly 
that  this  arrangement  by  Walker  seems  'objectionable.'  To  me,  HUDSON'S  arrange- 
ment also  seems  objectionable ;  he  divides  the  line  at  '  your,'  reading  as  one  line 
'  Receiving  enough  is  shown ';  in  the  rest  he  follows  Walker.  ABBOTT  (§66)  gives 
still  another  division,  which  is  what,  I  think,  Walker  really  intended  ;  Abbott  reads 
as  one  line  '  To  one  of  your  receiving  enough  is  shown.'  To  me  all  these  divisions 
of  lines  are  of  trifling  moment ;  no  ear  can  detect  them  ;  if  it  could,  the  delivery 
would  be  stilted  and  offensive  ;  metre  is  a  servant,  not  a  master  ;  here  we  are  dealing, 
not  with  didactic,  or  epic,  or  lyric  poetry,  but  with  dramatic,  where  emotion  is  all  in 
all.  In  the  present  instance,  Olivia  is  labouring  under  deep  and  suppressed  excite- 
ment ;  she  is  on  the  point  of  revealing  a  secret  of  her  innermost  soul.  Her  words 
are  in  perfect  rhythm.  Let  them  be  so  spoken,  and  let  the  lines  take  care  of  them- 
selves.— ED. 

122.  receiuing]  WARBURTON  :   That  is,  to  one  of  your  ready  apprehension. 
[See  II,  ii,  13  ] 

123.  Cipresee]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  Cypress  is  a  fine  transparent  stuff  now  called 
crape.     Compare  Milton's  Penseroso,  35  :  '  Sable  stole  of  cypress  lawn.'     Palsgrave 
gives:  '  Cypres  for  a  woman's  necke — crespe ' ;  and  Cotgrave  :  'Crespe:  m.  Cipres. 
also,  Cobweb  I-awne.'     In  Jonson's  Every  Man  in  his  Humour,  I,  iii,  the  edition 
of  1616  reads  :  '  And  he ...  this  man  !  to  conceale  such  reall  ornaments  as  these, 
and  shaddow  their  glorie,  as  a  Millaners  wife  do's  her  wrought  stomacher,  with  a 
smokie  lawne,  or  a  blacke  cypresse  ?'     The  etymology  of  the  word  has  been  con- 
sidered doubtful.     Skinner  {Etymol.  Angl.}  regards  it  as  a  corruption  of  the  French 
erespet  but  suggests  that  it  may  be  derived  from  the  island  of  Cyprus,  where  it  was 
first  manufactured.     The  latter  derivation  is  the  more  probable.     There  are  many 
instances  in  which  articles  of  manufacture  are  named  from  the  places  where  they 
were  made,  or  at  which  they  were  commonly  sold.    For  example,  arras  was  so  called 
from  Arras,  baudekyn  from  Baldacco  or  Bagdad,  calico  from  Calicut,  cambric  from 

13 


194  TIVELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  in,  sc.  i. 

Hides  my  heart  :  fo  let  me  heare  you  fpeake.  1 24 

124.   Hides]   Hideth  Del.  conj.  Glo.  Var.  Ran.  Van  Steev.  Sing. 
Ktly,  Wright,  Rife,  Dtn,  Wh.  ii.    Con-  124.  fo\  so , Cap.  (Errata)  Coll.  Dyce, 

ceals  or  Covers  Ktly  conj.  (Exp.  179).  Cam. 

my\  my  poore  Ff,  Rowe,  + ,  Cap.  me"\  us  Rowe  ii,  -f . 

Cambray,  cashmere  from  Cashmere,  damask  from  Damascus,  dimity  from  Damietta, 
dornick  from  Tournay,  dowlas  from  Dourlans,  lockeram  from  Locrenan,  muslin  from 
Mosul.  The  probability  that  cypress  (or  sipers,  as  it  is  also  spelt)  has  a  similar 
origin,  is  increased  by  finding  that  the  island  of  Cyprus  is  associated  with  certain 
manufactures.  In  the  Antient  Kalendars  and  Inventories  of  the  Treasury  of  the 
Exchequer,  edited  by  Sir  Francis  Palgrave  (iii,  358),  among  the  goods  and  chattels 
belonging  to  Richard  II.,  and  found  in  the  Castle  at  Haverford,  are  enumerated : 
'Prim'ement  xxv.  draps  d'or  de  div'ses  suytes  dount  iiii.  de  Cipre  les  autres  de 
Lukes.'  Lukes  is  here  Lucca  (Fr.  Lucques),  and  Cipre  is  Cyprus.  Again,  in  a  list 
of  draperies  sold  at  Norwich  in  44  and  45  Elizabeth  (quoted  by  Mr  Gomme  in  Notes 
and  Qu.  5th  Ser.  x,  226,  from  the  Appendix  to  the  Thirty-eighth  Report  of  the 
Deputy  Keeper  of  the  Public  Records,  p.  444),  we  find  '  fustyans  of  Naples  .  .  . 
Paris  clothes.  .  .  sattins  of  Cipres,  Spanish  sattins.1  Further,  in  the  Nomenclator 
of  Hadrianus  Janius,  translated  by  Higins  (ed.  Fleming,  1585,  p.  157),  we  find, 
4  Vestis  subserica,  tramoserica  .  .  .  De  satin  de  Cypres.  A  garment  of  cypers  satten, 
or  of  silke  grograine.'  If  therefore  there  were  special  fabrics  known  as  '  cloth  of 
gold  of  Cypres'  and  '  satin  of  Cyprus,'  it  is  evident  that  these  were  so  called,  either 
because  Cyprus  was  the  place  of  their  manufacture,  or,  which  is  equally  probable, 
because  they  were  brought  into  Europe  from  the  East  through  Cyprus.  In  Hall's 
account  {Chronicle,  Hen.  VIII.,  fol.  833)  of  a  masque  at  the  entertainment  given  to 
Henry  the  Eighth  by  Francis,  it  is  said  that  three  of  the  performers  had  '  on  their 
hedes  bonettes  of  Turkay  fashyon,  of  cloth  of  gold  of  Tyssue,  and  clothe  of  syluer 
rolled  in  Cypres  kercheffes  after  the  Panyns  fashyon,'  which  points  to  an  Eastern 
origin  for  the  use  of  cypress.  From  denoting  the  material  only,  the  word  '  cypress ' 
came  to  signify  a  particular  kind  of  kerchief  or  veil  worn  by  ladies,  as  in  the  present 
passage  [in  Twelfth  N.~\.  So  in  Florio's  Italian  Diet.:  'Velaregli,  shadowes, 
vailes,  Launes,  Scarfes,  Sipres,  or  Bonegraces  that  women  vse  to  weare  one  their 
faces  or  foreheads  to  keepe  them  from  the  Sunne.'  And  the  pedlar  in  John  Hey- 
wood's  play  of  The  Four  P's  has  in  his  pack  (Dodsley's  Old  Eng.  Plays,  ed.  Haz- 
litt,  i,  350)  :  '  Sipers,  swathbands,  ribbons,  and  sleeve  laces.'  [This  valuable  note 
is  quoted  in  full  in  Wint.  Tale,  IV,  iv,  251.  DR  MURRAY  (N.  E.  D.)  cites  it  as 
the  authority  for  his  statement  that  Cypress  is  probably  formed  on  '  Old  French 
Cipre,  Cypre,  the  island  of  Cyprus,  from  which,  in  and  after  the  Crusading  times, 
various  fabrics  were  brought.'] 

123.  a  Cipresse,  not  a  bosome]  COLLIER  :  Meaning,  that  her  heart  may  be 
as  easily  seen  as  if  it  were  covered  only  with  a  Cyprus  veil,  and  not  with  flesh 
and  blood. — GOLLANCZ  :  The  force  of  these  words  has,  it  would  seem,  been  missed ; 
the  point  of  the  '  cypress '  is  not  its  blackness,  but  its  transparency.  Compare, 
4  Her  riding-suit  was  of  sable  hew  black,  Cypress  over  her  face,  Through  which  her 
rose-like  cheeks  did  blush,  All  with  a  comely  grace." — Robin  Hood,  Will.  Scadlock 
and  Little  John.  *  Bosom  '  must,  I  think,  be  used  in  this  passage  in  the  sense  of 
'  the  bosom  of  the  dress,'  which  conceals  the  body.  Olivia  says,  '  you  can  see 
my  heart  ;  a  thin  gauze,  as  it  were,  hides  it,  not  a  stomacher.' 


ACT  in,  sc.  i.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  195 

Vio.     I  pittie  you.  125 

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  fmile  agen: 
O  world,  how  apt  the  poore  are  to  be  proud?  130 

If  one  mould  be  a  prey,  how  much  the  better 
To  fall  before  the  Lion,  then  the  Wolfe  ? 

Clocke  Jlr  ikes. 

The  clocke  vpbraides  me  with  the  wafte  of  time: 
Be  not  affraid  good  youth,  I  will  not  haue  you,  135 

127.  grize\  Cam.   grice  Ff,  Rowe,-i-.  130.  proud ?~\  proud!  Theob. 

grise  Steev.  131.  the  better}  better  F3F4,  Rowe. 

129.  me  thinkes\  methinks  F4.  135.  haue  you,~\  have  you  ;  Ff. 

124.  Hides]  DELIUS  :  Possibly,  we  should  read  Hideth.  W.  A.  WRIGHT,  who, 
in  the  Globe  edition,  adopted  this  conjecture,  for  the  sake  of  the  metre,  calls  atten- 
tion to  a  similar  instance  in  Rich.  Ill :  III,  vi,  II,  'where  the  quartos  have  "  sees 
not"  for  " seeth  not,"  while  the  folios  mend  the  metre  by  reading  "cannot  see."  ' 
[Were  any  emendation  needed,  almost  any  one  is  to  be  welcomed  rather  than  the 
weak,  self-commiserating  '  My  poor  heart '  of  the  Second  Folio.  And  yet  HUNTER 
(i,  407)  defends  it  (Delius's  change  had  not  then  been  proposed),  because  without  this 
'  excellent  reading,'  as  he  terms  it,  the  verse  is  '  hobbling  and  almost  unpronounce- 
able.' Could  Hunter,  admirable  critic  as  he  was,  have  imagined  that  Olivia  pro- 
nounced this  line  as  a  line  ?  After  the  words  '  Hides  my  heart '  was  there  not  a  long 
and  painful  silence?  until  at  last  Olivia  has  to  entreat  Viola  to  speak. — ED.] 

124.  so]  ABBOTT  (§  66)  :  That  is,  after  this  confession. 

127.  grize]  MURRAY  ( N.  E.  D.  s.  v.  Greet) :  An  adoption  of  Old  French,  grez> 
greyz,  grtis,  plural  of  grl,  taken  as  a  collective  singular  in  sense  of  '  flight  of  steps, 
staircase ' ;  contemporaneously  a  double  plural  greces,  greeses  was  formed  and  used 
with  the  meaning  '  flight  of  steps '  and  '  steps  in  a  flight ';  whence  in  the  I5th  cent, 
a  singular  form  greet  [or  as  here  'grize']  was  deduced, — in  the  sense  of  a  single 
step  or  stair  in  a  flight.  [That  it  was  not  in  common  use,  even  in  Shakespeare's 
own  time,  we  may  infer  from  Othello,  I,  iii,  227,  where  it  is  immediately  explained  : 
4  lay  a  Sentence,  Which  as  a  grise,  or  step  may  helpe  these  Louers.'  It  occurs  only 
once  more,  in  Timon,  IV,  iii,  16  (p.  90,  column  a,  in  Folio)  :  'for  euerie  grize  of 
Fortune  Is  smooth'd  by  that  below.' — ED.] — W.  A.  WRIGHT:  The  plural  of  this 
word,  '  grisen '  or  '  grizen,'  is  the  proper  name  of  the  steps  at  Lincoln,  which  are 
known  as  the  Grecian  stairs. 

127.  vulgar]  MALONE  :  That  is,  it  is  common  proof,  the  experience  of  every  day. 

135.  I  will  not  haue  you]  DYCE  (ed.  ii)  :  Mr  Lettsom  queries  harm;  and 
observes,  '  In  either  case,  after  this  a  line  or  more  seems  to  have  been  omitted,  in 
which  Olivia  tells  the  supposed  youth  that  he  is  too  young  to  marry.'  [That  any 
line  is  lost,  is  doubtful ;  but  it  seems  to  me  that  Olivia's  sentence,  owing  to  her 
emotion,  is  unfinished.  To  give  to  these  words  the  meaning  '  I  will  not  marry  you,' 
represents  Olivia  as  refusing  an  offer  before  it  is  made. — ED.] 


196  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  in,  sc.  i. 

And  yet  when  wit  and  youth  is  come  to  harueft,  136 

your  wife  is  like  to  reape  a  proper  man  : 
There  lies  your  way,  due  Weft. 

Vio.     Then  Weftward  hoe  : 

Grace  and  good  difpofition  attend  your  Ladyfhip  :  140 

you'l  nothing  Madam  to  my  Lord,  by  me : 

01.     Stay :  I  prethee  tell  me  what  thou  thinkft  of  me  ?         142 

136.   is  come]  are  come  Pope, +  ,  Var.  141.  me /]  me?  Rowe  et  seq. 

'73,  Hal.  142.  Stay  .•]  Separate  line,  Cap.  Var. 

140.  attend]  Ff,  Rowe,  +  ,  Cap.  Cam.  '78  et  seq. 

Rife,     'tend  Steev.  Var.  Knt,  Coll.  Wh.  I  prethee}  pr'ythee  Pope,  +  . 

Sta.  Ktly,  Huds.     tend  Dyce  ii,  iii.  me  /*]  me.  Cap.  Var.  '78  et  seq. 

your  Lady/hip]  you  Han. 

136.  when  wit  and  youth  is  come]  At  the  present  time,  when  a  verb  in  the 
singular  is  found,  in  Shakespeare,  after  two  nominatives  which  together  form  one 
composite  idea,  the  cry  of  '  bad  grammar '  is  no  longer  raised. 

137.  a  proper  man]  That  is,  a  very  handsome  man.     In  a  note  on  Much  Ado, 
II,  iii,  177,  W.  A.  WRIGHT   quotes   from   the    'Authorised  Version  of  Hebrews, 
xi,  23  :  "  By  faith  Moses,  when  he  was  born,  was  hid  three  months  of  his  parents, 
because  they  saw  he  was  a  proper  child."     Also,  Lyly,  in  his  Euphues  (p.  352, 
«d.  Arber),  says  of  Adam  and  Eve,  "Yet  then  was  she  the  fairest  woman  in  the 
worlde,  and  he  the  properest  man."  ' 

138.  due  West]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  As  the  sun  of  his  favour  was  setting.  [But, 
•was  it? — ED.] 

139.  Westward  hoe]  STEEVENS  :  This  is  the  name  of  a  comedy  by  Dekker  and 
Webster,  1607- — NARES  :  Eastward  Hoe  was  the  title  of  another  play  by  Chapman 
and  Marston.     Both  must  have  been  current  phrases  before  they  became  titles  for 
plays.     Eastward  Hoe  seems  to  be  equivalent  to  a  trip  to  the  city  ;  and  Westward 
Hoe  implies  a  trip  to  Tyburn. — STAUNTON  :  In  our  poet's  time  the  Thames  formed 
the  great  highway  of  traffic,  and  '  Westward,  ho  !'  '  Eastward,  ho  !'   equivalent  to 
the  modern  omnibus  conductor's  '  West-end  !'  '  City  !'  were  the  cries  with  which  the 
•watermen  made  its  shores  resound  from  morn  till  night.     At  that  period,  before  the 
general  introduction  of  coaches,  there  were  not  less,  according  to  Taylor,  than  forty 
thousand  of  these  clamorous  Tritons  plying  their  calling  on  the  river  in  and  near  the 
metropolis  ;  and  their  desperate  contentions  to  secure  custom  sometimes  led  to  scenes 
of  scandalous  riot  and  confusion. 

139,  140.  WALKER  (Crit.  iii,  87)  would  arrange  these  lines  :  '  Then  westward — 
ho!  Grace  and  good  disposition  |  Attend  your  ladyship.'  This  arrangement  is 
adopted  by  the  THE  GLOBE  ed.  by  DEIGHTON,  WHITE  ii,  INNES,  and,  in  general, 
by  those  who  have  used  The  Globe  to  print  from.  It  has  the  recommendation  that 
it  preserves  '  attend '  of  the  Folio.  But  then  THE  CAMBRIDGE  ed.  retains  '  attend,' 
and  yet  does  not  follow  Walker ;  it  adheres  to  the  division  of  the  Folio,  which  gives 
us  a  line  of  excellent  and  invincible  prose. — ED. 

142.  Stay:  I  prethee]  CAPELL'S  scansion,  whereby  'Stay'  is  made  an  inter- 
jectional  line,  WALKER  would  reject,  and  read  (Crit.  iii,  87)  as  in  the  Folio, 
except  that  '  I  prethee '  is  to  be  read,  with  Pope,  as  pr"y  thee. 


ACT  in,  sc.  i.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  197 

Vio.  That  you  do  thinke  you  are  not  what  you  are.  143 

01.     If  I  thinke  fo,  I  thinke  the  fame  of  you. 

Uio.   Then  thinke  you  right  :  I  am  not  what  I  am.  145 

01.     I  would  you  were,  as  I  would  haue  you  be. 

Vio.   Would  it  be  better  Madam,  then  I  am  f 
I  wifh  it  might,  for  now  I  am  your  foole. 

01.     O  what  a  deale  of  fcorne,  lookes  beautifull  ? 
In  the  contempt  and  anger  of  his  lip,  150 

A  murdrous  guilt  fhewes  not  it  felfe  more  foone, 
Then  loue  that  would  feeme  hid  :  Loues  night,  is  noone. 
Cefario,  by  the  Rofes  of  the  Spring, 
By  maid-hood,  honor,  truth,  and  euery  thing, 
I  loue  thee  fo,  that  maugre  all  thy  pride,  155 

146.  were,  as]  were  as  Pope,  Han.  149,  150.  beautifull ? ...  lipt~\    beauti- 
Cap.  Var.  '78  et  seq.                                       ful?...lip!  F4.    beautiful,... Up !  Rowe 

147.  am  ?]  Ff,  Rowe  i,  Theob.  Warb.         et  seq. 

Johns.  Var.  '73,  Coll.  i,  Hal.  Cam.  Sta.  151.  murdrous]  murderous  F4,  Rowe, 

Rife,  Wh.  ii.     am,  Rowe  ii  et  cet.  Coll,  Dyce,  Cam. 

149.   [Aside]  Sta.  Ktly,  Huds. 

143.  That  .  .  .  what  you  are]  That  is,  that  you  do  think  you  are  not  in  love 
with  a  woman,  but  you  are. 

147.  then  I  am  ?]  The  interrogation  mark  seems  here  indispensable ;  without 
it  the  construction  of  '  it  might '  in  the  next  line  is  difficult,  perhaps  to  be  relieved 
only  by  boldly  changing  it,  with  Ilanmer,  into  '  /  might.' 

149,  150.  O  what  a  deale  .  .  .  anger  of  his  lip]  In  so  far  as  that  a  woman  has 
fallen  in  love  with  a  woman  in  disguise,  the  present  situation  is  similar  to  that 
where  Phebe  falls  in  love  with  Rosalind  in  As  You  Like  It.  There,  as  here,  anger 
and  scorn  merely  fan  the  flame.  Phebe  says  to  Rosalind  (III,  v,  68)  :  '  Sweet 
youth,  I  pray  thee  chid  a  yere  together.'  Very  noteworthy,  too,  is  the  different 
treatment  which  Viola  and  Rosalind,  each  true  to  her  own  character,  bestow  on 
their  female  adorers.  Steevens  quotes  appositely  :  '  Which  bred  more  beauty  in  his 
angry  eyes.' — Ven.  &  Ad.  70. — ED.  % 

151,  152.  A  murdrous  guilt  ...  is  noone]  This  seems  to  be  the  argument 
whereby  Olivia  justifies  to  herself  an  avowal  of  her  love.  Since  passion  cannot  be 
hidden,  since  what  is  night  to  a  lover  is  noon  to  all  others,  concealment  is  useless, 
and  she  is  driven  to  disclose  her  love ;  thereupon  she  pours  forth  her  burning 
words. — ED. 

154.  maid-hood]  This  word  is  also  used  in  Othello,  I,  i,  189:  'Is  there  not 
Charmes,  By  which  the  propertie  of  Youth,  and  Maidhood  May  be  abus'd?' 

155.  maugre]  That  is,  in  spite  of.     Again,  in  Lear,  'I  protest, — Maugre  thy 
strength,   place,   youth,   and  eminence,'    V,  iii,    132  (where  the  First  Quarto  has 
Maugure}.     Cotgrave  gives,  ' Maulgre  eu.r.  Mauger  their  teeth,  in  spight  of  their 
hearts,  against  their  wills,  whether  they  will  or  no.' 

155.  thy  pride]  COLLIER  (ed.  ii)  :  This  is  injudiciously  altered  to  *  my  pride' 
by  the  MS  Corrector  ;  Olivia  refers  to  the  '  contempt  and  anger '  she  has  just  above 
imputed  to  Viola. 


198  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  HI,  sc.  i. 

Nor  wit,  nor  reafon,  can  my  paffion  hide :  156 

DO  not  extort  thy  reafons  from  this  claufe, 

For  that  I  woo,  thou  therefore  haft  no  caufe : 

But  rather  reafon  thus,  with  reafon  fetter ; 

Loue  fought,  is  good  :  but  giuen  vnfought,  is  better.  160 

Uio.     By  innocence  I  fweare,  and  by  my  youth, 
I  haue  one  heart,  one  bofome,  and  one  truth, 
And  that  no  woman  has,  nor  neuer  none 
Shall  miftris  be  of  it,  faue  I  alone. 

And  fo  adieu  good  Madam,  neuer  more,  165 

Will  I  my  Mafters  teares  to  you  deplore. 

01.    Yet  come  againe  :  for  thou  perhaps  mayft  moue 
That  heart  which  now  abhorres,  to  like  his  loue.     Exeunt         168 

157.  thy\  my  Ktly  conj.  Coll.  Dyce,  Cam.     sought... given,  un- 

158.  For  that}  Ff.   Rowe,  +  ,  Dyce,         sought,  Theob.  Warb.  Johns. 

Cam.  Sta.  Ktly,  Rife,  Wh.  ii.    For,  that  164,  165.  faue. ..And]   OH.    Save  I 

Cap.  et  cet.  alone  !    Vio.  And  Han. 

159.  thus,  with]  thus  ivith  Rowe  et  1 68.  heart... abhorres  ^ ,]  F7.     heart,... 
seq.  abhorres  F3F4,  Rowe,  Pope,  Han.  heart, 

1 60.  fought, ...vnfought,]  Ff,  Rowe.  ...abhors,  Theob,  et  seq. 
sought... unsought  Pope,  Han.  Cap.  Mai. 

157,  158.  Do  not  ...  no  cause]  The  meaning  of  these  two  lines  seems  to  be  : 
From  this  avowal  of  mine  (this  clause)  do  not  extort  the  excuse  that,  because  I 
woo,  thou  hast,  therefore,  no  need  to  do  so.     It  seems,  however,  to  have  puzzled 
HANMER,   who  resorted  to  emendation.     His   text   reads:  'Do   not   extort  'wry 
reasons  from  this  clause,  For  that  I  woo ' ;  whereof  the  comprehension  must  be  left 
to  the  intelligence  of  the  reader.     'The  clause'  refers,  I  think,  to  what  Olivia  had 
just  said  :  '  I  love  thee  so,'  etc.     But  CAPELL  understands  it  as  applying  to  what 
follows.     'Clause,'    says    Capell,    'must  mean — article,  and  "thy  reasons" — thy 
reasons  for  not  wooing;  the  "clause"  being  this, — that,  because  I  woo,  therefore 
you  need  not, — express'd  in  the  line   following.' — DEIGHTON  :    That   is,  do  not 
endeavour  forcibly  to  release  from  the  sentence  in  which  they  are  imprisoned  reasons 
which  shall  seem  adequate  to  you  ;  '  clause '  apparently  is  used  with  reference  to  its 
literal  sense  from  Latin  claudere,  to  shut  up,  and  the  metaphor  is  kept  up  in  '  fetter,' 
two  lines  lower. 

158.  For  that]  That  is,  because.     For  other   similar   instances,   see   ABBOTT, 
§§  151,  288. 

163.  nor   neuer   none]  W.   A.  WRIGHT  :    Another  instance  of  such   a   triple 
negative  will  be  found   in  As  You   Like  It,  I,  ii,  27  :  '  nor   no   further   in   sport 
neyther.' 

164.  saue]  ABBOTT  (§118,  p.  8l):<  Save '  seems  to  be  used  for  saved,  and  '  I ' 
to  be  the  nominative  absolute.     Thus  also  injul.  CCES.  V,  v,  69  :  'All  the  conspir- 
ators save  only  he.' 

164.  saue  I  alone]  JOHNSON  :  These  three  words  Sir  Thomas  Hanmer  gives  to 
Olivia  probably  enough.    [Very  improperly,  I  think. — ED.] 


ACT  in,  sc.  ii.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  199 


Sccena  Secunda. 


Enter  Sir  Toby,  Sir  Andrew,  and  Fabian.  2 

And.     No  faith,  He  not  flay  a  iot  longer : 

To.     Thy  reafon  deere  venom,  giue  thy  reafon. 

Fab.     You  muft  needes  yeelde  your  reafon,  Sir  An-  5 

drew  ? 

And.  Marry  I  faw  your  Neece  do  more  fauours  to  the 
Counts  Seruing-man,  then  euer  fhe  beftow'd  vpon  mee  : 
I  faw't  i'th  Orchard. 

To.     Did  fhe  fee  the  while,  old  boy,  tell  me  that.  10 

And.     As  plaine  as  I  fee  you  now. 

Fab.  This  was  a  great  argument  of  loue  in  her  toward 
you.  13 

Scene  IV.  Pope,  + .   Act  IV.  Scene  10.  fee  the]  fee  thee  the  F3F4  et  seq. 

i.  Spedding.  boy,  ...  that."\   boy,  ...  that?    Ff, 

Olivia's  House.  Rowe.  Rowe, -!-,  Cap.     boy  ?  ...  that  Steev.  et 

3.  longer  .•]  Fa.     longer.  F3F4  et  seq.  seq. 

8,35.  Counts']  Duke' s  Rowe,  + .  12.  toward]  towardsTheob.  ii,Warb. 

8.  vpon\  on  Rowe  ii,  +  ,  Var.  '73.  Johns. 

I.  Scoena  Secunda]  MARSHALL:  In  [Irving' s]  acting-edition  this  and  the  fol- 
lowing scene  are  transposed,  forming  scene  i.  and  ii.  respectively,  of  Act  IV. 

3.  a  iot]  EASTWOOD  &  WRIGHT  (Sible  Word-book}  :  In  the  Hebrew  alphabet 
yod  (corresponding  to  Greek  Ibra)  is  the  smallest  letter,  and  therefore  the  most 
likely  to  be  omitted  or  overlooked.  Hence  it  is  applied  to  any  small  quantity  what- 
ever. .  .  .  The  origin  of  the  word  is  seen  more  clearly  in  the  form  in  which  it  appears 
in  the  following  quotation  :  '  But  the  limits  of  his  power  [i.  e.  the  devil's]  were  set 
downe  before  the  foundations  of  the  world  were  laide,  which  he  hath  not  the  power 
in  the  least  iote  to  transgresse. ' — King  James  I.  Dcemonologie,  II,  i. 

3.  longer :]  It  is  possible  that  this  colon,  unnoticed  by  editors,  is  intentional,  and 
indicates  Sir  Toby's  scant  toleration  of  the  weak  Knight's  speeches,  and  his  eager- 
ness to  crush  at  the  outset  any  signs  of  rebellion. — ED. 

4,  5,  etc.  To.  Thy  .  .  .  Fab.  You]  Note  Sir  Toby's  familiar  second  person,  in 
which  he  always  addresses  Sir  Andrew,  and  the  respectful,  and  equally  invariable, 
you  of  Fabian. — ED. 

IO.  the  while]  ABBOTT  (§  137,  p.  93)  :  'While*  is  originally  a  noun  meaning 
'time.'  'The  while  that,'  from  a  very  early  period,  is  used  in  the  condensed  form 
'  the  while,'  or  '  while  that '  or  '  while ' ;  and  '  whiles '  (genitive  of  •while'),  meaning 
'  of,  or  during,  the  time,'  was  similarly  used  as  a  conjunction.  See  '  Whiles  you  are 
willing,'  etc.,  IV,  iii,  32. 


200  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  in,  sc.  ii. 

And.    S'light ;  will  you  make  an  Affe  o'me. 

Fab.  I  will  proue  it  legitimate  fir,  vpon  the  Oathes  of  15 
Judgement,  and  reafon. 

To.   And  they  haue  beene  grand  lurie  men,fmce  before 
Noah  was  a  Saylor. 

Fab.    Shee  did  fhew  fauour  to  the  youth  in  your  fight, 
onely  to  exafperate  you,  to  awake  your  dormoufe  valour,  20 

to  put  fire  in  your  Heart,  and  brimftone  in  your  Liuer  : 
you  fhould  then  haue  accofted  her,  and  with  fome  excel- 
lent iefts,  fire-new  from  the  mint,  you  fhould  haue  bangd 
the  youth  into  dumbenefle  :  this  was  look'd  for  at  your 
hand,  and  this  was  baulkt :  the  double  gilt  of  this  oppor-  25 

tunitie  you  let  time  warn  off,  and  you  are  now  fayld  into 

14.  S' light ;]    Fa.      'Slight;    fff         grand-jury-men  Cap.     grand-jurymen 
' Slight!    Rowe   ii,  +  .      'Slight,    Cap.         Dyce,  Cam. 

Dyce,  Cam.  22,  23.  and  with  ...  mint,"}   with  ... 

me."]  me?  Ff.  mint;  Theob.  ii,  Warb.  Johns. 

15.  I  will]  I  Ff,  Rowe,  Pope,  Han.  24,  25,    26.    look* d... baulkt. ..fayld] 
17.  grand  lurie   men]    F2.     grand  looked. ..baulked. ..sailed  Var.   '03,  '13, 

Jury-men    F3F4,   Rowe,    Pope,    Han.         '21,  Knt,  Coll.  Hal.  Dyce,  Cam. 
Grand  Jury-men  Theob.  Warb.  Johns. 

15-17.  Oathes  .  .  .  grand  lurie  men]  CASTLE  (p.  108)  :  In  comedy  we  have 
Meas.for  Meas.  full  of  law  and  Twelfth  Night  without  it,  as  this  play  contains,  I 
think,  only  two  legal  references,  and  both  wrong.  One  where  Sir  Toby  and  Fabian 
are  persuading  Sir  Andrew  not  to  give  up  his  pursuit  of  Olivia  [in  the  present  pas- 
sage]. Of  course,  this  is  wrong,  witnesses  prove  matters  upon  oath.  Jurymen  find 
verdicts  or  bills.  The  doubt  I  have  in  my  mind  is  whether  this  mistake  is  inten- 
tional, as  in  Meas.  for  Meas.t  where  Elbow  considers  an  action  for  battery  the  proper 
remedy  for  slander.  The  joke  does  not  appear  self-evident  enough  to  have  been 
put  in  on  purpose ;  apparently  there  has  been  confusion  between  the  duties  of  a 
witness  and  those  of  a  grand  juryman.  That  Shakespeare  .  .  .  knew  what  a 
juryman  was  is  to  be  seen  in  /  Hen.  IV.,  when  Falstaff  not  only  assaults  and 
robs  the  travellers,  but  insults  them  :  '  No,  ye  fat  chuffs.  .  .  .  On,  bacons,  on ! 
What,  ye  knaves?  young  men  must  live.  You  are  grandjurors,  are  ye!  We'll 
jure  ye,  'faith.'[II,  ii,  97.  See  IV,  i,  34,  post.] 

19.  Shee  did  shew  fauour]  '  Did'  is  here  emphatic.     Fabian  grants  the  fact  of 
Olivia's  favour,  only  to  make  his  conclusions  therefrom  more  forcible. — ED. 

20.  dormouse]  MURRAY  (JV.  E.  D. )  :  Origin  obscure  :  the  second  element  has 
been,  at  least  since  about  1575,  treated  as  the  word  mouse,  with  plural  mice,  though 
a  plural  dormouses  is  evidenced  in  the  1 6-1 7th  centuries.     The  first  element  has  also 
from  the  1 6th  century  been  associated  with  Latin  dormlre,  French  dormir,  to  sleep 
(as  if  dorm-mouse ;  compare  l6th  century  Dutch  slaep-ratte,  slaep-muys}\  but  it  is 
not  certain  that  this  is  the  original  composition.     Skeat  suggests  for  the  first  ele- 
ment Old  Norse  dart  benumbed ;  compare  also  dialectic  '  dorrer,  a  sleeper,  a  lazy 


ACT  in,  sc.  ii.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  2OI 

the  North  of  my  Ladies  opinion,   where  you  will  hang  27 

like  an  yfickle  on  a  Dutchmans  beard,  vnlefle  you  do  re- 
deeme  it,  by  fome  laudable  attempt,  either  of  valour  or 
policie.  30 

And.     And't  be  any  way,  it  muft  be  with  Valour,  for 

29.  laitdable\     Om.     Rowe,     Pope,  31.  And't\   Artt  Han.    Cap.    Coll. 

Han.  Wh.  Hal.  Dyce,  Cam.  Ktly,  Rife. 

person'  (Halliwell).     The  French  dormeuse,  feminine  of  dormeur,  sleeper,  some- 
times suggested  as  the  etymon,  is  not  known  before  the  I7th  century. 

27.  the  North]  That  is,  into  the  region  of  cold  disdain. 

28.  an  ysickle,  etc.]  C.   H.   COOTE  (New  SA.  Soc.  Trans.  1877-9,  P-  94)  sug- 
gests  that  Shakespeare  derived  this  reference  to  the  icicles  on  a  Dutchman's  beard 
from  a  glance  at  a  new  map  whereon  was  recorded  the  discovery  of  Novaya  Zembla 
by  the  Dutchman  Barentz,  in  1596.     «  From  whence,'  asks  Mr  Coote,  '  did  Shake- 
speare obtain  this  knowledge  ?     Certainly  not  from  the  pages  of  Hakluyt,  as  they 
are  silent  respecting  it.     That  he  obtained  it  as  current  oral  news  is,  of  course,  quite 
possible  ;  but  be  this  as  it  may,  the  most  reasonable  and  natural  explanation  of  the 
matter  is,  that  it  was  suggested  to  the  mind  of  Shakespeare  by  a  glance  at  our  "  new 
map  "  with  many  lines,  in  all  probability  the  earliest  engraved  map  produced  in  Eng- 
land whereon  this  important  Arctic  discovery  is  to  be  found.'  [See  Coote' s  description 
of  the  '  new  map'  (line  79  of  this  scene).     It  seems  to  me  more  likely  that  Shake- 
speare was  indebted  to  some  published  account  of  Arctic  voyages  than  to  a  glance  at 
a  map.     W.  A.  WRIGHT  states  that  'a  translation  of  Gerrit  de  Veer's  account  of 
this  voyage  [of  Barentz]  was  entered  on  the  books  of  the  Stationers'   Company  to 
John  Wolfe  on  the  I3th  of  June,  1598.'     I  do  not  know  that  any  copy  of  this  trans- 
lation of  this  date  exists ;  if  it  were  ever  actually  published  and  a  copy  of  it  read  by 
Shakespeare,  it  seems  to  me  that  this  book  would  be  the  most  likely  source  of  Shake- 
speare's knowledge.     The  entry  on  the  Stationers'  Registers  is  as  follows:  'xiii° 
Junii  [1598].  John  wolfe  |  Entred  for  his  Copie  vnder  th  handes  of  master  Hartwell 
and  the  warden  master  mans  hand  |  A  true  description  of  Three  voyages  by  sea, 
whereof  the  world  as  yett  hath  had  but  small  intelligence  :  Three  yeeres  one  after 
another  by  the  Hollanders  and  Zelanders  by  north   Norwaye,  Musovya,  and  Tar- 
taria  to  the  kyngdome  of  Cattay  and  Chyna  Together  with  the  discoverye  of  the 
Weygattes  Nova  sembla  and  of  the  land  of  80  degrees  which  hath  been  taken  for 
Groenland  whereas  yett  there  hath  no  man  dwelt  |  And  of  the  feirce  Beares  and 
other  Sea  monsters  and  merveylous  could  and  howe  in  the  last  voyage  the  shippe  is 
besett  in  lyce  and  thatt  our  men  beinge  vnder  76.   degrees  of  Nova  sembla  built 
them  a  howse  and  Remayned  there  10  monethes  and  after  that  Ryd  in  little  slight 
vesselles  alongest  the   sea.  CCCl.[35o]  myles  alwaies  with  verye  greate  Daunger 
and  incredible  labour  |  By  Jerrett  De  veer  of  Amsterdam.' — Arber's  Reprint,  III, 
118.     Is  it  not  more  likely  that  Shakespeare  found  stories  of  icicles  on  Dutchmen's 
beards,  in  this  book  with  its  accounts  of  the  '  merveylous  could '  and  of  ships 
4  besett  in  ice,'  than  that  he  inferred  them  from  a  glance  at  a  map  ?     I  have  sup- 
posed that  no  copy  of  this  book  dated  1598  is  extant  from  Dr  Wright's  remark 
that  'the  reprint  of  Phillip's  translation  for  the  Hakluyt  Society  is  taken  from  a 
copy  of  1609,  and  apparently  an  earlier  edition  is  known.' — ED. 


202  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  HI.  sc.  ii. 

policie  I  hate  :   I  had  as  liefe  be  a  Brownift,  as  a  Politi-  32 

cian. 

32.  Brownist]  STEEVENS  :  The  Brownists  seem,  in  the  time  of  our  author,  to 
have  been  the  constant  objects  of  popular  satire.  In  Ram- Alley ',  1611,  is  the  fol- 
lowing:  'Pandarism!  why,  'tis  grown  a  liberal  science,  Or  a  new  sect,  and  the 
good  professors  Will  (like  the  Brownist)  frequent  gravel-pits  shortly,  For  they  use 
woods  and  obscure  holes  already.' [I,  i,  p.  283,  ed.  Hazlitt-Dodsley.] — W.  A. 
WRIGHT:  Earle,  in  his  Micro- cosmographia  (ed.  Arber,  p.  64),  says  of  'A  Shee 
precise  Hypocrite,'  '  No  thing  angers  her  so  much  as  that  Woemen  cannot  Preach, 
and  in  this  point  onely  thinkes  the  Brownist  erroneous."  And  in  the  old  play  of 
Sir  Thomas  More  (Shakes.  Soc.),  p.  51  :  '  Heers  a  lowsie  jest !  but,  if  I  notch  not 
that  rogue  Tom  barbar,  that  makes  me  looke  thus  like  a  Brownist,  hange  me  !' 
[Robert  Brown,  the  founder  of  the  Brownists,  was  born  in  1550.  His  father  obtained, 
by  a  charter  of  Henry  VIII.,  the  singular  privilege  of  wearing  his  cap  in  the  King's 
presence.  About  the  year  1580,  he  began  to  promulgate  his  principles  of  dissent 
from  the  Established  Church.  His  assaults  upon  the  Church  of  England  form 
of  government  gained  him  many  followers.  His  sect  daily  increasing,  Dr  Freake, 
bishop  of  Norwich,  with  other  ecclesiastical  commissioners,  called  him  before  them. 
Being  insolent  to  the  court,  he  was  committed  to  the  custody  of  the  sheriff's  officer, 
but  was  released  at  the  intercession  of  his  relative,  the  Lord  Treasurer  Burghley. 
Brown  now  left  the  kingdom  and  settled  at  Middlebury  in  Zealand,  where  he  formed 
a  church  of  his  own.  The  removal  of  persecution,  however,  broke  up  the  unity  of 
the  party,  and  Brown  soon  returned  to  England.  For  his  indiscreet  attempts  to  gain 
proselytes,  he  was  cited  by  the  bishop  of  Peterborough,  and,  refusing  to  appear,  was 
finally  excommunicated  for  contempt.  The  solemnity  of  this  censure  immediately 
effected  his  reformation.  He  moved  for  absolution,  which  was  obtained,  and  from 
that  time  became  a  dutiful  member  of  the  Church  of  England.  In  a  short  time 
afterwards  (about  1590)  Brown  was  preferred  to  a  rectory  where  he  might  probably 
have  died  in  peace  ;  but  having  some  dispute  with  the  constable  of  his  parish  rela- 
tive to  the  payment  of  rates,  he  proceeded  to  blows,  and  was  afterwards  so  insolent 
to  the  justice  that  he  was  committed  to  Northampton  jail,  where  he  died  in  1630. 
Brown  boasted  on  his  death-bed  that  he  had  been  confined  in  thirty-two  different 
prisons.  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  in  a  speech  in  1592,  estimated  the  number  of  Brown- 
ists at  no  less  than  twenty  thousand.  Soon,  however,  differences  of  opinion  began 
to  arise  ;  some  became  absolute  Separatists  ;  others  adopted  a  milder  form  of  oppo- 
sition to  the  Church,  which  ultimately  resulted  in  Independency.  This  latter  form 
prevailed,  and  the  Brownists  gave  place  to  the  Independents.  The  occasion  of  the 
Brownists'  separation  was  not  any  fault  they  found  with  the  faith,  but  only  with  the 
discipline  and  form  of  government  of  the  other  churches  in  England.  They  con- 
demned the  celebration  of  marriages  in  the  church,  maintaining  that,  as  matrimony 
was  a  civil  contract,  its  confirmation  ought  to  come  from  the  civil  magistrate.  They 
rejected  all  forms  of  prayer,  and  held  that  the  Lord's  prayer  was  not  to  be  recited  as 
a  prayer,  having  been  given  only  for  a  rule  or  model  whereon  all  our  prayers  are 
to  be  formed.  Their  form  of  church  government  was  democratic.  They  did  not 
erect  the  priesthood  into  a  distinct  order.  As  the  vote  of  the  brotherhood  made  a 
man  a  minister,  so  the  same  power  could  discharge  him  from  his  office,  and  reduce 
him  to  a  mere  layman  again.  In  a  word,  every  church  on  the  Brownists'  model  is  a 
body  corporate,  having  full  power  to  do  everything  which  the  good  of  the  society 


ACT  in.  sc.  ii.]  OR.    WHAT  YOU  WILL  203 

To.  Why  then  build  me  thy  fortunes  vpon  the  bafis  of 
valour.Challenge  me  the  Counts  youth  to  fight  with  him  35 

hurt  him  in  eleuen  places,  my  Neece  fhall  take  note  of  it, 
and  allure  thy  felfe,  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  fir  Andrew.  40 

An.    Will  either  of  you  beare  me  a  challenge  to  him? 

To.  Go,  write  it  in  a  martial  hand,  be  curd  and  briefer 
it  is  no  matter  how  wittie,  fo  it  bee  eloquent,  and  full  of 
inuention  :  taunt  him  with  the  licenfe  of  Inke  :  if  thou 
thou'ft  him  fome  thrice,  it  mail  not  be  amiffe,  and  as  ma-  45 

38.  mans]  mens  F3F4,  Rowe  i.  Pope,  Han. 

•woman]    -women     F3F4,     Rowe,  39.  then]  than  Ff. 

requires,  without  being  accountable  to  any  presbytery,  synod,  assembly,  convocation, 
or  other  jurisdiction  whatever. — Condensed  from  Encyclopedia  Britannica,  Ninth 
Ed.— ED.] 

32,  33.  Politician]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  Shakespeare  generally  uses  this  word  in 
an  unfavourable  sense,  as  denoting  a  political  intriguer  or  conspirator.  See,  for 
instance,  /  Hen.  IV :  I,  iii,  241  :  '  this  vile  politician,  Bolingbroke.'  And  Hamlet, 
V,  i,  86:  '  It  might  be  the  pate  of  a  politician,  which  this  ass  now  o'erreaches ;  one 
that  would  circumvent  God,  might  it  not?'  Again,  Lear,  IV,  vi,  175  :  'Get  thee 
glass  eyes ;  And  like  a  scurvy  politician,  seem  To  see  the  things  thou  dost  not."  [See 
Sir  Toby's  drunken  use  of  the  word,  II,  iii,  77.] 

34.  me]  The  so-called  ethical  dative ;  it  occurs  again  in  the  next  line,  '  Chal- 
lenge me.'     It  is  still  in  common  use.     See,  if  need  be,  ABBOTT,  §  220,  or  Shake- 
speare passim. 

35.  youth  .  .  .  with  him]  TYRWHITT  (  Var.  1773)  :  This  is  nonsense.     Read, 
'Challenge  me  the  Duke's  youth  ;  go,  fight  with  him.' — RlTSON  (Remarks,  p.  65)  : 
If  any  alteration  be  necessary,  it  should  be,  '  to  fight  with  you.'    The  text,  however, 
is  neither  nonsensical  nor  difficult.     KEIGHTLEY  reads  '  with  thee.'     [But  the  text 
means  simply,  '  Let  your  challenge  to  the  Count's  youth  be  to  fight  with  him.'] 

36.  shall]  That  is,  must.     For  other  instances,  see  ABBOTT,  §  315. 

42.  martial  hand]  JOHNSON  :  This  seems  to  be  a  careless  scrawl,  such  as  shewed 
the  writer  to  neglect  ceremony.  [Possibly,  it  may  mean  with  heavy-faced,  aggressive 
flourishes. — ED.] 

42.  curst]  JOHNSON  :  That  is,  petulant,  crabbed.  A  curst  cur  is  a  dog  that  with 
little  provocation  snarls  and  bites.  DOUCE  (i,  99)  finds  in  'curst'  and  'brief  an 
allusion  to  the  proverb  :  '  A  curst  cur  must  be  tied  short.'  ['  Except  those  explana- 
tory of  customs,  dress,  etc.,'  says  Dyce  (Remarks,  p.  96),  'the  notes  of  Douce  are 
nearly  worthless.'] 

44.  with  the  license  of  Inke]  That  is,  with  all  the  freedom  of  speech  which  the 
written  word  allows. 

44,  45.  thou  thou'st  him]  THEOBALD  :  These  words  seem  to  me  directly 
levelled  at  the  Attorney-General  Coke,  who,  in  the  trial  of  Sir  Walter  Raleigh, 


204 


TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  HI,  sc.  ii. 


ny  Lyes,  as  will  lye  in  thy  fheete  of  paper,  although  the  46 

fheete  were  bigge  enough  for  the  bedde  of  Ware  in  Eng- 
land, fet  'em  downe,  go  about  it.  Let  there  bee  gaulle  e- 
nough  in  thy  inke,  though  thou  write  with  a  Goofe-pen, 
no  matter  :  about  it.  50 

And.     Where  fhall  I  finde  you  ? 

To.     Wee'l  call  thee  at  the  Cubiculo  :  Go. 

Exit  Sir  Andrew.  53 

48.  go  about  zV]  Ff,  Knt,  Wh.  Hal.  52.  the}  thy  Han.  Ran.  Dyce  ii,  iii, 
and  go  about  it  Rowe,  Pope,  Han.    go,         Coll.  iii,  Huds. 

about  it  Cap.  et  cet.  53.  Scene  V.  Pope,  + . 

49.  write]  write  it  Rowe,  Pope,  Han. 

attacked  him  with  the  indecent  expressions  :  '  All  that  he  did  was  at  thy  instigation, 
thou  viper  ;  for  I  thou  thee,  thou  traitor ' ;  '  Thou  hast  a  Spanish  heart,  and  thyself 
art  a  spider  of  hell,'  etc. — CAPELL  (p.  149)  :  The  Poet's  boldness  was  great,  or  his 
regard  great  for  the  character  [Raleigh]  so  treated,  if  he  ventur'd  at  producing  this 
speech  as  it  now  stands  ;  'tis  more  probable  that  'twas  abridg'd  [from  '  invention '  to 
« about  it ']  in  its  stage  exhibition  ;  at  least  at  first,  and  'till  things  had  taken  a  turn 
(which  they  did  shortly)  which  made  adventuring  safe.  [Raleigh's  trial  took  place 
in  November,  1603.  In  1845,  HUNTER  discovered  from  Manningham's  Diary  that 
Twelfth  Night  was  acted  in  February,  1602,  which  at  once  disproves  Theobald's 
reference  unless  this  clause  were  a  later  addition,  inserted  after  the  trial,  and  before 
this  play  was  printed  in  the  Folio ;  this,  HUNTER  (i,  408)  believes,  is  '  not  prob- 
able'; on  the  other  hand,  J.  CHURTON  COLLINS  (p.  279,  footnote]  asserts  that 
'  nothing  is  more  likely.'  In  general,  I  have  small  faith  in  these  contemporary 
allusions.  Moreover,  Hunter  points  out  that  as  far  as  Shakespeare  had  any  con- 
nection with  a  political  party,  he  belonged  to  the  party  to  which  Raleigh  was 
opposed.  Stubbes  (Christal  Glasse,  etc.,  1591,  p.  198,  ed.  New  Sh.  Soc.)  says  of 
his  late  wife  that  « she  was  neuer  heard  to  giue  any  the  lie,  nor  so  much  as  to  thou 
any  in  anger';  we  need,  however,  no  quotation  better  than  Coke's  language  as 
given  above. — ED.] 

47.  bedde  of  Ware]  The  Frontispiece  to  HALLIWELL'S  seventh  volume  is  an 
elaborate  engraving  of  this  bed,  taken  in  1832.  His  note  is  as  follows  :  This  cele- 
brated bed  is  formed  of  oak,  curiously  and  elaborately  carved.  The  date  1460  is 
given  on  the  back  as  the  year  of  its  construction,  but  it  is  undoubtedly  a  relic  of  the 
time  of  Queen  Elizabeth.  It  is  7  ft.  6  in.  in  height,  10  ft.  9  in.  in  length,  and  10  ft. 
9  in.  in  width.  The  earliest  notice  of  the  bed  yet  discovered  occurs  in  the  Itinerary 
of  a  German  prince,  Ludwig  of  Anhalt-KSthen,  who  came  to  England  in  1596,  and 
who  mentions  this  renowned  piece  of  furniture  as  so  large  that  four  couples  might 
conveniently  rest  in  it  without  any  pair  incommoding  another. — DYCE  (Gloss.}  :  At 
what  inn  in  Ware  it  was  kept  during  Shakespeare's  days  is  uncertain;  but,  after 
being  for  many  years  at  The  Saracen's  Head,  it  was  sold  there  by  auction  in  Sep- 
tember, 1864,  and  knocked  down  at  a  hundred  guineas  (the  newspapers  erroneously 
adding  that  Mr  Charles  Dickens  was  the  purchaser).  W.  A.  WRIGHT  says  that  it 
is  now  to  be  seen  at  the  Rye- House. 

52.   Cubiculo]  HANMER'S  reading  thy,  commended  by  WALKER  ( Crit.  ii.  234) 


ACT  in,  sc.  ii.]  OR,    WHAT  YOU  WILL  205 

Fa.     This  is  a  deere  Manakin  to  you  Sir  Toby. 

To.    I  haue  beene  deere  to  him  lad,  fome  two  thoufand  5  5 

ftrong,  or  fo. 

Fa.    We  fhall  haue  a  rare  Letter  from  him;  but  you'le 
not  deliuer't. 

To.    Neuer  truft  me  then  :  and  by  all  meanes  ftirre  on 
the  youth  to  an  anfwer.    I  thinke  Oxen  and  waine-ropes  60 

cannot  hale  them  together.For  Andrew,if  hewereopen'd 
and  you  finde  fo  much  blood  in  his  Liuer,  as  will  clog  the 
foote  of  a  flea,  He  eate  the  reft  of  th'anatomy. 

Fab.    And  his  oppofit  the  youth  beares  in  his  vifage  no 
great  prefage  of  cruelty.  65 

Enter  Maria. 
To.    Looke  where  the  youngeft  Wren  of  mine  comes.  67 

54.  Manakin]  manikin Theob.  Warb.  62.  and]  an  Walker  (Crit.  ii,  153), 

Johns.  Huds.  Huds. 

58.  deliuer't.]  deliver  it.  Mai.  Steev.  63.  of  tK anatomy}  Ff,  Rowe,  + ,  Wh. 

Var.  Knt,  Coll.  Hal.  Sta.  Ktly.  de-  o'the  anatomy  Cap.  of  the  anatomy 

liver1 1  ?  Dyce,  Cam,  Rife,  Huds.  Wh.  ii.  Var.  '73  et  cet. 

61.  Andrew]    sir    Andrew    Coll.   ii  67.  mine~\    Ff,    Rowe,    Pope,    Hal. 
(MS).  nine  Theob.  et  cet. 

and  adopted  by  DYCE,  has  much  in  its  favour  if  'cubiculo'  refer  to  Sir  Andrew's 
apartment ;  but  as  Sir  Toby  was  apparently  lodging  in  Olivia's  house,  and  Sir 
Andrew,  too,  for  that  matter,  it  is  quite  possible  that  it  may  refer  to  some  definite 
common  chamber,  to  which  Sir  Toby  gives  a  Latin  name,  either  to  impress  Sir 
Andrew  or  to  natter  him,  as  he  did  at  the  opening  of  II,  iii,  by  assuming  Sir 
Andrew's  familiarity  with  that  tongue. 

54.  a  deere  Manakin  to  you]  ABBOTT  (§  419  a,  p.  309)  :  Unless  'to'  is  used 
loosely  like  'for,'  'dear'  is  here  transposed.  [See  I,  iv,  42.] 

60.  Oxen  and  waine-ropes]  BOSWELL  :  So,  in  Fletcher's  Loyal  Subject  [1618]  : 
*  A  coach  and  four  horses  cannot  draw  me  from  it. '[Ill,  ii,  p.  57>  ed.  Dyce.] 

62.  blood  in  his  Liuer]  A  bloodless  liver  was  a  sign  of  cowardice.     See  II,  iv, 
104.     Thus,  Macbeth,  V,  iii,  15  :  '  Go  prick  thy  face,  and  over-red  thy  fear,  Thou 
lily-liver'd  boy  !'     And,  Mer.  of  Ven.  Ill,  ii,  92  :  '  How  rnanie  cowards  .  . .  Who 
inward  searcht,  haue  lyuers  white  as  milke.' 

64.  opposit]  MALONE  :  That  is,  an  adversary.  '  Opposite '  was  used  as  a  sub- 
stantive. [See  II,  v,  140.] 

67.  Wren  of  mine]  HANMER  :  The  Wren  is  remarkable  for  laying  many  eggs 
at  a  time,  nine  or  ten  and  sometimes  more  ;  and  as  she  is  the  smallest  of  birds,  the 
last  of  so  large  a  brood  may  be  supposed  to  be  little  indeed,  which  is  the  image 
intended  here  to  be  given  of  Maria. — WARBURTON  :  The  women's  parts  were  then 
acted  by  boys,  sometimes  so  low  in  stature,  that  there  was  occasion  to  obviate  the 
impropriety  by  such  kind  of  oblique  apologies. — HALLIWELL  (the  only  modern 


206  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  in,  sc.  ii. 

Mar.     If  you  defire  the  fpleene,  and  will  laughe  your  68 

felues  into  flitches,  follow  me;  yond  gull  Maluolio  is  tur- 

69.  Jlitches\  side- stitches  Cap.  69.  yond']    yorf    Cap.    Mai.     Steev. 

yond*  Knt,  Coll.  Wh. 


editor  who  follows  the  Folio)  :  That  is,  my  youngest  wren,  in  allusion  to  the  dimin- 
utive size  of  Maria.  The  term  wren  is  similarly  applied  to  a  thin  bony  person  in 
How  to  Chuse  a  good  Wife,  1 602.  Theobald's  alteration  is,  I  think,  unnecessary. 
[Halliwell's  reference  U>  the  use  of  'wren'  in  How  to  Chuse  a  good  Wife,  etc.,  is 
hardly  parallel,  inasmuch  as  it  is  there  applied  to  an  elderly  pedant.  I  suppose  the 
passage  he  refers  to  is  the  following  :  ' When  didst  thou  see  the  starveling  school- 
master? That  rat,  that  shrimp,  that  spindle-shank,  That  wren,  that  sheep-biter, 
that  lean  chitty-face,'  and  so  on,  in  three  more  lines  of  opprobrious  epithets. — II,  iii, 
p.  40,  ed.  Hazlitt-Dodsley.  I  am  not  sure,  however,  that  Halliwell  is  not,  otherwise, 
right  in  discarding  Theobald's  emendation.  Why  should  the  phrase  be  the  youngest 
of  nine  ?  The  selection  of  this  number  seems  to  me  pointless ;  nine  eggs  are  no 
more  characteristic  of  the  wren  than  seven  or  eight,  or  ten  or  eleven,  or  any  other 
number  up  to  eighteen  ;  these  many  eggs  has  the  wren  been  known  to  lay.  Willughby, 
in  his  Chapter  on  The  Wren,  says  (p.  229)  :  '  A  late  English  Writer  tells  us,  that  he 
hath  had  eighteen  Eggs  out  of  one  Nest,  and  sixteen  young  ones  out  of  another.' 
That  Sir  Toby  chose  a  wren  on  account  of  its  diminutive  size  is  quite  probable, 
but  possibly  there  is  an  additional  reason.  At  the  sight  of  Maria,  he  recalls  when 
and  where  he  had  last  seen  her,  it  was  when  she  had  planted  them  in  the  box  tree, 
which  means  a  hedge,  to  watch  Malvolio  ;  she  had  then  at  once  flitted  from  them  ; 
as  soon  as  Malvolio  leaves,  Maria  as  suddenly  reappears.  It  was  this  quick,  viva- 
cious flitting  to  and  fro  among  the  hedges  and  alleys  of  the  garden  that  reminded 
Sir  Toby  of  a  wren.  '  It  creeps  about  hedges  and  holes,'  says  Willughby,  '  whence 
it  is  not  undeservedly  called  Troglodites.  It  makes  but  short  flights,'  etc.  If  this 
characteristic  of  the  diminutive  bird  be  Sir  Toby's  predominant  association,  at  the 
moment,  with  Maria,  Theobald's  change  is  superfluous,  and  'mine'  of  the  Folio 
becomes  Sir  Toby's  admiring  claim  to  possession  in  his  little  'wren';  and  since 
youth  is  the  season  of  vivacity,  Maria  was  the  '  youngest '  of  wrens,  because  the 
most  vivacious. — ED.] 

68.  spleene]  This  word  is  used  by  Shakespeare  in  more  than  one  meaning. 
In  Mid.  N.  D.  I,  i,  156,  it  means  excessive  haste  :  '  Briefe  as  the  lightning  in  the 
collied  night,  That  (in  a  spleene)  vnfolds  both  heauen  and  earth.'  In  the  passage 
before  us  it  evidently  means  mirth  in  excess.  For  this  mirthful  attribute  of  the  spleen 
Shakespeare  had  authority  in  the  physiology  of  his  times.  In  Batman  vppon  Bar- 
tholome  we  find  (Lib.  Quintus,  Cap.  41)  :  'The  Milt  is  called  Splen  in  Latine  .  .  . 
And  some  men  suppose,  that  the  mylt  is  the  cause  of  laughing.  For  by  the  Splene 
we  are  moued  to  laugh  :  by  the  Gall,  we  be  wroth  :  by  the  Heart,  we  be  wise  :  by 
the  Braine,  we  feele  :  by  the  Lyuer,  we  loue.'  And  Batman  adds  :  'The  mylt  is  a 
spongeous  substance,  lieng  vnder  the  short  ribbes,  in  the  left  side,  by  which  equall 
of  kinde,  man  is  disposed  to  mirth,  otherwise  there  follow,  the  passions  of  sadnesse.' 
—ED. 

68.  will  laughe]  That  is,  desire  to  laugh. 

69.  gull]  NARES  :  That  is,  a  dupe,   a  fool.     When  sharpers   were   considered 
as  bird-catchers,  a  gull  was  their  proper  prey.     In  the  Dramatis  Personse  to  the  play 
of  Every  Man  in  his  Humour,  master  Stephen  is  styled  '  a  country  gull,'  and  master 


ACT  in,  sc.  ii.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  2O/ 

ned  Heathen,  a  verie  Renegatho ;  for  there  is  no  chriftian  70 

that  meanes  to  be  faued  by  beleeuing  rightly,  can  euer 
beleeue  fuch  impoflible  paffages  of  groffeneffe.  Hee's  in 
yellow  ftockings.  72 

70.  Heathen}     a     heathen     Walker  70.   Renegatho]    renegade    Rowe    ct 

(Crit.  i,  91).  seq. 

Matthew  '  the  town  gull,'  which  is  equivalent  to  the  dupe  of  each  place.  But  a  '  gull ' 
is  most  completely  defined  by  J.  D.  (supposed  to  be  Sir  John  Davies)  in  an  epigram 
on  the  subject,  about  1598  :  'Oft  in  my  laughing  rimes  I  name  &  gull,  But  this  new 
terme  will  many  questions  breede  ;  Therefore  at  first  I  will  expresse  at  full,  Who  is 
a  true  and  perfect  gull  indeed.  A  gull  is  he,  who  feares  a  velvet  gowne,  And  when 
a  wench  is  brave,  dares  not  speake  to  her ;  A  gull  is  he  which  traverseth  the 
towne,  And  is  for  marriage  knowne  a  common  wooer.  A  gull  is  he  who  while  he 
proudly  weares  A  silver-hilled  rapier  by  his  side,  Indures  the  lyes  and  knockes  about 
the  eares,  While  in  his  sheath  his  sleeping  sword  doth  bide.  A  gull  is  he  which 
weares  good  hansorne  cloathes,  And  stands  in  presence  streaking  up  his  hayre  ;  And 
filles  up  his  unperfect  speech  with  oathes,  But  speakes  not  one  wise  word  through- 
out the  year.  But  to  define  a  gull  in  termes  precise,  A  gull  is  he  which  seems  and 
is  not  wise. — Ovid's  El.  by  C.  M.  and  Epigrams  by  I.  D. 

70.  Renegatho]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  This  represents  somewhat  the  pronunciation 
of  the  Spanish  word.  Minsheu  has  '  Renegade,  an  apostata,  one  that  hath  forsaken 
the  faith.'  The  word  appears  not  to  have  been  thoroughly  naturalized  till  the  i8th 
century,  for,  although  '  renegade '  is  found  at  the  end  of  the  previous  century,  '  rene- 
gado '  is  used  by  Addison.  In  earlier  English  the  form  was  '  renegate,'  from  the 
French  '  rene*gat,'  and  this  was  corrupted  into  '  runagate.' 

72.  passages]  In  a  note  on  Airs  Well,  I,  i,  20:  'O,  that  "had"  !  how  sad  a 
passage 'tis  !'  JOHNSON  remarks:  'Passage'  is  anything  that  passes.  So  we  now 
say,  a  '  passage '  of  an  author  ;  and  we  said  about  a  century  ago  the  '  passages '  of 
a  reign. — STEEVENS  :  Thus  Shakespeare  himself:  Com.  of  Err.  Ill,  i,  99,  'Now 
in  the  stirring  passage  of  the  day.'  So,  in  Shirley's  Gamester,  1637  :  'I'll  not  be 
A  witness  of  your  passages  myself,'  i.  e.  of  what  passes  between  you  [II,  ii,  p.  214, 
ed.  Dyce].  Again,  in  A  Woman1  s  a  Weathercock,  1612  :  '  I  not  desire  it,  sir,  Nor 
ever  lov'd  these  prying,  listening  men,  That  ask  of  others'  states  and  passages.' 
[I,  i.  ]  Again,  Id,,  'I  knew  the  passages 'twixt  her  and  Scudamore.'[V,  i.]  Again, 
in  The  Dumb  Knight,  '  Cyprus.  Ourself  and  our  own  soul,  that  have  beheld  Your 
vile  and  most  lascivious  passages.' [V,  i.] — NARES  :  'Passage'  was  currently  used 
in  this  sense  as  late  as  Swift's  time. — W.  A.  WRIGHT:  'Passages  of  grossness,' 
gross  impositions.  Compare  '  pass  upon,'  III,  i,  43. — DEIGHTON  thus  paraphrases 
the  sentence  :  I  say  heathen  and  renegade,  for  he  must  be  so,  since  not  a  Christian 
in  the  whole  world,  who  expects  salvation  from  holding  the  true  faith,  can  ever 
believe  such  grossly  impossible  doctrines  as  Malvolio  has  embraced  in  putting  faith 
in  the  directions  of  my  letter.  '  Passages '  seems  to  be  used  in  the  sense  of  passages 
from  Scripture  laying  down  principles  of  conduct,  and  '  impossible  passages  of  gross- 
ness,'  to  be  put  for  passages  of  such  gross  impossibility.  [The  interpretation  of 
'  passages '  as  acts,  given  by  Johnson,  Steevens,  and  Nares  seems  to  be  the  true  one. 
In  /  Hen.  IV :  III,  ii,  8,  the  King  in  rebuking  the  young  Prince,  says,  '  But  thou 
dost  in  thy  passages  of  life  Make  me  believe  that  thou  art  only  mark'd  For  the  hot 


208  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  HI,  sc.  ii. 

To.     And  croffe  garter'd  ? 

Mar.     Moft  villanoufly :   like  a  Pedant  that  keepes  a  75 

Schoole  i'th  Church  :  I  haue  dogg'd  him  like  his  murthe- 
rer.  He  does  obey  euery  point  of  the  Letter  that  I  dropt, 
to  betray  him  :  He  does  fmile  his  face  into  more  lynes, 
then  is  in  the  new  Mappe,  with  the  augmentation  of  the 
Indies  :  you  haue  not  feene  fuch  a  thing  as  tis:  I  can  hard-  80 

76,  77.  murtherer}  Ff,  Rowe,  + ,  Wh.  79.  then  w]  Ff,  Rowe,  + ,  Cap.  Cam. 
murderer  Steev.  et  cet.                                       Rife,     than  are  Steev.  et  cet. 

77,  78.  dropt,  to]  dropt  to  Rowe  et            80.  as  tis .-]  as' tis.  Cam.  Rife,  Wh.  ii. 
seq- 

vengeance  and  the  rod  of  Heaven,'  etc.  Again,  in  Hamlet,  IV,  vii,  113,  the  King 
says  to  Laertes,  '  love  is  begun  by  time,  And  that  I  see,  in  passages  of  proof,  Time 
qualifies  the  spark  and  fire  of  it.'  Thus,  here,  Maria  says  that  it  was  these  almost 
incredible  acts  of  absurdity  that  were  to  make  them  laugh  their  sides  into  stitches. 
—ED.] 

75.  Pedant]    Cotgrave  gives :    '  Pedagogue :  m.  A  Schoole-master,   Instructor, 
Teacher,  Tutor,  Pedant."      Also,   *  Pedant :  m.  A  Pedant,  or  ordinarie  Schoole- 
master.' 

76.  Schoole  i'th  Church]  HALLIWELL  :  It  is  curious  and  worthy  of  remark, 
although  there  is  no  great  probability  of  there  being  here  a  local  allusion,  that  the 
grammar-school  at  Stratford  was  at  intervals  during  Shakespeare's  time,  probably 
while  the  school  was  under  repair,  kept  in  the  Church  or  Chapel  of  the  Guild, 
which  was  opposite  one  side  of  the  poet's  residence,  New  Place.     If  Twelfth  Night 
were  composed  at  Stratford,  no  improbable  supposition,  at  the  very  time  this  passage 
was  written,  there  may  have  been  '  a  pedant  that  keeps  a  school  in  the  Church ' 
within  a  few  paces  of  the  author's  own  house.   [Evelyn  in  his  Kalendarium  records 
under  '  1624,  I  was  not  initiated  into  any  rudiments  till  I  was  four  years  of  age,  and 
then  one  Frier  taught  us  at  the  church  porch  of  Wotton.' — Memoirs,  etc.,  vol.  i, 
p.  3,  ed.  Bray.] 

79,  80.  the  new  Mappe  .  .  .  Indies]  STEEVENS  :  A  clear  allusion  to  a  Map 
engraved  for  Linschoten's  Voyages,  an  English  translation  of  which  was  published 
in  1598.  This  map  is  multilineal  in  the  extreme,  and  is  the  first  in  which  the 
Eastern  Islands  are  included. — HUNTER  (i,  379)  :  I  would  not  assert  that  there  is 
not  an  allusion  to  these  maps  of  Linschoten,  but  I  doubt  it.  The  turn  of  the 
expression  seems  to  point  not  to  the  maps  in  Linschoten,  but  to  some  single  map 
well-known  at  the  time,  '  the  new  map ' ;  and  further  that  the  map  alluded  to  had  the 
words  in  its  title  '  with  the  Augmentation  of  the  Indies,'  which  is  not  the  case  with 
any  of  Linschoten's  maps. — KNIGHT  gives  an  engraving  of  a  portion  of  the  multi- 
lineal  map  in  Linschoten's  Voyages,  exhibiting  the  islands  of  Malacca  and  Borneo. 
— HALLAM  (ii,  494)  :  But  the  best  map  of  the  sixteenth  century  is  one  of  uncom- 
mon rarity,  which  is  found  in  a  very  few  copies  of  the  first  edition  of  Hakluyt's 
Voyages.  This  contains  Davis' s  Straits,  Virginia  by  name,  and  the  lake  Ontario. 
The  coast  of  Chili  is  placed  more  correctly  than  the  prior  maps  of  Ortelius.  .  .  . 
Corea  is  represented  near  its  place,  and  China  with  some  degree  of  correctness ; 
even  the  north  coast  of  New  Holland  is  partially  traced.  .  .  .  The  Ultra-Indian 
region  is  inaccurate.  .  .  .  But  upon  the  whole  it  represents  the  utmost  limit  of  geo- 


ACT  in,  sc.  ii.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  209 

[79,  So.  new  Mappe,  with  the  augmentation  of  the  .  .  .  Indies] 
graphical  knowledge  at  the  close  of  the  sixteenth  century. — J[AMES]  L[ENOX]  (Nico- 
laus  Syllacius  De  Insulis  Meridiani,  etc.,  New  York,  1860,  Int.  p.  xiii)  :  The  transla- 
tion of  Linschoten's  Voyages  to  the  East  Indies,  published  in  London  in  1598, .  .  . 
contains  the  map  of  the  East  Indian  Islands,  to  which  Shakespeare  is  supposed  to 
refer  in  Twelfth  Night.  .  .  .  But  do  not  the  words  '  with  the  augmentation  of  the 
Indies  '  refer  rather  to  a  map  representing  a  larger  portion  of  the  world  than  merely 
the  East  Indian  islands?  Such  a  map  of  the  World  is  given  in  Hakluyt's  Voyages, 
published  in  London  in  1598-1600.  It  has  been  celebrated  by  Hallam  as  the  best 
map  of  the  sixteenth  century.  .  .  .  This  map  embraces  both  the  East  and  West 
Indian  islands,  and  is  quite  as  multilineal  as  that  which  appears  in  Linschoten's 
Voyages.  The  observation  of  Steevens  on  the  passage  in  Twelfth  Night .  .  .  would 
have  been  more  correct  had  he  called  [Linschoten's  map]  the  first  in  which  these 
islands  were  delineated  on  a  large  scale,  or  with  any  pretensions  to  accuracy.  [The 
map  in  Hakluyt's  Voyages  described  by  Hallam,  and  suggested  by  Lenox  as  the 
<  new  map'  referred  to  by  Maria,  was  still  further  identified  by  C.  H.  CoOTE  (New 
Sk.  Soc.  Trans.  1877-9,  p.  88,  14  June,  1878),  who  agrees  with  Lenox  that 
Steevens' s  note,  quoted  above,  is  wide  of  the  mark,  and  proves  that  the  multilineal 
map  reproduced  by  Knight  is  no  more  multilineal  than  '  any  number  of  maps  and 
charts  reaching  back  to  half  a  century,'  and  that  it  had  no  claim  to  be  considered  a 
'  new  map,1  since,  in  point  of  fact,  it  was  thirty  years  old  at  the  time  of  the  appear- 
ance of  Twelfth  Night.  But  as  to  the  map  described  by  Hallam,  Coote  shows  that 
'  it  was  a  new  map  on  a  new  projection  laid  down  upon  the  principles  set  forth  by 
Edward  Wright ' ;  and  that  on  it  '  we  find  the  latest  geographical  discovery  recorded, 
namely,  that  of  Northern  Novaya  Zembla,  by  the  Dutchman  Barentz  in  1596.  The 
news  of  this  did  not  reach  Holland  until  1598.  Allowing  one  year  for  this  to  reach 
England  and  to  be  worked  up  into  our  map,  the  conclusion  is  irresistible  that  this 
map  had  every  claim  to  be  regarded  as  the  "  new  map,"  in  that  it  was  published  in 
1599,  within  two  years  of  the  performance  of  Twelfth  Night  in  1601.'  '  Now  what 
was  the  state  of  things  upon  the  eastern  portion  of  our  "  new  map"  at  the  close  of 
the  1 6th  century,  as  compared  with  the  best  maps  of  the  world  which  preceded  it? 
A  marked  development  in  the  geography  of  India  proper,  the  island  of  Ceylon,  and 
the  two  peninsulas  of  Cochin  China,  and  Corea.  For  the  first  time  Japan  began  to 
assume  its  modern  shape.  Turning  to  the  S.  E.  portion  of  the  "new  map,"  there 
were  to  be  seen  traces  of  the  first  appearance  of  the  Dutch  at  Bantam,  synchronizing 
almost  within  a  year  with  that  of  their  fellow-countrymen  in  Novaya  Zembla.  . .  . 
It  is  this  appreciation  of  the  marked  improvement  and  development  of  the  eastern 
portion  of  our  map,  to  which  I  believe  Shakespeare  desired  to  give  expression  in 
his  judicious  and  happy  use  of  "  augmentation."  '  Coote  proves  that  the  maker  of 
this  '  new  map'  was  Emmerie  Mollineux,  'possibly  with  the  assistance  of  Hakluyt.' 
'  It  would  be  an  anachronism,'  he  continues,  'to  associate  our  "new  map"  with 
the  first  edition  of  Hakluyt,  1589  ;  to  do  so  exclusively  with  the  second  would  be 
equally  a  mistake,  as  in  the  latter  we  find  no  mention  of  it  or  of  the  discovery  of 
Barentz.  The  truth  seems  to  be  that  it  was  a  separate  map  well  known  at  the  time, 
made  in  all  probability  for  the  convenience  of  the  purchasers  of  either  one  or  the 
other  of  the  two  editions  of  Hakluyt.'  '  The  whole  case  for  our  map  may  be  sum- 
marized thus:  I.  It  was  a  "new  map"  on  a  new  projection  made  by  one  of  the 
most  eminent  globe-makers  of  his  time,  probably  under  the  superintendence  of  Hak- 
luyt. 2.  It  had  upon  it  as  many  sets  of  rhumb-lines  as  were  to  be  found  on  any  that 

14 


2io  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  in,  sc.  iii. 

ly  forbeare  hurling  things  at  him,  I  know  my  Ladie  will  81 

ftrike  him  :  if  fliee  doe,  hee'l  fmile,  and  take't  for  a  great 
fauour. 

To.   Come  bring  vs,  bring  vs  where  he  is. 

Exeunt  Omnes.  85 


Sccena  Tertia. 


Enter  Seba/lian  and  Anthonio.  2 

Seb.     I  would  not  by  my  will  have  troubled  yo  u, 
But  fmce  you  make  your  pleafure  of  your  paines, 
I  will  no  further  chide  you.  5 

Ant.     I  could  not  flay  behinde  you  :  my  defire 
(More  fliarpe  then  filed  fteele)  did  fpurre  me  forth,  7 

8l.  at  him,"]  at  him.  F  .  tonio.  Cap.  et  seq. 

1.  Scaena...]  Scene  VI.  Pope, +  .  7.  forth,]  forth;    Theob.    et.    seq. 
The  Street.  Rowe.  (subs.) 

2.  Anthonio.]  Ff,  Rowe,  +  .      An- 

preceded  it,  and  four  more  than  the  one  of  the  Moluccas  in  Linschoten  [repro- 
duced by  Knight].  3.  It  showed  the  whole  of  the  East  Indies,  including  Japan, 
which  the  map  of  Linschoten  did  not.  4.  [Mr  Coote  here  finds  the  reference  to 
Barentz's  voyage  referred  to  at  line  28  above.]  Future  research  may  possibly  bring 
to  light  a  successful  rival  to  our  "new  map,"  but  I  doubt  the  probability  of  it.'  — 
W.A.WRIGHT,  in  regard  to  this  'new  map'  of  Mollineux,  is  inclined  to  share 
Hunter's  doubt  as  to  Linschoten' s.  Maria's  description  of  the  map  'has  so  much 
the  appearance  of  the  title  under  which  it  was  issued,  that  the  absence  of  it  from 
the  map  in  question  creates  in  me  some  misgiving  as  to  whether  it  is  really  the  map 
which  Shakespeare  had  in  mind.  In  all  other  respects  it  suits  exactly,  and  the  dif- 
ficulty I  have  suggested  may  not  be  an  insuperable  one.'  [Inasmuch  as  this  'new 
map'  was  adapted  for  insertion  in  both  the  first  and  the  second  editions  of  Hakluyt, 
Hallam's  cautious  remark  that  it  is  to  be  found  in  a  very  few  copies  of  the  first  edi- 
tion is  evidently  correct.  If  on  preceding  maps  the  Indies  were  already  marked, 
however  imperfectly,  on  any  new  map  the  statement  that  it  had  the  '  addition  of 
the  Indies,'  would  have  been  false;  consequently  'augmentation'  was  the  only 
word  that  could  be  used ;  and  this,  as  Hunter  and  Dr  Wright  remark,  sounds  so 
like  a  title,  advertised  on  the  map  itself,  that  one  cannot  help  regretting  that  this 
insignificant  link  is  lacking  in  Mr  Coote's  admirably  welded  chain. — ED.] 

80,  81.  I  can  hardly  forbeare  hurling  things  at  him]  O  mighty  Master ! 

82.  strike  him]  STEEVENS  :  We  may  suppose  that  in  an  age  when  ladies  struck 
their  servants,  the  box  on  the  ear  which  Queen  Elizabeth  is  said  to  have  given  to 
the  Earl  of  Essex  was  not  regarded  as  a  transgression  against  the  rules  of  common 
behaviour. 


ACT  in,  sc.  iii.]  OR,  WHAT  YOU  WILL  211 

And  not  all  loue  to  fee  you  (though  fo  much  8 

As  might  haue  drawne  one  to  a  longer  voyage) 

But  iealoufie,  what  might  befall  your  rrauell,  IO 

Being  skilleffe  in  thefe  parts  :  which  to  a  ftranger, 

Vnguided,  and  vnfriended,  often  proue 

Rough,  and  vnhofpitable.     My  willing  loue, 

The  rather  by  thefe  arguments  of  feare 

Set  forth  in  your  purfuite.  15 

Seb.     My  kinde  Anthonio, 
I  can  no  other  anfwer  make,  but  thankes, 
And  thankes  :  and  euer  oft  good  turnes,  1 8 

9.  one}  me  Heath,  Dyce  ii,  iii,  Huds.         thanks ;  and  very  oft  good  turns  Coll. 
voyage)']  voyage.   Rowe  ii,   Pope.         ii,   iii    (MS),    Dyce   ii,   iii.     And  ever 

voyage.)  Theob.  Warb.  Johns,    voyage;  thanks:  and  oft  good  turns   Sing.   ii. 

Han.  And  thanks,  and  ever  thanks ;  though 

10.  rrauell}  travellY^.  oft  good  turns  Lettsom  ap.  Dyce.     And 
14.  feare}  fear,  Pope  et  seq.  thanks  :  and  very  oft  good  turns  Wh.  i. 
18,  19.  Om.  Ff,  Rowe.  And  thanks,  and  thanks;  and  very  oft 
18.  And  thankes :  and  euer  oft  good  good  turns  Wh.   i  conj.     And  thanks, 

turnes}   Knt.     And  thanks  :  and  ever  and  ever  oft  good  turns  Hal.  Symons- 

oft-good  turns  Pope  i.      And  thanks:  And    thanks;     and    ever  ...  oft    good 

and  ever-oft  good  turns  Pope  ii.     And  turns   Cam.    Glo.    Wright,  Cholmeley, 

thanks,  and  ever  thanks ;  and  oft  good  Chambers,  Gollancz.     And  thanks,  and 

turns  Theob.  Han.   Warb.  Johns.  Cap.  ever  thanks.    Good  turns  oft  Ktly.    And 

Del.  Dyce  i,  Sta.  Hunter,  Rife,  Verity.  thanks,  and  ever  thanks  ;  too  oft  good 

And  thanks,  and  ever.      Oft  good  turns  turns  Seymour,  Huds.  Conrad,  Innes, 

Var. '73.     And  thanks,  and  ever:   oft  Lee.  And  thanks;  and  ever  thanks.  How 

good  turns  Var.  '78,  '85,  Coll.  i.    And  oft  good  turns  Abbott  (Index  p.  497). 

thanks  again,  and  ever.    Oft  good  turns  Dtn.     And  thanks,  and  thanks;  and 

Toilet,   Ran.      And  thanks,  and  ever  ever  oft  good  turns  Wh.  ii.    And  thanks 

thanks :  oft  good  turns  Mai.    Perring.  add  every  hour — though  oft  good  turns 

And  thanks,    and  ever  thanks :   often  Bulloch.      And  thanks,   and  evermore 

good  turns  Steev.  Var.  '03,  '13,  '21,  thanks.      Oft  good  turns  Orger. 
Sing,   i,   Harness.      And  thanks,  still 

8.  not  all  loue]  CAPELL  (p.  149)  :  These  lines  are  most  defectively  worded,  and 
to  be  supply'd  in  this  manner:  '  Nor  was  love  to  see  you  all  the  cause,  (though  so 
much  was  that  love's  quantity,  as  might,  etc. 

9.  haue  drawne  one]  HEATH  (p.   192)  conjectured  '  drawn  me';  again  sug- 
gested by  WALKER  (Crit.  iii,  87),  who  cites  Dyce,  Remarks,  p.  16,  where  we  read  : 
'The  word   "one"   is  frequently  printed  by  mistake  for  me ;  e.g.  in  Beaumont  & 
Fletcher,  The  Bloody  Brother,  I,  i,  we  find,  according  to  410,  1639,  and  folio,  1679  : 
"  'Twas  not  in  one,  my  lord,  to  alter  nature,"  while  4to,  1640,  gives  rightly,  "  'Twas 
not  in  me,  my  lord,"  etc.'  [Me  is  better  than  '  one,'  but,  inasmuch  as  '  one  '  makes 
tolerable  sense,  the  propriety  of  change  is  doubtful. — ED.] 

10.  iealousie]  That  is,   suspicion,   apprehension,  as  in  Much  Ado,  II,  ii,  45  : 
'iealousie  shall  be  cal'd  assurance.' 

18.  And  thankes  :  and  euer  oft  good  turnes]  THEOBALD  :  This  line  is  too 


212  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  in,  sc.  iii. 

Are  fhuffel'd  off  with  fuch  vncurrant  pay : 

But  were  my  worth,  as  is  my  confcience  firme,  20 

You  fhould  finde  better  dealing  :  what's  to  do  ? 

Shall  we  go  fee  the  reliques  of  this  Towne  ? 

Ant.     To  morrow  fir,  beft  firft  go  fee  your  Lodging  ? 

Seb.     I  am  not  weary,  and  'tis  long  to  night 
I  pray  you  let  vs  fatisfie  our  eyes  25 

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  thefe  ftreetes. 
Once  in  a  fea-fight  'gainft  the  Count  his  gallies,  30 

20.  worth]  wealth  Coll.  MS.  28.   Would...  me  .•]  Would  you  pardon 

23.  Lodging ?~\  Lodging.  Ff.  me?  Coll.  MS  ap.  Cam. 

28.   Would   youVd]    'Would,  you'd  youl'd]  F3. 

Theob.  Warb.  Johns.  30.  Count  his\  Duke  his  Rowe,  + . 

short  by  a  whole  foot.  Then,  who  ever  heard  of  this  goodly  double  adverb  '  ever-oft,' 
which  seems  to  have  as  much  propriety  as  always-sometimes  ?  [The  Text.  Notes 
furnish  twenty-one  readings,  adopted  by  fifty-two  editors  and  critics,  not  counting 
KNIGHT,  who  sturdily  and  in  obscurity  follows  the  Folio.  The  comments  are  few 
and  scanty ;  they  consist,  in  the  main,  of  simple  statements  that  the  line  should  be 
read  thus  and  so.  R.  G.  WHITE  pronounces  the  reading  of  Collier's  MS  Corrector 
the  'best  possible  emendation'  of  'ever,'  yet  he  does  not  adopt  it  in  his  First 
Edition  ;  and  he  himself  proposes  a  reading  which  he  does  not  adopt  in  his 
Second.  W.  A.  WRIGHT  says  that  Theobald's  reading  would  be  improved  by  sub- 
stituting for  oft  instead  of  'and  oft';  which  is  virtually  Lettsom's  emendation. 
Theobald's  text  has  the  largest  following,  and,  with  either  Lettsom's  or  Wright's 
modification,  would  be,  I  think,  the  best  that  can  be  done  with  the  line,  which,  be 
it  noted,  the  other  Folios  shrewdly  omitted  altogether. — ED.] 

20.  worth]  M.  MASON  :  This  means,  in  this  place,  wealth  or  fortune. — DYCK 
(Note  on  'I  know  the  gentleman  To  be  of  worth  and  worthy  estimation.' — Two 
Gent.  II,  iv,  56)  :  '  Worth '  is  often  used  by  our  early  writers  as  equivalent  to  '  sub- 
stance, wealth ' ;  compare,  '  They  are  but  beggars  that  can  count  their  worth  ;  But 
my  true  love  is  grown  to  such  excess,  I  cannot  sum  up  half  my  sum  of  wealth.'' — 
Rom.  &  Jul.  II,  vi.  '  This  is  the  life  of  the  Prigger,  who  trauailes  vp  and  downe 
the  whole  kingdome  vpon  his  geldings  of  20  and  40  pound  price,  and  is  taken  for  a 
man  of  good  worth  by  his  outward  show,'  etc. — Dekker*s  Belman  of  London,  sig. 
G2,  ed.  1608. 

20.  as  is  my  conscience]  That  is,  as  is  my  consciousness  of  what  is  your  due. 

21.  what's  to  do]  That  is,  to  be  done.     For  other  examples  of  the  use  of  the 
infinitive  active  where  we  should  use  the  passive,  see  ABBOTT,  §  359,  p.  259. 

22.  go  see]  See,  if  need  be,  '  go  hunt,'  I,  i,  19. 

22.  the  reliques]  MALONE  :  These  words  are  explained  by  lines  25-27. 
30.  Count  his  gallies]  MALONE  :  I  suspect  our  author  wrote, — 'County's  gallies,' 
»nd  that  the  transcriber's  ear  deceived  him.     [For  'transcriber's'  read  compositor's. 


ACT  in,  sc.  iii.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  213 

I  did  fome  feruice,  of  fuch  note  indeede,  31 

That  were  I  tane  heere,  it  would  fcarfe  be  anfwerM. 

Seb,    Belike  you  flew  great  number  of  his  people. 

Ant.     Th  offence  is  not  of  fuch  a  bloody  nature, 
Albeit  the  quality  of  the  time,  and  quarrell  35 

Might  well  haue  given  vs  bloody  argument : 
It  might  haue  fince  bene  anfwer'd  in  repaying 
What  we  tooke  from  them,  which  for  Traffiques  fake 
Moft  of  our  City  did.     Onely  my  felfe  ftood  out , 
For  which  if  I  be  lapfed  in  this  place  40 

I  fhall  pay  deere. 

32.  lane]  Ff.     to? en  Rowe.  Dyce  ii,  iii.      The  offence  Cap.  et  cet. 

33.  people.]  people?  Dyce,  Sta.  35.  of  the]  of  F3F4,  Rowe  i. 

34.  Th  offence]  Ff,  Rowe,  +  ,  Wh.  i, 

—Eo.] — WALKER  (Crit.  iii,  87):  The  use  of  'his'  as  a  separate  word, 
instead  of  the  termination  s  (now  written  's)  in  the  genitive  singular,  is  generally 
rare  in  the  Elizabethan  poets,  except  in  those  cases  where  the  substitution  does  not 
increase  the  number  of  syllables.  Read,  therefore,  'the  County's  gallies.'  In  like 
manner,  All*s  Well,  III,  vii, — 'the  Count  he  is  my  husband';  'the  Count  he  woos 
your  daughter ' ;  read  '  the  County  is,'  etc.,  '  the  County  woos,'  etc. — W.  A.  WRIGHT  : 
In  the  Authorised  Version  of  1611,  in  the  contents  of  Ruth  iii,  we  find  :  '  By  Naomi 
her  instruction,  Ruth  lieth  at  Boaz  his  feete.'  See  ABBOTT,  §  217. 

32.  answer'd]  That  is,  defended.     In  line  37,  it  means  compensated. 

33.  great  number]  For  the  construction,  see  III,  i,  98. 

36.  argument]  That  is,  cause,  reason.  Compare  Hamlet,  IV,  iv,  54,  '  Rightly 
to  be  great  Is  not  to  stir  without  great  argument,'  etc. 

40.  lapsed]  HUNTER  (i,  408)  :  If  authorities  could  be  produced  for  the  use  of 
lapse  in  this  sense  \i.  e.  taken,  surprised],  which  perhaps  may  be  done,  no  more  is 
to  be  said.  But  lapse  is  generally  understood  to  mean  something  which  does  not  in 
the  least  suit  this  passage,  while  there  was  a  word  latched,  very  like  it,  the  sense  of 
which  is  consistent.  Take  an  example  of  its  use  from  Golding's  Ovid :  'A  flaming 
firebrand  from  amidst  an  altar  Rhoetus  snatch' t  With  which  upon  the  left  side  of  his 
head  Charaxus  lacht  A  blow  that  crack't  his  skull.'— Bk.  xii.  So,  in  Palsgrave: 
'  If  I  had  latched  the  pot  in  time  it  had  not  fallen  to  the  ground.'  Again,  '  A  sound 
being  made  by  the  clashing  of  hard  things  together,  and  latched  by  the  outward 
ear.' — Gate  of  Language,  p.  330.  It  appears  to  be  nearly  the  same  word  with  catch. 
[KEIGHTLEY  adopted  this  change,  which  is  certainly  very  tempting,  but  not 
absolutely  necessary.  Hunter  might  have  added,  '  I  have  words  That  would  be 
howl'd  out  in  the  desert  air,  Where  hearing  should  not  latch  them.' — Macbeth,  IV, 
iii,  195,  and  notes  in  this  ed.;  also,  in  Sonnet  113,  6 :  '  For  it  [i.  e.  the  eye]  no  form 
delivers  to  the  heart  Of  bird,  of  flower,  or  shape,  which  it  doth  latch.'  The  word 
'latch't'  in  Mid,  N.  D.  Ill,  ii,  38,  is  of  a  different  derivation,  according  to  Skeat, 
meaning  to  drip,  or  cause  to  drop.  SCHMIDT  ( Lex.)  defines  '  lapsed '  as  '  surprised, 
taken  in  the  act';  and  gives  two  examples,  the  present  phrase  and  Hamlet,  III,  iv, 
107  ;  but  to  neither  does  his  definition  completely  apply  (the  passage  in  Hamlet, 
4  who  lapsed  in  fume  and  passion,'  is  altogether  misinterpreted).  The  Century  Diet. 


214  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  in,  sc.  iii. 

Seb.    Do  not  then  walke  too  open.  42 

Ant.     It  doth  not  fit  me  :  hold  fir,  here's  my  purfe, 
In  the  South  Suburbes  at  the  Elephant 

Is  beft  to  lodge  :  I  will  befpeake  our  dyet,  45 

Whiles  you  beguile  the  time,  and  feed  your  knowledge 
With  viewing  of  the  Towne,  there  fhall  you  haue  me. 

Seb.    Why  I  your  purfe  ? 

Ant.     Haply  your  eye  fhall  light  vpon  fome  toy 
You  haue  defire  to  purchafe :  and  your  ftore  50 

I  thinke  is  not  for  idle  Markets,  fir. 

Seb.     lie  be  your  purfe-bearer,  and  leaue  you 
For  an  houre. 

Ant.     To  th'Elephant. 

Seb.    I  do  remember.  Exeunt.  55 

45.  46.    lodge  ...  knowledge]   lodg ...  Cap.  Var.  Mai.  Steev.  Van  Dyce,  Hal. 
knowledg  F4.  Wh.  i.     Prose,  Var.  '21,  Coll. 

46.  the  time]  your  time  Theob.   ii,  54.  tK  Elephant]  Ff,  Rowe,  +  ,  Wh. 
Warb.  Johns.  Var.  '73,  '78,  '85,  Ran.  i,  Dyce  ii,  iii,  Huds.    the  elephant  Cap. 

47.  Towne,]  town;  Theob.  et  seq.  the  Elephant  Var.  '73  et  cet. 
52,  53.  He. ..For]  One  line,  Theob.  +  , 

has  no  reference  to  '  lapse '  as  here  used ;  but  Webster' s  International  gives  the 
present  passage  as  an  example  of  the  meaning,  '  to  surprise  in  a  fault  or  error ; 
hence  to  surprise  or  catch,  as  an  offender.' — ED.] 

44.  the   Elephant]    HALLIWELL  :    The  Elephant  was  a  well-known   sign   in 
London,  and  Shakespeare  was  unquestionably  thinking  of  his  own  country,  both  in 
the  writing  of  this  passage  and  in  the  subsequent  one  which  alludes  to  the  bells  of 
St.  Bennet.     « The  Elephant  and  Castle '  was,  and  is,  a  still  more  common  sign. 
In  MS  Ashmol,  334,  a  medical  MS  written  in  1610  and  1611,  mention  is  made  of 
'  Mr  Dee  at  the  signe  of  the  Elephant  and  Castle  by  Fleet  condyt,  an  apothecaryes 
howse.'     There  was  an  'Elephant  and  Castle'  near  the  Royal  Exchange  in  Corn- 
hill,  1681. — W.  A.  WRIGHT:  If  it  were  not  an  anachronism,  I  should  like  to  sug- 
gest that  Shakespeare  might  be  thinking  of  the  Elephant  and  Castle  at  Newington, 
which  is  in  '  the  south  suburbs ' ;  but  I  have  been  unable  to  trace  that  inn  further 
back  than  the  middle  of  the  seventeenth  century. 

45.  Is  best]  For  other  examples  of  the  ellipsis  of  '  it,'   see  ABBOTT,   §  404, 
p.  291  ;  also  'that  satisfaction  can  be  none,'  III,  iv,  237,  where  there  is  an  ellipsis 
of  there. 

45.  dyet]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  That  is,  food  or  fare  generally ;  not,  as  now,  pre- 
scribed or  limited  food.  In  Shakespeare's  time  it  had  the  sense  of  '  daily  food,' 
as  is  clear  from  Cotgrave,  who  gives  :  '  Diete  :  f.  Diet  or  dailie  fare,'  supposing  it  to 
be  from  the  Latin  dies  instead  of  the  Greek  Siaira. 

47.  With  viewing]  See  I,  v,  76,  77,  'for  the  better  increasing.'  Here  the  defi- 
nite article  is  absorbed  in  the  final  th  of  '  With  ' :  '  With'  viewing.' — ED. 

51.  is  not  for]  That  is,  is  not  fit  for,  or  full  enough.  See,  '  I  will  on  with  my 
speech,'  I,  v,  189. 


ACT  in,  sc.  iv.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  215 


Sccena  Quarta. 


Enter  Oliuia  and  Maria.  2 

Ol.     I  haue  fent  after  him,  he  fayes  hee'l  come : 
How  fliall  I  feaft  him  ?    What  beftow  of  him  f  4 

I.  Scoena...]  Scene  VIII.  Pope,  +  .  3.  he  fayes  Aee't]  say,  he  wi//Theob. 

Olivia's  House.  Rowe.      Olivia's  say  he  -will  Han. 

Garden.  Cap.  4.  Of  hini\  on  him  Pope,  +  ,  Var.  '73, 

3.   [Aside.  Sta.  Huds.  Ran.  Steev.  Var. 
him,]  him  :  Rowe  et  seq. 

3.  he  sayes]  THEOBALD  :  But  who  [«V]  did  he  say  so  to  ?  Or  from  whom 
could  my  Lady  have  such  intelligence?  Her  servant  was  not  yet  return' d ;  and, 
when  he  does  return,  he  brings  word  that  the  youth  would  hardly  be  entreated  back. 
I  am  persuaded,  she  was  intended  rather  to  be  in  suspense,  and  deliberating  with 
herself ;  putting  the  supposition  that  he  would  come ;  and  asking  herself,  in  that 
case,  how  she  should  entertain  him.  I  imagine,  therefore,  the  Poet  wrote :  '  Say, 
he  will  come ' ;  so  Viola,  before,  in  this  play  :  '  Say,  I  do  speak  with  her,  my  lord ; 
what  then  ?'  So,  Petruchio  in  the  Tarn,  of  the  Shrew  :  '  Say,  that  she  rail ;  why, 
then  I'll  tell  her  plain,'  etc.  And  in  numberless  other  passages. — WARBURTON  : 
That  is,  I  suppose  now,  or  admit  now,  he  says  he'll  come;  which  Mr  Theobald, 
not  understanding,  alters  unnecessarily  to  'say  he  will  come.'  [These  two  notes 
are  here  given  in  full  as  a  fresh  instance  of  the  high-handed  treatment  which 
Theobald  received  at  the  hand  of  Warburton.  (Happily,  Theobald  was  dead 
when  Warburton' s  edition  appeared;  and  never  knew  the  bitter  unkindness 
of  him  who  in  correspondence  constantly  signed  himself  '  your  most  affec- 
tionate friend.')  No  attentive  reader  can  fail  to  note  that  Warburton  deliber- 
ately appropriates  Theobald's  explanation,  and  then  accuses  Theobald  of  fail- 
ing to  understand  the  passage.  It  would  not  have  been  worth  while  to  call 
attention  to  this  incident,  were  it  not  that  in  consequence  of  the  insertion  of  War- 
burton's  note  in  the  Variorum  of  1821,  while  Theobald's  was  ignored,  whatsoever 
credit  is  due  to  the  explanation  is  given,  and  to  this  day,  to  Warburton. — ED.] 
CAPELL  (p.  149)  gives  the  same  explanation  as  Theobald  :  '  Admit  his  answer  be — 
that  he'll  come.' — HUDSON  believes  that  the  'concessive  sense'  is  required,  not  the 
affirmative  '  he  says,'  and  that  this  sense  is  obtained  '  naturally  enough '  by  the 
simple  transposition,  'says  he,'  'the  subjunctive  being  often  formed  in  that  way.' 
And  so  he  reads  in  his  text. — KARL  ELZE  (p.  183)  :  These  first  four  lines  are  evi- 
dently spoken  aside  by  Olivia,  as  confirmed  by  her  own  words,  '  I  speak  too  loud'; 
only  in  the  fifth  line  she  addresses  Maria.  It  is,  however,  in  the  natural  course  of 
things  that  she  should  have  conversed  with  Maria  on  the  subject  before,  and  that  the 
latter  should  have  tried  to  console  her  enamoured  mistress.  I  should,  accordingly, 
feel  no  hesitation  in  reading  :  tOliv.  [Aside].  I  have  sent  after  him  ;  she  says  he'll 
come,'  etc.  [Theobald's  explanation  seems  to  be  the  true  one,  and  the  text,  with- 
out alteration,  will  bear  it  out. — En.] 

4.  bestow  of  him]  For   other  examples  where  'of  is   equivalent  to   on,  see 


216  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  in,  sc.  iv. 

For  youth  is  bought  more  oft,  then  begg'd,  or  borrow'd.  5 

I  fpeake  too  loud  :  Where's  Maluolio,  he  is  fad,  and  ciuill, 
And  fuites  well  for  a  feruant  with  my  fortunes , 
Where  is  Maluolio  ? 

Mar.     He's  comming  Madame  : 
But  in  very  ftrange  manner.     He  is  fure  poffeft  Madam.  10 

6.  I  fpeake  too  loud]  Ff,  Rowe,  Ktly.  Var.  Dyce,  Coll.  Sta. 
Separate  line,  Pope  et  cet.  9.  He1  s]  He  is  Han. 

Where's']  Ff,  Rowe,  Ktly.     Where  10.  But...poJJ'eJl'\  One  line   (reading 

is  Pope  et  cet.  in  strange  manner),  Han.  Steev.  Var. 

9,  10.  Prose,  Pope  i,  Var.  '21,  Knt.  '03,  '13. 
Glo.   Cam.     He1  s... manner.  One  line,  very]  a  very  Ktly. 

Pope  ii,  Theob.  Warb.  Johns.  Var.  Ran.  Madam]  Om.  Steev.  Var.  '03, '13. 

ABBOTT,  §  175,  who  points  out  that  '  the  connection  between  of  and  on  is  illustrated 
by  Mer.  of  Ven.  II,  ii,  90,  where  old  Gobbo  says,  "  thou  hast  got  more  haire  on  thy 
chin,  than  Dobbin  my  philhorse  has  on  his  taile";  and  Launcelot  retorts,  "I  am 
sure  he  had  more  haire  of  his  taile  than  I  have  of  my  face."  ' — BADHAM,  however 
(p.  273),  'strongly  suspects  that  confusion  has  arisen  from  "of"  in  one  of  the  tran- 
scripts being  so  written  as  to  appear  to  belong  to  the  verse  preceding  its  own,  and 
that  "him"  was  subsequently  added  to  complete •  the  sense.  In  the  original  copy 
Olivia  would  have  said, — "  How  shall  I  feast  him,  what  bestow  ?  for  youth  Is 
bought  more  oft  than  begged  or  borrowed  of."  ' 

6.  sad]  That  is,  grave,  serious,  as  in  line  21,  below.  Compare,  Rosalind's 
'  Speake  sadde  brow  and  true  maid.' — As  You  Like  It,  II,  ii,  209. 

6.  ciuill]  MALONE  :  That  is,  solemn  and  grave.  So,  in  Rom.  &°  Jul.  Ill,  ii,  10, 
'  Come,  civil  night  Thou  sober-suited  matron,  all  in  black,'  etc. — STEEVENS  :  So,  in 
As  You  Like  It,  'Tongues  I'll  hang  on  every  tree  That  shall  civil  sayings  show.' 
[Ill,  ii,  127,  of  this  ed.  where,  see  Note,  if  need  be.] — STAUNTON  :  Interpreted  to 
import  solemn  and  grave,  which  is  mere  tautology.  '  Civil '  here  means  tart,  sour, 
bitter.  Thus,  in  The  Scornful  Lady  of  Beaumont  &  Fletcher  :  '  If  he  be  civil,  not 
your  powder"  d  sugar,  Nor  your  raisins,  shall  persuade  the  captain  To  live  a  coxcomb 
with  him.' [IV,  ii, — a  passage  wherein  it  is  almost  incomprehensible  that  Staunton 
should  have  supposed  the  meaning  of «  civil '  to  be  tart,  sour,  or  bitter.  The  Widow, 
whose  late  husband  had  been  a  grocer,  and,  (as  we  are  expressly  told  in  I,  iii,)  had 
sold  powdered  sugar,  raisins,  etc.,  is  trying  to  make  Young  Loveless  cast  off  his 
boon  companions  who  were  not,  as  she  says,  fit  'to  furnish  out  a  civil  house';  she 
tells  him  he  '  shall  be  civil,  And  slip  off  these  base  trappings,'  whereupon  the  Cap- 
tain, who  was  one  of  the  '  trappings,'  replies,  '  He  shall  not  need,  my  most  sweet 
Lady  Grocer,'  and  then  follows  Staunton' s  quotation,  where  clearly  the  reference  to 
'powdered  sugar'  and  'raisins'  does  not  apply  to  'civil,'  as  though  to  sweeten  its 
tartness,  but  is  merely,  as  Capell  would  say,  a  '  wipe '  on  the  source  of  the  Widow's 
wealth.  Staunton,  in  a  note  on  '  Civil  as  an  orange '  in  Much  Ado,  urged  this  same 
meaning  of  '  Civil '  as  bitter ;  but  the  notion  seemed  so  wide  of  the  mark  that  I  did 
not  refer  to  it  in  the  notes  on  that  passage.  DR  MURRAY,  in  the  N.  E.  D.,  gives  ho 
such  meaning  to  '  civil '  as  Staunton  here  claims  for  it. — ED.] 

9,  10...  1 2- 14.  The  Text.  Notes  show  the  lame  attempts  to  convert  Maria's  honest 
kersey  prose  into  verse. 


ACT  in,  sc.  iv.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  217 

OL     Why  what's  the  matter,  does  he  raue  ?  1 1 

Mar.   No  Madam,  he  does  nothing  but  fmileryour  La- 

dyfhip  were  beft  to  haue  fome  guard  about  you ,   if  hee 

come,  for  fure  the  man  is  tainted  in's  wits. 

OL     Go  call  him  hither.  15 

Enter  Maluolio. 

I  am  as  madde  as  hee, 

If  fad  and  metry  madneffe  equall  bee. 

How  now  Maluolio  ? 

Mai.     Sweet  Lady,  ho,  ho.  20 

OL   Smil'ft  thou  ?    I  fent  for  thee  vpon  a  fad  occafion. 
Mai.     Sad  Lady,  I  could  be  fad  : 

This  does  make  fome  obftru<5lion  in  the  blood : 

This  croffe-gartering,  but  what  of  that  ? 

If  it  pleafe  the  eye  of  one,  it  is  with  me  as  the  very  true  25 

Sonnet  is  :  Pleafe  one,  and  pleafe  all. 

11-14.   Why. ..-wits.]  Four  lines,  end-  Pope  et  cet. 

ing    Madam, ...best. ..come, ...wits.   Cap.  18.  metry]    F,.      mercy  Fa.      merry 

Var.   '78,   '85,    Ran.    Mai.      Ending,  F3F4. 

Madam,  ...  ladyship  ...  come ;  ...  -wits.  19.  How\  Ol.  How  Ft. 

(reading  have  guard )  Steev.  Var.  '03,  20.  ho,   ho.~]    ha,   ha    Ff,    Rowe,  + , 

'13.  Var, '73.     Om.  Cap. 

II.  matter,... raue ?~\  matter  t... rave?  [Smile        fantastically.        Rowe 

Cap.  et  seq.  (Smiles,  Rowe  ii). 

12-14.  Four  lines,  ending  smile;...  21.   I...occafton\  One  line,  Cap.  et  seq. 

guard... man... wits,     (reading   nothing  22—24.  Prose,  Pope  et  seq. 

else')  Han.  22.   Sad  Lady,]  sad,  lady?   Theob- 

14.  m'j]  Ff,  Rowe.  Pope,  Theob.  i,  et  seq.  (subs.) 

Var.  '21,  Coll.  Wh.  Hal.   Dyce,  Cam.  23,  24.  blood:  This  crojfe-gartering,'] 

Rife,     in  his  Theob.  ii  et  cet.  Rowe,  Pope,     blood ;  this  cross-garter- 

15-17.   Go...hee']   One  line,   Cap.   et  ing;  Theob.  Warb.  Johns,     blood,  this 

seq.  cross-gartering,  Han.     blood,  this  cross- 

15.  hither."]    hither.     [Exit     Maria]  gartering;  Cap.  et  seq.  (subs. ) 
Dyce,  Cam.  24.  of  that  /]  of  it  ?  Theob.  ii,  Warb. 

16.  Enter...]  After  line  18,  Cap.  Johns.  Var.  '73.    of  that,  Var.  '03,  '13. 

17.  lani]  Ff,  Rowe,  Var.  '21,  Knt,  26.   is]  it  F,.     has  it  Cap.     hath  it 
Coll.   Wh.   Dyce   i,  Cam.   Rife.      I'm  Coll.  MS. 

13.  were  best]  For  the  construction,  see  I,  v,  30. 

25,  26.  the  very  true  Sonnet]  HALLIWELL  :  An  allusion  to  a  popular  ballad 
of  the  time,  originally  published  in  the  year  1591-2,  according  to  the  following  entry 
in  the  Stationers'  Registers:  'xviij.  die  Januarii,  1591,  Henry  Kyrkham,  entred  for 
his  copie  under  Mr  Watkin's  hande  a  ballad  intituled  the  Crowe  she  sittes  uppon  the 
wall  :  please  one  and  please  all.'  [Halliwell  gives  a  facsimile  of  a  copy]  of  one  of 
the  original  editions  of  this  ballad,  probably  the  first  issued,  from  the  collection  of 
Mr  Daniel.  The  initials  R.  T.  [at  the  end]  perhaps  stand  for  Richard  Tarlton, 


218 


TWELFE  NIGHT 


[ACT  in,  sc.  iv. 


Mai.    Why  how  doeli  thou  man  ?  27 

What  is  the  matter  with  thee  ? 

Mai.     Not  blacke  in  my  minde,  though  yellow  in  my  29 

27.  Mai.]  Ol.  Ff.  Why,  Cap.  et  seq.  (subs.) 

27,  28.  Prose,  Pope  et  seq.  27.  doejf\  do'Jl  F3F4. 

27.  Why}  F2.    Why?  F3F4,  Rowe,  +  . 

the  celebrated  actor.  If  so,  the  ballad  must  have  been  current  some  time  before  its 
publication  in  1592,  as  Tarlton  died  in  1588. — W.  A.WRIGHT:  Only  one  copy  is 
known  to  exist,  in  the  collection  formerly  belonging  to  the  library  at  Helmingham, 
which  was  sold  at  Mr  George  Daniel's  sale,  and  is  now  in  the  possession  of  Mr 
Huth. — STAUNTON  :  It  is  adorned  with  a  rude  portrait  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  with 
her  feathered  fan,  starched  ruff,  and  ample  farthingale.  The  numbers  of  this  relic  are 
not  lofty,  nor  the  expression  very  felicitous  ;  but  '  Please  One  and  Please  All '  is 
worth  preserving,  both  as  an  illustration  of  Shakespeare,  and  as  a  specimen  of  the 
quaint  and  simple  old  ballad  literature  of  our  forefathers  : — 

A   prettie   newe   Ballad,    intytuled: 
The  Crowe  sits  vpon  the  Wall, 
Please  one  and  please  all. 
To  the  tune  of,  Please  one  and  please  all. 


Please  one  and  please  all, 
Be  they  great  be  they  small, 
Be  they  little  be  they  lowe, 
So  pypeth,  the  Crowe, 

sitting  vpon  a  wall : 

please  one  and  please  all.  \bis.~\ 

Be  they  white  be  they  black, 
Have  they  a  smock  on  their  back, 
Or  a  kircher  on  her  head, 
Whether  they  spin  silke  or  thred, 
whatsoeuer  they  them  call : 
please  one  and  please  all.  \bis.~\ 

Be  they  sluttish  be  they  gay, 
Loue  they  worke  or  loue  they  play, 
Whatsoeuer  be  theyr  cheere, 
Drinke  they  Ale  or  drinke  they  beere, 
whether  it  be  strong  or  small : 
please  one  and  please  all.  [bis.~\ 


The  goodwife  I  doo  meane, 
Be  shee  fat  or  be  she  leane, 
Whatsoeuer  that  she  be, 
This  the  Crowe  tolde  me, 

sitting  vppon  a  wall  : 

please  one  and  please  all.  \bis."\ 

Be  she  cruell  be  she  curst, 
Come  she  last  come  she  first, 
Be  they  young  be  they  olde, 
Doo  they  smile  doo  they  skould, 
though  they  doo  nought  at  all : 
please  one  and  please  all.  [bis.] 

Though  it  be  some  Crowes  guise, 

Oftentimes  to  tell  lyes, 

Yet  this  Crowes  words  dooth  try, 

That  her  tale  is  no  lye, 

For  thus  it  is  and  euer  shall : 
please  one  and  please  all.  [bis,~\ 


[I  have  given  a  selection  from  the  nineteen  stanzas  as  a  sufficient  taste  of  their 
quality, — quite  sufficient  to  please  certainly  one  and  please  possibly  all. — ED.] 

27.  Mai.]  This  error  was  quickly  corrected  in  the  Second  Folio.  COLLIER  con- 
jectured that  the  speech  may  '  in  fact  belong  to  Maria,  Mai.  having  been  printed 
instead  of  Mar.1 

29.  blacke  .  .  .  yellow]  COLLIER  :  There  was  an  old  ballad  tune  called  '  Black 
and  Yellow,'  and  to  this  Malvolio  may  allude. 


ACT  HI,  sc.  iv.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  219 

legges  :  It  did  come  to  his  hands,  and  Commaunds  (hall  30 

be  executed.     I  thinke  we  doe  know  the  fweet  Romane 
hand. 

01.    Wilt  thou  go  to  bed  Maluolio  ? 

Mai.     To  bed  ?   I  fweet  heart,  and  He  come  to  thee. 

Ol.    God  comfort  thee  :  Why  doft  thou  fmile  fo,  and  35 

kiffe  thy  hand  fo  oft  ? 

Mar.     How  do  you  Maluolio  ? 

Maluo.    At  your  requeft  : 
Yes  Nightingales  anfwere  Dawes. 

Mar.     Why  appeare  you  with  this  ridiculous  bold-  40 

neffe  before  my  Lady. 

Mai.     Be  not  afraid  of  greatneffe  :  'twas  well  writ. 

OL    What  meanft  thou  by  that  Maluolio  ? 

Mai.     Some  are  borne  great. 

01.    Ha  ?  45 

Mai.     Some  atcheeue  greatneffe. 

01.    What  fayft  thou  ? 

Mai.     And  fome  haue  greatneffe  thruft  vpon  them. 

Ol.     Heauen  reftore  thee. 

Mai.     Remember  who  commended  thy  yellow  (lock-  50 

ings. 

Ol.    Thy  yellow  (lockings  ?  $2 

30.  Commaunds]  Ff.  39.   Yes]    Yes,    F4,    Rowe,  +  .       Yes; 

31.  the  fweet]  that  sweet  Rowe  ii,  +  .  Cap  et  cet. 

33.  thou]  Om.  Voss  conj.  41.   Lady]  Lady?  Ff. 

35.  fo]    Om.    Voss    conj.    (reading  43.  mean/I]  Han.    meant/I  Ff  et  cet. 
God...kijJ'e  as  one  line).                                       44,  46,  48,  50,  53,  55,  ending  with  a 

38,  39.  At...Daives]  Prose,  Cap.  et  dash,  Rowe  et  seq.  (subs.)  As  quota- 

seq.  tions,  Han.  Cap.  et  seq. 

38.  requeft  :]  request  I  Rowe  i.  re-  52.  Thy]  My  Lettsom,  Dyce  ii,  Huds. 

quest  f  Rowe  ii.  Wh,  ii. 

36.  kisse  thy  hand]  BRIGHTON  :   Compare   Othello,  II,  i,   175,   'it  had  been 
better  you  had  not  kissed  your  three  fingers  so  oft,  which  now  again  you  are  most 
apt  to  play  the  sir  in,'  i.  e.  display  your  courtly  manners,  as  Malvolio  here  fancies  he 
is  doing. 

38,  39.  At  your  .  .  .  Dawes]  DEIGHTON  :  What !  am  I  to  answer  the  question 
when  addressed  by  such  as  you  are  ?  yes,  I  will,  for  nightingales  sometimes  answer 
the  notes  of  jackdaws,  and  therefore  I  may  without  loss  of  dignity  answer  the  ques- 
tion of  a  mere  servant  like  Maria. 

52.  Thy  yellow  stockings  ?]  DYCE  (ed.  i)  :  Mr  W.  N.  Lettsom  would  read 
'  My  yellow  stockings  !'  for  Olivia  had  no  idea  that  Malvolio  is  quoting  the  letter; 
and  when  he  presently  continues  '  Go  to,  thou  art  made,  if  thou  desirest  to  be  so,' 


220  TIVELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  in,  sc.  iv. 

Mai.     And  wifh'd  to  fee  thee  croffe  gartered.  53 

Ol.    Croffe  garterM  ? 

Mai.     Go  too,  thou  art  made,  if  thou  defir'ft  to  be  fo.  55 

Ol.    Am  I  made  ? 

Mai.     If  not,  ler  me  fee  thee  a  feruant  Mill. 

01.     Why  this  is  verie  Midfommer  madneffe.  58 

53.  And  wifli'd]  •wiJJt'd  F4,  Rowe  i.  58.  is  verie]  is  a  very  Theob.  ii,  Warb. 

55.  Gotoo,~\  Goto,  F4.  Johns.  Var.  '73,  '78,  '85,  Ran. 

57.  ler]  F,.  Midfommer]  F2. 

she  exclaims  'Am  /made?'  [Dyce  adopted  this  conjecture  in  the  text  of  his  Second 
Edition  (and  therein  was  followed  by  HUDSON,  WHITE  (ed.  ii),  and  CONRAD),  but 
wisely  deserted  it  in  his  Third  Edition,  on  the  true  ground  that  the  old  text  is 
'a  mere  re-echoing  [wV]  by  Olivia  of  Mai volio's  words.'  Lettsom's  suggestion  is 
unquestionably  a  happy  one,  as  many  a  suggestion  of  his  is,  but  I  fear  it  verges  too 
far  toward  improving  Shakespeare. — ED.] 

56.  made]  DYCE  (ed.  ii)  :  Manningham  in  his  Diary  [see  Preface  to  the  pres- 
ent volume. — ED.]  speaks  of  Olivia  as  being  a  'widow';  and  Mr  Collier  remarks 
that  'in  Rich's  novel  the  lady  Julina,  who  answers  to  Olivia,  is  a  widow,  but  in 
Shakespeare  she  never  had  been  married.     It  is  possible  that  in  the  form  in  which 
the  comedy  was  performed  on  Feb.  2,  1601-2,  she  was  a  widow,  and  that  the  author 
subsequently  made  the  change  ;  but  it  is  more  likely,  as  Olivia  must  have  been  in 
mourning  for  the  loss  of  her  brother,  that  Manningham  mistook  her  condition,  and 
concluded  hastily  that  she  lamented  the  loss  of  her  husband.' — Introd.  to  Twelfth 
Night.    Mr  Peacock,  too,  believes  that  Manningham  has  made  a  mistake  in  '  calling 
Olivia  a  widow.' — Preface  to  his  translation  of  Gl'   Ingannati,  p.  6.      But  Mr 
Lettsom  thinks  very  differently.     On  the  present  speech  of  Olivia,  '  Am  I  made  ?' 
he  observes:    'This,  and  Malvolio's  speeches  just  above,  show  that  Collier  was 
wrong  in  supposing  that  Manningham  mistook  the  condition  of  Olivia.     In  the  play 
as  we  have  it,  this  part  has  little  comic  power;  but  nothing  could  have  been  more 
effective  than  the  natural  astonishment  of  the  -widow  Olivia,  when  she  heard  her 
steward  (as  she  understood  him)  talking  of  her  yellow  stockings,  her  cross-gartering, 
and  finally  of  her  virgin  state  ;  for  I  have  no  doubt  that  Shakespeare  originally  wrote 
"Am  I  maid?'1'   [This  seems  to  me  extremely  doubtful,  unless  Lettsom  means 
that  the  present  text  is  not  that  which  Manningham  heard.     First,  had  Lettsom's 
interpretation  been  intended,  it  is  likely  that  the  phrase  would  have  been  '  Am  I 
a  maid  ?'      Secondly,  at  the  very  beginning  of  the  play,  Olivia  is  described  as  a 
'maid';  it  would  therefore  cause  her  no  surprise  to  be  called  one.     Whereas  she 
might  well  express  utter  bewilderment  over  the  assurance  that  she  had  but  to  wish 
and  her  fortune  would  be  'made.' — ED.] 

58.  Midsommer  madnesse]  STEEVENS  :  "Tis  midsummer  moon  with  you,'  is 
a  proverb  in  Ray's   Collection;  signifying,  you  are  mad. — HALLIWELL  '  He  wyll 
waxe  madde  this  mydsommer  moone  if  you  take  nat  good  hede  on  hym.' — Pals- 
grave^. 775,  ed.  1852].      Again,  'And   that  your  grace  may  see  what  a  meer 
madnesse,  a  very  mid-summer  frenzy,  'tis   to   be   melancholy,   for   any  man  that 
wants  no  monie.' — Chapman's  Revenge  for  Honour,\\,  i.    Many  other  examples 
are  added.] 


ACT  in,  sc.  iv.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  221 

Enter  Seruant. 

Ser.     Madame,  the  young  Gentleman  of  the  Count          60 
Or/ino's  is  return'd,  I  could  hardly  entreate  him  backe  :  he 
attends  your  Ladyfhips  pleafure. 

01.     He  come  to  him. 

Good  Maria,  let  this  fellow  be  look  d  too.    Where's  my 
Cofine  Toby,  let  fome  of  my  people  haue  a  fpeciall  care  65 

of  him,    I  would  not  haue  him  mifcarrie  for  the  halfe  of 
my  Dowry.  exit 

Mai.     Oh  ho,  do  you  come  neere  me  now  :  no  worfe 
man  then  fir  Toby  to  looke  to  me.    This  concurres  direct- 
ly with  the  Letter,  fhe  fends  him  on  purpofe,  that  I  may  70 
appeare  ftubborne  to  him  :   for  fhe  incites  me  to  that  in 
the  Letter.    Caft  thy  humble  flough  fayes  (he  :  be  oppo- 
fite  with  a  Kinfman,  furly  with  feruants,  let  thy  tongue 
langer  with  arguments  of  ftate,   put  thy  felfe  into  the 
tricke  of  fmgularity  :  and  confequently  fetts  downe  the  75 
manner  how  :  as  a  fad  face,  a  reuerend  carriage,  a  flow 
tongue,  in  the  habite  of  fome  Sir  of  note,  and  fo  foorth.  77 

60.  Count]  Duke  Rowe,  + .  Oh,   ho,    Rowe,  Theob.    i.      Oh,  oh ! 

63.  him.]  him.  [Exit  Sen]  Cap.  Theob.  ii,  Warb.  Johns.     O,  ho!  Cam. 

64.  too."]  to.  F3F4.  68.  now  :]  now  ?  F4. 

65.  Co/ine]  Uncle  Rowe  ii, +.  69.  me.~\  me !  Rowe. 
Toby,]  Tb^y/Rowe.  70.  Letter,]  letter;  Theob. 

66.  the  halfe]  ^a^Theob.  ii,  Warb.  72-75.   Cajl...fmgularity\  As  a  quo- 
Johns,                                                                    tation,  Han.  Cap.  et  seq. 

67.  exit]  Exeunt  Oliv.  and  Mar.  Cap.  74.  langer  with]  tang  Cap.  Dyce  ii. 
Scene  VIII.  Pope,  +  .                            twang  Huds.     tang  with  Ff.  et  cet. 

68.  Oh  ho,]    Ff,    Pope,    Han.   Cap. 

61.  entreate  him  backe]  For  other  examples  of  the  omission  of  the  verb  with 
adverbs  implying  motion,  see  ABBOTT,  §§  30,  32,  41. 

66.  miscarrie]  SCHMIDT  (Lex.}  supplies  many  examples  of  the  use  of  this  word 
in  the  sense  of  to  come  to  grief  or  mischance. 

68.  do  you  come  neere  me  now:]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  That  is,  do  you  understand 
me  now  ?  do  you  know  who  I  am  ? 

72,  73.  opposite]  See  II,  v,  140. 

74.  langer]  See  Text.  Notes,  and  II,  v,  141. 

75.  consequently]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  That  is,  accordingly,  in  accordance  there- 
with.    Compare  King  John,  IV,  ii,  240 :  '  Yea,  without  stop,  didst  let  thy  heart 
consent,  And  consequently  thy  rude  hand  to  act  The  deed,  which  both  our  tongues 
held  vile  to  name.'   [A  better  definition  than  that  given  by  Schmidt  ( Lex. )  of  '  pur- 
suantly,  thereafter,'  which  denotes  sequence  in  time. — ED.] 

77.  some  Sir  of  note]  See  Deighton's  quotation  at  line  36,  from  Othello  ;  also 
Wint.  Tale,  IV,  iv,  390  :  '  O  heare  me  breath  my  life  Before  this  ancient  Sir.' 


222  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  in,  sc.  iv. 

I  haue  lymde  her,  but  it  is  loues  doing,  and  loue  make  me  78 

thankefull.    And  when  (he  went  away  now,  let  this  Fel- 
low be  look'd  too  :  Fellow  ?  not  Maluolio,  nor  after  my  80 
degree,  but  Fellow.    Why  euery  thing  adheres  togither, 
that  no  dramme  of  a  scruple,  no  fcruple  of  a  fcruple,  no 
obftacle,  no  incredulous  or  vnfafe  circumftance  :   What 
can  be  faide  ?  Nothing  that  can  be,   can  come  betweene 
me,  and  the  full  profpecT:  of  my  hopes.     Well  loue,  not  I,  85 
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  fan6tity.     If  all  88 

78.  lymdt]  F2.     limde  F3.     limd  F4.  Rowe  et  seq. 

/twVRowe.  83,84.  circuniftance...  Nothing]    cir- 

78,  85.  loues  ...  Ioue\    God's  ...  God  cumstance, — what  can  be  said? — noth- 

Hal.  Huds.  ing  Perring. 

So.  too]  to  Ff.  87.  Scene  IX.  Pope,  +  . 

Fellow  f]  fellow  !  Rowe.  88.  fanftity.']  faniflity  ?  Ff. 

83.  circumjiance  .•]       circumstance — 

78.  lymde]  JOHNSON  ;  That  is,  I  have  entangled  or  caught  her,  as  a  bird  is 
caught  with  birdlime.  [Compare,  Much  Ado,  III,  i,  109:  'Shee's  tane  (limed,  in 
the  Qto)  I  warrant  you,  We  haue  caught  her  Madame.'] 

78.  loues  .  .  .  loue]  See  II,  v,  161.  R.  G.  WHITE  with  plausibility  conjectured 
that  we  should  here  read  Love 's  and  Love. — INNES  :  It  may  be,  however,  that  Mal- 
volio  thought  it  more  becoming  to  adopt  the  pagan  adjurations  of  the  court,  in  lieu 
of  his  previous  puritanism. 

80.  Fellow  ?]  JOHNSON  :  This  word,  which  originally  meant  companion,  was  not 
yet  totally  degraded  to  its  present  meaning  ;  and  Malvolio  takes  it  in  the  favourable 
sense. 

82.  scruple,  no  scruple  of  a  scruple]  KEIGHTLEY  {N.  &>  Qu.  Illrd,  xii,  61, 
1867)  :  To  understand  this  phrase,  we  must  take  the  first  and  last  '  scruple  '  in  the 
moral  sense,  the  second  as  the  weight,  the  third  part  of  a  dram.     I  owe  this  simple 
and  natural  explanation  to  J.  J.  A.  Boase.     [This  is  a  virtual  withdrawal  of  the 
reading:  'no  scruple  of  an  ounce,'  in  Keightley's  edition.     Compare  2  Hen.  IV: 
I,  ii,  149  :  '  But  how  I  should  be  your  patient  to  follow  your  prescriptions,  the  wise 
may  make  some  dram  of  a  scruple,  or  indeed  a  scruple  itself.'] 

83.  incredulous]  WALKER  (Crit.  i,  65)  :  This  maybe  an  erratum  for  incredible  ; 
yet  I  think  not. — W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  This  appears  to  be  here  used  in  an  active  sense. 
Malvolio  would  say  that  nothing  has  occurred  which  would  make  him  incredulous. 
For  instances  of  adjectives  used  both  in  the  active  and  passive  sense,  see  ABBOTT,  §  3. 

88.  sanctity]  WALKER  (Crit.  iii,  88)  :  Certainly  sanity ; — the  same  corruption 
has  taken  place  in  Hamlet,  I,  iii,  early  in  the  scene, — 'on  his  choice  depends  The 
sanctity  and  health  of  the  whole  state  ' ;  for  there  too  sanity  must  be  the  right  read- 
ing ;  '  sanctity,'  at  any  rate,  is  absurd.  Compare  heavily  and  heavenly,  Much  A  Jo, 
V,  iii,  22.  [This  emendation,  more  sure  in  Hamlet  than  here,  is  tempting.  But  Sir 
Toby's  next  words  show  a  connection  of  thought  with  matters  religious,  which 


ACT  in,  sc.  iv.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  22$ 

the  diuels  of  hell  be  drawne  in  little,  and  Legion  himfelfe 

poffeft  him,  yet  He  fpeake  to  him.  90 

Fab.     Heere  he  is,  heere  he  is  :  how  ift  with  you  fir  ? 
How  ift  with  you  man  ? 

Mai.     Go  off,  I  difcard  you  :  let  me  enioy  my  priuate: 
go  off. 

Mar.     Lo,  how  hollow  the  fiend  fpeakes  within  him  ;  95 

89.  of  hell~\    in  hell  Rowe,  +  ,   Cap.  93.  priuate]  privacy  Rowe, +  ,  Coll. 
Var.  Ran.  Steev.  Var.  Knt,  Coll.  Sta.            ii,  iii  (MS). 

90.  po/ejl]  possess  Coll.  MS. 

makes  for  retaining  '  sanctity.'  Moreover,  rather  than  sanity,  should  it  not  be 
insanity  ? — ED.] 

89.  drawne  in  little]  In  a  note  on  '  heauen  would  in  little  show,'  As  You  Like 
It,  III,  ii,  139,  MALONE  observes  that  the  allusion  is  to  a  miniature  portrait  ;  and 
STEEVENS  refers  to  '  give  twenty,  forty,  fifty,  a  hundred  ducats  apiece  for  his  picture 
in  little,' — Hamlet,  II,  ii,  383. — W.  A.WRIGHT  :  In  the  present  passage,  the  phrase 
4  drawn  in  little,'  which  has  this  technical  meaning  [/.  e.  in  miniature],  is  used  in  the 
sense  of  '  contracted  into  a  small  compass ' ;  the  devils  being  supposed,  as  in  Milton 
(Par.  Lost,  i,  789),  to  have  the  power  of  altering  their  dimensions. 

89.  Legion]  This  is  taken  from  Mark,  v,  9 :  '  And  he  asked  him,  What  is  thy 
name?  And  he  answered,  saying,  my  name  is  Legion  ;  for  we  are  many.'  Com- 
pare Hamlet,  I,  ii,  244 :  '  I'll  speak  to  it,  though  hell  itself  should  gape,'  etc. 

92.  How  ist  with  you  man  ?]   In  the  CAMBRIDGE  EDITION   an  Anonymous 
critic  plausibly  conjectures  that  this  speech  belongs  to  Sir  Toby.     It  is  not  likely 
that  Fabian  put  the  very  same  question  to  Malvolio  twice,  addressing  him  first  as 
•  sir,'  and  then  as  ' man ' ;  whereas  the  latter  address  comes  more  naturally  from 
Sir  Toby,  Malvolio's  superior  in  rank. — ED. 

93.  my  priuate]  COLLIER  (ed.   ii)  :  'Private'   was  doubtless  (as  the  MS  Cor- 
rector informs  us)  an  error  of  the  press  for  privacie,  as  it  was  then  commonly  spelt. 
Shakespeare  no  where  else  uses  'private'  as  a  substantive,  unless  idiomatically  with 
the  preposition  in  before  it, — '  in  private.' — DYCE  (Strictures,  p.  77)  :  Shakespeare 
uses  '  private '  as  a  substantive  in  the  sense  of  '  secret  or  confidential  communica- 
tion,' in  King  John,  IV,  iii, — '  Whose  private  with  me  of  the  Dauphin's  love,'  etc.; 
and  Jonson  uses  '  private '  as  a  substantive  in  the  sense  of  'particular  interest  or 
safety,'  Catiline,  III,  ii, — '  Nor  must  I  be  unmindful  of  my  private,'  etc.     Is  it  not, 
therefore,  far  more  probable  that  here  '  private '  is  used  as  equivalent  to  privacy  than 
that  the  former  word  should  be  '  as  the  MS  Corrector  informs  us,'  a  misprint  for 
the  latter?     Indeed,  I  do  not  doubt  that  examples  of  '  private'   signifying  privacy 
are  to  be  found  in  other  early  writers,   though  Shakespeare's  commentators,  never 
imagining  that  the  old  reading  would  be  questioned,  saw  no  necessity  for  searching 
them  out — W.  A.  WRIGHT:  That  is,  privacy.     Bacon  (Essay  xxxiii,  p.  141,  ed. 
Wright)   uses  'private'    as  a  substantive,  though   not  exactly  in  the  same  sense  : 
'  Besides  some  Spots  of  Ground,  that  any  Particular  Person,  will  Manure,  for  his 
own  Private.' 

95.  hollow]  An  irritating  epithet  to  apply  to  Malvolio's  pompous,  ore  rotunda, 
style  of  speaking.  And  of  all  sources,  to  attribute  it  to  a  fiend  ! — ED. 


224  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  in,  sc.  iv. 

did  not  I  tell  you  ?  Sir  Toby,  my  lady  prayes  you  to  haue  96 

a  care  of  him. 

Mai.     Ah  ha,  does  fhe  fo  ? 

To.    Go  too,  go  too  :   peace,  peace,  wee   muft  deale 
gently  with  him  :  Let  me  alone.    How  do  you  Maluoliot         100 
How  ift  with  you  ?  What  man,  defie  the  diuell  :  confider, 
he's  an  enemy  to  mankinde. 

Mai.    Do  you  know  what  you  fay  ? 

Mar.     La  you,  and  you  fpeake  ill  of  the  diuell,   how 
he  takes  it  at  heart.    Pray  God  he  be  not  bewitch'd.  105 

Fab.     Carry  his  water  to  th'wife  woman. 

98.  Ah  ha,~\  Ff,  Rowe,  Pope,  Han.  IOI.  confider,]  consider  Rowe,  Pope, 
Ah,  ha,  Cap.     Ah,  ah !  Sta.     Ah,  ha !        Han. 

Theob.  et  cet.  104.  and'you]  Ff,  Rowe,  Coll.  ii.    if 

99.  too,  go  too]  to,  go  to  Ff  (got  Fa).         you  Pope,  + .     an  you  Cap.  et  cet. 
100.  Let  me]   let  him  Rowe,  Pope,  106.  th'wife]  Ff,  Rowe, +  ,  Wh.     the 

Han.  wise  Cap.  et  cet. 

do  you}  do  you  do  F4,  Rowe  i. 

98.  does  she  so  ?]  I  doubt  the  interrogation  mark  here.  Though  in  the  form 
of  a  question,  it  is  spoken  with  an  air  of  exultation,  equivalent  to  '  Aha,  I  knew 
that  would  happen.' — ED. 

100.  do  you]  Note  the  humorous  turn  which  the  Fourth  Folio  (it  is  hardly  to 
be  supposed  intentionally)  gives  to  this  address. — ED. 

104.  La  you]  This  is  hyphened  '  La-you '  in  Wint.  Tale,  II,  iii,  64,  where  there 
is  the  following  note :  EARLE  (§  197)  :  '  La'  is  that  interjection  which  in  modern 
English  is  spelt  lo.  It  was  used  in  Saxon  times  both  as  an  emotional  cry  and  also 
as  a  sign  of  the  respectful  vpcative.  ...  In  modern  times,  it  has  taken  the  form  of 
lo  in  literature,  and  it  has  been  supposed  to  have  something  to  do  with  the  verb 
to  look.  In  this  sense  it  has  been  used  in  the  New  Testament  to  render  the  Greek 
i6ov,  that  is,  '  Behold  !'  But  the  interjection  '  la '  was  quite  independent  of  another 
Saxon  exclamation,  viz.  loc,  which  may  with  more  probability  be  associated  with 
locian,  to  look.  The  fact  seems  to  be  that  the  modern  lo  represents  both  the  Saxon 
interjections  la  and  loc,  and  that  this  is  one  among  many  instances  where  two 
Saxon  words  have  been  merged  into  a  single  one.  .  .  .  While  lo  became  the  literary 
form  of  the  word,  la  has  still  continued  to  exist  more  obscurely,  at  least  down  to  a 
recent  date,  even  if  it  be  not  still  in  use.  La  may  be  regarded  as  a  sort  of  feminine 
lo.  In  novels  of  the  close  of  the  last  century  and  the  beginning  of  this,  we  see  la 
occurring  for  the  most  part  as  a  trivial  exclamation  of  the  female  characters. 

104.  and  you  speake  ill]  How  far  Maria  outshines  her  companions  in  the 
gentle  art  of  exquisite  teasing  ! — ED. 

106.  wise  woman]  DOUCE  (i,  101)  :  Here  may  be  a  direct  allusion  to  one  of 
the  two  ladies  of  this  description  mentioned  in  the  following  passage  from  Hey- 
wood's  play  of  The  Wise  Woman  of  Hogsdon  :  « You  have  heard  of  Mother  Notting- 
ham, who  for  her  time  was  prettily  well  skill* d  in  casting  of  Waters  ;  and  after  her, 
Mother  Bombye.'  The  several  occupations  of  these  imposters  are  thus  described  in 
this  play  of  Hey  wood  :  '  Let  me  see  how  many  trades  have  I  to  live  by  :  First,  I 


ACT  in,  sc.  iv.]  OR,    WHAT   YOU  WILL  22$ 

Mar.      Marry  and  it  fhall  be  done  to  morrow  morning         107 
if  I  Hue.     My  Lady  would  not  loofe  him  for  more  then  ile 
fay. 

Mai.     How  now  miflris  ?  no 

Mar.     Oh  Lord. 

To.    Prethee  hold  thy  peace,  this  is  not  the  way  :  Doe 
you  not  fee  you  moue  him?  Let  me  alone  with  him. 

Fa.    No  way  but  gentleneffe,  gently,  gently  :  the  Fiend 
is  rough,  and  will  not  be  roughly  vs'd.  115 

To.    Why  how  now  my  bawcockPhow  doft  y  chuck  ? 

Mai.     Sir. 

To.  I  biddy,  come  with  me.     What  man,  tis  not  for 
grauity  to  play  at  cherrie-pit  with  fathan.   Hang  him  foul         1 19 

107.  and  if}  an  #  Knt.  (misprint?).  118.  I  biddy,]  Ff.   Ay  Biddy,  Rowe. 

108.  loofe]  lofe  FV  Ay  biddy,  Pope.     Ay,  biddy,  Theob.  + , 

112.  this  is]  that  is  F4,  Rowe,  +  .  Cap.  Wh.  i.     Ay,  Biddy,  Mai.  et  cet. 

113.  Let. ..him]  Om.  F3F4,  Rowe  i.  biddy. ..me]  As  quotation,  Coll. 

1 14.  way  buf\  my  F  F4.  iii. 

116.  bawcock]  havock  F,F4,  Rowe  i.  119.  fathan}  Satan  F4> 

117.  Sir.]  Sir?  Theob.  et  seq.  (subs.) 

am  a  wise  woman,  and  a  fortune-teller,  and  under  that  I  deale  in  physicke  and 
forespeaking,  in  palmistry,  and  recovering  of  things  lost.  Next,  I  undertake  to 
cure  madd  folkes,'  etc. 

1 1 6.  bawcock]  MURRAY  (N.  E.  D. )  :  Adopted  from  the  French  beau  coq,  'fine 
cock,'  for  bewcock.  A  colloquial  or  burlesque  term  of  endearment ;  equivalent  to 
Fine  fellow,  good  fellow.  Hen.  V :  IV,  i,  44,  '  The  King' s  a  Bawcock,  and  a 
Heart  of  Gold.' 

118.  I  biddy,  come  with  me]  RITSON  {Remarks,  p.  66):  This  seems  to  be  a 
scrap  of  some  old  song,  and  should  be  printed  as  such.   [This  suggestion,  Malone 
said,  had  but  little  probability.     It  is,  however,  the  general  opinion  at  present  that 
Ritson  was  right. — ED.] — MALONE  :  '  Come,  Bid,  come,'  are  words  of  endearment 
used  by  children  to  chickens  and  other  domestic  fowl. — COLLIER  (ed.  i)  :  This  may 
be  only  a  corruption  of  '  I  bid  ye  come  with  me,'  or  'biddy'  may  be  meant  for  a 
term  of  familiarity.     It  is  most  likely  a  quotation,  though  no  original  of  it  has  come 
to  light. — HALLIWELL  :  Sir  Toby  had  previously  addressed  him  with  the  epithets 
'bawcock'  and  'chuck'  (chick),  and  now  imitates  the  call  used  to  chickens  and 
poultry. — W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  Probably  the  fragment  of  a  song. 

119.  cherrie-pit]  STEEVENS  :  'Cherry-pit'  is  pitching  cherry-stones  into  a  little 
hole.     Nash,  speaking  of  the  paint  on  ladies'  faces,  says  »  '  You  may  play  at  cherry 
pit  in  their  cheek es.' [Pierce  Penilesse,  p.  45,  ed.   Grosart.     As  far  as  a  mention 
of  the  game  is  concerned,  it  makes  no  difference  where  it  is  played,  in  paint,  or  in 
wrinkles.     A  verification  of  Steevens's  quotation,  however,  shows  that  there  is  no 
mention  by  Nash  of  '  the  paint  on  ladies'  faces ' ;  Nash  is  speaking  of  '  old  hack- 
sters  in  the  wrinkles  of  whose  face,  yee  may  hide  false  dice,  and  play  at  cherry 
pit  in  the  dint  of  their  cheekes.' — ED.]  Again,  in   7*he  Witch  of  Edmonton  :  'I 
have  lov'd  a  witch  ever  since  I  play'd  at  cherry-pit. '[Ill,  i.] 


226  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  in,  sc.  iv. 

Colliar.  I2O 

Mar.  Get  him  to  fay  his  prayers,  good  fir  Toby  gette 
him  to  pray. 

MaL     My  prayers  Minx. 

Mar.  No  I  warrant  you,  he  will  not  heare  of  godly- 
neffe.  125 

Mai.  Go  hang  your  felues  all  :  you  are  ydle  fhallowe 
things,  I  am  not  of  your  element,  you  (hall  knowe  more 
heereafter.  Exit 

To.     Ift  pofsible  / 

Fa.  If  this  were  plaid  vpon  a  ftage  now,  I  could  con-  1 30 
demne  it  as  an  improbable  fiction. 

To  His  very  genius  hath  taken  the  infection  of  the 
deuice  man.  133 

120.  Colliar]  Collier  ¥4.  '73,  et  cet. 

121.  prayers,... To\>y~\¥3.  prayers,...  124.  Mar.]  Fab.  Anon.  ap.  Cam. 
Toby,  F3F,,   Rowe,   Pope,  Cam.   Rife,  131.   improbable]    unprofitable   F3F4, 
Dtn,  Wh.  ii.    prayers,...  Toby ;  Theob.  Rowe  i. 

Warb.   Johns,      prayers ;...  Toby,   Var.  133.  deuice  man\  device,  man  Rowe. 

119.  sathan]  W.  A.  WRIGHT:  Satan  is  thus  spelt  everywhere  in  Shakespeare. 
The  form  appears  to  have  been  derived  from  the  Miracle  Plays,  for  I  do  not  find 
it  in  the  printed  translations  of  the  Bible  which   were  in  existence   in   Shake- 
speare's time. 

1 20.  Colliar]  JOHNSON  :  The  devil  is  called  '  Collier'  for  his  blackness.     '  Like 
will  to  like,  quoth  the  Devil  to  the  Collier.' — STEEVENS  :  'Collier'  was,  in  our 
author's  time,  a  term  of  the  highest  reproach.     So  great  were  the  impositions  prac- 
tised by  the  venders  of  coal,  that  Greene,  at  the  conclusion  of  his  Notable  Discov- 
ery of  Coosnage,  1592,  has  published  what  he  calls,   '•A  Pleasant  Discovery  of  the 
Coosenage  of  Colliars.'' 

123.  Minx]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  Of  very  certain  meaning,  but  uncertain  etymology. 
Cotgrave  gives,  '  Gadrouillette  :  f.  A  minx,  gigle,  flirt,  callet,  Gixie  ;  (afained  word, 
applyable  to  any  such  cattell.)'  Again,  'Obereau:  A  hobbie  (Hawke ;)  also,  a 
young  minx,  or  little  proud  squall.'  It  is  used  also  for  a  lapdog  in  Udall's  transla- 
tion of  the  Apophthegm.es  of  Erasmus  (ed.  Roberts,  1877),  p.  143  :  '  There  ben  litle 
minxes,  or  pupees  that  ladies  keepe  in  their  chambers  for  especial  Jewels  to  playe 
withall.'  •  In  the  same  passage  '  mynxe '  is  the  translation  of  Melitaus.  The  word 
may  possibly  be  derived  from  the  mink  or  minx,  the  name  of  which  is  believed  to 
be  of  Swedish  origin  (mank);  and  from  the  fur-bearing  animal  it  may  have  been 
transferred,  on  account  of  some  fancied  resemblance,  to  a  long-haired  lapdog,  and 
afterward  applied,  like  puppy,  puss,  and  vixen,  to  animals  of  a  superior  order. 
Some,  however,  connect  'minx'  with  'minnekin.' 

127.  element]  See  I,  i,  31  and  III,  i,  58. 

132.  very  genius]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  The  familiar  spirit  which  was  supposed  to 
govern  a  man' s  actions ;  here  used  for  the  spiritual  nature.  Sir  Toby  would  say, 
'  The  plot  has  taken  possession  of  his  very  soul.' 


ACT  in,  sc.  iv.]  ORt    WHAT  YOU  WILL  227 

Mar.    Nay  purfue  him  now,  leaft  the  deuice  take  ayre, 
and  taint.  135 

Fa.     Why  we  (hall  make  him  made  indeede. 

Mar.     The  houfe  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  pleafure,  and  his  pennance,til  our  ve-  140 
ry  paftime  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  fee,  but  fee. 
Enter  Sir  Andrew. 

Fa.     More  matter  for  a  May  morning.  145 

An.     Heere's  the  Challenge,  reade  it:  I  warrant  there's 
vinegar  and  pepper  in't. 

Fab.     I  ft  fo  fawcy  ? 

And.     I,  ift?  I  warrant  him  :  do  but  read. 

To.     Giue  me.  1 50 

134.  lea/l}  left  F,.  149.  I,  i/lf]  F9.    /,  Xt?   F3F4.    Ay, 

137.  will be}  well be ¥a.  ift?  Rowe,  +  ,  Cap.  Van   Mai.      Ay, 
139.  beleefe}  beleife  Fa.     belief 'F^.  ift,  Coll.   Dyce,  Wh.  Sta.  Glo.   Cam. 

he's}   he  is  Johns.    Var.   Ran.  Ay,  is  it,  Steev.  et  cet. 
Mai.  Steev.  Var.  Knt,  Hal.  Ktly.  read}  read  it  Ktly. 

144.  Scene.  X.  Pope,  +  .  150.   Giue}  Give't  Lettsomap.  Dyce. 
Enter...]  After  line  145,  Sta. 

134,  135.  take  ayre,  and  taint]  That  is,  exposed,  and  our  fun,  therefore, 
spoilt. — ED. 

138.  darke  room]  Compare  As  You  Like  It,  III,  ii,  382,  '  Loue  is  meerely  a 
madnesse,  and,  I  tel  you,  deserues  as  wel  a  darke  house  and  a  whip,  as  madmen, 
do.' 

143.  finder  of  madmen]  JOHNSON  :  This  is,  I  think,  an  allusion  to  the  witch- 
finders,  who  were  very  busy. — RITSON  (Remarks,  p.  67)  :  '  Finders  of  madmen' 
are  those  who  formerly  acted  under  the  writ  De  Lunatico  inquirendo ;  in  virtue 
whereof  they  found  the  man  mad. 

145.  May  morning]  STEEVENS  :  It  was  usual  on  the  first  of  May  to   exhibit 
metrical  interludes  of  the  comic  kind,  as  well  as  the  morris-dance. — TOLI.ET  (Note 
appended  to  i  Hen.  IV.}  quotes  as  follows  from  Stowe's  Swvay  of  London:  'I 
finde  also,  that  in  the  Moneth  of  May,   the  Citizens  of  London  (of  all  estates) 
lightly  in  euery  Parish,  or  sometimes  two  or  three  Parishes  Joining  together,  had 
their  seuerall  Mayings,  and  did  fetch  May-poles,  with  diuers  warlike  shewes,  with 
good  Archers,  Morice-dauncers,  and  other  deuices  for  pastime  all  the  day  long  :  and 
towards  the  Euening,  they  had  Stage-playes,  and  Bonefiers  in  the  streets.' [p.  151, 
ed.  1618.] 

149.  warrant  him]  DEIGHTON  :  '  Him '  is  the  person  challenged,  Cesario ;  dative 
case,  I  give  my  word  to  him  that,  etc. 


228  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  HI,  sc.  iv. 

Youth,whatfoeuer  thou  art,  thou  art  but  a  fcuruy  fellow.  151 

Fa.     Good,  and  valiant. 

To.  Wonder  not,  nor  admire  not  in  thy  minde  why  I  doe  call 
thee  fo,for  I  will  JJiew  thee  no  reafonfor't.  (Law 

Fa.     A  good  note,  that  keepes  you  from  the  blow  ofy         155 

To.  Thou  comjlto  the  Lady  Oliuia,  and  in  my  fight  JJie  vfes 
thee  kindly  :  but  thou  lyejl  in  thy  throat,  that  is  not  the  matter 
I  challenge  thee  for. 

Fa.    Very  breefe,  and  to  exceeding  good  fence-lefle.  1  59 

151.   [Sir  Toby  reads.     Rowe.  159.  and  to]    Ff,  Coll.   Wh.   Dyce, 

153.  admire      not]      admire     F3F4,  Cam.   Sta.  Ktly,  Rife,     and  Rowe  et 

Rowe  i.  cet.     and  thereto  Lettsom.      and,  too, 

*55-  S°°d]  very  good  Rowe  i.  Kinnear. 

156.  comft]  F2.    comm'ft  F3.    com'  ft  good~\  good,  Hal. 

F4.     contest  Mai.  fence-leJJ'e.'\fence-leJJ'e,f^fenfe- 

157.  throat,]     throat;      Coll.     Wh.         -leffe,  FS.    fenfe-lefs.  F4  et  seq.  (sense- 
Dyce,  Cam. 


153.  nor  admire  not]  For  the  double  negative,  see  ABBOTT,  §  406,  or  Shake- 
speare passim.  For  a  triple  negative,  see  III,  i,  163.  For  'admire'  used,  as  here, 
in  its  Latin  sense,  see  Tempest,  V,  i,  179  :  'I  perceiue  these  Lords  At  this  encounter 
doe  so  much  admire  That  they  deuoure  their  reason.' 

157.  lyest  in  thy  throat]  STAUNTON  (Note  on  2  Hen.  IV:  I,  ii,  94):  'To  lie  in 
the  throat,'  an  expression  which  is  frequently  met  with  in  Shakespeare,  appears  to 
have  borne  a  deeper  meaning  than  is  usually  supposed.  In  a  curious  old  treatise  on 
War  and  the  Duello,  which  has  escaped  the  researches  of  all  the  commentators, 
entitled  VALLO  LIBRO  Cowtinente  appertenentie  ad  Capitanii,  etc.  [  The  Bulwark, 
A  Book  containing  whatsoever  appertains  to  Captains,  in  holding  and  fortifying  a 
city  with  bastions,  with  a  new  kind  of  fire  added  [?  aggioti~\  as  appears  by  the  plates, 
and  of  divers  powders,  etc.  etc.],  1524,  there  is  a  chapter  in  the  part  devoted  to  the 
duello,  which  is  headed  '  Delia  Divisione  del  Mentire  '  [  On  the  Division  of  Giving  the 
Lie],  and  which  contains  the  following  remarks  on  giving  the  lie  :  —  '  And  observe 
that  an  honourable  man,  when  he  gives  the  lie  is  wont  to  say  thou  dost  not  speak 
the  truth  ;  another  will  give  the  lie  by  saying  thou  dost  lie  in  thy  throat  ;  another 
by  saying  thou  liest  in  thy  throat  like  a  scoundrel,  and  yet  another  by  saying  thou 
liest  in  thy  throat  like  the  scoundrel  that  thou  art  ;  thus  each  phrase  is  in  advance 
of  its  predecessor,  and  differs  from  it  ;  for  example,  if  a  man  should  say  thou  liest 
in  thy  throat  like  a  scoundrel,  it  is  not  to  be  understood  that  his  opponent  is  called 
a  scoundrel,  but  lies  in  his  throat  as  a  scoundrel  would  lie  in  like  case  ;  and  he  must 
not  quarrel  and  fight  as  if  he  had  been  called  a  scoundrel  ;  while  if  the  words  are  : 
thou  liest  in  thy  throat  like  the  scoundrel  that  thou  art,  then  a  quarrel  and  encounter 
result  from  his  having  been  called  a  scoundrel  and  from  this  "as  thou  art."  '  — 
[Staunton  gives  merely  the  old  Italian  ;  he  does  not  translate  it,  —  perhaps  wisely. 
It  is  open  to  doubt  that  the  passage  fully  justifies  his  assertion  that  the  '  lie  in  the 
throat'  bore  a  deeper  meaning  than  is  usually  supposed.  We  all  know  that  'thou 
liest  in  thy  throat*  is  stronger  than  simply  '  thou  liest,'  and  this  is  really  all  that 
the  quotation  shows.  —  ED.] 

159.  and  to  exceeding]  R.  G.  WHITE  (ed.  i)  :  If  Fabian  had  said,   'Very 


ACT  in,  sc.  iv.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  229 

To.I  will  way-lay  thee  going  home,  where  if  it  be  thy  chance  160 
to  kill  me. 

Fa.     Good. 

To.     Thou  kiljl  me  like  a  rogue  and  a  vUlaine. 

Fa.     Still  you  keepe  o'th  windie  fide  of  the  Law:good. 

Tob.   Fartheewell,  and  Godhaue  mercie  vpon  one  of  our         165 
foules.   He  may  haue  mercie  vpon  mine,  but  my  hope  is  better, 
andfo  looke  to  thy  f elf e.      Thy  friend  as  thou  vfejl  him,  &  thy 
fworne  enemie,  Andrew  Ague-cheeke. 

To.     If  this  Letter  moue  him  not,  his  legges  cannot  : 
He  giu't  him.  170 

Mar.  Yon  may  haue  verie  fit  occafion  fot't :  he  is  now 
in  fome  commerce  with  my  Ladie ,  and  will  by  and  by 
depart. 

To.     Go  fir  Andrew  :  fcout  mee  for  him  at  the  corner         174 

161.  me]     me—    Rowe,  +  .      me, —  165.  one  of  ]  Om.  F3F4,  Rowe  i. 

Cap.  et  seq.  169.  To.]  Om.  Han.  Cap.  Coll.  Wh. 

163.  kilft]  Fa.     kill'ft  F3F4.  Hal.  Dyce,  Cam. 

165.  Fartheewell,]     ¥3.       Fare    the  171.    Yon...foff\  F,. 
well,  F3.     Fare  thee  well,  FV 

brief,  and  to  exceeding  good  purpose?  adding  'less'  aside,  there  would  have  been 
no  obscurity  found,  yet  no  more  exists  now  than  would  have  existed  then. 

159.  sence-lesse]  HALLIWELL  :  This  word  is  to  be  either  divided  in  pronuncia- 
tion, or  to  be  spoken  aside.  On  the  stage  the  latter  arrangement  is  the  most  effective. 

164.  o'th  windie  side  of  the  Law]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  So  that  the  law  cannot 
scent  you  out  and  track  you,  as  a  hound  does  the  game.   [Unquestionably  the  right 
definition  ;  and  yet,  at  the  same  time,  it  is  possible  that  Fabian  may  be  punning 
upon  his  previous  speech,  where  he  says,  '  a  good  note  which  keepes  you  from  the 
blffiu  of  the  Law.' — ED.] 

1 66.  mercie  vpon  mine]  JOHNSON:  We  may  read  'upon  thine?  etc.     Yet  the 
passage  may  well  enough  stand  without  alteration.     It  were  much  to  be  wished  that 
Shakespeare,  in  this,  and  in  some  other  passages,  had  not  ventured  so  near  profane- 
ness. — M.  MASON  :  The  present  reading  is  more  humorous  than  that  suggested  by 
Johnson.     The  man  on  whose  soul  he  hopes  that  God  will  have  mercy,  is  the  one 
that  he  supposes  will  fall  in  the  combat ;  but  Sir  Andrew  hopes  to  escape  unhurt, 
and  to  have  no  present  occasion  for  that  blessing.     The  same  idea  occurs  in  Henry 
V.  where  Mrs  Quickly,  giving  an  account  of  Falstaff's  dissolution,  says,  '  Now  I,  to 
comfort  him,  bid  him  a"  should  not  think  of  God ;  I  hoped  there  was  no  need  to 
trouble  himself  with  any  such  thoughts  yet." 

169.  To.  If  this,  etc.]  These  words  are  merely  Sir  Toby's  remarks  after  he  has 
finished  reading  the  letter.  '  To.'  is  therefore  needless  and  was  omitted  by  Hanmer, 
and  by  some  of  the  best  subsequent  editors. 

172.  commerce]  That  is,  intercourse.  Ophelia  asks  Hamlet,  'Could  beauty, my 
lord,  have  better  commerce  than  with  honesty?'  Ill,  i,  no. 

174.  scout  mee]  The  ethical  dative  ;  see  ABBOTT,  §  220. 


230  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  in,  sc.  iv. 

of  the  Orchard  like  a  bum-Baylie  :  fo  foone  as  euer  thou  175 
feeft  him,  draw,  and  as  thou  draw'ft,  fweare  horrible  /  for 
it  comes  to  paffe  oft,  that  a  terrible  oath,  with  a  fwagge- 
ring  accent  fharpely  twang'd  off,  giues  manhoode  more 
approbation,  then  euer  proofe  it  felfe  would  haue  earn'd 
him.  Away.  1 80 

And.     Nay  let  me  alone  for  fwearing.  Exit 

To.  Now  will  not  I  deliuer  his  Letter  :  for  the  behaui- 
our  of  the  yong  Gentleman,  giues  him  out  to  be  of  good 
capacity,  and  breeding  :  his  employment  betweene  his 
Lord  and  my  Neece,  confirmes  no  leffe.  Therefore,  this  185 
Letter  being  fo  excellently  ignorant,  will  breed  no  terror 
in  the  youth  :  he  will  finde  it  comes  from  a  Clodde-pole. 
But  fir,  I  will  deliuer  his  Challenge  by  word  of  mouth  ; 
fet  vpon  Ague-chcekc  a  notable  report  of  valor,  and  driue 
the  Gentleman  (as  I  know  his  youth  will  aptly  receiue  it)  190 
into  a  moft  hideous  opinion  of  his  rage,  skill,  furie,  and 
impetuofitie.This  will  fo  fright  them  both,  that  they  wil 
kill  one  another  by  the  looke,  like  Cockatrices.  193 

175.  bum-Baylie]      bum-Baily     Ff.  179.  earrid]  earned  Var.  '03,  et  seq. 
bum-bailiff  Theob.     bum-bailie  Knt.  182.  his]  this  F3F4,  Rowe  i. 

176.  dra-ufft]   draivest  Coll.  Wh.  i,  184.  employment]  imployment  F4. 
Hal.  Dyce,  Cam.  185,  195.  Neece}  F3FV     Neice  Fa. 

horrible]  horribly  Ff,  Rowe,  + ,  187.  finde    it]    find    that    it    F3F4, 

Cap.  Var.  Ran.  Coll.  Hi.  Rowe,  +  . 

177.  /]  F,.  193.  Scene  XI.  Pope,-K 

175.  bum-Baylie]  JOHNSON  (Did.)  :  A  bailiff  of  the  meanest  kind,  one  that  is 
employed  in  arrests. — MURRAY  (N.  E.  Z>.)  :  The  bailiff  that  is  close  at  the  debtor's 
back,  or  that  catches  him  in  the  rear.     Compare  the  French  equivalent  pousse-cul. 

176.  sweare  horrible]  For  adjectives  used  as  adverbs,  see  ABBOTT,  §  I. 
179.  approbation]  SCHMIDT  (Lex.)  :  That  is,  attestation. 

193.  Cockatrices]  MURRAY  (N.  E.  Z>.)  :  Middle  English  cocatris,  -ice,  adopted 
from  Old  French  cocatris,  masculine,  corresponding  to  Provencal  calcatriz,  Italian 
calcatrice,  feminine  representative  of  the  Latin  calcatrix,  calcatrlcem,  apparently  a 
mediaeval  rendering  of  the  Greek  ixveiijiuv,  ichnumon.  This  last  meant  literally 
'  tracker,  tracer  out,  hunter  out,'  formed  on  l%vtii-Eiv  to  track,  trace  out,  hunt  out, 
formed  on  I^vof  track,  footstep.  Latin  calcatrix  is  feminine  agent-substantive  of 
calcare,  originally  '  to  tread,'  in  mediaeval  Latin  '  to  tread  on  the  heels  of,  track, 
trace  out'  (formed  on  calx,  calcem,  heel).  Thus  calcatrix  came  to  render  ichneu- 
mon. (Prof.  Thor  Sundby,  Brunetto  Latino's  Livnet  og  Skrifter,  Kjobenhavn, 
1869,  p.  142-4.)  In  Old  French  the  word  was  partially  popularized,  as  seen  by 
the  phonetic  change  of  the  original  calc-  through  caulc  to  cauc-,  coc-,  and  chauc-. 
choc-. 

The  sense-history  of   this  word  is  exceedingly  curious.      The  Ichneumon,  an 


ACT  HI,  sc.  iv.j  OK,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  231 

[193.  kill  one  another  by  the  looke,  like  Cockatrices] 

Egyptian  quadruped,  said  to  devour  reptiles  and  crocodiles'  eggs  (which  it  searches 
for  in  the  sand),  is  called  by  Pliny,  VIII.  24  (35),  §  88,  the  mortal  enemy  of  the 
aspis  and  the  crocodile.  As  to  the  latter,  he  tells  that  when  the  crocodile  is  asleep 
or  dozing  with  its  jaws  open,  the  ichneumon  darts  down  its  throat,  and  destroys  it 
by  gnawing  through  its  belly ;  a  tale  originating,  partly  at  least,  in  the  habits  of  the 
bird  trochilus,  as  mentioned  by  Herodotus. . .  .  From  an  early  period,  Western  writers 
entertained  the  notion  that  this  ichneumon  was  amphibious  or  aquatic ;  the  imme- 
diate followers  of  Pliny  appear  to  have  identified  it  with  the  Otter.  Pliny's  tale  is 
repeated  by  Solinus  and  Isidore  ;  in  the  text  of  Solinus  known  to  Ammianus  Mar- 
cellinus  (about  A.  D.  400)  the  animal  is  called  enkydros,  the  second  kind  of  ichneu- 
mons ;  while  Isidore  appears  to  make  two  distinct  animals,  the  Ichneumon  and  the 
Enhydros,  '  a  little  beast  so-called  because  it  lives  in  the  water,  and  mostly  in  the 
Nile.'  But  the  Greek  kw6piq  was  not  only  the  otter,  but  also  a  water-snake  = 
hydrus ;  and  the  latter  was  the  only  sense  in  which  enhydris  had  been  used  by 
Pliny.  Later  compilers  took  this  to  be  the  sense  of  enhydrus,  -os,  in  Solinus  and 
Isidore,  and  the  crocodile's  enemy  was  now  described  as  a  '  water-snake*  or  '  fish.' 
.  .  .  Meanwhile  also  the  Latinized  name  calcatrix  comes  into  view.  It  is  found,  along 
with  the  transformed  description,  in  the  version  of  the  story  (circa  1263)  by  Brunetto 
Latino  in  Li  Livre  dou  Tresor,  where  it  is  said  '  then  comes  another  fish  which  is 
named  hydrus,  that  is  cocatris,  and  enters  within  his  body';  further,  'and  you 
must  know  that  cokatrix,  albeit  he  is  born  in  the  water,  and  within  the  Nile,  he  is 
not  at  all  a  fish,  but  is  a  water- serpent.'  .  .  .  The  cocatris  —  ichneumon  =  enhydris •  = 
hydrus,  having  thus  been  transformed  into  an  aquatic  reptile,  living  in  the  Nile, 
other  writers  proceeded  to  identify  it  with  the  crocodile  itself.  The  Bestiaire  divin 
of  Guillaume  le  Normand  (circa  1210)  makes  coquatrix  the  crocodile,  and  ydrus 
his  enemy.  .  .  .  And  in  later  French,  as  well  as  in  other  Romanic  languages,  '  croco- 
dile' became,  at  least,  one  of  the  recognized  meanings  of  cocatrix.  ...  In  English 
the  confusion  with  crocodile  hardly  appears,  except  once  or  twice  as  a  literalism  of 
translation.  Here,  cocatrice  appears  from  the  first  as  the  equivalent  of  Latin  basi- 
liscus  or  regulus  equivalent  to  Basilisk.  It  was  thus  used  ...  by  Wyclif  and  his  fol- 
lowers to  translate  regulus  (Isaiah,  xi.  8;  xiv.  29;  lix.  5)  and  basiliscus  (Ps.  xc. 
[i.]  13)  of  the  Vulgate.  In  the  former  of  these  (also  in  Jer.  viii.  17)  it  was  retained 
in  the  l6-!7th  cent,  versions  ;  but  in  the  revised  text  of  1885,  it  has  been  changed  to 
basilisk.  The  history  of  this  further  transition  of  sense  is  still  obscure  ;  but  it  is  to 
be  noticed  that  cocatrice  translates  French  b,asilicoc,  and  that  coc  is  apparently  a  con- 
necting link.  But  some  traditional  notions  of  the  ichneumon  as  the  enemy  of  the 
aspis  (which  appeared  later  in  the  well-known  statement  that  the  only  animal  which 
could  kill  the  basilisk  was  the  mustela  or  weasel)  were  probably  contributory,  as 
well  as  the  mediaeval  confusion,  under  the  name  regulus,  of  the  basilisk  (rex  ser- 
pentium]  with  the  trochilus  (rex  avium,  Old  French  roytelet,  in  modern  French 
roitelet,  '  wren ' ).  Further  etymological  speculation,  in  France  or  England,  working 
upon  the  syllable  coc,  coq,  in  basili-coc,  coc-atris,  probably  also  associating  the  crested 
basilisk  with  the  crested  bird,  and  mingling  with  it  vague  notions  of  the  crocodile's 
eggs,  buried  in  the  sand,  and  producing  a  tiny  reptile,  originated  the  well-known 
notion  of  <a  serpent  hatched  by  a  venomous  reptile  from  a  cock's  (i.  e.  basin-cock's 
or  cok-adrill's)  egg,'  embodied  in  the  heraldic  monster,  half  cock,  half  serpent. 

[Its  definition  is]   I.  A  serpent,  identified  with  the  Basilisk,  fabulously  said  to  kill 
by  ks  mere  glance,  and  to  be  hatched  from  a  cock's  egg. 


232  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  in,  sc.  iv. 

Enter  Oliuia  and  Uiola. 

.Ffl&Heere  he  comes  with  your  Neece,  giue  them  way  195 
till  he  take  leaue,  and  prefently  after  him. 

To.  I  will  meditate  the  while  vpon  fome  horrid  meflage 
for  a  Challenge. 

OL    I  haue  faid  too  much  vnto  a  hart  of  ftone, 
And  laid  mine  honour  too  vnchary  on't :  200 

194.  Enter...]  After  line  198,  Coll.  199.  I  haue]  Pve  Pope, -f,  Dyce  ii, 

195.  way\  away  F4.  iii. 

198.  Challenge.]  Challenge.    Exeunt.  200.  ortt\    Ff,   Rowe,    Pope,    Han. 

Ff.  Knt,  Coll.  Wh.  i,Rlfe.  out Theob.  et  cet. 

194.  Enter...]  In  the  Folios  and  Quartos  the  entrances  are  frequently  set  down, 
for  the  benefit  of  the  prompter,  some  lines  in  advance  of  the  actual  entrance  of  the 
actors. 

200.  laid  .  .  .  vnchary  on't]  CAPELL  (p.  150) :  « Lay'd  out '  is  exposed,  (W.  A. 
WRIGHT  :  It  rather  means  expended.} — DOUCE  (i,  103)  :  Theobald's  substitution  of 
out  is  unnecessary.  The  old  text  simply  means,  I  have  placed  my  honour  too  incau- 
tiously upon  a  heart  of  stone. — DYCE  (few  Notes,  p.  76)  :  I  must  exclaim  against 
their  [i.  e.  Douce,  Knight,  and  Collier]  thrusting  back  into  the  text  an  obvious  error 
of  the  press.  The  misprint  of  'on't'  for  out  is  common  enough.  So  the  Qto  1640 
of  Fletcher's  Bloody  Brother,  IV,  i,  has, — '  Princes  may  pick  their  suffering  nobles 
on't,  And  one  by  one  employ  them  to  the  block,'  etc. — where  the  other  old  copies 
have,  as  the  sense  requires,  'out.'  So,  too,  in  Fletcher  and  Shakespeare's  Two 
Noble  Kinsmen,  I,  iv,  the  Qto  1634  has  '  Y'are  ont  of  breath,'  where  the  Second 
Folio  (the  play  is  not  in  the  first)  gives  « out?  With  the  passage  of  Shakespeare  now 
under  consideration,  compare  the  following  lines  by  a  nameless  dramatist :  '  Keepe 
her  from  the  Serpent,  let  her  not  gad  To  euerie  Gossips  congregation,  For  there  is 
blushing  modestie  laide  out,1  etc. — Euerie  Woman  in  her  Humour,  1609,  sig.  H3. 
— COLLIER  (ed.  ii) :  Mr  Dyce,  who  is  too  apt  to  justify  one  corruption  by  another, 
argues  in  favour  of  out,  and  shows  by  divers  instances  that  the  word  may  have  been 
misprinted  ;  it  is  unquestionable  that  '  to  lay  out '  is  a  very  common  expression  ;  but 
so  is  'to  lay  <?«'/,'  and  as  it  affords  a  distinct  meaning,  is  repeated  in  all  early  edi- 
tions, and  is  unamended  by  the  MS  Corrector,  we  prefer  to  make  Olivia  say  poet- 
ically that  she  has  laid  her  honour  on  a  heart  of  stone,  as  it  were,  on  an  altar,  than 
prosaically  to  observe  merely  that  she  has  incautiously  laid  out  her  honour. — DYCE 
(ed.  ii)  :  Alas  for  Mr  Collier's  reasoning !  The  explanation  which  he  gives  of  his 
text  ought  alone  to  have  convinced  him  that  'on't'  was  a  misprint.  Olivia  might 
perhaps  talk  with  propriety  of  '  laying  her  love  on  a  heart  of  stone ' ;  but  with  no 
propriety  could  she  talk  of  'laying  her  HONOUR  on  a  heart  of  stone.'  The  genuine 
lection,  '  And  laid  mine  honour  too  unchary  out,'  means  '  And  have  been  more 
prodigal  in  expressing  and  giving  proofs  of  my  affection  than  was  strictly  consistent 
with  my  honour.' — W.  A.  WRIGHT:  'Unchary'  is  unsparingly,  lavishly.  The 
word  etymologically  signifies  heedlessly,  carelessly  ;  but  that  Shakespeare  under- 
stood it  in  the  other  sense  is  evident  from  Hamlet,  I,  iii,  36  :  '  The  chariest  maid  is 
prodigal  enough,  If  she  unmask  her  beauty  to  the  moon ' ;  where  '  chariest '  and 
•prodigal'  are  contrasted.  Theobald's  change  is  at  once  justified  and  rendered 


ACT  in,  sc.  iv.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  233 

There's  fomething  in  me  that  reproues  my  fault :  2OI 

But  fuch  a  head-ftrong  potent  fault  it  is, 
That  it  but  mockes  reproofe. 

Via.     With  the  fame  hauiour  that  your  pamon  beares, 
Goes  on  my  Mafters  greefes.  205 

01.     Heere,  weare  this  lewell  for  me,  tis  my  pifture : 
Refufe  it  not,  it  hath  no  tongue,  to  vex  you  : 
And  I  befeech  you  come  againe  to  morrow. 
What  mall  you  aske  of  me  that  He  deny, 
That  honour  (fau'd)  may  vpon  asking  giue.  2IO 

Uio.     Nothing  but  this,  your  true  loue  for  my  mafter. 

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,  2 1 5 

202.  it  is,]  it  is:  FaF3.  (honour  fav'd)  F3F4,  Rowe  i,  Johns. 

204.  hauiour']  '  haviour  Theob.  +.  Coll.  Ktly.      That  honour  sav'd  Pope, 

204.  205.  that  your...greefes]   Sepa-  Theob.  Warb.  Johns.  Cam. 
rate  line,  Cap.  conj.  210.  may]  I  may  Ktly. 

205.  Goes... greefes]  Ff  (griefs  F3FJ.  giue.]  give?  F4. 

Goes. ..grief  Rowe, -I- ,   Cap.  Var.   Hal.  21 1.  this,    your]    this;    your  Coll. 

Cam.  Dyce  ii,  iii,  Ktly,  Rife,  Huds.  Wh.  Wh.   ii.      this,— your  Dyce.      this  ;— 

ii.      Go... griffs  Mai.  et  cet.  your  Cam. 

210.   That  honour    (fau'd)]     That  213.  you.]  you  ?  Ff. 

necessary  by  this  meaning  of  'unchary.'  In  Wint.  Tale,  IV,  iv,  160,  '  He  tells  her 
something  That  makes  her  blood  look  out';  the  Folios  read  'on't'  as  here. — 
DEIGHTON  :  For  'laid  out'  compare  Cym.  II,  iii,  92:  'You  lay  out  too  much 
pains  For  purchasing  but  trouble.' — SCHMIDT  ( Gesammelte  Abhandlungen,  p.  327) : 
That  is,  I  have  thereon  wagered  my  honour  too  incautiously,  I  have  set  it  too  care- 
lessly on  the  hazard.  That  '  lay '  has  this  meaning  must  be  familiar  to  every  com- 
mentator ;  it  occurs  again  in  the  last  line  of  this  same  scene  :  '  I  dare  lay  any  money, 
'twill  be  nothing  yet.'  The  change  which  the  editors  have  adopted  :  '  laid  out,'  is, 
possibly,  quite  un -Shakespearian  ;  in  place  of  the  signification  which  it  is  said  that 
'lay  out'  bears,  namely,  to  expose,  Shakespeare  elsewhere  uses  the  phrase  'to  lay 
open,'  and  Dyce,  in  order  to  justify  the  change,  is  obliged  to  take  refuge  in  a  quota- 
tion from  Every  Woman  in  her  Humour.  If  the  Folio  had  ont  it  would  be  possible 
to  conjecture  a  misprint  for  out,  but '  on't,'  with  an  apostrophe,  would  be  set  up  by  no 
negligent  compositor  instead  of  out.  [The  fact  that  in  The  Winter's  Tale,(\V,  iv, 
186,  of  this  ed.)  and  elsewhere,  out  has  been  misprinted  on't,  with  the  apostrophe, 
seems  to  demand  Theobald's  change.  Schmidt's  interpretation  is  to  me  by  no 
means  the  true  one,  albeit  Rolfe  inclines  to  accept  it. — ED.] 

206.  lewell]  JOHNSON  :  This  does  not  properly  signify  a  single  gem,  but  any 
precious  ornament  or  superfluity.— W.  A.  WRIGHT:    From  the  Old  French  joiel, 
joel,  OTj'oue/,  a  diminutive  of  joie,  which  is  the  Latin  qaudium. 


234  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  in,  sc.  iv. 

A  Fiend  like  thee  might  beare  my  foule  to  hell.  216 

Enter  Toby  and  Fabian. 

To.     Gentleman ,  God  faue  thee. 

Vio.     And  you  fir. 

To.  That  defence  thou  haft,  betake  the  too't :  of  what  220 
nature  the  wrongs  are  thou  haft  done  him,  I  knowe  not : 
but  thy  intercepter  full  of  defpight,  bloody  as  the  Hun- 
ter, attends  thee 'at  the  Orchard  end  :  difmount  thy  tucke, 
be  yare  in  thy  preparation,  for  thy  affaylant  is  quick,  skil- 
full,  and  deadly.  225 

Vio.  You  miftake  fir  I  am  fure,  no  man  hath  any  quar- 
rell  to  me :  my  remembrance  is  very  free  and  cleere  from, 
any  image  of  offence  done  to  any  man. 

To.    You'l  finde  it  otherwife  I  aflure  you  :  therefore,  if 
you  hold  your  life  at  any  price,  betake  you  to  your  gard  :         230 
for  your  oppofite  hath  in  him  what  youth,  ftrength,  skill, 
and  wrath,  can  furnifh  man  withall.  232 

216.  Fiend ]  friend  Grey  (so  quoted,  223.  Orchard      end~\      orchard-end 

i,  234).  Theob.  + ,  Dyce,  Cam.  Sta. 

hell.]  hell.     Exit.  Ff.  226.  fir  I  am  fure,]  Fa.    fir,  I  am 

Scene  XII.  Pope,  -K  fure,  F3F4  (ame  FJ,  Cap.     Sir,  I  am 

220.  the  too't]  thee  too't  F2.     thee  to?  t  sure  Rowe,  Pope,  Han.    Sir,  I  am  sure; 
F3F4.  Knt,  Wh.  i,  Dyce  i,  Sta.     Sir;  I  am 

221.  him,]  him;  Fa.  sure,  Theob.  et  cet. 

222.  intercepter]    intercepter,    Pope.  230.  gard]  guard  F3F4. 
interpreter,  Warb.   (corrected   in   MS)  232.   man]  a  man  F3F4,  Rowe,  Pope, 
Johns.  Han. 

220.  defence  thou  hast]  For  the  construction,  see  I,  v,  99. 

222.  223.  bloody  as  the  Hunter]  CAPELL  (Gloss,  s.  v.  lethe}  :  A  term  us'dby 
Hunters  to  signify  the  blood  shed  by  a  deer  at  its  fall,  with  which  it  is  still  a  custom 
to  mark  those  who  come  in  at  the  death. 

223.  dismount  thy  tucke]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  In  plain  English,  draw  thy  sword. 
The  hangers  or  straps  by  which  the  rapier  was  attached  to  the  sword-belt  are  called 
in  the  affected  language  of  Osric  the  '  carriages '  (Hamlet,  V,  i,  158),  and  Sir  Toby's 
'  dismount '  is  in  keeping  with  this  phraseology.     A  tuck  was  a  small  rapier.     Cot- 
grave  gives,  'Verdun,  m.  The  little  Rapier,  called  a  Tucke.'     The  word  comes  to 
us  from  the  French  estoc,  which  Cotgrave  defines  as  '  The  stocke,  trunke,  or  bodie  of 
a  tree, .  .  .  also,  a  Rapier,  or  tucke.'     In  Florio's  Worlde  of  Wordes,  1598,  we  find, 
'  Stocco,  a  truncheon,  a  tuck,  a  short  sword,  an  arming  sword.' 

224.  yare]  That  is,  ready,  nimble.     See,  if  need  be,  notes  on  Temp.  I,  i,  8. 
226,  227.  quarrell  to  me]  Compare  Much  Ado,  II,  i,  226,  'The  Lady  Beatrice 

hath  a  quarrell  to  you';  or  ABBOTT  (§  187)  for  examples  of  the  various  uses  of  to, 
without  verbs  of  motion  ;  here  '  to  '  means  against. 

232.  withall]  ABBOTT  (§  196)  :  This  emphatic  form  of  with  is  used  for  -with 
after  the  object,  at  the  end  of  a  sentence. 


ACT  in,  sc.  iv.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  235 

Vio.     I  pray  you  fir  what  is  he  ?  233 

To.    He  is  knight  dubb'd  with  vnhatch'd  Rapier,  and 
on  carpet  confideration,  but  he  is  a  diuell  in  priuate  brail,         235 

234.  knight']  knight,  Theob.  a  knight        Cap.    Var.    Ran.    Steev.    Var.    \Vh.    i, 
Coll.  MS,  Wh.  i,  Walker,  Coll.  iii.  Dyce  ii,  iii. 

vnhatcKd~\   unhack'd  Pope, +  ,  235.  brail'}  brawl  FF. 

234.  vnhatch'd]  MALONE:  It  appears  from  Cotgrave's  definition  of  '  Hacher. 
To  hacke,  shread,  slice  ;  hew,  chop,  .  .  .  also,  to  hatch  a  hilt,'  that  hatch  was  a  tech- 
nical term.     Perhaps  we  ought  to  read, — '  with  an  hatched  rapier,'  i.  e.  with  a  rapier, 
the  hilt  of  which  was  engraved  and  ornamented.     Our  author,  however,  might  have 
used  'unhatch'd'  in  the  sense  of  unhacked ;  and  therefore  I  have  made  no  change. 
— DYCE  (Remarks,  p.  76)  :  In  Shirley's  Love  in  a  Maze,  II,  ii,  we  find:  'Thy 
hair  is  fine  as  gold,  thy  chin  is  hatch'd  With  silver,'  etc.  'i.  e.1  says  Gifford,  'orna- 
mented with  a  white  or  silvery  beard.     This .  .  .  explains  the  passage  in  Tro.  & 
Cress.[I,  iii],  "  As  venerable  Nester  hatch'd  in  silver,"  on  which  the  commentators 
have  wasted  so  many  words.     Literally,  to  hatch  is  to  inlay  [originally,   I  believe, 
to  cut,  engrave,  mark  with  lines] ;  metaphorically,  it  is  to  adorn,  to  beautify,  with 
silver,   gold,  etc.   [also  to   colour  or  stain]. 'Shirley's  Works,  ii,  301.      That  the 
word  hatch  was  particularly  applied  to  the  ornamenting  of  weapons,  might  be  shown 
from  many  examples  besides  the  following  :  '  Who  first  shall  wound  through  others 
armes,  his  blood  appearing  fresh,  Shall  win  this  sword,  siluerd,  and  hatcht.'  Chap- 
man's Iliads  of  Homer,  b.  xxiii,  p.  324.    'Dote  on  my  horse  well  trapp'd,  my  sword 
well  hatch'd. 'Beaumont  &  Fletcher,  Bonduca,  II,  ii.    '  Hatching  is  to  silver  or  gild 
the  hilt  and  pomell  of  a  sword  or  hanger.' R.  Holme,  Ac.  of  Armory,  1688,  b.  iii, 
p.  91.     Now,  since  hatch  was  a  very  common  technical  term  for  the  ornamenting  of 
weapons,   is  there  any  probability   that   Shakespeare  would   have   employed   the 
expression  '\\nhatched  rapier'  in  the  sense  of  ' unhacked  rapier'?    Surely  not.     An 
*unhatched  rapier'  could  only  mean  'an  unornamented  rapier';  which  does  not 
suit  the  context,  for  carpet-knights  were  most  likely  to  have  the  ceremony  performed 
with  a  highly  ornamented  sword.  ...  I  am  therefore  strongly  inclined  to  agree  with 
those  commentators  who  have  supposed  that  the  right  reading  is  '  unhacked  rapier.' 
[STAUNTON,  however,  agrees  with  Malone  in  thinking  that  we  ought  to  read  '  an 
hatched  rapier,'  which  is  indeed,  if  emendation  be  necessary,  plausible ;  the  words 
might  be  readily  confused  in  the  compositor's  ear.     As  for  the  spelling,   we  find 
'retchlesse'  for  reckless  in  The  Marriage  of  Witt  and  Wisdome,   1579,  p.  54>  ed. 
Shakespeare  Society.     Thus  here,  though  I  should  be  loath  to  alter  the  text,  I  think 
that  'unhatch'd'  bears  the  meaning  of  unhacked. — ED.] 

235.  on  carpet  consideration]  CAPELL  (p.  150)  :  The  'unhack'd  rapier'  was 
lay'd  on  most  unmercifully  about  the  time  of  this  play  ;  and  for  making  something 
too  free  with  this  profusion  of  carpet  knighthoods,  divers  poets  and  players  are  said 
to  have  been  lay'd  by  the  heels,  and,  among  the  rest,  Ben  Jonson.     A  most  small 
matter  serv'd  at  that  time  of  day  for  the  exercise  of  even  greater  severities,  so  that 
'tis  wonder  the  expressions  of  this  passage  drew  none  upon  Shakespeare  :  Middleton 
the  poet,  for  a  well-intention'd  play  of  his  writing,  call'd  A  Game  at  Chess,  but 
which  gave  offence  to  the  Spaniard,  got  himself  into  prison  ;  where  he  lay  some 
time  (says  a  MS  that  has  been  seen  by  the  editor),  but  was  at  last  discharg'd  upon 
presenting  the  petition  that  follows:  'A  harmless  game,  coin'd  only  for  delight, 
Was  play'd  betwixt  the  black  house  and  the  white :  The  white  house  wan  ;  yet  still 


236  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  in,  sc.  iv. 

foules  and  bodies  hath  he  diuorc'd  three,  and  his  incenfe-         236 
ment  at  this  moment  is  fo  implacable,   that  fatisfaction 
can  be  none,  but  by  pangs  of  death  and  fepulcher  :  Hob, 
nob ,  is  his  word  :  giu't  or  take't. 

Vw.     I  will  returne  againe  into  the  houfe,   and  defire         240 
fome  conduct  of  the  Lady.    I  am  no  fighter,  I  haue  heard 

236.  diuorc'd  three,]  divorc'd  ;  three  239.   nob~\  nod  Rowe  ii,  Pope. 

F4.  241.  fighter,~\  fighter.  Rowe. 

the  black  doth  brag  She  had  the  power  to  put  me  in  the  bag :  Use  but  your  royal 
hand,  'twill  set  me  free;  'Tis  but  removing  of  a  man,  that's — me.' — REED:  In 
Francis  Markham's  Booke  of  Honour,  1625,  p.  71,  we  have  the  following  account 
of  Carpet  Knights  :  '  Near  vnto  these  in  degree,  (but  not  in  qualitie,  for  these  are 
truly  (for  the  most  part)  vertuous  and  worthie)  is  that  ranke  of  Knights  which  are 
called  Carpet- Knights,  being  men  who  are  by  the  Princes  Grace  and  favour  made 
Knights  at  home  and  in  the  time  of  peace  by  the  imposition  or  laying  on  of  the 
King's  sword,  having  by  some  special  service  done  to  the  common- wealth,  or  for 
some  other  particular  vertues  made  known  to  the  sovereign,  as  also  for  the  dignitie 
of  their  births,  and  in  recompense  of  noble  and  famous  actions  done  by  their  ances- 
tors, deserved  this  great  title  and  dignitie.'  He  then  enumerates  the  several  orders 
of  men  on  whom  this  honour  was  usually  conferred,  and  adds  :  '  these  of  the  vulgar 
or  common  sort,  are  called  Carpet- Knights,  because  (for  the  most  part)  they  receiue 
their  honour  from  the  King's  hand  in  the  Court,  and  vpon  Carpets,  and  such  like 
Ornaments  belonging  to  the  King's  State  and  Greatnesse  ;  which  howsoever  a  curi- 
ous envie  may  wrest  to  an  ill  sense,  yet  questionlesse  there  is  no  shadow  of  disgrace 
belonging  unto  it,  for  it  is  an  honour  as  perfect  as  any  honour  whatsoever,  and  the 
services  and  merits  for  which  it  is  conferred,  as  worthy  and  well  deserving  both  of 
the  King  and  country,  as  that  which  hath  wounds  and  scarres  for  his  witnesse.' — 
STEEVENS  :  In  Baret's  Alvearie,  1580,  [the  following  definition  is  given  of  '  Bos 
ad  prasepe.  A  Prouerbe  to  be  applied  agaynst]  those  which  doe  not  exercise  them- 
selues  with  some  honest  affaires ;  but  serue  abhominable  and  filthy  idlenesse,  and 
as  we  vse  to  call  them  carpet  knightes.'  B.  ante  O. [956]. — W.  A.  WRIGHT:  By 
employing  the  term  '  consideration '  Sir  Toby  implies  that  Sir  Andrew's  honours  had 
been  purchased.  [Burton  (Anat,  Part  I,  Sect.  2,  Memb.  2,  Subs.  2)  speaks  con- 
temptuously of  Carpet  Knights. — ED.] 

238.  can  be  none]  For  'can'  see  'Is  best,'  III,  iii,  45.  For  'none,'  see 
'she'll  none,'  I,  iii,  100. 

238,  239.  Hob,  nob]  MURRAY  (N.  E.  D.  s.  v.  Hab}  :  Known  in  the  phrases 
hab  nab,  hab  or  nab  from  circa  1550.  Conjectured  to  represent  some  part  of  the 
verb  Have,  presumably  the  present  subjunctive,  Old  English  habbe,  early  southern 
Middle  English  habbe,  in  conjunction  with  the  corresponding  negative  form  Old 
Eng.  nabbe,  Mid.  Eng.  nabbe  ;  the  alternative  phrase  habbe  he,  nabbe  he,  equivalent 
to  '  have  he  or  have  he  not,'  accounts  fairly  for  the  sense,  and  answers  phonolog- 
ically  ;  but  there  is  a  long  gap  in  the  history,  between  the  general  disappearance  of 
the  habbe  forms  of  the  verb  in  Mid.  Eng.  and  the  first  examples  of  hab  nab.  [Of 
this  hab  nab,  Dr  Murray  (s.  v.  Hob-nob}  thinks  that  '  Hob  nob '  is  in  origin  appar- 
ently a  variant,  and  quotes  the  present  line ;  where  Shakespeare  really  gives  the 
meaning  which  he  himself  attached  to  it,  namely,  'giu  't  or  take't.'] 


ACT  in,  sc.  iv.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  237 

of  fome  kinde  of  men,  that  put  quarrells  purpofely  on  o-         242 
thers,  to  tafte  their  valour  :  belike  this  is  a  man  of  that 
quirke. 

To.   Sir,  no  :  his  indignation  deriues  it  felfe  out  of  a  ve-         245 
ry  computent  iniurie,  therefore  get  you  on,  and  giue  him 
his  defire.    Backe  you  shall  not  to  the  houfe,  vnleffe  you 
vndertake  that  with  me,  which  with  as  much  fafetie  you 
might  anfwer  him  :  therefore  on,  or  ftrippe  your  fword 
ftarke  naked  :  for  meddle  you  muft  that's  certain,  or  for-         250 
fweare  to  weare  iron  about  you. 

Vio.  This  is  as  vnciuill  as  ftrange.  I  befeech  you  doe 
me  this  courteous  office,  as  to  know  of  the  Knight  what 
my  offence  to  him  is  :  it  is  fomething  of  my  negligence, 
nothing  of  my  purpofe.  255 

To.  I  will  doe  fo.  Signiour  Fabian,  (lay  you  by  this 
Gentleman,  till  my  returne.  Exit  Toby. 

Vio.     Pray  you  fir,  do  you  know  of  this  matter  ? 

Fab.     I  know  the  knight  is  incenft  againft  you,  euen  to 
a  mortall  arbitrement,  but  nothing  of  the   circumftance         260 
more. 

243.  ta/le}  test  Coll.  conj.  249.  or]  and  Han.     Om.  Coll.  MS. 

245.  Sir,  no  :~\  No,  Sir,  no:  Han.  your fivord ']  you  of sword Anon. 
deriues]  drives  F4,  Rowe,  Pope.         ap.  Cam. 

246.  computent']  competent  F4,  Rowe  252.  as   vnciuill]    an   uncivil  Cap. 
et  seq.                                                                 (corrected  in  Errata),  Var.  '73. 

him}  Om.  F3F4.  253.  office,  as  to]  office,  to  Cap. 

249.  him  .•]  him  ?  Fa.    to  hint;  Han. 

241.  conduct]  Compare,  'Come,  bitter  conduct,  come,  unsavory  guide ' — Rom. 
&>  Jul.  V,  iii,  Il6. 

243.  to  taste]  That  is,  to  test.     See  III,  i,  79. 

244.  quirke]    That  is,  caprice.     Cotgrave  has  :  '  Scotin :  m.  ine :  f.    Difficult, 
intricate,  obscure,  full  of  quirkes  and  quiddities.' 

246.  computent]  I  am  by  no  means  certain  that  this  word  should  be  discarded 
for  the  Fourth  Folio's  'competent.'  Had  Shakespeare  ever  used  the  verb  compute, 
there  would  be  no  question  as  to  'computent';  Murray  (A''.  E.  £>.)  gives  no 
examples  of  i^  earlier  than  1631. — ED. 

250.  meddle  you  must]  MALONE  :  Afterwards,  Sir  Andrew  says — 'Pox  on't, 
I'll  not  meddle  with  him.'     The  vulgar  yet  say,  'I'll  neither  meddle  nor  make 
with  it.' 

253.  this  courteous  office,  as  to  know]  ABBOTT  (§  280) :  We  now  use  only 
such  with  as,  and  only  that  with  which.  Since,  however,  such  was  frequently  used 
with  which,  naturally  that  [in  the  present  case  this]  was  also  used  with  as  used  for 
•which.  [See  also  lines  263,  264  below  :  '  Nothing  of  that  wonderful  promise ...  as 
you  are  like,'  etc.] 


238 


TWELFE  NIGHT 


[ACT  in,  sc.  iv. 


Vio.    I  befeech  you  what  manner  of  man  is  he  ?  262 

Fad.  Nothing  of  that  wonderfull  promife  to  read  him 
by  his  forme,  as  you  are  like  to  finde  him  in  the  proofe  of 
his  valour.  He  is  indeede  fir,  the  moft  skilfull,  bloudy,&  265 
fatall  oppofite  that  you  could  pofsibly  haue  found  in  anie 
part  of  Illyria  :  will  you  walke  towards  him,  I  will  make 
your  peace  with  him,  if  I  can. 

Vio.     I  fhall  bee  much  bound  to  you  for't :  I  am  one, 
that  had  rather  go  with  fir  Prieft,  then  fir  knight :  I  care         270 
not  who  knowes  fo  much  of  my  mettle.  Exeunt. 

Enter  Toby  and  Andrew.  272 


262.  you  what]  you,  what  F3F4. 

263.  promife  to~\  promise,  to  Cap. 
267.   Illyria']  Illirya  FV 

him,]  him  ?  F  . 
272.  Scene  XIII.  Pope,  -f.   Scene  V. 


Dyce,  Sta.  Huds.     Act  IV,  iv.  Irving. 

The    Street    adjoining   Olivia's 
Garden.  Dyce,  Sta.  Huds. 

272.  Andrew]  Andrew  hanging  back. 
Coll.  ii  (MS). 


270.  sir  Priest]  JOHNSON  :  He  that  has  taken  his  first  degree  at  the  University 
is  in  the  academical  style  called  Dominus,  and  in  common  language  was  termed  Sir. 
[See  notes  on  '  Sir  Topas,'  IV,  ii,  4.] 

271.  mettle]  SCHMIDT  (Lex.):    Constitutional   disposition,  character,   temper. 
So  also  in  V,  i,  337. 

271,  272.  Exeunt.  Enter  Toby  and  Andrew.]  CAPELL  (p.  150)  :  This  '  Exe- 
unt' appears  to  be  wrong  from  Sir  Toby's  pointing  to  them  at  line  281  :  'Fabian 
can  scarce  hold  him  yonder';  indeed  the  action  is  hurt  by  it;  the  effect  is  lost  of 
the  gestures  and  looks  of  both  parties  under  their  separation. — DYCE  disagrees  with 
Capell  to  such  an  extent  that  he  here  begins  the  Fifth  Scene,  in  '  the  Street  adjoin- 
ing Olivia's  garden,'  and  comments  thereon  as  follows  :  Sir  Toby,  before  going  out, 
has  desired  Fabian  to  '  stay  by  this  gentleman'  (Viola)  till  his  return  from  talking 
with  Sir  Andrew  ;  a  little  after,  Fabian  says  to  Viola,  '  will  you  walk  towards  him ' 
(sir  Andrew)?  and  accordingly  makes  his  exit  with  her.  Sir  Toby  now  enters 
accompanied  by  Sir  Andrew ;  and  though  the  Folio  does  not  mark  a  new  scene,  it  is  cer- 
tain that,  previous  to  the  entrance  of  the  two  knights,  the  audience  of  Shakespeare's 
days  (who  had  no  painted  movable  scenery  before  their  eyes)  were  to  suppose  a 
change  of  scene.  Presently  Antonio  enters,  draws  his  sword  in  defence  of  Viola 
(whom  he  mistakes  for  Sebastian),  and  is  arrested  by  the  Officers;  and  from  the 
speech  of  the  First  Officer,  in  V,  i,  64,  we  learn  distinctly  where  his  arrest  took 
place  :  *  Here  in  the  streets,  desperate  of  shame  and  state,  In  private  brabble  did  we 
apprehend  him.' — Sir  Andrew,  then,  was  waiting  for  the  pretended  page  'at  the  cor- 
ner of  the  orchard,'  line  174,  '  at  the  orchard-end,'  line  223, — that  is,  in  the  street  at 
the  extremity  of  Olivia's  orchard  or  garden  ;  there  Sir  Toby  had  joined  him  ;  and 
thither  Fabian  and  Viola  walk.  I  may  add  that  the  rather  unsatisfactory  stage- 
arrangements  here  were  in  a  certain  degree  forced  upon  Shakespeare  ;  he  found  it 
necessary  to  get  rid  of  Viola  while  Sir  Toby  was  terrifying  Sir  Andrew  with  an  account 
of  his  antagonist's  ferocity.  (Since  writing  the  above,  I  have  examined  a  modern 
acting  copy  of  the  play  ;  in  it  the  scene  is  changed  here  from  '  A  Room  in  Olivids 
house '  to  *  Olivia's  garden.' ) — MARSHALL  :  In  the  acting-edition  of  this  play,  as  pre- 


ACT  in,  sc.  iv.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  239 

To.    Why  man  hee  s  a  verie  diuell,  I  haue  not  feen  fuch         273 
a  firago  :  I  had  a  paffe  with  him,  rapier,  fcabberd,  and  all  : 

274.  firago}  Ff,  Var.  '21,  Coll.  Dyce,         virago  Rowe  et  cet. 
Cam.   Sta.   Ktly,   Rife,   Huds.  Wh.  ii.  274.  fcabberd  ]  fcabber'd  Fa. 

pared  for  the  Lyceum  Theatre,  Scene  iv.  of  Act  IV.  commences  here,  the  place  being 
The  Orchard  End.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  a  change  of  scene  is  necessary 
here. — CAMBRIDGE  EDITORS  :  The  Fourth  Scene  is  continued  in  the  Folios,  and  as, 
in  all  other  instances  throughout  the  play,  the  beginning  of  each  scene  is  accurately 
marked,  we  have  thought  it  best  to  follow  them  in  this.  According  to  the  Folios, 
Fabian  and  Viola  leave  the  stage  just  as  Sir  Toby  and  Sir  Andrew  enter,  and,  not 
meeting  them,  may  be  supposed  to  return  to  the  place  appointed  in  lines  239,  240 
[lines  256,  257  of  the  present  text. — ED.]  Capell,  contrary  to  the  directions  of 
the  Folios,  keeps  Fabian  and  Viola  on  the  stage.  They  are,  indeed,  all  the 
while  within  sight  of  Sir  Toby,  as  appears  from  lines  268,  269  [i.  e.  280,  281  of 
present  text],  but  not  necessarily  visible  to  the  audience.  The  comic  effect  would, 
no  doubt,  be  heightened  if  Fabian  were  seen  using  all  his  efforts  to  prevent  Viola 
from  running  away,  but  this  is  scarcely  a  sufficient  reason  for  deserting  our  only 
authority.  [On  a  stage  like  Shakespeare's,  which  made  such  a  constant  demand 
on  the  imagination, — where  merely  a  grey  veil  thrown  over  the  head  made  the 
wearer  invisible  to  his  fellow-actors, — it  is  conceivable  that  the  two  couples 
might  have  obeyed  the  stage-directions  of  the  Folios,  when  at  Exeunt  they 
retired  a  few  paces,  and  Ke-entered  by  advancing,  and  all  the  while  have  remained 
but  a  few  paces  apart,  in  full  sight  of  each  other  and  yet  be  supposed  to  be  beyond 
earshot ;  as  Toby  left  Viola  he  was  supposed  to  have  made  his  exit,  and  to  have 
re-entered  as  he  joined  Andrew.  Dyce  reminds  us  that  Shakespeare's  audience 
had  to  suppose  a  change  of  scene,  owing  to  the  lack  of  painted  scenery,  and  yet, 
at  the  same  time,  talks  of 'streets'  and  'orchards,' — as  though  these  streets  and 
orchards  were  portrayed  before  the  eyes  of  Shakespeare's  audience.  Shakespeare's 
audience  heard  only  the  text,  and  believed  whatever  was  told  them.  If  they  were 
told  that  Antonio  was  arrested  in  the  street  they  so  accepted  it,  though,  for  all  that 
their  eyes  actually  saw,  he  was  arrested  in  what  at  one  time  they  had  been  told  was 
Olivia's  chamber.  I  agree  entirely  with  Capell  that  the  two  groups — Andrew  and 
Toby,  Viola  and  Fabian — were  both,  at  the  same  moment,  on  Shakespeare's  stage 
at  least,  in  sight  of  each  other  and  of  the  audience.  Possibly,  Sir  Toby's  asser- 
tion that  '  Fabian  can  scarce  hold  him  yonder'  (interpreted  as  depicting  Viola's 
attempts  to  run  away),  is  become  the  pernicious  source  of  the  conversion  of 
Viola's  exquisite  bearing  throughout,  into  low  farce.  But  it  must  be  borne  in 
mind  that  Sir  Toby's  description  of  Fabian's  struggles  with  Viola  (which  Sir 
Andrew  could  have  seen  for  himself,  but  he  was  too  limp  to  perceive  anything  but 
his  own  peril)  was  as  veracious  as  that  Viola  had  given  him  the  stuck  in,  with  rapier, 
scabbard,  and  all. — ED.] 

274.  firago]  JOHNSON  :  'Virago'  cannot  be  properly  used  here,  unless  we  sup- 
pose Sir  Toby  to  mean,  I  never  saw  one  that  had  so  much  the  look  of  a  woman  with 
the  prowess  of  a  man. — STEEVENS  :  A  virago  always  means  a  female  warrior,  or,  in 
low  language,  a  scold,  or  turbulent  woman.  In  Heywood's  Golden  Age,  1611, 
Jupiter  enters  '  like  a  nymph  or  virago ' ;  and  says,  '  I  may  pass  for  a  bona-roba,  a 
rounceval,  a  virago,  or  a  good  manly  lass.' [II,  i,  p.  30,  ed.  Shakespeare  Soc.]  If 


240  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  in,  sc.  iv. 

and  he  giues  me  the  ftucke  in  with  fuch  a  mortall  motion  275 
that  it  is  ineuitable :  and  on  the  anfwer,  he  payes  you  as 

275.  Jlucke     in]     stuck — in     Johns.         Sing. 

stuck-in    Cap.    Var.    Mai.    Steev.    Var.  276.   ineuitable]  invitable  F4. 

Wh.  i,  Sta.  Dyce  ii,  iii,  Ktly.     Stuckin  you~]  your  ¥3. 

Shakespeare  (who  knew  Viola  to  be  a  woman,  though  Sir  Toby  did  not)  has  made 
no  blunder,  Dr  Johnson  has  supplied  the  only  obvious  meaning  of  the  word. 
'Firago'  may,  however,  be  a  ludicrous  word  of  Shakespeare's  coinage. — M ALONE: 
Why  may  not  the  meaning  be  more  simple,  '  I  have  never  seen  the  most  furious 
woman  so  obstreperous  and  violent  as  he  is'?  I  do  not  conceive  that  'firago'  is  a 
word  of  Shakespeare's  coinage,  but  a  common  corruption  for  virago,  like  fagaries 
for  vagaries. — RITSON  (p.  65)  :  The  word  'virago'  is  certainly  inapplicable  to  a 
man,  a  blustering,  hectoring  fellow,  as  Sir  Toby  means  to  represent  Viola ;  for  he 
cannot  possibly  entertain  any  suspicion  of  her  sex  ;  but  it  is  no  otherwise  so,  than 
rounceval  is  to  a  woman  [see  the  foregoing  quotation  from  Hey  wood],  meaning  a 
terrible  fighting  blade  ;  from  Roncesvalles,  the  famous  scene  of  the  fabulous  combat 
with  the  Saracens. — COLLIER  :  It  may  be  spelt  '  firago '  perhaps  with  allusion  to  the 
word  '  devil '  in  the  preceding  part  of  the  sentence. — W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  Sir  Toby's 
corruption  of  virago,  or  else  a  word  of  his  own  coinage.  If  '  fire-eater '  had  been 
in  existence  at  the  time,  'firago'  might  be  a  hybrid  between  this  and  'virago.' 
['Firago'  seems  far  more  expressive  than  the  tame  'virago';  there  is  in  it  a  sug- 
gestion of  _fi re,  fury,  Jl e nd,  ferocious,  all  combined. — ED.] 

275.  stucke  in]    STEEVENS  :  The  '  stuck '   is  a   corrupted   abbreviation   of  the 
Stoccata,  an  Italian  term  in  fencing.     So  in  The  Returne  from  Parnassus,  1606: 
•I,  heare  is  a  fellow,  ludicio,  that  carryed  the  deadly  stock-[ado]  in  his  pen. '[I,  ii, 
p.  87,  ed.  Macray.]     Again,  Marston's  Second  Part  of  Antonio  and  Mellida,  1602  : 
'I  would  passe  on  him  with  a  mortall  stocke'[I,  iii.     See  Rom.  &  Jul.  Ill,  i,  79  : 
'Alia  stoccata  carries  it  away.'     I  think  Capell  erred  in  joining  '  stuck'  and  'in' 
with  a  hyphen  ;  'in,'  I  believe,  qualifies  'give,'  that  is,  'gives  me  the  stuck  home,' 
and  probably  it  was  so  understood  by  Dr  Johnson,  who  placed  after  '  stuck '  not  a 
hyphen,  but  a  dash.     Possibly,  Sir  Toby  uttered  the  '  in '  after  '  stuck '  with  great 
emphasis,  accompanied  with  a  manual  illustration  on  the  breast  of  Sir  Andrew  which 
was  well  devised  to  reduce  him  to  abject  terror.     What  the  '  stuck  '  or  stoccata  is  we 
learn  from  Vincentio  Saviolo  his  Practise,  1595  :  '  let  the  scholler  obserue  the  same 
time  in  going  backe  as  the  teacher  shall,  .  .  .  and  let  him  lifte  vp  his  other  hand  with 
his  ward  on  high,  that  he  be  not  stricken  on  the  face  with  the  mandritta,  or  in  the 
belly  with  the  thrust  or  stoccata.     Wherefore  at  the  selfe  same  time  that  the  scholler 
shall  deliuer  the  foresaide  stoccata  to  the  teacher,   the  teacher  shall  yeelde  and 
shrinke  with  his  bodye,  and  beate  the  stoccata  outward  on  the  left  side.' — p.  9, 
verso. — ED.] 

276.  ineuitable]  That  is,  what  Shakespeare  calls,  in  Othello,  'unshunnable.' 
—ED. 

276.  on  the  answer]  Thus,  Vincentio  Saviolo  his  Practise:  'As  the  Scholler 
parteth  in  the  counter  time,  hee  must  in  the  same  instant  breake  the  stoccata  with 
his  lefte  hande,  and  aunswere  againe  with  the  other  :  also  the  Maister,  to  make  his 
scholler  quicke  and  readye,  shall  vse  to  aunswere  him  in  the  same  time  that  his 
scholler  deliuereth  his  stoccata,'  etc.,  p.  17. — ED. 

276.  he  payes  you]  MALONE  :  That  is,  he  hits  you. 


ACT  in,  sc.  iv.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  241 

furely,  as  your  feete  hits  the  ground  they  ftep  on.   They         277 
fay,  he  has  bin  Fencer  to  the  Sophy. 

And.     Pox  on't,  He  not  meddle  with  him. 

To.     I  but  he  will  not  now  be  pacified,  280 

Fabian  can  fcarfe  hold  him  yonder. 

An  Plague  on't,  and  I  thought  he  had  beene  valiant, 
and  fo  cunning  in  Fence,  I'de  haue  feene  him  damn'd  ere 
Fde  haue  challenged  him.  Let  him  let  the  matter  flip,  and 
lie  giue  him  my  horfe,  gray  Capilet.  285 

To.  He  make  the  motion  :  ftand  heere,  make  a  good 
fhew  on't,  this  fhall  end  without  the  perdition  of  foules, 
marry  lie  ride  your  horfe  as  well  as  I  ride  you. 

Enter  Fabian  and  Viola. 

I  haue  his  horfe  to  take  vp  the  quarrell,!  haue  perfwaded         290 
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  fir,  he  will  fight  with  you  for's 
oath  fake  :  marrie  hee  hath  bette  r  bethought  him  of  his         295 
quarrell,  and  hee  findes  that  now  fcarfe  to  bee  worth  tal- 

277.  hits']  Ff.     hit  Rowe  et  seq.  Cap. 

278.  bin]  been  Ff.  290.  take  vp]  make  up  Anon.  ap.  Cam. 

279.  lie]  He  Fa.     Pie  F3F4.  291.  youths]  youth's  F3F4. 

280.  Prose,  Cap.  et  seq.  292,  293.   [Aside.  Cap. 

281.  yonder]  Om.  Rowe.  292.    as  horribly]     horribly    Rowe, 

282.  and  I]  if  I  Pope,  Han.     an  I  Pope,  Han. 

Theob.  et  seq.  294.  To.]  To.  [to  Viola.]  Cap. 

285.  him]  you  Anon.  ap.  Cam.  for1  s]  for  his  Mai.  Steev.  Var. 

Capilet]  Capulet  Dyce,  Huds.  Knt. 

287.  foules, ]  fouls;  F4,  Rowe.  295.   oath  fake]  oath's  sake  Cap.  Coll. 

288.  [Aside.  Theob.  ii.     oath-sake  Dyce. 

289.  Viola.]  Viola  unwillingly.  Coll.  hath]    had   Theob.    ii,    Warb. 
MS.                                                                    Johns.  Var.  Ran. 

290.  I. ..quarrell']  Separate  line,  Sta.  296.  fcarfe  to  bee~\  to  be  scarce  Cap. 
[To    Fabian.     Rowe.       Aside,         conj. 

278.   Sophy]  See  II,  v,  169. 

285.  Capilet]  W.  A.  WRIGHT:  'Capul'  was  a  north-country  word  for  a  horse, 
and  possibly  'capilet'  maybe  a  diminutive  of  this.  MURRAY  (N.  E.  D.  s.  v.  Caple, 
capul]  gives  a  quotation  from  Land  Cokaygne,  as  early  as  circa  1290  :  'Hors,  no 
capil,  kowe,  no  ox,'  which  adds  probability  to  Wright's  suggestion. 

290.  to  take  vp]  See  As  You  Like  ft,  V,  iv,  100 :  '  I  knew  when  seuen  lustices 
could  not  take  vp  a  Quarrell.' 

292.  horribly  conceited]  MALONE  :  That  is,  he  has  as  horrid  an  idea  or  con- 
ception of  him.  [Compare  Othello^  III,  iii,  174:  'From  one,  that  so  imperfectly 
conceits.'] 


242  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  in,  sc.  iv. 

king  of :  therefore  draw  for  the  fupportance  of  his  vowe,         297 
he  protefts  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.  300 

Fab.     Giue  ground  if  you  fee  him  furious. 

To.     Come  fir  Andrew,  there's  no  remedie,   the  Gen- 
tleman will  for  his  honors  fake  haue  one  bowt  with  you: 
he  cannot  by  the  Duello  auoide  it :  but  hee  has  promifed 
me,  as  he  is  a  Gentleman  and  a  Soldiour,  he  will  not  hurt         305 
you.     Come  on,  too't. 

And.     Pray  God  he  keepe  his  oath. 
Enter  Antonio. 

Vio.     I  do  affure  you  tis  againft  my  will.  309 

297.  vowe,]  -vow;  Cap.  307.  Scene  XIV.  Pope, +  . 

299.  Vio.]  Vio.  [Aside.]  Cap.  308.  Enter...]   After  line  309,  Dyce, 

302.  To.]  To.  [Go  to  Andrew.]  Coll.  Cam.  Sta.      Enter. ..draws,    and     runs 

MS.  ap.  Cam.  between,  (after  line  309)  Cap. 

306.  [They  draw.    Rowe.  309.  [to  Sir  And.     draws.    Cap. 

307.  [draws.    Cap. 

297.  supportance]  That  is,  maintaining  or  upholding.  SCHMIDT  (Lex.}  fur- 
nishes an  example  of  its  use  literally,  as  a  support,  or  prop  :  '  Give  some  supportance 
to  the  bending  twigs.' — Rich.  II :  III,  iv,  32. 

304.  by  the  Duello]  The  earliest  example  of  the  use  of  this  form,  given  by 
MURRAY  (N.  E.  D. )  is  from  Love's  Lab.  L.  I,  ii,  185,  so  that  one  might  almost 
attribute  its  introduction  to  Shakespeare.  '  Duellum,'  an  adoption  from  the  mediaeval 
Latin,  duellum  (an  ancient  form  of  Latin  helium),  dates  from  1284.  'Duel'  is 
found  in  Coryat's  Crudities,  1611.  For  '  duelling,  as  a  practice,  having  its  code  of 
laws,'  Murray  quotes  Tomkis,  Albumazar,  1615:  « Understand'st  thou  well  nice 
points  of  duel?  ...  by  strict  laws  of  duel  I  am  excus'd  To  fight  on  disadvantage.' — 
IV,  vii. 

309.  I  do,  etc.]  SPEDDING  (Fraser's  Maga.  Aug.  1865,  p.  266)  :  That  the 
humours  of  the  duelling  scene  will  ever  be  brought  back  within  the  text  of  Shake- 
speare, and  the  limits  of  becoming  mirth,  is  more  than  we  can  hope.  Managers  can 
hardly  be  expected  to  sacrifice  a  piece  of  farce,  which  always  makes  the  audience 
very  merry,  though  Shakespeare  has  evidently  taken  pains  to  preserve  Viola  from 
the  ridiculous  attitude  in  which  it  places  her,  and  she  can  never  be  seen  as  she  was 
meant  to  be  until  it  is  reformed.  .  . .  Viola,  it  must  be  remembered,  has  to  sustain 
the  part  of  a  young  gentleman,  who  must  not  seem  to  be  afraid  of  a  drawn  sword, 
or  unused  to  handle  one.  If  she  cannot  contrive  to  avoid  the  fight  handsomely,  the 
resource  she  looks  to  is  not  flight  but  confession, — a  confession  of  her  disguise. 
4  Pray  God  defend  me,'  she  says  to  herself  when  it  is  coming  to  extremity,  '  a  little 
thing  would  make  me,' — not,  take  to  my  heels, — but  'tell  them  how  much  I  lack  of  a 
man.'  How  she  would  have  done  it  we  do  not  know ;  but  we  may  be  sure  she 
would  have  known  how  to  do  it  gracefully  and  without  loss  of  feminine  dignity. 
But  being  a  person  of  great  feminine  (though  not  masculine)  courage,  of  remark- 


ACT  in,  sc.  iv.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  243 

Ant.     Put  vp  your  fword  :  if  this  yong  Gentleman  310 

Haue  done  offence,  I  take  the  fault  on  me  : 
If  you  offend  him,  I  for  him  defie  you. 

To.     You  fir  ?  Why,  what  are  you  ? 

Ant.     One  fir,  that  for  his  loue  dares  yet  do  more 
Then  you  haue  heard  him  brag  to  you  he  will.  315 

To.     Nay,  if  you  be  an  vndertaker,  I  am  for  you. 

312.  [Drawing.  Rowe.  316.  [Draws.  Rowe. 

able  composure  and  presence  of  mind  and  ready  wit,  she  reserves  that  for  the  last 
extremity ;  hoping  by  judgement,  gentleness,  pacific  bearing,  and  intervention  of 
Providence,  to  avoid  the  necessity  of  so  inconvenient  a  disclosure.  Of  the  attempts 
to  run  away,  and  the  dragging  back  and  pushing  on  by  main  force,  it  is  not  enough 
to  say  that  there  is  no  trace  in  the  original  text ;  they  are  inconsistent  with  it.  For 
up  to  the  very  last,  when  there  seemed  to  be  no  chance  of  escape  left,  the  only  evi- 
dence she  had  given  of  the  fear  which  she  had  such  good  right  to  feel,  was  '  panting 
and  looking  pale.'  And  even  when  she  is  obliged  to  draw  her  sword,  or  prepare  to 
draw  it  (for  it  is  doubtful  whether  Shakespeare  intended  to  expose  her  to  so  severe  a 
trial  as  the  actual  crossing  of  weapons),  her  words  are  still  calm,  and  such  as  any 
gentleman  might  have  used — '  I  do  assure  you,  'tis  against  my  will.'  Indeed,  from 
the  beginning  to  the  end  of  the  adventure  she  neither  does  nor  says  anything  (her 
complexion  and  the  beating  of  her  heart  excepted)  that  would  have  misbecome  a 
well-behaved,  peaceful  young  gentleman,  who  disliked  to  be  drawn  by  a  bully  into  a 
brawl.  She  acts  throughout  with  discretion,  intelligence,  and  a  collected  judgement. 
.  .  .  She  goes  forward  to  the  place  where  the  danger  is  ;  and  there  is  not  the  slightest 
indication  that  she  is  either  pushed  or  pulled ;  so  far,  therefore,  she  has  contrived  to 
perform  her  part  without  betraying  more  than  had  appeared  before  in  her  countenance 
and  behaviour.  And  when  it  comes  at  last  to  a  crisis,  in  which  she  must  either  have 
disgraced  her  man' s  apparel  or  betrayed  her  secret,  the  sudden  appearance  of  Antonio 
rescues  her  from  the  indignity.  Now  we  submit  that  this  struggle  between  woman's 
fear  and  woman's  courage,  wit,  and  self-respect, — gently,  gracefully,  bravely,  and 
successfully  carried  through  under  very  trying  circumstances, — is  much  finer  comedy, 
as  well  as  much  more  in  harmony  with  the  sentiment  of  the  play,  than  the  mere 
terrors  and  perplexities  of  a  young  woman  frightened  out  of  her  wits  at  the  idea  of 
a  naked  sword, — though  executed  to  perfection.  The  inward  sinking  of  the  heart 
may  be  made  visible  enough  to  the  audience  without  any  display  of  unseemly  terror. 
[These  brave  words  of  Spedding  cannot  be  too  thoroughly  digested.  A  reluctance 
to  engage  in  a  street  brawl,  with  an  unknown  ruffian,  for  no  known  cause,  cannot  be, 
in  any  age,  attributed  in  a  gentleman  to  cowardice.  It  seems  to  me  that  Shake- 
speare has  taken  special  pains  to  guard  Viola  from  all  imputation  of  pusillanimity. 
—ED.] 

316.  an  vndertaker]  TYRWHITT:  At  the  meeting  of  the  parliament  in  1614, 
there  appears  to  have  been  a  very  general  persuasion,  or  jealousy  at  least,  that  the 
King  had  been  induced  to  call  a  parliament  at  that  time,  by  certain  persons  who  had 
undertaken,  through  their  influence  in  the  House  of  Commons,  to  carry  things 
according  to  his  Majesty's  wishes.  These  persons  were  immediately  stigmatized 
with  the  invidious  name  of  undertakers ;  and  the  idea  was  so  unpopular  that  the 


244  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  in,  sc.  iv. 

Ente  r Officers.  3 1 7 

Fab.     O  good  fir  Toby  hold :  heere  come  the  Officers. 

To.     He  be  with  you  anon. 

Vto.     Pray  fir, put  your  fword  vp  if  you  pleafe.  320 

And.  Marry  will  I  fir  :  and  for  that  I  promis'd  you  He 
be  as  good  as  my  word.  Hee  will  beare  you  eafily,  and 
raines  well. 

l. Off.     This  is  the  man,  do  thy  Office. 

2  Off.   Anthonio,  I  arreft  thee  at  the  fuit  of  Count  Orfino         325 

An.     You  do  miftake  me  fir. 

l. Off.     No  fir,  no  iot  :  I  know  your  fauour  well : 
Though  now  you  haue  no  fea-cap  on  your  head  :  328 

317.  Enter...]  After  line  323,  Dyce,  323.  raines]  rains  F4.     reins  Rowe. 

Sta.  Coll.  iii.  325.  Anthonio.. •fuit']  One  line,  Cap. 

Officers.]  Officer.  F,.  Mai.    Steev.    Var.   Knt,    Coll.    Wh.  i, 

319.  [to  Antonio.  Cap.  Dyce,  Sta.  Ktly. 

320.  [To  Sir  And.  Rowe.  Count]  Duke  Rowe,  -i- . 
fword~\  word  F4,  Rowe. 

King  thought  it  necessary  to  deny  positively  (how  truly  is  another  question)  that 
there  had  been  any  such  undertaking.  Sir  Francis  Bacon  also  (then  attorney-gen- 
eral) made  an  artful,  apologetical  speech  in  the  House  of  Commons  upon  the  same 
subject :  '  when  the  house  (according  to  the  title  of  the  speech )  was  in  great  heat, 
and  much  troubled  about  the  undertakers.' — RITSON  :  '  Undertakers '  were  persons 
employed  by  the  King's  purveyors  to  take  up  provisions  for  the  royal  household,  and 
were  no  doubt  exceedingly  odious.  But  still,  I  think,  the  speaker  intends  a  quibble  ; 
the  simple  meaning  of  the  word  being  one  who  undertakes,  or  takes  up  the  quarrel 
or  business  of  another. — M.  MASON:  I  am  of  Ritson's  opinion.  DYCE  (Gloss.) 
also  adopts  it. — W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  In  the  Authorised  Version  of  Isaiah  xxxviii,  14, 
'Undertake  for  us  '  signifies  '  Be  surety  for  us.'  There  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that 
Sir  Toby  uses  it  with  any  more  contempt  than  is  naturally  felt  for  a  meddlesome  per- 
son. At  the  beginning  of  the  iyth  century,  it  signified  what  we  should  now  call  a 
'  contractor,'  and  Bacon  in  his  speech  in  the  House  of  Commons  concerning  the 
Undertaker  says  :  '  I  had  heard  of  Undertakings  in  several  kinds.  There  were 
Undertakers  for  the  plantations  of  Derry  and  Coleraine  in  Ireland,  the  better  to 
command  and  bridle  those  parts.  There  were,  not  long  ago,  some  Undertakers  for 
the  north-west  passage  ;  and  now  there  are  some  Undertakers  for  the  project  of  dyed 
and  dressed  cloths.' — Life  and  Letters,  ed.  Spedding,  v,  43.  [Inasmuch  as  we  now 
know  that  this  play  was  acted  in  1601-2,  a  meaning  attached  to  'undertakers'  in 
1614  can  hardly  carry  much  weight ;  and  yet  that  the  term  was  an  opprobrious  one  at 
least  five  years  earlier  we  learn  from  Ben  Jonson's  Dedication  to  The  Silent  Woman, 
1609,  where  he  says  that  he  would  rather  be  '  freed  in  my  fame  by  the  authority  of  a 
judge  than  the  credit  of  an  undertaker,'  that  is,  he  would  prefer  the  vindication  of  such 
men  as  Sir  Francis  Stuart  than  the  applause  of  men,  the  iniquity  of  whose  nature,  he 
says  further  on,  he  hated.  The  '  undertakers '  in  the  parliament  of  1614  were  prob- 
ably so  called  because  the  name  was  already  disgraceful,  or,  as  Tyrwhitt  says, 
•invidious.' — ED.] 


ACT  in,  sc.  iv.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WrLL  245 

Take  him  away,  he  knowes  I  know  him  well. 

Ant.     I  muft  obey.     This  comes  with  feeking  you  :  330 

But  there's  no  remedie,  I  mall  anfwer  it : 
What  will  you  do  :  now  my  neceflitie 
Makes  me  to  aske  you  for  my  purfe.     It  greeues  mee 
Much  more,  for  what  I  cannot  do  for  you, 

Then  what  befals  my  felfe  :  you  ftand  amaz'd,  335 

But  be  of  comfort. 

2  Off.     Come  fir  away. 

Ant.     I  muft  entreat  of  you  fome  of  that  money. 

Vio.     What  money  fir  ? 

For  the  fayre  kindneffe  you  haue  fhew'd  me  heere,  340 

And  part  being  prompted  by  your  prefent  trouble, 
Out  of  my  leane  and  low  ability 
He  lend  you  fomething  :  my  hauing  is  not  much, 
He  make  diuifion  of  my  prefent  with  you  : 
Hold,  there's  halfe  my  Coffer.  345 

Ant.     Will  you  deny  me  now, 
Ift  poflible  that  my  deferts  to  you  347 

330.  obey.'}  obey.  [To  Viola.]  Coll.  Cap. 

332>  333-  do :... purfe. ~\    do, ...purse?  337.  away]  come  away  Ktly. 

Dyce.   Sta.    Cam.   Rife,      doe  ?... purfe.  341.  part  being}  part,  being  Cap. 

Ff,  Rowe  et  cet.  343.  hauing]  Having  Theob.  Warb. 

334.  more,  for]  more  ;  for  F4,  Rowe.  Johns. 

more  for  Coll.  Dyce,  Sta.  Cam.  much,"]  much;  Theob. 

336.  But  be}  Be  F3F4>  345.  there's]  there  is  Han.  Steev.  Var. 

337-339.   Come  ...fir  ?~\   Two   lines,  Knt,  Hal. 

endmgyou.../ir  ?  (reading  money  back.)  346.  now,}  now?  F3F4. 

328.  sea-cap]  HALLIWELL  quotes  the  following  note  from  Fairholt :  The  '  sea- 
cap  '  of  the  Shakespearian  era  appears  to  have  been  generally  composed  of  fur,  as 
appears  from  Ammon's  curious  book  De  omnibus  Illiberalibus  sive  Mechanicis 
Artibw,  1574. 

330.  with  seeking  you]  For  examples  of  a  similar  use  of  -with,  see  ABBOTT, 
§  193,  p.  128. 

341.  And  part]  That  is,  partly.  See  Othello,  V,  ii,  363:  'This  wretch  hath 
part  confest  his  Villany.' 

343.  my  hauing]  That  is,  possession.     See  As  You  Like  It,  III,  ii,  362 :  '  for 
simply  your  having  in  beard  is  a  yonger  brothers  revenew.'     Schmidt's  Lex.  fur- 
nishes many  examples. 

344.  diuision  of  my  present]  After  '  present,'  money  or  store  is  understood. 
For  examples  of  adjectives  used  for  nouns,  see  ABBOTT,  §  5,  p.  20. 

345.  Hold]  WALKER  (Crit.  Hi,  88)  and  ABBOTT  (§  512,  p.  424)  would  make  this 
a  separate  interjectional  line  ;  retaining  '  there's'  of  the  Folio. 


246  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  in,  sc.  iv. 

Can  Itfcke  perfwafion.     Do  not  tempt  my  mifery,  348 

Leaft  that  it  make  me  fo  vnfound  a  man 

As  to  vpbraid  you  with  thofe  kindneffes  350 

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,  vainnefle,  babling  drunkennefle,  355 

Or  any  taint  of  vice,  whofe  ftrong  corruption 
Inhabites  our  fraile  blood. 

Ant.     Oh  heauens  themfelues. 

2.0 ff.     Come  fir,  I  pray  you  go. 

Ant.    Let  me  fpeake  a  little.    This  youth  that  you  fee         360 
I  fnatch'd  one  halfe  out  of  the  iawes  of  death,        (heere, 

348.  lz.cke\  Ft.  drunkenness  Steev.  et  cet. 
perfwafion.]  perfuafeon  ?  Ff.  358.  heauens~\  Heav'ns  Rowe,  +  . 

349.  Leaft~\  Left  F4.  359.  pray  you  go]  pray  you  Lloyd 
352.   none,]  none.  Ff.                                     ap.  Cam. 

355.  lying,  vainneffe,  babling  drunk-  360.  fpeake~\  but  speak  Han. 

tnnejfe\  Ff,  Rowe  i,  +  ,  Cap.  Var.  Ran.  360,  361.  a  little...  heere,~\    Separate 

Mai.     lying  vainness,  babbling  drunk-  line  (reading  Why,  this  youth)  Han. 

enness  Rowe  ii  (ap.  Cam.),  Coll.  Sing.  361.  death,~\  death  ;  Theob. 
Ktly,  Cam.  ii.  lying,  vainness,  babbling, 

349.   Least  that]  For  the  construction,  see  I,  ii,  53. 

355.  lying,  vainnesse,  babling  drunkennesse]  COLLIER  :  '  Lying '  and  '  bab- 
bling '  are  not  to  be  taken  as  substantives,  but  as  participial  adjectives.  [See  Text. 
Arotes.] — W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  The  reading  of  Rowe,  ed.  ii.  appears  to  be  the  best. 
In  Steevens's  arrangement  there  is  no  sequence  or  climax  in  the  four  things  which 
are  stigmatised  as  vices,  and  it  is  better  to  take  the  words  in  pairs,  with  an  adjec- 
tive and  substantive  in  each  pair. — DEIGHTON  :  There  seems  to  me  a  cumulative 
force  which  is  lost  by  adopting  Rowe's  reading.  [In  my  copy  of  Rowe  ii.  there  is  a 
faint  battered  comma  after  '  lying,'  which  may  well  have  disappeared  in  subsequent 
impressions.  Steevens  was  absurdly  wrong  in  placing  a  comma  after  'babbling.' 
I  much  prefer  to  take  the  words  in  pairs,  as  Collier  and  Wright  suggest.  — ED.  ] 

355.  vainnesse]  This,  SCHMIDT  (Lex.)  defines  as  'falseness';  W.  A.  WRIGHT 
as  '  boastfulness.'  Schmidt  overlooked  the  tautology  in  '  lying  falseness.' 

359.  Come  sir,  etc.]  WALKER  (Crit.  iii,  89)  :  Arrange,  perhaps, — 'Come,  sir, 
I  pray  go.  (Not  "  I  pray  you  go."  Yet  I  doubt)  Let  me  speak  a  little  |  This  youth, 
that  you  see  here,  |  I  snatch' d  one  half,'  etc.  [If  these  sentences  were  properly 
pronounced  on  the  stage,  no  human  ear  could  detect  these  divisions  which  Walker 
recommends. — ED.]— K.  ELZE  (p.  184)  :  The  words  'a  little,'  besides  spoiling  the 
metre,  impress  the  reader  as  ridiculously  superfluous,  and  have  probably  slipped  from 
their  original  place,  which  was  in  the  second  half  of  the  preceding  line.  I  suspect 
the  original  wording  to  have  been  somewhat  as  follows  :  '  Come,  sir,  I  pray  you  go. 
Tarry  a  little  \  And  let  me  speak.  This  youth  that  you  see  here,  |  '  etc. 


ACT  in,  sc.  iv.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  247 

Releeu'd  him  with  fuch  fan<5titie  of  loue  ;  362 

And  to  his  image,  which  me  thought  did  promife 

Moft  venerable  worth,  did  I  deuotion. 

i. Off.    What's  that  to  vs,  the  time  goes  by  :  Away.  365 

Ant.     But  oh,  how  vilde  an  idoll  proues  this  God  : 

Thou  haft  Seba/lian  done  good  feature,  fhame. 

In  Nature,  there's  no  blemifh  but  the  minde  : 

None  can  be  call'd  deform'd,  but  the  vnkinde. 

Vertue  is  beauty,  but  the  beauteous  euill  370 

362.  loue;'}    Ff,    Han.    Cam.  Huds.  366.  vildc]   FaF3.      vild   F4,   Rowe, 
love,  Rowe,  + ,  Glo.    love, —  Cap.  etcet.         Knt.     vile  Pope. 

363.  his}  this  Walker,  Huds.  God:}  god:  F,F3.     God!  F4. 
me  thought}  methought  Rowe.                 367.  feature,   Jhame}    F7.      feature 

364.  venerable}  veritable  Coll.  ii,  iii         Jhame,  F3F4. 

(MS).  370.  beauteous    euill}    beauteous-evil 

365.  vs,}  Ff.  Rowe  i.    us?  Rowe  ii.         Mai.  Steev.  Var.  Dyce,  Sta. 

362.  such  sanctitie  of  loue ;]  CAPELL  placed  a  dash  after  ' love,'  as  an  incom- 
plete sentence.  WALKER  was  so  impressed  with  this  incompleteness  that  he  says 
(Crit.  iii,  89)  '  a  line  seems  to  have  dropped  out  after  "  love,"  for  the  only  meaning 
which  (as  the  passage  stands)  "such"  can  possibly  have,  is  inadmissible.  I  would 
read  and  point :  "  I  snatch' d  one  half  out  of  the  jaws  of  death ;  |  Reliev'd  him ; 
with  such  sanctity  of  love  [a  line  omitted]  And  to  this  image,  which  methought  did 
promise,"  etc.  The  emendation  of  (his  for  "  his"  I  have  also  proposed  [in  Crit.  ii, 
222],  where  see  other  instances  of  the  confusion  between  these  two  words.' — HUD- 
SON :  The  context,  I  think,  fairly  requires  the  sense  of  all  instead  of  '  such.'  Much 
might  more  easily  be  misprinted  '  such,'  but  is  not  strong  enough  for  the  place.  The 
occurrence  of  '  idol '  in  the  last  line  shows  Walker's  emendation,  '  this,'  to  be  right. 
Antonio  does  not  mean  that  he  has  been  worshipping  an  image  of  the  supposed 
Sebastian,  but  that  what  he  has  taken  for  something  divine  turns  out  to  be  but  a 
hollow  image. — W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  For  '  such,'  in  this  sense,  compare  Cymbeline,  V, 
v,  44  :  '  Your  daughter,  whom  she  bore  in  hand  to  love  With  such  integrity,  she  did 
confess  Was  as  a  scorpion  in  her  sight.' 

364.  venerable]  COLLIER  (ed.  ii)  :  No  doubt  'worth'  is  'venerable,'  but  what 
Antonio  means  is  '  veritable  worth,'  and  such  is  the  word  substituted,  most  fitly,  by 
the  MS  Corrector.  Antonio  apprehended  that  he  had  found  Sebastian's  worth  mere 
ingratitude  and  falsehood.  The  word  was  either  misheard  or  misprinted. — DYCE 
(ed.  ii)  :  But  the  context  ('devotion,'  'idol,'  'god')  is  decisive  against  [this]  alter- 
ation. [The  use  of  '  devotion  '  alone  is  decisive. — ED.] 

367.  feature,  shame]  Although,  in  general,  I  set  no  great  value  on  the  punctu- 
ation of  the  compositors  of  the  Folio,  yet,  now  and  then,  it  is  noteworthy.  The 
comma  after  '  feature '  seems  to  have  been  really  placed  with  a  purpose ;  possi- 
bly, to  indicate  that  'feature'  means  the  whole  exterior,  as  Touchstone  asks  Audrey, 
'  does  my  simple  feature  content  you  ?'  and  that  the  voice  must  not  run  on,  and, 
absorbing  an  s  from  'shame,'  convert  the  phrase  into  'features  shame.' — ED. 

369.  the  vnkinde]  That  is,  unnatural.    Thus,  Lear,  III,  iv,  73  :  '  Nothing  could 
have  subdued  nature  To  such  a  lowness  but  his  unkind  daughters.' 

370.  beauteous  euill]  A  combination  similar  to  '  proper  false,'  in  II,  ii,  31. 


248  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  HI,  sc.  iv. 

Are  empty  trunkes,  ore-flourifh'd  by  the  deuill.  371 

I .  Off.     The  man  growes  mad,  away  with  him  : 

Come,  come  fir. 

Ant.     Leade  me  on.  Exit 

Vio.     Me  thinkes  his  words  do  from  fuch  pafsion  flye         375 

That  he  beleeues  himfelfe,  fo  do  not  I  : 

Proue  true  imagination,  oh  proue  ttue, 

That  I  deere  brother,  be  now  tane  for  you. 

To.     Come  hither  Knight,  come  hither  Fabian  :  Weel 

whifper  ore  a  couplet  or  two  of  moft  fage  fawes.  380 

Vio.     He  nam'd  Sebajlian  :  I  my  brother  know 

Yet  liuing  in  my  glaffe  :  euen  fuch,  and  fo 

In  fauour  was  my  Brother,  and  he  went  383 

372>  373-   Prose,    Mai.    Dyce,  Cam.             378.  tane\  to1  en  Rowe. 

Ktly,  Rife,  Wh.  ii.  379.   Weel'}  Well  Ff. 

372.  The]  Surely  the  Han.  379,  380.  Two  lines  of  verse  (reading, 

373.  Come"]  2. 0.    Come  Cap.  We1  II  whisper  <?  er  a  couplet  of  sage  saws) 

375.  [Aside.  Ed.  conj.  Vossconj. 

Me  thinkes]  Methinks  F  .  380.   [converse  apart.  Cap. 

376.  himfelfe,~\  himself;  Rowe  ii.  381.   [Aside.  Ed.  conj. 

377.  ttue\  Ft. 

371.  empty  trunkes]  STEEVENS  :  In  the  time  of  Shakespeare,  trunks,  which 
are  now  deposited  in  lumber-rooms,  or  other  obscure  places,  were  part  of  the  furni- 
ture of  apartments  in  which  company  was  received.  I  have  seen  more  than  one 
of  these,  as  old  as  the  time  of  our  poet.  They  were  richly  ornamented  on  the  top 
and  sides  with  scroll-work,  emblematical  devices,  etc. 

376.  so  do  not  I]  JOHNSON  :  This,  I  believe,  means,  I  do  not  yet  believe 
myself,  when,  from  this  accident,  I  gather  hope  of  my  brother's  life. — W.  A. 
WRIGHT  :  Viola  was  not  so  confident  in  her  belief  that  Sebastian  lived,  as  Antonio 
was  that  she  was  Sebastian. — DEIGHTON  :  His  words  appear  to  be  born  of  such 
strong  feeling  that  the  man  believes  what  he  says,  viz. :  that  he  knew  me  before  and 
rescued  me  from  the  sea ;  but  I  do  not  believe  with  him,  i.  e.  I  know  that  his  belief 
is  a  mistaken  one.  [This  man  has  faith  in  what  he  says,  which  I  have  not. — ED.] 

380.  a  couplet  or  two  of  most  sage  sawes]  DEIGHTON  :  Said  in  ridicule  of 
Antonio's  moralising  and  Viola's  soliloquising.     [That  it  was  said  in  ridicule  of 
Antonio  is,  I  think,  clear  ;  Antonio's  last  lines  ran  in  couplets.     But  I  cannot  think 
it  refers  to  Viola,  who  surely  must  have  spoken  aside. — ED.] 

381.  382.  know  Yet  liuing]  For  the  construction,  see  I,  v,  299. 

382.  liuing  in  my  glasse]  STEEVENS  :  I  suppose  Viola  means  :  '  As  often  as  I 
behold  myself  in  my  glass,  I  think  I  see  my  brother  alive';  i.  e.  I  acknowledge  that 
his  resemblance  survives  in  the  reflection  of  my  own  figure. — BRIGHTON  :  It  seems 
to  me  to  mean  rather  '  I  know  my  brother  to  be  mirrored  to  the  life  in  my  person, 
in  myself  who  am  the  glass';  compare  Hamlet,  III,  i,  161,  '  The  glass  of  fashion,' 
said  of  Hamlet,  whose  person  reflected  the  highest  fashion.     [I  do  not  doubt  that 
Deighton  is  correct. — ED.] 


ACT  iv,  sc.  i.]  OR,    WHAT  YOU  WILL  249 

Still  in  this  fafhion,  colour,  ornament, 

For  him  I  imitate  :  Oh  if  it  proue,  385 

Tempefts  are  kinde,  and  fait  waues  frefh  in  loue. 

To.  A  very  difhoneft  p  altry  boy,  and  more  a  coward 
then  a  Hare,  his  difhonefly  appeares,  in  leauing  his  frend 
heere  in  neceffity,  and  denying  him .-  and  for  his  coward- 
fhip  aske  Fabian.  390 

Fab.  A  Coward,  a  moft  deuout  Coward,  religious  in 
it. 

And.     Slid  He  after  him  againe,  and  beate  him. 

To.     Do,  cuffe  him  foundly,  but  neuer  draw  thy  fword 

And.     And  I  do  not.  395 

Fab.     Come,  let's  fee  the  euent. 

To.     I  dare  lay  any  money,  twill  be  nothing  yet.    Exit         397 


Quartus,  Sccena  prima. 


Enter  Sebajlian  and  Clowne.  2 

Clo.    Will  you  make  me  beleeue,  that  I  am  not  fent  for 

you  ? 

Seb.     Go  too,  go  too,  thou  art  a  foolifh  fellow,  5 

Let  me  be  cleere  of  thee. 

385.  Oh]  So  Becket,  Coll.  conj.  395.  And]  #Tope,  Han.  ^»  Theob. 

386.  loue.]  love.     Exit.  Ff.  etseq. 

387.  To.]  Yob.  F  .  not."]  not,  —  Theob.  et  seq. 

388.  Hare,]  Hare:  F/4.  [Exit  Sir  And.    Theob. 
391.  a  mojl]  Om.  Han.                                    396-  W  *\  let  ™  Han- 

393.  Slid}   'Slid   F  F  .      OJ's   lid  397-  ««y]  Om.  Han. 
Han.  Exit.]  Exeunt.  Rowe. 

394.  Do,]  Do:  Coll.  Dyce,  Sta.  Cam.  The   Street.   Rowe.        ...before 
neuer}  ne'er  Han.                                  Olivia's  House.  Cap. 

draw]  Om.  F3F4>  Rowe  i.  5.  too]  to  Ff. 

5,  6.  Prose,  Wh.  i. 

385.  if  it  proue]  For  other  instances  of  the  omission  of  so,  see  ABBOTT,  §  64. 

39  J>  392-  religious  in  it]  DEIGHTON  :  One  who  seems  positively  to  worship 
.owardice.  [Is  it  not  rather,  one  who  practises  it  religiously?  —  ED.] 

393.   Slid]  See  II,  v,  34. 

I.  Scaena  prima]  MARSHALL  :  In  [Irving'  s]  acting-edition,  this  scene  forms  part 
«f  the  preceding  one. 

3.  Will  you]  The  French  veux-tu. 

5.  Go  too,  go  too]  According  to  Bartlett's  Concordance,  this  exclamation  is  used 
eighteen  or  nineteen  times  in  these  plays  ;  and,  of  course,  with  varying  shades  of 


250  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  iv,  sc.  i. 

Clo.     Well  held  out  yfaith  :  No,  I  do  not  know  you,  7 

nor  I  am  not  fent  to  you  by  my  Lady,  to  bid  you  come 
fpeake  with  her  :  nor  your  name  is  not  Mafter  Cefario, 
nor  this  is  not  my  nofe  neyther  :  Nothing  that  is  fo,is  fo.  10 

Seb.  I  prethee  vent  thy  folly  fome-where  elfe,  thou 
know'ft  not  me. 

Clo.  Vent  my  folly  :  He  has  heard  that  word  of  fome 
great  man,  and  now  applyes  it  to  a  foole.  Vent  my  fol- 
ly :  I  am  affraid  this  great  lubber  the  World  will  proue  a  15 

II,  12.    thou  ...  me]    Separate    line,  great  lubberly  world  Coll.  MS.  Huds. 

Cap.  great  lubberly  -word  Douce,  Badham, 

II.  fome-where]  F2.  fomewhere  F F .  Wh.     great  lubber,  the  world,  Var.  '03 

14,  15.  folly  .•]  folly  !  F4.  et  cet.     great  lubber,  for  all  the  world 

15.  great  lubber  the  World]  Ff,  Rowe,  Bulloch. 
-I- ,  Cap.  Var.    Ran.    Mai.    Steev.    Sta. 

meaning,  but  in  the  majority  of  cases  it  expresses  impatience.  We  reverse  the 
action  and  say  '  Come,  come.' — ED. 

7.  Well  held  out]  An  artful  way  of  implying  that  much  of  this  contest  has  been 
carried  on  before  Sebastian  and  Feste  enter. — ED. 

13.  Vent  my  folly]  CAPKLL  (p.  l$l)  :  'Vent'  is  a  mercantile  word  and  in  use 
with  citizens,  and  suggests  the  Clown's  reflection  about  the  'world'  in  line  15. — 
REED  :  This  affected  word  seems  to  have  been  in  use  in  Shakespeare's  time. — 
HUNTER  (i,  409)  :  We  have  here  Shakespeare  ridiculing  affectations  in  language. 
Jonson,  in  his  Volpone,  fights  by  his  side  in  respect  of  this  word  :  '  Pray  you  what 
news,  sirs,  vents  our  climate?' — II,  i.  [It  is  strange  to  find  Hunter  supporting 
Reed  in  the  supposition  that  Shakespeare  here  ridicules  the  use  of  'vent.'  Both 
must  have  known  that  Shakespeare  himself  (as  ROLFE  points  out)  uses  the  word 
many  times.  Two  years  before  this  play  was  written,  Jaques  says  of  Touch- 
stone, in  As  You  Like  It,  II,  vii,  43  :  '  He  hath  strange  places  cram'd  With  obser- 
uation,  the  which  he  vents  In  mangled  forms.'  See,  too,  Kent's  use  of  the  word  in 
the  first  Scene  of  King  Lear.  Feste  was  on  the  alert  to  ridicule  any  expression  or 
any  action  of  Sebastian,  to  '  check  at  any  feather ' ;  and  the  contempt,  implied  by  the 
phrase,  stung  him. — ED.] 

15.  great  lubber  the  World]  JOHNSON  :  That  is,  affectation  and  foppery  will 
overspread  the  world. — DOUCE  :  A  typographical  corruption  seems  to  have  crept 
into  this  place  from  similitude  of  sound  ;  but  a  very  slight  alteration  will  restore  the 
sense.  The  clown  is  speaking  of  '  vent '  as  an  affected  word  ;  we  should  therefore 
read  :  'this  great  lubberly  word  will  prove,'  etc.,  i.  e.  will  turn  out  to  be  cockney 
language. — KNIGHT  quotes  Douce,  and  then  pertinently  asks :  'But  is  the  little 
word  "  vent "  a  great  lubberly  word  ?'  He  then  continues,  '  The  Clown  is  tolerably 
consequential  in  his  thoughts ;  and,  if  there  were  any  precise  meaning  in  his  fear 
that  the  world  would  prove  a  cockney,  we  do  not  see  how  he  brings  the  matter  in. 
May  not  the  speech  be  spoken  aside,  "  I  am  afraid  the  world  will  prove  this  great 
lubber  (Sebastian)  a  cockney  " — a  foolish  fellow?  Such  an  inversion  is  not  uncom- 
mon.'— COLLIER  (ed.  ii)  :  The  MS  Corrector  reads  'lubberly  world.'  Shakespeare 
uses  the  word  <  lubberly '  in  Mer.  Wives,  V,  v,  and  it  is  very  possible  that  lubberly 


ACT  iv,  sc.  i.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  251 

Cockney  :  I  prethee  now  vngird  thy  ftrangenes,  and  tell  16 

was  misheard  'lubber  the.' — BADHAM  (p.  284)  :  The  coherency  of  this  passage  is 
none  of  the  closest ;  for  what  has  the  state  of  the  world  at  large  to  do  with  Sebas- 
tian using  a  choice  expression?  [Hereupon  Badham,  not  knowing,  of  course,  that 
he  had  been  anticipated  by  Douce,  proposes  with  '  certainty '  that  the  phrase  is  the 
'  great  lubberly  word,'  whereof  the  meaning  is]  that  this  imposing  word  will  proba- 
bly turn  out  to  be  no  proof  that  the  person  using  it  is  an  adept  in  courtly  phrase, — 
that  Sebastian,  when  his  single  borrowed  bravery  of  language  is  used,  will  show  the 
weakness  of  his  own  wit. — HALLIWELL  :  The  meaning  of  this  passage  appears  to 
be,  I  am  afraid  the  whole  of  the  large  world  will  be  infected  with  foppery  and 
affectation,  in  other  words,  will  prove  a  cockney. — R.  G.  WHITE,  also,  not  know- 
ing that  he  had  been  anticipated  by  both  Douce  and  Badham,  adopted  '  lubberly 
word,'  asking  in  his  First  Edition  whether  '  there  can  be  a  doubt  that  lubberly  word 
was  mistaken  for  "  lubber  y«  world"?'  'This  correction,'  he  adds,  '  was  made  by 
the  present  editor  before  he  knew  of  the  existence  of  Collier's  MS  Corrector,'  but 
he  should  have  known  of  Douce,  whose  emendation  was  made  in  1807.  In  his 
Second  Edition,  White's  note  reads:  « lubberly  word :  that  is,  vent,  which,  in  the 
sense  of  utter,  was  affectedly  used  in  S.'s  day.  [Was  it  affectation  in  Kent  to  say  to 
Lear,  'While  I  can  vent  clamour  from  my  throat'? — ED.]  The  clown  fears  it  will 
prove  a  cockney  ;  that  is,  petted  and  adopted.  But  with  any  interpretation  the 
passage  is  doubtful.' — STAUNTON  :  The  point  of  this  is  not  apparent.  .  .  .  Omitting 
the  adjective  'great,'  which  may  have  been  caught  by  the  compositor  from  the  line 
above,  Douce' s  emendation  probably  gives  us  what  the  poet  wrote. — DYCE  (ed.  ii)  : 
I  can  hardly  believe  that  Shakespeare  would  have  made  the  Clown  speak  of  '  vent ' 
as  a  '  great  lubberly  word ' ;  and  I  doubt  much  if '  great  lubberly '  could  signify  either 
'imposing'  or  'pretentious,'  as  Badham  and  R.  G.  White  respectively  gloss  the 
expression. — H.  H.  S.  CROFT  (Gloss,  p.  471):  A  clue  to  the  true  explanation  of 
this  sentence  will  undoubtedly  be  found  in  the  repetition  by  the  Clown  of  the  word 
'  vent,'  which  evidently  struck  him  as  something  new  fangled  and  unaccustomed,  its 
'  strangeness '  appeared  to  him  a  mark  of  affectation,  of  mignardise,  such  that  the 
'  great  man,'  the  great  (unknown)  lubber,  '  the  world  '  (the  on  dit},  from  whom 
Sebastian  had  borrowed  it,  must  necessarily  turn  out  to  be  some  effeminate,  dainty  fel- 
low, in  short,  a  '  cockney.'  [Feste  says,  I  think,  in  effect :  If  terms  used  by  great  ones 
are  to  be  applied  to  fools,  and  on  every  petty  occasion  (just  as  he  himself  afterwards 
uses  '  vent'),  I  am  afraid  that  the  world,  great  lubber  as  it  is,  will  turn  out,  after  all, 
to  be  nothing  but  a  milksop.  When  Edgar  in  Lear  speaks  of  the  affected  evasions 
of  mankind  in  misnaming  its  vices,  he  calls  it  '  the  excellent  foppery  of  the  world.' 
Thus  here,  if  the  affected  misapplications  of  terms  becomes  widespread,  it  will  show 
that  the  world  is  nothing  but  a  foppish  cockney. — ED.] 

16.  Cockney]  MURRAY  {N.  E.  D. )  :  Middle  English  coken-ey,  -ay,  apparently 
equivalent  to  eoken  of  cocks  +  ey,  ay  (Old  English  teg)  egg  ;  literally  '  cocks'  egg.' 
This  derivation  satisfies  the  form  :  ey,  ay  (at),  are  regular  Mid.  Eng.  forms  of  egg, 
rhyming  with  the  same  words  {day,  etc.)  as  cokenay  itself;  coktn  genitive  plural  is 
as  in  clerken  coueitise,  P.  PI.  B.  iv,  1 19,  and  in  many  similar  instances  ;  the  use  of 
the  gen.  pi.  is  as  in  German  huhnerei,  fowls'  egg,  hahnenei,  cocks'  egg.  [The 
first  sense  of  the  word  is  given  as :]  An  egg :  the  egg  of  the  common  fowl,  hen's 
egg  ;  or  perhaps  one  of  the  small  or  mis-shapen  eggs  occasionally  laid  by  fowls,  still 
popularly  called  in  some  parts  '  cocks'  eggs,'  in  German  hahneneier  Thus,  1362, 


252  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  iv,  sc.  i. 

me  what  I  (hall  vent  to  my  Lady?   Shall  I  vent  to  hir  that  17 

thou  art  comming  ? 

Seb.     I  prethee  foolim  greeke  depart  from  me,  there's 
money  for  thee,  if  you  tarry  longer,  I  mail  giue  worfe  20 

paiment. 

17.   Lady?]¥a.    Lady  :  ¥f    Lady;  Yf     grig  or  gleeker  Anon.  ap.  Cam. 

F4,  Rowe.  19.   me,]  me;  Theob. 

17,  1 8.  that  thou]  that  that  Fa.  20.  thee,]  thee.  F^. 

19-21.  /  ...  paiment.]    Three    lines,  /  Jhall]   /'//  or  'Shall  Walker 

ending  me ;... longer,. ..payment.  Cap.  et  (  Vers.  237). 

seq.  worfe]  worser  Anon.  ap.  Cam. 

19.  greeke]   Fa.     Greek  F3>      Greek 

Langland,  Piers  Ploughman,  A.  vii,  272,  '  And  I  sigge,  bi  my  soule,  I  haue  no  salt 
Bacon,  Ne  no  Cokeneyes,  bi  Crist,  Colopus  to  maken.'  Again,  1562,  J.  Heywood, 
Prov.  &*  Epigr.  (1867),  36,  '  Men  say  He  that  comth  euery  daie,  shall  haue  a  cock- 
naie.  He  that  comth  now  and  then,  shall  haue  a  fatte  hen,'  etc.  .  .  .  [Of  this  first 
sense]  the  meaning  appears  to  be  established  by  the  first  quotation  ;  the  constituents 
of  a  Collop  were  precisely  bacon  and  an  egg.  This  meaning  also  completely 
explains  the  quotation  from  Heywood.  .  .  .  To  account  for  the  appellation,  we  might 
suppose  coken-ay  to  be  originally  a  child' s  name  for  an  egg  ;  but  as  cocks'  eggs  .  .  .  are 
at  the  present  day  applied  in  popular  speech  or  dialect  to  small  or  malformed  eggs,  it 
is  not  improbable  that  this  was  originally  the  specific  sense  of  cokenay.  The  old 
notion  that  such  eggs  produced  a  serpent  is  well  known  [see  '  cockatrices,'  III,  iv, 
195]  ;  but  no  trace  of  this  appears  in  the  popular  use  of  cokenay.  [The  second 
sense  of  the  word,  Murray  gives  as]  'A  child  that  sucketh  long,'  'a  nestle-cock,' 
'  a  mother's  darling ' ;  '  a  cockered  child,  pet,  minion  ' ;  '  a  child  tenderly  brought 
up';  hence,  a  squeamish  or  effeminate  fellow,  a  'milksop.'  .  .  .  The  application  of 
either  a  child's  word  for  an  egg,  or  of  the  name  of  a  small  or  mis-shapen  egg,  as  a 
humorous  or  derisive  appellation  for  a  '  child  sucking  long,'  a  '  nestle-cock,'  a  '  milk- 
sop,' obviously  explains  itself.  .  .  .  An  apparent  parallel  is  the  French  word  coco, 
'child's  name  for  an  egg,  also  a  term  of  endearment  applied  to  children,  and  of 
derision  applied  to  men  :  man  petit  coco,  quel  grand  coco  f 

19.  greeke]  THEOBALD  (Nichols,  Illust.  ii,  357)  :  I  suspect  it  should  rather  be 
*  foolish  geckj  i.  e.  gull,  buffoon.  [Hanmer  has  this  emendation  in  his  text ;  proba- 
bly, it  occurred  to  him  independently.  There  is  no  means  of  knowing  whether  or 
not  he  derived  it  from  Theobald.] — UPTON  (Remarks  on  Three  Plays  of  Jonson, 
p.  48)  :  Pergraecari,  in  Plautus  is  to  spend  the  hours  in  mirth,  wine,  and  banquets. 
Hence  the  proverb,  '  As  merry  as  a  Greek.'  Sebastian  calls  the  clown  '  foolish 
Greek'  for  his  unseasonable  mirth. — COLLIER:  This  is  in  reference  to  the  Clown's 
jocularity.  '  Merry  Greek '  was  a  well  understood  expression.  Mathew  Mery- 
greeke  is  a  character  in  UdalPs  Ralph  Roister  Doister. — HALLIWELL  :  Terms,  like 
Greek  or  Trojan,  were  employed  in  familiar  language,  in  a  variety  of  senses  which 
can  be  distinguished  only  by  the  context.  Nash,  Have  with  you  to  Saffron  Walden, 
1596  :  'A  rare  ingenuous  odde  merry  Greeke,  who  (as  I  haue  heard)  hath  translated 
my  Piers  Pennilesse  into  the  Macaronicall  tongue.'  [p.  47,  ed.  Grosart  Both 
Warburton  (ad.  loc.)  and  Douce  (i,  152)  here  interpret  'Greek'  as  equivalent  to 
pander ;  corresponding  to  the  Clown,  Pompey,  in  Meas.  for  Meas.  Sebastian  sup- 


ACT  iv,  sc.  i.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  253 

Clo.     By  my  troth  thou  haft  an  open  hanchthefe  Wife-  22 

men  that  giue  fooles  money,  get  themfelues  a  good  re- 
port, after  foureteene  yeares  purchafe. 

Enter  A  ndrew ,  Toby ,  and  Fabian .  2  5 

And.     Now  fir,  haue  I  met  you  again  :  ther's  for  you. 
Seb.    Why  there's  for  thee,  and  there,  and  there, 
Are  all  the  people  mad  ?  J 

To     Hold  fir,  or  He  throw  your  dagger  ore  the  houfe.  29 

22,  23.    Wife-men]    Ff.      wise    men  27,  28.  Prose,  F4,  Rowe, +  . 

Rowe  et  seq.  and  there,  and  there,]  and  there, 

23,  24,  report,]    Ff,    Cap.      report —  and  there,  and  there  :  Cap.  Dyce  ii,  iii, 
Sta.  Cam.     report  Rowe  et  cet.  Huds. 

24,  after]  at  a  Anon.  ap.  Cam.  [Beating  Sir  And.    Rowe. 

26.  again  :]  again  ?  F4.  29.  dagger]    danger  Var.  '85    (mis- 
t kef's}  F,.                                               print). 

[Striking  Seb.    Rowe. 

poses  Feste  to  be  such  a  character,  because  of  his  solicitations  to  visit  his  mistress, 
— an  interpretation  not  to  be  lightly  discarded. — ED.] 

23,  24.  report,  after  foureteene  yeares  purchase]  HEATH  (p.  192) :  That  is, 
purchase  a  good  report  at  a  very  extravagant  price. — TOLLET  :  Perhaps  '  fourteen 
years'  purchase'  was,  in  Shakespeare's  time,  the  highest  price  for  land.  Bacon's 
Essay  on  Usury  mentions  sixteen  years'  purchase.  '  I  will  not  give  more  than 
according  to  fifteen  years'  purchase,'  said  a  dying  usurer  to  a  clergyman  who  advised 
him  to  study  for  a  purchase  of  the  kingdom  of  heaven. — REED  :  Sir  Josiah  Child, 
Discourse  on  Trade,  says,  '  certainly  anno  1621,  the  current  price  of  lands  in  Eng- 
land was  twelve  years'  purchase  ;  and  so  I  have  been  assured  by  many  ancient  men 
whom  I  have  questioned  particularly  as  to  this  matter  ;  and  I  find  it  so  by  purchases 
made  about  that  time  by  my  own  relations  and  acquaintance.'  Sir  Thomas  Cul pep- 
per, senior,  who  wrote  in  1621,  affirms,  'that  land  was  then  at  twelve  years' 
purchase.' — COLLIER  :  The  meaning  may  be,  that  they  do  not  obtain  a  good  report 
by  such  means  until  after  the  lapse  of  much  time  and  longer  experience  of  their 
liberality  than  the  Clown  had  had.  On  the  other  hand  [Toilet's  argument  is  plaus- 
ible].— STAUNTON  :  That  is,  After  the  rate  of  fourteen  years'  purchase.  The  cur- 
rent price  of  land  when  this  play  was  written  appears  to  have  been  twelve  years' 
purchase  ;  so,  buying  character  of  fools  was  a  bad  bargain. — W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  The 
Folios  put  a  comma  at  '  report,'  meaning  probably  the  same  as  Staunton,  who 
marked  it  with  a  dash,  to  indicate  that  what  follows  is  said  aside,  or  in  a  different 
tone.  [The  marketable  value  of  land,  or  its  so-called  purchase,  was  computed  to  be 
the  sum  of  its  annual  rentals,  or  the  total  return  from  it,  for  a  certain  number  of 
years.] 

27.  and  there,  and  there,]  It  would  be  shocking  and  disgraceful  if  Sir  Andrew 
were  not  beaten  according  to  metre.     CAPELL  therefore  pitilessly  gave  him  a  fourth 
blow ;  and  DYCE,  equally  ruthless,  did  the  same  ;  because  '  the  words  had  evidently 
been  omitted  in  the  Folio  by  a  mistake  which  is  not  unfrequent  when  such  repetitions 
occur.'     Can  zeal  for  metre  further  go? — ED. 


254  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  iv,  sc.  i. 

Clo.     This  will  I  tell  my  Lady  ftraight,  I  would  not  be  30 

in  fome  of  your  coats  for  two  pence. 

To.    Come  on  fir,  hold. 

An.  Nay  let  him  alone,  He  go  another  way  to  worke 
with  him  :  He  haue  an  aflion  of  Battery  again  ft  him,  if 
there  be  a  ny  law  in  IJlyria :  though  I  ftroke  him  firft,  yet  35 

it's  no  matter  for  that. 

Seb.     Let  go  thy  hand. 

To.  Come  fir,  I  will  not  let  you  go.  Come  my  yong 
fouldier  put  vp  your  yron  :  you  are  well  flefh'd  :  Come 
on.  40 

Seb.  I  will  be  free  from  thee.  What  wouldft  y  now  ? 
If  thou  dar*ft  tempt  me  further,  draw  thy  fword.  42 

31.  two  pence}  two-pence  F F  ,  Cap.  35.  Jtroke\  F2.  Jlrook?f  Cap.  Jlruck 
Coll.                                                                   F4. 

[Exit  Clown.     Rowe.  35,  36.  yet. ..that]   Yet. ..that.  (Sepa- 

32.  Come  on  fir,~\  F2F4.     Come  on,         rate  line)  F4,  Rowe. 

fir,    F .     Come,  sir,   Ran.      Come  off,  38-40.   Come  fir, ...on}  Three  lines, 

sir;  Anon.  ap.  Cam.  ending  sir,.. .fouldier. ..on.  Walker  (Crit. 

[Holding  Seb.     Rowe.  i,  17). 

33.  alone, ]  alone;  Coll.  Dyce,  Cam.  41.   [Wrenches  from  him,  and  draws. 
35.  be}  he  F,.  Cap. 

though}  tho  F4.  42.  further}  farther  Coll. 

34.  acftion  of  Battery]  CASTLE  (p.    109.    See  III,  ii,   15)  :  Here  Aguecheek 
mistakes  the  law,  which  is  that  a  person  who  assaults  another  first  cannot  bring  an 
action  for  the  beating  he  gets  from  his  provocation.     This  was  the  law  in  Shake- 
speare's time,  though,  as  I  have  said,  in  Anne's  reign  the  judges  allowed  an  action 
to  be  brought  where  excessive  violence  was  used.    Thus,  if  a  woman  pushed  a  man, 
he  was  not  entitled  to  knock  her  down  with  a  cudgel.     But  I  do  not  think  these  two 
allusions  (see  III,  ii,  15),  both  of  which  are  doubtfully,  if  not  wrongfully,  used, 
can  put  this  play  amongst  the  legal  class.  [Has  not  Castle  slightly  misapprehended 
the  passage?     There  is   no   ignorance  of  the  law   on   Sir  Andrew's  part.     He 
acknowledges  that,  inasmuch  as  he  struck  Sebastian  first,  he  has  no  right  of  action, 
yet,  '  no  matter  for  that,'  he  is  going  to  have  his  action  of  battery  all  the  same ; 
though  the  law  is  dead  against  him  he  is  nevertheless  going  to  appeal  to  it.     I  can 
perceive  no  'mistake'  of  Sir  Andrew's  here. — ED.] 

39.  flesh'd]  BRADLEY  (N.  E.  D.}\  FLESH,  v.  I.  trans.  To  reward  (a  hawk  or 
hound)  with  a  portion  of  the  game  killed,  in  order  to  excite  his  eagerness  in  the 
chase.  Hence,  in  wider  sense,  to  render  (an  animal)  eager  for  prey  by  the  taste  of 
blood.  2.  To  initiate  in  or  inure  to  bloodshed  or  warfare. 

42.  draw  thy  sword]  COLLIER:  Here  the  modem  editors  insert  'Draws'  as  a 
stage-direction  ;  but  it  is  very  clear  from  what  Sir  Toby  last  says,  '  Come  my  young 
soldier,  put  up  your  iron,'  etc.,  that  Sebastian  had  already  drawn  his  sword.  It  was 
drawn  at  the  time  when  Sir  Toby  had  threatened  to  throw  Sebastian's  'dagger  o'er 
the  house.' — BADHAM  does  not  agree  with  Collier  in  thinking  that  all  this  speech 
is  addressed  to  Sebastian;  he  says  (p.  281)  that  the  words  'put  up  your  sword 


ACT  iv,  sc.  i.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  255 

To.   What,  what  ?  Nay  then  I  muft  haue  an  Ounce  or          43 
two  of  this  malapert  blood  from  you. 

Enter  Oliuia .  45 

01.     Hold  Toby,  on  thy  life  I  charge  thee  hold. 

To.     Madam. 

OL  Will  it  be  euer  thus  f  Vngracious  wretch, 
Fit  for  the  Mountaines,  and  the  barbarous  Caues, 
Where  manners  nere  were  preach'd  :  out  of  my  fight.  50 

Be  not  offended,  deere  Cefario : 
Rudesbey  be  gone.    I  prethee  gentle  friend,  52 

44.  [They  draw  and  fight.     Rowe.  sight  •'  Dyce. 

45.  Scene  II.  Pope,  +  .  51.  Cefario.-]  Cefario.  F3F4. 

47.  Madam.]  Madam  ?  Theob.  Mad-  52.  Rudesbey}  Fa.     Rudesby  F3F4  et 

am —  Coll.  Dyce.  seq.     Rude  spy  Procter. 

50.  nere']  tie1  re  Ff.  gone.]  gone.     [Exeunt  Sir  T.  and 

preacKd:  .../ight.]  preacNd!...  Sir  A.     Rowe. 

\sic\\  you  are  well  fleshed,'  '  should  be  bracketed,  as  addressed  to  Sir  Andrew.' 
[I  agree  with  Badham  that  the  command,  '  put  up  your  iron,'  is  addressed  to  Sir 
Andrew,  who,  seeing  that. Sebastian  was  safely  held  by  Sir  Toby,  and  that  he  had 
no  danger  to  apprehend,  had  drawn  his  blade,  against  Sir  Toby's  express  injunction 
at  the  close  of  the  preceding  scene.  Sir  Toby  knew  well  that  if  Sir  Andrew  had 
his  sword  drawn  and  Sebastian  should  wrench  himself  free,  Sebastian  would  make 
quick  work  of  the  '  manakin ' ;  therefore  he  intended  to  hold  Sebastian  long  enough 
to  divert  the  latter' s  indignation  from  Sir  Andrew  to  himself,  wherein  he  succeeded. 
'  You  are  well  flesh' d '  is  also  addressed  to  Sir  Andrew  and  intended  to  flatter  him 
into  quiet  by  intimating  that  as  a  victor  he  has  tasted  enough  blood.  Sebastian  at 
the  first  attack  had  laid  his  hand  upon  his  dagger.  This  dagger-hand  Toby  held 
fast.  As  soon  as  Sebastian  had  thrown  off  Sir  Toby,  he  draws  his  sword  with  the 
words,  '  What  wouldst  tliou  now?' — ED.] 

44.  malapert]  Cotgrave  gives  :  'Marmiton  :  m.  A  Scullion,  or  kitchin  boy  ;  also, 
a  greasie,  or  slouenly  knaue ;  and,  a  saucie,  malapert,  or  knauish  fellow.' 

52.  Rudesbey]  HALLIWELL  :  '  And  as  he  which  is  ceremonious  may  be  thought 
to  be  a  dissembler,  so  he  which  is  not  so,  may  be  taken  to  be  a  clowne,  a  rudesby, 
or  a  contemner  of  others. ' — Guazzo,  Ciuile  Conuersation.\$.  77,  78.] — FITZEDWARD 
HALL  (Modern  English,  p.  272,  Note  on  'tricksy'  in  The  Vicar  of  Wakefield )  : 
The  formation  of  tricksy  is  observable;  the  word  exemplifying  the  rare  suffix  -sy, 
which,  perhaps,  consists  of  s  euphonically  prefixed  to  the  adjectival  -y  of  roomy,  for 
instance.  Tricksy  is,  then,  trick  +  sy.  .  .  .  Again,  as  a  friend  suggests  to  me,  doxy, 
instead  of  being  referable  to  the  Danish  dukke  [see  Wint.  Tale,  IV,  iv,  346],  may 
have  started  from  the  vernacular  ducky,  and  so  consist  of  duck  +  s  +  y.  But  we  are 
not  yet  at  the  end  of  words  presumably  embodying  a  euphonic  s.  [In  the  following 
list,  each  word  is  followed  by  the  page  and  volume  of  the  work  wherein  it  occurs ; 
to  save  space  these  are  here  omitted]  :  Idlesby,  Lewdsby,  Rigsby,  Sneaksby,  Suresby, 
and  Rudesby,  which  is  used  twice  by  Shakespeare  [See  Tarn,  of  the  Shr.  Ill,  ii,  10]. 
'You  are  a  rudesby  yourself,'  writes,  in  1774,  Mrs  Catherine  Clive,  in  The  Private 
Correspondence  of  David  Garrick,  etc.,  i,  604.  Here  we  have  annexed  to  adjectives 


256  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  iv,  sc.  i. 

Let  thy  fayre  wifedome,  not  thy  pafsion  fway  53 

In  this  vnciuill,  and  vniuft  extent 

Againft  thy  peace.     Go  with  me  to  my  houfe,  55 

And  heare  thou  there  how  many  fruitleffe  prankes 

This  Ruffian  hath  botch'd  vp,  that  thou  thereby 

Mayft  fmile  at  this  :  Thou  (halt  not  choofe  but  goe : 

Do  not  denie,  befhrew  his  foule  for  mee, 

He  ftarted  one  poore  heart  of  mine,  in  thee.  60 

56.  keare\  here  F4>  60.  mine,]  mine  F4. 
58.  Mayjl]  Mai/l  Ff. 

and  substantives,  s,  with  -by ;  unless  some  one  proves  the  existence  of  the  termina- 
tion -sby.  And  what  is  this  -byt  Some  have  seen  boy'va.  it.  The  old  spelling 
rudesbey  suggests  no  solution. 

54.  vnciuill]  Evidently  suggested  by  the  terms  in  which  she  has  just  character- 
ised Toby's  conduct  as  'fit  for  mountains  and  barbarous  caves.' — ED. 

54.  vniust  extent]  JOHNSON  :  '  Extent '  is,  in  law,  a  writ  of  execution,  whereby 
goods  are  seized  for  the  King.  It  is  therefore  taken  here  for  violence  in  general. 
[See  As  You  Like  //,  III,  i,  18,  of  this  ed.  where  the  use  of  '  extent,'  as  a  legal  term, 
is  discussed.  Of  course,  it  has  no  tinge  of  legal  phraseology  in  the  present  passage.] 

57.  botch'd  vp]  HEATH  (p.  193)  :  This  is  a  metaphor  taken  from  the  employ- 
ment of  a  botcher,  who  set  patches  on  old  worn-out  cloaths.     The  sense  is,  How 
many  fruitless  pranks  this  ruffian  hath  been  obliged  to  make  satisfaction  for,  at  the 
expense  of  his  fortune  and  reputation. — W.  A.  WRIGHT  :   That  is,  patched  up 
clumsily.     This  does  not  refer  to  the  patching  up  of  quarrels  which  Sir  Toby's 
conduct  had  bred,  but  to  the  awkwardly  contrived  tricks  he  was  constantly  playing. 
[Possibly  this  was  also  Warburton's  interpretation  when  he  conjectured  hatched 
up.— Notes  &*  Qu.  Vlllth,  iii,  203.] 

58.  choose  but  goe]  ABBOTT  (§  353,  p.  254)  :  The  obvious  and  grammatical 
construction  is  '  thou  shall  not  choose  anything  except  (to)  go  ';  but  probably  (con- 
trary to  Manner's  view,  iii,  18)  the  explanation  of  the  omission  is,  that  Shakespeare 
mentally  supplies  '  shall,'   « can,'  etc.     '  Thou  shalt  not  choose  anything  else,  but 
(shall)  go.' 

60.  one  poore  heart  of  mine]  JOHNSON  :  I  know  not  whether  ihere  be  nol  an 
ambiguily  inlended  belween  '  heart  '  and  hart.  The  sense,  however,  is  easy  enough. 
1  He  that  offends  thee,  atlacks  one  of  my  hearts ' ;  or,  as  ihe  ancienls  expressed  it, 
•half  my  heart.' — MALONE  :  The  equivoque  suggested  by  Dr  Johnson  was,  I  have 
no  doubt,  intended.  '  Heart'  in  our  author's  lime  was  frequently  written  hart ;  and 
Shakespeare  delights  in  playing  on  these  words.  [Had  both  Dr  Johnson  and  Malone 
forgotlen  ihe  22nd  line  of  ihe  firsl  scene  of  ihis  play? — ED.] — WHITER  (p.  96)  : 
I  am  persuaded  that  no  quibble  was  here  intended  ;  but  that  the  equivocal  word 
suggested  to  the  unconscious  Poet  a  term  which  was  allied  lo  one  of  its  significations. 
— STAUNTON  :  The  hunter's  technical  phrase  'started,'  might  have  convinced  Dr 
Johnson  lhat  the  poet  was  playing  on  the  word.  [I  prefer  Whiter' s  mode  of  express- 
ing it.  It  is  not  a  quibble,  nor  even  a  play  on  the  words  ;  these  imply  conscious- 
ness, or,  at  least,  intenlion  ;  but  I  believe  thai  it  was  an  unconscious  adoption  by 
Olivia  of  both  significations  of  the  word. — ED.] 


ACT  iv,  sc.  ii.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  257 

Seb.     What  rellifh  is  in  this?  How  runs  the  ftreame  ? 
Or  I  am  mad,  or  elfe  this  is  a  dreame  : 
Let  fancie  ftill  my  fenfe  in  Lethe  fteepe, 
If  it  be  thus  to  dreame,  ftill  let  me  fleepe. 

CY.Nay  come  I  prethee,  would  thoud'ft  be  rul'd  by  me  65 

Seb.     Madam,  I  will. 

Ol.     O  fay  fo,  and  fo  be.  Exeunt          67 


Sccena  Secunda. 

Enter  Maria  and  Clowne.  2 

Mar.  Nay,  I  prethee  put  on  this  gown,  &  this  beard, 
make  him  beleeue  thou  art  fir  Topas  the  Curate,  doe  it 
quickly.  He  call  fir  Toby  the  whilft.  5 

65.   Iprethee\Ipray¥aptt  +  .  4,5.   Curate. ..quickly]  Curat...quikly 

I.  Scene  III.  Pope, +  .  F4. 

Olivia's  House.  Rowe.  5.  whilft]  -whirji  F  F . 

[ExitM.    Theob. 

61.  rellish  is  in  this?]  JOHNSON  :  How  does  this  taste?  What  judgement  am 
I  to  make  of  it  ? 

64.  If  it  be  thus  ...  let  me  sleepe]  STAUNTON  :  This  speech  recalls  that  of 
Antipholus  of  Syracuse,  under  similar  circumstances  of  bewilderment ;  Com.  of  Err. 
II,  ii,  214. 

65.  I  prethee]  WALKER  (Crit.  i,  78) :  Read  / pray  [sic  Pope]  ;  the  other  is  too 
rugged  for  a  rhyming  couplet. 

67.  and  so  be]  GERVINUS  (trans.  Bunnett,  i,  603)  :  [Sebastian],  drawn  into  the 
quarrel  with  the  squires,  at  one  stroke  gives  back  the  blows  due,  and  proves  to  Olivia 
that  he  would  know  how  to  free  her  from  her  dissolute  guests.  The  charm  exercised 
by  a  nature  at  once  so  fresh  and  so  victorious,  Olivia  is  not  alone  to  experience.  The 
poet  has  taken  care  that  the  instinctive  feeling  of  Ihe  Countess  should  not  be  con- 
strued into  womanly  weakness  ;  for  men  of  strong  nature  entirely  share  it  with  her. 
The  rough  captain,  Antonio,  is  attracted  to  this  yo^th  by  just  as  blind  an  impulse  of 
pleasure  and  love,  he  loiters  about  him,  in  spite  of  the  danger  to  which  he  exposes 
himself  in  the  adverse  town,  for  his  sake  he  takes  delight  in  this  danger,  he  bestows 
his  love  upon  him  without  retention  or  restraint ;  he  himself  calls  it  witchcraft,  which 
drew  him  to  the  joyous  dexterous  youth. 

4.  sir  Topas]  See  III,  iv,  270,  '  sir  Priest.' — STEEVENS  :  The  name  Sir  Topas 
is  taken  from  Chaucer.  [Would  it  not  have  been  more  correct  to  say,  it  is  found  in 
Chaucer? — ED.] — NARES  :  Dominus,  the  academical  title  of  a  bachelor  of  arts,  was 
usually  rendered  by  Sir  in  English,  at  the  Universities  ;  so  that  a  bachelor,  who  in 
the  books  stood  Dominus  Brown,  was  in  conversation  called  Sir  Brown.  This  was 
in  use  in  some  Colleges  even  in  my  memory. — PERCY  (quoted  by  Halliwell)  :  Sir 
seems  to  have  been  a  title  formerly  appropriated  to  such  of  the  inferior  clergy  as 
vrere  only  Readers  of  the  service,  and  not  admitted  to  be  preachers,  and  therefore 


25 8  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  iv,  sc.  ii. 

Clo.     Well,  He  put  it  on,  and  I  will  diffemble  my  felfe  6 

6.  diffemble]  de/emble  F4. 

were  held  in  the  lowest  estimation  ;  as  appears  from  a  remarkable  passage  in 
Machell's  MS  Collections  for  the  History  of  Westmoreland  and  Cumberland,  pre- 
served in  the  Dean  and  Chapter's  Library  at  Carlisle.  The  reverend  Thomas 
Machell  lived  temp.  Car.  II.  Speaking  of  the  little  chapel  of  Martindale,  the 
writer  says,  '  There  is  little  remarkable  within  or  about  it  but  a  neat  churchyard, 
which  by  the  peculiar  care  of  the  old  Reader,  Sir  Richard,  is  kept  clean,  and  as 
neat  as  a  bowling-green.  Within  the  limits  of  myne  own  memory  all  Readers  in 
Chapels  were  called  Sirs,  and  of  old  have  been  writ  so  ;  whence,  I  suppose,  such 
of  the  laity  as  received  the  noble  order  of  knighthood  being  called  Sir's  too,  for 
distinction  sake  had  Knight  writ  after  them  ;  which  had  been  superfluous,  if  the  title 
Sir  had  been  peculiar  to  them.' — DOUCE  (quoted  by  Halliwell)  :  The  question 
whether  priests  were  formerly  knights  in  consequence  of  being  called  sir  remains  to 
be  decided.  Examples  that  those  of  the  lower  class  were  so  called  are  very  numer- 
ous ;  and  hence  it  may  be  fairly  inferred  that  they  at  least  were  not  knights,  nor  is 
there  perhaps  a  single  instance  of  the  order  of  knighthood  being  conferred  upon 
ecclesiastics  of  any  degree.  Having  casually,  however,  met  with  a  note  in  Dyer's 
Reports  (p.  216  B. ),  which  seems  at  first  view  not  only  to  contain  some  authority  for 
the  custom  of  knighting  priests  by  abbots,  in  consequence  of  a  charter  granted  to  the 
Abbot  of  Reading  for  that  purpose,  but  likewise  the  opinion  of  two  learned  judges, 
founded  thereupon,  that  priests  were  anciently  knights,  I  have  been  induced  to  enter 
*i  little  more  fully  upon  this  discussion,  and  to  examine  the  validity  of  those  opinions. 
[The  curious  reader  is  referred  to  the  solid  folio  page  in  Halliwell,  devoted  to  this 
examination,  wherein  the  validity  of  the  judges'  opinion  is  learnedly  disproved. 
The  discussion  thus  concludes  :]  Having  thus,  I  trust,  refuted  the  opinion  that  the 
title  of  '  Sir '  was  given  to  priests  in  consequence  of  their  being  knights,  I  shall  ven- 
ture to  account  for  it  in  another  manner.  This  custom  then  was  most  probably 
borrowed  from  the  French,  amongst  whom  the  title  Domnus  is  often  appropriated 
to  ecclesiastics,  more  particularly  to  the  Benedictines,  Carthusians,  and  Cistercians. 
It  appears  to  have  been  originally  a  title  of  honour  and  respect,  and  was,  perhaps, 
at  first,  in  this  kingdom  as  in  France,  applied  to  particular  orders,  and  afterwards 
became  general  as  well  among  the  secular  as  among  the  regular  clergy.  The  reason 
of  preferring  Domnus  to  Dominus  was  that  the  latter  belonged  to  the  Supreme  Being, 
and  the  other  was  considered  as  a  subordinate  title,  according  to  an  old  verse  : — 
Ccelestem  Dominum,  terrestrem  dicito  Domnum.  Hence  Dom,  Damp,  Dan,  Sire, 
and,  lastly,  Sir;  for  authorities  are  not  wanting  to  show  that  all  these  titles  were 
given  to  ecclesiastics.  [Did  Shakespeare  choose  this  name  by  design  ?  Regi- 
nald Scot,  in  his  Discoverie  of  Witchcraft  (Sixt  Chap.  p.  294,  ed.  1584),  speaking 
of  the  virtues  imparted  to  precious  stones,  says  that  '  a  topase  healeth  the  lunatike 
person  of  his  passion  of  lunacie.'  This  reference  I  owe  to  my  son,  H.  H.  F.,  Jr. 
—ED.] 

6.  dissemble  my  selfe}  MALONE  :  That  is,  disguise  myself. — STEEVENS  :  Shake- 
speare has  here  stumbled  on  a  Latinism  ;  thus,  Ovid  :  '  Achilles  Veste  virum  longa 
dissimulatus  erat.' — [Ars  Amat.  I,  689.] — KNIGHT  :  Writers  do  not  stumble  upon 
nice  shades  of  meaning.  [Which  is  hardly  fair  to  Steevens,  who,  I  believe,  meant 
no  disparagement  to  Shakespeare,  but  merely  that  Shakespeare  had,  without  knowing 
it,  used  a  classic  Latin  phrase. — ED.] 


ACT  iv,  sc.  ii.]  OR,    WHAT  YOU  WILL 


259 


in't,  and  I  would  I  were  the  firft  that  euer  diffembled  in  7 

in  fuch  a  gowne.  I  am  not  tall  enough  to  become  the 
funclion  well,  nor  leane  enough  to  bee  thought  a  good 
Studient  :  but  to  be  faid  an  honeft  man  and  a  good  houf-  10 

keeper  goes  as  fairely,  as  to  fay,  a  carefull  man,  &  a  great 

8.  gowne}  gown.       [Putting   it    on]  10.   Studient}  F,. 

Coll.  MS.  ii.  carefull]  graceful   Han.  Warb. 

tall}  fat  Farmer,  Var.  '03,  '13,  Cap. 
'21,  Sing.  Ktly. 

8.  not  tall  enough]  TYRWHITT:  This  cannot  be  right.  The  word  wanted 
should  be  part  of  the  description  of  'a  careful  man.'  I  should  have  no  objection 
to  read,— pale. — STEEVENS  :  '  Not  tall  enough,'  perhaps  means  « not  of  sufficient 
height  to  overlook  a  pulpit.'  Dr  Farmer  would  read  fat  instead  of  '  tall,'  the 
former  of  these  epithets,  in  his  opinion,  being  referable  to  the  following  words— 
'  a  good  housekeeper.'— STAUNTON  :  '  Tall '  in  its  ancient  sense  of  robust,  stout, 
personable,  offers  quite  sufficient  contrast  to  'lean'  of  the  following  line. — HuTSON 
(p.  491 )  :  From  what  Feste  says  here,  it  may  perhaps  be  inferred  that  diminutive 
size,  or  insignificant  appearance,  or  even  ludicrous  physical  disproportion  had  helped 
to  keep  him  from  becoming  a  clergyman.  We  know  that  jesters  were  greatly  aided 
in  their  calling  by  some  grotesque  feature,  or  oddity  of  manner,  or  peculiarity  of 
voice,  and  that  dwarfs  in  mediaeval  times  were  a  favourite  ornament  of  courts.  .  . . 
These  considerations,  the  language  Feste  uses  here,  and  the  fact  that  we  find  him 
with  the  clerical  education  and  without  the  clerical  office,  make  it  very  probable  that 
he  was  thick-set  and  of  low  stature,  and  so  undignified  in  general  appearance  as  to 
preclude  him  from  receiving  holy  orders.  [I  am  afraid  that  Hutson's  ingenious  theory 
is,  at  this  point,  founded  on  a  mistaken  interpretation  of  '  tall.'  See  I,  iii,  21.  Is  it 
not  possible  to  interpret  Feste' s  words  as  anything  but  disparaging  to  his  own  per- 
sonal appearance  ?  He  was  not  portly  enough  on  the  one  hand,  nor  lean  enough  on 
the  other,  with  the  inference  that  in  every  other  walk  in  life,  but  that  of  a  parson,  he 
was  exactly  right. — ED.] 

10.  Studient]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  Also  thus  spelt  in  Mer.  Wives,  III,  i,  38,  where 
Justice  Shallow  says,  '  keepe  a  Gamester  from  the  dice,  and  a  good  Studient  from  his 
booke,  and  it  is  wonderful.'  It  may  be  that  in  both  these  passages  the  mis-spelling 
is  intentional,  for  in  Love1  s  Lab.  Lost,  II,  i,  64 ;  III,  i,  36,  the  word  is  in  its  usual 
form.  [As  far  as  the  compositor  is  concerned,  I  think  the  spelling  is  intentional.  It 
is  possible  that  it  represented  a  not  unusual  pronunciation.  WALKER  (  Vers.  156) 
quotes  from  Middleton's  Old  Law,  I,  i,[p.  8,  ed.  Dyce]  :  '  Evander .  . .  has  hit  the 
law  That  all  our  predecessive  students  Have  miss'd  unto  their  shame,'  and  then 
remarks,  '  Read  stitdients,  as  the  word  is  often  written.  Perhaps  Dyce  has  corrected 
the  passage  in  his  M5ddleton.[No. — ED.]Compare  the  Italian  studiente  (they 
have  studente  also;  was  "studiente"  then  the  prevailing  form?)  and  the  French 
ttudiant.'  See  '  Dexteriously,'  I,  v,  58;  'iealious,'  IV,  iii,  30. — ED.] 

10.  to  be  said]  See  ABBOTT  (§  200,  p.  134)  for  examples  of  '  to  be  said '  used 
for  to  be  called. 

11.  carefull  man]  WARBURTON  :  This  refers  to  what  went  before,  '  I  am  not  tall 
enough,'  etc.;  it  is  plain  then  that  Shakespeare  wrote  :   '  as  to  say,  a  graceful  man,' 
i.  e.  comely.     CAPELL  (p.  151)  justifies  his  adoption  of  this  emendation  by  the  fact 


260 


TWELFE  NIGH* 


[ACT  iv,  sc.  ii. 


fcholler.     The  Competitors  enter.  12 

Enter  Toby. 

To.     loue  bleffe  thee  M.  Parfon. 

Clo.    Bonos  dies  fir  Toby :  for  as  the  old  hermit  siPrage  15 

that  neuer  faw  pen  and  inke,  very  wittily  fayd  to  a  Neece 
of  King  Gorbodacke,  that  that  is,  is  :  fo  I  being  M. Parfon, 
am  M.  Parfon ;  for  what  is  that,  but  that?  and  is,  but  is  ? 

To.     To  him  fir  Topas. 

Clow.     What  hoa,  I  fay,  Peace  in  this  prifon.  20 

To.     The  knaue  counterfets  well  :  a  good  knaue. 

Maluolio  within.  22 


13.  Enter  ...]    Enter  ...  and  Maria. 
Theob. 

14.  Ioue\  God  Hal.  Huds. 

14, 17,  1 8,  etc.  M.~\  Ff.  Mr.    Rowe, 
+  ,  Cap.     master  Var.  '73  et  seq. 
15-18.  Mnemonic  lines,  Warb. 

15.  Prage]  Prauge  F4.  Prague  Rowe. 

1 6.  Neece]  Ff,  Rowe.    neice  Pope,  -t- . 
niece  Johns. 

17.  Gorbodacke]   F2F4.      Gorbodack 
F3,  Rowe.    Gorboduck  Pope,  + .    Gorbo- 
duc Cap.  et  seq. 


17.  that  that}  thatY^. 

that  that  is,  is"]  As  a  quotation, 
Cap. 

1 8.  that, ...is  ?]  ' that '  but ' that, '  and 
'is'  but'  is1?  Cam.  Wh.  ii. 

that?]   Ff,  Rowe, +  ,  Var.  Knt, 
Coll.  Sta.    tAat,Dyce.  that ;  Cap.  et  cet. 

19.  [Opening  a  door.    Coll.  MS. 

20.  fay,]  say, —  Theob.     say,  [rap- 
ping at  an  inner  Door]  Cap. 

[In  a  counterfeit  voice.    Han. 

21.  30.  [Aside.     Cap. 


that  '  careful '  '  has  no  relation  whatever  to  the  word  with  which  it  ought  to  have 
some,  namely — "tall."' — STEEVENS  :  A  'careful*  man,  I  believe,  means  a  man 
who  has  such  a  regard  for  his  character,  as  to  entitle  him  to  ordination.  [Steevens 
alone  appears  to  have  perceived  that  these  lines  refer  to  Sir  Topas.  Feste  says,  in 
effect,  that  though  in  bodily  shape  he  may  be  unfit  to  impersonate  Sir  Topas,  yet  if 
he  be  called  an  honest  man  and  a  good  housekeeper  it  will  be  quite  enough  to  make 
him  fairly  represent  a  careful  man  and  a  great  scholar  like  the  Curate. — ED.] 

12.  Competitors]  M.  MASON  :  That  is,  confederates,  or  associates.  '  Com- 
petitor '  is  used  in  the  same  sense  in  Richard  III :  IV,  iv,  506 :  '  every  hour  more 
competitors  flock  to  their  aid.' 

15.  hermit  of  Prage]  DOUCE:  Not  the  celebrated  heresiarch  Jerome  of  Prague, 
but  another  of  that  name  born  likewise  at  Prague,  and  called  the  hermit  of  Carnal- 
doli  in  Prague. — W.  A.  WRIGHT:  But  this  is  treating  the  Clown's  nonsense  too 
seriously.  No  one  has  attempted  to  identify  the  niece  of  King  Gorboduc. 

17.  King  Gorbodacke]  HALLIWELL  :  '  The  opinion  of  things  is  the  measure  of 
their  value,  as  was  wisely  said  of  a  neece  of  King  Gorbudukes.  Know  then,  that 
if  another  then  the  coronet  had  recived  this  script,  he  would  not  perchance  have 
valued  it  so  highly.' — Suckling's  Letters,  1659,  [vol.  ii,  p.  219,  ed.  Hazlitt,  1892, 
where  in  a  footnote  to  '  king '  it  is  said  that  the  '  old  copy  has,  and  perhaps  Suckling 
wrote,  queene.'  Not  many  of  Suckling's  letters  have  been  preserved,  but  in  these 
few  Shakespeare  is  quoted  familiarly  several  times.  Of  course,  this  '  niece '  is  a 
purely  fictitious  character,  and  undoubtedly  Suckling  had  in  mind  this  very  speech 
of  Feste,  but  I  suppose  changed  it  for  amusement  to  'Queen  Gorboduc.' — ED.] 


ACT  iv,  sc.  ii.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  261 

Mai.     Who  cals  there  ?  23 

Clo.  Sir  Topas  the  Curate,  who  comes  to  vifit  Maluo- 
lio  the  Lunaticke.  25 

Mai.  Sir  Topas,  fir  Topas,  good  fir  Topas  goe  to  my 
Ladie. 

Clo.  Out  hyperbolicall  fiend,  how  vexeft  thou  this 
man  ?  Talkeft  thou  nothing  but  of  Ladies  ? 

Tob.     Well  faid  M.  Parfon.  30 

Mai.  Sir  Topas,  neuer  was  man  thus  wronged,  good 
fir  Topas  do  not  thinke  I  am  mad  :  they  haue  layde  mee 
heere  in  hideous  darkneffe . 

Clo.  Fye,  thou  difhoneft  fathan :  I  call  thee  by  the 
moft  modeft  termes,  for  I  am  one  of  thofe  gentle  ones,  35 

that  will  vfe  the  diuell  himfelfe  with  curtefie  :  fayft  thou 
that  houfe  is  darke  ?  37 

24.   [This  and  all  that  follows  from  Rowe,   Han.   Cap.  Knt.      Satan  Wh. 

the  Clown,  in  a  counterfeit  voice.    Han.  Dyce,  Cam. 

29.   Talkejl... Ladies ?]  Separate  line,  36.  fay/i]  Fa.    fay'Ji  F3F4,  Rowe,  4- , 

Pope  ii,-<-,  Var.  '73.  Cap.  Var.  Mai.  Steev.  Var.  Knt.    sayest 

nothing  but  of~\  of  nothing  but  of  Dyce,  Cam. 

Theob.   i.      of  nothing  but  Theob.  ii,  37.  thaf\  this  Mason.  Ran.  Dyce  conj. 

Warb.  Johns.  Var.  '73.  that  this  Hal.    the  or  that  the  Anon.  ap. 

34.  fathan]    Pope,  +  .      Sathan    Ff,  Cam.     that'  Ed.  conj. 

34.  sathan]  For  the  spelling,  see  III,  iv,  119. 

35.  modest]  See  I,  iii,  n. 

36.  will]  That  is,  wish  to. 

37.  that  house]  Both  MASON  (p.    119)  and  DYCE  (ed.   ii)   conjectured  '  this 
house.'     HALLIWELL  reads  'that  this  house,'  and  says  that  this  seems  to  be  essen- 
tial.    Probably  there  is  an  absorption  of  the  in  the  final  t  of  '  that.'     But  Feste  was 
not  within  the  room  ;  he  was  probably  looking  into  it  through  a  window  or  through 
a  door  ajar.     In  Rowe's  frontispiece,  the  earliest  illustration  of  the  play,  it  is  a 
door. — ED. 

37.  house  is  darke]  MALONE  :  The  Clown  gives  this  pompous  appellation 
['house']  to  the  small  room  in  which  Malvolio,  we  may  suppose,  was  confined,  to 
exasperate  him. — HALLIWELL  :  '  A  darkened  room '  was  sometimes  called  a  dark- 
house.  '  A  sprite  apering  to  Jhon  and  him,  when  they  sate  upon  division  of  the 
lands,  in  likeness  of  a  bere,  and  therewith  Peter  fell  out  of  his  wits,  and  was  tyed  in 
a  dark  house  and  beat  out  his  brains  agt.inst  a  post,  and  Jhon  stabed  himself  all  on 
St.  Marks  dai.' — MS  Ashmol,  236.  'In  the  beginning,  therefore,  of  the  cure, 
if  neither  age,  nor  state  of  the  bodie,  nor  time  of  the  yeare  do  let  it,  you  must  cut 
the  veine  of  the  hams  or  of  the  ankles.  .  .  .  Afterward  you  must  place  the  sicke  in  a 
darke  house,  which  is  moderately  warme.' — Barrough's  Method  of  Physick,  1624. 
[Rosalind  says,  '  Love  is  merely  a  madness  and  deserves  as  well  a  dark  house  and 
a  whip  as  madmen  do.'  If  Feste  used  the  word  '  house '  to  exasperate  Malvolio,  as 


262  TIVELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  iv,  sc.  ii. 

MaL     As  hell  fir  Topas.  38 

Clo.    Why  it  hath  bay  Windowes  tranfparant  as  bari- 
cadoes,  and  the  cleere  ftores  toward  t  he  South  north,  are          40 

39.  bay\  bow  Ran.  conj.  stories  Cam.  ii,  Wh.  ii. 

40.  cleerejlores^clearejlones^j.  clear  40.  toward]  Ff,  Dyce,  Cam.  Wh.  ii. 
Jlones  F3F  ,  Rowe,  + ,  Cap.  Var.  Ran.         towards  Rowe  et  cet. 

Mai.  Steev.  Var.     clear  stories  or  clear-  South  north~\   South  North  F2F4, 

•stories  Blakeway,  Var.  '21,  Knt,  Coll.  Rowe, +  .      south  north  Cam.      South- 

Wh.   i,  Dyce,   Sta.    Ktly.      clearstores  -North  F3,  Theob.  et  cet. 
Cam.  i,  Rife,    clere-storeys  Huds.    clear- 

Malone  says,  his  intention  failed  ;  Malvolio  adopts  it,  when  he  asserts  that  '  this 
house  is  as  darke  as  ignorance.'— ED. 

39.  bay   Windowes]    M ALONE  :   See   Minshieu's   Diet.    s.  v. :    '  Baywindow, 
Because  it  is  builded  in  manner  of  a  Baie  or  rode  for  shippes,  that  is,  round.' 

39,  40.  baricadoes]  MURRAY  (AT.  E.  Z>.)  :  An  adaptation  of  the  French  barri- 
cade, or  Spanish  barricada,  formed  from  French  barrique  or  Spanish  barrica  a  cask, 
the  first  street  barricades  in  Paris  being  composed  of  casks  filled  with  earth,  paving- 
stones,  etc.    ['  Faire  vne  Barriquade,  to  make  a  defence  of  barrels  and  pales  for  the 
shot.' — Hollyband's  French  Diet.  1593. — ED.] 

40.  cleere  stores]  See  Text.  Notes. — MURRAY  {N.  E.  D.  s.  v.  Clerestory'] :  Com- 
monly believed  to  be  formed  on  clere,  CLEAR  +  STORY,  stage  of  a  building,  '  floor  ' 
of  a  house.     (Clere  must  here  have  meant  'light,  lighted,'  since  the  sense  of  '  free, 
unobstructed '  did  not  yet  exist. )     This  assumed  derivation  is  strengthened  by  the 
parallel  blind-story,  although  this  may  have  been  a  later  formation  in  imitation  of 
clere-story.     The  great  difficulty  is  the  non-appearance  of  story  in  the  sense  required 
before  circa  1600,  and  the  absence  of  all  trace  of  it  in  any  sense  in  the  Hth,  iSth, 
and  chief  part  of  the  i6th  century.     At  the  same  time  there  is  a  solitary  instance  of 
storys  in  Robert  of  Gloucester  ( 1724),  181,  which  may  mean  '  elevated  structure '  or 
'fortified  place.'     The  substantive  estorie  in  Old  French  had  no  such  sense,  but  the 
past  participle  estore  meant  '  built,  constructed,  founded,  established,  instituted,  forti- 
fied, furnished,  fitted  out,'  whence  a  substantive  with  the  sense  '  erection,  fortifica- 
tion '  might  perhaps  arise.     [Its  sense  is  :]The  upper  part  of  the  nave,  choir,  and 
transepts  of  a  cathedral  or  other  large  church,  lying  above  the  triforium  (or  if  there 
is  no  triforium,  immediately  over  the  arches  of  the  nave,  etc.),  and  containing  a 
series  of  windows,  clear  of  the  roofs  of  the  aisles,  admitting  light  to  the  central 
parts  of  the  building.     [HUNTER'S  is  the  solitary  voice  raised  in  defence  of  the 
reading  of  the  Second  Folio,  '  cleare  stones.'    To  read  'clear-stories'  is,  bethinks], 
'  a  case  of  great  editorial  misjudgement.     For,  in  the  first  place,  what  have  clere- 
stories to  do  with  the  cell  in   which  Malvolio  was  confined ;  and,  in  the  second, 
clerestory  was  a  term  in  the  time  of  Shakespeare  of  very  rare  occurrence.     What 
Shakespeare  wrote  was  unquestionably  "  clear  stones,"  and  if  it  is  said  that  this  is  a 
contradiction,  it  is  answered  that  Shakespeare  meant  to  make  the  Clown  speak  in 
that  manner,  as  is  manifest  in  the  whole  of  what  he  says.     Stones  are  clear  just  as 
there  is  a  point  of  the  compass  which  may  be  called  the  south-north  or  as  ebony  is 
lustrous.' — W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  '  Clear  stones  '  is  not  even  sensible  nonsense.    [If  the 
authorities  had  been  reversed,  and  '  clear  stones '  had  been  the  text  of  the  First 
Folio,  it  would  have  been  accepted,  I  think,  as  Feste's  nonsense,  and  as  intelligible 
as  the  Vapians  passing  the  Equinoctial  of  Queubus.    But  our  highest  authority  reads 


ACT  iv,  sc.  ii.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  263 

as  luftrous  as  Ebony  :  and  yet  complaineft  thou  of  ob-          41 
ftruclion  ? 

Mai.  I  am  not  mad  fir  Topas,  I  fay  to  you  this  houfe  is 
darke. 

CIo.    Madman  thou  erreft  :  I  fay  there  is  no  darkneffe  45 

but  ignorance,  in  which  thou  art  more  puzel'd  then  the 
./Egyptians  in  their  fogge. 

Mai.  I  fay  this  houfe  is  as  darke  as  Ignorance,  thogh 
Ignorance  were  as  darke  as  hell;  and  I  fay  there  was  ne- 
uer  man  thus  abus'd,  I  am  no  more  madde  then  you  are,  50 

make  the  triall  of  it  in  any  conftant  queftion. 

Clo.     What  is  the  opinion  of  Pythagoras  concerning 
Wilde-fowle?  53 

45.  Madman]  F3.    Madam  F^.    Mad  51.  conflanf\  consistent  Coll.  MS.  ap. 

man  F4.     Mad-man  Rowe.  Cam. 

49.  and]  an  F4.  53.   mide-fmule]  Wild-foule  F4. 

'clear  stores'  (where  only  an  i  or  a  y  may  have  dropped  out),  and  we  must 
make  the  best  of  it.  One  slight  plea  can  be  urged  in  its  favour,  and  this  is  that 
'clerestories'  suggest  a  church — a  befitting  place  wherein  to  exorcise  an  evil 
spirit,  and  designed  still  further  to  worry  Malvolio.  Hunter  weakened  his  argu- 
ment when  he  asked  what  clerestories  have  to  do  with  Malvolio's  cell  ? — quite  as 
much  as  clear  stones,  or,  as  Dyce  says,  '  bay  windows.'  All  is  pure  nonsense. — ED.] 
47.  Egyptians  in  their  fogge]  Thus,  in  Exodus,  x,  21  :  And  the  Lord  said 
unto  Moses,  Stretch  out  thine  hand  toward  heaven,  that  there  may  be  darkness  over 
the  land  of  Egypt,  even  darkness  which  may  be  felt.  And  Moses  stretched  forth  his 
hand  toward  heaven  ;  and  there  was  thick  darkness  in  all  the  land  of  Egypt  three 
days.  They  saw  not  one  another,  neither  rose  any  from  his  place  for  three  days. 

51.  constant  question]  JOHNSON  :  A  settled,  a  determinate,  a  regular  question. 
— MALONE  :  Rather,  in  any  regular  conversation,  for  so  generally  Shakespeare  uses 
the  word  'question.'    [Compare  Hamlet's  test  of  madness  (III,  iv,  141),  'bring  me 
to  the  test,  And  I  the  matter  will  re-word,  which  madness  Would  gambol  from.' 
Here  Malvolio  means  any  consecutive  discussion,  or,  as  W.  A.  WRIGHT  expresses  it, 
'  any  regularly  conducted  formal  conversation  or  discussion.'  It  may  be  doubted  that 
either  test  would  be  accepted  as  final  by  mental  pathologists  of  the  present  day.] — 
BucKNILL  (Mad  Folk,  325)  :  The  idea  of  testing  the  existence  of  insanity  by  ques- 
tions on  the  doctrine  of  transmigration,  may  find  its  counterpart  in  more  than  one 
recent  legal  investigation,  in  which  it  has  been  argued  by  very  learned  counsel,  and 
maintained  by  very  eminent  physicians,  that  because  an  educated  gentleman  retains 
some  knowledge  of  his  previous  acquirements,  it  is  impossible  he  can  be  insane. 

52.  Pythagoras]  WALKER  (Crit.  i,  152)  finds  herein  one  of  the  many  instances 
of  Ovid's  influence  on  Shakespeare.    [In  the  account  of  the  doctrines  of  Pythagoras 
in  Metam.  xv,  Shakespeare  might  have  read,  '  — Parcite,  vaticinor,  cognatas  caede 
nefanda  Exturbare  animas.' — 11.  173-175;    again,   '  quoniam  non    corpora    solum, 
Verum   etiam  volucres  animae    sumus,   inque  ferinas   Possumus  ire  domos,   pecu- 
dumque  in  pectora  condi.' — 11.  456-458.     But  these  doctrines  were  familiarly  known  ; 
there  is  no  need  to  suppose  that  Shakespeare  went  to  the  original. — ED.] 


264  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  iv,  sc.  ii. 

Mai.     That  the  foule  of  our  grandam,  might  happily 
inhabite  a  bird.  55 

Clo.     What  thinkft  thou  of  his  opinion  ? 

MaL     I  thinke  nobly  of  the  foule,  and  no  way  aproue 
his  opinion. 

Clo.     Fare  thee  well  :  remaine  thou  ftill  in  darkenefle, 
thou  (halt  hold  th'opinion  of  Pythagoras,  ere  I  will  allow          60 
of  thy  wits,  and  feare  to  kill  a  Woodcocke,  left  thou  dif- 
poffeffe  the  foule  of  thy  grandam.     Fare  thee  well. 

MaL     Sir  Topas,  fir  Topas. 

Tob.    My  moft  exquifite  fir  Topas. 

Clo.     Nay  I  am  for  all  waters.  65 

54.  happily]     Ff,    Rowe,  +  .       haply  Han. 

Cap.  et  seq.  62.   [Closing  the  door.    Coll.  MS. 

56.  think/f}  thinkest  Var.  '03  et  seq.  63.  Topas.]  Topas,—  Wh.  i,  Dyce. 

59.  darkeneff'e,']  darkness ;  Rowe.  64-73.   [Aside.  Cap. 

60.  A4']  the  Johns,  et  seq.  65.   [This  in  his  own  voice.     Han. 

61.  wits,~\  -wits;  Theob.  et  seq.  waters'}  wanters  or  ventures  Anon. 

62.  foule]    houfe   Ff,    Rowe,    Pope,  ap.  Cam. 

53.  Wilde-fowle]  THEOBALD  (Nichols,  ii,  357)  :  I  do  not  know  whether  it  is 
reasonable  to  call  our  Poet' s  fools  and  clowns  to  any  account  ?  But  should  not  the 
question  have  been — '  concerning  the  sou/'?  ['  Hands  off!'  is  the  first  thought  which 
rises  in  the  heart  and  murmurs  from  the  tongue  when  any  phrase  is  in  question,  not 
alone  of  Feste  but,  of  all  Shakespeare's  Dogberrys  and  Clowns.  Were  it  not  for 
this,  Theobald's  emendation  would  be  worthy  of  consideration.  Malvolio  does  not 
reply  directly  to  the  question.  Feste  asks  about  a  wild-fowl  and  Malvolio  replies 
about  the  soul. — ED.] 

60.  allow]  See  '  allow,'  I,  ii,  64. 

61.  Woodcocke]  A  proverbially  silly  bird.     See  II,  v,  83. 

62.  soule]  See  Text,  Notes  for  a  sophistication  of  the  Ff. 

62.  Fare  thee  well]  BUCKNILL  ( Mad  Folk,  323)  :  This  interview  represents  a 
caricature  of  the  idea  that  madness  is  occasioned  by  demoniacal  possession  and  is  cura- 
ble by  priestly  exorcism.  The  idea  was  not  merely  a  vulgar  one  in  Shakespeare' s  time, 
but  was  maintained  even  long  afterward  by  the  learned  and  the  pious.  More  than  a 
trace  of  it,  indeed,  remains  to  the  present  day  in  Canon  LXXII.  of  the  Church, 
which  provides  that  no  Minister  without  the  license  of  the  Bishop  of  the  Diocese 
shall  '  attempt,  upon  any  pretence  whatever,  either  of  possession  or  obsession,  by 
fasting  and  prayer,  to  cast  out  any  devil  or  devils,  under  pain  of  the  imputation  of 
imposture  or  cosenage,  and  deposition  from  the  ministry.' 

65.  I  am  for  all  waters]  MR  SMITH  (ap.  Grey,  i,  235)  :  That  is,  a  cloak  for 
all  kinds  of  knavery  ;  taken  from  the  Italian  proverb,  Tu  hai  mantello  d'ogni  acqua. 
Thou  hast  a  cloak  for  all  waters. — JOHNSON  :  I  rather  think  this  expression  borrowed 
from  sportsmen,  and  relating  to  the  qualifications  of  a  complete  spaniel. — CAPELL 
(p.  151)  •  The  expression— -fish  in  all  waters,  is  alluded  to  in  what  is  given  the 
Clown  ;  his  meaning — that  he  could  put  on  all  characters. — M.  MASON  (p.  120)  : 
The  word  water,  as  used  by  jewellers,  denotes  the  colour  and  the  lustre  of  diamonds 


ACT  iv,  sc.  ii.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  265 

Mar.    Thou  mightft  haue  done  this  without  thy  herd  66 

and  gowne,  he  fees  thee  not. 

To.  To  him  in  thine  owne  voyce,  and  bring  me  word 
how  thou  findft  him  :  I  would  we  were  well  ridde  of  this 
knauery.  If  he  may  bee  conueniently  deliuer'd,  I  would  70 

he  were,  for  I  am  now  fo  farrje  in  offence  with  my  Niece, 
that  I  cannot  purfue  with  any  fafety  this  fport  the  vppe- 

Come  by  and  by  to  my  Chamber.  Exit          73 


66.  herd]  beard  Ff.  Pope,  Theob.  Han.  Warb. 

67.  gowne^\  gown  ;  Theob.  72.  fport  the~\  sport  to  the  Rowe  et 

69.  findjl]  findest  Var.  '03  et  seq.  seq.     sporf  the  Ed.  conj. 
well]  a//Ff,  Rowe,  +  .     all  well  72,  73.  vppe/Jiot.]  up-Jhot  Ff. 

Coll.  MS.  73.    Chamber}  Champer  F3. 

71.  Niece]   Neece  Ff.     Neice  Rowe,  Exit.]  Exit  with  Maria.  Theob. 

and  pearls,  and  from  thence  is  applied,  though  with  less  propriety,  to  the  colour 
and  hue  of  other  precious  stones.  I  think  that  Shakespeare  in  this  place  alludes  to 
this  sense  of  the  word  '  water.'  The  Clown  is  complimented  by  Sir  Toby  for  per- 
sonating Sir  Topaz  so  exquisitely,  to  which  he  replies,  that  he  can  put  on  all  colours, 
alluding  to  the  word  Topaz,  which  is  the  name  of  a  jewel,  and  was  also  that  of  the 
curate.  —  MALONE  :  That  is,  I  can  turn  my  hand  to  anything  ;  I  can  assume  any 
character  I  please  ;  like  a  fish,  I  can  swim  equally  well  in  all  waters.  —  HALLIWELL  : 
According  to  Heywood,  one  of  the  phrases  applicable  to  a  drunkard  was  '  one  that 
can  relish  all  waters,'  that  is,  drink  anything.  .  .  .  Another  conjecture  is  that  the 
proverbial  phrase  originated  from  a  passage  in  Isaiah  ,  —  'Blessed  are  ye  that  sow 
beside  all  waters.'  —  STAUNTON  :  A  metaphor  borrowed,  perhaps,  from  the  tavern  : 
'  Hee  is  first  broken  to  the  sea  in  the  Herring-man's  Skifife  or  Cock-boate,  where 
having  learned  to  brooke  all  -waters,  and  drinke  as  he  can  out  of  a  tarrie  canne,'  etc. 
—  Nashe's  Lenten  Stuffe,  p.  27.  The  literal  meaning  of  '  I  am  for  all  waters,'  was, 
undoubtedly,  '  I  am  ready  for  any  drink.'  The  cant  term  for  potations,  in  Shake- 
speare's time,  was  -waters  ;  and  to  '  breathe  in  your  watering,'  i  Hen.  IV  :  II,  v, 
meant  to  take  breath  while  drinking.  See  Taylor's,  The  Water-  Poet,  '  Drinke  and 
welcome,  or  the  famous  history  of  the  most  part  of  Drinkes  in  use  in  Create  Brit- 
aine  and  Ireland  ;  with  an  especial  Declaration  of  the  Potency,  Vertue,  and  Oper- 
ation of  our  English  Ale  :  with  a  description  of  all  sorts  of  Waters?  etc.  [What- 
ever the  origin  of  the  phrase,  be  it  to  fish  in  all  waters,  or  to  swim  in  all  waters,  or 
to  drink  all  liquors,  I  think  that  Malone's  interpretation  is  the  true  one  :  that  Feste 
means  he  can  turn  his  hand  to  anything.  —  ED.] 

66.  herd]  Possibly,  a  phonetic  spelling,  indicating  a  pronunciation  like  our 
bared,  the  past  participle  of  bare.  J.  P.  Kemble  was  ridiculed  for  retaining  this  old 
pronunciation,  which,  however,  he  supposed  to  be  the  same  as  bird.  —  ED. 

70.  If  he  may  ...  I  would]  For  a  similar  irregularity  in  the  sequence  of  tenses, 
see  As  You  Like  It,  I,  ii,  175,  'we  wil  make  it  our  suite  to  the  Duke,  that  the 
wrastling  might  not  go  forward  ';  or  ABBOTT,  §  370. 

72,  73.  vppeshot.]   W.   A.   WRIGHT  :   That  is,   the   decisive   shot,   a   term  in 
archery,  as  the  '  up-cast  '  or  final  throw,  was  used  in  the  game  of  bowls.     Compare 
Hamlet,  V,  ii,  371  [of  this  ed.],  'And,  in  this  upshot,  purposes  mistook  Fall'n  on 
the  inventors'  heads.' 


266 


TWELFE  NIGHT 


[ACT  iv,  sc.  ii. 


Clo.  Hey  Robin,  iolly  Robin,  tell  me  how  thy  Lady 
does.  75 

Mai.     Foole. 

Clo.     My  Lady  is  vnkind,  perdie. 

Mai.     Foole. 

Clo.     Alas  why  is  fhe  fo  ? 

Mai.     Foole,!  fay.  80 

Clo.     She  loues  another.     Who  calles,  ha  ? 

Mai.  Good  foole,  as  euer  thou  wilt  deferue  well  at 
my  hand,  helpe  me  to  a  Candle,  and  pen,inke,and  paper:  83 


Scene  IV.  Pope,  +  . 

74.   [Singing.    Rowe. 

74,  75.  Two  lines,  as  verse.  Cap.  et 
seq.  Hey,  jolly  Robin,  tell  to  me  How 
does  thy  lady  do  ?  Fanner. 

74.  thy\  my  Rowe  ii,  +  . 


76,  "J&,  So,    loo.    Foole....   Foole.... 
'ay....   Topas.]    Fool, — ...    Fool, — ... 
\y, — ...  Topas, —  Theob.  et  seq. 

77.  perdie.]  perdy.  Cap.  et  seq. 

81.  another]     another —    Rowe    et 


seq. 


74.  Hey  Robin,  etc.]  PERCY  (i,  196,  ed.  1844)  :  This  song  has  been  recovered 
from  an  ancient  MS  of  Dr  Harrington's,  at  Bath.  .  .  .  The  volume  seems  to  have  been 
written  in  the  reign  of  Henry  VIII. ; .  .  .  this  song  is  there  attributed  to  Sir  Thomas 
Wyatt ;  but  the  discerning  reader  will  probably  judge  it  to  belong  to  a  more  obso- 
lete writer.  The  MS  is  strictly  followed,  except  to  mark  the  changes  of  the  dialogue 
by  inverted  commas.  The  first  stanza  appears  to  be  defective,  and  it  should  seem 
that  a  line  is  wanting,  unless  the  four  first  words  were  lengthened  in  the  tune.  '  A 
Robyn,  |  Jolly  Robyn,  |  Tell  me  how  they  leman  doeth,  |  And  thou  shalt  knowe  of 
myn.  ||  "My  lady  is  unkynde  perde."  |  Alack  !  why  is  she  so?  |  "She  loveth  an 
other  better  than  me  ;  |  And  yet  she  will  say  no."  '  [There  are  four  more  stanzas.] — 
SINGER  (ed.  ii)  :  The  air  to  which  this  song  was  sung  is  to  be  found  in  The  Cithern 
Schoole  by  Anthony  Holborne,  1597.  [The  only  ancient  music  for  this  song  which 
I  can  find  is  that  given  by  NAYLOR  (p.  190),  who  couples  with  it  the  air  given  at 
line  122  post.  His  remark  is  :  '  Here  are  two  relics  of  music  for  the  Clown,  prob- 
ably of  the  same  period  as  \_Farewell,  Dear  Heart,  II,  iii,  101]  : — 


•V— 

Hey,   Rob  -  in,     jol  -  ly    Rob  -  in,    Tell  me  how  thy      la  -  dy   does, 


Hey,   Rob  -  in,     jol  -  ly    Rob  -  in,    tell    me  how  thy      la  -  dy    does. 


77.  perdie]  A  corruption  of  par  Dieu.  See  Hamlet,  III,  ii,  282,  where,  in  the 
First  Folio,  it  is  also  spelt  as  here,  and  also  in  modern  editions  changed  to  perdy. 

82,  83.  as  euer  .  .  .  helpe  me]  ABBOTT  (§  275,  p.  189)  :  The  so  is  omitted  after 
as  in  adjurations ;  thus  here,  'As  ever  thou  wilt . .  .  (so)  help  me,'  etc.,  where  as 
means  '  in  which  degree,'  and  so  '  in  that  degree.' 


ACT  iv,  sc.  ii.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  267 

as  I  am  a  Gentleman,  I  will  Hue  to  bee  thankefull  to  thee 

fort.  85 

Clo.    M.  Maluolio  ? 

Mai.     I  good  Foole. 

Clo.     Alas  fir,  how  fell  you  befides  your  fiue  witts  ? 

Mall.  Foole,  there  was  neuer  man  fo  notoriouflie  a- 
bus'd  :  I  am  as  well  in  my  wits  (foole)  as  thou  art.  90 

Clo.  But  as  well  :  then  you  are  mad  indeede,  if  you  be 
no  better  in  your  wits  then  a  foole. 

Mai.     They  haue  heere  propertied  me  :  keepe  mee  in  93 

86.  M.~\  Mr.  Rowe,  + ,  Cap.    Master  '73,  '78,  '85,  Ran. 
Var. '73  et  seq.  91.  •well:'}   -well!   Rowe,  +  .      well? 

Maluolio  ?~\  Malvolio  ;  F..     Mai-  Cap.  et  seq. 

volio  !  Rowe.     Malvillo  !  Han.  ii  (mis-  you  are~\  thou  art  Rowe  ii,  +  . 

print).  93.  heere~\  Om.  Pope,  Han. 

88.  Alas]  Alafs  F3F4.  keepe]  they  keep  Han. 

befides~\    beside   Cap.    conj.    Var. 

84.  I  will  Hue  to  bee  thankefull]  ABBOTT  (§  319,  p.  227) :  The  'will'  refers, 
not  to  '  live,'  but  to  '  live-to-be-thankful,'  and  the  sentence  means,  '  I  purpose  in  my 
future  life  to  prove  my  thankfulness.' 

88.  besides]  Compare  Much  Ado,  V,  i,  141,  'Dost  thou  weare  thy  wit  by  thy 
side?  Claudia.  Neuer  did  any  so,  though  verie  many  haue  been  beside  their  wit.' 
SCHMIDT  (Z«r.)  furnishes  many  examples  of  this  use  of  beside  and  besides  as  a 
preposition,  meaning  out  of. 

88.  fiue  witts]  MALONE  :  The  '  wits,'  Dr  Johnson  observes,  were  reckoned  five, 
in  analogy  to  the  five  senses.  From  Stephen  Hawes's  poem,  called  Graunde  Amoure, 
ch.  xxiv,  ed.    1554,  it  appears  that  the  'five  wits'  were: — 'common  wit,  imagina- 
tion, fantasy,  estimation,  and  memory.'      'Wit'  in  our  author's  time  was  the  gen- 
eral term  for  the  intellectual  power.   ['  Wit,'  both  in  its  old  and  in  its  modern  sense, 
is  used  in  Much  Ado.     The  Index  to  that  play  in  this  ed.   furnishes  examples. 
Compare,  Sonn.  141  :  '  But  my  five  wits  nor  my  five  senses  can  Dissuade  one  foolish 
heart  from  loving  thee,'  etc.,  where  the  senses  and  the  wits  are  regarded  as  distinct. 
DR  SKEAT  has  kindly  called  my  attention  to  the  fact  that  the  wits,  although  not 
specified,  are  enumerated  as  five  in  Langland's  Vision  of  Piers  Ploughman, — circa 
1362-1380, — Passus  i,  line  15,  Text  B. — ED.] 

89.  notoriouslie]  That  is,  egregiously.     Malvolio  seems  fond  of  the  high-sound- 
ing word.     In  the  last  scene  at  the  end  of  the  play  (line  347)  he  tells  the  Countess 
that  she  has  done  him  '  notorious  wrong,'  and  a  few  lines  further  on,  he  says  he  has 
been  made  a  'most  notorious  gecke  and  gull.'     He  infects  even  the  Countess  ;  she 
acknowledges  that  he  has  been  'notoriously  abus'd.' — ED. 

93.  heere  propertied  me]  JOHNSON  :  That  is,  they  have  taken  possession  of  me, 
as  of  a  man  unable  to  look  to  himself. — COLLIER  :  It  may  be  doubted  whether 
Shakespeare  had  not  some  allusion  to  the  'properties'  (as  they  were  then,  and  are 
still,  called)  of  a  theatre,  which,  when  out  of  use,  were  thrust  into  some  dark  loft  or 
lumber-room. — DYCE  {Remarks,  p.  78)  :  There  is  certainly  no  allusion  here  to 
theatrical  '  properties,' — no  more  than  there  is  in  the  following  passages :  '  Your 


268  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  iv,  sc,  ii. 

darkeneffe,  fend  Minifters  to  me,  Afles,  and  doe  all  they 

can  to  face  me  out  of  my  wits.  95 

Clo.    Aduife  you  what  you  fay  :  the  Minifter  is  heere. 
Maluolio,  Maluolio,  thy  wittes  the  heauens  reftore  :  en- 
deauour  thy  felfe  to  fleepe,   and  leaue  thy  vaine  bibble 
babble. 

Mai.     Sir  Topas.  100 

94.  AJfes,]  asses!  Coll.  96-98.   [All    this   in    a     counterfeit 

voice.     Han. 

grace  shall  pardon  me ;  I  will  not  back ;  I  am  too  high-born  to  be  propertied,  To 
be  a  secondary  at  control,  Or  useful  serving-man  and  instrument,  To  any  sovereign 
state  throughout  the  world.' — King  John,  V,  ii,  79  ;  'his  large  fortune,  Upon  his 
good  and  gracious  nature  hanging,  Subdues  and  properties  to  his  love  and  tendance 
All  sorts  of  hearts.' — Timon,  I,  i,  55. — STAUNTON  :  It  here  bears  the  same  mean- 
ing,— that,  apparently,  of  circumscribed,  restricted,  appropriated, — as  in  King  John 
[just  quoted], — ABBOTT  (§  290,  p.  201),  in  a  list  of  verbs  formed  from  nouns,  gives 
•propertied'  as  meaning  '  treat  as  a  tool.' — W.  A.  WRIGHT:  That  is,  treated  me 
as  a  property  or  thing  to  be  used  for  a  particular  purpose,  as  if  I  had  no  will  of  my 
own.  Compare  King  John  [as  above.  Dyce's  quotation  from  Timon  is  not,  I 
fear,  exactly  parallel.  In  spite  of  the  majority  in  favour  of  what  is  essentially 
Dr  Johnson's  interpretation,  I  cannot  but  think  that  Collier's  suggestion  is  not 
to  be  lightly  discarded.  No  one  seems  to  have  considered  the  force  of  the  'here.' 
Had  the  phrase  been  simply  '  they  have  propertied  me,'  Dr  Johnson's  explanation 
would  be  probable,  but  Malvolio  says,  '  they  have  here  propertied  me,' — 'here,'  as 
he  once  before  said,  'in  hideous  darkness.'  It  is  in  that  particular  place  that  they 
have  propertied  him,  not  propertied  him  in  general.  In  view  of  this  locative  emphasis, 
the  quotation  from  King  John  is  hardly  parallel :  Lewis's  contrast  is  between  a 
sovereign  and  a  serving-man.  If  we  bear  in  mind  the  frequency  of  Shakespeare's 
allusions  to  the  stage,  Collier's  interpretation,  coupled  with  the  '  here,'  will  seem,  I 
think,  not  improbable. — ED.] 

95.  face  me  out  of  my  wits]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  That  is,  to  cheat  me  out  of  my 
wits  by  sheer  impudence.     See  V,  i,  89. 

97,  98.  endeauour  thy  selfe]  See  ABBOTT  (§  296,  p.  208)  for  other  verbs  now 
used  intransitively  but  used  by  Shakespeare  reflexively. 

98,  99.  bibble  babble]  See  HUNTER'S  note  in  Appendix,  Date  of  Composition. 
Compare  '  there  is  no  tiddle  taddle  nor  pibble  pabble  in  Pompey's  camp.' — Hen.  V: 
IV,  i,  71.— HALLIWELL  :  Thus,  «  Whan  the  peres  are  gone  ;  they  are  but  dyble  dable. 
I  marvell  ye  can  abyd  suche  byble  bable.' — Bale's  Kynge  Johan,  [p.  7,  ed.  Camden 
Soc.]    '  Go  to,  come  hether ;  I  will  forgive  thee,  if  thou  wilt  become  an  honest  man, 
and  cast  idlenes,  slouthfulnes,  and  thy  bible  bable  aside.' — Florio's  Second  Frutes, 
1591.     '  What  is  logicke  but  the  high  waie  to  wrangling,  contayning  in  it  a  world  of 
bibble-babble  ?' — An  Amond  for  a  Parrat,  n.  d. — W.  A.  WRIGHT:   See  Latimer 
(Sermons,  p.  507,  Parker  Soc.  ed. ) :  'I  speak  of  faithful  prayer  ;  for  in  time  past  we 
took  bibbling  babbling  for  prayer,  when  it  was  nothing  less.'    [Thus,  Cotgrave, 
4  Bavasse  :  f.  An  idle  tale,  vaine  tatle,  bible-bable.'     See  also  WHEATLEY'S  Diet. 
of  Reduplicated  Words.     The  number  of  these  examples  (and  I  have  given  only  a 


ACT  iv,  sc.  ii.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  269 

Clo.     Maintaine  no  words  with  him  good  fellow.  101 

Who  I  fir,  not  I  fir.    God  buy  you  good  fir  Topas  :  Mar- 
ry Amen.   I  will  fir,  I  will. 

Mai.     Foole,  foole,  foole  I  fay. 

Clo.  Alas  fir  be  patient.  What  fay  you  fir,  I  am  fhent  105 
for  fpeaking  to  you. 

Mai.  Good  foole,  helpe  me  to  fome  light,  and  fome 
paper,  I  tell  thee  I  am  as  well  in  my  wittes,  as  any  man  in 
Illyria. 

Clo*    Well-a-day,  that  you  were  fir.  1 10 

101.  [In  the  counterfeit  voice.    Han.  102,    103.  Marry     Amen]     To     be 

102.  [This  in  his  own  voice.    Han.  spoken  in  the  counterfeit  voice.    Han. 
Who  I  fir]   Who  /,  sir,  Rowe,  103.   /  will.']  I  will  fir.   Ff,  Rowe, 

Pope,  Han.    Who,  I,  sir  ?  Theob.  et  seq.  Pope,  Han. 

buy  you]  b'w1  you  Pope,  +  ,  Cap.  104.  fay."]  Ff,  Rowe, +  .    say!  Coll. 

Var.  Mai.  Steev.     6'wf  you  Var.  '03  et  say, —  Cap.  et  cet. 

seq.  105.  you  fir, ~]  F3F4.   you,  sir,  Rowe  i. 

102,103.    Topas  :... Amen.}    Topas —  you,  fir  f  F3,  Rowe  ii  et  seq. 

Marry,  amen. —  Theob.  et  seq.  (except  108.  paper,"]  FaF4>  Paper.  F3.  paper; 

Cam. )  Rowe. 

selection)  is  of  importance,  showing,  as  it  does,  that  Shakespeare  did  not,  of  neces- 
sity, take  these  words  from  Barrel's  account  of  the  disturbances  in  the  Starchy 
household.  — ED.  ] 

101.  Maintaine  no  words  with  him]  JOHNSON:  Here  the  Clown  in  the  dark 
acts  two  persons,  and  counterfeits,  by  variation  of  voice,  a  dialogue  between  him- 
self and  Sir  Topas. — '  I  will,  sir,  I  will '  is  spoken  after  a  pause,  as  if,  in  the  mean- 
time, Sir  Topas  had  whispered. 

102.  God  buy  you]  WALKER  (  Vers.   227)  :   God  be  -with  you  is  in  fact  God  P 
TV?  you ;  sometimes  a  trisyllable,  sometimes    contracted   into   a   disyllabic  ; — now 
Good-bye.   (Query,  whether  the  substitution  of  good  for  God  was  not  the  work  of  the 
Puritans,  who  may  have  considered  the  familiar  use  of  God's  name  in  the  common 
form  of  leave-taking  as  irreverent  ?    I  suggest  this  merely  as  a  may-be. )    This  form  is 
variously  written  in  the  Folio  and  in  old  editions  of  our  other  dramatists  ;  sometimes 
it  is  in  full,  even  when  the  metre  requires  contraction  ;  at  others,  God  b"  wi1  ye, 
God  be  wy  you,  God  bwy,  God  buy,  etc.     I  have  noticed  the  form  God  V  ivi'  you  as 
late  as  Smollett  (Roderick  Random,  chap,  iii.)  :   'B'wye,  old  gentleman';  if  not 
later. 

105.  shent]  STEEVENS  (Note  on  Hamlet,  III,  ii,  381)  :  To  shend  is  to  reprove 
harshly,  to  treat  with  rough  language. — W.  A.  WRIGHT  (Note  on  Coriolanus,  V, 
ii,  91)  :  The  original  meaning  of  the  word  is  'to  disgrace,  put  to  shame,'  from  the 
Anglo-Saxon  scenden.  In  the  earlier  Wicliffite  translation  of  /  Samuel,  xx,  34, 
instead  of  what  in  the  Authorised  Version  is  '  because  his  father  had  done  him 
shame,'  we  find  '  forthi  that  his  fader  hadde  shent  hym.' 

no.  Well-a-day]  EARLE  (§  200)  :  Wa  has  a  history  much  like  la.  [See  III, 
iv,  104.]  It  has  changed  its  form  in  modern  English  \.owo.  'Wo,'  in  the  New 
Testament,  as  Rev.  viii,  13,  stands  for  the  Greek  interjection  ovai  and  the  Latin  vae. 
In  the  same  way  it  is  used  in  many  passages  in  which  the  interjectional  character  is 


TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  iv,  sc.  ii. 

Mai.     By  this  hand  I  am  :  good  foole,  fome  inke,pa-         in 
per,  and  light  :  and  conuey  what  I  will  fet  downe  to  my 
Lady  :  it  (hall  aduantage  thee  more,   then  euer  the  bea- 
ring of  Letter  did. 

Clo.    I  will  help  you  too't.  But  tel  me  true,  are  you  not         115 
mad  indeed,  or  do  you  but  counterfeit. 

Mai.     Beleeue  me  I  am  not,  I  tell  thee  true. 

Clo.  Nay,  He  nere  beleeue  a  madman  till  I  fee  his  brains 
I  will  fetch  you  light,  and  paper,  and  inke. 

Mai.     Foole,  He  requite  it  in  the  higheft  degree  :  120 

I  prethee  be  goue. 

Clo.     I  am  gone  fir,  and  anon  fir,  122 

115.  too't.']  to't.  Rowe.  Il8.  nere]  ne'er  Ff. 

116.  indeed,'}  indeed?  Steev.  et  seq.  madman]  mad-man  Rowe,  +  . 
counterfeit."]  counterfeit ?  fi.  1 20,  121.  Prose,   Rann  et  seq. 

117.  me  I  am  not,~\  me,  f  am  not,  Ff,  121.  goue~]  F,. 

Rowe  i.    me,  I  am  not :  Rowe  ii  et  seq.  122.   [Singing.    Rowe. 

118.  He]  Fa.     Pie  F,.     Ife  F,.  122-129.  Twelve  lines,  Cap.  et  seq. 


distinct.  This  word  must  be  distinguished  from  woe,  which  is  a  substantive.  Foi 
instance,  in  the  phrase  'weal  and  woe.'  The  fact  is,  that  there  were  two  distinct 
old  words,  namely,  the  interjective  wa  and  the  substantive  wok,  genitive  wages, 
which  meant  depravity,  wickedness,  misery.  Often  as  these  have  been  blended,  it 
would  be  convenient  to  observe  the  distinction,  which  is  still  practically  valid,  by  a 
several  orthography,  writing  the  interjection  wo,  and  the  substantive  woe.  This 
interjection  was  compounded  with  [/a]  into  the  forms  wala  and  welawa, — a  frequent 
exclamation  in  Chaucer,  and  one  which,  before  it  disappeared,  was  modified  into  the 
feebler  form  of  wellaway.  A  still  more  degenerate  variety  of  this  form  was  well-a- 
day.  Pathetic  cries  have  a  certain  disposition  to  implicate  the  present  time,  as  in 
woe  worth  the  day  ! 

115,  116.  are  you  not  mad  indeed]  JOHNSON  :  If  he  was  not  mad,  what  did  he 
counterfeit  by  declaring  that  he  was  not  mad?  The  fool,  who  meant  to  insult  him, 
I  think,  asks,  'are  you  mad,  or  do  you  but  counterfeit?'  That  is,  'You  look  like  a 
madman,  you  talk  like  a  madman.  Is  your  madness  real,  or  have  you  any  secret 
design  in  it?'  This,  to  a  man  in  poor  Malvolio's  state,  was  a  severe  taunt. — M. 
MASON  (p.  120) :  Malvolio  had  assured  the  Clown  that  he  was  as  well  in  his  senses 
as  any  man  in  Illyria  ;  and  the  Clown  in  reply  asks  him  this  provoking  question  : 
'  Is  it  true  that  you  are  not  really  mad  ?'  that  is,  that  you  are  really  in  your  right 
senses,  or  do  you  only  pretend  to  be  so  ? — MALONE  :  The  words  '  do  you  but  counter- 
feit?' surely  mean,  'do  you  but  counterfeit  madness,'  or,  in  other  words,  'assume 
the  appearance  of  a  madman,  though  not  one.'  Our  author  ought,  I  think,  to  have 
written  either  '  are  you  mad  indeed,  or  do  you  but  counterfeit  ?'  or  else  '  are  you 
not  mad  indeed,  and  do  you  but  counterfeit  ?'  But  I  do  not  suspect  any  corruption. 
— W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  The  question  in  its  present  form  is  equivalent  to  'you  are  mad, 
are  you  not  ?' 

I2Z   I  am  gone,  sir,  etc.]  FARMER  :  We  have  here  another  old  catch  ;  appar- 


ACT  iv,  sc.  ii.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  271 

He  be  with  you  againe :  123 

In  a  trice,  like  to  the  old  vice, 

124.  In  a\  With  a  Coll.  ii  (MS).  124.   like  to\  Like  Coll.  MS. 

ently,  I  think,  not  of  Shakespeare. — DYCE  (ed.  ii,  p.  383)  :  It  is  probably  an  old 
song,  somewhat  altered  by  our  poet. — NAYLOR  (p.  190)  gives  the  following  air  (see 
line  74,  above) : 


I'm  gone,  sir,  and  a -non,  sir,        I'll    be  with  you  a  -gain,  sir. 


124.  old]  This  does  not  refer,  I  think,  to  age,  or  to  the  Vice  of  aforetimes,  but  is 
the  good  humoured  '  old,'  and  implies  a  sneaking  regard. — ED  . 

124.  old  vice]  JOHNSON  :  The  «  vice'  was  the  fool  of  the  old  moralities.  Some 
traces  of  this  character  are  still  preserved  in  puppet-shows,  and  by  country  mummers. 
— NARES  (s.  v.  Iniquity)  :  The  established  buffoon  in  the  old  moralities.  He  was 
grotesquely  dressed  in  a  cap  with  ass's  ears,  a  long  coat,  and  a  dagger  of  lath  ;  one 
of  his  chief  employments  was  to  make  sport  with  the  devil,  leaping  on  his  back  and 
belabouring  him  with  his  dagger  of  lath,  till  he  made  him  roar.  The  devil,  how- 
ever, always  carried  him  off  in  the  end.  The  morality  of  which  representation 
clearly  was,  that  sin,  which  has  the  wit  and  courage  to  make  very  merry  with  the 
devil,  and  is  allowed  by  him  to  take  great  liberties,  must  finally  become  his  prey. — 
COLLIER  (Hist,  of  Dram.  Poetry,  ii,  188,  ed.  1879)  :  Regarding  the  Vice,  Douce 
was  of  opinion  that  the  name  was  derived  from  the  nature  of  the  character ;  and  cer- 
tain it  is  that  he  is  represented  most  wicked  by  design,  and  never  good  but  by  acci- 
dent. Malone  tells  us  that  '  the  principle  employment  of  the  Vice  was  to  belabour 
the  Devil ' ;  but  although  he  was  frequently  so  engaged,  he  had  also  other  and 
higher  duties.  He  figured  now  and  then  in  the  religious  plays  of  a  later  date,  and 
in  The  Life  and  Death  of  Mary  Magdalen,  1567,  he  performed  the  part  of  her 
lover,  under  the  name  of  Infidelity,  before  her  conversion  ;  in  King  Darius,  1565, 
he  also  acted  a  prominent  part,  by  his  own  evil  impulses,  under  the  name  of 
Iniquity,  without  any  prompting  from  the  representative  of  the  principle  of  evil. 
Such  was  the  general  style  of  the  Vice  ;  and  as  Iniquity  he  is  spoken  of  by  Shake- 
speare (Rich.  Ill:  III,  i.)  and  Ben  Jonson  (Staple  of  News,  Second  Intermean). 
The  Vice  and  Iniquity  seem,  however,  sometimes  to  have  been  distinct  persons  ;  and 
he  was  not  unfrequently  called  by  the  name  of  particular  vices  ;  thus,  in  Lusty 
Juventus,  the  Vice  performs  the  part  of  Hypocrisy ;  in  Common  Conditions,  he  is 
called  Conditions  ;  in  Like  will  to  Like,  he  is  named  Nichol  New-fangle  ;  in  The 
Trial  of  Treasure,  his  part  is  that  of  Inclination;  in  All  for  Money,  he  is  called 
Sin  ;  in  Tom  Tyler  and  his  Wife,  Desire  ;  and  in  Appius  and  Virginia,  Haphazard. 
Gifford  designates  the  Vice  '  the  buffoon  of  the  old  Mysteries  and  Moralities,'  as  if 
he  had  figured  in  the  Miracle-plays  represented  at  Chester,  York,  and  elsewhere  ; 
Malone,  also,  speaks  of  him  as  the  '  constant  attendant '  of  the  Devil  in  '  the 
ancient  religious  plays  ?'  The  fact  is  that  the  Vice  was  wholly  unknown  in  our 
'  religious  plays,'  which  have  hitherto  gone  by  the  name  of  '  Mysteries,'  and  to 
which  Gifford  and  Malone  refer.  The  Life  and  Repentance  of  Mary  Magdalen  and 
King  Darius,  already  mentioned  as  containing  the  character  of  the  Vice,  were  not 
written  until  after  the  reign  of  Mary.  The  same  remark  will  apply  to  the  Interlude 


272  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  iv,  sc.  ii. 

[124.  like  to  the  old  vice] 

of  Quten  Hester,  1561,  which  differs  from  other  religious  plays,  inasmuch  as  the 
Vice  there  is  a  court  jester  and  servant,  and  is  named  Hardy-dardy.  With  regard 
to  '  Moralities,"  it  is  certainly  true  that  in  the  ancient  Moral-plays  characters  of  gross 
buffoonery  and  vicious  propensities  were  inserted  for  the  amusement  and  instruction 
of  the  audience  ;  but,  although  we  hear  of  '  the  fool '  in  Medwall's  Interlude,  per- 
formed before  Henry  VIII.  in  1516,  such  a  character  seems  very  rarely  to  have  been 
specifically  called  '  the  Vice  '  anterior  to  the  Reformation.  On  the  external  appear- 
ance of  the  Vice,  Douce  has  observed,  that  'being  generally  dressed  in  a  fool's 
habit,'  he  was  gradually  and  undistinguishably  blended  with  the  domestic 
fool ;  and  there  is  every  probability  that  such  was  the  result.  Ben  Jonson,  in 
his  The  Devil  is  an  Ass,  alludes  to  this  very  circumstance,  when  he  is  speaking  of 
the  fools  of  old  kept  in  the  houses  of  nobility  and  gentry : — '  Fifty  years  agone 
and  six,  When  every  great  man  had  his  Vice  stand  by  him  In  his  long  coat, 
shaking  his  wooden  dagger.' — Act  I.  sc.  i.  The  Vice  here  spoken  of  was  the  domes- 
tic fool  of  the  nobility  about  the  year  1560;  to  whom  also  Puttenham,  in  his  Arte 
of  English  Poesie  (1589,  p.  69),  alludes,  under  the  terms  '  buffoon  or  vice  of  plays.' 
In  the  second  Intermean  of  his  Staple  of  News,  Ben  Jonson  tells  us  that  the  Vice 
sometimes  wore  '  a  juggler's  jerken  with  false  skirts ';  and  though  Douce  is  unques- 
tionably correct  when  he  states  that  the  Vice  was  'generally  dressed  in  a  fool's 
habit,'  he  did  not  by  any  means  constantly  wear  the  parti-coloured  habiliments  of 
an  idiot ;  he  was  sometimes  required  to  act  a  gallant,  and  now  and  then  to  assume 
the  disguise  of  virtues  it  suited  his  purpose  to  personate.  In  The  Life  and  Repent- 
ance of  Mary  Magdalen,  he  several  times  changes  his  apparel  for  the  sake  of  decep- 
tion. In  The  Trial  of  Treasure,  1567,  he  was  not  only  provided,  as  was  customary, 
with  his  wooden  dagger,  but  in  order  to  render  him  more  ridiculous,  with  a  pair  of 
spectacles  (no  doubt  of  a  preposterous  size),  which  he  is  desired  by  one  of  the  char- 
acters to  put  on.  The  '  long  coat '  worn  by  the  Vice,  according  to  the  preceding 
quotation  from  Ben  Jonson' s  Devil  is  an  Ass,  was  doubtless  that  dress  which,  Douce 
informs  us,  belonged  '  to  the  idiot  or  natural  fool,'  often  of  a  mischievous  and  malig- 
nant disposition  ;  and  it  affords  another  link  of  connection  between  the  Vice  and  the 
domestic  fool.  .  .  .  The  Vice,  like  the  fool,  was  often  furnished  with  a  dagger  of 
lath,  and  it  was  not  unusual  that  it  should  be  gilt.  Just  preceding  the  mention  of 
the  'juggler's  jerkin  '  by  Ben  Jonson,  as  part  of  the  dress  of  the  Vice,  is  an  allusion 
to  the  ludicrous  mode  in  which  poetical  justice  was  not  unfrequently  done  to  him  at 
the  conclusion  of  a  Moral.  Tattle  observes,  '  but  there  is  never  a  fiend  to  carry  him 
away ' ;  and  in  the  first  Intermean  of  the  same  play,  Mirth  leads  us  to  suppose,  that 
it  was  a  very  common  termination  of  the  adventures  of  the  Vice,  for  him  to  be  car- 
ried off  to  hell  on  the  back  of  the  devil  :  '  he  would  carry  away  the  Vice  on  his 
back,  quick  to  hell,  in  every  play  where  he  came.'  In  The  Longer  thou  livest  the 
more  Fool  thou  art,  and  in  Like  will  to  Like,  the  Vice  is  disposed  of  nearly  in  this 
summary  manner;  in  the  first,  Confusion  carries  him  to  the  devil,  and  in  the  last, 
Lucifer  bears  him  off  to  the  infernal  regions  on  his  shoulders.  In  King  Darius,  the 
Vice  runs  to  hell  of  his  own  accord,  to  escape  from  Constancy,  Equity,  and  Charity. 
According  to  Bishop  Harsnet,  the  Vice  was  in  the  habit  of  riding  and  beating  the 
devil  at  other  times  than  when  he  was  thus  hurried  against  his  will  to  punishment. 
[In  Drummond  of  Hawthornden' s  Conversations  with  Ben  Jonson,  there  occurs 
the  following  item  :  '  A  play  of  his,  upon  which  he  was  accused,  The  Divell  is  ane 
Ass  ;  according  to  Comedia  Vetus,  in  England  the  Divell  was  brought  in  either  with 


ACT  iv,  sc.  ii.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  273 

your  neede  to  fuftaine.  125 

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         129 

127.  ah  ha,~]   ah,   ah,   Rowe  i.     ah  Rowe  ii,  + ,  Ran.  Steev.  Var.  Harness, 
ha  !  Rowe  ii  et  seq.  Walker,  Coll.  ii,  iii  (MS),  Dyce,  Cam.  i, 

128.  dad,]  Dad,   Ff.      dad;    Dyce,  Sta.    goodman  Devil  Cap-  Var-  '73»  '78» 
Cam.  '21,  Mai.  Wh.  Glo.  Cam.  ii.    goodman 

129.  good    man    diuell]    good   man  Civil  or  good  man,  be  aVz/Anon.  ap. 
Dwell  Fa.    good  man  Devil  F3F4.    good  Cam. 

Man  Devil  Rowe  i.    good  man  Drivel 

one  Vice  or  other  :  the  play  done  the  Divel  carried  away  the  Vice,  he  brings  in  the 
Divel  so  overcome  with  the  wickedness  of  this  age  that  thought  himself  ane  Ass.' 
—p.  28,  ed.  Sh.  Soc.— ED.] 

128.  paire  thy  nayles  dad]  MALONE  :  The  Devil  was  supposed  from  choice  to 
keep  his  nails  always  unpared,  and  therefore  to  pare  them  was  an  affront.     So,  in 
Camden's  Remaines,  1615  t  '  I  will  follow  mine  own  mincle,  and  mine  old  trade ; 
Who  shall  let  me?  the  divel's  nailes  are  unparde." — FARMER  :  I  know  not  whether 
this  line  should  not  be  thrown  into  a  question  :  '  pare  thy  nails,  dad  ?'     In  Hen.  V : 
IV,  iv,  76,  we  meet  again  '  this  roaring  devil  i'th'  old  play,  that  every  one  may  pare 
his  nails  with  a  wooden  dagger.' 

129.  good  man  diuell]  JOHNSON:  This  line  has  neither  rhyme  nor  meaning. 
I  cannot  but  suspect  that  the  fool  translates  Malvolio's  name,  and  says  :  'Adieu, 
goodman  mean-evil.1 — M.  MASON  (p.  120)  :  I  believe,  with  Johnson,  that  this  is  an 
allusion  to  Malvolio's  name,   but  not  in  his  reading,   which  destroys   the   metre. 
Read — '  Adieu,    good   mean-evil?   that   is,  good   Malvolio,    literally   translated. — 
MALONE  :  The  last  two  lines  of  this  song  have,   I  think,  been  misunderstood. 
They  are  not  addressed  in  the  first  instance  to  Malvolio,  but  are  quoted  by  the 
Clown,  as  the  words  '  ah,  ha  !'  are,  as  the  usual  address  in  the  old  Moralities  to  the 
Devil.     We  have  in  The  Merry  Wives,  'No  man  means  evil  but  the  devil,' [V,  ii, 
15]  ;  and  in  Much  Ado,  'God's  a  good  man,' [III,  v,  37.     A  recurrence  of  the 
same  word,  instead  of  a  rhyme,  is  hardly  a  sufficient  reason  for  a  change,  espe- 
cially in  a  song  like  this,  which  is  sung  by  Feste  in  the  mere  exuberance  of  his  high 
spirits.     If  the  words  apply  to  Malvolio,  however  vaguely,  well  and  good  ;  too  close 
an  application  was  hardly  to  be  desired.     To  imply  that  Malvolio  is  the  Devil  in  a 
play,  is  to  imply  that  Feste  himself  is  the  Vice, — hardly  a  more  creditable  character. 
For  Feste' s  purpose,  it  is  sufficient  that  the  Song,  taking  up  Malvolio's  last  words, 
ends  with  bidding  him  adieu. — ED.] 

II 


274  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  iv,  sc.  iii. 


Sccena  Tertia. 

Enter  Sebaflian.  2 

This  is  the  ayre,  that  is  the  glorious  Sunne, 
This  pearle  fhe  gaue  me,  I  do  feel't,  and  fee't, 
And  though  tis  wonder  that  enwraps  me  thus,  5 

Yet  'tis  not  madneffe.    Where's  Anthonio  then, 
I  could  not  finde  him  at  the  Elephant, 
Yet  there  he  was,  a  nd  there  I  found  this  credite, 
That  he  did  range  the  towne  to  feeke  me  out, 
His  councell  now  might  do  me  golden  feruice,  10 

I .  Scene  V.  Pope,  + .  Cap.  et  seq. 

Another    Apartment    in    Olivia's  6.  then,]  then  ?  Ff. 

House.  Theob.     Olivia' s  Garden.  Cap.  8.  credite]  F2.    current  Han.   credited 

3,4.  Sunnt,.../fe't,]FaF3.   Sunne,...  M.  Mason,  Ktly.      credit  F3F4  et  cet 

fee't.     F4,  Rowe,  Pope,  Han.     sun;...  writ  Cartwright. 

see't.  Theob.  Warb.  Johns.  sun;...see't;  9.  out, ~\  out.  Rowe. 

I.  Scaena  Tertia]  MARSHALL:  In  [Irving' s]  acting-edition,  this  scene  is  the 
first  scene  of  Act  V. 

5.  wonder  that  enwraps  me]  For  other  instances  where  Shakespeare  uses  this 
figure,  see  the  note  in  this  ed.  on  '  I  am  so  attired  in  wonder,'  Much  Ado,  IV,  i,  152. 
It  is  frequent  in  the  Psalms  ;  thus,  '  Let  them  be  clothed  with  shame  and  dishonour 
that  magnify  themselves  against  me.' — xxxv,  26. 

8.  credite]  THEOBALD  :  That  is,  I  found  it  justified,  credibly  vouched.  Whether 
'credit'  will  easily  carry  this  meaning,  I  am  doubtful.  The  expression  seems 
obscure ;  I  very  much  suspect  that  the  poet  wrote  credent.  Thus,  in  IVint.  Tale  : 
•Then  'tis  very  credent  Thou  may'st  cojoin  with  something. '[I,  ii,  142.] — WAR- 
BURTON  :  That  is,  account,  information.  CAPELL  (p.  152)  accepts  Theobald's  defini- 
tion, but  discards  his  emendation,  together  with  Warburton's  definition,  which,  he 
says,  is  '  making  any  thing  of  any  thing.' — STEEVENS  :  Robertson,  speaking  of 
some  memorandums  included  in  the  Letters  to  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,  observes, 
that  they  were  not  '  the  credit  of  the  bearer ' ;  i.  e.  points  concerning  which  the 
Queen  had  given  him  verbal  instructions,  or  information.  '  Credit,'  therefore,  might 
have  been  the  prevalent  term  for  oral  intelligence. — COLLIER  :  The  meaning  of 
Sebastian  merely  is,  that  he  had  not  been  able  to  find  Antonio  at  the  Elephant, 
where,  however,  he  had  been,  and  where  he  (Sebastian)  found  this  '  credit,'  or 
belief,  that  Antonio  had  gone  to  seek  Sebastian. — SINGER  (ed.  ii)  :  I  find  in  a  letter 
from  Elizabeth  to  Sir  Nicholas  Throckmorton  among  the  Conway  Papers, — '  This 
beror  came  from  you  with  great  spede.  . .  .  We  have  heard  his  credit  and  fynd  your 
carefulness  and  diligence  very  great.' — W.  A.  WRIGHT:  That  is,  this  opinion  in 
which  people  believed,  this  current  belief.  '  Credit '  is  used  in  just  the  same  sense 
as  '  trust'  in  line  17.  [The  almost  technical  use  of  '  credit,'  when  applied  to  a  mes- 
senger, seems  to  be  uncalled  for  here,  where  no  messenger  is  mentioned.  I  think 
the  simpler  explanation  of  Collier  and  of  Wright  is  to  be  preferred. — ED.] 


ACT  iv,  sc.  iii.]  OR.   WHAT  YOU  WILL  275 

For  though  my  foule  difputes  well  with  my  fence,  1 1 

That  this  may  be  fome  error,  but  no  madneffe, 

Yet  doth  this  accident  and  flood  of  Fortune, 

So  farre  exceed  all  inftance,  all  difcourfe, 

That  I  am  readie  to  diftruft  mine  eyes,  15 

And  wrangle  with  my  reafon  that  perfwades  me 

To  any  other  truft,  but  that  I  am  mad, 

Or  elfe  the  Ladies  mad;  yet  if  xtwere  fo, 

She  could  not  fway  her  houfe,  command  her  followers, 

Take,  and  giue  backe  affayres,  and  their  difpatch,  20 

11.  fence}  fenfe  Ff.  17.   I am~\  Pm  Pope,  +  ,  Dyce  ii,  iii. 

12.  madneffe,'}      madness,-      Theob.  18.   Ladies}  lady's  Rowe. 

Warb.  Johns.  Cap.  20.  affayres,  and  their  difpatch}  and 

13.  food]  Jloud  F3F4.  her  affairs  dispatch  Cartwright. 

14.  instance]  That  is,  example.     Compare  'Wise  saws  and  mordern  instances,' 
in  Jaques's  '  Seven  Ages.' 

14.  discourse]  MURRAY  (N.  E.  D.  ),  under  the  second  sense  of  this  word, 
quotes  Dr  Johnson's  definition  of  it:  'The  act  of  the  understanding,  by  which  it 
passes  from  premises  to  conclusions,'  and  then  adds  :  '  reasoning,  thought,  ratiocina- 
tion ;  faculty  of  reasoning,  reason,  rationality ' ;  which  adequately  explains  Sebastian's 
present  use.  Hamlet's  'discourse  of  reason,'  I,  ii,  150,  Murray  treats  as  a  phrase, 
and  gives  an  example  of  its  use,  as  early  as  1413.  In  Othello,  IV,  ii,  182,  where 
Desdemona  says  '  in  discourse  of  thought,'  I  ventured,  with  much  hesitation,  to  sug- 
gest that  Shakespeare  might  have  used  'discourse'  in  its  derivative  Latin  sense, 
equivalent  to  range,  and  I  still  think  that  such  an  interpretation  will  remove  some 
difficulties  where  '  discourse '  is  limited  by  another  substantive. — ED. 

17.  trust]  JOHNSON  :  That  is,  to  any  other  belief,  or  confidence,  to  any  other 
fixed  opinion. 

20.  Take,  and  giue  backe  affayres,  and  their  dispatch]  COLLIER  (ed.  ii) 
reads,  in  accordance  with  his  MS  Corrector,  '.  .  .  and  thus  dispatch  affairs';  and 
remarks  :  Thus  was  misprinted  '  their,'  and  'the  other  words  became  accidentally 
displaced,  so  that  although  the  meaning  might  be  evident,  the  construction  of  the 
sentence  was  altogether  deranged. — DYCE  (ed.  ii)  :  No  editor,  as  far  as  I  know,  has 
questioned  this  very  questionable  line. — Qy.  '.  .  .  and  them  dispatch'? — Here  Mr 
Collier's  MS  Corrector  makes  a  violent  alteration. — W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  The  verbs 
and  substantives  must  be  distributed  here  as  in  IVint.  Tale,  III,  Ii,  164,  165  : 
'Though  I  with  death  and  with  Reward  did  threaten  and  encourage  him.'  And  in 
Macbeth,  I,  iii,  60  :  '  Speak  then  to  me,  who  neither  beg  nor  fear  Your  favours  nor 
your  hate.'  In  the  present  passage  'take'  goes  with  'affairs'  and  'give  back" 
with  '  their  dispatch.'  The  phrase  is  thus  equivalent  to  '  take  a  business  in  hand 
and  discharge  it.' — DEIGHTON  :  « Take  and  give  back  '  is  equivalent  to  '  administer,' 
'attend  to,'  by  receiving  reports  from  her  steward  and  passing  orders  upon  them  ; 
and  'see  to,'  or  some  such  verb,  is  easily  supplied  from  'take  and  give  back.' 
[Wright's  explanation  is,  I  think,  the  true  one;  with  it,  the  line  ceases  to  be 
•questionable.'  The  line  is  an  example  of  what  CORSON  has  named  'respective 


276  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  iv,  sc.  iii. 

With  fuch  a  fmooth,  difcreet,  and  liable  bearing  21 

As  I  perceiue  fhe  do's  :  there's  fomething  in't 
That  is  deceiueable.      But  heere  the  Lady  comes. 

Enter  Oliuia,  and  Priejl. 

01.   Blame  not  this  hafte  of  mine  :  if  you  meane  well  25 

Now  go  with  me,  and  with  this  holy  man 
Into  the  Chantry  by  :  there  before  him, 
And  vnderneath  that  confecrated  roofe, 
Plight  me  the  full  affurance  of  your  faith, 
That  my  moft  iealious,  and  too  doubtfull  foule_ >  30 

21.  Jtable  bearing]  ^able-bearing  Ff,         comes  the  lady  Steev.  Var.  '03,  '13. 
Rowe  i.  30.  iealious]  jealous  Ff. 

23.  the  Lady  comes]  she  comes  Pope,  + . 

construction,'  of  which  there  are  many  instances  in  Shakespeare  ;  thus,  Touchstone 
(As  You  Like  It,  V,  iv,  6l,  62)  says,  'to  sweare  and  to  forsweare,  according  as 
marriage  binds  and  blood  breakes,'  where  'sweare'  goes  with  'binds'  and  'for- 
sweare' with  'breaks.'  Again,  a  notable  instance,  in  Hamlet,  III,  i,  151  :  'The 
courtier's,  scholar's,  soldier's,  eye,  tongue,  sword.'  This  is  not  to  be  confounded 
with  a  chiasm,  or  criss-cross  construction,  as  in  Mer.  of  Ven.  Ill,  i,  57,  where  Shy- 
lock  says  'warmed  and  cooled  by  the  same  Winter  and  Summer';  and  again  in 
•land  rats  and  water  rats,  water  thieves  and  land  thieves.' — ED.] 

23.  deceiueable]  That  is,  deceptive  or  deceitful.  WALKER  (Crit.'i,  183),  on 
'  adjectives  in  -able  and  -ible,  both  positive  and  negative  ones,  which  are  frequently 
used  in  an  active  sense,'  gives  the  following  examples  of  '  deceivable ' : — Bacon, 
Essay  on  Deformity, — '  therefore,  it  is  good  to  consider  of  deformity,  not  as  a  sign 
which  is  more  deceiveable,  but  as  a  cause  which  seldom  faileth  of  the  effect'  Sid- 
ney, Arcadia,  B.  ii,  p.  179,  1.  29, — 'this  colour  of  mine,  which  she  (in  the  deceiv- 
able style  of  affection)  would  entitle  beautiful.'  Bunyan,  Holy  War,  ed.  1791, 
p.  21, — '  Diabolus — made  this  further  deceivable  speech  to  them,  saying,'  etc.  And 
p.  40,  ult.  margin, — '  Very  deceivable  language.' — RUSHTON  (Lex.  Serif  ta,  p.  29)  : 
In  the  ancient  statutes  the  words  'deceivable'  and  'deceitful'  are  synonyms;  for 
example,  the  43rd  Elizabeth,  cap.  x.,  speaks  first  of  deceitful  things  as  'subtil 
sleights  and  untruths ' ;  and  afterwards,  referring  to  the  same  '  subtil  sleights  and 
untruths,'  speaks  of  them  as  deceivable  things.  [See  Rich.  II:  II,  iii,  84,  '  Show 
me  thy  humble  heart  and  not  thy  knee,  Whose  duty  is  deceivable  and  false.'] 

27.  Chantry]  MURRAY  (N.  E,  Z).):  3.  An  endowment  for  the  maintenance  of 
one  or  more  priests  to  sing  daily  mass  for  the  souls  of  the  founders  or  others  speci- 
fied by  them.  b.  A  chapel,  altar,  or  part  of  a  church  so  endowed.  [It  is  to  the 
latter  that  Olivia  refers.— ED.] 

27.  by]  That  is,  near,  at  hand.  Thus,  Rich.  Ill:  I,  ii,  234,  '  What !  I ...  to 
take  her  With  curses  in  her  mouth,  tears  in  her  eyes,  The  bleeding  witness  of  her 
hatred  by.' 

30.  iealious]  In  the  First  Folio  'jealous'  is  thus  uniformly  spelt  in  Othello,  and 
even  in  cases,  like  the  present,  where  a  trisyllable  is  not  needed.  '  It  is  noticeable,' 
says  WALKER  (  Vers.  p.  156),  'that  "jealous"  or  "jealious,"  as  a  trisyllable, 


ACT  iv,  sc.  iii.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  277 

May  Hue  at  peace.     He  fliall  conceale  it,  3 1 

Whiles  you  are  willing  it  shall  come  to  note, 
What  time  we  will  our  celebration  keepe 
According  to  my  birth,  what  do  you  fay  ? 

Seb.     He  follow  this  good  man,  and  go  with  you,  3$ 

And  hauing  fworne  truth,  euer  will  be  true. 

O/.Then  lead  the  way  good  father,&  heauens  fo  fhine, 
That  they  may  fairely  note  this  acl:e  of  mine.        Exeunt. 

Finis  AElus  Quartus.  39 

31.  May   Hue'}    May  henceforth   live         heaifn  Rowe  i.     and  heav'ns  Rowe  ii, 
Han.  Theob.   Warb.   Johns.      heavens  Pope, 

32.  Whiles]  While  Wh.  Han.     and  heavens  F2  et  cet. 
34.   birth,]  birth.  Rowe.  39.  Quartus.]  Quarti.  Ff. 
37.  &*  heauens]  &•  heaven  F  F.    and 

occurs,  with  scarcely  an  exception,  at  the  end  of  lines.'  Probably,  it  was  pro- 
nounced indifferently  as  a  disyllabic  or  as  a  trisyllable,  but  even  when  a  disyllabic, 
the  pronunciation  was  possibly  jealyous.  The  successful  but  illiterate  Manager, 
Henslowe,  whose  spelling  is  generally  extremely  phonetic,  records  in  his  Diary 
(SA.  Soc.  p.  29),  the  receipts  from  a  play  which  he  calls  '  the  gelyous  comodey,' — 
probably  a  play  founded  on  some  tale  of  jealousy.  WALKER  (Crit.  iii,  18),  in  a 
note  on  '  Lay  by  all  nicety  and  prolixious  blushes,'  Meas.  for  Afeas.  II,  iv,  162, 
says,  '  Compare  the  old  forms  stufendious  (the  common  people  even  now  say  tre- 
mcndious),  robustious,  e.  g.  Hamlet,  III,  ii,  10 ;  Hen.  V:  III,  vii,  159;  and  Dray- 
ton,  Moses,  B.  ii,  p.  154.  Other  similar  forms:  superbious,  and  even  splendidious.J 
See  '  Dexteriously,'  I,  v,  58  ;  '  studient,'  IV,  ii,  IO. — ED. 

31.  He  shall  conceale  it]  WALKER  (Vers.  154)  :  Certainly  not  conceal;  per- 
haps something  has  dropped  out. — KEIGHTLEY  {Expositor,  p.  180)  :  This  line  is 
imperfect.     In  my  Edition  I  added  still  (printed,  or  perhaps  written,  till],  and  we 
might  also  read  closely  or  truly,  i.  e.  faithfully.     We  might  also  end  the  line  with 
'  whiles,'  and  begin  the  next  with  That ;  as  while  and  whiles  that  occur  in  Chaucer, 
Golding,  and  others.     [See  Text.  Notes  for  HANMER'S  remedy  for  the  metre,  which 
is  seldom  defective  to  the  ear  when  there  is  a  break  in  the  line. — ED.] 

32.  Whiles]  That  is,  until.    See  III,  ii,  10. — GOULD  (p.  21)  :  There  should  be 
a  colon  after  '  willing ' :  the  passage  as  at  present  printed  [*'.  e.  with  no  punctuation 
after 'willing']  is  nonsense.     [It  is  to  be  feared  that  this  remark  reveals  Gould's 
misapprehension  of  'Whiles.' — ED.] 

33.  What  time]  See  I,  v,  150. 

33.  celebration]  That  is,  the  marriage  ceremony.  For  the  ceremony  of  betrothal 
Which  here  takes  place  in  the  Chantry,  see  Douce's  elaborate  note  on  'contract,' 
V,  i,  167. 

37.  heauens  so  shine,  etc.]  STEEVENS  :  Alluding  perhaps  to  a  superstitious 
supposition,  the  memory  of  which  is  still  preserved  in  a  proverbial  saying  :  '  Happy 
is  the  bride  upon  whom  the  sun  shines.'  [This  note  has  been  quoted  by  more  than 
one  editor.  But  to  impute  to  the  refined  Olivia  such  a  meteorological  aspiration  is 
unworthy.  She  merely  echoes  a  similar  prayer  uttered  by  Friar  Laurence  in  Rom. 
&>  Jul.  II,  vi,  i,  'So  smile  the  heavens  upon  this  holy  act,  That  after  hours  with 
sorrow  chide  us  not.' — ED.] 


278  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  v,  sc.  i. 

Aftus  Qiiintus.     Scena  Prima. 

Enter  Clowne  and  Fabian.  2 

Fab.     Now  as  thou  lou'ft  me,  let  me  fee  his  Letter. 
Clo.     Good  U\..  Fabian,  grant  me  another  requeft. 
Fab.     Any  thing.  5 

Clo.     Do  not  defire  to  fee  this  Letter. 
Fab.     This  is  to  giue  a  dogge,  and  in  recompence  defire 
my  dogge  againe. 

Enter  Duke,  Uiola,  Curio,  and  Lords. 

Duke.     Belong  you  to  the  Lady  Oliuia,  friends/  IO 

Clo.     I  fir,  we  are  fome  of  her  trappings. 
Duke.     I  know  thee  well  :  how  doeft  thou  my  good 
Fellow  ?  1 3 

The  Street.  Pope.     Before  Olivia'.s  7.    This']    That  Var.  '78,  '85,  Ran. 

House.  Cap.  Mai.  Steev.  Var.  Sta. 

3.  his~\  this  Ff,  Rowe,  Pope,   Han.  9.  Curio,  and  Lords.]  and  Attend- 
Cap.  ants.  Cap. 

4.  M.~\  Mr.  Rowe, +  ,  Cap.     master  12.  doejl~\  do'Jlff^. 
Var.  '73  et  seq. 

2.  Enter  Clowne]  HUTSON  (p.  493)  :  It  seems  to  me  that  it  is  not  without  sig- 
nificance that  the  jester  is  made  to  open  the  last  three  acts  of  the  play.  It  is  to  show, 
as  it  were,  the  growing  spirit  of  mirth  and  mistake,  misconception  and  mischief, 
blundering  and  confusion,  as  in  a  masquerade,  which  appertains  to  the  season  of 
revels  from  which  the  play  takes  its  name.  To  make  this  the  more  apparent,  the 
personification  of  the  spirit  of  mischief-making,  the  jester  Feste,  is  thus  made  prom- 
inent, opening  the  Third  Act  with  Viola,  the  Fourth  with  Sebastian,  and  the  Fifth 
with  Fabian. 

7.  to  giue  a  dogge,  etc.]  B.  NICHOLSON  (N.  dr>  Qu.  VHth,  iv,  185) :  The  sin- 
gularity and  definiteness  of  the  comparison,  made  when  no  dog  was  in  question, 
together  with  this,  that  the  giving  and  reclaiming  of  the  dog  run  not  on  all  fours 
with  the  asking  for  and  denial  of  the  letter,  all  gave  me  the  impression  that  there  is 
here  a  reference  to  some  contemporary  anecdote.  In  Manningham's  Diary,  on 
March  26,  1602/3,  two  days  after  the  queen's  death,  occurs  the  following:  'Mr. 
Francis  Curie  told  me  howe  one  Dr  Bullein,  the  Queenes  kinsman,  had  a  dog  which 
he  doted  one,  soe  much  that  the  Queene  understanding  of  it  requested  he  would 
graunt  hir  one  desyre,  and  he  should  have  what  soever  he  would  aske.  Shee 
demaunded  his  dogge  ;  he  gave  it,  and  "  Nowe,  Madame,"  quoth  he,  "  you  promised 
to  give  me  my  desyre."  "  I  will,"  quothe  she.  "  Then  I  pray  you  give  me  my  dog 
againe."  '[p.  148,  ed.  Camden  Soc.]  The  knowledge  and  acumen  of  my  friend  Miss 
Emma  Phipson,  author  of  The  Animal  Lore  of  Shakespeare's  Time,  first  directed 
my  attention  to  this  illustration  and  explanation  of  the  passage.  It  is,  therefore, 
in  her  name,  and  not  in  my  own,  that  I  write  this. 


ACTV.SC.  i.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  279 

Clo.    Truely  fir,  the  better  for  my  foes,    and  the  worfe 
for  my  friends.  15 

Du.     luft  the  contrary  :  the  better  for  thy  friends. 

Clo.    No  fir,  the  worfe. 

Du.    How  can  that  be  ? 

Clo.    Marry  fir,  they  praife  me,  and  make  an  afle  of  me, 
now  my  foes  tell  me  plainly,  I  am  an  Affe  :  fo  that  by  my  20 

foes  fir,  I  profit  in  the  knowledge  of  my  felfe,  and  by  my     \ 
friends  I  am  abufed  :  fo  that  conclufions  to  be  as  kiffes,if          22 

1 6.  better]  bettee  F4.  that,  conclusion  to  be  asked,  is  Theob. 

22.  that  conclufions  to  be  as   ki/es\         \Varb.    the  conclusion  to  be  asked  is  Han. 

19.  and  make]  That  is,  and  thereby  indirectly  make  an  ass  of  me. 

22.  so  that  conclusions  to  be  as  kisses,  etc.]  That  is,  'conclusions  being  as 
kisses.'  See  II,  ii,  8. — WARBURTON  :  What  monstrous  absurdity  have  we  here? 
The  Clown  is  affecting  to  argue  seriously  and  in  form.  I  imagine  the  Poet  wrote  : 
So  that,  conclusion  to  be  asked,  is,  i.  e.  so  that  the  conclusion  I  have  to  demand  of 
you  is  this,  if  your  four,  etc.  He  had  in  the  preceding  words  been  inferring  some 
premises,  and  now  comes  to  the  conclusion  very  logically ;  you  grant  me,  says  he, 
the  premises  ;  I  now  ask  you  to  grant  the  conclusion. — JOHNSON  :  Though  I  do  not 
discover  much  ratiocination  in  the  Clown's  discourse,  yet,  methinks,  I  can  find  some 
glimpse  of  a  meaning  in  his  observation,  that  'the  conclusion  is  as  kisses.'  For, 
says  he,  '  if  four  negatives  make  two  affirmatives,  the  conclusion  is  as  kisses ;  that 
is,  the  conclusion  follows  by  the  conjunction  of  two  negatives,  which  by  '  kissing ' 
and  embracing,  coalesce  into  one,  and  make  an  affirmative.  What  the  four  nega- 
tives are  I  do  not  know.  I  read,  'So  that  conclusions  be  as  kisses.' — HEATH 
(p.  193)  :  Men  often  ask  premises,  and  sometimes  even  beg  them,  as  Mr  Warburton 
well  knows,  but  no  man  ever  asked  a  conclusion.  This  is  always  inferred  as  a  thing 
of  right  and  necessity.  Such  stuff  as  this  could  never  fall  from  the  pen  of  Shake- 
speare. The  common  reading  being  evidently  absurd  and  corrupt,  I  may  be  allowed 
to  guess  that  our  poet  wrote,  '  So  that  conclusions  follcm>  as  kisses,'  that  is,  close  on 
each  other's  heels.  As  to  what  follows,  'if  your  four  negatives  make  your  two 
affirmatives,'  I  suppose  it  is  one  of  those  absurdities  commonly  put  into  the  mouths 
of  clowns  or  jesters,  which  make  a  part  of  their  character,  and  seems  intended  to 
ridicule  the  formal  solemnity  of  the  men  of  science.  In  any  other  view  it  is  quite 
beside  the  purpose  of  the  argument. — CAPELL  (p.  152)  :  That  is,  so  that  to  make 
conclusions  follow  as  thick  as  kisses  do  often  ;  for  this  speaker  had  just  made  a 
conclusion,  and  that  properly,  from  something  he  had  premis'd  ;  and  now  affects  to 
draw  it  a  second  time  from  premisings  that  have  nothing  to  do  with  it,  and  thrown 
in  only  for  laughing  ;  and  these  laughable  premises  he  fetches  from  a  grammatical 
dogma,  that  two  negatives  make  an  affirmative. — FARMER  :  One  cannot  but  wonder 
that  this  passage  should  have  perplexed  the  Commentators.  In  Lusfs  Dominion, 
the  Queen  says  to  the  Moor:  'Come,  let's  kiss.  Eleazar.  Away,  away!  Queen. 
No,  no  says  ay;  and  twice  away  says  stay.' [I,  i.]  Sir  Philip  Sidney  has  enlarged 
upon  this  thought  in  the  sixty-third  sonnet  of  his  Astropkel  and  Stella. — COLERIDGE 
(p.  122):  Surely  Warburton  could  never  have  wooed  by  kisses  and  won,  or  he 
would  not  have  flounder-flatted  so  just  and  humorous,  nor  less  pleasing  than 


280  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  v,  sc.  i. 

your  foure  negatiues  make  your  two  affirmatiues,    why  23 

then  the  worfe  for  my  friends,  and  the  better  for  my  foes. 

Du.     Why  this  is  excellent.  25 

Clo.   By  my  troth  fir,  no  :  though   it  pleafe  you  to  be 
one  of  my  friends. 

Du.     Thou  (halt  not  be  the  worfe  for  me,  there's  gold. 

Clo.     But  that  it  would  be  double  dealing  fir,   I  would 
you  could  make  it  another.  30 

Du.     O  you  giue  me  ill  counfell. 

Clo.    Put  your  grace  in  your  pocket  fir,  for  this  once, 
and  let  your  flefh  and  blood  obey  it. 

Du.     Well,  I  will  be  fo  much  a  fmner  to  be  a  double 
dealer  :  there's  another.  35 

24.  for  my  friends]   of  my  friends  33.  obey~\   sway  Warb.  conj.  (MS  N. 
F3F4.                                                                   <5r*  Qu.  VIII,  iii,  203.) 

28.  [Giving   money.  Coll.   ii   (MS),  34,  35.  double   dealer]    double-dealer 
Dyce  ii.     Giving  it.    Coll.  iii.  Rowe  et  seq. 

29.  double    dealing]     double-dealing  35.   [Giving   more   money.     Coll.    ii 
Rowe  et  seq.  (MS).     Giving  it.    Coll.  iii. 

30.  you  could]  could  Rowe  i. 

humorous,  an  image  into  so  profound  a  nihility.  In  the  name  of  love  and  wonder, 
do  not  four  kisses  make  a  double  affirmative  ?  The  humour  lies  in  the  whispered 
'  No  !'  and  the  inviting  '  Don't !'  with  which  the  maiden's  kisses  are  accompanied, 
and  thence  compared  to  negatives,  which  by  repetition  constitute  an  affirmative. — 
CAMBRIDGE  EDITORS  :  The  meaning  seems  to  be  nothing  more  recondite  than  this  : 
as  in  the  syllogism  it  takes  two  premises  to  make  one  conclusion,  so  it  takes  two 
people  to  make  one  kiss. — W.  A.  WRIGHT:  In  the  Clown's  argument,  the  affirm- 
ative conclusion  follows  the  negative  premises,  as  kisses  follow  upon  refusal.  [Feste 
has  only  two  negatives,  namely:  (a.)  my  friends  by  indirection,  do  not  make  me 
wise ;  (3.)  my  foes  plainly  do  not  make  me  out  to  be  wise  ;  but  these  two  nega- 
tives will  furnish  only  one  affirmative, — and  he  needs  two  affirmatives,  namely  :  (c.) 
the  worse  for  my  friends,  and  (</.)  the  better  for  my  foes.  These  affirmatives 
are  gained  if  conclusions  are  like  kisses,  because  if  two  lips  say  '  no '  twice  it  is 
plainly  equivalent  to  four  negatives,  because  twice  two  are  four ;  and  these  four 
negatives  will  supply  the  two  needed  affirmatives.  Q.  E.  D. — ED.] 

23.  your]  Thus,  Hamlet  says,  '  your  worm  is  your  only  emperor  for  diet,  your 
fat  king  and  your  lean  beggar  is  but  variable  service.'  For  other  examples  see,  if 
need  be,  ABBOTT,  §  221. 

25.  excellent]  C.  C.  CLARKE  (p.  418)  :  Ay,  it  is  the  excellent  philosophy  of  a 
sweet  and  happy-tempered  fellow,  whose  good-humoured  jokes  have  a  fund  of  true 
wisdom  in  their  playfullest  utterances,  and  who  is  not  merely  a  professional  jester, 
but  a  most  delightful  associate. 

32.  your  grace]  In  order  to  emphasize  the  double  meaning  of  '  grace,'  as  a  title 
of  the  Duke,  and  '  grace'  in  the  theological  sense,  R.  G.  WHITE  (ed.  i)  prints  the 
phrase  in  quotation  marks  :  '  your  Grace.'  'Flesh  and  blood  is  again  theological  and 
equivalent  to  '  the  natural  man.'  '  It '  in  '  obey  it '  refers,  of  course,  to  '  ill  counsel.' 


ACTV.SC.  i.j  OR,    WHAT  YOU  WILL  28 1 

Clo.     Primotfecundo,tertio>  is  a  good  play,  and  the  olde  36 

faying  is,  the  third  payes  for  all  :  the  triplex  fir,  is  a  good 
tripping  meafure,  or  the  belles  of  S.  Bennet  fir,  may  put 
you  in  minde,  one,  two,  three. 

Du.    You  can  foole  no  more  money  out  of  mee  at  this  40 

throw:  if  you  will  let  your  Lady  know  I  am  here  to  fpeak 
with  her,  and  bring  her  along  with  you,  it  may  awake  my 
bounty  further. 

Clo.     Marry  fir,  lullaby  to  your  bountie  till  I  come  a-  44 

36.  Primo,  fecundo,  tertio]  Not  Ital-  38.  or]  as  Han.  Mason,  Ran.  Huds. 
ics,  Cam.  £]  5,  Rowe      saint  Cap 

37.  triplex}    triplet    Johns.    Coll.    ii  39.   minde,]  mind;  Steev.  et  seq. 
(MS).     In  Italics,  Cap. 

34.  so  ...  to  be]  For  a  similar  omission  of  as  after  '  so,'  see  II,  ii,  n. 

37.  triplex]  That  is,  triple  time  in  music,  where  each  bar  is  divided  into  three 
equal  parts.    JOHNSON  and  COLLIER'S  MS  Corrector,  however,  changed  it  to  triplet, 
a  quite  different  thing.      '  Triplet,  a  group  of  three  notes,  played  in  the  usual  time 
of  two  similar  ones.' — HILES,  Mus.  Diet.     Collier  adopted  triplet  in  his  Second 
Edition,  but  returned  to  '  triplex  '  in  his  Third.— ED. 

38.  or]  DYCE  (ed.  ii)  :  Hanmer's  alteration  is  perhaps  right. 

38.  the  belles  of  S.  Bennet]  JOHNSON  :  When  in  this  play  Shakespeare  men- 
tioned the  '  bed  of  Ware,'  he  recollected  that  the  scene  was  in  Illyria,  and  added 
'  in  England ' ;  but  his  sense  of  the  same  impropriety  could  not  restrain  him  from 
the  bells  of  St.  Bennet. — STEEVENS  :  Shakespeare's  improprieties  and  anachronisms 
are  surely  venial  in  comparison  with  those  of  contemporary  writers.  Lodge,  in  his 
True  Tragedies  of  Marius  and  Sylla,  1594,  has  mentioned  the  razors  of  Palermo 
and  St.  Paul's  steeple.  Stanyhurst,  the  translator  of  four  books  of  Virgil,  in  1582, 
compares  Choroebus  to  a  bedlamite,  says  old  Priam  girded  on  his  Morglay  [p.  60, 
ed.  Arber],  and  makes  Dido  tell  ^neas,  '  yf  yeet  soom  progenye  from  me  Had 
crawld,  by  the  fatherd,  if  a  cockney  dandiprat  hopthumb. ' [p.  106,  ed.  Arber.] — 
HALUWELL  :  Although  this  notice  is  not  a  positive  anachronism,  as  a  church  dedi- 
cated to  this  Saint  might  be  supposed  in  any  part  of  Europe,  there  can  be  little 
doubt  but  that  the  poet  was  thinking  of  his  own  country.  In  the  absence  of  certain 
information  respecting  which  of  the  several  churches  in  London  dedicated  to  St. 
Bennet  was  famous  for  its  bells,  conjecture  points  to  St.  Bennet' s,  Paul's  Wharf,  one 
of  the  many  churches  destroyed  in  the  Great  Fire. — W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  The  allusion 
is,  perhaps,  to  some  old  rhyme  which  has  been  lost ;  or  it  may  be  to  the  real  bells 
of  [the  church  mentioned  by  Halliwell]. 

41.  throw]  DYCE  (Gloss.}  :  Here  perhaps  'throw'  is  used  with  a  quibble, — the 
word  meaning  both  'a  throw  of  the  dice'  and  'time'  (the  latter  signification  being 
common  in  our  earliest  poets). 

44.  lullaby]  HALLIWELL  (5/4.  Soe.  Papers,  iii,  35)  :  This  is  sufficiently  unusual 
as  a  verb  to  justify  an  example.  '  Yet  by  accident  the  unmanag'd  appetite  .  .  .  doth 
dul  the  quicker  spirits.  .  .  makes  the  head  totter,  lullabees  the  scences,'  etc. —  The 
Optick  Glasse  of  Hvmers,  1639,  p.  19. — DYCE  (Few  Notes,  77)  added  another  : 
'  Sweet  sound  that  all  mens  sences  lullabieth.'' — Anthony  Copley's  Fig  for  Fortune, 


282  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  v,  sc.  i. 

gen.     I  go  fir,  but  I  would  not  haue  you  to  thinke ,  that  45 

my  defire  of  hauing  is  the  finne  of  couetoufneffe  :  but  as 
you  fay  fir,  let  your  bounty  take  a  nappe,  I  will  awake  it 
anon.  Exit 

Enter  Anthonio  and  Officers. 

Vio.     Here  comes  the  man  fir,  that  did  refcue  mee.  50 

Du.     That  face  of  his  I  do  remember  well, 
yet  when  I  faw  it  laft,  it  was  befmearM 
As  blacke  as  Vulcan,  in  the  fmoake  of  warre : 
A  bawbling  Veffell  was  he  Captaine  of, 
For  fhallow  draught  and  bulke  vnprizable,  55 

49.  Scene  II.  Pope,  +  .  Ktly  conj. 

Enter...]    After  line   50,    Dyce,  54.  he]  the  F4. 

Cam.  Sta.  55.  vnprizable^  unprisable  Gould. 

54.  bawbling     Veffell]    bauble-vessel 

1596,  p.  59.— J.  E.  SPINGARN  (A7".  &°  Qu.  VHIth,  v,  283)  adds  a  third  :  'That  old 
acquaintance,  now  strangely  saluted  with  a  new  remembrance,  is  neither  lullabied 
with  thy  sweet  Papp,  nor  scarre-crowed  with  thy  sower  hatchet.' — Harvey's  Pierce1  s 
Supererogation,  pt.  ii,  p.  69,  ed.  1593. — HALLIWELL :  The  word  'lullaby'  in  the 
text  may,  however,  possibly  be  a  substantive,  the  construction  in  that  case  being, — 
let  there  be  a  lullaby  to  your  bounty. 

54.  bawbling]  DYCE  (Gloss.)  :  Trifling,  insignificant,  contemptible. 

55.  vnprizable]  JOHNSON  (Diet.'):  Not  valued;  not  of  estimation.   [Johnson's 
definition  applies  to  this  passage  alone  ;  he  did  not  notice  the  only  other  passage 
where  the  word  occurs  in  Shakespeare :  '  Your  ring  may  be  stolen,  too ;  so  your 
brace  of  unprizable  estimations:  the  one  is  but  frail  and  the  other  casual.' — Cym- 
beline,  I,  iv,  99.] — DYCE  (Gloss.)  :  Not  of  estimation,  of  small  account.    ['Unpriz- 
able' in  Cym.  Dyce  defines  as  'inestimable,   priceless,'  and  adds:  'Coles  maybe 
cited  as  illustrating  the  double  meaning  of  this  word  :  "  Unprisable,  inaestimabilis." 
"  Inaestimabilis,    Inestimable,   not  to   be  -valued,   also   of  no  value."'     SCHMIDT 
(Lex.)  also  notes  the  two  opposite  meanings. — ABBOTT  (§  3)  :  This  means  'not 
able   to  be  made  a  prize  of,   captured.' — W.   A.   WRIGHT  :  That  is,   invaluable, 
inestimable.     Johnson  and  others  take  it  in  the  sense  of  valueless,  as  being  beneath 
price ;  but  shallow  draught  is  not  necessarily  a  defect  in  a  ship,  and  it  was  prob- 
ably by  means  of  this  quality  combined  with  its  small  size  which  enabled  it  to  move 
quickly,  that  the  captain  could  attack  a  much  larger  vessel  with  advantage,  just  as 
the  small  English  ships  made  such  '  scathful  grapple'  with  the  unwieldy  floating 
batteries  of   the  Spanish  Armada.      Cotgrave  gives   '  Impreciable.  .  .  .  vnprisable, 
vnualuable.'     Abbott's  interpretation  is  extremely  doubtful. — DEIGHTON  :  That  is, 
of  little  importance,  worth.     The  tone  of  the  Duke  is  contemptuous  as  to  the  vessel 
in  comparison  with  the  '  noble  bottoms'  of  his  own  fleet,  and  so  more  compliment- 
ary to  the  skill  and  valour  of  the  captain. — INNES  :  Most  probably  this  means 
worthless,  of  no  value.     The  Duke  would  hardly  have  used  the  contemptuous  term 
'bawbling'  if  he  were  going  to  call  the  same  ship  '  invaluable'  in  the  next  breath. 
[THE  CENTURY  DICTIONARY  thus  justly  defines  the  word :  '  Incapable  of  being 


ACTV,  sc.  i.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  283 

With  which  fuch  fcathfull  grapple  did  he  make,  56 

With  the  moft  noble  bottome  of  our  Fleete, 

That  very  enuy,  and  the  tongue  of  loffe 

Cride  fame  and  honor  on  him:   What's  the  matter? 

I  Offi.     Orfino,  this  is  that  Anthonio  60 

That  tooke  the  Phoenix,  and  her  fraught  from  Candy y 
And  this  is  he  that  did  the  Tiger  boord, 
When  your  yong  Nephew  Titus  loft  his  legge  ; 
Heere  in  the  ftreets,  defperate  of  fhame  and  ftate, 
In  priuate  brabble  did  we  apprehend  him.  65 

59.   Cride]  CridS  Fa.     Cri'dff^.  63.  legge;]  leg.  Coll. 

62.  boord]  board  Rowe.  65.   brabble]  brawle  Gould. 


prized  or  of  having  its  value  estimated,  as  being  either  below  valuation  or  above  or 
beyond  valuation.'  Hence  it  follows  that  the  meaning  can  be  determined  only  by 
the  context,  which,  in  the  present  passage,  is,  I  think,  in  favour  of  'valueless.' 
Thus  'unvalued'  is  also  used  by  Shakespeare  with  opposite  meanings.  In  Hamlet, 
I,  iii,  19,  Laertes  says  of  Hamlet,  '  He  may  not  as  unvalued  persons  do,  Carve  for 
himself;  where  'unvalued'  means  common,  ordinary.  In  Richard  III:  I,  iv,  27, 
Clarence  describes  the  sight,  in  his  dream,  of  '  heaps  of  pearls,  Inestimable  stones, 
unvalued  jewels,'  where  'unvalued'  means  uncommon,  extraordinary. — ED.] 

56.  scathfull]  STEEVENS  :  That  is,  destructive. — HALLIWELL:  The  substantive 
scathe,  harm,  loss,  damage,  is  very  common.     A  North  country  proverb  says,  '  One 
doth  the  scathe,  another  hath  the  scorn.'     '  So  did  they  beat,  from  off  their  native 
bounds,  Spain's  mighty  fleet  with  cannons'  scathful  wounds.' — Niccols'  England's 
Eliza,  Mirr.  Mag.,  p.  833,   1610. 

57.  bottome]  Thus,  in  Mer.  of  Ven.  I,  i,  47,  Anthonio  says,  '  My  ventures  are 
not  in  one  bottome  trusted,  Nor  to  one  place.'     It  is  still  in  common  use. 

58.  tongue  of  losse]  That  is,  the  voice  of  those  who  had  lost  their  vessels. 

60.  Orsino]  The  undeniable  abruptness  of  this  address  is  softened  by  an  Anony- 
mous conjecture,  recorded  in  the  Cam.  Ed.,  of  '  Signior  Orsino,'  or  'Noble  Orsino.' 

61.  fraught]  That  is,  freight,  a  word  Shakespeare  does  not  use.     MURRAY  (W. 
E.  D.},  however,  records  '  freight '  as  a  ship-load,  in  Arnolde's  Chronicle,  1502.    As 
a  verb,  who  can  forget  in  Macbeth,  '  Give  sorrow  words ;  the  grief  that  does  not 
speak  Whispers  the  o'erfraught  heart,  and  bids  it  break '? — ED. 

61.  Candy]  That  is,  Candia,  now  Crete. 

62.  the  Tiger]  Again,  in  Macbeth,  I,  iii,  7,  'Her  husband's  to  Aleppo  gone, 
master  o'  the  Tiger.' — W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  A  common  name  for  a  vessel  in  Shake- 
speare's day,  and,  if  we  may  trust  Virgil  {^En.  x,  166),  even  in  the  days  of  ^neas. 

64.  desperate  of  shame  and  state]  JOHNSON  :  That  is,  unattentive  to  his  char- 
acter or  his  condition,  like  a  desperate  man. — DEIGHTON  :  Schmidt  (Lex.}  takes 
'  state '  as  equivalent  to  danger,  or  dangerous  position,  but  the  point  emphasized  seems 
to  be  his  disreputable  character,  not  his  recklessness  of  danger. 

65.  brabble]  W.   A.  WRIGHT  :  Thai  is,  brawl,  quarrel.     See  Gossen,  Sehoolt 
of  Abuse  (ed.  Arber),  p.  26:  '  Terpandrus,  when  he  had  ended  the  brabbles  at 
Lacedaemon,  neyther  pyped  Rogero  nor  Turkelony.'     Cotgrave  has  'Noise:  f.  A 
brabble,  brawle,  debate,  wrangle,  squabble,'  etc. 


284  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  v,  sc.  i. 

Uio,     He  did  me  kindneffe  fir,  drew  on  my  fide,  66 

But  in  conclufion  put  ftrange  fpeech  vpon  me, 
I  know  not  what  'twas,  but  diftra<5tion. 

D«.     Notable  Pyrate,  thou  falt-water  Theefe, 
What  foolifh  boldneffe  brought  thee  to  their  mercies,  70 

Whom  thou  in  termes  fo  bloudie,  and  fo  deere 
Haft  made  thine  enemies  ? 

Ant.     Orfino  :  Noble  fir, 

Be  pleas'd  that  I  fhake  off  thefe  names  you  giue  mee : 
Anthonio  neuer  yet  was  Theefe,  or  Pyrate,  75 

Though  I  confeffe,  on  bafe  and  ground  enough 
Orfino's  enemie.     A  witchcraft  drew  me  hither  : 
That  moft  ingratefull  boy  there  by  your  fide, 
From  the  rude  feas  enrag'd  and  foamy  mouth 
Did  I  redeeme  :  a  wracke  part  hope  he  was  :  80 

His  life  I  gaue  him,  and  did  thereto  adde 

66.  did]  shevfd  Cap.    (corrected  to  78.  ingratefull]  ungratefulY 4,  Rowe, 

did,  Errata).  +  ,  Van  Ran.  Hal. 

73.  Orfmo  :  Noble  fir\  Noble  Sir,  Or-  79.  feas]  sea's  Rowe  ii. 

sino  Han.  foamy]  fomy  F  . 

76.  on  bafe  and]  and  on  taseMal.  80.  wracke]  Fa.     wrack  F3F  ,  Rowe, 
conj.  (withdrawn).  Knt,  Wh.     wreck  Pope  et  cet. 

68.  distraction]  That  is,  madness. 

69.  Pyrate,  thou  salt-water  Theefe]  Thus,  Shylock  says,  '  There  be  land-rats 
and    water-rats,    water-thieves   and   land-thieves,    I    mean    pirates.'   I,   Hi,'  20. — 
DEIGHTON  :  Middleton,  The  Phoenix,  I,  ii,  57,  speaks  of  '  a  gallant  salt-thief.' 

70.  their  mercies]  For  other  examples  of  their  used  in  its  old  signification,  as  a 
genitive,  where  we  should  use  of  those,  see  ABBOTT,  §  219. 

71.  deere]  I  think  this  use  of  'dear'  comes  under  the  second  sense,  given  by 
MURRAY  (N.  E.  D.),  of  the  Second  division   (a*)  of  the  adjective,  and  defined 
'  hard,  severe,  heavy,  grievous  ;  fell,  dire  ' ;  as  in  the  following  examples  :  Richard 
II:  I,  iii,  151,  'The  datelesse  limit  of  thy  deere  exile';  Sonnet  37,  'I,  made  lame 
by  Fortunes  dearest  spight';   Titnon,  V,  i,  231,  '  What  other  meanes  is  left  vnto  vs 
In  our  deere  perill ';  and,  possibly,  in  Hamlet's  '  Would  I  had  met  my  dearest  foe 
in  heauen,'  etc.,  I,  ii,  180. 

77.  witchcraft]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  Falstaff  attributed  his  attachment  to  Poins  to 
the  same  cause.     See  /  Hen.  IV:  II,  ii,  18,  'I  have  forsworn  his  [Poins's]  com- 
pany hourly  any  time  this  two  and  twenty  years,  and  yet  I  am  bewitched  with  the 
rogue's  company.     If  the  rascal  have  not  given  me  medicines  to  make  me  love  him, 
I'll  be  hanged  ;  it  could  not  be  else  ;  I  have  drunk  medicines.' 

78.  ingratefull]  This  form  is  used  by  Shakespeare,  or  his  compositors,  twice  as 
often  as  ungrateful. 

80.  wracke]  A  phonetic  spelling,  as  regards  the  sound  of  the  vowel,  and  uni- 
formly so  spelled  in  the  Folio. 


ACTV,  sc.  i.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  285 

My  loue  without  retention,  or  reftraint,  82 

All  his  in  dedication.     For  his  fake, 

Did  I  expofe  my  felfe  (pure  for  his  loue) 

Into  the  danger  of  this  aduerfe  Towne,  85 

Drew  to  defend  him,  when  he  was  befet : 

Where  being  apprehended,  his  falfe  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  90 

While  one  would  winke  :  denide  me  mine  owne  purfe, 

Which  I  had  recommended  to  his  vfe, 

Not  halfe  an  houre  before. 

Vio.     How  can  this  be  ? 

Du.     When  came  he  to  this  Towne  ?  95 

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  Counteffe,  now  heauen  walkes         100 

on  earth  : 

But  for  thee  fellow,  fellow  thy  words  are  madneffe, 
Three  monthes  this  youth  hath  tended  vpon  mee,  103 

83.  All  his]  All  this  Ff,  Rowe,  Pope.  97.  intrim]  interim  Ff. 
in]  is  F,F4.  99.  Scene  III.  Pope,  +  . 

84.  for]  0/"F3F4.  99.   Enter...]  After  line  104,  Dyce, 

90.  twentie  yeeres  remoued~\  Ff,  Rowe,         Sta. 

•f  ,  Cam.  Wh.  ii.    twenty-years-removed  IO2.  fellow,  fellow]  Ff.    fellow ;  fel- 

Cap.  et  cet.  low,  Rowe,  Pope,  Han.  Van  '21,  Coll. 

91.  me]  be  F^F,.  i,  ii,  Hal.  Cam.  Ktly.    fellow,— fellow, 

95.  he]  you  Han.    ye  Dyce  ii,  iii.  Dyce,  Sta.  Rife,   fellow,  fellow,  Theob. 

96.  mon.hs]  monthes  F9.  «t  cet.    fellow,  Gould. 

97.  in   parenthesis,    Theob.    et    seq.  103.  monthes']  Fa. 
(except  Coll.  Hal.  Cam.) 


83.  dedication]  That  is,  in  the  dedication  of  my  love,  it  was  entirely  his. — ED. 

84.  pure]  For  examples  of  adjectives  used  as  adverbs,  see  ABBOTT,  §  I. 
89.  face  me  out]  See  IV,  ii,  95. 

102.  for  thee]  That  is,  as  regards  thee.     Thus,  Wint.  Tale,  III,  ii,  45,  'For 
Honor,  'Tis  a  deriuatiue  from  me  to  mine';  again,  Lear,  II,  ii,  114,  'For  you, 
Edmund,  whose  virtue,'   etc.     For  other  examples,  see  AP.HOTT,  §  149.     For  the 
punctuation  after  'fellow,'  I  prefer  Dyce's. — ED. 

103.  Three  monthes]  Is  it  not  strange  that  there  is  any  one  now-a-days  who 
can  imagine  that  he  is  keener-sighted  than  Shakespeare  ?     And  yet  there  are  critics 


286 


TWELFE  NIGHT 


[ACT  v,  sc.  i. 


But  more  of  that  anon.     Take  him  afide. 

01.    What  would  my  Lord,  but  that  he  may  not  haue, 
Wherein  Oliuia  may  feeme  feruiceable  / 
Cefario,  you  do  not  keepe  promife  with  me. 

Vio.     Madam: 

Du.     Gracious  Oliuia. 

01.     What  do  you  fay  Cefario  ?   Good  my  Lord. 

Uio.    My  Lord  would  fpeake,  my  dutie  hufhes  me. 

OL     If  it  be  ought  to  the  old  tune  my  Lord, 
It  is  as  fat  and  fulfome  to  mine  eare 
AS  howling  after  Muficke. 

Du.     Still  fo  cruell  ? 

01.     Still  fo  conftant  Lord. 

Du.     What  to  peruerfeneffe  ?  you  vnciuill  Ladie 
To  whofe  ingrate,  and  vnaufpicious  Altars 
My  foule  the  faithfulPft  offrings  haue  breath'd  out 
That  ere  deuotion  tendered.     What  fhall  I  do  ? 

Ol.    Euen  what  it  pleafe  my  Lord,  that  flial  becom  him 

Du.     Why  mould  I  not,  (had  I  the  heart  to  do  it) 


105 


I  IO 


115 


I2O 


122 


104.  [Go  back.   Coll.  MS  ap.  Cam. 

107.  Jo  not~\  don't  Pope,  Han. 

108.  Madam  .•]   Madam.   Ff.     Mad- 
am !  Theob.     Madam  ?  Cap. 

109.  Oliuia]  Olivia, —  Theob.  et  seq. 

1 10.  Lord.]  Lord —  Rowe  et  seq. 

111.  me.']  me:  F4< 

112.  ought'}  aught  Theob.  ii,  Warb. 
Johns.  Mai.  et  seq. 

113.  faf\  fiat  Warb.  Han.  Cap.  Ran. 
115.  Still]  Still,  still  Cap. 


115.  cruell]  cruel,  Lady  Daniel. 

1 1 6.  fo  conjlant  Lord]  Lord,  so  con- 
stant Han.     so  constant  K.  Elze. 

Lord]  my  Lordff,  Rowe  i. 

117.  What]  What!  Steev.  Var.  Knt, 
Wh.  i,  Hal.  Ktly. 

to]  Om.  Gould. 

119.  haue]  Ff,  Rowe.     7/<w  Pope,  +  . 
hath  Cap.  et  seq. 

122.  do  it]  do't  Pope,  + . 


who  think  that  Shakespeare,  in  this  lapse  of  three  months,  committed  an  over- 
sight, which,  hidden  from  him,  is  patent  to  them.  Orsino  said  '  three  months,'  and 
Shakespeare  intended  that  his  auditors  should  believe  that  Orsino  told  the  truth,  and 
they  do  believe  it  when  they  listen  to  the  play. — ED. 

105.  but  that  he]  That  is,  omitting  that  which  he  may  not  have,  namely,  her  love. 

no.  Good  my  Lord.]  Probably  accompanied  by  a  gesture  to  the  Duke  to  keep 
silent  and  let  Cesario  speak. — ED. 

113.  fat  and  fulsome]  WARBURTON'S  'flat'  suggestion  beguiled  even  Capell. — 
JOHNSON:  'Fat'  means  dull ;  so  we  say  a  fat-headed  fellow.— HALLIWELL  :  'Fat 
and  fulsome '  implies  here  the  excess  of  satiety,  and,  hence,  unbearable,  absolutely 
nauseous. — W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  Both  words  properly  apply  to  the  sense  of  taste,  but 
are  here  referred  to  that  of  hearing. 

1 19.  offrings  haue]  '  Have '  is  plural  by  attraction  ;  and  is  rather  more  likely 
to  be  due  to  the  compositor's  ear  than  to  Shakespeare's. — ED. 


ACTV,  sc.  i.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  287 

Like  to  th'Egyptian  theefe,  at  point  of  death  123 

Kill  what  I  loue  :  (a  fauage  iealoufie, 

That  fometime  fauours  nobly)  but  heare  me  this  :  125 

Since  you  to  non-regardance  caft  my  faith, 

And  that  I  partly  know  the  inftrument  127 

123.  th' Egyptian]  Pope,  +  ,  Dyce  ii,         love?  (a. ..nobly)  F4.     love?  a. ..nobly; 
iii.     the  Egyptian  Ff  (^Egyptian  F4),         Rowe,  +  ,  Coll.  Dyce,  Cam.  Sta.   Wh. 
Rowe  et  cet.  ii.  (subs.)    love ;  a. ..nobly?  Cap.  et  cet. 

theefe,...  death]    Ff,    Rowe, +  ,  125.  heare  me~\  AearPope,  Han. 

Var.  '73.  thief. ..death,  Coll.  Dyce,  Cam.  126.  non-regardance~\      none-regard- 

Sta.  Wh.  ii.     thief,. ..death,  Cap.  et  cet.  ance  F3F4. 

124,  125.    loue  :  (a  ...  nobly)]  F2F3. 

123.  Egyptian  theefe]  THEOBALD  points  out  that  Shakespeare  derived  this 
reference  from  the  story  of  Theagenes  and  Charidea  in  the  Ethiopica  of  Heliodorus, 
and  gives  the  following  argument :  This  Egyptian  thief  was  Thyamis,  a  native  of 
Memphis,  and  the  head  of  a  band  of  robbers.  Theagenes  and  Chariclea  falling  into 
their  hands,  Thyamis  fell  desperately  in  love  with  Chariclea,  and  would  have  mar- 
ried her.  Soon  after,  a  stronger  body  of  robbers  coming  down  upon  Thyamis' s 
party,  he  was  in  such  fears  for  his  mistress,  that  he  had  her  shut  into  a  cave  with 
his  treasure.  It  was  customary  with  those  barbarians,  when  they  despaired  of  their 
own  safety,  first  to  make  away  with  those  whom  they  held  dear,  and  desired  for 
companions  in  the  next  life.  Thyamis,  therefore,  benetted  round  with  his  enemies, 
raging  with  love,  jealousy,  and  anger,  went  to  his  cave ;  and  calling  aloud  in  the 
Egyptian  tongue,  so  soon  as  he  heard  himself  answered  towards  the  cave's  mouth 
by  a  Grecian,  making  to  the  person  by  the  direction  of  her  voice,  he  caught  her  by 
the  hair  with  his  left  hand,  and  (supposing  her  to  be  Chariclea)  with  his  right  hand 
plunged  his  sword  into  her  breast. — MALONE  :  There  was  an  English  translation 
of  Heliodorus  by  Thomas  Underdowne. — W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  It  was  licensed  to 
Francis  Coldocke  in  1568—9  ;  a  copy,  without  date,  is  in  the  Bodleian  Library. 
Another  edition  appeared  in  1587,  and  Shakespeare  may  very  well  have  read  it,  as 
it  was  a  popular  book.  [W.  THEOBALD  (Baconiana,  p.  460,  Feb.  1895)  dissents 
from  the  opinion  that  the  present  reference  is  to  the  Ethiopica,  and  asserts  that  the 
allusion  is  derived  from  a  story,  given  by  Herodotus,  ii,  121,  of  two  burglars, 
brothers,  who  were  caught  in  a  trap  in  their  attempt  to  break  into  the  royal  treasury, 
whereupon,  to  escape  identification,  one  brother,  in  Mr  Theobald's  language,  're- 
moved the  head '  of  the  other.  But  the  learned  critic,  faithful  to  the  spirit  of  his 
Society,  has  so  nebulous  an  idea  of  what  he  attacks  that  he  confounds  the  characters, 
and  imagines  that  Theagenes  is  the  Egyptian  robber  ;  his  views,  therefore,  in  the 
present  instance  cannot  be  distinguished,  it  is  to  be  feared,  from  the  general  conclu- 
sions aimed  at  by  his  associates  of  the  Bacon  Society. — ED.] 

126.  non-regardance]  We  find  in    Ven.  6°  Ad.   521,  'Say,  for  non-payment 
that  the  debt  should  double';  in  Wint.   Tale,  I,  ii,  305  (of  this  ed.),  'Whereof  the 
execution  did  cry  out  Against  the  non -performance.'     These  two  instances  together 
with  the  present  are  the  only  ones  where  Shakespeare  uses  this  awkward  negative. 
—ED. 

127.  And  that]  ABBOTT  (§  285,  p.  195)  gives  'that'  as  here  equivalent  to  if 
that;  and  again  in    Wint.  Tale,  I,  ii,   103,  'and   that  with  vs  You  did  continue 
fault.'     In  both  of  these  instances,  and  doubtless  in  others,  it  seems  to  have  escaped 


288  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  v,  sc.  i. 

That  fcrewes  me  from  my  true  place  in  your  fauour  :  128 

Liue  you  the  Marble-brefted  Tirant  ftill. 

But  this  your  Minion,  whom  I  know  you  loue,  130 

And  whom,  by  heauen  I  fweare,  I  tender  deerely, 

Him  will  I  teare  out  of  that  cruell  eye, 

Where  he  fits  crowned  in  his  matters  fpight. 

Come  boy  with  me,  my  thoughts  are  ripe  in  mifchiefe  : 

He  facrifice  the  Lambe  that  I  do  loue,  135 

To  fpight  a  Rauens  heart  within  a  Doue. 

Uio.     And  I  moft  iocund,  apt,  and  willinglie, 
To  do  you  reft,  a  thoufand  deaths  would  dye. 

Ol.     Where  goes  Cefario  ? 

Vio.    After  him  I  loue.  140 

More  then  I  loue  thefe  eyes,  more  then  my  life, 
More  by  all  mores,  then  ere  I  mail  loue  wife. 
If  I  do  feigne,  you  witneffes  aboue 
Punifh  my  life,  for  tainting  of  my  loue. 

OL     Aye  me  detefted,  how  am  I  beguil'd  ?  145 

128.  fauour  .•]  favour,  Cap.  et  seq.  145.  Aye  me  dele/led,}  Ay  me  detejled, 

129.  brejled]  breaJiedYf^.  Yf     Ay  me,   detested!    Rowe,  +  ,  Var. 
133.  majlers\  F2F  .     Ma/ier  F4.  Ran.  Cam.  Dyce  ii,  iii.    Ah  me  detested ! 

135.  loue,]  love.  Cap.  (Corrected  in         Cap.     Ah  me!  detested?  Coll.    Aye  me, 
Errata).  detested!  Dyce  i.    Ah  me,  detested!  Var. 

136.  [Duke  going.    Theob.  '85  et  cet. 
138.  [following.    Theob. 

notice  (it  certainly  escaped  mine,  in  The  Wint.  Tale}  that  the  if  is  already  expressed 
by  and,  which,  in  a  modern  edition,  might  with  advantage  be  printed  an. — ED. 

128.  screwes]  STEEVENS  :  So  in  Macbeth,  I,  vii,  74:  « But  screw  your  courage 
to  the  sticking  place.'  [See  Wint.  Tale,  I,  ii,  482  :  '  he  sweares  As  he  had  seen't, 
or  beene  an  Instrument  To  vice  you  to't';  where  Staunton  appositely  refers  to  the 
present  passage.] 

131.  tender]  DYCE  (Gloss. ):  To  have  consideration  for,  to  look  upon  with 
kindness  or  affection.  Thus,  '  Tender  yourself  more  dearly,'  Hamlet,  I,  iii,  107. 

137.  apt,  and  willinglie]  Many  similar  instances  where,  of  two  adverbs,  only 
the  latter  has  the  adverbial  termination,  are  to  be  found  in  WALKER  (Crit.  i,  218), 
ABBOTT  (§  397),  and  SCHMIDT  (Lex.   6,  p.  1419).     W.  A.  WRIGHT  considers 
'jocund'  in  this  line  as  also  an  adverb;  but  I  rather   prefer  to   regard  it   as  an 
adjective.     '  Apt,'  of  course,  means  ready  ;  just  as  the  Duke  says  :   '  I  am  most  apt 
t' embrace  your  offer.' — line  335,  below. — ED. 

144.  for  tainting  of  my  loue]  '  Tainting,'  as  a  verbal  noun,  is  properly  followed 
by  '  of.'    The  full  form  would  be,  '  for  the  tainting  of  my  love.'    See  '  for  the  better 
increasing  your  folly,'  I,  v,  76 ;  also  '  With  viewing  of  the  Towne.'  Ill,  iii,  47. 

145.  detested]  WALKER  (Crit.  ii,  311)  :  See  what  precedes.     In  the  writers  of 
that  age  detest  is  used  in  the  sense  which  as  then  it  still  retained  from  its  original, 


ACTV.SC.  i.J  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  289 

Cfo.Who  does  beguile  you?  who  does  do  you  wrong?  146 

Ol.     Haft  thou  forgot  thy  felfe  f  Is  it  fo  long? 
Call  forth  the  holy  Father. 

Du.     Come,  away. 

Ol.    Whether  my  Lord?  CefariOy  Husband,  ftay.  150 

Du.     Husband? 

OL     I  Husband.   Can  he  that  deny? 

Du.     Her  husband,  firrah  ? 

Vio.    No  my  Lord,  not  I. 

Ol.    Alas,  it  is  the  bafeneffe  of  thy  feare,  155 

That  makes  thee  ftrangle  thy  propriety  : 
Feare  not  Cefario^  take  thy  fortunes  vp , 
Be  that  thou  know'ft  thou  art,  and  then  thou  art  158 

146.  does}  do's  F3F4.  149.   [To  Viola.  Theob. 

148.   [ExitanAtt.  Cap.  150.   Whether}  Whither  Ff. 

detestari,  being  indicative  of  something  spoken,  not  an  affection  of  the  mind  ;  com- 
pare attest,  protest,  which  still  retain  their  etymological  meaning.  Bacon,  Advance- 
ment of  Learning,  Bk.  ii.,  speaking  of  secrecy  in  matters  of  government, — '  Again, 
the  wisdom  of  antiquity  ...  in  the  description  of  torments  and  pains,  next  unto  the 
crime  of  rebellion  .  .  .  doth  detest  the  offence  of  facility.'  So  understand  Cym.  II., 
near  the  end, — '  I'll  write  against  them,  Detest  them,  curse  them.'  In  All's  Well, 
III,  v,  it  means,  perhaps,  renounce  (and  so  in  Twelfth  Night,  above), — "Tis  a 
hard  bondage,  to  become  the  wife  Of  a  detesting  lord.'  Compare  the  circumstances. 
Ant.  &*  Cleop.  IV,  xii,  '  Since  Cleopatra  died,  I  have  liv'd  in  such  dishonour,  that 
the  gods  Detest  my  baseness' ;  cry  out  against.  Mid.  N.  D.  Ill,  ii,  462  [where  this 
note  is  given  substantially. — ED.],  '  That  I  may  backe  to  Athens  by  day-light,  From 
these  that  my  poore  companie  detest.'  Sidney,  Arcadia,  Bk.  ii,  p.  188,  1.  33, — 
'  each  bewailing  the  other,  and  more  dying  in  the  other  than  in  himself ;  cursing 
their  own  hands  for  doing,  and  their  breasts  for  not  sooner  suffering  ;  detesting  their 
unfortunately-spent  time  in  having  served  so  ungrateful  a  tyrant,'  etc.  And  so 
understand  Milton,  History  of  England,  Bk.  vi,  p.  315, — 'for  though  he  seems  to 
have  had  no  hand  in  the  death  of  Ironside,  but  detested  the  fact,  and  bringing  the 
murderers  .  .  .  forth,  .  .  .  delivered  them  to  deserved  punishment,'  etc.  An  invective 
against  avarice,  which  occurs  in  Dubartas,  i,  v,  p.  45,  col.  I,  is  entitled,  in  a  mar- 
ginal note,  '  Detestation  of  Avarice  for  her  execrable  and  dangerous  effects.' 
[Walker  has  undoubtedly  suggested  a  meaning  in  Shakespeare's  use  of  detest 
whereby  force  may  be  added  to  certain  passages. — MURRAY  (N.  E.  D. )  gives 
examples,  extending  from  1533  to  Swift,  in  1745,  of  the  meaning:  'To  curse, 
calling  God  to  witness ;  to  express  abhorrence  of,  denounce,  execrate,'  but  quotes 
none  from  Shakespeare. — ED.] 

146.  does  do]  See  III,  i,  114  ;  or  ABBOTT,  §  303,  p.  215. 

15^    propriety]  HALLIWELL  :  This  seems  to  be  here  used  in  the  sense  of  prop- 
erty in  one's  self,  individuality.     'Strangle  thy  propriety,'  that  is,  destroy  or  sup- 
press thy  individuality,  deny  your  identity. 
19 


290  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  v,  sc.  i. 

As  great  as  that  them  fear'ft. 

Enter  Priejl.  1 60 

O  welcome  Father : 
Father,  I  charge  thee  by  thy  reuerence 
Heere  to  vnfold,  though  lately  we  intended 
To  keepe  in  darkeneffe,  what  occafion  now 

Reueales  before  'tis  ripe  :  what  thou  doft  know  165 

Hath  newly  paft,  betweene  this  youth,  and  me. 

Priejl.     A  Contract  of  eternall  bond  of  loue,  167 

159.  that}  Om.  F3F4.  ripe)  Pope  et  seq.  (except  Cam.) 

160.  Enter...]  After  line  161,  Cap.  165.  doft'}  doe/I  Fa.     do'Jl  F3F4. 

161.  Father:']   Father.    Rowe.     fa-  167.  of  eternall'}    and  eternal  Mai. 
tker !  Cap.  conj. (withdrawn).     Coll.    ii,  iii    (MS), 

163-165.  though. .. ripe  :}     (though...         Dyce  ii.  iii,  Huds. 

158,  159.  know'st  thou  art  .  .  .  thou  fear'st]  That  is,  be  my  husband,  and 
then  thou  art  socially  equal  to  'that  thou  fear'st,'  i.e.  the  Duke. 

165.  ripe :]  Of  course,  the  colon  here  is  wrong  ;  the  clause  '  though  lately  we 
intended  .  .  .  before  'tis  ripe,'  is  merely  parenthetical. 

167.  Contract]  DOUCE  (i,  108)  :  By  this  '  Contract '  [see  IV,  iii,  27-29]  is  meant 
a  betrothing,  affiancing,  or  promise  of  future  marriage,  anciently  distinguished  by 
the  name  of  espousals,  a  term  which  was  for  a  "long  time  confounded  with  matrimony, 
and  at  length  came  exclusively  to  denote  it.  The  form  of  betrothing  at  church,  in 
this  country,  has  not  been  handed  down  to  us  in  any  of  its  ancient  ecclesiastical 
service  books  ;  but  it  is  to  be  remembered  that  Shakespeare  is  here  making  use  of 
foreign  materials,  and  the  ceremony  is  preserved  in  a  few  of  the  French  and  Italian 
rituals.  The  custom  of  betrothing  appears  to  have  been  known  in  ancient  times  to 
almost  all  the  civilised  nations  among  whom  marriage  was  considered  as  a  sacred 
engagement.  Our  northern  ancestors  were  well  acquainted  with  it.  ...  The  length 
of  time  between  espousals  and  marriage  was  uncertain,  and  governed  by  the  con- 
venience of  the  parties ;  it  generally  extended  to  a  few  months.  .  .  .  Vincent  de 
Beauvais,  a  writer  of  the  Ijth  century,  in  his  Speculum  historiale,  lib.  ix,  c.  70,  has 
defined  espousals  to  be  a  contract  of  future  marriage,  made  either  by  a  simple 
promise,  by  earnest  or  security  given,  by  a  ring,  or  by  an  oath.  During  the  same 
period,  and  the  following  centuries,  we  may  trace  several  other  modes  of  betrothing  : 
I.  The  interchangement  of  rings.  Thus,  in  Chaucer's  Troylus  and  Cryseyde,  Bk. 
Ill,  St.  189  :  '  Soon  after  this  thei  spak  of  sondry  thynges  As  fel  to  purpose  of  this 
aventure  ;  And  pleyynge  entrechan^den  hire  rynges,  Of  whiche  I  kan  nought  tellen 
no  scripture.'  When  espousals  took  place  at  church,  rings  were  also  interchanged. 
...  In  the  life  of  St.  Leobard,  who  is  said  to  have  flourished  about  the  year  580, 
written  by  Gregory  of  Tours,  he  gives  a  ring,  a  kiss,  and  a  pair  of  shoes  to  his  affi- 
anced. The  ring  and  shoes  were  a  symbol  of  securing  the  lady's  hands  and  feet  in 
the  trammels  of  conjugal  obedience  ;  but  the  ring  of  itself  was  sufficient  to  confirm  the 
contract  In  the  Miracles  of  the  Virgin  Mary,  compiled  in  the  twelfth  century  by 
a  French  monk,  there  is  a  story  of  a  young  man,  who,  falling  in  love  with  an  image 
of  the  Virgin,  inadvertently  placed  on  one  of  its  fingers  a  ring  which  he  had  received 
of  his  mistress,  accompanying  the  gift  with  the  most  tender  language  of  respect  and 


ACTV,  sc.  i.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  291 

Confirm'd  by  mutuall  ioynder  of  your  hands,  168 

Attefted  by  the  holy  clofe  of  lippes, 

Strengthned  by  enterchangement  of  your  rings.  170 

170.  enterchangemenf\  inter changcment  Mai.  et  seq. 

affection.  A  miracle  instantly  took  place,  and  the  ring  remained  immoveable.  The 
young  man,  greatly  alarmed  for  the  consequences  of  his  rashness,  consulted  his 
friends,  who  advised  him  by  all  means  to  devote  himself  to  the  service  of  the 
Madonna.  His  love  for  his  former  mistress  prevailing  over  their  remonstrances,  he 
married  her ;  but  on  the  wedding  night  the  newly  betrothed  lady  appeared  to 
him,  and  urged  her  claim  with  so  many  dreadful  menaces  that  the  poor  man  felt 
himself  compelled  to  abandon  his  bride,  and  that  very  night  to  retire  privately 
to  a  hermitage,  where  he  became  a  monk  for  the  rest  of  his  life.  .  .  .  The  giving 
of  rings  was  likewise  a  pledge  of  love  in  cases  where  no  marriage  could  possi- 
bly happen.  In  a  romance  by  Raimond  Vidal,  a  Provencal  poet  of  the  thirteenth 
century,  a  knight  devotes  himself  to  the  service  of  a  lady,  who  promises  him  a  kiss 
in  a  year's  time  when  she  shall  be  married.  They  ratify  the  contract  by  an  exchange 
of  rings.  .  .  .  No  instance  has  occurred  where  rings  were  interchanged  at  a  marriage. 
II.  The  kiss  that  was  mutually  given.  III.  The  joining  of  hands.  IV.  The  testi- 
mony of  witnesses.  That  of  the  priest  alone  was  generally  sufficient,  though  we 
often  find  many  other  persons  attending  the  ceremony.  The  words  '  there  before 
him '  and  '  he  shall  conceal  it '  sufficiently  demonstrate  that  betrothing,  and  not 
marriage,  is  intended  [by  Olivia]  ;  in  the  latter  the  presence  of  the  priest  alone 
would  not  have  sufficed.  .  .  .  The  ceremony,  generally  speaking,  was  performed  by 
the  priest  demanding  of  the  parties  if  they  had  entered  into  a  contract  with  any 
other  person,  or  made  a  vow  of  chastity  or  religion.  .  . .  Then  this  oath  was  admin- 
istered :  '  You  swear  by  God  and  his  holy  saints  herein,  and  by  the  saints  of  Para- 
dise, that  you  take  this  woman,  whose  name  is  N.,  to  wife  within  forty  days,  if  holy 
church  will  permit.'  The  priest  then  joined  their  hands,  and  said,  'And  thus  you 
affiance  yourselves ' ;  to  which  the  parties  answered,  '  Yes,  sir.'  They  then  received 
a  suitable  exhortation  on  the  nature  and  design  of  marriage  and  an  injunction  to. 
live  piously  and  chastely  till  that  event  should  take  place.  They  were  not  permitted, 
at  least  by  the  church,  to  reside  in  the  same  house,  but  were  nevertheless  regarded 
as  man  and  wife;  this  will  account  for  Olivia's  calling  Cesario  'husband';  and 
when  she  speaks  of  '  keeping  celebration  according  to  her  birth,'  it  alludes  to  future 
marriage.  This  took  place  in  a  reasonable  time  after  betrothing,  but  was  seldom 
protracted  in  modern  times  beyond  forty  days. .  .  .  The  desuetude  of  espousals  ia 
England  seems  to  have  given  rise  to  the  action  at  law  for  damages  in  breach  of 
promise  of  marriage. 

167.  Contract  of]  DYCE  adopts  Malone's  withdrawn  conjecture,  on  the  ground 
that  'the  transcriber" s or  compositor's  eye  rested  on  the  'of  which  occurs  later  in 
the  line.    [Dyce,  and  Walker  also,  not  infrequently  offer  this  explanation.     Were  it 
said  that  the  latter  'of  had  been  influenced  by  the  impression  left  in  the  mind  by 
the  former  '  of,'  the  explanation  would  be  comprehensible,  but  when  the  process  is 
reversed,  and  that  which  is  not  leaves  a  deeper  impression  than  that  which  is,  then 
it  is  not  easy  for  Dyce  to  take  with  him  the  present — ED.] 

168.  ioynder]  ABBOTT  (§  443,  p.  325)  :  Perhaps  this  comes  from  the  French 
joindre. — W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  The  word  does  not  occur  again,  but  Shakespeare  has 
'  rejoindure '  in  Tro.  &  Cress.  IV,  iv,  48. 


292  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  v,  sc.  i. 

And  all  the  Ceremonie  of  this  compa<5t  171 

Seal'd  in  my  function,  by  my  teftimony  : 

Since  when,  my  watch  hath  told  me,  toward  my  graue 

I  haue  trauail'd  but  two  houres. 

Du.     O  thou  diflembling  Cub  :  what  wilt  thou  be  175 

When  time  hath  fow'd  a  grizzle  on  thy  cafe  ? 

174.  trauair  d~\  traveir  d  f  f  ^  176.  on  thy  cafe]  upon  thee  Ktly  conj. 

(N.  6-  Qu.  I,  vii,  44). 

171.  Ceremonie]  STAUNTON  (Note  on  All's  Well,  II,  iii,  185)  :  It  has  never, 
that  we  are  aware,  been  noticed  that  Shakespeare  usually  pronounces  cere  in  cere- 
mony, ceremonies,  ceremonials,  (but  not  in  ceremonious,  ceremoniously,}  as  a  mono- 
syllable, like  cere-cloth,  cerement.  Thus,  in  Mer.  Wives,  IV,  vi,  '  To  give  our 
hearts  united  ceremony.'  Again,  in  Mid.  N.  D.,  V,  i,  '  Not  sorting  with  a  nuptial 
ceremony.'  Again,  mjul.  Cas.  I,  i,  '  If  you  do  find  them  deckt  with  ceremonies,' 
and,  II,  ii,  'Caesar,  I  never  stood  on  ceremonies.'  [This  selection  of  examples  is 
hardly  judicious,  inasmuch  as,  in  each  instance,  the  word  in  question  comes  at  the 
close  of  the  line,  where  a  certain  license  is  always  allowed.  WALKER,  also,  noticed 
this  same  contraction  ;  he  observes  (Crit.  ii,  73)  in  connection  with  the  passage  now 
before  us  :  It  appears, — although  the  present  passage  would  not  alone  be  sufficient 
to  prove  it,  inasmuch  as  the  y  [Walker  refers  to  the  modern  spelling]  might  per- 
haps be  elided,  though  this  elision,  perhaps  I  might  add  every  other  (except  th?  and 
the  like),  is  uncommon  in  Shakespeare, — that  '  ceremony  '  and  '  ceremonious '  were 
pronounced  by ]our  ancient  poets, — very  frequently  at  least, — cer3  many  and  cer'monotts. 
£ LETTSOM,  in  a  footnote,  says  that '  some  of  the  writers  quoted  by  Walker  seem  to 
have  even  pronounced  cermny,  cermnous?  If  Shakespeare  used  this  unpleasing  pro- 
nunciation, which  I  greatly  doubt,  I  should  prefer  Staunton's  cere  to  Walker's  cer. 
—ED.] 

171.  compact]  According  to  SCHMIDT  (Lex.}  this  word  has  the  accent  on  the 
last  syllable  everywhere  in  Shakespeare,  except  in  /  Hen.   VI:  V,  iv,  163:  'And 
therefore  take  this  compact  of  a  truce.'     W.  A.  WRIGHT  remarks,  hereupon,  that 
this  would  help  to  shew,  if  evidence  were  wanting,  that  the  play  is  not  Shakespeare's. 

172.  in   my  function]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  That  is,  in  the  discharge  of  my  office, 
which  seems  to  have  been  that  of  Olivia's  private  chaplain.     See  IV,  iii,  27. 

176.  case]  SIR  F.  MADDEN  (N.  &•>  Qu.  1st,  vi,  469),  after  stating  that  in  a  copy 
of  F,,  belonging  to  Mr  Henry  Foss,'  cafe '  is  printed  '  cafe,'  remarks  that  this  proves 
'  beyond  doubt  that  the  word  in  question  should  be  face,  but  by  transposition  of  the 
letters  became  cafe,  and  was  then  altered  into  "  case."  ' — CAMBRIDGE  EDITORS  :  In 
Capell's  copy  of  Ff  the  reading  is  plainly  'case.'  [The  reading  '  cafe'  is  equally 
plain  in  the  FT  of  the  present  ED.]— HALLIWELL  :  That  is,  the  skin.  'There 
are  brought  also  into  Scotland  out  of  these  ilands  great  store  of  sheepes  felles,  oxe 
hides,  gotes  skinnes,  and  cases  of  martirnes  dried  in  the  sunne.' — Holinshed's 
Description  of  Scotland,  p.  18.  The  fox's  skin  was  technically  termed  the  case. 
'And  if  the  Lyons  skinne  doe  faile,  Then  with  the  Foxes  case  assaile.' — Florio's 
Second  Frutes,  1591.  [It  is  needless  to  go  afield  for  authorities.  No  better  exam- 
ple can  be  offered  than  the  pun  which  Shakespeare  puts  into  the  mouth  of  the  Shep- 
herd's  son  in  Wint.  Tale,  IV,  iv,  901,  where  he  says  to  Autolycus :  'though  my 
case  be  a  pittifull  one,  I  hope  I  shall  not  be  flayd  out  of  it.' — ED.] 


ACTV,  sc.  i.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  293 

Or  will  not  elfe  thy  craft  fo  quickely  grow,  177 

That  thine  owne  trip  fhall  be  thine  ouerthrow : 

Farewell,  and  take  her,  but  dire6t  thy  feete, 

Where  thou,  and  I  (henceforth)  may  neuer  meet.  1 80 

Vio.     My  Lord,  I  do  proteft. 

Ol.     O  do  not  fweare, 
Hold  little  faith,  though  thou  haft  too  much  feare. 

Enter  Sir  Andrew. 

And.  For  the  loue  of  God  a  Surgeon,  fend  one  pre-  185 
fently  to  fir  Toby. 

OL     What's  the  matter  ? 

And.  H'as  broke  my  head  a-croffe,  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.  190 

Ol.     Who  has  done  this  fir  Andrew  ? 

And.  The  Counts  Gentleman,  one  Cefario:  we  tooke 
him  for  a  Coward,  but  hee's  the  verie  diuell  incardinatc. 

Du.     My  Gentleman  Cefario  ? 

And.     Odd's  lifelings  heere  he  is  :  you  broke  my  head         195 

178.  ouerthrow :]  overthrow?  Ff.  Has  Dyce  i.     ''Has  Dyce  ii,  iii. 

180.  /  {henceforth}]    (/  henceforth)  188.  a-crofte]  across  Cap.  et  seq. 
F3F4.  has]  Om.  F3F4,  Rowe,  + .     Kas 

181.  protejl.]  protest —  Rowe  et  seq.  Cap.     ' has  Dyce  ii,  iii. 

183.  Hold]  How  Ff,  Rowe.  189.  too]  to  F,. 

though]  tho  F4.  190.  helpe,]  help!  Coll.  Dyce,  Cam. 

Scene  IV.  Pope,  + .  help.  Pope  et  cet. 

184.  Enter...]  Enter. ..with  his  Head  home]  F,. 

broke.     Rowe.  192.  Counts]  Duke1  s  Han. 

185.  Surgeon,]    Ff,    Rowe,  +  .     sur-  193.  diuell]  Divell  Fa.      Devillff 
geon  !  Dyce,  Cam.  Sta.    surgeon  ;  Cap.         Devil  F4. 

et  cet.  incardinatc]       F,.       incarnate 

fend]  and  F  F  ,  Rowe  i.    and  Rowe,  Pope,  Han. 

send  Roweii,  +  ,  Var.  '73,  '78,    Ran.  195.   Odd's]  Ff,  Hal.     '  Od's  Dyce, 

Dyce  ii,  iii.  Cam.  Rife.      Od's  Rowe  et  cet. 

188.   H'as]  He  has  Mai.  Steev.  Var.  is:]  is.  Johns,     is!  Dyce,  Sta. 

'21,  Knt,  Coll.  Hal.  Wh.  Cam.  Rife. 

183.  Hold  little  faith]  See  ABBOTT  (§  86)  for  examples  where  'a'  is  omitted; 
on  p.  62  the  present  passage  is  quoted,  and  Abbott  remarks  that  '  a '  is  omitted  before 
little,  where  we  commonly  place  it  in  the  sense  of  some. 

190.  forty  pound]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  Sir  Andrew  was  willing  to  spend  twenty 
times  as  much  upon  his  safety  as  upon  his  accomplishments.  See  II,  iii,  23. 

193.  incardinatc]  ROWE  supposed  this  to  be  a  blunder  of  the  compositor,  instead 
of  Sir  Andrew. 

195.  Odd's  lifelings]  See  II,  v,  34. 


294  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  v,  sc.  i. 

for  nothing,  and  that  that  I  did,  I  was  fet  on  to  do't  by  fir         196 
Toby. 

Vio.     Why  do  you  fpeake  to  me,  I  neuer  hurt  you  : 
you  drew  your  fword  vpon  me  without  caufe, 
But  I  befpake  you  faire,  and  hurt  you  not.  200 

Enter  Toby  and  Clowne. 

And.    If  a  bloody  coxcombe  be  a  hurt,  you  haue  hurt 
me  :  I  thinke  you  fet  nothing  by  a  bloody  Coxecombe. 
Heere  comes  fir  Toby  halting,  you  ihall  heare  more:  but  if 
he  had  not  beene  in  drinke,  hee  would  haue  tickel'd  you         205 
other  gates  then  he  did. 

Du.     How  now  Gentleman?  how  ift  with  you  ? 

To.    That's  all  one,  has  hurt  me,  and  there's  th'end  on't:         208 

198.  me,}  FaF4,  Rowei.    me  F3-   me?  206.  other    gates']     Ff.       other-gates 

Rowe  ii  et  seq.  Rowe,  + .     othergates  Cap.  et  seq. 

201.  Enter...]  Enter  Sir  Toby,  drunk,  208.  one,'}  one;  Cap.  et  seq. 

led  by   the    Clown    (After    line   203)  has]    Ff,    Dyce   i,   Cam.     h' as 

Cap.     After  line  206,  Dyce.  Rowe,  Cap.  Sta.     'has  Dyce  ii,  iii.     he 

204.  halting,]    halting:    Wh.   Cam.  has  Pope  et  cet. 

halting,—  Dyce,  Sta.  th'end]  an  end  F3F4,  Rowe,  +  . 

200.  bespake]  The  force  of  this  be-  seems  merely  to  render  transitive  the  intran- 
sitive verb,  speak.  Here  it  means  simply  to  address.  MURRAY  (^V.  £.  D.  s.  v.  6) 
quotes  the  same  phrase  from  Marlowe,  Ed-ward  II :  I,  iv,  '  My  gentle  lord,  bespeak 
these  nobles  fair.'  Of  course,  in  '  I  will  bespeak  our  dyet,'  III,  iii,  45,  the  word 
bears  a  different  meaning. 

203.  set  nothing  by]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  That  is,  do  not  regard.  See  Ecclesiasticus, 
zxvi,  28  :  '  Men  of  understanding  that  are  not  set  by.' 

206.  other  gates]  See  II,  v,  3. — ABBOTT  (§  25,  p.  35)  :  That  is,  in  another 
gate  or  fashion.  [For  'gate,'  signifying  way,  manner,  method,  see  BRADLEY 
N.  E.  D.  s.  v.  Gate,  sb."1,  III.  NARES  quotes,  '  When  Hudibras,  about  to  enter 
Upon  an  othergates  adventure,' — P.  I,  C.  iii,  1.  42,  and  CARR  (Craven  Dialect) 
quotes  another  form  of  the  word,  used  by  Scott :  '  I  myself  must  be  your  Majesty's 
Chamberlain  and  bring  you  to  your  apartments  in  other  guise  than  would  be  my 
desire.' — Quentin  Durward,  iii,  p.  3.  HALLIWELL  gives,  as  a  corruption,  a  word 
'  which  occurs  in  a  vernacular  Cheshire  proverb  ' :  '  I  have  otherguess  fish  to  fry  than 
snigs  (eels)  without  butter,'  but  the  CENTURY  DICTIONARY  gives  'otherguess'  in  a 
quotation  from  Smollett's  Roderick  Random,  and  from  Charles  Reade;  it  is  still 
current,  or  was  current  some  years  ago,  among  the  farmer  folk  of  New  England. 
—ED.] 

208.  has  hurt]  It  is  possible  that  there  is  here  an  elision  both  of  the  e  in  He, 
and  of  the  h  in  has  ;  just  as  we  find  it  in  line  1 88,  above  ;  but  it  is  unlikely.  Sir 
Toby's  speech  is  thick,  and  plain  'has'  was  probably  his  best  utterance.  At  the 
same  time,  the  omission  of  the  nominative  is  oommon  before  has,  is,  etc.  See  line 
302,  below  ;  or  ABBOTT,  §  400. — ED. 


ACTV,  sc.  i.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  295 

Sot,  didft  fee  Dicke  Surgeon,  fot  ? 

Clo.   O  he's  drunke  fir  Toby  an  houre  agone  :  his  eyes         210 
were  fet  at  eight  i'th  morning. 

To.   Then  he's  a  Rogue,  and  a  pafly  meafures  panyn  :  I         212 

209.  didjl]  did'Jl  ihou  F3F4,  Rowe  i.  Steev.  Var.  '03,  '13.    rogue,  and  apassy- 

210.  ftr  Toby]  fir  above  FaF3.    ftr,  measures  pavin  :  Mai.  Knt,  Coll.  i,  iii, 
above  F4,  Rowe,  Pope,  Han.    sir  Toby,  Sing.    Dyce,  Hal.  Ktly,   Hunter,  Del. 
above  Theob.  Warb.  Johns.  Ran.  Rife.  Dtn.    rogue,  and  a  passy  measures 

21 1.  /<•/]  Om.  F3F4.  pavin;  Var.  '21,  Cam.  ii,  Cla.  Symons. 

212.  Rogue,    and  a  pa/y   meafures  rogue.     After  a  passy-measures  pa-vin  ; 
panyn  .•]  Cam.  i,  Glo.     Rogue  after  a  Harness,     rogue,   and  a  passing-meas- 
paffy  meafures  Pavin  :  Ff,  Rowe.  rogue,  ures  pavin.  Coll.  ii  (MS),     rogue  and  a 
and  a  past-measure  Painim.   Pope, +.  passy  measures paynim  ;  Wh.  i  (panym 
rogue,  and  a  past-measure paynim  :  Cap.  ed.  ii),  Huds.  rogue,  after  a  passy-meas- 
rogue,  and  a  passy-measure  pavin  :  Var.  urn's  pavin  ;  Sta.     rogue,  and '  a  passes 
'73»    '78.     rogue: — and  after  a  passy-  measure,  paynim  !  Daniel,     rogue  and 
measure  or  a  pavin,  Ran.    rogue.    After  a  passy-measures  pavon.  Kinnear. 

a  passy-measure   or  a  pavin  Var.  '85, 

212.  a  passy  measures  panyn]  STEEVENS  :  This  may  mean  'a  pavin  danced 
out  of  tune.'  Sir  Toby  might  call  the  surgeon  by  this  title,  because  he  was  drunk 
'at  a  time  when  he  should  have  been  sober,'  and  in  a  condition  to  attend  on  the 
wounded  knight.  This  dance  is  mentioned  in  Gosson's  Schoole  of  Abuse,  1579, 
among  other  dances  :  '  Thinke  you  that  those  miracles  [the  effects  of  music]  coulde 
bee  wrought  with  playing  of  Daunces,  Dumpes,  Pauins,  Galiardes,  Measures 
Fancyes,  or  new  streynes  ?' [p.  26,  ed.  Arber]. — TVRWHITT  :  Ben  Jonson,  in  The 
Alchemist,  calls  it  a  Spanish  dance:  'your  Spanish  pavin  the  best  dance. '[IV,  ii, 
p.  138,  ed.  Gifford.  Ford  also  thus  terms  it :  '  I  have  seen  an  ass  and  a  mule  trot 
the  Spanish  pavin  with  better  grace,'  I,  ii,  vol.  i,  p.  121,  ed.  Dyce,  quoted  by 
Steevens]  ;  but  it  seems  to  have  come  originally  from  Padua,  and  should  rather  be 
written  pavane,  as  a  corruption  of  paduana.  A  dance  of  that  name  (saltatio 
paduana]  occurs  in  an  old  writer,  quoted  by  the  annotator  on  Rabelais,  b.  v,  c.  30. 
— SIR  J.  HAWKINS  :  The  pavan,  from  pavo  a  peacock,  is  a  grave  and  majestic 
dance.  The  method  of  dancing  it  was  anciently  by  gentlemen  dressed  in  a  cap 
and  sword,  by  those  of  the  long  robe  in  their  gowns,  by  princes  in  their  man- 
tles, and  by  ladies  in  gowns  with  long  trains,  the  motion  whereof  in  the  dance 
resembled  that  of  a  peacock's  tail.  This  dance  is  supposed  to  have  been  invented 
by  the  Spaniards,  and  its  figure  is  given,  with  the  characters  for  the  steps,  in  the 
Orchesographia  of  Thoinet  Arbeau.  Of  the  passamezzo  little  is  to  be  said,  except 
that  it  was  a  favourite  air  in  the  days  of  Queen  Elizabeth.  Ligon,  in  his  History  of 
Barbadoes,  mentions  a  passamezzo  galliard,  which  in  the  year  1647,  a  Padre  in  that 
island  played  to  him  on  the  lute  ;  the  very  same,  he  says,  with  an  air  of  that  kind 
which  in  Shakespeare's  Henry  IV.  was  originally  played  to  Sir  John  Falstaff  and 
Doll  Tearsheet,  by  Sneak,  the  musician.  This  little  anecdote  Ligon  might  have  by 
tradition  ;  but  his  conclusion,  that  because  it  was  played  in  a  dramatic  representation 
of  Henry  IV.,  it  must  be  as  ancient  as  his  time  is  very  idle  and  injudicious.  '  Passy- 
measure  '  is,  therefore,  undoubtedly  a  corruption  of  passamezzo. — TYRWHITT  :  With 
the  help  of  Sir  John  Hawkins's  explanation,  I  think  I  now  see  the  meaning  of  this 
passage.  [With  the  help  of  the  Second  Folio]  I  should  imagine  the  following  regu- 


296  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  v,  sc.  i. 

[212.  a  passy  measures  panyn] 

lation  of  the  whole  speech  would  not  be  far  from  the  truth  :  '  After  a  passy-measure 
or  a  pavin,  I  hate  a  drunken  rogue,'  i.  e.  next  to  a  passy-measure  or  a  pavin,  etc. 
It  is  in  character  that  Sir  Toby  should  express  a  strong  dislike  of  serious  dances,  such 
as  the  passamezzo  and  the  pavan  are  described  to  be. — MALONE  :  From  what  has 
been  stated,  I  think  it  is  manifest  that  Sir  Toby  means  only  by  this  expression,  that 
the  surgeon  is  a  rogue,  and  a  grave  solemn  coxcomb.  [This  explanation  DYCE 
(Gloss.}  adopts.]  It  is  one  of  Shakespeare's  unrivalled  excellences,  that  his  charac- 
ters are  always  consistent.  Even  in  drunkenness  they  preserve  the  traits  which 
distinguished  them  when  sober.  Sir  Toby,  in  the  first  Act  of  the  play,  shewed 
himself  well  acquainted  with  the  various  kinds  of  the  dance. — BOSWELL  :  It  is 
surely  rather  ludicrous  to  see  four  sober  commentators  gravely  endeavouring  to 
ascertain  the  correct  meaning  of  what  Sir  Toby  says  when  he  is  drunk. — DOUCE  : 
Spanish  pavans  are  mentioned  by  Brantdme  in  his  Dames  illustres,  who  adds  that 
he  had  seen  it  danced  by  Francis  I.  and  his  sister,  the  celebrated  Margaret  of 
Navarre,  and  also  by  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots.  In  an  old  MS  collection  of  lessons 
for  the  virginals,  there  is  one  called:  '  Dr  Bull's  melancholy  pavin.' — KNIGHT: 
The  humour  lies  in  Sir  Toby's  calling  '  Dick  surgeon'  by  the  names  of  the  solemn 
dances  which  he  abhors,  confounding  the  two. — COLLIER  (ed.  i)  :  The  pavin,  or 
peacock  dance,  was  a  slow  heavy  movement,  such  as  a  drunken  man,  like  '  Dick 
surgeon,'  might  be  supposed  to  execute  in  his  intoxication. — IBID.  (Shakespeare 
Society's  Papers,  i,  24)  :  The  difficulty  here,  with  all  the  commentators,  is  to  under- 
stand why  '  Dick  surgeon  '  is  called  '  a  passy-measures  pavin ';  having  become  intox- 
icated, of  course  he  has  passed  the  ordinary  measures  of  discretion  in  his  cups  ;  but 
the  word  '  pavin '  also  requires  further  explanation.  I  was  not  aware,  until  very 
recently,  that  there  was  in  Shakespeare's  time  a  well-known  dance,  called  'the 
passing  measure  pavin ' ;  and  it  is  to  this  that  Sir  Toby  alludes.  '  Dick  surgeon ' 
has  passed  his  measures  in  getting  drunk,  and  these  words  instantly  bring  '  pavin ' 
to  the  knight's  mind.  I  have  before  me  a  list  of  thirteen  dances  in  MS  of  the  time 
with  curious  descriptions  of  the  figures  belonging  to  them,  and  the  first  of  these  is 
'  the  passinge  measure  pavyon,'  which  is  thus  explained,  I  do  not  say  how  intelli- 
gibly to  modern  professors :  '  The  passinge  measure  Pavyon.  2  singles  and  a 
double  forward,  and  2  singles  syde.  Reprynce  back.'  HALLIWELL  quotes  many 
of  these  preceding  notes,  and  adds  very  many  examples  where  the  word  pavan  or 
pavin  is  introduced. — CROFT  (Glossary  to  Elyot's  Gouernour,  s.  v.  'Pauion')  :  This 
dance,  more  usually  spelt  pavane,  was  so  called  from  the  Latin,  '  pavo,'  notwith- 
standing that  M.  Littre",  who  suggests  that  such  a  derivation  would  give  pavone 
rather  than  pavane,  considers  the  origin  uncertain.  But  as  the  dance  was  undoubt- 
edly introduced  into  France  from  some  other  country,  either  Spain  or  Italy,  in  which 
the  peacock  is  called  pa-von  and  pavone  respectively,  it  requires  no  very  violent 
assumption  to  suppose  that  the  name  by  which  the  dance  was  popularly  known,  was 
adopted  and  Gallicised  without  any  attention  being  paid  to  the  strict  rules  of  ety- 
mology. .  .  .  With  regard  to  the  origin  of  the  name,  even  if  we  reject  M.  Compan's 
explanation  that  the  positions  occupied  by  the  dancers  suggested  a  comparison  with 
the  circle  of  a  peacock's  tail  when  fully  extended,  yet  from  the  picturesque  descrip- 
tion of  the  dance  handed  down  to  us  by  Arbeau,  we  can  form  some  idea  of  the  mag- 
nificent spectacle  presented  to  the  eyes  of  the  spectators,  and  it  requires  no  great 
effort  of  the  imagination  to  see  in  the  long  trains  and  flowing  robes,  and  the  stately 
movements  of  the  wearers,  a  resemblance  to  a  group  of  peacocks,  strutting  on  a 


ACTV.SC.  i.]  OR,    WHAT  YOU  WILL  297 

hate  a  drunken  rogue.  213 

01.    Away  with  him  ?  Who  hath  made  this  hauocke 
with  them?  215 

And.    He  helpe  you  fir  Toby,  becaufe  we'll  be  dreft  to- 
gether. 

To.    Will  you  helpe  an  Affe-head,  and  a  coxcombe,  &         218 

214.  him?]  him:    Rowe   ii   et  seq.         '21,  Coll.  Glo.  Cam.  Sta.  Ktly.    help, — 
(subs.)  Hal.  Dyce,  Sta. 

218.  helpe  an]  help?— An  Mai.  Var. 

lawn,  and  exhibiting  with  conscious  pride  all  the  splendour  of  their  natural  plumes. 
This  at  any  rate  seems  to  be  the  view  taken  by  the  authors  of  the  Dictionary  of  the 
Spanish  Academy,  where  we  find  Pavana  denned  as  '  Especie  de  danza  Espanola, 
que  se  executa  con  mucha  gravidad,  seriedad  y  mesura,  y  en  que  los  movimientos 
son  mui  pausados  :  por  lo  que  se  le  did  este  nombre  con  alusion  a  los  movimientos 
y  ostentacion  del  Pavo  real.'  .  .  .  [This  present  passage  from  Twelfth  Night]  is  by  no 
means  free  from  obscurity,  but  in  order  to  render  it  intelligible,  we  must  adopt  the 
rule  '  res  pro  persona,'  and  take  pavin  for  a  musician  or  player  of  pavanes. — R.  G. 
WHITE  adheres  in  his  Second  Edition  to  paynim,  with  the  remark  that  the  passage 
1  seems  after  all  a  mere  drunken  effort  to  say,  with  drunken  bombast,  a  passing 
measure  (that  is,  egregious)  paynim.' — W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  It  is  most  likely  that  pavin 
is  the  right  reading,  and  that  'panyn'  is  a  misprint  for  'pauyn.'  .  .  .  Richardson 
quotes  from  Sidney's  Arcadia,  b.  3, [p.  329,  ed.  1598]  :  '  An  with  that  turning  vp  his 
mustachoes,  and  marching  as  if  he  would  begin  a  pauen,  he  went  toward  Zelmane.' 
From  this  it  appears  that  the  pavin  was  danced  with  a  slow  and  stately  step,  as  is 
indicated  by  the  epithet  '  passy  measures,'  a  corruption  of  passamezzo.  .  .  .  But  the 
question  now  arises,  if  a  pavin  was  a  grave  and  stately  dance,  and  the  epithet  '  passy 
measures'  describes  the  step  used  in  dancing  it,  what  does  Sir  Toby  mean  in  so 
calling  the  surgeon  ?  It  is  not  necessary  always  to  find  meaning  in  what  a  drunken 
man  says,  but  Malone's  interpretation  is  probably  not  far  wrong.  Sir  Toby  might 
also  possibly  refer  to  the  slow  pace  of  the  surgeon  in  coming  to  attend  him. — 
NAYLOR  (p.  114)  :  Morley  {Practical  Music,  1597)  instances  two  particular  dances 
which  were  commonly  associated  together  :  Pavans  and  Galliards,  the  first  of  these, 
he  says,  is  for  'grave'  dancing,  having  three  '  strains,'  each  containing  8,  12,  or  16 
semibreves  (two  beats  in  a  bar),  which  are  each  repeated.  .  ..  (P.  !34)The  only 
Pavan  mentioned  by  Shakespeare  is  the  Passy  measures  pavin  or  Passameso,  or 
Pass  e  mezzo,  which  is  the  earliest  form  of  the  word.  ...  (P.  i35)The  Passamezzo 
tune  has  a  similar  construction  [Naylor  gives  the  notes  in  his  Appendix]  to  the 
ordinary  pavan,  i.  e.  it  consists  of  regular  '  strains,'  which  in  their  turn  contain  a 
certain  even  number  of  semibreves  or  '  bars.'  In  the  case  given,  the  strains  consist 
of  eight  bars  each.  This  must  be  borne  in  mind  in  Sir  Toby's  speech.  Toby  being 
only  moderately  sober,  naturally  feels  indignant  at  the  doctor's  indiscretions  in  the 
same  kind  ;  and  the  Clown's  remark  about  the  latter' s  eyes  brings  this  fantastic  com- 
parison into  his  head.  The  doctor's  eyes  were  '  set  at  eight,'  and  so  is  a  Pavan  '  set 
at  eight.'  It  is  easy  to  see  Sir  Toby's  musical  gifts  asserting  themselves,  confused 
recollections  reeling  across  his  brain  of  that  old  rule  in  Morley  about  the  right  num- 
ber of  semibreves  in  a  strain,  'fewer  than  eight  I  have  not  seen  in  any  Pavan.' 


298  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  v,  sc.  L 

a  Knaue  :  a  thin  fac'd  knaue,  a  gull  ? 

01.     Get  him  to  bed,  and  let  his  hurt  be  look'd  too.  220 

Enter  Sebaflian. 

Seb.     I  am  forry  Madam  I  haue  hurt  your  kinfman: 
But  had  it  beene  the  brother  of  my  blood, 
I  muft  haue  done  no  lefle  with  wit  and  fafety. 
You  throw  a  ftrange  regard  vpon  me,  and  by  that  225 

I  do  perceiue  it  hath  offended  you  : 
Pardon  me  (fweet  one)  euen  for  the  vowes  227 

219.  a  knaue  .•]  a  knave, —  Dyce.  225.    You  throw]  Sep.  line,  Walker 
[Exe.  Clo.  To.  &  And.    Rowe.  (Crit.  iii,  89). 

220.  tod]  to  Ff.  vpon  me,  and  by  that]  on  me,  by 
Scene  V.  Pope,  +  .  which  Pope,  4-.     on  me ;  by  that  Voss, 

222.  I  am~\  I'm  Dyce  ii,  iii.  Lettsom,  lluds. 

kinfman}  Uncle  Rowe  ii,  Pope,  225,  226.  by  that. .. you  .•]  One   line, 

Han.  Cap.  Var.  '78.  '85,  Ran.  Mai.  Steev.  Var. 

225.   [All    stand  in  amaze.     Theob.  Hal. 
All  start.    Coll.  MS. 

[To  me,  Naylor's  admirable  explanation  carries  instant  conviction.     It  is,  of  course, 
assumed  that  'panyn'  is  a  misprint  for  pavin. — ED.] 

218.  helpe  an  Asse-head]  MALONE:  I  believe  Sir  Toby  means  to  apply  all 
these  epithets  either  to  the  surgeon  or  Sebastian ;  and  have  pointed  the  passage 
accordingly. — STEEVENS  :  As  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  Sir  Toby,  out  of  humour 
with  himself,  means  to  discharge  these  reproaches  on  the  officious  Sir  Andrew,  who 
needs  the  surgeon's  help,  I  have  left  the  passage  as  I  found  it.    [Malone  has  the 
right  punctuation  and  a  wrong  interpretation.     Steevens  the  wrong  punctuation  and 
a  right  interpretation.     Sir  Toby  addresses  Sir  Andrew,  who  has  just  offered  to  help 
him,  with  'Willow  help? — an  Ass-head,'  etc. — ED.] 

219.  thin  fac'd  knaue]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  Like  Master  Slender  in  the  Merry 
Wives  (i,  iv,  22),  who  had  'a  little  wee  face,'  and  between  whom  and  Sir  Andrew 
there  are  many  points  of  resemblance.     The  Bastard  Faulconbridge,  in  King  John 
(I,  i),  makes  merry  over  his  brother's  thin  face. 

219.  gull]  See  III,  ii,  69. 

221.  Enter  Sebastian]    Drummond  of  Hawthornden   records  the  remark  of 
Ben  Jonson  that  '  He  had  ane  intention  to  have  made  a  play  like  Plautus  Amphitruo, 
but  left  it  of,  for  that  he  could  never  find  two  so  like  others  that  he  could  persuade 
the  spectators  they  were  one.' — p.  29,  ed.  Shakespeare  Society. — ED. 

225.  You  throw]  WALKER  (Crit.  iii,  89)  arranges  these  two  words  in  a  separate 
line;  but  adds,  'though  even  this  is  awkward.' — LETTSOM  (Footnote):  Read, — 
4  You  throw  a  strange  regard  on  me  ;  by  that,'  etc.  And  is  wretchedly  flat  here ; 
it  probably  crept  in  from  the  line  above.  [Lettsom  did  not  know  that  more  than 
forty  years  previously  Voss  (p.  625)  had  proposed  the  same  reading.  Voss  was 
not,  however,  always  equally  happy.  On  the  same  page  as  that  just  given,  his  pro- 
posal to  read  vow,  instead  of  '  vows,'  in  line  227,  so  as  to  rhyme  with  'ago,'  makes 
us  pause  in  wonder  over  his  pronunciation  of  either  word.  There  can  be  no  harm 
in  printing  <  You  throw '  as  a  separate  line,  if  an  actor  could  properly  indicate  it  01 
the  stage. — ED.] 


ACT  v,  sc.  i.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  299 

We  made  each  other,  but  fo  late  ago.  228 

Du.    One  face,  one  voice,  one  habit,  and  two  perfons, 
A  naturall  Perfpe<5liue,  that  is,  and  is  not.  230 

230.  naturall]  natural  Pope,  +  .  230.   Perfpeftiue]  perspective  Dyce. 

228.  so  late  ago]  ABBOTT  (§  411,  p.  297):  This  seems  to  be  a  combination  of 
'  so  lately  '  and  '  so  short  a  time  ago.' 

230.  A  naturall  PerspedUue]  For  the  accent  'perspective,'  see  ABBOTT'S  list 
(§  492)  of  words  where  the  accent  is  nearer  the  beginning  than  with  us.  Compare 
'Like  perspectives  which  rightly  gazed  upon  Show  nothing  but  confusion,  eyed 
awry  Distinguish  forms.' ( — Richard  II :  II,  ii,  18),  where  the  two  following  notes 
are  given  :  WARBURTON  :  Amongst  mathematical  recreations,  there  is  one  in  optics, 
in  which  a  figure  is  drawn,  wherein  all  the  rules  of  perspective  are  inverted :  so  that, 
if  held  in  the  same  position  with  those  pictures  which  are  drawn  according  to  the 
rules  of  perspective,  it  can  present  nothing  but  confusion  :  and  to  be  seen  in  form, 
and  under  a  regular  appearance,  it  must  be  looked  upon  from  a  contrary  station  ; 
or,  as  Shakespeare  says,  '  eyed  awry.'  — TOLLET  :  Dr  Plot's  History  of  Staffordshire, 
p.  391,  explains  this  perspective,  or  odd  kind  of  'pictures  upon  an  indented  board, 
which,  if  held  directly,  you  only  perceive  a  confused  piece  of  work  ;  but,  if 
obliquely,  you  see  the  intended  person's  picture.  [Hereupon  follows  the  explanation 
of  their  manufacture,  which  is  of  no  importance  here.  On  the  present  passage 
Toilet  has  the  following  :]  This  may  be  explained  by  a  book  called  Humane  Indus- 
try, 1661,  p.  76  :  '  It  is  a  pretty  art  that  in  a  pleated  paper  and  table  furrowed  or 
indented,  men  make  one  picture  to  represent  several  faces — that  being  viewed  from 
one  place  or  standing,  did  shew  the  head  of  a  Spaniard,  and  from  another,  the  head 
of  an  ass.'  '  A  picture  of  a  chancellor  of  France  presented  to  the  common  beholder 
a  multitude  of  little  faces ;  but  if  one  did  look  on  it  through  a  perspective,  there 
appeared  only  the  single  pourtraicture  of  the  chancellor  himself.'  Thus,  that  which 
is,  is  not,  or  in  a  different  position  appears  like  another  thing. — CAPELL  (p.  152)  : 
'Perspective'  is — reflection;  this  last  enterer  [Sebastian]  (says  he  [the  Duke])  is 
surely  a  reflection  of  the  other,  an  appearance  of  nature's  forming  that  seems  a  body 
and  is  none. — JOHNSON:  A  'perspective'  seems  to  be  taken  for  shows  exhibited 
through  a  glass  with  such  lights  as  make  the  pictures  really  protuberant.  The 
Duke  therefore  says,  that  nature  has  here  exhibited  such  a  show,  where  shadows 
seem  realities  ;  where  that  which  is  not  appears  like  that  which  is. — DOUCE  :  The 
several  kinds  of  perspective  glasses  used  in  Shakespeare's  time,  may  be  found 
collected  together  in  Scot's  Discoverie  of  Witchcraft,  1584,  Bk.  xiii,  ch.  19.  They 
cannot  be  exceeded  in  number  by  any  modern  optician's  shop  in  England.  It  is  to  be 
observed  that  a  '  perspective '  formerly  meant  a  glass  that  assisted  sight  in  any  way. 
— HALLIWELL  :  Shakespeare  probably  here  means  a  simple  mirror,  such  as  either  a 
looking-glass,  or  the  natural  mirror  of  water  and  other  substances ;  or,  perhaps, 
a  mirror  thus  made  by  nature,  which  really  is  a  reflected  substance,  but  is  merely  a 
shadow,  when  considered  in  reference  to  its  being  a  mirror.  [The  passage  in  Scot's 
Discovery  of  Witchcraft  referred  to  by  Douce  is  quite  curious  enough  to  reprint  : 
'  But  the  woonderous  devises,  and  miraculous  sights  and  conceipts  made  and  con- 
teined  in  glasse,  doo  farre  exceed  all  other ;  whereto  the  art  perspective  is  verie 
necessarie.  For  it  sheweth  the  illusions  of  them,  whose  experiments  be  scene  in 
diverse  sorts  of  glasses  ;  as  in  the  hallowe,  the  plaine,  the  embossed,  the  columnarie, 


300  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  v,  sc.  i. 

Scb.     Anthonio:  O  my  deere  Anthonio t  231 

How  haue  the  houres  rack'd,  and  tortur'd  me, 
Since  I  haue  loft  thee  ? 

Ant.     Sebaftian  are  you  ? 

Seb.    Fear'ft  thou  that  Anthonio  ?  235 

Ant.     How  haue  you  made  diuifion  of  your  felfe, 
An  apple  cleft  in  two,  is  not  more  twin 
Then  thefe  two  creatures.     Which  is  Sebaftian  ?  238 

231.  Anthonio  :]  Anthonio,  Ff.    An-  ii.     Feared  you  Pope. 
tonio  !  Coll.  236.  your  felfe,]  your  self?  Rowe  ii. 

Anthonio,]  Anthonio  !  Ff.  237.  apple]  ample  F3F4. 

235.  Fear" ft  thou]  Fear* d  thou  Rowe 

the  pyramidate  or  piked,  the  turbinall,  the  bounched,  the  round,  the  cornerd,  the 
inversed,  the  eversed,  the  massie,  the  regular,  the  irregular,  the  coloured  and  cleare 
glasses :  for  you  may  have  glasses  so  made,  as  what  image  or  favour  soever  you 
print  in  your  imagination,  you  shall  thinke  you  see  the  same  therein.  Others  are  so 
framed,  as  therein  one  may  see  what  others  doo  in  places  far  distant ;  others, 
wherby  you  shall  see  men  hanging  in  the  aire  ;  others,  whereby  you  may  perceive 
men  flieng  in  the  aire  ;  others,  wherin  you  may  see  one  comming,  &  another  going  ; 
others,  where  one  image  shall  seeme  to  be  one  hundred,  etc.  There  be  glasses  also, 
wherin  one  man  may  see  another  mans  image,  and  not  his  owne  ;  others,  to  make  manie 
similitudes  ;  others,  to  make  none  at  all.  Others,  contrarie  to  the  use  of  all  glasses,  make 
the  right  side  turne  to  the  right,  and  the  left  side  to  the  left ;  others,  that  burne 
before  and  behind  ;  others,  that  represent  not  the  images  received  within  them,  but 
cast  them  farre  off  in  the  aire,  appearing  like  aierie  images,  and  by  the  collection 
of  sunne  beames,  with  great  force  setteth  fier  (verie  farre  off)  in  everie  thing  that 
may  be  burned.  There  be  cleare  glasses  that  make  great  things  seeme  little,  things 
farre  off  to  be  at  hand ;  and  that  which  is  neere,  to  be  far  off ;  such  things  as  are 
over  us,  to  seeme  under  us ;  and  those  that  are  under  us,  to  be  above  us.  There 
are  some  glasses  also,  that  represent  things  in  diverse  colours,  &  them  most  gorgeous, 
speciallie  any  white  thing.  Finally,  the  thing  most  worthie  of  admiration  concern- 
ing these  glasses,  is,  that  the  lesser  glass  dooth  lessen  the  shape :  but  how  big  so 
ever  it  be,  it  maketh  the  shape  no  bigger  than  it  is.  And  therfore  Augustine 
thinketh  some  hidden  mysterie  to  be  therein.  ...  I  thinke  not  but  Pharaos  magicians 
had  better  experience  than  I  for  those  and  such  like  devices.  And  (as  Pompanacius 
saith)  it  is  most  true,  that  some  of  these  feats  have  been  accounted  saints,  some 
other  witches.  And  therefore  I  saie,  that  the  pope  maketh  rich  witches,  saints ; 
and  burneth  the  poore  witches.' — p.  222,  ed.  1583  ;  p.  258,  ed.  Nicholson.  It 
would  have  been  cruel  to  have  omitted  this  last  gem.  With  such  an  embarrass- 
ment of  wealth,  it  is  not  surprising  that  the  commentators  found  some  difficulty  in 
furnishing  an  exact  definition  of  '  perspective,'  or  of  specifying  the  particular  kind 
to  which  the  Duke  refers  ;  possibly,  it  is  that  'to  make  manie  similitudes.'  For  my 
part,  it  is  quite  sufficient  to  assume  that  by  '  natural  perspective '  Orsino  means  that 
an  effect  has  been  produced  by  nature  which  is  usually  produced  by  art. — ED.] 

235.  Fear'st  thou]  Sebastian  misinterprets  the  expression  of  astonishment  in 
Anthonio' s  face. 


ACTV,  sc.  i.]  OA\   WHAT  YOU  WILL  301 

OL    Moft  wonderfull. 

Seb.     Do  I  ftand  there  ?  I  neuer  had  a  brother :  240 

Nor  can  there  be  that  Deity  in  my  nature 
Of  heere,  and  euery  where.     I  had  a  fitter, 
Whom  the  blinde  waues  and  furges  haue  deuourM  : 
Of  charity,  what  kinne  are  you  to  me  ? 
What  Countreyman?  What  name?  What  Parentage  ?  245 

Uio.     Of  Mejfalme  :  Sebajlian  was  my  Father, 
Such  a  Sebajlian  was  my  brother  too  : 
So  went  he  fuited  to  his  watery  tombe  : 
If  fpirits  can  affume  both  forme  and  fuite, 
You  come  to  fright  vs.  250 

Seb.     A  fpirit  I  am  indeed, 
But  am  in  that  dimenfion  groffely  clad, 
Which  from  the  wombe  I  did  participate. 
Were  you  a  woman,  as  the  reft  goes  euen,  254 

241.  thaf\  a  Ff,  Rowe,  Pope,  Han.  247.  too]  to  Fa. 

244.  [To  Viola.    Rowe.  248.  watery]  wafry  Pope,  +  .  -watry 
kinne]  kin  F3F4.                                    Cap. 

245.  Countreyman']  Ff.  254.  goes]  goe  ¥3.    go  F3F4,  Rowe, 

246.  Meflaline  .•]  Metelin ;  Han.  Pope. 

242.  heere,  and  euery  where]  ABBOTT  (§  77,  p.  56)  connects  these  words  by 
hyphens,  and  considers  the  whole  phrase  to  be  used  as  a  noun,  meaning  '  the  divine 
attribute  of  ubiquity.' 

243.  blinde]  That  is,  pitiless  ;  inasmuch  as  they  could  not  see  the  loveliness  they 
were  destroying. 

244.  Of  charity]  See  ABBOTT  (§  169)  for  other  examplesof  '  of  used  in  appeals 
to  signify  out  of. 

245.  What  Countreyman]  ABBOTT  (§  423)  suggests  that  such  phrases  as  '  Your 
sovereignty  of  reason,'  Hamlet,  I,  iv,  73 ;  '  My  better  part  of  man,'   Macbeth,  V, 
viii,  18,  etc.,  are  perhaps  illustrated  by  the  present  phrase,  which  stands  for  '  a  man 
of  what  country  ?' 

248.   So  ...  suited]  That  is,  in  such  a  suit  of  clothes.     So  also  'suit'  in  the 
next  line. 

252.  dimension]  That  is,  bodily  shape.     See  I,  v,  259. 

253.  Which]  The  force  of   the  '  in '    in   the   preceding   line   extends  to  this 
'Which  ';  but  see  ABBOTT  (§  200)  for  the  'omission  of  the  preposition  after  some 
verbs  which  can  be  easily  regarded  as  transitive.' 

253.  participate]  SCHMIDT  (Lex.)  :  That  is,  have  in  common  with  others. — 
BRIGHTON  :  Not,  I  think,  as  Schmidt  explains  it,  but   acquired  at  my  birth  as  a 
portion  of  that  which  constitutes  me,  the  other  portion  being  my  soul.    [I  prefer 
Deighton's  explanation. — ED.] 

254.  as  the  rest  goes  euen]  W.   A.  WRIGHT  :  That  is,   as  the  rest  accords, 
agrees.     See  Cymb.  I,  iv,  47  :  '  I  was  then  a  young  traveller  ;  rather  shunned  to  go 
even  with  what  I  heard,  than  in  my  every  action  to  be  guided  by  others'  experiences.' 


TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  v,  sc.  i. 

I  mould  my  teares  let  fall  vpon  your  cheeke,  255 

And  fay,  thrice  welcome  drowned  Viola. 

Vio.     My  father  had  a  moale  vpon  his  brow. 

Seb.     And  fo  had  mine. 

Vio.    And  dide  that  day  when  Viola  from  her  birth 
Had  numbred  thirteene  yeares.  260 

Seb.     O  that  record  is  liuely  in  my  foule, 
He  finifhed  indeed  his  mortall  a£le 
That  day  that  made  my  fifter  thirteene  yeares. 

Vio.     If  nothing  lets  to  make  vs  happie  both, 
But  this  my  mafculine  vfurp'd  attyre  :  265 

Do  not  embrace  me,  till  each  circumftance, 
Of  place,  time,  fortune,  do  co-here  and  iumpe  267 

256.  And]  As  Cap.    (In  Errata  cor-  257.  brow]  brow,—  Dyce,  Huds. 
reeled  to  And}.  259.  dide}  di'd  Ff. 

thrice... Viola.]  As  a  quotation,  261.  foule,]  soul !  Cap. 

Theob.  264.  lets]  lefts  Rowe.     let's  Johns. 

257.  moale']  Moal  F4,  Rowe  i.     mole  265.  attyre  :]  attire,  Cap. 
Rowe  ii.  267.  co-here]  cohere  F3F4. 

261.  record]  For  instances  of  the  shifting  of  the  accent  from  the  first  syllable  in 
the  verb  to  the  second  syllable  in  the  noun,  see  WALKER  (  Vers.  133),  or  ABBOTT 
(§  490).  The  noun  occurs  twice  in  the  Sonnets  with  the  accent  on  the  first  syllable  : 
'  The  living  record  of  your  memory.' — 55,  8  ;  '  Of  thee,  thy  record  never  can  be 
missed.' — 122,  8.  In  the  very  next  Sonnet  (123,  Ii)  it  is  accented  on  the  last: 
'  For  thy  records  and  what  we  see  doth  lie.' 

264.  lets  to  make]  That  is,  prevents.     For  this  meaning  of  '  let '  see  Shake- 
speare passim.     For  the  construction  of  the  infinitive,  '  to  make,'  see  I,  v,  299. 

265.  masculine  vsurp'd]  WALKER   (Crit.   i,  33)  treats  this  as  a  compound 
epithet,  masculine-usurp' 'd,  and  adds  the  remark  :  '  A  contorted  phrase,  perhaps, 
but  Shakespearian.'     The  contortion  lies,  I  think,  wholly  in  Walker's  hyphen.  The 
phrase  is  not  compound  ;  the  attire  was  both  masculine  and  usurped.     Men  do  not 
usurp  their  own  clothes.     For  'usurp'  in  the  sense  of  'counterfeit,'  see  I,  v,  186. 
—En. 

267.  co-here]  Malvolio  says  '  everything  adheres  together'  (III,  iv,  8l),  that  is, 
each  circumstance  fits  another  circumstance,  like  links  in  a  chain,  so  that  the  whole 
story  hangs  together.  Here  Viola  speaks  of  time  and  place  and  fortune  as  all 
cohering  ;  that  is,  each  one  must  agree  with  the  other  two  and  form  one  consistent 
story. — ED. 

267.  iumpe]  HAI.LIWELL  gives  examples,  drawn  from  many  sources,  of  the 
use  of  'jump'  as  a  verb,  meaning  to  agree;  but  a  Concordance  would  have  fur- 
nished as  many  from  Shakespeare.  It  is  used  as  an  adverb  in  the  Qtos  of  Hamlet, 
I,  v,  65:  'Thus  twice  before,  and  jump  at  this  dead  hour.'  Again,  lago  says: 
'  My  wife  must . .  .  draw  the  Moor  apart  And  bring  him  jumpe,  where  he  may  Cassio 
find.'  II,  ii,  419. 


ACTV,  sc.  i.]  OR,  WHAT  YOU  WILL  303 

That  I  am  Viola,  which  to  confirme,  268 

He  bring  you  to  a  Captaine  in  this  Towne, 

Where  lye  my  maiden  weeds  :  by  whofe  gentle  helpe,  270 

I  was  preferu'd  to  ferue  this  Noble  Count : 

All  the  occurrence  of  my  fortune  fmce 

Hath  beene  betweene  this  Lady,  and  this  Lord. 

Seb.     So  comes  it  Lady,  you  haue  beene  miftooke : 
But  Nature  to  her  bias  drew  in  that.  275 

268.  Viola,]  Viola;  Rowe.  Han.  Ran.  Dyce  ii,  iii,  Huds. 

269.  Captaine\    captain's   Coll.   MS.  271.   Count]  Duke  Rowe,  + . 

Wh.  i,  Ktly.  272,  273.  occurrence...  HatK\  occur- 

270.  maiden     weeds']     maids     weeds  ents...Have  Han.  Mai.  conj. 
Theob.    Warb.    Johns.    Cap.  Var.   '73,  273.  (pis  Lord]  his  Lord  F3F4. 
'78,  Dyce  ii,  iii,  Huds.  Coll.  iii.    maid-  274.   [To  Oli.    Rowe. 

-weeds  Walker  (Crit.  iii,  90).  275.  drew}  true  Coll.  MS. 

271.  preferu" 'd~\     preferred    Theob. 

270.  Where]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  '  Where '  is  here  used  loosely  for  «  At  whose 
house,"  or  refers  immediately  to  'town.'  [With  this  explanation,  captain's  of  Col- 
lier's MS  Corrector  is  needless.] 

270.  maiden  weeds]  See  Text.  Notes  for  Theobald's  and  Walker's  correction 
of  the  metre. — STAUNTON  :    Perhaps  the  prosody  of  this  line  is  more  effectually 
corrected  by  adding  than  subtracting  a  syllable :  '  he  by  whose  gentle  help,'  etc. 
[The  grammar  may  be  improved,  but  it  is  difficult  to  see  how  the  prosody  is  '  more 
effectually  corrected '  by  adding  a  syllable  to  a  line  already  too  long.     Shakespeare 
constantly  uses   'weeds'   in  the  sense  of   'garments.'     Cordelia   says   to    Kent: 
'  Be  better  suited  ;  These  weeds  are  memories  of  those  worser  hours,'  etc.     The 
Prince   says  to   Claudio,   in  Much  Ado :  '  Come  let  us  hence,  and  put  on  other 
weeds,'  etc. — ED.] 

271.  preseni'd]  THEOBALD:  I  suspect,  from  the  similitude  in  the  two  words, 
•preserv'd'  and  'serve'  (a  sameness  of  sound,  which  Shakespeare  would,  probably, 
have  avoided),  the  copyists,  or  men  at  press,  committed  a  slight  mistake.     When 
the  Captain  and  Viola  first  appear  upon  the  stage,  she  says  to  him,  '  I'll  serve  this 
Duke,  Thou  shalt  present  me,'  etc.    I,  therefore,  believe  the  author  wrote  :  '  I  was 
preferred  to  serve,'   etc. — WALKER  (Crit.   iii,  go)  :  Read  preferred,  as  sound  and 
sense  both  require.   [Walker  finds  the  opposite  mistake  of  'prefer'  for  preserve  in 
/  Hen.  VI:  III,  i,   no.] — STAUNTON  :  Theobald's  emendation  is  an  undeniable 
improvement,  and  is  almost  verified  by  the  passage  which  he  quotes.   [And  yet  in 
the  text  neither  of  his  First  nor  of  his  Second  Edition  did  Staunton  adopt  it.     In 
a  modernised  text  I  should  unhesitatingly  adopt  preferred. — ED.] 

272.  occurrence]  HANMER'S  change  to  occurrents  is  extremely  plausible,  but  is 
checked  by  the  '  Hath '  in  the  next  line,  which,  however,  Hanmer  did  not  scruple 
to  change  into  Have.    W.  A.  WRIGHT  calls  attention  to  Macbeth,  I,  vii,  n,  where 
the  Folio  has  '  ingredience'  for  ingredients. 

274.  mistooke]  See  ABBOTT  (§  343)  for  many  curtailed  forms  of  past  participles, 
such  as  '  mistook  '  for  mistaken  ;  '  wrote '  for  written,  etc. 

275.  Nature  to  her  bias  drew]  A  simile  taken  from  the  game  of  bowls,  wherein 
the  term  'bias'  may  be  either  an  oblique  line  (which  hardly  applies  here)  or  the 


304  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  v,  sc.  i. 

You  would  haue  bin  contracted  to  a  Maid,  276 

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  fo,  as  yet  the  glaffe  feemes  true,  280 

I  fhall  haue  mare  in  this  moft  happy  wracke, 
Boy,  thou  haft  faide  to  me  a  thoufand  times, 
Thou  neuer  fhould'ft  loue  woman  like  to  me. 

Via.     And  all  thofe  fayings,  will  I  ouer  fweare, 
And  all  thofe  fwearings  keepe  as  true  in  fcule,  285 

As  doth  that  Orbed  Continent,  the  fire, 
That  feuers  day  from  night.  287 

276.   bin~\  been  Ff.  284.  ouer  fweare~\  over-fweare  Ff. 

279.  amaz'd,]  amadd  :  Pope.  286.   Continent,  the  fire,'}  Ff,  Rowe  i. 
blood]  bloud  F  .                                    continent  the  fire,  Theob.  Warb.  Johns. 

281.  wracke,]  wrack,  F3F4>     wreck.  continent,  the  fire  Coll.  Sta.     continent 
Rowe.  the  fire  Rowe  ii  et  cet. 

282.  [To  Viola.    Rowe.  286,  287.  fire  ...feuers}  fires...  sever 

283.  Jhould'fi]  Jhoulfl  F2.  Sing.  Hal.  Ktly. 

284.  Joy  ings, ~\  sayings  Rowe. 

lead  wherewith  the  bowls  were  loaded  on  one  side  to  give  them  a  thwart  action, 
which  by  a  player  is  to  be  either  counteracted  or  used.  '  To  draw  to  a  bias '  seems 
to  have  been  a  phrase  (and  it  may  be  so  to  this  day, — I  speak  under  correction) 
which  means  that  the  line  was  true  to  the  direction  imparted  by  the  bias.  Thus,  in 
the  present  passage,  Nature  obeyed  her  bias.  Sebastian  is  happy  in  the  thought 
that  nature  prompted  Olivia  to  fall  in  love  with  the  reflection  of  himself,  as  she  saw 
it  in  his  twin  sister,  Viola. — ED. 

280.  as  yet  the   glasse   seemes   true]  ABBOTT  (§110,  p.   78;   placing  the 
phrase  in  parenthesis,  and  printing  :  'as,  yet,  the'  etc.)  :  The  Duke  has  called  the 
appearance  of  the  twins  '  a  natural  perspective  that  is  and  is  not,'  i.  e.  a  glass  that 
produces  an  optical  delusion  of  two  persons  instead  of  one.     He  now  says :  '  if 
they  are  two,  brother  and  sister  (and  indeed,  spite  of  my  incredulity,  the  perspective 
or  glass  seems  to  be  no  delusion),  then  I  shall,'  etc.     The  curious  introduction  of 
the  'wreck'   suggests  that  the  glass  called  up  the  thought  of  the  'pilot's  glass' 
(All's  Well,  II,  i,  168).    [Is  the  introduction  of  '  wreck'  so  'curious'?     Is  it  not  a 
natural  reference  to  the  wreck  suffered  by  both  brother  and  sister,  which  in  its  event 
is  most  happy  ?    Yet  Abbott  is  certainly  correct  in  his  good  suggestion  of  the  mental 
connection  between  'glass'  and  'wreck.' — ED.] 

286,  287.  Orbed  Continent,  the  fire,  That,  etc.]  SINGER  :  The  allusion  is  to 
Genesis,  I,  14.  This  leads  us  to  the  correction  of  fires  for  'fire,'  as  required  by  the 
plural  '  swearings,'  as  well  as  clearness  of  construction.  ['  And  God  said,  Let  there 
be  lights  in  the  firmament  of  the  heaven  to  divide  the  day  from  the  night ;  and  let 
them  be  for  signs,  and  for  seasons,  and  for  days,  and  for  years.' — Genesis,  I,  14.] 
— W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  It  is  doubtful  whether  by  'orbed  continent'  is  to  be  understood 
the  sun  itself,  which  is  called  '  orbed '  from  its  globular  shape  (compare  '  the  orbed 
earth,'  Lover's  Complaint,  25),  or  the  vaulted  firmament  which  contains  the  orbs  or 


AOTV,  sc.  i.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  305 

Du.     Giue  me  thy  hand,  288 

And  let  me  fee  thee  in  thy  womans  weedes. 

Uio.     The  Captaine  that  did  bring  me  firft  on  fhore  290 

Hath  my  Maides  garments  :  he  vpon  fome  Action 
Is  now  in  durance,  at  Maluolio's  fuite, 
A  Gentleman,  and  follower  of  my  Ladies. 

Ol.     He  mall  inlarge  him  :  fetch  Maluolio  hither, 
And  yet  alas,  now  I  remember  me,  295 

They  fay  poore  Gentleman,  he's  much  diftraft. 
Enter  Clowne  with  a  Letter ;  and  Fabian. 
A  moft  extracting  frenfie  of  mine  owne  298 

292.  Is]  s  F4.  Scene  VI.  Pope,  4  . 

293.  Ladies]  Lady's  Rowe.  298.  extracting]  exacting  Ff,  Rowe, 

294.  inlarge]  Cap.    enlarge  Ff  et  cet.         Sing.  Ktly.     distracting  Han.  Coll.  ii, 

297.  Enter...]  After  line  299,  Coll.  ,         iii  (MS),  Huds.     exciting  Cartwright. 
Clowne]  the  Clowne  Ff.  engrossing  Kinnear. 

and  Fabian]  Om.  Cap. 

spheres  of  the  celestial  bodies,  '  the  fire,'  in  this  case,  being  the  sun.  It  appears  to 
be  commonly  assumed  that  the  former  view  is  the  correct  one  ;  but  as  Shakespeare 
(Corio/anus,  I,  iv,  39)  makes  Coriolanus  swear  'by  the  fires  of  heaven,'  that  is,  the 
stars  and  other  heavenly  bodies,  it  seems  more  natural  to  take  '  fire,'  in  the  present 
passage,  as  metaphorically  used  for  the  sun  and  not  the  element,  fire  ;  in  which  case, 
'  orbed  continent '  must  mean  the  firmament.  But  there  is  almost  as  much  to  be  said 
in  favour  of  one  view  as  of  the  other. — DEIGHTON  :  The  objection  [to  the  construc- 
tion which  considers  '  the  fire'  as  in  apposition  to  '  that  orbed  continent']  is  merely 
that  'keep'  would  be  used  transitively  in  the  clause  'And  all,'  etc.,  and  intransi- 
tively in  the  clause  which  is  compared  with  it,  [i.  e.  '  that  orbed  continent,  the  fire, 
That  severs,'  etc.,  keeps  (i.  e.  on  in  its  orbit)].  Compare  Marlowe  2  Tamburlaine, 
II,  iv,  2  :  'The  golden  ball  of  heaven's  eternal  fire,'  which  supports  this  interpre- 
tation. [Inasmuch  as  Shakespeare  almost  invariably  uses  'continent*  in  its  Latin 
sense,  I  prefer  to  consider  the  phrase  '  orbed  continent,  the  fire '  as  meaning  '  the 
sphere  which  contains,  or  keeps,  the  fire  (i.  e.  the  sun)  that  severs,'  etc. — ED.] 

294.  inlarge]  That  is,  set  him  at  liberty.     Thus,  Hen.  V:  II,  ii,  57  :  'We'll  yet 
enlarge  that   man,   Though   Cambridge,   Scroop,   and   Grey .  .  .  Would   have   him 
punish' d.' 

295.  I  remember  me]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  Thus,  in  the  Prayer-Book  Version  of 
Psalm  xxii,  27  :  '  All  the  ends  of  the  world  shall  remember  themselves.' 

296.  distract]  See  WALKER  (Crit.  ii,  324)  for  a  long  list  of  '  forms  of  past  tenses 
and  participles,  from  verbs  ending  in  /,  and  also  (though  less  numerous)  in  d,  where 
the  present  remains  unaltered';  such  as  waft,  heal,   start,  etc.     Seel,  i,  31  ;  or 
ABBOTT,  §  342. 

298.  extracting]  WARBURTON  :  That  is,  a  frenzy  that  drew  me  away  from  every- 
thing but  its  own  object. — MALONE  :  Thus,  in  The  Historie  of  Hamblet,  1608,  sig. 
C,  [3  verso. — W.  A.  WRIGHT]  :  'To  try  if  men  of  great  account  bee  extract  out  of 
their  wits.' — STEEVENS:  William  de  Wyrcester,  speaking  of  Henry  VI.,  says:  'it» 


306  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  v,  sc.  i. 

From  my  remembrance,  clearly  banifht  his. 

How  does  he  fi  rah  ?  300 

£7.Truely  Madam,  he  holds  Belzebub  at  the  ftaues  end  as 

well  as  a  man  in  his  cafe  may  do  :  has  heere  writ  a  letter  to 

you,  I  mould  haue  giuen't  you  to  day  morning.    But  as  a 

madmans  Epiftles  are  no  Gofpels,  fo  it  skilles  not  much 

when  they  are  deliuerM.  305 

01.     Open't,  and  read  it. 

Clo.     Looke  then  to  be  well  edified,  when  the  Foole 
deliuers  the  Madman.     By  the  Lord  Madam. 

01.     How  now, art  thou  mad? 

Clo.     No  Madam,  I  do  but  reade  madnefle  :  and  your         310 

299.  banijhf}  bani/h  Ff.  306.    Open't']    Open   it    Mai.    Steev. 

301.  Tntely]  Truly  F3F4.  Var.  Knt,  Coll.  Hal. 

302.  has']  Ff,  Wh.  i,  Dyce  i,  Cam.  308.  Madman]  Madam  F4. 
/PajRowe,  +  ,Cap.  Var.  Ran.  Sta.  'Aas  [Reads.    Rowe.        Reads    very 
Dyce  ii,  iii,  Wh.  ii.    he  has  Mai.  et  cet.  loud.    Coll.  iii. 

303.  giuerf  f\  Ff,  Rowe, +  ,  Cap.  Var.  Madam.]  Madam, —  Theob.  et 
Dyce,  Sta.  Cam.    given  it  Mai.  et  cet.  seq. 

304.  madmans']     mad    mans    F3F4,  309.  art  thou\  art  Pope,  + . 
Rowe.     mad-man's  Pope.  310.  and]  an  Pope  et  seq. 

quod  extractus  a  mente  videbatur.' — RITSON  {Remarks,  p.  67)  :  '  If  dr.  Warburton 
had  considered  his  explanation  a  single  moment  he  would  undoubtedly  have  given  it 
right,  i.  e.  a  frenzy  that  drew  every  object  but  one  out  of  my  memory.'  HUNTER 
(i,  411)  prefers  the  reading  of  the  Second  Folio,  '"A  most  exacting  frenzy,"  a 
frenzy  that  exacted  from  me  all  attention,  all  my  thoughts  and  time  ;  far  better  than 
"  extracting,"  which  seems  to  have  got  in  from  the  "  distract"  of  the  line  above.' — 
R.  G.  WHITE  (ed.  i)  :  In  Shakespeare's  day  'extracting'  was  used  in  a  sense  simi- 
lar to  that  of  distracting. — LETTSOM  (ap.  Dyce,  ed.  ii)  :  [If  it  be  as  R.  G.  White 
says]  how  does  it  happen  that  nobody  has  produced  a  second  instance  of  it  ?  why 
did  Malone  and  Steevens  attempt  to  defend  the  old  text  by  two  quotations  that  are 
nothing  to  the  purpose  ?  I  infer  that  they  had  nothing  better  to  produce.  At  any 
rate  it  is  impossible  that  Shakespeare  could  have  written  '  extracting '  in  the  sense 
of  distracting  in  this  line,  when  he  had  written  '  distract '  in  the  line  above.  He 
•vould  either  have  placed  distracting  here,  or  employed  a  word  in  no  manner  con- 
nected with  'distract,'  or  referring  to  it.  Perhaps  'extracting'  is  a  mere  printer's 
blunder  for  enchanting.  At  III,  i,  1 14,  we  have  '  After  the  last  enchantment  you 
did  here.'— The  COWDEN-CLARKES  :  To  our  minds,  there  is  a  playful  and  bewitch- 
ing effect  in  Olivia's  change  of  the  first  syllable  of  the  slightly  varying  word,  with, 
mayhap,  a  half-smiling,  half-tender  emphasis  in  her  tone  and  a  momentary  glance 
towards  her  new-trothed  husband,  as  she  utters  the  significant  confession.  [War- 
burton's  or  Ritson's  interpretation  seems  to  be  adequate. — ED.] 

302.  has]  See  Text.  Notes;  and  line  208,  above. 

304.  Epistles  are  no  Gospels]  BRIGHTON  :  An  allusion  to  the  portions  of  the 
epistles  and  gospels  in  the  sacred  canon  appointed  to  be  read  in  the  service  of  the 
Church. 


A2T  v,  sc.  i.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  307 

Ladyfhip  will  haue  it  as  it  ought  to  bee,  you  muft  allow         311 
Vox. 

01.     Prethee  reade  i'thy  right  wits. 

Clo.    So  I  do  Madona  :  but  to  reade  his  right  wits,  is  to 
reade  thus  :  therefore,  perpend  my  Princeffe,    and   giue        315 
eare. 

Ol.    Read  it  you,  firrah. 

Fab.  Reads.    By  the  Lord  Madam,  you  wrong  me,  and 
the  world  mall  know  it :  Though  you  haue  put  mee  into 
darkeneffe,  and  giuen  your  drunken  Cofine  rule  ouer  me,         320 
yet  haue  I  the  benefit  of  my  fenfes  as  well  as  your  Ladie- 
fhip.      I  haue  your  owne  letter,  that  induced  mee  to  the 
femblance  I  put  on  ;  with  the  which  I  doubt  not,   but  to 
do  my  felfe  much  right,  or  you  much  fhame  :  thinke  of 
me  as  you  pleafe.     I  leaue  my  duty  a  little  vnthought  of,         325 
and  fpeake  out  of  my  iniury.      The  madly  vs?d  Maluolio. 

01.     Did  he  write  this  f 

Clo.     I  Madame. 

Du.     This  fauours  not  much  of  diftraclion. 

OL     See  him  deliuerM  Fabian,  bring  him  hither  :  330 

312.  Vox]  oaths  Mason,    folks — or         Uncle  Rowe  ih  +  . 

volks —  Bulloch.  321.  the  benefit}  benefit  F3F4,  Rowe, 

313.  reade]  read  it  F3F4,  Rowe,  +  .  Pope,  Han. 

314.  Madona]    Madonna    Var.    '78,  326.  madly  vs'd]  madly-us'd'Vu.  '73 
Mai.  et  seq.  et  seq.  (subs.) 

317.   [To  Fabian.    Rowe.  330.   [Exit  Fabian.    Cap. 

320.   Co/me]  Cozen  F2F3>     Coz  n  F4. 

312.  Vox]  HEATH  :  This  word  hath  absolutely  no  meaning.  Perhaps  we  should 
read,  '  you  must  allow  for't';  that  is,  you  must  make  the  proper  allowances  for  the 
condition  he  is  in. — CAPELL  (i,  152)  :  The  Clown  had  enter'd  upon  his  reading  in 
a  very  extravagant  manner,  and  tells  his  lady  who  checks  him  for't,  that  voice  and 
tone  must  be  granted  him  if  she'd  have  it  read  right. — RITSON  (Remarks,  p.  68)  : 
That  is,  you  must  allow  me  the  full  and  proper  use  of  my  voice.  She  had  just 
checked  him  for  bawling  too  loud,  which  he  tells  her  is  the  right  method  of  reading 
a  madman's  letter.  [Both  Capell  and  Ritson  anticipate  Malone's  interpretation, 
albeit  to  Malone  is  given  the  sole  credit.] 

314.  his  right  wits]  JOHNSON  (  Var.  1785)  :  To  read  his  wits  right  is  to  read 
thus.    To  represent  his  present  state  of  mind,  is  to  read  a  madman's  letter,  as  I  now 
do,  like  a  madman. 

315,  316.  therefore,  perpend  my  Princesse,  and  giue  eare]  WALKER  (Crit. 
iii,  138)  :  Perhaps  from  a  tragedy  ;  though  dramatic  scraps  seem  to  be  hardly  in  the 
Clown's  way. 

325.  I  leaue  my  duty,  etc.]  DEIGHTON  :  An  allusion  to  the  subscription  of  duty 
at  the  end  of  letters  to  a  superior. 


TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  v,  sc.  k. 

My  Lord,  fo  pleafe  you,  thefe  things  further  thought  on,         331 

To  thinke  me  as  well  a  fifter,  as  a  wife, 

One  day  fhall  crowne  th'alliance  on't,  fo  pleafe  you, 

Heere  at  my  houfe,  and  at  my  proper  coft. 

Du.     Madam,  I  am  mod  apt  t'embrace  your  offer  :  335 

Your  Mafter  quits  you  :  and  for  your  feruice  done  him, 
So  much  againft  the  mettle  of  your  fex, 
So  farre  beneath  your  foft  and  tender  bree  ding, 
And  fmce  you  call'd  me  Mafter,  for  fo  long : 
Heere  is  my  hand,  you  fhall  from  this  time  bee  340 

your  Mafters  Miftris. 

01.     A  fifter,  you  are  (he.  342 

331-335-  Transposed  to  follow  342,  '73,  '78,  '85. 

Gould.  338.  breeding,'}       breeding.       Pope. 

333.  th'alliance}  Ff,  Rowe,  +,  Dyce  breeding;  Theob. 

ii,    iii.      the    alliance ;    Coll.    ii.      the  339.  long  :}  long.  Pope  et  seq. 

alliance  Cap.  et  cet.  341,  342.  Mi/Iris.    Ol.  A  fifter,  you 

on't,  fo}  an't  so  Heath,  Ran.  are  she.]    mistress,  and  his  sister  she. 

Hal.     and,  so  Coll.  ii  (MS),     oris,  so  Han. 

Dyce  ii,  iii,  Huds.  342.  Om.  Var.  '85. 

335.  f  embrace}    Ff,   Rowe,  +  ,  Coll.  yf/fc-r,]  Ff,  Rowe,  Pope,  sister, — 
Wh.  i,  Dyce  ii,  iii.     to  embrace  Cap.  Theob. +  .  sister:—  Coll.  sister? — Cap. 
et  cet.  et  cet. 

336.  [To  Viola.    Rowe.  Jhe~\  to  me  Gould. 

337.  mettle}  metal  F4,  Rowe,  + ,  Var. 

331.  these  things  further  thought  on]  DEIGHTON  supposes  that  there  is  here 
a  reference  to  '  the  business  about  Malvolio.'  I  think  that  Olivia  refers  rather  to  a 
further  consideration  of  all  that  has  just  occurred,  her  betrothal  to  Sebastian,  the 
revelation  that  Viola  is  Sebastian's  sister,  the  Duke's  inchoate  betrothal  to  Viola  by 
pledging  his  hand,  etc.  The  purpose  of  the  nominative  absolute  here  is  to  express 
a  condition  precedent,  and  is  equivalent  to  '  if  in  the  further  deliberation  of  these 
matters,  you  think  me,'  etc. — ED. 

333.  th'alliance  on't]  HEATH  (p.  194)  :  The  word  'on't,'  in  this  place,  is  mere 
nonsense.     I  doubt  not  the  poet  wrote:  'an't,  so  please  you.' — JOHNSON:  This  is 
well  conjectured  ;  but  '  on't'  may  relate  to  the  double  character  of  sister  and  wife. — 
DYCE  (ed.  ii)  :  'On't'  is  plainly  a  mistake  for  on's,  i.  e.  on  us,  equivalent  to  of  us. 
[I  see  no  need  of  change.     Olivia  assumes  that  her  own  marriage  is  certain,  and, 
with  commendable  haste,  wishes  to  silence  the  Duke's  importunities  for  ever,  by 
marrying  him  to  Viola  ;  she  therefore  says  that  if  the  Duke  thinks  as  well  of  her  for 
a  sister  (which  he  can  be  only  by  marrying  Viola)  as  he  thought  of  her  for  a  wife, 
the  family  alliance  ('the  alliance  on't')  shall  be,  by  a  double  marriage,  crowned  on 
one  and  the  same  day. — ED.] 

334.  proper]  That  is,  own. 

335.  apt]  That  is,  ready ;  as  in  line  137,  above. 

336.  quits]  That  is,  releases. 

337.  mettle]  That  is,  disposition  ;  as  in  III,  iv,  271. 


ACTV,  sc.  i.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  309 

Enter  Maluolio.  343 

Du.     Is  this  the  Madman  ? 

01.    I  my  Lord,  this  fame  :  How  now  Maluolio  ?  345 

Mai.     Madam,  you  haue  done  me  wrong, 
Notorious  wrong. 

OL     Haue  I  Maluoliot  No. 

Mai.     Lady  you  haue,  pray  you  perufe  that  Letter. 
You  muft  not  now  denie  it  is  your  hand,  350 

Write  from  it  if  you  can,  in  hand,  or  phrafe, 
Or  fay,  tis  not  your  feale,  not  your  inuention  : 
You  can  fay  none  of  this.     Well,  grant  it  then, 
And  tell  me  in  the  modeftie  of  honor, 

Why  you  haue  giuen  me  fuch  cleare  lights  of  fauour,  355 

Bad  me  come  fmiling,  and  croffe-garter'd  to  you, 
To  put  on  yellow  (lockings,  and  to  frowne 
Vpon  fir  Toby,  and  the  lighter  people  : 
And  acting  this  in  an  obedient  hope,  359 

Scene  VII.  Pope,  + .  Johns. 

343.  Enter...]    Re-enter    Fab.    with  349.  haue,}  have;  Rowe  ii. 

Malv.    Cap.  352.  feale,    not}    F2F3,    Cap.    Knt, 

344,  346.   Is   this  ...me   wrong}    As         Hal.  Dyce,  Cam.  Rife,    feal,  nor  F  , 
two   lines,    ending  fame  ...me   wrong         Rowe  et  cet. 

Cap.  Mai.  et  seq.  356.  J3ad}  Bade  Johns. 

344.  Madman}  Mad  man  F3F4.  359.  And  atfling }  And,  acting  Cap. 
346,  347.  One   line,  Theob.    Warb.  hope,}  hope  ?  F4. 

342.  A  sister]  CAPELL  (i,  152)  :  The  manner  in  which  Olivia  is  made  to  take 
cognisance  of  her  mistaken  Cesario  is  both  proper  and  delicate  ;  intimating  that  she 
would  have  more  than  a  sister's  love  for  her  from  remembrance  of  what  had  passed  : 
yet  is  this  beauty  sunk  in  the  Oxford  copy  [z.  e.  Hanmer]  by  a  proceeding  as  violent 
as  improper.  [See  Text.  Note,  341,  342.] 

343.  Enter  Maluolio]  COLLIER  (ed.  ii)  :  The  MS  Corrector  adds :  '  with  straw 
about  him,  as  from  prison.'     This  has  been  the  practice  in  modern  times,  and  it 
shows  how  old  was  the  stage-tradition,  for  the  sake  of  comic  effect. — DYCE  (Few 
Notes,  p.  77)  :  I  well  remember  that,  when  Twelfth  Night  was  revived  at  Edinburgh 
many  years  ago,  Terry,  who  then  acted  Malvolio  (and  acted  it  much  better  than  any 
one  I  have  since  seen  in  the  part),  had  '  straw  about  him,'  on  his  release  from  durance. 
[In  a  footnote,   Dyce  adds :]   That  revival  is  immortalised  by  Sir  Walter  Scott : 
'  Flora  Mac-Ivor  bore  a  most  striking  resemblance  to  her  brother  Fergus ;  so  much 
so,  that  they  might  have  played  Viola  and  Sebastian  with  the  same  exquisite  effect 
produced  by  the  appearance  of  Mrs   Henry  Siddons   and   her   brother  [William 
Murray]  in  those  characters.' — Warerley,  i,  317. 

345,  346.   How  now  .  .  .  wrong]  For  metre's  sake  WALKER  (  Vers.  174)  would 
read  '  Ma1  am,  you've  (or  more  properly  yAave).' 

351.  from  it]  That  is,  differently.     See  I,  v,  189. 

358.  lighter]  JOHNSOF  :  People  of  less  dignity  or  importance. 


3IO  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  v,  sc.  i. 

Why  haue  you  fuffer'd  me  to  be  imprifon'd,  360 

Kept  in  a  darke  houfe,  vifited  by  the  Prieft, 
And  made  the  moft  notorious  gecke  and  gull, 
That  ere  inuention  plaid  on  ?  Tell  me  why  ? 
OL     Alas  Maluolio,  this  is  not  my  writing, 

Though  I  confefle  much  like  the  Charra6ler  :  365 

But  out  of  queftion,  tis  Marias  hand. 
And  now  I  do  bethinke  me,  it  was  fhee 
Firft  told  me  thou  waft  mad  ;  then  cam'ft  in  fmiling, 
And  in  fuch  formes,  which  heere  were  prefuppos'd 
Vpon  thee  in  the  Letter  :  prethee  be  content,  370 

This  practice  hath  moft  fhrewdly  paft  vpon  thee  : 
But  when  we  know  the  grounds,  and  authors  of  it, 
Thou  fhalt  be  both  the  Plaintiffe  and  the  ludge  373 

362.  and  gull]    or  gull  Ff,    Rowe,         iii  (MS),  Wh.  Dyce  ii,  iii,  Huds.     then 
Pope,  Han.  cam1  st  thou  in  Ktly. 

363.  ere}  e'er  Rowe.  369.  formes,  which]  forms,  as  Ktly 
me]  -we  Knt  (misprint).                       conj. 

why  ?~\  why.  Mai.  et  seq.  prefuppos'd]    preimfosed    Coll. 

368.  then  cam'Jl  in]  then  cam' st  thou         ii,  iii  (MS). 
Theob. +  .    thou  cam' st  in  Ran.  Coll.  ii, 

362.  gecke]  JOHNSON  :  A  fool. — STEEVENS  :  So,  in  Cymbeline,  V,  iv,  67  :  'And 
to  become  the  geek  and  scorn  O'th'  other's  villainy.' — BRADLEY  (TV.  E.  D.)  :  Appar- 
ently adopted  from  Low  German  geek,  equivalent  to  Dutch  gek.  A  fool,  simpleton  ; 
one  who  is  befooled  or  derided,  a  dupe. 

368.  then   cam'st]  MALONE  :   That  is,   then   that  thou  cam'st   in   smiling. — 
STEEVENS  :  I  believe  the  lady  means  only  what  she  has  clearly  expressed  :  '  then 
thou  earnest  in  smiling ' ;  not  that  she  had  been  informed  of  this  circumstance  by 
Maria.     Maria's  account,  in  short,  was  justified  by  the  subsequent  appearance  of 
Malvolio.      ABBOTT  (§§400,  401)  gives  examples  of  the  omission  of  the  personal 
pronouns.     '  The  inflection  of  the  second  person  singular  allows  the  nominative  to 
be  readily  understood,  and  therefore  justifies  its  omission.'     See  I,  v,  147  ;  II,  iii, 
28,  112.  • 

369.  presuppos'd]  WARBURTON  :  For  imposed. — STEEVENS  :  It  rather  seems  to 
mean  previously  pointed  out  for  thy  imitation  ;  or  such  as  it  was  supposed  thou 
wouldst  assume  after  thou  hadst  read  the  letter.     The  supposition  was  previous  to 
the  act, 

370.  Vpon  thee]  FLEAY   (Ingleby,    The  Man,   ii,  83)  :    Read :  '  Here  in  the 
letter.'     '  Upon  thee '   has  been  mistakenly  picked  up  from  the  next  line  by  the 
compositor.     [For  a  compositor,  while  setting  up  one  line,  to  'pick  up'  two  words 
from  the  end  of  a  future  line  is  a  feat  of  malicious  legerdemain  which  cannot  be  too 
severely  reprehended.     By  this  emendation  here  is  repeated  within  four  words : 
'  here  were  presuppos'd  here  in  the  letter.'     Does  the  context  warrant  this  unusual 
emphasis  ? — ED.  ] 

371.  past  vpon  thee]  See  III,  i,  43. 


ACTV,  sc.  i.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  311 

Of  thine  owne  caufe. 

Fab.     Good  Madam  heare  me  fpeake,  375 

And  let  no  quarrell,  nor  no  braule  to  come, 
Taint  the  condition  of  this  prefent  houre, 
Which  I  haue  wondred  at.     In  hope  it  fhall  not, 
Moft  freely  I  confeffe  my  felfe,  and  Toby 

Set  this  deuice  againft  Maluolio  heere,  380 

Vpon  fome  ftubborne  and  vncourteous  parts 
We  had  conceiu'd  againft  him.     Maria  writ 
The  Letter,  at  fir  Tobyes  great  importance, 
In  recompence  whereof,  he  hath  married  her : 
How  with  a  fportfull  malice  it  was  follow'd,  385 

May  rather  plucke  on  laughter  then  reuenge, 
If  that  the  injuries  be  iuftly  weigh'd, 
That  haue  on  both  fides  paft. 

01.     Alas  poore  Foole,  how  haue  they  baffel'd  thee  ?  389 

375.  heare]  here  Fa.  ii,  iii,  Huds.  Wh.  ii. 

379.  confeffe  my  felfe\    confess,  my-  388,  389.    That... Foole ,]    One    line, 

self  Theob.  et  seq.    '  Walker. 

Toby]   Sir  Toby  Theob.  Warb.  389.  Foole']  Fool  F4.     Soul  Coll.  ii, 

Johns.  iii  (MS).      Tool  Anon.  ap.  Cam. 

382.  again/I]  in  Tyrwhitt,  Ran.  Dyce  theeV\  thee  !  Han. 

376.  let  ...  to  come]  ABBOTT  (§  349,  p.  250)  quotes  this  line  as  an  illustration 
of  the  insertion  of  '  to '  after  '  let,'  both  in  the  sense  of  suffer  and  in  that  of  hinder. 
[See  I,  v,  299.]    Here  it  is  in  the  sense  of  suffer.    [It  is  to  be  feared  that  Abbott 
has  here  overlooked  the  construction  of  ' Taint '  in  the  next  line,  which  would  have 
shown  him  that  '  to  come '  has  no  connection  whatever  with  '  let,'  but  means  '  no 
future  brawl.' — ED,] 

380-382.  Set  this  .  .  .  against  him]  ABBOTT  (§  244,  p.  165)  :  We  must  either 
explain  thus :  '  Set  this  device  against  Malvolio  here  (which  device},  Upon  some 
stubborn  and  discourteous  parts,  We  had  conceived  against  him,'  or  suppose  (more 
probably),  that  there  is  some  confusion  between  'conceiving  enmity'  and  'disliking 
parts.'  [The  latter  supposition  is,  I  think,  to  be  preferred.  Dyce  and  others  adopt 
Tyrwhitt's  emendation  of  'We  had  conceived  in  him,'  instead  of  'against  him,' 
which,  as  W.  A.  WRIGHT  says,  '  no  doubt  gives  an  easier  sense.'  — ED.] 

381.  Vpon  some  stubborne,  etc.]  That  is,  in  consequence  of  some  stubborn, 
etc.  Compare,  'When  he  shal  heare  she  dyed  vpon  his  words.' — Much  Ado, 
IV,  i,  232. 

383.  sir  Tobyes]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :    Fabian  appears  to  have  invented  this  to 
screen  Maria. 

383.  importance]  STEEVENS  :  That  is,  importunacy,  importunement. 

384.  he  hath  married  her]  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  Though  a  short  time  before  he  was 
hopelessly  drunk,  and  sent  off  to  bed  to  get  his  wounds  healed. 

387.   If  that]  See  I,  ii,  52. 

389.  poore  Foole]  There  is  a  long  and  interesting  discussion  of  this  phrase  in 


TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  v,  sc.  i. 

Clo.    Why  fome  are  borne  great,  fome  atchieue  great-         390 
neffe,and  fome  haue  greatneffe  throwne  vpon  them.      I 
was  one  fir,  in  this  Enterlude,  one  fir  Topas  fir,  but  that's 
all  one  :  By  the  Lotd  Foole,  I  am  not  mad  :  but  do  you  re~ 
member,  Madam,  why  laugh  you  at  fuch  a  barren  rafcall, 
and  you  fmile  not  he's  gag'd  :  and  thus  the  whirlegigge         395 
of  time,  brings  in  his  reuenges. 

39°»  391-  fome  •••  them]  As  a  quo-  remember,  Madam, — '  why  ...  gagg'd.' 
tation,  Theob.  Theob.  + ,  Cap.  Ran.  remember  ?  lMad- 

391.  throwne]  thrust  Theob.  +,  Coll.         am,...gagg'd'  Mai.  et  seq. 

ii  (MS).  395-  and]  an  Pope  et  seq. 

392.  Enterlude]  Interlude  Rowe.  whirlegigge]  whirle-gigge  F2F3- 
393-  By ...  mad]    As    a    quotation,         whirl-gigg    F4,    Rowe,  4- .       whirligig 

Theob.  Cap. 

Lotd]  F,.  396.  time,]  time  Rowe. 

393-395.  remember,  Madam... gag'd] 

Lear,  V,  iii,  306  (of  this  edition)  ;  the  larger  share  of  it  is,  of  course,  taken  up 
with  the  application  of  the  phrase  to  Cordelia  ;  there  is  a  general  agreement  that  it 
is  one  of  endearment,  or,  as  in  the  present  passage,  of  compassion.  WALKER,  in  a 
chapter  (Crit.  ii,  297)  on  the  'confusion  of /"and  long  s,'  quotes  the  present  pas- 
sage, as  a  possible  instance  of  that  confusion,  with  the  remark  :  '  I  have  sometimes 
thought  that  Olivia  would  not  have  called  Malvolio  by  such  a  disparaging  title,  under 
the  actual  circumstances,  but  I  much  doubt.'  COLLIER'S  MS  Corrector  substituted 
soul  for  '  foole,'  and  Collier  adopted  the  change,  because,  as  he  says,  '  Olivia  could 
never  mean  to  insult  Malvolio,  but  to  compassionate  him.' — DYCE  (ed.  ii)  :  Mr 
Collier  adopted  soul  in  the  very  face  of  the  following  passages  of  Shakespeare,  which 
demonstrate  that  '  poor  fool '  was  neither  more  nor  less  than  a  sort  of  term  of  endear- 
ment :  '  Yea,  my  lord  ;  I  thank  it  [my  heart],  poor  fool,  it  keeps  on  the  windy  side 
of  care.' — Much  Ado,  II,  i ;  '  the  poor  dappled  fools,'  etc. — As  You  Like  It,  II,  i ; 
'  So  many  weeks  ere  the  poor  fools  will  yean,'  etc. — j  Hen.  VI:  II,  v  ;  l  poor  veno- 
mous fool,  Be  angry  and  dispatch.' — Ant.  6°  Chop.  V,  ii ;  'The  poor  fool  prays  her 
that  he  may  depart,'  etc.—  Ven.  &  Ad.  578,  [and  Lear,  V,  iii,  306]. 

389.  baffel'd]  MURRAY  (N.  E.  D.)  :  Etymology,  and  even  immediate  source, 
uncertain.  Cotgrave  gives  :  '  Baffou6  :  m.  e*e  :  f.  Hoodwinked,  also,  deceiued,  also, 
besmeared,  also,  baffled,  disgraced,  vnworthily  handled,  iniuriously  vsed,  reuiled, 
reproched.' 

391.  throwne]  DYCE  (ed.  i)  :  Qy.  is  'thrown'  (instead  of  thrust}  an  oversight 
of  the  author?  or  an  error  of  the  scribe  or  printer  ?— STAUNTON  :  We  believe  it  to 
be  neither  one  nor  the  other,  but  a  purposed  variation  common  to  Shakespeare  in 
cases  of  repetition,  possibly  from  his  knowing,  by  professional  experience,  the  dif- 
ficulty of  quoting  with  perfect  accuracy. — W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  It  is  more  likely  that 
Shakespeare  was  quite  indifferent  in  the  matter,  for  in  Airs  Well,  V,  iii,  313,  where 
Helena  reads  from  a  written  letter,  she  varies  from  the  same  document  as  given 
in  III,  ii.  [See  'her  great  P's,'  II,  v,  88.] 

395.  whirlegigge]  HALLIWELL:  '  Whyrlegyge,  chyldys  game.' — Prompt.  Parv. 
[In  Shakespeare  a  'gig'  is  a  top.  Holofernes  says  to  Moth  :  'Thou  disputes!  like 
an  infant ;  go,  whip  thy  gig.'—  Love's  Lab.  L.  V,  i,  70.] 


ACTV,  sc.  i.]  OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL  313 

Mai.     He  be  reueng'd  on  the  whole  packe  of  you  ?  397 

01.     He  hath  bene  moft  notorioufly  abus'd. 

Du.     Purfue  him,  and  entreate  him  to  a  peace  : 
He  hath  not  told  vs  of  the  Captaine  yet,  400 

When  that  is  knowne,  and  golden  time  conuents 
A  folemne  Combination  fhall  be  made 
Of  our  deere  foules.     Meane  time  fweet  fifter, 
We  will  not  part  from  hence.     Cefario  come 
(For  fo  you  fhall  be  while  you  are  a  man:)  40$ 

But  when  in  other  habites  you  are  feene, 
Or/zno's  Miftris,  and  his  fancies  Queene.  Exeunt 

Clowne  Jings.  408 

397.  you  ?~\  you.    Ff.      you.    [Exit]  Han. 

Rowe.  408.  fings]  Sings  to  pipe  and  tabor. 

401.  conuents~\  convenes  Quincy  MS.  Coll.    MS.       Epilogistic    Song   by   the 

403.  Meane  time~\  In  the  mean  time  Clown.  Hal. 

397.  HAZLITT  (p.  264)  :  If  poor  Malvolio's  treatment  is  a  little  hard,  poetical 
justice  is  done  in  the  uneasiness  which  Olivia  suffers  on  account  of  her  mistaken 
attachment  to  Cesario,  as  her  insensibility  to  the  violence  of  the  Duke's  passion  is 
atoned  for  by  the  discovery  of  Viola's  concealed  love  of  him. 

399.  peace]  BOAS  (p.  324)  :  We  scarcely  share  the  Duke's  trust  that  Malvolio 
may  be  entreated  to  a  peace.  The  self-love  of  natures  such  as  his  cannot  be  hum- 
bled by  outward  defeat.  He  belongs  to  the  stiff-necked  generation,  which  learns 
nothing  and  forgets  nothing. 

401.  conuents]  STEEVENS  :  Perhaps  we  should  read,  consents.  To  'convent,' 
however,  is  to  assemble  ;  and  therefore,  the  count  may  mean,  when  the  happy  hour 
calls  us  again  together. — DOUCE  :  That  is,  shall  serve,  agree,  be  convenient.  [DYCE 
(Gloss.}  quotes  this  definition  without  dissent.] — HALLIWELL  :  That  is,  calls,  sum- 
mons us. — W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  There  is  no  evidence  for  the  meaning  '  agrees,  is  suit- 
able,' though  the  analogy  of  'convenient'  may  have  been  in  Shakespeare's  mind. 
From  '  convent,'  to  summon,  the  transition  is  easy  to  the  following  passage  in  Beau- 
mont &  Fletcher,  The  Knight  of  Malta,  I,  iii,  where  'conventing'  signifies  'meet- 
ing by  summons':  "Tis  well.  Our  next  occasion  of  conventing  Are  these  two 
gentlemen.' 

403.  sister]  This  line  lacks  a  syllable,  unless  'dear'  be  pronounced  de-ar. 
WALKER  (  Vers.  209)  thought  that  possibly  '  sister'  may  have  been,  in  one  or  two 
passages,  a  trisyllable.  One  of  these  passages  is  in  As  You  Like  It,  IV,  iii,  91  : 
'Like  a  ripe  sister';  another  is  in  the  present  line.  'Can  Shakespeare,'  he  asks, 
'  have  written  sister-in-law  by  anticipation?  It  is  well  known  that  words  sometimes 
drop  out  at  the  end  of  a  line  in  the  Folio.  Yet  this  seems  harsh.'  '  Harsh  '  is  not 
strong  enough. — ED. 

407.  fancies]  That  is,  love  ;  see  I,  i,  17. 

408.  Clowne  sings]  WARBURTON  :  This  wretched  stuff  not  Shakespeare's,  but 
the  Players  ! — CAPELL  :   Either  this  song  was  one  then  in  vogue,  which  he  who  per- 


TWELFE  NIGHT 


[ACT  v,  sc.  i. 


[408.  Clowne  sings.] 

sonated  the  Clown  (Mr  Kemp,  perhaps)  might  be  famous  for  singing;  or  else,  the 
composition  of  him,  the  said  Clown,  and  so  lug'd  into  the  play,  without  rime  or 
reason;  or  if  indeed  Shakespeare's  writing, — of  which  it  has  small  appearance, — 
a  thing  idly  drop'd  from  him  upon  some  other  occasion,  and  recommended  by  the  air 
it  was  set  to  ;  for  to  the  play  it  has  no  relation  ;  nor  is  it  suitable  to  the  person  'tis 
given  to,  who  is  a  wag  and  no  fool,  and  therefore  cannot  with  any  propriety  be  made 
the  retailer  of  so  much  nonsense  as  is  contain'd  in  this  song.  .  .  .  The  concluding 
stanza  is  made  to  epilogize,  is  intelligible,  and  something  in  character,  for  its  con- 
nection with  those  that  preceed  it  is  a  meer  badinage :  But  what  connection  there  is, 
or  what  propriety,  in  the  burden  of  the  stanza's,  it  will  be  hard  to  discover  ;  unless 
we  shall  be  pleas' d  to  admit,  that  the  sorrows  of  life,  and  the  troubles  which  attend 
it  throughout,  are  alluded-to  in  the  words  of  the  burden. — FARMER  :  Here  again  we 
have  an  old  song,  scarcely  worth  correction. — STEEVENS  :  It  is  scarce  credible  that, 
after  Shakespeare  had  cleared  his  stage,  he  should  exhibit  his  Clown  afresh,  and  with 
so  poor  a  recommendation  as  this  song,  which  is  utterly  unconnected  with  the  subject 
of  the  preceding  comedy.  I  do  not  hesitate  to  call  the  nonsensical  ditty  before  us, 
some  buffoon  actor's  composition,  which  was  accidentally  tacked  to  the  prompter's 
copy  of  Twelfth  Night,  having  been  casually  subjoined  to  it  for  the  diversion,  or  at 
the  call,  of  the  lowest  order  of  spectators. — KNIGHT  :  We  hold  this  song  to  be  the 
most  philosophical  Clown's  song  upon  record:  and  a  treatise  might  be  written  upon 
its  wisdom.  It  is  the  history  of  a  life,  from  the  condition  of  '  a  little  tiny  boy,' 
through  'man's  estate,'  to  decaying  age, — 'when  I  come  unto  my  bed';  and  the 
conclusion  is,  that  what  is  true  of  the  individual  is  true  of  the  species,  and  what  was 
of  yesterday  was  of  generations  long  past  away, — for  'A  great  while  ago  the  world 
begun.' — STAUNTON:  It  is  to  be  regretted,  perhaps,  that  this  'nonsensical  ditty,'  as 
Steevens  terms  it,  has  not  been  long  since  degraded  to  the  footnotes.  It  was  evi- 
dently one  of  those  jigs,  with  which  it  was  the  rude  custom  of  the  Clown  to  gratify 
the  groundlings  upon  the  conclusion  of  a  play.  These  absurd  compositions,  intended 
only  as  a  vehicle  for  buffoonery,  were  usually  improvisations  of  the  singer,  tagged  to 
some  popular  ballad-burden, — or  the  first  lines  of  various  songs  strung  together  in 
ludicrous  juxtaposition,  at  the  end  of  each  of  which,  the  performer  indulged  in 
hideous  grimace,  and  a  grotesque  sort  of  'Jump  Jim  Crow'  dance. — R.  G.  WHITE 
(ed.  ii)  :  This  clown  was  a  singing  clown;  a  functioner  on  Shakespeare's  stage 
whose  position  was  as  clearly  defined  as  that  of  the  singing  chambermaid  is  on  our 
own.  This  song  was  one  of  those  with  which  he  was  in  the  habit  of  amusing  the 
groundlings.  It  is  none  of  Shakespeare's. — CHAPPELL  (p.  225)  :  This  song  is  still 
sung  on  the  stage  to  this  tune.  It  has  no  other  authority  than  theatrical  tradition. — 
HALLIWELL  :  It  may  be  doubted  whether  it  be  really  the  original  which  was  used  in 
Shakespeare's  own  time. 


When  that  I    was    a         Ht-tle  ti-ny  boy,  With  a  heigh     ho  !  the  wind  and  the  rain,  A 


@E 


ACT  V,  SC.  i.] 


OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL 


315 


When  that  I  was  and  a  little  tine  boy, 
with  hey,  ho,  the  winde  and  the  raine  : 

AfooliJJi  thing  was  but  a  toy, 

for  the  raine  it  raineth  euery  day. 


409.  and  a]  an  a  Theob.  i.    a  Theob. 
ii,  Warb.  Johns.  Var.  '73. 


409.  tine]  tiny  Rowe  ii  et  seq. 


fool  -  ish  thing  was     but  a  toy,   For  the      rain    it    rain-eth         ev'  -  ry      day.  With  a 


heigh      hoi  the       wind    and  the  rain,  And  the  rain    it    rain-eth       ev  -  ery       day. 


*\ 

409.  When  that]  See  I,  ii,  52. 

409.  and  a]  ABBOTT  (§§95,  96)  explains  this  as  an  emphatic  use  for  also,  even, 
and  that  too.  It  may  be  so,  but  I  prefer  to  consider  it  as  a  meaningless  redundant 
expression,  not  uncommon  in  old  ballads,  where  some  syllables  are  needed  to  com- 
plete the  measure.  Thus  in  The  fair  Flower  of  Northumberland :  'She's  gane 
down  to  her  father's  stable,  Oh  my  dear,  and  my  love  that  she  wan.' — Child's 
Ballads,  i,  1 1 6. 

409.  tine]  SKEAT  (Athenaum,  21  July,  1900)  :  The  word  tiny  has  never  been 
satisfactorily  explained.  I  believe  I  have  made  three  discoveries  about  it,  of  which 
only  the  last  has  been  hitherto  noticed.  I.  It  was  originally  never  spelt  with  a  final 
-y,  but  only  with  a  final  -e.  2.  It  was  originally  a  substantive.  3.  It  is  seldom 
(if  ever)  used  in  any  old  writer  without  the  word  little  preceding  it.  That  is,  the 
correct  old  phrase  was  '  a  little  tine,'  the  word  '  tinfc '  being  properly  disyllabic,  as 
at  present,  though  it  was  sometimes  actually  treated  as  a  monosyllable.  It  occurs 
four  times  in  Shakespeare.  In  each  instance  it  is  spelt  with  a  final  e  in  the  First 
Folio ;  but  it  is  used  as  an  adjective.  The  four  references  are  :  [The  present  pas- 
sage] ;  '  any  pretty  little  tine  kickshaws,' — 2  Hen.  IV:  V,  i,  29;  'my  little  tyne 
thief,' — id.  V,  Hi,  60  ;  '  a  little  tyne  wit,' — Lear,  III,  ii,  274.  In  the  two  following 
instances  it  is  also  an  adjective :  '  Littell  tine  child '  and  '  littell  tyne  child,'  in  a 
Coventry  pageant  printed  by  Sharp  ;  see  note  to  Coventry  Mysteries,  ed.  Halliwell, 
p.  414.  So  also  in  '  a  litill  tyne  egg,' —  Wars  of  Alexander,  ed.  Skeat,  1.  507.  But 
the  following  examples  show  that  it  was  once  a  substantive.  In  the  first  instance  the 


3I6  TWELFE  NIGHT  [ACT  v,  sc.  i. 

But  when  I  came  to  mans  eflate,  413 

with  hey  ho ,  &c. 
Gainjl  Knaues  and  TJieeues  men  fliut  their  gate,  415 

for  the  raine,&c. 

But  when  I  came  alas  to  wiue, 

with  hey  ho,&c. 
By  fwaggering  could  I  neuer  thriue, 

for  the  raine  ,&c.  420 

414,  418.  hey  ho,]  hey,  ho,  Ff.  MrV/'Farmer,  Ran.  Steev.  Huds. 

415.  Gainft]  'Gainft  F3F4.  417.  alas]  at  last  Rowe,  Pope. 
Knaues  andTheeues]  knave  and 

spelling  is  late  and  incorrect :  '  Thou  hast  striken  the  Lord  of  Learne  A  litle  tinye 
aboue  the  knee.' — Percy  Folio  MS,  i,  192,  1.  272.  'he  was  constreynd  A  lytyll 
tyne  abak  to  make  abew  retret.' — Lydgate,  Assembly  of  the  Gods,  1.  1063.  '  A  lytyll 
tyne  his  ey  castyng  hym  besyde.' — The  same,  1.  1283.  '  Sir,  I  pray  you  a  lytyll 
tyne  stande  backe.' — Skelton,  Garlande  of  Laurell,  1.  505.  '  For  when  prouender 
prickt  them  a  little  tine.' — Heywood,  Dialogues,  etc.,  sig.  D.,  Works,  ed.  1598. 
Heywood  certainly  considered  it  as  a  monosyllable,  for  he  rhymes  it  with  'fine'  (as 
quoted  in  the  last  edition  of  Nares)  :  '  Freendes,  I  perceyve  the  ants  tale  (more 
false  than  fine)  Makth  you  your  owne  shadowes  to  dread,  as  it  weare,  To  prosede 
in  war;  but  stey  a  litle  tine.' — Heywood,  Spider  and  Flie,  1556.  This  is  enough 
to  show  that  the  correct  old  phrase  was  'a  little  tine,'  with  the  sense  'a  little  bit'; 
and  that  the  word  tine  was  originally  a  substantive,  as  well  as  originally  disyllabic, 
and  should  in  modern  English  have  been  represented  by  tinee,  not  by  tiny.  For  the 
adjectival  use  we  have  the  exact  parallel  in  '  a  bit  bread '  or  '  a  bit  paper ' ;  in  '  his 
wee  bit  ingle '  in  Burns  ;  and  in  '  the  bit  callant '  in  Scott.  See  Ar.  E.  Diet,  under 
'  Bit,'  §  9.  As  to  the  suffix  ee,  it  is  tolerably  common,  as  in  feoffee,  guarantee, 
patentee,  committee,  and  the  rest ;  it  invariably  represents  the  French  pp.  masculine 
suffix  -/,  or  the  feminine  suffix  -ee.  Hence  it  is  certain  that  tinee  is  a  word  of  French 
origin.  Only  one  such  word  is  known,  viz.,  the  Old  French  tinee,  feminine,  mean- 
ing '  the  content  of  a  vessel  called  a  tine.'1  Mistral's  Provencal  Diet,  gives  tinado, 
translated  by  '  cuve*e ' ;  and  it  must  be  remembered  that  tinado  is  feminine,  and  rep- 
resents a  late  Latin  form  tinata.  Properly  speaking,  a  tine  was  a  huge  vat  of  vast 
dimensions,  but  its  size  varied  almost  indefinitely.  The  nearest  English  equivalent 
is  'tubfuP;  but  tubs  are  of  all  sizes.  Thus  Torriano,  Ital.  Diet.,  prudently  defines 
tina  as  'any  great  tun,  stand,  wooden  vat,  tub,  tray,  or  bowl';  so  that,  after  all,  it 
might  come  down  to  the  size  of  '  a  bowl.'  But  the  very  fact  that  a  tine  was  usually 
a  large  tub,  and  a  tinee  was  a  large  tubful,  made  it  necessary,  when  the  size  intended 
was  jmall,  to  prefix  the  word  little.  This  was  safe,  because  a  little  tinee  was  neces- 
sarily the  contents  of  a  small  tine,  and  meant  no  more  than  a  little  quantity  or  a 
little  bit.  It  easily  became  vague,  because  the  substantive  tine  (used  once  by 
Chaucer)  was  little  understood. 

415.  Knaues  and  Theeues]  FARMER  :  This  must  evidently  be,  knave  and 
thief.  When  I  was  a  boy,  my  folly  and  mischievous  actions  were  little  regarded ; 
but  when  I  came  to  manhood,  men  shut  their  gates  against  me,  as  a  knave  and  a 


ACT  V,  SC.  i.] 


OR,   WHAT  YOU  WILL 


But  when  I  came  vnto  my  beds, 

with  hey  ho,&c. 
With  tojpottes  flill  had  drunken  headest 

for  the  raine}  &c. 

A  great  while  ago  the  world  began , 

hey  /w,  &c. 
But  that's  all  one,  our  Play  is  done , 

and  wee'ljlriue  to  pleafe  you  euery  day. 


317 
421 


425 
428 


FINIS. 

421-423.  beds  ...  heades]  bed...  head 
Han.  Ran.  Steev.  Var.  Knt,  Coll.  Wh. 
Hal.  Dyce,  Ktly,  Huds. 

422.  hey  ho]  hey,  ho  F2F4.    he,  ho  F3. 

423.  tofpottes]    Tofpots    Ff.       Toss- 
pots  Rowe  ii. 

ftill  had]   /  had  Han.     still  I 


hadCo\\.  ii,  iii  (MS). 

423.  drunken]     broken    Anon.     ap. 
Cam. 

425.  begon]  F3.     be-gon  F3    begone 
F4-     begun  Rowe. 

426.  hey  ho,]  with  hey,  ho,  Ff. 
428.   [Exit.    Rowe. 


thief. — DYCE  (ed.  ii)  :  Farmer  required  greater  precision  of  language  than  is  to  be 
looked  for  in  such  a  composition. 

421.  my  beds]  HALLIWELL:  'It  is  said  among  the  folkes  heere,  that  if  a  man 
die  in  his  infansy,  hee  hath  onely  broke  his  fast  in  this  world.  If  in  his  youth,  hee 
hath  left  us  at  dinner.  That  it  is  bedde  time  with  a  man  at  three  score  and  tenne.' — 
Overbury's  New  and  Chaise  Characters,  1615.  [Newes  from  the  lower  end  of  the 
Table,  ed.  1627.] 

428.  wee'l  striue  to  please  you  euery  day.]  WEISS  (p.  204)  :  When  the  play 
is  over,  the  Duke  plighted  to  his  page,  Olivia  rightly  married  to  the  wrong  man,  and 
the  whole  romantic  ravel  of  sentiment  begins  to  be  attached  to  the  serious  conditions 
of  life,  Feste  is  left  alone  upon  the  stage.  Then  he  sings  a  song  which  conveys  to  us 
his  feeling  of  the  world's  impartiality  ;  all  things  proceed  according  to  law  ;  nobody 
is  humoured ;  people  must  abide  the  consequences  of  their  actions,  '  for  the  rain  it 
raineth  every  day.'  A  '  little  tiny  boy  '  may  have  his  toy  ;  but  a  man  must  guard 
against  knavery  and  thieving ;  marriage  itself  cannot  be  sweetened  by  swaggering  ; 
whoso  drinks  with  '  toss-pots '  will  get  a  '  drunken  head ' ;  it  is  a  very  old  world, 
and  began  so  long  ago  that  no  change  in  its  habits  can  be  looked  for.  The  grave 
insinuation  of  this  song  is  touched  with  the  vague,  soft  bloom  of  the  play.  As  the 
noises  of  the  land  come  over  sea  well-tempered  to  the  ears  of  islanders,  so  the 
world's  fierce,  implacable  roar  reaches  us  in  the  song,  sifted  through  an  air  that 
hangs  full  of  the  Duke's  dreams,  of  Viola's  pensive  love,  of  the  hours  which  music 
flattered.  The  note  is  hardly  more  presageful  than  the  cricket's  stir  in  the  late 
silence  of  a  summer.  How  gracious  has  Shakespeare  been  to  mankind  in  this 
play  !  He  could  not  do  otherwise  than  leave  Feste  all  alone  to  pronounce  its  bene- 
diction. [It  is  delightful  to  find  a  reader,  since  Knight,  on  whom  the  charm  of 
this  song  is  not  lost. — ED.] 


APPENDIX 


APPENDIX 


THE   TEXT 

THE  excellent  state  of  the  TEXT  of  this  play  has  been  noticed  in  the  Preface  to 
the  present  volume.  Indeed,  its  excellence  has  been  so  taken  for  granted  that 
beyond,  possibly,  the  remark  that  the  play  is  to  be  found  only  in  the  Folio,  COLLIER, 
DYCE,  SINGER,  STAUNTON,  HALLIWELL,  HUDSON,  W.  A.  WRIGHT,  and  DEIGHTON 
make  no  reference  to  it.  KNIGHT  remarks  that,  '  with  the  exception  of  a  few  raani- 
'  fest  typographical  errors,  the  original  copy  is  remarkably  correct ' 


DATE  OF  COMPOSITION 

THE  discovery  of  Manningham's  Diary,  announced  by  COLLIER,  in  1831,*  dis- 
proved all  dates  previously  proposed  for  the  Composition  of  the  present  play.  Man- 
ningham  witnessed  a  performance  of  Twelfth  Night  on  'Feb.  2,  1601';  inasmuch 
as  the  new  year  then  began  on  the  25th  day  of  March,  this  February,  instead  of 
being  the  last  month  of  1601,  is,  according  to  our  present  reckoning,  the  second 
month  of  1602.  This  date  is  the  latest  limit,  therefore,  before  which  this  play  must 
have  been  written.  Those  who  believe  that  in  the  list  given  by  Meres  all  the  plays 
are  mentioned  which  had,  at  that  time,  been  written  by  Shakespeare,  find  in  the 
date  of  Wits  Commonwealth,  1598,  an  earliest  limit.  This  space  of  four  years 
is  again  diminished  by  those  who  believe  that  in  Maria's  comparison  of  Mal- 
volio's  smiles  to  'the  new  map'  (III,  ii,  79,  80),  a  direct  allusion  is  made  to  a  map 
published  in  1599-1600.  Hereby  the  term  is  narrowed  to  about  three  years, — close 
enough  to  satisfy  all  but  the  most  exacting,  especially  when  we  remember  that  two 
or  three  other  plays  must  be  also  therein  included. 

The  subject  has  been  dealt  with  in  a  general  way  in  the  Preface  to  the  present 
Tolume.  The  notes  by  Editors  and  Critics,  on  the  question,  which  have  been 
deemed  worthy  of  preservation,  are  to  be  found  on  the  following  pages, — all  notes 
written  before  the  discovery  of  Manningham's  Diary  have  been  omitted,  albeit  the 
dates  for  which  they  pleaded  will  be  found  in  the  recapitulation  at  the  close  : — 

COLLIER  (Hist,  of  Eng.  Dram.  Poetry,  1831,  i,  327)  :  This  comedy  was  indis- 
putably written  before  1602,  for  in  February  of  that  year  it  was  an  established  play, 
and  so  much  liked  that  it  was  chosen  for  performance  at  the  Reader's  Feast  on  Can- 
dlemas day,  at  the  Inn  of  Court  to  which  the  author  of  this  Diary  belonged — most 
likely  the  Middle  Temple,  which  at  that  date  was  famous  for  its  costly  entertain- 
ments. [Here  follows,  published  for  the  first  time,  the  extract  from  Manningham's 
Diary,  given  in  the  Preface  to  the  present  volume.  Collier  read  one  sentence  erron- 
eously ;  instead  of  'prescribing  his  gesture  in  smiling,  his  apparaile,  etc.,'  he  read, 

*  Hist,  of  Eng.  Dram.  Poetry,  i,  327.     See  Preface  to  the  present  volume. 
21  321 


322 


APPENDIX 


1  prescribing  his  gestures,  inscribing  his  apparaile,  etc.'  Collier  then  proceeds  :]  At 
this  date,  we  may  conclude  with  tolerable  safety  that  Twelfth  Night  had  been 
recently  brought  out  at  the  Black-friars  Theatre,  and  that  its  excellence  and  success 
had  induced  the  managers  of  the  Readers  Feast  to  select  it  for  performance,  as  part 
of  the  entertainment  on  that  occasion.  There  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that  any  of 
Shakespeare's  productions  were  represented  for  the  first  time  anywhere  but  at  a 
theatre.  *  The  Comedy  of  Errors,  noticed  in  the  preceding  extract,  was  no  doubt 
also  Shakespeare's  work  mentioned  by  Meres  in  1598,  and  not  the  old  History  of 
Error  performed  at  Hampton  Court  in  1576-7. 

HUNTER  (1845,  i,  380)  agrees  with  Steevens  that  there  is  an  allusion  to  Twelfth 
Night  in  Every  Man  Out  of  his  Humour,  and  as  Jonson's  play  was  performed  in 
1599,  to  this  year  he  assigns  the  present  play,  and  finds  additional  evidence  in  the 
publication  in  this  year  of  Harsnet's  Discovery  of  the  fraudulent  practices  of  John 
Darrel,  etc.  The  connection  which  Hunter  detects  between  Shakespeare  and 
Harsnet  is,  I  think,  of  the  slightest.  The  fraudulent  practices  of  John  Darrell 
consisted  in  driving  out  by  exhortation  and  prayer  several  devils  which  infested  the 
household  of  Nicholas  Starkey  or  Starchy.  Hunter  gives  from  Harsnet  a  full  account 
of  the  proceedings,  which  is  interesting  as  a  report  by  a  layman  of  a  case  of  hysteria 
(often  called  now-a-days  'Spiritualism';  indeed,  Starchy' s  children  manifested 
many  of  the  symptoms  presented  by  a  modern  '  spiritualist  medium ' ).  It  is  narrated, 
that  when  the  Bible  was  brought  in  'they  shouted  in  a  scoffing  manner  "  Bible-bable, 
' "  Bible-bable,"  continuing  this  cry  for  some  time.  This  was  accompanied  by  strange 
'and  supernatural  whooping,  so  loud  that  the  house  and  ground  shook  again.' 
Another  account  of  the  affair  relates  the  same  circumstance:  'When  we  called  for 
'a  bible,  they  fell  a  laughing  at  it,  and  said,  "  Reach  them  the  bibble-babble,  bibble- 
'  "  babble."  '  It  is  in  the  use  of  this  phrase  that  Hunter  finds  one  of  the  filaments 
connecting  Harsnet's  Discovery  with  Twelfth  Night.  When  Sir  Topas  is  exorcising 
the  spirit  from  the  lunatic  Malvolio  (IV,  ii,  98 ),  he  tells  him  to  leave  his  '  vain  bibble- 
'  babble,'  and  the  recurrence  of  these  words  would  be  striking  were  not  the  phrase 
so  common.  Fluellen,  in  Henry  V,  gives  it  a  Welsh  pronunciation :  '  pibble-pabble.' 
The  second  circumstance  pointing  to  Harsnet  is  the  phrase  '  the  lady  of  the  Strachy,' 
which  Hunter  conjectures  was  introduced  by  Shakespeare  '  on  account  of  its  near 
'  resemblance  to  the  name  of  Starchy,  and  as  a  kind  of  intimation  early  in  the  play 
'  that  the  audience  might  expect  something  on  what  was  at  the  time  a  topic  of  no 
'small  public  interest.' 

W.  W.  LLOYD  (Singer's  Second  Edition,  1856,  p.  489)  :  In  the  year  1600  the 
puritanical  city  magistrates  obtained  an  order  from  the  Privy  Council  restricting 
stage  performances,  which  whether  enforced  or  not  must  have  been  an  interruption 
and  an  inconvenience.  It  has  been  thought  that  some  retaliation  is  apparent  in  the 
portrait  of  the  sour  mar-mirth  Malvolio,  who,  according  to  Maria,  is  '  sometimes  a 
'  sort  of  a  puritan.'  If  such  were  intended  it  is  good  humoured  and  gentle  enough, 
and  of  a  very  different  tone  to  the  satire  of  Ben  Jonson  on  the  same  class,  so  far  as 
I  have  had  the  perseverance  to  read. 

CHAPPELL  (1856?,  p.  209)  :  Inasmuch  as  the  tune  of  «O  mistress  mine'  is  to 
be  found  in  print  in  1599,  [see  Note,  II,  iii,  42],  it  proves  either  that  Twelfth  Night 
was  written  in  or  before  that  year,  or  that,  in  accordance  with  the  then  prevailing 
custom,  «O  mistress  mine"  was  an  old  song,  introduced  into  the  play.  [The  music, 
which  was  not  given  in  the  Commentary  at  II,  iii,  42,  is  here  copied  from  Chap- 
pell:] 


DATE   OF  COMPOSITION 

Moderate  time  and  very  smoothly. 


323 


O  mis-tress  mine,    where         are  you  roam  -  ing  ?       O  mis-tress  mine, 


rail. 


fe 


^ 


BE 


~5~ 

where        are      you  roam  -  ing?      O  stay    and    hear;     your         true  love  s  coming 


That     can      sing     both  high  and  low :  Trip     no          fur-ther,     pret-ty  sweet  -  ing, 


Jour  -  ney's    end       in    lovers  meeting,  Ev'  -  ry        wise  man's    son       doth  know. 


frtTQj  ll~^p 


BATHURST  (1857,  p.  88)  :  Twelfth  Night  \s  in  the  perfect,  or  middle,  style  of 
metre  [z.  e.  where  there  is  entire  boldness  and  freedom],  with  rather  a  leaning  to  the 
older  unbroken.  In  one  speech,  seven  lines  out  of  twenty-one  have  double  endings. 
Except  the  priest's  speech  near  the  end,  no  passage  of  enumeration  (like  that  about 
Dr  Pinch,  or  Hamlet's  on  grief),  no  monosyllables  at  the  end,  a  little  continued 
rhyme ;  verses  somewhat  broken,  but  often  not  (chiefly  at  the  end  of  speeches, 
which  in  The  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,  e.  g.  they  scarcely  ever  are),  but  not 
broken,  in  general,  to  much  effect.  The  speeches  sometimes  consist  of,  oftener 
end  in,  rhymes,  very  naturally.  I  must  have  drowned  my  book  '  Deeper  than  did 
ever  plummet  sound,'  if  this  play  had  been  his  last,  or  The  Winters'  Tale  had  been 
written  in  1604.  as  was  once  believed. 


324 


APPENDIX 


[In  'The  Order  of  Shakspere's  Plays,'  by  F.  J.  FURNIVALL,  Twelfth  Night  is 
placed  in  the  Second  Period  (?  1595-1601),  and  in  the  Third  Group  of  '  Sunny-  or 
'Sweet-time  Comedies,'  with  Much  Ado  and  As  You  Like  It  as  companions. — ED.] 

FLEAY  {Shakespeare  Manual,  1876,  p.  227) :  In  order  to  examine  into  the  ques- 
tion of  the  date  of  Twelfth  Night,  it  is  first  necessary  to  consider  the  structure  of 
the  plot.  There  are  two  distinct  plots  in  it,  as  in  Troylus  and  Cressida  there  are 
three.  In  Shakespeare's  usual  practice,  where  there  are  two  plots,  as  in  Lear,  they 
are,  even  when  derived  from  distinct  sources,  so  interwoven  that  it  is  impossible  to 
disentangle  one  of  them  and  present  it  separately.  But  this  is  not  the  case  in 
[  Twelfth  Night  and  Troylus  and  Cressida\.  Just  as  the  story  of  Troylus'  love  is 
separable  from  that  of  Ajax's  pride  and  Achilles'  wrath,  so  is  the  story  of  Viola,  the 
Duke  and  Olivia,  separable  from  that  of  Malvolio,  Sir  Toby  and  Maria.  Wherever 
this  is  the  case,  one  of  three  conclusions  must  be  drawn  :  either  the  play  has  been 
written  at  two  periods  (as  I  think  this  is  the  case  here)  ;  or  by  two  authors,  which 
is  not  the  case  here ;  or  it  is  an  inferior  piece  of  work,  which  is  also  not  the  case 
here.  The  characters  that  belong  to  what  I  consider  the  early  part  of  the  play  are, 
the  Duke,  Sebastian,  Antonio,  Viola,  Olivia,  Curio,  Valentine,  and  the  Captain. 
The  part  of  the  play  in  which  they  enter  is  I,  i,  ii,  iv,  v  (part) ;  II,  i,  ii,  iv ;  III,  i 
(part),  iii,  iv  (part)  ;  IV,  i  (part),  iii ;  V,  i.  This  can  be  cut  out  so  as  to  make  a 
play  of  itself  entirely  independent  of  the  other  characters,  which  is  the  infallible 
sign  of  priority  of  composition. 

This  part  of  the  play  is  full  of  the  young,  fresh,  clear  poetry  of  Shakespeare's 
early  time,  the  time  of  The  Midsummer  Nighfs  Dream,  his  first  period.  The  other 
part  is  that  of  the  man  of  the  world,  the  satirist ;  kindly  and  good  humoured,  but 
still  the  satirist.  All  this  latter  part  is  added  by  Shakespeare  himself ;  it  is  from  the 
same  mint  as  Falstaff  and  his  companions,  the  same  as  Pistol  and  Parolles.  For  the 
play  of  Air s  Well  that  Ends  Well  in  like  manner  divides  into  two  parts.  ...  In 
both  these  plays,  too,  the  early  part  has  been  revised ;  and  Airs  Well  has  been 
nearly  rewritten,  so  that  the  old  play  has  been  broken  up,  and  only  pieces  of  it  can 
be  recognised  as  boulders  imbedded  in  the  later  strata  ;  in  Twelfth  Night,  the  strati- 
fication has  not  been  disturbed  ;  only  the  surface  has  been  denuded  and  scratched  a 
little,  and  some  new  material  has  been  deposited  here  and  there. 

The  first  indication  I  have  found  of  this  date  is  in  II,  iv,  4,  where  Viola  was 
evidently  intended  to  be  the  singer.  [Fleay's  remarks  are  given  in  the  Commentary 
on  the  line ;  see  also  II,  iv,  59,  for  another  explanation.  No  second  indication  is 
offered  to  us,  other  than  the  learned  critic's  personal  certainty.  He  continues:] 
The  character  in  style  is  not  pronounced  enough  to  fix  the  date  of  any  portion.  I 
feel  certain  myself  that  the  prose  part  is  of  the  same  time  as  As  You  Like  It  and 
Much  Ado  about  Nothing ;  and  that  the  verse  part  is  a  revision  of  earlier  work  done 
quite  at  the  beginning  of  the  Second  Period  ;  but  for  this  I  rely  rather  on  the  many 
subtle  undefinable  links  between  it  and  other  plays  of  that  date  than  on  such  broad 
facts  as  we  have  here  room  for.  .  .  .  The  part  of  Twelfth  Night  that  contains  the 
Viola  story  comprehends  nearly  all  the  verse  part ;  and  as  there  is  none  of  the  Mal- 
volio and  Aguecheek  part  in  verse  except  17  lines  of  V,  i,  280-323  [these  figures 
are  given  as  they  stand  in  Mr  Fleay's  text.  They  must  be  wrong,  but  'metrical 
tests'  are  of  such  airy  substance  that  I  dare  not  meddle,  lest  the  whole  fabric  fall. 
— ED.],  we  may  take  the  rhyme-ratio  of  the  whole  play  (minus  these  17  lines)  or 
III :  876-  17,  or  112  :  859,  or  I  :  7.5,  as  that  required  for  our  purpose.  But  it  is 
impossible  in  those  cases  where  an  author  has  partly  rewritten  his  early  sketch,  as  is 


DATE  OF  COMPOSITION  325 

clearly  the  case  in  these  two  plays,  to  ascertain  what  part  of  the  early  work  has  been 
cancelled ' ;  and  therefore  we  must  not  press  the  rhyme-ratio  too  strictly.  ...  In  the 
present  plays  I  am  quite  content  to  find  that  the  results  I  arrive  at  from  totally  dif- 
ferent reasoning  are  entirely  confirmed  by  the  rhyme-test ;  and  on  all  grounds  alike 
I  conclude  that  the  original  draft  of  the  story  of  Viola  was  made  about  the  date  of 
15^4. — IBID.  (Introd.  to  Shakespearian  Study,  1877,  p.  25)  :  I  believe  this  part  of 
the  play  [i.  <?.  the  Viola  story]  was  written  in  1595.  .  .  .  Duke  in  this  play  is  synony- 
mous with  Count,  as  it  is  with  Emperor  in  the  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,  and  with 
King  in  Love's  Labour's  Lost.  Shakespeare  does  not  commit  this  mistake  in  plays 
written  after  1595. — (P.  H4.)If  any  part  of  it  is  of  the  earlier  date,  it  was  revised 
and  rewritten  at  the  later  [z.  e.  in  1601]. 

IBID.  (Life  and  Work,  etc.,  1886,  p.  219)  :  The  date  of  Twelfth  Night  lies 
between  Marston's  Malcontent  (1602)  (of  Malevole,  in  which  play  Malvolio  is 
clearly  a  caricature)  and  What  You  Will  (1602),  by  the  same  author.  This  adop- 
tion of  the  name  of  his  play  seems  to  have  induced  Shakespeare  to  replace  it  by  the 
now  universally  adopted  title.  The  appellation  'Rudesby'  (IV,  i,  55)  is  from 
Chapman's  Sir  Giles  Goosecap  (1601).  Several  minor  points  have  been  already 
noticed  under  the  previous  play  of  All's  Well,  [such  as  the  misprint  of  '  Violenta ' 
for  Viola  in  F,,  I,  v,  167  ;  the  name  '  Capilet,'  III,  iv,  285  ;  and  the  allusion  to  the 
'  Puritans'],  In  this  play,  as  in  that,  I  believe  that  the  earlier  written  scenes  have 
been  incorporated.  It  is  only  in  similar  cases  that  we  find  such  contradictions  as 
that  between  the  three  months'  sojourn  of  Viola  at  the  Count's  court  (V,  i),  and  the 
three  days'  acquaintance  with  the  Duke  in  I,  iv.  In  II,  iv,  there  are  palpable  signs 
of  alteration,  and  III,  i,  151-168,  and  V,  i,  135-154,  are  surely  of  early  date. 
[I  can  see  no  reason  for  assigning  these  passages  to  an  early  date  except  that  they 
recall  the  impassioned  style  of  Romeo  and  Juliet, — but  this  impassioned  style  is  here 
needed,  and  any  author,  not  to  mention  Shakespeare,  would  have  instinctively 
adopted  it ;  they  are  the  two  places  where  the  play  rises  to  the  height  of  tragic  love, 
and  any  language  set  to  a  lower  key  would  have  been  cold  and  lifeless. — ED.]  More- 
over, the  singular  agreement  of  the  plot  with  the  Comedy  of  Errors  in  the  likeness 
of  the  twins,  and  with  The  Gentlemen  of  Verona,  or  rather  with  Apolonius  and 
Silla,  whence  part  of  that  play  was  derived,  point  to  a  likelihood  that  the  first  con- 
ceptions of  these  plays  were  not  far  apart  in  time.  I  think  the  early  portions  were 
written  in  1593,  like  those  of  the  preceding  play.  For  the  change  from  Duke 
(I,  i-iv)  to  Count  in  the  rest  of  the  play  compare  The  Gentlemen  of  Verona. 

HALLIWELL-PHILLIPPS  (Outlines,  etc.,  1882,  p.  264):  This  comedy  was  cer- 
tainly written  not  very  long  before  the  performance  at  the  Middle  Temple,  as  may 
be  gathered  from  the  use  Shakespeare  has  made  of  the  song  :  '  Farewell,  dear  love,' 
a  ballad  which  had  first  appeared  in  the  previous  year  in  the  Booke  of  Ayres  composed 
by  Robert  Jones,  London,  1601.  Jones  does  not  profess  to  be  the  author  of  the 
words  of  this  song,  for  he  observes, — 'If  the  ditties  mislike  thee,  'tis  my  fault  that 
'  was  so  bold  to  publish  the  private  contentments  of  divers  gentlemen  without  their 
'consents,  though,  I  hope,  not  against  their  wils';  but  there  is  every  reason  to 
believe  that  the  ditty  referred  to  in  Twelfth  Night  was  first  published  in  this  work, 
a  collection  of  new,  not  of  old  songs. 

CANON  AINGER  (Eng.  Illust.  Maga.,  March,  1884,  p.  372)  :  It  is  easy  to  be 
wise  after  the  event  [z°.  e.  the  discovery  of  Manningham's  Diary. — ED.],  but  I 
think  that  the  soundest  criticism  of  the  present  day  would  have  dated  [  Twelfth 
Nighf\  somewhere  in  the  interval  between  1600  and  1605.  The  versification 


326 


APPENDIX 


separates  it  from  the  earlier  of  Shakespeare's  comedies,  and  there  is  no  sign  in 
the  play  of  that  dominion  of  the  graver  mind,  that  oppression  under  the  riddles 
of  the  world  and  life,  that  colours  so  markedly  the  later  comedies  of  The  Tempest 
and  The  Winter's  Tale. ...  It  had  most  likely  been  produced  for  the  first  time  on 
Twelfth-night,  a  few  weeks  only  before  its  performance  at  the  Middle  Temple,  and 
to  have  owed  its  title  to  that  circumstance. 

To  recapitulate  :— 

THEOBALD 1604 

TYRWHITT,  STEEVENS,  RANK,  MALONE  (1790),  HARNESS  ....     1614 

CHALMERS 1613 

MALONE  (1821) 1607 

HUNTER 1599 

KNIGHT either  1600  or  1601 

COLLIER    .......          end  of  1600,  or  beginning  of  1601 

DYCE,  DEIGHTON most  probably  about  1600 

SINGER  (ed.  ii),  R.  G.  WHITE 1599  or  1600 

BATHURST 1602 

HALLIWELL 1599.  1600,  or  1601 

STAUNTON,  HUDSON between  1598  and  1602 

FLEAY,  FURNIVALL,  STOKES,  ROLFE 1601 

W.  A.  WRIGHT          ....      performed  for  the  first  time,  prob- 
ably on  Twelfth-night,  early  in  1601-2 
INNES  .  not  earlier  than  1601 


SOURCE  OF  THE   PLOT 

THE  earliest  writer  to  give  attention  to  the  sources  whence  Shakespeare  derived        -t 
the  plots  of  his  plays  is  GERARD  LANGBAINE,  in  his  Account  of  the  English  Dra-      v 
matick  Poets  (Oxford,  1691),  where,  in  reference  to  Twelfth  Night,  he  remarks,  'I 
'  know  not  whence  this  Play  was  taken  ;  but  the  Resemblance  of  Sebastian  to  his 
'  Sister  Viola,  and  her  change  of  Habit,  occasioning  so  many  mistakes,  was  doubt- 
'less  first  borrowed  (not  only  by  Shakespear,  but  all  our  succeeding  Poets)  from 
'  Plautus,  who  has  made  use  of  it  in  several  Plays,  as  Amphitruo,  Manechmi,'  etc. 

In  1753  there  appeared,  '  Shakespeare  Illustrated:  or  the  Novels  and  Histories,  I 

'on  which  the  Plays  of  Shakespear  are  Founded,  etc.  By  the  Author  of  the  Female 
'  Quixote,  [Mrs  Charlotte  Lennox].'  In  this  work  (vol.  i,  p.  197)  an  incomplete 
translation  of  The  Thirty-sixth  Novel  of  Bandello  is  given,  and  a  claim  made  for 
it  as  the  source  of  the  plot  of  Twelfth  Night.  With  the  'Observations  on  the 
'  Use  Shakespear  has  made '  of  this  novel  we  are  not  here  concerned ;  they  are 
uniformly  to  Shakespear's  disparagement ;  according  to  Mrs  Lennox,  there  is  scarcely 
an  incident  which  is  not  treated  more  skilfully  by  Bandello  than  by  Shakespear ; 
she  '  wonders '  that  the  latter  '  should  borrow  so  many  incidents,  and  yet  task  his 
'  invention  to  make  those  incidents  unnatural  and  absurd ' ;  and  concludes  her 
'observations'  with  the  remark  that  Twelfth  Night  is  'full  of  such  absurdities,'  as 


SOURCE  OF  THE  PLOT  327 

the  devotion  of  Antonio  to  Sebastian,  '  which  might  have  been  avoided  had  the 
'  characters  as  well  as  the  action  been  the  same  with  the  novel.' 

The  next  contributor  to  the  subject  is  CAPELL,  who  (vol.  i,  p.  69)  thinks  that,  to 
all  appearance,  the  foundation  of  the  serious  part  of  Twelfth  Night  lies  in  a  novel 
of  Belle-Forest  (vol.  iv,  p.  201)  entitled  :  'Comme  vne  fille  Romaine  se  vestant  en 
•page  seruist  long  temps  vn  sien  amy  sans  estre  cogneue,  &  depuis  1'eust  a  mary, 
'auec  autres  discours.'  'This  novel  is  itself  taken  from  Bandello,  and  must  be 
'accounted  the  source  'till  some  English  novel  appears,  built  (perhaps)  upon  that 
'  French  one,  but  approaching  nearer  to  Shakespeare's  comedy.' 

With  Bandello  and  Belle-Forest,  as  the  sources  of  the  present  plot,  the  Shake- 
spearian world  was  content  until  COLLIER  announced  the  discovery  of  a  story  which 
so  closely  resembled  Twelfth  Night  that  it  has  been  held,  ever  since,  with  more  or  less 
confidence,  to  be  the  material  which  Shakespeare  moulded  into  his  Comedy.  The 
title  of  the  story  is  Apolonius  and  Sillu,  and  is  the  second  in  a  collection,  whereof 
the  full  title  is :  Riche  his  Farewell  \  to  Militarie  profession  :  con  \  teining  verie 
pleasaunt  discourses  \fitforapeaceableiyme.  \  Gathered  together  for  the  onely  delight 
of  \  the  courteous  Gentlewomen  bothe  \  of  England  and  Irelande,  \  For  whose  onely 
pleasure  thei  were  collected  together,  \  And  unto  whom  thei  are  directed  and  dedi- 
cated |  by  Barnabe  Riche,  Gentleman.  \  Imprinted  at  London  by  Robart  Walley, 
1581. 

The  announcement  of  the  discovery  of  this  book  was  made  by  Collier  in  1820 
(Poetical  Decameron,  vol.  ii,  p.  134),  but  in  literary  circles  Riche's  collection  may 
have  been  known  some  years  earlier.  BOSWELL  remarks  (  Variorum,  1821,  vol.  xi, 
p.  321)  that  he  found  Apolonius  and  Silla  'pointed  out  [as  the  source  of  Twelfth 
*  Night~\  in  a  very  modest  and  respectful  letter  to  [Malone]  in  the  year  1806,  by  Mr 
'Octavius  Gilchrist  of  Stamford.'  Collier's  Decameron  is  made  up  of  conversations 
between  three  friends, — a  plan  which  prohibited  the  reproduction  of  the  whole 
novel ;  wherefore  only  those  extracts  were  there  given  which  yielded  the  closest 
parallels  to  Shakespeare's  play. 

In  the  Variorum  of  1821,  Boswell  reprinted  the  whole  of  Riche's  story,  omitting 
only  a  few  unimportant  paragraphs  of  introduction.  It  was  again  reprinted  in 
Shakespeare's  Library,  1843  ;  and  in  1846,  Collier  reprinted  and  edited  the  whole 
of  Riche's  book  for  The  Shakespeare  Society. 

From  the  expression  '  Gathered  together '  in  the  title,  it  is  to  be  inferred  that 
Riche  was  merely  the  collector  of  these  '  pleasaunt  discourses'  and  not  the  author. 
For  Apolonius  and  Silla,  it  has  been  supposed  that  he  went  to  Bandello,  but  I  think 
it  is  tolerably  certain  that  for  this  story  his  authority  was  Bandello' s  translator, 
Belle-Forest,  albeit  he  has  changed  every  name,  and  represents  Olivia  ( Julina)  as  a 
widow.  It  is  certainly  possible  that  SHAKESPEARE  had  read  Riche's  Farewell  to  a 
Militarie  profession,  but  that  he  used  Apolonius  and  Silla  in  the  composition  of 
Twelfth  Night,  I  greatly  doubt.  There  is  a  coarse,  unrefined  atmosphere  through- 
out Riche's  story,  whereof  there  is,  of  course,  not  the  smallest  trace  in  SHAKE- 
SPEARE'S comedy. 

The  reprint  which  follows  is  taken  from  Collier's  edition  for  The  Shakespeare 
Society.  At  times,  under  the  pretence  of  preaching  morality,  Riche  indulges  in 
unsavory  remarks;  these  and  other  coarsenesses  have  all  been  omitted,  where  possi- 
ble, and  I  have  sedulously  avoided  all  intimation  of  the  omission  : — 


328 


APPENDIX 


OF  APOLONIUS  AND  S1LLA. 

THE  ARGUMENT   OP   THB  SECOND    HISTORIB. 


Apolonius  Duke,  havyng  spent  a  yeres  service  in  the  warres  against  the  Turke, 
returning  homeward  with  his  companie  by  sea,  was  driven  by  force  of  weather  to 
the  lie  of  Cypres,  where  he  was  well  received  by  Pontus,  gouvemour  of  the  same 
He,  with  whom  Silla,  daughter  to  Pontus,  fell  so  straungely  in  love,  that  after 
Apolonius  was  departed  to  Constantinople,  Silla,  with  one  man,  follmved,  and 
commyng  to  Constantinople,  she  served  Apolonius  in  the  habile  of  a  manne,  and 
after  many  prety  accidentes  falling  out,  she  was  knowne  to  ApoLmius,  •a.'/io,  in 
requitall  of  her  love,  marled  her.  [Hereupon  follows  a  page  and  a  half  of 
commonplace  moralising  on  the  vagaries  of  love.] 

During  the  tyme  that  the  famous  citie  of  Constantinople  remained  in  the  handes 
of  Christians,  emongst  many  other  noble  menne  that  kepte  their  abidyng  in  that 
florishyng  citie,  there  was  one  whose  name  was  Apolonius,  a  worthie  duke,  who 
beyng  but  a  verie  yong  man,  and  even  then  newe  come  to  his  possessions,  whiche 
were  verie  greate,  levied  a  mightie  bande  of  menne  at  his  owne  proper  charges, 
with  whom  he  served  againste  the  Turke  duryng  the  space  of  one  whole  yere  :  in 
whiche  tyme,  although  it  were  very  shorte,  this  yong  Duke  so  behaved  hym  self, 
as  well  by  prowesse  and  valiaunce  shewed  with  his  owne  handes,  as  otherwise  by 
his  wisdome  and  liberalise  used  towardes  his  souldiors,  that  all  the  worlde  was 
filled  with  the  fame  of  this  noble  Duke.  When  he  had  thus  spent  one  yeares  ser- 
vice, he  caused  his  trompet  to  sounde  a  retraite,  and  gatheryng  his  companie 
together,  and  imbarkyng  theim  selves,  he  sette  saile,  holdyng  his  course  towardes 
Constantinople :  but,  beeyng  uppon  the  sea,  by  the  extreamitie  of  a  tempest  whiche 
sodainly  fell,  his  fleete  was  desevered,  some  one  waie,  and  some  another ;  but  he 
hymself  recovered  the  Isle  of  Cypres,  where  he  was  worthily  received  by  Pontus, 
duke  and  gouvernour  of  the  same  ile,  with  whom  he  lodged  while  his  shippes  were 
newe  repairyng. 

This  Pontus,  that  was  lorde  and  governour  of  this  famous  lie,  was  an  auncient 
duke,  and  had  twoo  children,  a  soonne  and  a  daughter :  his  soonne  was  named 
Silvio,  of  whom  hereafter  we  shall  have  further  occasion  to  speake ;  but  at  this 
instant  he  was  in  the  partes  of  Africa,  servyng  in  the  warres. 

The  daughter  her  name  was  Silla,  whose  beautie  was  so  peerelesse,  that  she  had 
the  soveraintie  emongest  all  other  dames,  as  well  for  her  beautie  as  for  the  noble- 
nesse  of  hir  birthe.  This  Silla,  having  heard  of  the  worthinesse  of  Apolonius,  this 
yong  Duke,  who  besides  his  beautie  and  good  graces  had  a  certaine  naturall  allure- 
ment, that  beeyng  now  in  his  companie  in  her  father's  courte,  she  was  so  strangely 
attached  with  the  love  of  Apolonius,  that  there  was  nothyng  might  content  her  but 
his  presence  and  sweete  sight ;  and  although  she  sawe  no  maner  of  hope  to  attaine 
to  that  she  moste  desired,  knowyng  Apolonius  to  be  but  a  geaste,  and  readie  to  take 
the  benefite  of  the  next  winde,  and  to  departe  into  a  straunge  countrey,  whereby 
she  was  bereved  of  all  possibillitie  ever  to  see  hym  againe,  and  therefore  strived 
with  herself  to  leave  her  fondenesse,  but  all  in  vaine  ;  it  would  not  bee,  but,  like  the 
foule  whiche  is  once  limed,  the  more  she  striveth,  the  faster  she  tieth  her  self.  So 
Silla  was  now  constrained,  perforce  her  will,  to  yeeld  to  love,  wherefore,  from  tyme 
to  tyme,  she  used  so  greate  familiaritie  with  hym  as  her  honour  might  well  permitte, 
and  fedde  him  with  suche  amourous  baites  as  the  modestie  of  a  maide  could  reason- 
ably afforde ;  whiche  when  she  perceived  did  take  but  small  effecte,  feelyng  herself 


RICHE—APOLONIUS  AND  SILLA  329 

so  muche  out  raged  with  the  extreamitie  of  her  passion,  by  the  onely  countenaunce 
that  she  bestowed  uppon  Apolonius,  it  might  have  been  well  perceived  that  the 
verie  eyes  pleaded  unto  hym  for  pitie  and  remorse.  But  Apolonius,  commyng  but 
lately  from  out  the  feelde  from  the  chasyng  of  his  enemies,  and  his  furie  not  yet 
throughly  desolved,  nor  purged  from  his  stomacke,  gave  no  regarde  to  those  amourous 
entisementes,  whiche,  by  reason  of  his  youth,  he  had  not  been  acquainted  with  all. 
But  his  minde  ranne  more  to  heare  his  pilotes  bryng  newes  of  a  merie  winde  to 
serve  his  turne  to  Constantinople,  whiche  in  the  ende  came  very  prosperously  ;  and 
givyng  Duke  Pontus  hartie  thankes  for  his  greate  entertaynment,  takying  his  leave 
of  hymself  and  the  Ladie  Silla,  his  daughter,  departed  with  his  companie,  and  with 
a  happie  gaale  arived  at  his  desired  porte.  Gentlewomen,  accordyng  to  my  promise, 
I  will  here,  for  brevities  sake,  omit  to  make  repetition  of  the  long  and  dolorous  dis- 
course recorded  by  Silla  for  this  sodaine  departure  of  her  Apolonius,  knowyng  you 
to  bee  as  tenderly  hearted  as  Silla  her  self,  whereby  you  maie  the  better  conjecture 
the  furie  of  her  fever.  But  Silla,  the  further  that  she  sawe  herself  bereved  of  all 
hope  ever  any  more  to  see  her  beloved  Apolonius,  so  muche  the  more  contagious 
were  her  passions,  and  made  the  greater  speede  to  execute  that  she  had  premedi- 
tated in  her  mynde,  which  was  this.  Emongest  many  servants  that  did  attend 
uppon  her,  there  was  one  whose  name  was  Pedro,  who  had  a  long  tyme  waited 
upon  her  in  her  chamber,  wherby  she  was  well  assured  of  his  iidelitie  and  trust : 
to  that  Pedro  therefore  she  bewraied  first  the  fervencie  of  her  love  borne  to  Apolo- 
nius, conjuring  hym  in  the  name  of  the  goddes  of  love  herself,  and  bindyng  hym 
by  the  duetie  that  a  servante  ought  to  have,  that  tendereth  his  mistresse  safetie  and 
good  likyng,  and  desiryng  hym,  with  teares  tricklyng  doune  her  cheekes,  that  he 
would  give  his  consent  to  aide  and  assiste  her  in  that  she  had  determined,  whiche 
was  for  that  she  was  fully  resolved  to  goe  to  Constantinople,  where  she  might  againe 
take  the  vewe  of  her  beloved  Apolonius,  that  he,  accordyng  to  the  trust  she  had 
reposed  in  hym,  would  not  refuse  to  give  his  consent,  secretly  to  convaie  her  from 
out  her  father's  courte,  accordyng  as  she  should  give  hym  direction,  and  also  to 
make  hym  self  pertaker  of  her  journey,  and  to  waite  upon  her  till  she  had  seen  the 
ende  of  her  determination. 

Pedro,  perceivyng  with  what  vehemencie  his  ladie  and  mistresse  had  made 
request  unto  hym,  albeeit  he  sawe  many  perilles  and  doubles  dependyng  in  her  pre- 
tence, notwithstandyng,  gave  his  consent  to  be  at  her  disposition,  promisyng  her  to 
further  her  with  his  beste  advice,  and  to  be  readie  to  obeye  whatsoever  she  would 
please  to  commaunde  him.  The  match  beyng  thus  agreed  upon,  and  all  thynges 
prepared  in  a  readinesse  for  their  departure,  it  happened  there  was  a  gallic  of  Con- 
stantinople readie  to  departe,  whiche  Pedro  understandyng,  came  to  the  captaine, 
desiryng  him  to  have  passage  for  hymself  and  for  a  poore  maide  that  was  his  sister, 
whiche  were  bounde  to  Constantinople  uppon  certaine  urgent  affaires :  to  whiche 
request  the  captaine  graunted,  willyng  hym  to  prepare  aborde  with  all  speede, 
because  the  winde  served  him  presently  to  departe. 

Pedro  now  commyng  to  his  mistres,  and  tellyng  her  how  he  had  handeled  the 
matter  with  the  captaine,  she  likyng  verie  well  of  the  devise,  disguisyng  herself  into 
verie  simple  atyre,  stole  awaie  from  out  her  father's  court,  and  came  with  Pedro, 
whom  now  she  calleth  brother,  aboarde  the  galleye,  where  all  thynges  beyng  in 
readinesse,  and  the  winde  servyng  verie  well,  thei  launched  forthe  with  their  oares, 
and  set  saile.  When  thei  were  at  the  sea,  the  captaine  of  the  galleye,  takyng  the 
vewe  of  Silla,  perceivyng  her  singular  beautie,  he  was  better  pleased  in  beholdyng 


330 


APPENDIX 


of  her  face  then  in  takyng  the  height  either  of  the  sunne  or  starre,  and  thinkyng 
her,  by  the  homelinesse  of  her  apparell,  to  be  but  some  simple  maiden,  calling  her 
into  his  cabin,  he  beganne  to  breake  with  her,  after  the  sea  fashion,  desiryng  her 
to  use  his  owne  cabin  for  her  better  ease,  and  duryng  the  tyme  that  she  remained 
at  the  sea,  she  should  not  want  a  bedde.  Silla,  not  beyng  acquainted  with  any 
suche  talke,  blusshed  for  shame,  but  beyng  stroke  into  a  greate  feare,  moste 
humbly  desired  the  captaine  that  for  that  present  he  would  depart.  The  captaine 
was  contented  so  farre  to  satisfie  her  request,  and  departed  out,  leavyng  her  alone 
in  his  cabin. 

Silla,  beyng  alone  by  her  self,  drue  oute  her  knife,  and,  fallyng  upon  her  knees, 
desired  God  to  receive  her  soule,  continuyng  a  long  and  pitifull  reconciliation  to 
God,  in  the  middest  whereof  there  sodainely  fell  a  wonderfull  storme,  the  terrour 
whereof  was  suche,  that  there  was  no  man  but  did  thinke  the  seas  would  presently 
have  swallowed  them  :  the  billowes  so  sodainly  arose  with  the  rage  of  the  winde, 
that  thei  were  all  glad  to  fall  to  heaving  out  of  water,  for  otherwise  their  feeble 
gallic  had  never  bin  able  to  have  brooked  the  seas.  This  storme  continued  all  that 
daie  and  the  next  night ;  and  thei  beeyng  driven  to  put  romer  before  the  winde,  to 
keepe  the  gallic  a  hed  the  billowe,  were  driven  uppon  the  maine  shore,  where  the 
gallic  brake  all  to  peeces :  there  was  every  man  providyng  to  save  his  own  life  ; 
some  gat  upon  hatches,  boordes,  and  casks,  and  were  driven  with  the  waves  to  and 
fro ;  but  the  greatest  nomber  were  drouned,  amongst  the  whiche  Pedro  was  one  ; 
but  Silla  her  self  beyng  in  the  caben,  as  you  have  heard,  tooke  holde  of  a  cheste 
that  was  the  captaines,  the  whiche,  by  the  onely  providence  of  God,  brought  her 
safe  to  the  shore,  the  whiche  when  she  had  recovered,  not  knowyng  what  was 
become  of  Pedro  her  manne,  she  deemed  that  bothe  he  and  all  the  rest  had  been 
drouned,  for  that  she  sawe  no  bodie  uppon  the  shore  but  her  self.  Wherefore,  when 
she  had  a  while  made  greate  lamentations,  complainyng  her  mishappes,  she  beganne 
in  the  ende  to  comforte  herself  with  the  hope  that  she  had  to  see  her  Appolonius, 
and  found  suche  meanes  that  she  brake  open  the  chest  that  brought  her  to  lande, 
wherin  she  found  good  store  of  coine,  and  sondrie  sutes  of  apparell  that  were  the 
captaines.  And  now,  to  prevent  a  nomber  of  injuries  that  might  bee  proffered  to  a 
woman  that  was  lefte  in  her  case,  she  determined  to  leave  her  owne  apparell,  and 
to  sort  her  self  into  some  of  those  sutes,  that,  beyng  taken  for  a  man,  she  might 
passe  through  the  countrie  in  the  better  safetie  :  and,  as  she  changed  her  apparell, 
she  thought  it  likewise  convenient  to  change  her  name  ;  wherefore,  not  readily  hap- 
penyng  of  any  othet,  she  called  her  self  Silvio,  by  the  name  of  her  owne  brother, 
whom  you  have  heard  spoken  of  before. 

In  this  maner  she  travailed  to  Constantinople,  where  she  inquired  out  the  palace 
of  the  Duke  Apolonius  ;  and  thinking  herself  now  to  be  bothe  fitte  and  able  to 
plaie  the  servyngman,  she  presented  herself  to  the  Duke,  cravyng  his  service.  The 
Duke,  verie  willyng  to  give  succour  unto  strangers,  perceivyng  him  to  bee  a  proper 
smogue  yong  man,  gave  hym  entertainment.  Silla  thought  her  self  now  more  then 
satisfied  for  all  the  casualties  that  had  happened  unto  her  in  her  journey,  that  she 
might  at  her  pleasure  take  but  the  vew  of  the  Duke  Apolonius,  and  above  the  reste 
of  his  servantes  was  verie  diligent  and  attendaunt  uppon  hym  ;  the  whiche  the  Duke 
percevyng,  beganne  likewise  to  growe  into  good  likyng  with  the  diligence  of  his 
man,  and  therefore  made  hym  one  of  his  chamber  :  who  but  Silvio  then  was  moste 
neare  aboute  hym,  in  helpyng  of  hym  to  make  hym  readie  in  a  mornyng,  in  the  set- 
tyng  of  his  ruffes,  in  the  keepyng  of  his  chamber  ?  Silvio  pleased  his  maister  so 


RICHE—APOLONIUS  AND  SILLA  331 

well,  that  above  all  the  reste  of  his  servantes  aboute  hym  he  had  the  greatest  credite, 
and  the  Duke  put  him  moste  in  trust. 

At  this  verie  instaunt  there  was  remainyng  in  the  citie  a  noble  Dame,  a  widowe 
[see  III,  iv,  56,  and  Note. — ED.],  whose  housebande  was  but  lately  deceased,  one 
of  the  noblest  men  that  were  in  the  partes  of  Grecia,  who  left  his  lady  and  wife 
large  possessions  and  greate  livinges.  This  ladies  name  was  called  Julina,  who, 
besides  the  aboundance  of  her  wealth  and  the  greatnesse  of  her  revenues,  had  like- 
wise the  soveraigntie  of  all  the  dames  of  Constantinople  for  her  beautie.  To  this 
Ladie  Julina  Apolonius  became  an  earnest  suter ;  and,  accordyng  to  the  maner  of 
woers,  besides  faire  woordes,  sorrowfull  sighes,  and  piteous  countenaunces,  there 
must  bee  sendyng  of  lovyng  letters,  chaines,  bracelettes,  brouches,  rynges,  tablets, 
gemmes,  juels,  and  presentes,  I  knowe  not  what.  So  my  Duke,  who  in  the  tyme 
that  he  remained  in  the  He  of  Cypres  had  no  skill  at  all  in  the  arte  of  love,  although 
it  were  more  then  half  proffered  unto  hym,  was  now  become  a  scholler  in  love's 
schoole,  and  had  alreadie  learned  his  first  lesson  ;  that  is,  to  speake  pitifully,  to 
looke  ruthfully,  to  promise  largely,  to  serve  diligently,  and  to  please  carefully  :  now 
he  was  learnyng  his  seconde  lesson  ;  that  is,  to  reward  liberally,  to  give  bountifully, 
to  present  willyngly,  and  to  write  lovyngly.  Thus  Apolonius  was  so  busied  in  his 
newe  studie,  that  I  warrant  you  there  was  no  man  that  could  chalenge  hym  for  plaiyng 
the  truant,  he  followed  his  profession  with  so  good  a  will :  and  who  must  bee  the  mes- 
senger to  carrie  the  tokens  and  love  letters  to  the  Ladie  Julina,  but  Silvio,  his  manne  : 
in  hym  the  Duke  reposed  his  onely  confidence  to  goe  betweene  hym  and  his  ladie. 

Now,  gentilwomen,  doe  you  thinke  there  could  have  been  a  greater  torment 
devised,  wherewith  to  afflicte  the  harte  of  Silla,  then  her  self  to  bee  made  the 
instrumente  to  woorke  her  owne  mishapp,  and  to  plaie  the  atturney  in  a  cause  that 
made  so  muche  againste  her  self?  But  Silla,  altogether  desirous  to  please  her  mais- 
ter,  cared  nothyng  at  all  to  offende  herself,  followed  his  businesse  with  so  good  a 
will,  as  if  it  had  been  in  her  owne  preferment. 

Julina,  now  havyng  many  tymes  taken  the  gaze  of  this  yong  youth,  Silvio,  per- 
ceivyng  hym  to  bee  of  suche  excellente  perfecte  grace,  was  so  intangeled  with  the 
often  sight  of  this  sweete  temptation,  that  she  fell  into  as  greate  a  likyng  with  the 
man  as  the  maister  was  with  herself ;  and  on  a  tyme,  Silvio  beyng  sent  from  his 
maister  with  a  message  to  the  Ladie  Julina,  as  he  beganne  very  earnestly  to  solicit 
in  his  maister' s  behalfe,  Julina,  interruptyng  hym  in  his  tale,  saied  :  Silvio,  it  is 
enough  that  you  have  saied  for  your  maister ;  from  henceforthe,  either  speake  for 
your  selfe,  or  saie  nothyng  at  all.  Silla,  abashed  to  heare  these  wordes,  began  in 
her  minde  to  accuse  the  blindnesse  of  Love,  that  Julina,  neglectyng  the  good  will 
of  so  noble  a  Duke,  would  preferre  her  love  unto  suche  a  one,  as  nature  it  self  had 
denaied  to  recompense  her  likyng. 

And  now,  for  a  tyme  leavyng  matters  dependyng  as  you  have  heard,  it  fell  out 
that  the  right  Silvio  indeede  (whom  you  have  heard  spoken  of  before,  the  brother 
of  Silla)  was  come  to  his  father's  courte  into  the  He  of  Cypres  ;  where,  understand- 
ing that  his  sister  was  departed  in  maner  as  you  have  heard,  conjectured  that  the 
very  occasion  did  proceade  of  some  liking  had  betwene  Pedro  her  man  (that  was 
missyng  with  her)  and  herself:  but  Silvio,  who  loved  his  sister  as  dearly  as  his  owne 
life,  and  the  rather  for  that,  as  she  was  his  naturall  sister,  bothe  by  father  and 
mother,  so  the  one  of  theim  was  so  like  the  other  in  countenaunce  and  favour,  that 
there  was  no  man  able  to  descerne  the  one  from  the  other  by  their  faces,  savyng  by 
their  aparell,  the  one  beyng  a  man,  the  other  a  woman. 


332 


APPENDIX 


Silvio,  therefore,  vowed  to  his  father,  not  onely  to  seeke  out  his  sister  Silla,  but 
also  to  revenge  the  villanie  whiche  he  conceived  in  Pedro  for  the  carriyng  awaie  of 
his  sister  ;  and  thus  departyng,  havyng  travailed  through  many  cities  and  tounes, 
without  hearyng  any  maner  of  newes  of  those  he  wente  to  seeke  for,  at  the  laste  he 
arrived  at  Constantinople,  where  as  he  was  walkyng  in  an  evenyng  for  his  owne 
recreation,  on  a  pleasaunte  greene  yarde,  without  the  walles  of  the  citie,  he  fortuned 
to  meete  with  the  Ladie  Julina,  who  likewise  had  been  abroad  to  take  the  aire  ;  and 
as  she  sodainly  caste  her  eyes  uppon  Silvio,  thinkyng  hym  to  bee  her  olde  acquaint- 
aunce,  by  reason  thei  were  so  like  one  another,  as  you  have  heard  before,  saied 
unto  hym,  Sir  Silvio,  if  your  haste  be  not  the  greater,  I  praie  you,  let  me  have  a 
little  talke  with  you,  seyng  I  have  so  luckely  mette  you  in  this  place. 

Silvio,  wonderyng  to  heare  hym  self  so  rightlie  named,  beyng  but  a  straunger, 
not  of  above  twoo  daies  continuance  in  the  citie,  verie  courteouslie  came  towardes 
her,  desirous  to  heare  what  she  would  saie. 

Julina,  commaunding  her  traine  somthyng  to  stande  backe,  saied  as  followeth  : 
Seyng  my  good  will  and  frendly  love  hath  been  the  onely  cause  to  make  me  so 
prodigall  to  offer  that  I  see  is  so  lightly  rejected,  it  maketh  me  to  thinke  that  men 
bee  of  this  condition,  rather  to  desire  those  thynges  whiche  thei  can  not  come  by, 
then  to  esteeme  or  value  of  that  whiche  bothe  largely  and  liberallie  is  offered  unto 
theim  :  but  if  the  liberalitie  of  my  proffer  hath  made  to  seme  lesse  the  value  of  the 
thing  that  I  ment  to  present,  it  is  but  in  your  owne  conceipt,  consideryng  how  many 
noble  men  there  hath  been  here  before,  and  be  yet  at  this  present,  whiche  hath  bothe 
served,  sued,  and  moste  humbly  intreated,  to  attaine  to  that,  whiche  to  you  of  myself 
I  have  freely  offred,  and  I  perceive  is  despised,  or  at  the  least  verie  lightly  regarded. 

Silvio,  wonderyng  at  these  woordes,  but  more  amazed  that  she  could  so  rightlie 
call  hym  by  his  name,  could  not  tell  what  to  make  of  her  speeches,  assuryng  hym 
self  that  she  was  deceived  and  did  mistake  hym,  did  thinke,  notwithstandyng,  it 
had  been  a  poincte  of  greate  simplicite,  if  he  should  forsake  that  whiche  Fortune 
had  so  favourably  proffered  unto  hym,  perceivyng  by  her  traine  that  she  was  some 
ladieof  greate  honour,  and  vewyng  the  perfection  of  her  beautie  and  the  excellencie 
of  her  grace  and  countenaunce,  did  thinke  it  unpossible  that  she  should  be  despised, 
and  therefore  aunswered  thus : 

Madame,  if  before  this  tyme  I  have  seemed  to  forgett  my  self,  in  neglectyng 
your  courtesie  whiche  so  liberally  you  have  ment  unto  me,  please  it  you  to  pardon 
what  is  paste,  and  from  this  daie  forewardes  Silvio  remaineth  readie  preste  to  make 
suche  reasonable  amendes  as  his  abilitie  may  any  waies  permit,  or  as  it  shall  please 
you  to  commaunde. 

Julina,  the  gladdest  woman  that  might  bee  to  heare  these  joyfull  newes,  saied  : 
Then,  my  Silvio,  see  you  faile  not  to  morrowe  at  night  to  suppe  with  me  at  my  owne 
house,  where  I  will  discourse  farther  with  you  what  amendes  you  shall  make  me :  to 
whiche  request  Silvio  gave  his  glad  consente,  and  thus  thei  departed,  verie  well 
pleased.  And  as  Julina  did  thinke  the  tyme  verie  long  till  she  had  reapte  the  fruite 
of  her  desire,  so  Silvio  he  wishte  for  harvest  before  come  could  growe,  thinkyng  the 
tyme  as  long  till  he  sawe  how  matters  would  fall  out;  but,  not  knowyng  what  ladie 
she  might  bee,  he  presently  (before  Julina  was  out  of  sight)  demaunded  of  one  that 
was  walkyng  by,  what  she  was,  and  how  she  was  called  ?  who  satisfied  Silvio  in 
every  poincte,  and  also  in  what  parte  of  the  toune  her  house  did  stande,  whereby  he 
might  enquire  it  out. 

Silvio,  thus  departing  to  his  lodging,  passed  the  night  with  verie  unquiet  sleapes, 


RICHE—APOLONIUS  AND  SILLA  333 

and  the  nexte  mornyng  his  mynde  ran  so  muche  of  his  supper,  that  he  never  cared 
neither  for  his  breakfast  nor  dinner ;  and  the  daie,  to  his  seemyng,  passed  awaie  so 
slowlie,  that  he  had  thought  the  statelie  steedes  had  been  tired  that  drawe  the  chariot 
of  the  sunne,  or  els  some  other  Josua  had  commaunded  them  againe  to  stande,  and 
wished  that  Phaeton  had  been  there  with  a  whippe. 

Julina,  on  the  other  side,  she  had  thought  the  clocke  setter  had  plaied  the  knave, 
the  daie  came  no  faster  forewardes  :  but  sixe  a  clocke  beeyng  once  stroken,  recovered 
comforte  to  bothe  parties  ;  and  Silvio,  hastenyng  hymself  to  the  pallace  of  Julina, 
wherby  her  he  was  frendly  welcomed,  and  a  sumpteous  supper  beeyng  made  readie, 
furnished  with  sondrie  sortes  of  delicate  dishes,  thei  satte  them  doune,  passyng  the 
supper  tyme  with  amorous  lokes,  lovyng  countenaunces,  and  secret  glaunces  con- 
veighed  from  the  one  to  the  other,  whiche  did  better  satisfie  them  then  the  feedyng 
of  their  daintie  dishes. 

Supper  tyme  beeyng  thus  spent,  Julina  did  thinke  it  verie  unfitly  if  she  should 
tourne  Silvio  to  goe  seeke  his  lodgyng  in  an  evenyng,  desired  hym  therefore  that  he 
would  take  a  bedde  in  her  house  for  that  night ;  and,  bringyng  hym  up  into  a  faire 
chamber  that  was  verie  richely  furnished,  she  founde  suche  meanes,  that  when  all 
the  reste  of  her  household  servauntes  were  a  bedde  and  quiet,  she  came  her  self  to 
beare  Silvio  companie.  The  mornyng  approchyng,  Julina  tooke  her  leave,  and  con- 
veighed  her  self  into  her  owne  chamber ;  and  when  it  was  faire  daie  light,  Silvio, 
makyng  hym  self  readie,  departed  likewise  about  his  affaires  in  the  toune,  debatyng 
with  hymself  how  thynges  had  happened,  beyng  well  assured  that  Julina  had  mis- 
taken him  ;  and,  therefore,  for  feare  of  further  evilles,  determined  to  come  no  more 
there,  but  tooke  his  journey  towardes  other  places  in  the  partes  of  Grecia,  to  see  if 
he  could  learne  any  tidynges  of  his  sister  Silla. 

The  Duke  Apolonius,  havyng  made  a  long  sute  and  never  a  whit  the  nerer  of 
his  purpose,  came  to  Julina  to  crave  her  direct  aunswere,  either  to  accept  of  hym  and 
of  suche  conditions  as  he  proffered  unto  her,  or  els  to  give  hym  his  laste  farewell. 

Julina,  as  you  have  heard,  had  taken  an  earnest  penie  of  another,  whom  she  had 
thought  had  been  Silvio,  the  Duke's  man,  was  at  a  controversie  in  her  self  what  she 
might  doe  :  one  while  she  thought,  seyng  her  her  occasion  served  so  fitt,  to  crave  the 
Duke's  good  will,  for  the  mariyng  of  his  manne  ;  then  againe,  she  could  not  tell 
what  displeasure  the  Duke  would  conceive,  in  that  she  should  seeme  to  preferre  his 
man  before  hymself,  did  thinke  it  therefore  beste  to  conceale  the  matter,  till  she 
might  speake  with  Silvio,  to  use  his  opinion  how  these  matters  should  be  handled : 
and  hereupon  resolvyng  herself,  desiryng  the  Duke  to  pardon  her  speeches,  saied  as 
followeth. 

Sir  Duke,  for  that  from  this  tyme  forwardes  I  am  no  longer  of  myself,  havyng 
given  my  full  power  and  authoritie  over  to  another,  whose  wife  I  now  remaine  by 
faithfull  vowe  and  promise :  and  albeit  I  knowe  the  worlde  will  wonder  when  thei 
shall  understande  the  fondnesse  of  my  choice,  yet  I  trust  you  yourself  will  nothyng 
dislike  with  me,  sithe  I  have  ment  no  other  thing  then  the  satisfiyng  of  myne  owne 
contentation  and  likyng. 

The  Duke,  hearyng  these  woordes,  aunswered :  Madam,  I  must  then  content  my 
self,  although  against  my  wil,  having  the  lawe  in  your  owne  handes  to  like  of  whom 
you  liste,  and  to  make  choise  where  it  pleaseth  you. 

Julina,  givyng  the  Duke  greate  thankes,  that  would  content  himself  with  suche 
pacience,  desired  hym  likewise  to  give  his  free  consent,  and  good  will  to  the  partie 
whom  she  had  chosen  to  be  her  housebande. 


334 


APPENDIX 


Naie,  surely,  madam,  (quoth  the  Duke)  I  will  never  give  my  consent  that  any 
other  man  shall  enjoye  you  then  myself:  I  have  made  too  greate  accompt  of  you, 
then  so  lightly  to  passe  you  awaie  with  my  good  will.  But  seeyng  it  lieth  not  in  me 
to  let  you,  havyng  (as  you  saie)  made  your  owne  choise,  so  from  hence  forwardes 
I  leave  you  to  your  owne  Hkyng,  alwaies  willyng  you  well,  and  thus  will  take  my 
leave. 

The  Duke  departed  towardes  his  owne  house,  verie  sorrowfull  that  Julina  had 
thus  served  hym  :  but  in  the  meane  space  that  the  Duke  had  remained  in  the  house 
of  Julina,  some  of  his  servantes  fell  into  talke  and  conference  with  the  servantes  of 
Julina ;  where,  debatyng  betwene  them  of  the  likelihood  of  the  manage  betweene 
the  Duke  and  the  ladie,  one  of  the  servantes  of  Julina  saied,  that  he  never  sawe  his 
ladie  and  mistres  use  so  good  countenaunce  to  the  Duke  hym  self,  as  she  had  doen 
to  Silvio  his  manne ;  and  began  to  report  with  what  familiaritie  and  courtesie  she 
had  received  hym,  feasted  hym,  and  lodged  hym,  and  that,  in  his  opinion,  Silvio  was 
like  to  speede  before  the  Duke,  or  any  other  that  were  suters. 

This  tale  was  quickly  brought  to  the  Duke  hymself,  who,  makyng  better  inquirie 
in  the  matter,  founde  it  to  be  true  that  was  reported  ;  and,  better  consideryng  of  the 
woordes  whiche  Julina  had  used  towardes  hymself,  was  verie  well  assured  that  it 
could  bee  no  other  then  his  owne  manne,  that  had  thrust  his  nose  so  farre  out  of 
joynte  :  wherefore,  without  any  further  respect,  caused  hym  to  be  thrust  into  a  don- 
geon,  where  he  was  kept  prisoner  in  a  verie  pitifull  plight. 

Poore  Silvio,  havyng  gotte  intelligence  by  some  of  his  fellowes  what  was  the 
cause  that  the  Duke  his  maister  did  beare  suche  displeasure  unto  hym,  devised  all  the 
meanes  he  could,  as  well  by  meditation  by  his  fellowes,  as  otherwise  by  petitions  and 
supplications  to  the  Duke,  that  he  would  suspende  his  judgemente  till  perfecte 
proofe  were  had  in  the  matter,  and  then,  if  any  maner  of  thyng  did  fall  out  againste 
hym,  wherby  the  Duke  had  cause  to  take  any  greef,  he  would  confesse  bym  self 
worthie  not  onely  of  imprisonmente,  but  also  of  moste  vile  and  shamefull  death. 
With  these  pititions  he  daiely  plied  the  Duke,  but  all  in  vaine ;  for  the  Duke 
thought  he  had  made  so  good  proofe,  that  he  was  throughlie  confirmed  in  his 
opinion  against  his  man. 

But  the  Ladie  Julina,  wonderyng  what  made  Silvio  that  he  was  so  slacke  in  his 
visitation,  and  why  he  absented  hym  self  so  long  from  her  presence,  beganne  to 
thinke  that  all  was  not  well  ;  but  in  the  ende,  perceivyng  her  self  to  bee  with  child, 
fearyng  to  become  quite  banckroute  of  her  honour,  did  thinke  it  more  then  tyrne  to 
seeke  out  a  father,  and  made  suche  secret  searche  and  diligent  enquirie,  that  she 
learned  the  truthe  how  Silvio  was  kepte  in  prison  by  the  Duke  his  maister ;  and 
mindyng  to  finde  a  present  remedie,  as  well  for  the  love  she  bare  to  Silvio,  as  for 
the  maintenaunce  of  her  credite  and  estimation,  she  speedily  hasted  to  the  pallace  of 
the  Duke,  to  whom  she  saied  as  followeth. 

Sir  Duke,  it  maie  bee  that  you  will  thinke  my  commyng  to  your  house  in  this 
sorte  doeth  somethyng  passe  the  limites  of  modestie,  the  whiche  I  protest,  before 
God,  proceadeth  of  this  desire,  that  the  worlde  should  knowe  how  justly  I  seke 
meanes  to  maintaine  my  honour.  But  to  the  ende  I  seeme  not  tedious  with  pro- 
lixitie  of  woordes,  nor  to  use  other  then  direct  circumstances,  knowe,  sir,  that  the 
love  I  beare  to  my  onely  beloved  Silvio,  whom  I  doe  esteeme  more  then  all  the 
jewelles  in  the  worlde,  whose  personage  I  regard  more  then  my  owne  life,  is  the 
onely  cause  of  my  attempted  journey,  beseechyng  you,  that  all  the  whole  dis- 
pleasure, whiche  I  understand  you  have  conceived  against  hym,  maie  be  imputed 


RICHE—APOLONIUS  AND  SILLA  335 

nnto  my  charge,  and  that  it  would  please  you  lovingly  to  deale  with  him,  whom  of 
myself  I  have  chosen,  rather  for  the  satisfaction  of  mine  honest  likyng,  than  for  the 
vaine  preheminences  or  honourable  dignities  looked  after  by  ambicious  myndes. 

The  Duke,  having  heard  this  discourse,  caused  Silvio  presently  to  be  sent  for, 
and  to  be  brought  before  hym,  to  whom  he  saied :  Had  it  not  been  sufficient  for 
thee,  when  I  had  reposed  myself  in  thy  fidelitie  and  the  trustinesse  of  thy  service, 
that  thou  shouldest  so  traiterously  deale  with  me,  but  since  that  tyme  hast  not  spared 
still  to  abuse  me  with  so  many  forgeries  and  perjured  protestations,  not  onely  hate- 
full  unto  me,  whose  simplicitie  thou  thinkest  to  bee  suche,  that  by  the  plotte  of  thy 
pleasaunt  tongue  thou  wouldest  make  me  beleeve  a  manifest  untrothe  ;  but  moste 
habominable  bee  thy  doynges  in  the  presence  and  sight  of  God,  that  hast  not  spared 
to  blaspheme  his  holy  name  by  callyng  hym  to  bee  a  witnesse  to  maintaine  thy 
leasynges,  and  so  detestably  wouldest  forsweare  thyself  in  a  matter  that  is  so  openly 
knowne. 

Poore  Silvio,  whose  innocencie  was  suche  that  he  might  lawfully  sweare,  seing 
Julina  to  be  there  in  place,  aunswered  thus. 

Moste  noble  Duke,  well  understandyng  your  conceived  greefe,  moste  humbly  I 
beseche  you  paciently  to  heare  my  excuse,  not  mindyng  therby  to  aggravate  or  heape 
up  youre  wrathe  and  displeasure,  protestyng,  before  God,  that  there  is  nothyng  in 
the  worlde  whiche  I  regarcle  so  muche,  or  dooe  esteeme  so  deare,  as  your  good  grace 
and  favour  ;  but  desirous  that  your  grace  should  know  my  innocencie,  and  to  cleare 
my  self  of  suche  impositions,  wherewith  I  knowe  I  am  wrongfully  accused,  whiche, 
as  I  understande,  should  be  in  the  practisyng  of  the  Ladie  Julina,  who  standeth  here 
in  place,  whose  acquitaunce  for  my  better  discharge  now  I  moste  humbly  crave,  pro- 
testyng, before  the  Almightie  God,  that  neither  in  thought,  worde,  nor  deede,  I 
have  not  otherwise  used  my  self  then  accordyng  to  the  bonde  and  duetie  of  a  ser- 
vante,  that  is  bothe  willyng  and  desirous  to  further  his  maister's  sutes  ;  which  if  I 
have  otherwise  saied  then  that  is  true,  you,  Madame  Julina,  who  can  verie  well  deside 
the  depthes  of  all  this  double,  I  moste  humbly  beseche  you  to  certifie  a  trothe,  if  I 
have  in  any  thyng  missaied,  or  have  other  wise  spoken  then  is  right  and  just. 

Julina,  havyng  heard  this  discourse  whiche  Silvio  had  made,  perceivyng  that  he 
stoode  in  greate  awe  of  the  Duke's  displeasure,  aunswered  thus :  Thinke  not,  my 
Silvio,  that  my  commyng  hither  is  to  accuse  you  of  any  misdemeanour  towardes  your 
maister,  so  I  dooe  not  denaie  but  in  all  suche  imbassages  wherein  towardes  me  you 
have  been  imployed,  you  have  used  the  office  of  a  faithfull  and  trustie  messenger, 
neither  am  I  ashamed  to  confesse,  that  the  first  daie  that  mine  eyes  did  beholde  the 
singular  behaviour,  the  notable  curtesie,  and  other  innumerable  giftes  wherewith  my 
Silvio  is  endued,  but  that  beyonde  all  measure  my  harte  was  so  inflamed,  that  impos- 
sible it  was  for  me  to  quenche  the  fervente  love,  or  extinguishe  the  least  parte  of  my 
conceived  torment,  before  I  had  bewraied  the  same  unto  hym,  and  of  my  owne 
motion  craved  his  promised  faithe  and  loialtie  of  marriage  ;  and  now  is  the  tyme  to 
manifest  the  same  unto  the  worldle  whiche  hath  been  doen  before  God  and  betwene 
ourselves,  knowyng  that  it  is  not  needefull  to  keepe  secret  that  whiche  is  neither 
evill  doen  nor  hurtfull  to  any  persone.  Therefore  (as  I  saied  before)  Silvio  is  my 
housbande  by  plited  faithe,  whom  I  hope  to  obtaine  without  offence  or  displeasure 
of  any  one,  trustyng  that  there  is  no  manne  that  will  so  farre  forget  hymself  as  to 
restraine  that  whiche  God  hath  left  at  libertie  for  every  wight,  or  that  will  seeke  by 
crueltie  to  force  ladies  to  marrie,  otherwise  then  accordyng  to  their  owne  likyng. 
Feare  not  then,  my  Silvio,  to  keepe  your  faith  and  promise  whiche  you  have  made 


336  APPENDIX 

unto  me  ;  and  as  for  the  reste,  I  double  not  thynges  will  so  fall  out  as  you  shall  have 
no  maner  of  cause  to  complaine. 

Silvio,  araased  to  heare  these  woordes,  for  that  Julina  by  her  speeche  seemed  to 
confinne  that  whiche  he  moste  of  all  desired  to  bee  quite  of,  saied :  Who  would 
have  thought  that  a  ladie  of  so  greate  honour  and  reputation  would  her  self  bee  the 
embassadour  of  a  thyng  so  prejuditiall  and  uncomely  for  her  estate  !  What  plighted 
promises  be  these  whiche  bee  spoken  of?  altogether  ignoraunt  unto  me,  whiche  if  it 
bee  otherwise  then  I  have  saied,  you  sacred  goddes  consume  me  straight  with  flash- 
yng  flames  of  fire.  But  what  woordes  might  I  use  to  give  credite  to  the  truthe  and 
innocencie  of  my  cause  ?  Ah,  Madame  Julina !  I  desire  no  other  testimonie  then 
your  owne,  I  desire  no  other  testimonie  then  your  owne  honestie  and  vertue,  think- 
yng  that  you  will  not  so  muche  blemishe  the  brightnesse  of  your  honour,  knowyng 
that  a  woman  is,  or  should  be,  the  image  of  curtesie,  continencie,  and  shamfastnesse, 
from  the  whiche  so  sone  as  she  stoopeth,  and  leaveth  the  office  of  her  duetie  and 
modestie,  besides  the  degraduation  of  her  honour,  she  thrusteth  her  self  into  the 
pitte  of  perpetuall  infamie.  And  as  I  can  not  thinke  you  would  so  farre  forgette 
yourself  by  the  refusall  of  a  noble  Duke,  to  dimme  the  light  of  your  renowne  and 
glorie,  whiche  hetherto  you  have  maintained  emongest  the  beste  and  noblest  ladies, 
by  suche  a  one  as  I  knowe  my  self  to  bee,  too  farre  unworthie  your  degree  and 
callyng,  so  moste  humbly  I  beseche  you  to  confesse  a  trothe,  whereto  tendeth  those 
vowes  and  promises  you  speake  of,  whiche  speeches  bee  so  obscure  unto  mee,  as  I 
knowe  not  for  my  life  how  I  might  understande  them. 

Julina,  somethyng  nipped  with  these  speeches,  saied :  And  what  is  the  matter, 
that  now  you  make  so  little  accompte  of  your  Julina  ?  that,  beeyng  my  housband  in 
deede,  have  the  face  to  denaie  me,  to  whom  thou  art  contracted  by  so  many  solemne 
othes  ?  What !  arte  thou  ashamed  to  have  me  to  thy  wife  ?  How  muche  oughtest 
thou  rather  to  be  ashamed  to  breake  thy  promised  faithe,  and  to  have  despised  the 
holie  and  dreadfull  name  of  God?  but  that  tyme  constraineth  me  to  laye  open  that 
whiche  shame  rather  willeth  I  should  dissemble  and  keepe  secret,  behold  me  then 
here,  Silvio,  whom  thou  haste  gotten  with  childe ;  who,  if  thou  bee  of  suche  hon- 
estie, as  I  trust  for  all  this  I  shall  finde,  then  the  thyng  is  doen  without  prejudice,  or 
any  hurte  to  my  conscience,  consideryng  that  by  the  professed  faithe  thou  diddest 
accoumpte  me  for  thy  wife,  and  I  received  thee  for  my  spouse  and  loyall  housbande, 
swearyng  by  the  Almightie  God  that  no  other  then  you  have  made  the  conquest  and 
triumphe  of  my  chastitie,  whereof  I  crave  no  other  witnesse  then  yourself  and  mine 
owne  conscience. 

Silvio,  half  in  a  chafe,  saied.  What  lawe  is  able  to  restraine  the  foolishe  indis- 
cretion of  a  woman  that  yeeldeth  herself  to  her  owne  desires  ?  what  shame  is  able  to 
bridle  or  withdrawe  her  from  her  mynd  and  madnesse,  or  with  what  snaffell  is  it 
possible  to  holde  her  backe  from  the  execution  of  her  filthinesse  ?  but  what  abhorn- 
ination  is  this,  that  a  ladie  of  suche  a  house  should  so  forget  the  greatnesse  of  her 
estate,  the  aliaunce  whereof  she  is  descended,  the  nobilitie  of  her  deceased  hous- 
bande, and  maketh  no  conscience  to  shame  and  slaunder  her  self  with  suche  a  one 
as  I  am,  beyng  so  farre  unfit  and  unseemely  for  her  degree  !  but  how  horrible  is  it 
to  heare  the  name  of  God  so  defaced,  that  wee  make  no  more  accompt  but  for  the 
maintenaunce  of  our  mischifes,  we  feare  no  whit  at  all  to  forsweare  his  holy  name, 
as  though  he  were  not  in  all  his  dealinges  mooste  righteous,  true,  and  juste,  and  will 
not  onely  laie  open  our  leasinges  to  the  worlde,  but  will  likewise  punishe  the  same 
with  moste  sharp  and  bitter  scourges. 


RICHE—APOLONIUS  AND  SILLA  337 

Julina,  not  able  to  indure  hym  to  proceede  any  farther  in  his  sermon,  was  alreadie 
surprised  with  a  vehement  greefe,  began  bitterly  to  crie  out,  utteryng  these  speeches 
followyng. 

Alas  !  is  it  possible  that  the  soveraigne  justice  of  God  can  abide  a  mischiefe  so 
greate  and  cursed  ?  why  maie  I  not  now  suffer  death,  rather  than  the  infamie  whiche 
I  see  to  wander  before  myne  eyes  ?  Oh,  happie,  and  more  then  right  happie,  had  I 
bin,  if  inconstant  fortune  had  not  devised  this  treason,  where  in  I  am  surprised  and 
caught !  Am  I  thus  become  to  be  intangled  with  snares,  and  in  the  handes  of  hym 
who  will  openly  deprive  me  of  my  fame,  by  makyng  me  a  common  fable  to  al  pos- 
teritie  in  tyme  to  come?  Ah,  traitour,  and  discourtious  wretche  !  is  this  the  recom- 
pence  of  the  honest  and  firme  amitie  which  I  have  borne  thee?  wherein  have  I 
deserved  this  discourtesie  ?  by  loving  thee  more  then  thou  art  able  to  deserve  ?  Is 
it  I,  arrant  theefe !  is  it  I,  uppon  whom  thou  thinkest  to  worke  thy  mischives  ?  doest 
thou  think  me  no  better  worth,  but  that  thou  maiest  prodigally  waste  my  honour  at 
thy  pleasure?  didest  thou  dare  to  adventure  uppon  me,  having  thy  conscience 
wounded  with  so  deadly  a  treason?  Ah,  unhappie,  and,  above  all  other,  most 
unhappie  ! 

Here  withall  her  teares  so  gushed  doune  her  cheekes,  that  she  was  not  able  to 
open  her  mouth  to  use  any  farther  speeche. 

The  Duke,  who  stood  by  all  this  while  and  heard  this  whole  discourse,  was 
wonderfully  moved  with  compassion  towardes  Julina,  knowyng  that  from  her  infancie 
she  had  ever  so  honourably  used  herself,  that  there  was  no  man  able  to  detect  her  of 
any  misdemeanour,  otherwise  then  beseemed  a  ladie  of  her  estate  :  wherefore,  beyng 
fully  resolved  that  Silvio,  his  man,  had  committed  this  villanie  against  her,  in  a 
greate  furie,  drawyng  his  rapier,  he  saied  unto  Silvio  : 

How  canst  thou,  arrant  theefe  !  shewe  thy  self  so  cruell  and  carelesse  to  suche 
as  doe  thee  honour  ?  Hast  thou  so  little  regard  of  suche  a  noble  ladie,  as  humbleth 
herself  to  suche  a  villaine  as  thou  art,  who,  without  any  respecte  either  of  her 
renowne  or  noble  estate,  canst  be  content  to  seeke  the  wracke  and  uiter  ruine  of  her 
honour?  But  frame  thyself  to  make  such  satisfaction  as  she  requireth,  although  I 
knowe,  unworthie  wretche,  that  thou  art  not  able  to  make  her  the  least  parte  of 
amendes,  or  I  sweare  by  God  that  thou  shall  not  escape  the  death  which  I  will 
minister  to  thee  with  my  owne  handes,  and  therefore  advise  thee  well  what  thou 
doest. 

Silvio,  havyng  heard  this  sharpe  sentence,  fell  doune  on  his  knees  before  the 
Duke,  cravyng  for  mercie,  desiryng  that  he  might  be  suffered  to  speake  with  the 
Ladie  Julina  aparte,  promising  to  satisne  her  accordyng  to  her  owne  contentation. 

Well,  (quoth  the  Duke)  I  take  thy  worde ;  and  there  withall  I  advise  thee  that 
thou  performe  thy  promis,  or  otherwise  I  protest,  before  God,  I  will  make  thee  suche 
an  example  to  the  worlde,  that  all  traitours  shall  tremble  for  feare  how  they  doe 
seeke  the  dishonouryng  of  ladies. 

But  now  Julina  had  conceived  so  greate  greefe  againste  Silvio,  that  there  was 
muche  a  dooe  to  perswade  her  to  talke  with  hym  ;  but  remembryng  her  owne  case, 
desirous  to  heare  what  excuse  he  could  make,  in  the  ende  she  agreed,  and  beyng 
brought  into  a  place  severally  by  themselves,  Silvio  beganne  with  a  piteous  voice  to 
saie  as  followeth. 

I  knowe  not,  madame,  of  whom  I  might  make  complaint,  whether  of  you  or  of 
my  self,  or  rather  of  Fortune,  whiche  hath  conducted  and  brought  us  both  into  so 
greate  adversitie.  I  see  that  you  receive  greate  wrong,  and  I  am  condemned  againste 


338 


APPENDIX 


all  right ;  you  in  perill  to  abide  the  brute  of  spightfull  tongues,  and  I  in  daunger  to 
loose  the  thing  that  I  moste  desire  ;  and  although  I  could  alledge  many  reasons  to 
prove  my  saiynges  true,  yet  I  referre  my  self  to  the  experience  and  bountie  of  your 
minde.  And  here  with  all  loosing  his  garmentes  doune  to  his  stomacke,  shewed 
Julina  his  breastes,  saiyng  :  Loe,  Madame  !  behold  here  the  partie  whom  you  have 
chalenged  to  bee  the  father  of  your  childe.  See,  I  am  a  woman,  the  daughter  of  a 
noble  Duke,  who,  onely  for  the  love  of  him  whom  you  so  lightly  have  shaken  off 
have  forsaken  my  father,  abandoned  my  countreie,  and,  in  maner  as  you  see,  an 
become  a  servyng-man,  satisfiyng  myself  but  with  the  onely  sight  of  my  Apolonius. 
And  now,  Madame,  if  my  passion  were  not  vehement,  and  my  tormentes  without 
comparison,  I  would  wish  that  my  fained  greefes  might  be  laughed  to  scorne,  and 
my  desembled  paines  to  be  rewarded  with  floutes  :  but  my  love  beyng  pure,  my 
travaile  continuall,  and  my  greefes  endlesse,  I  trust,  madame,  you  will  not  onely 
excuse  me  of  crime,  but  also  pitie  my  distresse,  the  which,  I  protest,  I  would  still 
have  kept  secrete,  if  my  fortune  would  so  have  permitted. 

Julina  did  now  thinke  her  self  to  be  in  a  worse  case  then  ever  she  was  before, 
for  now  she  knewe  not  whom  to  chalenge  to  be  the  father  of  her  child  ;  wherfore, 
when  she  had  told  the  Duke  the  very  certaintie  of  the  discourse  which  Silvio  had 
made  unto  her,  she  departed  to  her  owne  house,  with  suche  greefe  and  sorrowe,  that 
she  purposed  never  to  come  out  of  her  owne  doores  againe  alive,  to  be  a  wonder  and 
mocking  stocke  to  the  worlde. 

But  the  Duke,  more  amased  to  heare  this  straunge  discourse  of  Silvio,  came  unto 
him,  whom  when  he  had  vewed  with  better  consideration,  perceived  indeede  that  it 
was  Silla,  the  daughter  of  Duke  Pontus,  and  imbracing  her  in  his  armes,  he  saied. 

Oh,  the  braunche  of  all  vertue,  and  the  flowre  of  curtesie  it  self !  pardon  me,  I 
beseche  you,  of  all  suche  discourtesies  as  I  have  ignorantlie  committed  towardes 
you,  desiring  you  that  without  farther  memorie  of  auncient  greefes,  you  will  accept 
of  me,  who  is  more  joyfull  and  better  contented  with  your  presence,  then  if  the 
whole  worlde  were  at  my  commaundement.  Where  hath  there  ever  been  founde 
suche  liberalise  in  a  lover,  whiche  havyng  been  trained  up  and  nourished  emongest 
the  delicacies  and  banquettes  of  the  courte,  accompanied  with  traines  of  many  faire 
and  noble  ladies,  living  in  pleasure  and  in  the  middest  of  delightes,  would  so  prod- 
igallie  adventure  your  self,  neither  fearing  mishapps,  nor  misliking  to  take  suche 
paines  as  I  knowe  you  have  not  been  accustomed  unto  ?  O,  liberalise  never  heard 
of  before  !  O,  facte  that  can  never  bee  sufficiently  rewarded  !  O,  true  love  moste 
pure  and  unfained  !  Here  with  all  sendyng  for  the  moste  artificiall  woorkmen,  he 
provided  for  her  sondrie  sutes  of  sumpteous  apparell,  and  the  marriage  daie 
appoincted,  whiche  was  celebrated  with  greate  triumphe  through  the  whole  citie  of 
Constantinople,  every  one  prasing  the  noblenesse  of  the  Duke  ;  but  so  many  as  did 
behold  the  excellent  beautie  of  Silla  gave  her  the  praise  above  all  the  rest  of  the 
ladies  in  the  troupe. 

The  matter  seemed  so  wonderfull  and  straunge,  that  the  brute  was  spreade 
throughout  all  the  partes  of  Grecia,  in  so  muche  that  it  came  to  the  hearyng  of 
Silvio ;  who,  as  you  have  heard,  remained  in  those  partes  to  enquire  of  his  sister : 
he  beyng  the  gladdest  manne  in  the  worlde,  hasted  to  Constantinople,  where,  com- 
ming  to  his  sister,  he  was  joyfullie  receved,  and  moste  lovynglie  welcomed,  and 
entertained  of  the  Duke  his  brother  in  lawe.  After  he  had  remained  there  twoo  or 
three  dales,  the  Duke  revealed  unto  Silvio  the  whole  discourse  how  it  happened 
betweene  his  sister  and  the  Ladie  Julina,  and  how  his  sister  was  chalenged  for  get- 


GL  1NGANNI— DECEITS  339 

tyng  a  woman  with  childe.  Silvio,  blushyng  with  these  woordes,  was  striken  with 
greate  remorse  to  make  Julina  amendes,  understanding  her  to  bee  a  noble  ladie,  and 
was  lefte  defamed  to  the  worlde  through  his  default :  he  therefore  bewraied  the 
whole  circumstaunce  to  the  Duke,  whereof  the  Duke  beyng  verie  joyfull,  immedi- 
atelie  repaired  with  Silvio  to  the  house  of  Julina,  whom  thei  founde  in  her  chamber 
in  greate  lamentation  and  mournyng.  To  whom  the  Duke  saied :  Take  courage, 
madam,  for  beholde  here  a  gentilman  that  will  not  sticke  bothe  to  father  your  child 
and  to  take  you  for  his  wife  ;  no  inferiour  persone,  but  the  sonne  and  heire  of  a 
noble  Duke,  worthie  of  your  estate  and  dignitie. 

Julina,  seyng  Silvio  in  place,  did  know  very  well  that  he  was  the  father  of  her 
childe,  and  was  so  ravished  with  joye,  that  she  knewe  not  whether  she  were  awake, 
or  in  some  dreame.  Silvio,  imbracyng  her  in  his  armes,  cravyng  forgivenesse  of  all 
that  was  past,  concluded  with  her  the  marriage  daie,  which  was  presently  accom- 
plished with  greate  joye  and  contentation  to  all  parties.  And  thus,  Silvio  havyng 
attained  a  noble  wife,  and  Silla,  his  sister,  her  desired  housband,  thei  passed  the 
residue  of  their  daies  with  suche  delight  as  those  that  have  accomplished  the  per- 
fection of  their  felicities. 

In  Manningham's  Diary  it  is  stated  that  Twelfth  Night  is  'most  like  and  neere  » 
'to  that  in  Italian  called  Jnganni.'  HUNTER  (i,  391)  found  that  there  are  two 
Italian  comedies,  bearing  that  title,  by  two  separate  authors,  one  of  whom  was 
Nicolo  Secchi,  whose  play  was  printed  at  Florence  in  1562,  and  the  other  was  Curzio 
Gonzaga,  whose  Inganni  was  printed  at  Venice  in  1592.  There  is  a  third,  but 
of  a  date  later  than  Twelfth  Night ;  it  needs,  therefore,  no  attention. 

Gonzaga' s  play  I  have  not  seen,  but  from  Hunter's  brief  description  it  cannot 
vary  greatly  from  Secchi's.  '  In  both,'  says  Hunter,  there  is  '  a  brother  and  a  sister, 
'  the  latter  clothed  in  man's  attire,  and  bearing  to  each  other  so  near  a  resemblance 
'  as  to  produce  entertaining  embarrassments,  which  is  the  pivot  on  which  the  main 
'  incidents  of  the  serious  part  of  Twelfth  Night  turn.  The  name  assumed  by  the 
'lady  in  disguise  in  Gonzaga's  play  is  Cesare,  which  will  be  easily  admitted  to  have 
'  suggested  the  name  Cesario  in  Shakespeare.  Beyond  this,  however,  the  resem- 
•blance  is  not  striking.' 

HUNTER  gives  the  date  of  the  first  edition  of  Secchi's  Inganni  as  1562.  The 
title-page,  however,  refers  to  an  earlier  date  as  that  of  its  performance.  My  copy 
bears  the  date  1582 ;  I  suppose  that  there  was  no  change  in  the  editions  of  different 
years,  beyond  the  corrections  of  old  typographical  errors  and  the  addition  of  new 
ones,  albeit  on  the  title-page  they  were  always  said  to  be  corrected  con  sum  ma  dili- 
genza.  The  title-page  of  the  copy  now  before  me  is  as  follows  : — GL'  INGANNI  | 
COMEDIA  I  DEL  SIGNOR  N.  S.  |  Recitata  in  Milano  1'anno  1547.  dinanzi  |  alia 
Maesta  del  Re  Filippo.  |  Nvovamente  Ristampata,  \  &*  con  summa  diligenza  corretta, 
|  In  Venetia,  |  Appresso  Bernardo  Giunti,  e  Fratelli.  MDLXXXII. 

The  Prologue  is  as  follows  : — 

GL'  INGANNI,  OR  DECEITS 

'  Anselmo,  a  Genoese  merchant,  who  traded  to  the  Levant,  left  his  wife  in  Genoa 
with  his  two  children,  one  a  boy  called  Fortunate  and  a  girl  named  Genevra.  After 
he  had  endured  for  four  years  the  longing  for  his  wife  and  family,  he  returned  home 
to  see  them,  and  wishing  to  leave  again  he  took  them  with  him,  and  when  they  were 
on  board  ship,  he  clad  both  the  children  for  greater  convenience  in  short  clothes,  so 


340 


APPENDIX 


that  the  girl  appeared  like  a  boy  :  and  on  the  voyage  to  Soria  he  was  taken  by  Corsairs 
and  carried  to  Natolia,  where  he  remained  as  a  slave  for  fourteen  years  :  his  children 
had  a  different  fortune  :  inasmuch  as  the  boy  was  sold  several  times  :  but  last  of  all 
in  this  cily,  which  on  this  occasion  shall  be  Naples,  and  at  present  he  is  servant  to 
Dorotea,  a  courtesan,  who  lives  there  at  that  little  door.  The  mother  and  Genevra, 
after  various  accidents,  were  bought  by  M.  Massimo  Caraccioli,  who  lives  at  that 
door :  but  by  the  advice  of  her  mother,  who  has  now  been  dead  for  six  years, 
Genevra  has  changed  her  name  and  is  called  Ruberto,  and,  as  her  mother  when 
alive  had  counselled  her,  she  always  passed  herself  off  as  a  boy,  in  the  belief  that 
by  this  means  she  could  better  guard  her  honour.  Fortunate  and  Ruberto,  by  the 
information  of  their  mother,  know  that  they  are  brother  and  sister.  M.  Massimo 
has  a  son,  called  Gostanzo,  and  a  daughter  called  Portia.  Gostanzo  is  in  love  with 
Dorotea,  the  courtesan,  to  whom  Fortunato  is  servant :  Portia,  his  sister,  is  in  love 
with  Ruberto,  although  she  is  a  girl,  because  she  had  always  been  held  to  be  a 
boy.  Ruberto,  the  girl,  unable  to  respond  to  the  caresses  of  Portia,  has,  under 
cover  of  night,  substituted  for  herself  her  brother  Fortunato,  with  the  result  that 
Portia  is  now  expecting  every  day  to  be  confined.  On  the  other  hand,  Ruberto,  as 
a  girl  and  enamoured  of  her  master  Gostanzo,  experiences  double  anxiety,  one  due 
to  the  love  which  torments  her,  and  the  other  to  the  fear  that  Portia's  plight  should 
be  discovered.  Massimo,  the  father  of  Portia  and  Gostanzo,  has  perceived  the  con- 
dition of  his  daughter,  and  has  sent  to  Genoa  to  inquire  into  the  parentage  of 
Ruberto,  in  order  that  if  the  youth  prove  of  low  birth  and  unfit  to  be  the  husband 
of  his  daughter,  whom  he  believes  has  been  beguiled  by  him,  he  will  have  him  put 
to  death.  But  from  what  I  have  understood,  the  father  of  the  twins,  who  has 
escaped  from  the  Turks,  ought  to-day  to  be  returned  with  the  messenger,  and  I  think 
that  everything  will  be  arranged.  Be  attentive,  and  because  you  have  no  supper  here, 
there  have  been  prepared  for  you  some  viands  of  laughter,  partially  to  satisfy  your 
hunger.  You  shall  have  a  brave  soldier  who  will  not  allow  you  to  become  wearied, 
and  an  old  Doctor, — both  of  them  in  love  with  the  Courtesan,  Dorotea,  who  skins 
them  alive.  Do  not  stir,  I  hear  a  noise.' 

Beyond  the  circumstance,  which  we  learn  from  this  Prologue,  that  there  is  some 
'  cross  wooing,'  this  plot  reveals  nothing  which  affords  any  indication  that  Shake- 
speare had  ever  used  it  or  even  seen  it.  There  is  one  short  dialogue  wherein  COL- 
LIER finds  a  parallel  to  Cesario's  acknowledgement  to  the  Duke  that  the  woman  with 
whom  he  was  in  love  resembled  the  Duke  himself.  It  is  where  Ruberto  (Viola) 
tells  Gostanzo  (Orsino)  that  she  knows  a  young  girl  who  is  much  in  love  with  him. 
4  Gostanzo.  Where  is  she  ?  Ruberto.  Near  you.  Cost.  How  shall  I  get  to  her  ? 
Rub,  As  you  would  come  to  me.  Cost.  How  do  you  know  that  she  loves  me  ? 
Rub.  Because  she  often  talks  to  me  of  her  love.  Cost.  Do  I  know  her  ?  Rub.  As 
well  as  you  know  me.  Cost.  Is  she  young  ?  Rub.  Of  my  age.  Cost.  And  loves 
me?  Rub.  Adores  you.  Cost.  Have  I  ever  seen  her?  Rub.  As  often  as  you 
have  seen  me.' 

The  '  brave  soldier,'  to  whom  the  Prologue  referred,  has  a  servant  named  Straccia. 
From  the  similarity  of  sound,  COLLIER  supposes  that,  in  some  way,  wherein  imagi- 
nation must  take  a  wild  Sight,  this  servant's  name  became  converted  into  '  the  lady 
'of  the  Strachy.' 

T.  L.  PEACOCK  (Preface  to  Translation  of  Gl'  fng-annatt"),  speaking  of  the 
Inganni,  says  that  '  much  of  this  comedy  is  borrowed,  in  parts  closely  translated, 
'  from  the  Asinaria  of  Plautus.  Cleaereta,  the  mother  ;  Philenium,  the  daughter  ; 


GL  INGANNATI—THE  DECEIVED  341 

'Argyrippus,  the  lover;  are  reproduced  in  Gillitta,  Dorotea,  and  Gostanzo.'  He 
specifies  parallel  scenes  in  the  two  comedies.  The  '  brave  soldier,'  to  whom  the 
Prologue  to  the  Inganni  referred,  is  insulted  and  fleeced  by  Giletta  and  her  daugh- 
ter, Dorotea,  and,  after  being  thrust  into  the  street,  and  the  door  barred  against  him, 
besieges  the  house.  This  incident  Peacock  regards  as  similar  to  Thraso's  attack  on 
the  house  of  Thais  in  Terence's  Eunuchus,  IV,  vii. 

HUNTER  did  not  even  find  quite  as  much  as  Collier,  in  the  Inganni,  to  indicate 
that  Shakespeare  had  derived  from  it  any  portion  of  his  plot.  In  his  search  after 
this  Italian  comedy  he  was  led,  however,  to  the  knowledge  of  another  play,  which, 
he  asserted,  was  '  beyond  question '  the  Italian  source  of  the  plot  of  Twelfth  Night. 
This  is  a  comedy  the  title  of  which  is  GI'  Ingannati.  A  general  account  of  this 
play  is  given  in  the  Preface  to  the  present  volume.  The  scenes  in  which  the  four 
principal  characters  are  chiefly  concerned  have  been  translated  by  T.  L.  PEACOCK, 
and  a  connecting  outline  of  the  rest  is  added.  The  original  has  no  stage-directions  ; 
these  have  been,  here  and  there,  supplied  by  the  Translator.  Peacock' s  translation 
is,  substantially,  as  follows: — 

DRAMATIS  PERSONS 

Gherardo  Foiani,  father  of  Isabella. 

Virginio  Bellenzini,  father  of  Lelia  and  Fabrizio. 

Flaminio  de'  Carandini,  in  love  with  Isabella. 

Fabnzio,  son  of  Virginio. 

Messer  Piero,  a  pedant,  tutor  of  Fabrizio. 

L'Agiato  \ 

Fruella     J  Hva/  hotel'keePers- 

Giglio,  a  Spaniard. 

Spela,  servant  of  Gherardo. 

Scatizza,  servant  of  Virginio. 

Crivello,  servant  of  Flaminio. 

Stragualcia,  servant  of  Fabrizio. 

Lelia,  daughter  of  Virginia,  disguised  as  a  page,  under  the  name  of  Fabio. 

Isabella,  daughter  of  Gherardo. 

dementia,  nurse  of  Lelia. 

Pasquella,  housekeeper  of  Gherardo. 

Cittina,  a  girl,  daughter  of  dementia. 

The  Scene  is  in  Modena. 

GL'  INGANNATI—THE  DECEIVED 

ACT  I. — SCENE. — A  Street,  with  the  house  of  Virginio.  Virginio  and 
Gherardo.  [Virginio,  an  old  merchant,  has  two  children,  a  son  and  a  daugh- 
ter, Fabrizio  and  Lelia.  He  has  lost  his  property  and  his  son  in  the  sack 
of  Rome,  May,  1527,  when  his  daughter  had  just  finished  her  thirteenth  year. 
The  comedy  being  performed  in  the  Carnival  of  1531,  the  girl  is  in  her  seventeenth 
year.  Another  old  man,  Gherardo,  who  is  wealthy,  wishes  to  marry  her,  and  the 
father  assents,  provided  the  maiden  is  willing.  Gherardo  thinks  that  the  father's 
will  ought  to  be  sufficient,  and  that  it  only  rests  with  him  to  make  his  daughter  do 
as  he  pleases.] 

SCENE. —  Virginia   and  dementia.      [Virginio   having   shortly  before   gone  on 


342 


APPENDIX 


business  to  Bologna,  in  company  with  a  Messer  Buonaparte  and  others,  has  left 
Lelia  in  a  convent  with  her  Aunt  Camilla,  and  now,  in  the  intention  of  her  mar- 
riage, desires  Lelia' s  nurse,  dementia,  to  go  to  the  convent  to  bring  her  home, 
dementia  must  first  go  to  mass.] 

SCENE. — A  Street,  with  the  house  of  Flaminio.     Lelia,  afterwards  dementia. 

Lelia  (in  male  apparel}.  It  is  great  boldness  in  me,  that,  knowing  the  licentious 
customs  of  these  wild  youths  of  Modena,  I  should  venture  abroad  alone  at  this  early 
hour.  What  would  become  of  me,  if  any  one  of  them  should  suspect  my  sex?  But 
the  cause  is  my  love  for  the  cruel  and  ungrateful  Flaminio.  Oh,  what  a  fate  is  mine  ! 
I  love  one  who  hates  me.  I  serve  one  who  does  not  know  me  ;  and,  for  more  bitter 
grief,  I  aid  him  in  his  love  for  another,  without  any  other  hope  than  that  of  satiating 
my  eyes  with  his  sight.  Thus  far  all  has  gone  well ;  but  now,  what  can  I  do  ?  My 
father  is  returned.  Flaminio  is  come  to  live  in  the  town.  I  can  scarcely  hope 
to  continue  here  without  being  discovered ;  and  if  it  should  be  so,  my  reputation 
will  be  blighted  for  ever,  and  I  shall  become  a  byword  in  the  city.  Therefore  I 
have  come  forth  at  this  hour  to  consult  my  nurse,  whom,  from  the  window  I  have 
seen  coming  this  way.  But  I  will  first  see  if  she  knows  me  in  this  dress. 

[dementia  enters, 

dementia.  In  good  faith,  Flaminio  must  be  returned  to  Modena ;  for  I  see  his 
door  open.  Oh  !  if  Lelia  knew  it,  it  would  appear  to  her  a  thousand  years  till  she 
came  back  to  her  father' s  house.  But  who  is  this  young  coxcomb  that  keeps  crossing 
before  me,  backward  and  forward  ?  What  do  you  mean  by  it  ?  Take  yourself  off, 
or  I  will  show  you  how  I  like  such  chaps. — Lelia.  Good  morning,  good  mother. 

Clem.  I  seem  to  know  the  boy.     Tell  me,  where  can  I  have  seen  you  ? 

Lelia.  You  pretend  not  to  know  me,  eh  ?  Come  a  little  nearer,  nearer  still  ;  on 
this  side.  Now  ? 

Clem.  Is  it  possible  ?  Can  you  be  Lelia  ?  Oh,  misery  of  my  life  !  What  does 
this  mean,  my  child  ? — Lelia.  Oh  !  if  you  cry  out  in  this  way,  I  must  go. 

Clem.  Is  this  the  honour  you  do  to  your  father,  to  your  house,  to  yourself,  to  me, 
who  have  brought  you  up  ?  Come  in  instantly.  You  shall  not  be  seen  in  this  dress. 

Lelia.  Pray  have  a  little  patience. — Clem.  Are  you  not  ashamed  to  be  seen  so  ? 

Lelia.  Am  I  the  first?   I  have  seen  women  in  Rome  go  in  this  way  by  hundreds. 

Clem.  They  must  have  been  vile  women. 

Lelia.  Oh,  among  so  many  vile,  may  there  not  have  been  one  good  one  ? 

Clem.  Why  do  you  go  so  ?  Why  have  you  left  the  convent  ?  Oh,  if  your  father 
knew  it,  he  would  kill  you. 

Lelia.  He  would  end  my  misery.     Do  you  think  I  value  life  ? 

Clem.  But  why  do  you  go  so  ?     Tell  me. 

Lelia.  Listen,  and  you  shall  hear.  You  will  then  know  how  great  is  my  afflic- 
tion,— why  I  have  left  the  convent, — why  I  go  thus  attired,  and  what  I  wish  you  to 
do  in  the  matter.  But  step  more  aside,  lest  any  one  should  pass  who  may  recognise 
me,  seeing  me  talking  with  you. — Clem.  You  kill  me  with  impatience. 

Lelia.  You  know  that  after  the  terrible  sack  of  Rome,  my  father,  having  lost 
everything,  and,  together  with  his  property,  my  brother  Fabrizio,  in  order  not  to  be 
alone  in  his  house,  took  me  from  the  service  of  the  Signora  Marchesana,  with  whom 
he  had  placed  me,  and,  constrained  by  necessity,  we  returned  to  our  house  in  Modena 
to  live  on  the  little  that  remained  to  us  here.  You  know,  also,  that  my  father,  having 
been  considered  a  friend  of  the  Count  Guido  Rangon,  was  not  well  looked  on  by 
many. 


GL  ING  ANNA  TI—  THE  DECEIVED  343 

Clem.  Why  do  you  tell  me  what  I  know  better  than  you?  I  know,  too,  for 
what  reason  you  left  the  city,  to  live  at  our  farm  of  Fontanile,  and  that  I  went 
with  you. 

Lelia.  You  know,  also,  how  bitter  were  my  feelings  at  that  time ;  not  only 
remote  from  all  thoughts  of  love,  but  almost  from  all  human  thought,  considering 
that,  having  been  a  captive  among  soldiers,  I  could  not,  however  purely  and  becom- 
ingly I  might  live,  escape  malicious  remark.  And  you  know  how  often  you  scolded 
me  for  my  melancholy,  and  exhorted  me  to  lead  a  more  cheerful  life. 

Clem.  If  I  know  it,  why  do  you  tell  it  to  me  ?     Go  on. 

Lelia.  Because  it  is  necessary  to  remind  you  of  all  this,  that  you  may  understand 
what  follows.  It  happened  at  this  time  that  Flaminio  Carandini,  from  having  been 
attached  to  the  same  party  as  ourselves,  formed  an  intimate  friendship  with  my  father, 
came  daily  to  our  house,  began  to  admire  me  secretly,  then  took  to  sighing  and  cast- 
ing down  his  eyes.  By  degrees  I  took  increasing  pleasure  in  his  manners  and  con- 
versation, not,  however,  even  dreaming  of  love.  But  his  continuous  visits,  and 
sighs,  and  signs  of  admiration  at  last  made  me  aware  that  he  was  not  a  little  taken 
with  me,  and  I,  who  had  never  felt  love  before,  deeming  him  worthy  of  my  dearest 
thoughts,  became  in  love  with  him  so  strongly  that  I  had  no  longer  any  delight  but 
in  seeing  him. —  Clem.  Much  of  this  also  I  knew. 

Lelia.  You  know,  too,  that  when  the  Spanish  soldiers  left  Rome  my  father  went 
thither  to  see  if  any  of  our  property  remained,  but,  still  more,  to  see  if  he  could 
learn  any  news  of  my  brother.  He  sent  me  to  Mirandola,  to  stay,  till  his  return, 
with  my  Aunt  Giovanna.  With  what  grief  I  separated  from  my  dear  Flaminio  you 
may  well  say,  who  so  often  dried  my  tears.  I  remained  a  year  at  Mirandola,  and  on 
my  father's  return  I  came  back  to  Modena,  more  than  ever  enamoured  of  him  who 
was  my  first  love,  and  thinking  still  that  he  loved  me  as  before. 

Clem.  Oh,  insanity  !  How  many  Modenese  have  you  found  constant  in  love  of 
one  for  a  year  ?  One  month  to  one,  another  month  to  another,  is  the  extent  of  their 
devotion. 

Lelia.  I  met  him,  and  he  hardly  remembered  me,  any  more  than  if  he  had  never 
seen  me.  But  the  worst  of  it  is,  that  he  has  set  his  heart  on  Isabella,  the  daughter 
of  Gherardo  Foiani,  who  is  not  only  very  beautiful,  but  the  only  child  of  her  father, 
if  the  crazy  old  fellow  does  not  marry  again. 

Clem.  He  thinks  himself  certain  of  having  you,  and  says  that  your  father  has 
promised  you  to  him.  But  all  this  does  not  explain  to  me  why  you  have  left  the 
convent,  and  go  about  in  male  apparel. 

Lelia.  The  old  fellow  certainly  shall  not  have  me.  But  my  father,  after  his 
return  from  Rome,  having  business  at  Bologna,  placed  me,  as  I  would  not  return  to 
Mirandola,  in  the  convent  with  my  cousin  Amabile.  I  found,  that  among  these 
reverend  mothers  and  sisters,  love  was  the  principal  subject  of  conversation.  I 
therefore  felt  emboldened  to  open  my  heart  to  Amabile.  She  pitied  me,  and  found 
means  to  bring  Flaminio,  who  was  then  living  out  of  the  town,  in  a  palazzo  near  the 
convent,  several  times  to  speak  with  her  and  with  others,  where  I,  concealed  behind 
curtains,  might  feast  my  eyes  on  seeing  him  and  my  ears  with  hearing  him.  One 
day,  I  heard  him  lamenting  the  death  of  a  page,  whose  good  service  he  highly 
praised,  saying  how  glad  he  would  be  if  he  could  find  such  another.  It  imme- 
diately occurred  to  me,  that  I  would  try  to  supply  the  vacant  place,  and  consulting 
with  Sister  Amabile,  she  encouraged  me,  instructed  me  how  to  proceed,  and  fitted 
me  with  some  new  clothes,  which  she  had  had  made,  in  order  that  she  might,  as 


344 


APPENDIX 


others  do,  go  out  in  disguise  about  her  own  affairs.  So  one  morning  early,  I  left  the 
convent  in  this  attire,  and  went  to  Flaminio's  palazzo.  There  I  waited  till  Flaminio 
came  out ;  and  Fortune  be  praised,  he  no  sooner  saw  me,  than  he  asked  me  most 
courteously,  what  I  wanted  and  whence  I  came. 

Clem.  Is  it  possible  that  you  did  not  fall  dead  with  shame  ? 

Lelia.  Far  from  it  indeed.  Love  bore  me  up.  I  answered  frankly,  that  I  was 
from  Rome,  and  that,  being  poor,  I  was  seeking  service.  He  examined  me  several 
times  from  head  to  foot  so  earnestly,  that  I  was  almost  afraid  he  would  know  me. 
He  then  said  that  if  I  pleased  to  stay  with  him,  he  would  receive  me  willingly  and 
treat  me  well ;  and  I  answered  that  I  would  gladly  do  so. 

Clem.  And  what  good  do  you  expect  from  this  mad  proceeding  ? 

Lelia.  The  good  of  seeing  him,  hearing  him,  talking  with  him,  learning  his 
secrets,  seeing  his  companions,  and  being  sure  that  if  he  is  not  mine,  he  is  not 
another's. 

Clem.  In  what  way  do  you  serve  him  ? 

Lelia.  As  his  page  in  all  honesty.  And  in  this  fortnight  that  I  have  served  him, 
I  have  become  so  much  in  favour,  that  I  almost  think  appearing  in  my  true  dress 
would  revive  his  love. 

Clem.  What  will  people  say  when  this  shall  be  known  ? 

Lelia.  Who  will  know  it,  if  you  do  not  tell  it  ?  Now  what  I  want  you  to  do  is 
this :  that,  as  my  father  returned  yesterday,  and  may  perhaps  send  for  me,  you 
would  prevent  his  doing  so  for  four  or  five  days,  and  at  the  end  of  this  time  I  will 
return.  You  may  say  that  I  am  gone  to  Roverino  with  Sister  Amabile. 

Clem.  And  why  all  this  ? 

Lelia.  Flaminio,  as  I  have  already  told  you,  is  enamoured  of  Isabella  Foiani ; 
and  he  often  sends  me  to  her  with  letters  and  messages.  She,  taking  me  for  a 
young  man,  has  fallen  madly  in  love  with  me,  and  makes  me  the  most  passionate 
advances.  I  pretend  that  I  will  not  love  her,  unless  she  can  so  manage  as  to  bring 
Flaminio's  pursuit  of  her  to  an  end ;  and  I  hope  that  in  three  or  four  days  he  will 
be  brought  to  give  her  up. 

Clem.  Your  father  has  sent  me  for  you,  and  I  insist  on  your  coming  to  my  house, 
and  I  will  send  for  your  clothes.  If  you  do  not  come  home  with  me,  I  will  tell  your 
father  all  about  you. 

Lelia.  Then  I  will  go  where  neither  you  nor  he  shall  ever  see  me  again.  I  can 
say  no  more  now,  for  I  hear  Flaminio  call  me.  Expect  me  at  your  house  in  an 
hour.  Remember  that  I  call  myself  Fabio  degP  Alberini. — I  come,  Signer. — Adieu 
dementia.  [Exit  Lelia. 

Clem.  In  good  faith,  she  has  seen  Gherardo  coming,  and  has  run  away.  I  must 
not  tell  her  father  for  the  present,  and  she  must  not  remain  where  she  is.  I  will 
wait  till  I  see  her  again. 

SCENE.  —  Gherardo,  Spela,  and  dementia.  [In  this  scene,  dementia  makes 
S|x>rt  of  the  old  lover,  treating  him  as  a  sprightly  youth.  He  swallows  the  flattery, 
and  echoes  it  in  rapturous  speeches,  while  his  servant,  Spela,  in  a  series  of  asides, 
exhausts  on  his  folly  the  whole  vocabulary  of  anger  and  contempt.  ] 

SCENE. — Spela  and  Scatizza.  [Spela,  at  first  alone,  soliloquises  in  ridicule  of 
his  master.  Scatizza,  the  servant  of  Virginio,  who  had  been  to  fetch  Lelia  from  the 
convent,  enters  in  great  wrath,  having  been  laughed  at  by  the  nuns,  who  told  him 
all  sorts  of  contradictory  stories  respecting  her ;  by  which  he  is  so  bewildered  that 
he  does  not  know  what  to  say  to  Virginio.] 


GL  INGANNATI—  THE  DECEIVED  345 

ACT  II.— The  Street,  with  the  house  of  Flaminio.  Enter  Lelia  (as  Fabio) 
and  Flaminio, 

Flaminio.  It  is  a  strange  thing,  Fabio,  that  I  have  not  yet  been  able  to  extract  a 
kind  answer  from  this  cruel,  this  ungrateful  Isabella,  and  yet  by  her  always  receiv- 
ing you  graciously  and  by  giving  you  willing  audience  I  am  led  to  think  that  she 
does  not  altogether  hate  me.  Assuredly,  I  never  did  anything,  that  I  know,  to  dis- 
please her  ;  you  may  judge,  from  her  conversation,  if  she  has  any  cause  to  complain 
of  me.  Repeat  to  me  what  she  said  yesterday,  when  you  went  to  her  with  that  letter. 

Lelia.  I  have  repeated  it  to  you  twenty  times. 

Flam.  Oh  repeat  it  to  me  once  more.     What  can  it  matter  to  you  ? 

Lelia.  It  matters  to  me  this,  that  it  is  disagreeable  to  you,  and  is,  therefore, 
painful  to  me,  as  your  servant,  who  seek  only  to  please  you  ;  perhaps  these  answers 
may  make  you  vexed  with  me. 

Flam.  No,  my  dear  Fabio  ;  I  love  you  as  a  brother  ;  I  know  you  wish  me  well, 
and  I  will  never  be  wanting  to  you,  as  time  shall  show.  But  repeat  to  me  what 
she  said. 

Lelia.  Have  I  not  told  you  ?  That  the  greatest  pleasure  you  can  do  her  is  to  let 
her  alone  ;  to  think  no  more  of  her,  because  she  has  fixed  her  heart  elsewhere  ;  that 
she  has  no  eyes  to  look  on  you  ;  that  you  lose  your  tune  in  following  her,  and  will 
find  yourself  at  last  with  your  hands  full  of  wind. 

Flam.  And  does  it  appear  to  you,  Fabio,  that  she  says  these  things  from  her 
heart,  or,  rather,  that  she  has  taken  some  offence  with  me  ?  For  at  one  time  she 
showed  me  favour,  and  I  cannot  believe  she  wishes  me  ill,  while  she  accepts  my 
letters  and  my  messages.  I  am  disposed  to  follow  her  till  death.  Do  you  not  think 
that  I  am  in  the  right,  Fabio? 

Lelia.  No,  signor. — Flam.  Why? — Lelia.  Because,  if  I  were  in  your  place,  I 
should  expect  her  to  receive  my  service  as  a  grace  and  an  honour.  To  a  young  man 
like  you,  noble,  virtuous,  elegant,  handsome,  can  ladies  worthy  of  you,  be  wanting? 
Do  as  I  would  do,  signor ;  leave  her ;  and  attach  yourself  to  some  one  who  will 
love  you  as  you  deserve.  Such  will  be  easily  found,  and  perhaps  as  handsome  as  she 
is.  Have  you  never  yet  found  one  in  this  country  who  loved  you  ? 

Flam.  Indeed  I  have,  and  especially  one,  who  is  named  Lelia,  and  to  whom, 
I  have  often  thought  I  see  a  striking  likeness  in  you  ;  the  most  beautiful,  the  most 
accomplished,  the  best  mannered  young  girl  in  this  town ;  who  would  think  her- 
self happy,  if  I  would  show  her  even  a  little  favour ;  rich  and  well  received  at 
court.  We  were  lovers  nearly  a  year,  and  she  showed  me  a  thousand  favours  ;  but 
she  went  to  Mirandola,  and  my  fate  made  me  enamoured  of  Isabella,  who  has  been 
as  cruel  to  me  as  Lelia  was  gracious. 

Lelia.  Master,  you  deserve  to  suffer.  If  you  do  not  value  one  who  loves  you,  it 
is  fitting  that  one  you  love  should  not  value  you. — Flam.  What  do  you  mean  ? 

Lelia.  If  you  first  loved  this  poor  girl,  and  if  she  loved  and  still  loves  you,  why 
have  you  abandoned  her  to  follow  another  ?  Ah,  Signor  Flaminio  !  you  do  a  great 
wrong,  a  greater  than  I  know  if  God  can  pardon. 

Flam.  You  are  a  child,  Fabio.  You  do  not  know  the  force  of  love.  I  cannot 
help  myself.  I  must  love  and  adore  Isabella.  I  cannot,  may  not,  will  not  think  of 
any  but  her.  Therefore,  go  to  her  again  ;  speak  with  her ;  and  try  to  draw  dexter- 
ously from  her,  what  is  the  cause  that  she  will  not  see  me. — Lelia.  You  will  lose 
your  time. — Flam.  It  pleases  me  so  to  lose  it. — Lelia.  You  will  accomplish  nothing. 
— Flam.  Patience. — Lelia.  Pray  let  her  go. — Flam.  I  cannot.  Go,  as  I  bid  you. — 


346 


APPENDIX 


Lelia.  I  will  go,  but —  Flam.  Return  with  the  answer  immediately.  Meanwhile 
I  will  go  in. — Lelia.  When  time  serves,  I  will  not  fail. — Flam.  Do  this,  and  it  will 
be  well  for  you.  [Exit  Flaminio. 

Lelia.  He  is  gone  in  good  time,  here  is  Pasquella  coming  to  look  for  me. 

[Enter  Pasquella. 

Pasquella.  I  do  not  think  there  is  in  the  world  a  greater  trouble  or  a  greater 
annoyance,  than  to  serve  a  young  woman  like  my  mistress,  who  has  neither  mother 
nor  sisters  to  look  after  her,  and  who  has  fallen  all  at  once  into  such  a  passion  of 
love,  that  she  has  no  rest  night  or  day,  but  runs  about  the  house,  now  up  stairs,  now 
down,  now  to  one  window,  now  to  another,  as  if  she  had  quicksilver  in  her  feet. 
Oh,  I  have  been  young  and  I  have  been  in  love ;  but  I  gave  myself  some  repose. 
If  she  had  fallen  in  love,  now,  with  a  man  of  note,  and  of  fitting  years  ;  but  she 
has  taken  to  doting  on  a  boy,  who,  I  think,  could  hardly  tie  the  points  of  his  doublet, 
if  he  had  not  some  one  to  help  him  ;  and  every  day,  and  all  day,  she  sends  me  to 
look  for  him,  as  if  I  had  nothing  to  do  at  home.  But  here  he  is,  happily. — Good  day 
to  you,  Fabio.  I  was  seeking  you,  my  charmer. 

Lelia.  And  a  thousand  crowns  to  you,  Pasquella.    How  does  your  fair  mistress  ? 

Pasqu.  And  how  can  you  suppose  she  does?  Wastes  away  in  tears  and  lamen- 
tations, because  all  this  morning  you  have  not  been  near  her  house. 

Lelia.  She  would  not  have  me  there  before  day  break.  I  have  something  to  do 
at  home.  I  have  a  master  to  serve. 

Pasqu.  Your  master  always  wishes  you  to  go  there ;  and  my  mistress  entreats 
you  to  come,  for  her  father  is  not  at  home,  and  she  has  something  of  importance  to 
tell  you. 

Lelia.  Tell  her  she  must  get  rid  of  Flaminio,  or  I  shall  ruin  myself  by  obeying 
her. — Pasqu.  Come  and  tell  her  so  yourself. — Lelia.  I  have  something  else  to  do, 
I  tell  you. — Pasqu,  It  is  but  to  go,  and  return  as  soon  as  you  please. — Lelia.  I 
will  not  go.  Go  and  tell  her  so. — Pasqu.  You  will  not? — Lelia.  No,  I  say.  Do 
you  not  hear? — Pasqu.  In  very,  very  truth,  Fabio,  Fabio,  you  are  too  proud  ;  you 
are  young  ;  you  do  not  know  your  own  good  ;  these  good  looks  will  not  last  for  ever ; 
you  will  not  always  have  such  rosy  cheeks,  such  ruby  lips  ;  when  your  beard  grows, 
you  will  not  be  the  pretty  pet  you  are  now.  Then  you  will  repent  your  folly.  Just 
tell  me  how  many  are  there  in  this  city  who  would  not  think  the  love  of  Isabella  the 
choicest  gift  of  heaven. 

Lelia.  Then  let  her  give  it  to  them,  and  let  me  alone  who  do  not  care  for  it. 

Pasqu.  Marry,  how  true  it  is,  that  boys  have  no  brains !  O  dear,  dear  Fabio, 
pray  come,  and  come  soon,  or  she  will  send  me  for  you  again,  and  will  not  believe 
that  I  have  delivered  her  message. — Lelia.  Well,  Pasquella,  go  home.  I  did  but 
jest.  I  will  come. — Pasqu.  When,  my  jewel  ? — Lelia.  Soon. — Pasqu.  How  soon? 
— Lelia.  Immediately;  go. — Pasqu.  I  shall  expect  you  at  the  door. — Lelia.  Yes, 
yes. — Pasqu.  If  you  do  not  come,  I  shall  be  very  angry. 

SCENE. — A  street  with  two  hotels  and  the  house  of  Gherardo.  Enter  Giglio 
(a  Spaniard)  and  Pasquella.  [Giglio,  who  is  in  love  with  Isabella,  and  longs  for 
an  opportunity  of  speaking  to  her  without  witnesses,  tries  to  cajole  Pasquella  into 
admitting  him  to  the  house,  and  promises  her  a  rosary,  with  which  he  is  to  return  in 
the  evening.  She  does  not  intend  to  admit  him,  but  thinks  to  trick  him  out  of  the 
rosary.  He  does  not  intend  to  give  her  the  rosary,  but  thinks  to  delude  her  by  the 
promise  of  it] 

SCENE. — The  Street  with  the  house  of  Flaminio.    Enter  Flaminio  and  Crivello. 


GL  INGANNATI— THE  DECEIVED  347 

Flaminio.  You  have  not  been  to  look  for  Fabio,  and  he  does  not  come.  I  do 
not  know  what  to  think  of  his  delay. 

Crivello.   I  was  going  and  you  called  me  back.     How  am  I  to  blame  ? 

Flam.  Go  now,  and  if  he  is  still  in  the  house  of  Isabella,  wait  till  he  comes  out, 
and  send  him  home  instantly. 

Criv.  How  shall  I  know  if  he  is  there  or  not  ?  You  would  not  have  me  knock 
and  inquire? 

Flam.  I  have  not  a  servant  worth  his  salt,  but  Fabio.  Heaven  grant  me  favour 
to  reward  him  ! — What  are  you  muttering,  blockhead  ?  Is  it  not  true  ? 

Criv.  What  would  you  have  me  say  ?  Of  course  I  say,  yes.  Fabio  is  good  ; 
Fabio  is  handsome ;  Fabio  serves  well ;  Fabio  with  you  ;  Fabio  with  your  lady ; 
Fabio  does  everything  ;  Fabio  is  everything.  But — 

Flam.   What  do  you  mean  by  but —  ? 

Criv.  He  is  too  much  trusted  ;  he  is  a  stranger,  and  some  day  he  may  disap- 
pear, with  something  worth  taking. 

Flam.  I  wish  the  rest  of  you  were  as  trustworthy.  Yonder  is  Scatizza.  Ask 
him  if  he  has  seen  Fabio  ;  and  come  to  me  at  the  bank  of  the  Porini.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE. — [Spela  soliloquizes  on  the  folly  of  Gherardo,  who  had  sent  him  to 
buy  a  bottle  of  perfume  ;  and  some  young  men  in  the  shop,  understanding  for  whom 
it  was  wanted,  had  told  him  he  had  better  buy  a  box  of  assafcetida.] 

SCENE. —  The  Street  -with  the  hotels,  and  -with  the  house  of  Gherardo. 

[Crivello  and  Scatizza  are  talking  of  keeping  carnival  at  the  expense  of  their 
masters,  when  Gherardo' s  door  opens,  and  they  stand  back.  Lelia  and  Isabella 
enter  from  the  house  of  Gherardo.} — Lelia.  Remember  what  you  have  promised  me. 
— Isabella.  And  do  you  remember  to  return  to  me.  One  word  more. — Lelia.  What 
more? — Isab.  Listen. — Lelia.  I  attend. — Isab.  No  one  is  here? — Lelia.  Not  a  liv- 
ing soul. — Isab.  Come  nearer.  I  wish —  Lelia.  What  do  you  wish? — Isab.  I 
wish  that  you  would  return  after  dinner,  when  my  father  will  be  out. — Lelia.  I  will ; 
but  if  my  master  passes  this  way,  close  the  window,  and  retire. — Isab.  If  I  do  not, 
may  you  never  love  me. — Lelia.  Adieu.  Now  return  into  the  house. — Isab.  I  would 
have  a  favour  from  you. — Lelia.  What? — Isab.  Come  a  little  within. — Lelia.  We 
shall  be  seen. — Scatizza  [aside].  She  has  kissed  him. — Crivello  [aside].  I  had 
rather  have  lost  a  hundred  crowns  than  not  to  have  seen  this  kiss.  What  will  my 
master  do  when  he  knows  it? — Scat,  [aside].  Oh,  the  devil !  You  won't  tell  him? 
— Isab.  Pardon  me.  Your  too  great  beauty,  and  the  too  great  love  I  bear  you,  have 
impelled  me  to  this.  You  will  think  it  hardly  becoming  the  modesty  of  a  maid,  but 
God  knows,  I  could  not  resist. 

Lelia.  I  ask  no  excuses,  signora.  I  know  too  well  what  extreme  love  has 
led  me  to. — Isab.  To  what? — Lelia.  To  deceiving  my  master,  which  is  not  well. — 
Isab.  Ill  fortune  come  to  him ! — Lelia.  It  is  late.  I  must  go  home.  Remain  in 
peace. — Isab.  I  give  myself  to  you. 

Lelia.  I  am  yours.  [Isabella  goes  in.]  I  am  sorry  for  her,  and  I  wish  I  were 
well  out  of  this  intrigue.  I  will  consult  my  nurse,  dementia  ;  but  here  comes 
Flaminio. — Criv.  [aside],  Scatizza,  my  master  told  me  to  go  to  him  at  the  bank 
of  the  Porini.  I  will  carry  him  this  good  news.  If  he  does  not  believe  me,  I  shall 
call  you  to  witness. — Scat.  I  will  not  fail  you  ;  but  if  you  take  my  advice,  you  will 
keep  quiet,  and  then  you  will  always  have  this  rod  in  pickle  for  Fabio,  to  make  him 
do  as  you  please. 

Criv.  I  tell  you  I  hate  him.     He  has  ruined  me. — Scat.  Take  your  own  way. 


348 


APPENDIX 


SCENE. —  The  street,  with  the  house  of  Flaminio. 

Flaminio.  Is  it  possible,  that  I  can  be  so  far  out  of  myself,  have  so  little  self- 
esteem,  as  to  love,  in  her  own  despite,  one  who  hates  me,  despises  me,  will  not 
even  condescend  to  look  at  me  ?  Am  I  so  vile,  of  so  little  account,  that  I  cannot 
free  myself  from  this  shame,  this  torment  ?  But  here  is  Fabio.  Well,  what  have 
you  done? — Lelia.  Nothing. — Flam.  Why  have  you  been  so  long  away? — Lelia.  I 
have  delayed,  because  I  waited  to  speak  with  Isabella. — Flam.  And  why  have  you 
not  spoken  to  her? — Lelia.  She  would  not  listen  to  me ;  and  if  you  would  act  in 
my  way,  you  would  take  another  course  ;  for  by  all  that  I  can  so  far  understand,  she 
is  most  obstinately  resolved  to  do  nothing  to  please  you. — Flam.  Why,  even  now,  as 
I  passed  her  house,  she  rose  and  disappeared  from  the  window,  with  as  much  anger 
and  fury  as  if  she  had  seen  some  hideous  and  horrible  thing. 

Lelia.  Let  her  go,  I  tell  you.  Is  it  possible  that  in  all  this  city  there  is  no  other 
who  merits  your  love  as  much  as  she  does  ? 

Flam.  I  would  it  were  not  so.  I  fear  this  has  been  the  cause  of  my  misfortune  ; 
for  I  loved  very  warmly  that  Lelia  Bellenzini,  of  whom  I  have  spoken  ;  and  I  fear 
Isabella  thinks  this  love  still  lasts,  and  on  that  account  will  not  see  me  ;  but  I  will 
give  Isabella  to  understand  that  I  love  Lelia  no  longer ;  rather  that  I  hate  her,  and 
cannot  bear  to  hear  her  named,  and  will  pledge  my  faith  never  to  go  where  she  may 
be.  Tell  Isabella  this  as  strongly  as  you  can. — Lelia.  Oh,  me  ! — Flam.  What  has 
come  over  you?  What  do  you  feel  ? — Lelia.  Oh,  me  ! — Flam.  Lean  on  me.  Have 
you  any  pain? — Lelia.  Suddenly.  In  the  heart. — Flam.  Go  in.  Apply  warm 
cloths  to  your  side.  I  will  follow  immediately,  and,  if  necessary,  will  send  for  a 
doctor  to  feel  your  pulse  and  prescribe  a  remedy.  Give  me  your  arm.  You  are 
pale  and  cold.  Lean  on  me.  Gently,  gently.  [Leads  her  into  the  house  and 
returns.]  To  what  are  we  not  subject !  I  would  not,  for  all  I  am  worth,  that  any- 
thing should  happen  to  him,  for  there  never  was  in  the  world  a  more  diligent  and 
well-mannered  servant,  nor  one  more  cordially  attached  to  his  master. 

[Flaminio  goes  offt  and  Lelia  returns. 

Lelia.  Oh,  wretched  Lelia !  Now  you  have  heard  from  the  mouth  of  this 
ungrateful  Flaminio  how  well  he  loves  you.  Why  do  you  lose  your  time  in  follow- 
ing one  so  false  and  so  cruel  ?  All  your  former  love,  your  favours,  and  your  prayers 
were  thrown  away.  Now  your  strategems  are  unavailing.  Oh,  unhappy  me ! 
Refused,  rejected,  spurned,  hated !  Why  do  I  serve  him,  who  repels  me  ?  Why 
do  I  ask  him,  who  denies  me  ?  Why  do  I  follow  him,  who  flies  me  ?  Wrhy  do  I 
love  him,  who  hates  me?  Ah,  Flaminio!  Nothing  pleases  him  but  Isabella.  He 
desires  nothing  but  Isabella.  Let  him  have  her.  Let  him  keep  her.  I  must  leave 
him,  or  I  shall  die.  I  will  serve  him  no  longer  in  this  dress.  I  will  never  again 
come  in  his  way  since  he  holds  me  in  such  deadly  hatred.  I  will  go  to  dementia, 
who  expects  me,  and  with  her  I  will  determine  on  the  course  of  my  future  life. 

SCENE. — Enter  Flaminio  and  Crivello. 

Crivello.  And  if  it  is  not  so,  cut  out  my  tongue,  and  hang  me  up  by  the  neck. 

Flaminio.  How  long  since? — Criv.  When  you  sent  me  to  look  for  him. — Flam. 
Tell  me  again  how  it  was,  for  he  denies  having  been  able  to  speak  with  her. 

Criv.  You  will  do  well  to  make  him  confess  it.  I  tell  you,  that,  watching  about 
the  house  to  see  if  he  were  there,  I  saw  him  come  out ;  and  as  he  was  going  away, 
Isabella  called  him  back  into  the  doorway.  They  looked  round  to  see  if  any  one 
were  near,  and  not  seeing  anyone,  they  kissed  each  other. — Flam.  How  was  it  that 
they  did  not  see  you? — Criv.  I  was  ensconced  under  the  opposite  portico. — Flam. 


GL  INGANNATI— THE  DECEIVED  349 

How  then  did  you  see  them? — Criv.  By  peeping  in  the  nick  of  time,  when  they 
saw  nothing  but  each  other. — Flam.  And  he  kissed  her  ? — Criv.  I  do  not  know 
whether  he  kissed  her,  or  she  kissed  him  ;  but  I  am  sure  that  one  kissed  the  other. 
— Flam.  Be  sure  that  you  saw  clearly,  and  do  not  come  by  and  by  to  say  that  it 
seemed  so  ;  for  this  is  a  great  matter  that  you  tell  me  of.  How  did  you  see  it  ? — 
Criv.  Watching  with  open  eyes,  and  having  nothing  to  do  but  to  see. — Flam.  If 
this  be  true,  you  have  killed  me. — Criv.  This  is  true.  She  called  him  back  ;  she 
embraced  him  ;  she  kissed  him.  If  this  is  to  kill  you,  you  are  dead. — Flam.  It  is 
no  wonder  that  the  traitor  denied  having  been  there.  I  know  now  why  he  coun- 
selled me  to  give  her  up  ;  that  he  might  have  her  himself.  If  I  do  not  take  suet 
vengeance  as  shall  be  a  warning  to  all  traitorous  servants,  may  I  never  be  esteemed 
a  man.  But  I  will  not  believe  you  without  better  evidence.  You  are  ill-disposed 
to  Fabio,  and  wish  to  get  rid  of  him ;  but,  by  the  eternal  heaven  !  I  will  make  you 
tell  the  truth,  or  I  will  kill  you.  You  saw  them  kissing  ? 

Criv.  I  did. — Flam.  He  kissed  her? — Criv.  Or  she  him.  Or  both. — Flam. 
How  often? — Criv.  Twice. — Flam.  Where? — Criv.  In  the  entry  of  her  house. — 
Flam.  You  lie  in  your  throat.  You  said  in  the  doorway. — Criv.  Just  inside  the 
doorway. — Flam.  Tell  the  truth. — Criv.  I  am  very  sorry  to  have  told  it. — Flam.  It 
was  true? — Criv.  Yes;  and  I  have  a  witness. — Flam.  Who? — Criv.  Virginio's 
man,  Scatizza. — Flam.  Did  he  see  it? — Criv.  As  I  did. — Flam.  And  if  he  does 
not  confess  it  ? — Criv.  Kill  me. — Flam.  I  will. — Criv.  And  if  he  does  confess  it  ? 
—Flam.  I  will  kill  both.— Criv.  Oh,  the  devil!  What  fort—Warn.  Not  you. 
Isabella  and  Fabio. — Criv.  And  burn  down  the  house,  with  Pasquella  and  every  one 
in  it. — Flam.  Let  us  look  for  Scatizza.  I  will  pay  them.  I  will  take  such  revenge 
as  all  the  land  shall  ring  of. 

ACT  III. —  The  street  with  the  hotels  and  the  house  0/"Gherardo.  [Messer  Piero, 
who  had  been  before  in  Modena,  points  out  some  of  its  remarkable  places  to 
Fabrizio,  who  had  been  taken  from  it  too  young  to  remember  it.  Stragualcia  is  a 
hungry  fellow,  who  is  clamorous  for  his  dinner.] 

SCENE. — Enter  L?  Agiato,  Fruella,  Piero,  Fabrizio,  and  Stragualcia.  [L'Agiato 
and  Fruella,  two  rival  hotel -keepers,  quarrel  for  the  patronage  of  the  new  comers.] 

D  Agiato.  Oh,  Signers,  this  is  the  hotel  ;  lodge  at  The  Looking-glass, — at  The 
Looking-glass  ! 

Fruella.  Welcome,  Signers  ;  I  have  lodged  you  before.  Do  you  not  remember 
your  Fruella  ?  The  only  hotel  for  gentlemen  of  your  degree. 

L'Agia.  You  shall  have  good  apartments,  a  good  fire,  excellent  beds,  white 
crisp  sheets  ;  everything  you  can  ask  for. 

Fru.  I  will  give  you  the  best  wine  of  Lombardy  ;  partridges,  home-made  saus- 
ages, pigeons,  pullets  ;  and  whatever  else  you  may  desire. 

V Agia.  I  will  give  you  veal  sweet-breads,  Bologna  sausages,  Mountain  wine, 
all  sorts  of  delicate  fare. 

Fru.  I  will  give  you  fewer  delicacies  and  more  substantiate.  You  will  live  at  a 
fixed  rate.  At  The  Looking-glass  you  will  be  charged  even  for  candles. 

Stragualcia.   Master,  let  us  put  up  here.     This  seems  best. 

L'Agia.  If  you  wish  to  lodge  well,  lodge  at  The  Looking  glass.  You  would 
not  have  it  said  that  you  lodged  at  Tht  Madman. 

Fru.   My  Madman  is  a  hundred  thousand  times  better  than  your  Looking-glass. 

Piero.  Speculum  prudentia  significat,  justa  illud  nostri  Catonis,  Nosce  teipsum. 
You  understand,  Fabrizio  ? — Fabr.  I  understand. — Fru.  See  who  has  most  guests, 


350 


APPENDIX 


you  or  I. — I*  Agia.  See  who  has  most  men  of  note. — Fru.  See  where  they  are  best 
treated. — L'Agia.  See  where  there  are  most  delicacies. — Strag.  Delicacies,  deli- 
cacies, delicacies  !  Give  me  substance.  Delicacies  are  for  the  Florentines. — 
U  Agia.  They  all  lodge  with  me. — Fru.  They  did  ;  but  for  the  last  three  years 
they  have  come  to  me. — L'Agia.  My  man,  give  me  the  trunk,  it  seems  to  gall  your 
shoulder. — Strag.  Never  mind  my  shoulder,  I  want  to  fill  my  stomach. — Fru.  Here 
are  a  couple  of  capons,  just  ready.  They  are  for  you. — Strag.  They  will  do  for  a 
first  course. — L'Agia.  Look  at  this  ham. — Piero.  Not  bad. — Fru.  Who  under- 
stands wine  ? — Strag.  I  do  ;  better  than  the  French. — Fru.  See  if  this  pleases  you. 
If  not,  you  may  try  ten  other  sorts. — Strag.  Fruella,  you  are  the  prince  of  hosts. 
Taste  this,  master.  This  is  good.  Carry  in  the  trunk. — Piero.  Wait  a  little. 
What  have  you  to  say  ? — L'Agia.  I  say  that  gentlemen  do  not  care  for  heavy  meats, 
but  for  what  is  light,  good,  and  delicate. — Strag.  He  would  be  an  excellent  nurse 
in  a  hospital. — Piero.  Do  not  be  uncivil.  What  will  you  give  us? — L1  Agia.  You 
have  only  to  command. — Fru.  Where  there  is  plenty  a  man  may  eat  little  or  much 
as  he  pleases  ;  but  where  there  is  little,  and  the  appetite  grows  with  eating,  he  can 
only  finish  his  dinner  with  bread. — Slrag.  You  are  wiser  than  the  statutes.  I  have 
never  seen  a  landlord  so  much  to  my  mind. — Fru.  Go  into  the  kitchen,  brother ; 
there  you  will  see. — Piero.  Ontnis  repletio  ma/a,  panis  autem  pessima. 

Strag.  [aside].   Paltry  pedant !     One  of  these  days  I  must  crack  his  skull. 

IS  Agia.  Come  in,  gentlemen.     It  is  not  good  to  stand  in  the  cold. 

Fabr.  We  are  not  so  chilly. — Fru.  You  must  know,  gentlemen,  this  hotel  of 
The  Looking-glass  used  to  be  the  best  in  Lombardy  ;  but  since  I  have  opened  this 
of  The  Madman,  it  does  not  lodge  ten  persons  in  a  year,  and  my  sign  has  a  greater 
reputation  throughout  the  world  than  any  other  hostelry  whatever.  The  French 
come  here  in  flocks,  and  all  the  Germans  that  pass  this  way. — Z' 'Agia.  That's  not 
true.  The  Germans  go  to  The  Pig. — Fru.  The  Milanese  come  here. — Piero. 
Where  do  the  Neapolitans  lodge  ? — Fru.  With  me. — L? Agia.  The  greater  part  of 
them  lodge  at  The  Cupid. — Fru.  Many  with  me. — Fabr.  Where  does  the  Duke  of 
Malfi  ? — Fru.  Sometimes  at  my  house,  sometimes  at  his,  sometimes  at  The  Sword, 
sometimes  at  The  Cupid. — Piero.  Where  do  the  Romans  lodge  ;  we  are  from  Rome. 
— U  Agia.  With  me. — Fru.  That's  not  true.  He  does  not  lodge  a  Roman  in  a 
year,  except  two  or  three  old  cardinals,  who  keep  to  him  from  habit.  All  the  rest 
come  to  The  Madman. 

Strag.  I  would  not  go  from  here  unless  I  were  dragged  away.  Master,  there 
are  so  many  pots  and  pipkins  about  the  fire,  so  many  soups,  so  many  sauces,  so  many 
spits  turning  with  partridges  and  capons,  such  an  odour  of  stews  and  ragouts,  such 
a  display  of  pies  and  tarts,  that,  if  the  whole  court  of  Rome  were  to  come  here  to 
keep  Carnival  there  would  be  enough  and  to  spare. — Fabr.  Have  you  been  drink- 
ing?— Strag.  And  such  wine! — Piero.  Variorum  ciborum  commistio  pessimam  gen- 
eral digestionem. 

Strag.  Bus  asinorum  ;  buorum,  castronorum,  tatte,  batte,  pecoronibtis, — the  devil 
take  all  pedants  !  Let  us  go  in  here,  master. — Fabr.  Messer  Piero,  what  shall  we 
do? — Piero.  Etiam  atque  etiam  cogitandum. — Strag.  [aside].  I  can  hardly  keep  my 
hands  off  him. — Piero.  I  think,  Fabrizio,  we  have  not  much  money. 

Strag.  Master,  I  have  just  seen  the  host's  daughter,  as  beautiful  as  an  angel. 

Piero.  Well,  let  us  put  up  here.  Your  father,  if  we  find  him,  will  pay  the 
reckoning. — Strag.  I  will  go  into  the  kitchen,  taste  everything  there,  drink  two  or 
three  cups  of  wine,  fall  asleep  by  a  good  fire,  and  the  devil  take  economy. — L1  Agia. 


GL  ING  ANN  A  TI—  THE  DECEIVED  3  5 1 

Remember,  Fruella.  You  have  played  me  too  many  tricks.  One  day  we  must  try 
which  head  is  hardest. — Fru,  Whenever  you  please.  I  am  all  ready  to  crack  your 
skull. 

SCENE. —  The  Street,  with  the  house  of  Virginia.     Enter  Virginia  and  dementia. 

Virginia.  These  are  the  manners  you  have  taught  her  !  This  is  the  honour  she 
does  me  !  Have  I  for  this  escaped  so  many  misfortunes,  to  see  my  property  without 
an  heir,  my  house  broken  up,  my  daughter  disgraced ;  to  become  the  talk  of  the 
town  ;  not  dare  to  lift  up  my  head  ;  to  be  pointed  at  by  boys ;  to  be  laughed  at 
by  old  men  ;  to  be  put  into  a  comedy  by  The  Intronati ;  to  be  made  an  example  in 
novels  ;  to  be  an  eternal  scandal  with  all  the  ladies  of  the  land  ?  For  if  one  knows 
it,  in  three  hours  the  whole  city  knows  it.  Disgraced,  unhappy,  miserable  father ! 
I  have  lived  too  long.  What  can  I  think  of?  WThat  can  I  do  ? 

dementia.  You  will  do  well  to  make  as  little  fuss  about  it  as  you  can,  and  to 
take  the  quietest  means  you  can,  to  bring  your  daughter  home,  before  the  town 
knows  anything  about  it.  May  that  Sister  Novellante  Ciancini  have  no  more  breath 
in  her  body  than  I  have  faith  that  Lelia  goes  dressed  as  a  man.  Don't  encourage 
their  evil  speaking.  They  want  to  make  her  a  nun,  and  that  you  will  leave  her  all 
your  property. 

Virg.  Sister  Novellante  told  the  truth.  She  told  me,  besides,  that  Lelia  is  living 
as  a  page  with  a  gentleman  of  this  city,  who  does  not  know  that  she  is  not  a  boy. 

Clem.  I  don't  believe  it.  —  Virg.  Neither  do  I,  that  he  does  not  know  that  she 
is  not  a  boy. — Clem.  That's  not  what  I  mean.  — Virg.  It's  what  I  mean.  But  what 
else  could  I  expect  when  I  entrusted  her  bringing  up  to  you  ? — Clem.  Rather,  what 
could  you  expect,  when  you  wanted  to  marry  her  to  a  man  old  enough  to  be  her 
grandfather?  —  Virg.  Let  me  catch  her,  and  I  will  drag  her  home  by  the  hair.  I 
have  a  description  of  her  dress  ;  I'll  find  her  ;  that's  enough. — Clem.  Take  your  own 
way.  I'll  lose  no  more  time  in  washing  a  coal.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE. — Enter  Fabrizio  and  Fruella. 

Fabrizio.  While  my  two  servants  are  sleeping,  I  will  walk  about  to  see  the  city. 
When  they  get  up,  tell  them  to  come  toward  the  piazza. 

Fruella.  Assuredly,  young  gentleman,  if  I  had  not  seen  you  put  on  these  clothes, 
I  should  have  taken  you  for  the  page  of  a  gentleman  of  this  town,  who  dresses  like 
you  all  in  white,  and  is  so  like  you  that  he  appears  to  be  your  very  self. — Fabr. 
Perhaps  I  may  have  a  brother. — Fru.  It  may  be  so. — Fabr.  Tell  my  tutor  to  inquire 
for  he  knows  whom. — Fru.  Trust  to  me.  [Exit. 

Pasquella  [who  enters].  Good  faith,  there  he  is  !  I  was  afraid  I  should  have  to 
search  the  city  before  I  found  you.  My  mistress  says  you  must  come  to  her  as  soon 
as  you  can  on  a  matter  of  great  importance  to  both  of  you. — Fabr.  Who  is  your 
mistress? — Pasqu.  As  if  you  didn't  know. — Fabr.  I  know  neither  her  nor  you. — 
Pasqu.  Don't  be  vexed,  Fabio  dear. — Fabr.  That's  not  my  name.  You're  under  some 
mistake. — Pasqu.  No,  no,  Fabio.  You  know  there  are  few  girls  in  this  country  as 
rich  and  as  beautiful  and  I  wish  you  would  make  an  end  of  the  business  ;  for  going 
backward  and  forward  day  after  day,  taking  messages  and  bringing  messages,  only 
sets  folk  talking  without  any  good  to  you  and  with  little  credit  to  her. 

Fabr.  [aside].  What  can  this  mean?  Either  the  woman  is  crazy,  or  she  takes 
me  for  some  one  else.  But  I'll  see  what  will  come  of  it.  Let  us  go,  then. 

Pasqu.  Dear  me,  I  think  I  hear  people  in  the  house.  Stay  here  a  minute.  I'll 
see  if  Isabella  is  alone,  and  I  will  make  a  sign  to  you  if  the  coast  is  clear.  [Exit. 

Fabr.  I'll  see  the  end  of  this  mystery.     Perhaps  this  is  the  servant  of  some  light 


352 


APPENDIX 


o'  love  and  a  scheme  to  get  money  out  of  me.  I  will  stand  aside  a  little,  to  see  who 
goes  in  or  out  of  the  house,  and  judge  what  sort  of  a  lady  she  may  be. 

SCENE. — Enter  Gherardo,   Virginia,  and  Pasquella. 

Gherardo.  Pardon  me.  If  this  is  so,  I  renounce  her.  If  Lelia  has  done  this, 
it  must  be,  not  merely  because  she  will  not  have  me,  but  because  she  has  taken 
somebody  else. —  Virginia.  Don't  believe  it,  Gherardo.  I  pray  you,  do  not  spoil 
what  has  been  done. — Gher.  And  I  pray  you  to  say  no  more  about  it. —  Virg.  Surely, 
you  will  not  be  wanting  to  your  word. 

Gher.  Yes,  where  there  has  been  a  wanting  in  deed.  Besides,  you  do  not  know 
if  you  can  recover  her.  You  are  selling  a  bird  in  the  bush.  I  heard  your  talk 
with  dementia. 

Virg.  If  I  do  not  recover  her,  I  can't  give  her  to  you.  But  if  I  do  recover  her, 
will  you  not  have  her  ?  And  that  immediately  ? 

Gher.  Virginio,  I  had  the  most  honourable  wife  in  Modena.  And  I  have  a 
daughter  who  is  a  dove.  How  can  I  bring  into  my  house  one  who  has  run  away 
from  her  father,  and  gone,  heaven  knows  where,  in  man's  clothes?  Whom  should 
I  find  to  marry  my  daughter  ? 

Virg.  After  a  few  days,  nothing  will  be  thought  of  it.  And  I  think  no  one 
knows  it,  but  just  ourselves. 

Gher.  The  whole  town  will  be  full  of  it. —  Virg.  No,  no. — Gher.  How  long  is 
it  since  she  ran  away? — Virg.  Yesterday,  or  this  morning. — Gher.  Who  knows  that 
she  is  still  in  Modena? — Virg.  I  know  it. — Gher.  Find  her,  and  we'll  talk  it  over 
again. —  Virg.  Do  you  promise  to  take  her? — Gher.  I'll  see. —  Virg.  Say  yes. — 
Gher.  I'll  not  say  yes ;  but —  Virg.  Come,  say  it  freely. —  Gher.  Soft.  What  are 
you  doing  here,  Pasquella?  What  is  Isabella  about? — Pasquella.  Kneeling  before 
her  altar. — Gher.  Blessings  oa  her  !  A  daughter  who  is  always  at  her  devotions  is 
something  to  be  proud  of. 

Pasqu.  Ay,  indeed.  She  fasts  every  fast  day,  and  repeats  the  prayers  of  the  day, 
like  a  little  saint. — Gher.  She  resembles  that  blessed  soul,  her  mother. 

Virg.  Oh,  Gherardo  !  Gherardo  !  Here  she  is  of  whom  we  have  been  speaking. 
She  seems  to  be  hiding  or  running  away  because  she  has  seen  me.  Let's  go  after 
her.  —  Gher.  Take  care  you  don't  make  a  mistake.  Perhaps  it's  not  she. —  Virg. 
Who  wouldn't  know  her?  And  haven't  I  all  the  signs  which  Sister  Novellante  gave 
me? — Pasqu.  Things  look  squally.  I'll  take  myself  off.  [Exit. 

Enter  Fabrizio. 

Virg.  So,  my  fine  miss,  do  you  think  this  a  befitting  costume  for  you  ?  This  is 
the  honour  you  confer  on  my  house.  This  is  the  content  you  give  to  a  poor  old 
man.  Would  I  had  been  dead  before  you  were  born  ;  you  were  born  only  to 
disgrace  me,  to  bury  me  alive.  And  you,  Gherardo,  what  say  you  of  your  betrothed  ? 
Is  she  not  a  credit  to  you? — Gher.  No  betrothed  of  mine. —  Virg.  Shameless  minx  ! 
What  would  become  of  you,  if  this  good  man  here  should  reject  you  for  a  wife  ? 
But  be  overlooks  your  follies,  and  is  willing  to  take  you. — Gher.  Soft,  soft. —  Virg. 
Go  into  the  house,  hussy ! — Fabr.  Old  man,  have  you  no  sons,  friends  or  relatives 
in  the  city,  whose  duty  it  is  to  take  care  of  you  ? 

Virg.  What  an  answer  ?     What  do  you  mean  ? 

Fabr.  I  am  wondering  that  being  so  much  in  need  of  a  doctor  you  are  allowed 
to  be  at  large,  when  you  ought  to  be  locked  up  and  in  a  strait-waistcoat. 

Virg.  'Tis  you  that  ought  to  be  locked  up,  and  you  shall  be,  if  I  don't  kill  you 
on  the  spot,  as  I  have  a  mind  to. 


GL  ING  ANNA  77—  THE  DECEIVED  353 

Fabr.  You  insult  me,  because,  perhaps,  you  think  me  a  foreigner.  But  I  am  a 
Modenese,  and  of  as  good  a  family  as  you. 

Virg.  [aside  to  Gherardo\.  Gherardo,  take  her  into  your  house.  Don't  let  her 
be  seen  in  this  fashion.  —  Gher.  No,  no ;  do  you  take  her  home. 

Virg.  Just  listen  to  me  a  minute,  but  keep  an  eye  on  her  that  she  doesn't  run 
away.  [  They  talk  apart. 

Fabr.  I  have  seen  madmen  before  now,  but  such  a  madman  as  this  old  fellow 
I  never  saw  going  at  large.  What  a  comical  mania,  to  imagine  that  young  men  are 
girls.  I  wouldn't  for  a  thousand  crowns,  have  missed  this  fun,  to  make  a  story  of, 
for  evenings  in  carnival.  Here  they  come  again.  I'll  humour  their  foolery,  just  to 
see  what  will  come  of  it. —  Virg.  Come  here. — Fabr.  What  do  you  want,  old  man? 
—  Virg.  You  worthless  hussy,  you  ! — Fabr.  Don't  be  abusive  ;  I'll  not  stand  it. — 
Virg.  Brazen  face  ! — Fabr.  Ha!  ha!  ha!  ha! — Gher.  Let  him  speak.  Don't  you 
see  how  angry  he  is  ?  Do  as  he  bids  you. 

Fabr.  What's  his  anger  to  me?     What's  he  to  me,  or  you  either? 

Virg.  You'll  kill  me  before  my  time. 

Fabr.  Die  when  you  please  ;  you've  lived  too  long  already. 

Gher.  Don't  use  such  language,  dear  little  daughter;  don't  speak  so  to  your 
father,  dear  little  sissy. 

Fabr.  Let  the  two  old  doves  go  ahead  ;  they're  both  crazy  on  one  subject.  What 
a  go,  it  is!  Ha!  ha!  ha!  ha! — Virg.  Are  you  still  laughing  at  me? — Fabr. 
You're  an  old  fool. —  Gher.  [aside],  I  am  afraid  the  poor  girl  has  lost  her  wits. 

Virg.  I  thought  so  from  the  first,  when  I  saw  with  how  little  patience  she 
received  me.  Pray  take  her  into  your  house.  I  cannot  take  her  to  my  own,  without 
making  myself  a  spectacle  to  the  whole  town. 

Fabr.  \aside~\.  What  are  they  consulting  about  now,  these  two  old  dotard 
brothers  of  Melchisedech  ? 

Virg.  \_aside~\.  Let  us  coax  her  indoors,  and  as  soon  as  she  is  within,  lock  her  up 
in  a  chamber  with  your  daughter.  —  Gher.  Be  it  so. 

Virg.  Come  hither,  daughter  mine,  I'll  no  longer  be  angry  with  you.  I  pardon 
everything.  Only  behave  well  in  future. — Fabr.  Many  thanks. — Gher.  Behave  like 
a  good  daughter,  do. — Fabr.  The  other  chimes  in  with  the  same  tune. — Gher.  Go  in, 
then,  like  a  good  girl. —  Virg.  Go  in,  my  daughter. — Gher.  This  house  is  your  own. 
You  are  to  be  my  wife. — Fabr.  Your  wife  and  his  daughter?  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! — Gher. 
My  daughter  will  be  glad  of  your  company. — Fabr.  Your  daughter,  eh?  Very  good. 
I'll  go  in. —  Virg.  Gherardo,  now  that  we  have  her  safe,  lock  her  up  with  your 
daugnier,  while  I  send  for  her  clothes. 

Gher.  Pasquella,  call  Isabella,  and  bring  the  key  of  her  room.  [Exeunt. 

ACT    IV.— Enter  Piero  and  Stragualda. 

Piero.  You  ought  to  have  fifty  bastinadoes,  to  teach  you  to  keep  him  company 
whei«  he  goes  out,  and  not  to  get  drunk  and  sleep  as  you  have  done,  and  let  him  go 
about  s^lone. 

Stragualda.  And  you  ought  to  be  loaded  with  birch  and  broom,  sulphur,  pitch, 
and  gunpowder,  and  set  on  fire  to  teach  you  not  to  be  what  you  are. — Piero.  Sot, 
sot !—  Strag.  Pedant,  pedant !  —  Piero.  Let  me  find  your  master. — Strag.  Let  me  find 
his  father. — Piero.  What  can  you  say  of  me  to  his  father? — Strag.  And  what  can 
you  say  of  me  ? — Piero.  That  you  are  a  knave,  a  rogue,  a  rascal,  a  sluggard,  a 
coward,  a  drunkard.  That's  what  I  can  say. — Strag.  And  I  can  say  that  you  are  a 
thief,  a  gambler,  a  slanderer,  a  cheat,  a  sharper,  a  boaster,  a  blockhead,  an  imposter, 


APPENDIX 

an  ignoramus,  a  traitor,  a  profligate.  That's  what  I  can  say. — Piero.  Well,  we  are 
both  known. — Strag.  True.— Piero.  No  more  words.  I  will  not  place  myself  on  a 
footing  with  you. — Strag.  Oh,  to  be  sure  ;  you  have  all  the  nobility  of  the  Mar- 
emma.  1  am  better  born  than  you.  What  are  you,  but  the  son  of  a  muleteer? 
This  upstart,  because  he  can  say  cujus  masculini,  thinks  he  may  set  his  foot  on  every 
man's  neck. 

Piero.  Naked  and  poor  goest  thou,  Philosophy.*  To  what  have  poor  letters 
come  !  Into  the  mouth  of  an  ass. 

Strag.  You'll  be  the  ass  presently.     I'll  lay  a  load  of  wood  on  your  shoulders. 

Piero.  For  the  sake  of  your  own  shoulders,  let  me  alone,  base  groom,  poltroon, 
arch -poltroon. 

Strag.  Pedant,  pedant,  arch-pedant !  What  can  be  said  worse  than  pedant  ? 
Can  there  be  a  viler,  baser,  more  rubbishy  race  ?  They  go  about  puffed  up  like 
bladders  because  they  are  called  Messer  This,  Maestro  That. 

Piero.  You  speak  like  what  you  are.    Either  you  shall  leave  this  service  or  I  will. 

Strag.  Who  would  have  you  in  his  house  or  at  his  table,  except  my  young 
master,  who  is  better  than  bread. 

Piero.  Many  would  be  glad  of  me.  No  more  words.  Go  to  the  hotel,  take  care 
of  your  master's  property.  By  and  by  we'll  have  a  reckoning. 

Strag.  Yes,  we  will  indeed  have  a  reckoning,  and  you  shall  pay  it. 

Piero.  Fruella  told  me  Fabrizio  was  gone  toward  the  Piazza.  I  will  follow 
him.  [Exit. 

Strag.  If  I  did  not  now  and  then  make  head  against  this  fellow,  there  would  be 
no  living  with  him.  He  has  no  more  courage  than  a  rabbit.  When  I  brave  him, 
he  is  soon  silenced ;  if  I  were  once  to  knock  under  to  him,  he  would  lead  me  the 
life  of  a  galley-slave.  [Exit. 

SCENE. — Enter  Gherardo,   Virginia,  and  Messer  Piero. 

Gherardo.  I  will  endow  her  as  you  desire  ;  and  if  you  do  not  find  your  son,  you 
will  add  a  thousand  gold  florins. —  Virginia.  Be  it  so. — Piero.  I  am  much  deceived 
or  I  have  seen  this  gentleman  before. —  Virg.  What  are  you  looking  at,  good  sir  ? — 
Piero.  Certainly,  this  is  my  old  master.  Do  you  know  in  this  town  one  Signer  Vir- 
ginio  Bellenzini? — Virg.  I  know  him  well.  He  has  no  better  friend  than  I  am. — 
Piero.  Assuredly  you  are  he.  Salve,  patronorum  optime. 

Virg.  Are  you  Messer  Pietro  de'  Pagliaricci,  my  son's  tutor? — Piero.  I  am 
indeed. —  Virg.  Oh,  my  son!  Woe  is  me!  What  news  do  you  bring  of  him? 
Where  did  you  leave  him  ?  Where  did  he  die  ?  Those  traitors  murdered  him, — 
those  Jews,  those  dogs  !  Oh,  my  son !  my  greatest  blessing  in  the  world !  Tell 
me  about  him,  dear  master. 

Piero.  Do  not  weep,  sir,  for  heaven's  sake.     Your  son  is  alive  and  well. 

Gher.  If  this  is  true,  I  lose  the  thousand  florins.  Take  care,  Virginio,  that  this 
is  not  a  cheat. 

Piero.  Your  son,  in  the  sack  of  Rome,  was  a  prisoner  of  one  Captain  Orteca ; 
and  because  the  Captain  had  two  comrades  who  might  claim  their  share,  he  sent  us 
secretly  to  Siena  ;  then,  fearing  that  the  Sienese  might  take  him  and  set  your  son  at 
liberty,  he  took  us  to  a  castle  of  the  Signor  di  Piombino,  fixed  our  ransom  at  a 
thousand  ducats,  and  made  us  write  for  that  amount. —  Virg.  Was  my  son  ill-treated  ? 

Piero.  No,  they  treated  him  like  a  gentleman.     We  received  no  answers  to  our 

*  '  Povera  e  nuda  vai,  Filosofia.' — Petrarca,  p.  I,  s.  7.—  Trans. 


GL  ING  ANN  A  77—  THE  DECEIVED  355 

letters. —  Virg.  Go  on. — Piero.  At  Corregia,  the  Captain  was  killed,  the  Court  took 
possession  of  his  property  and  set  us  at  liberty. —  Virg.  And  where  is  my  son? — 
Piero,  Nearer  than  you  suppose. —  Virg.  In  Modena? — Piero.  At  the  hotel  of  The 
Madman. —  Gher.  The  thousand  florins  are  gone  ;  but  it  suffices  to  have  her.  I  am 
rich  enough  without  them. 

Virg.  I  die  with  impatience  to  embrace  him.     Come,  master. 

Piero.  But  what  of  Lelia? — Virg.  She  is  grown  into  a  fine  young  woman. 
Has  my  son  advanced  in  learning  ? — Piero.  He  has  not  wasted  his  time. —  Virg. 
Call  him  out.  Don't  tell  him.  Let  me  see  if  he  will  know  me. — Piero.  He  went 
out  a  little  while  ago.  I  will  see  if  he  is  returned.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE. — Enter  Virginia,  Gherardo,  Piero,  and  Stragualcia,  afterwards  Fruella. 

Piero.  Stragualcia,  ho,  Stragualcia,  has  Fabrizio  returned  ? — Stragualda.  Not  yet. 
— Piero.  Come  here.  Speak  to  your  old  master.  This  is  Signer  Virginio. — Strag. 
Has  your  anger  passed  off? — Piero.  You  know  I  am  never  long  angry  with  you. — 
Strag.  All's  well  then.  Is  this  our  master's  father? — Piero.  It  is. — Strag.  Oh, 
worthy  master.  You  are  found  just  in  time  to  pay  our  bill  at  The  Madman. — 
Piero.  This  has  been  a  good  servant  to  your  son. — Strag.  'Has  been'  only. — 
Piero.  And  still  is. —  Virg.  I  shall  take  care  of  all  who  have  been  faithful  compan- 
ions to  my  son. — Strag.  You  can  take  care  of  me  with  little  trouble. —  Virg.  Demand. 
— Strag.  Settle  me  as  a  waiter  with  this  host,  who  is  the  best  companion  in  the 
world,  the  best  provided,  the  most  knowing  of  any  host  I  have  ever  seen.  I  think 
there  is  no  other  paradise  on  earth. —  Virg.  Have  you  breakfasted  ? — Strag.  Some- 
what.—  Virg.  What  have  you  eaten  ? — Strag.  A  brace  of  partridges,  six  thrushes,  a 
capon,  a  little  veal,  with  only  two  jugs  of  wine. —  Virg.  Fruella,  give  him  whatever 
he  wants,  and  leave  the  payment  to  me. — Strag.  Signer  Virginio,  you  have  reason 
to  thank  the  Master,  who  loves  your  son  better  than  his  own  eyes. —  Virg.  Heaven 
be  bountiful  to  him. — Strag.  It  concerns  you  first,  and  heaven  afterward. —  Gher. 
I  must  leave  you  for  a  while.  I  have  some  business  at  home. —  Virg.  Take  care  that 
Lelia  does  not  get  away.  —  Gher.  That's  what  I  am  going  for. —  Virg.  She  is  yours. 
I  give  her  to  you.  Arrange  matters  to  your  mind.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE. — Enter  Gherardo,  Lelia,  and  dementia. 

Gherardo.  One  cannot  have  things  all  one's  own  way.  Patience.  But  how  is 
this  ?  Here  is  Lelia  !  That  careless  Pasquella  has  let  her  escape. 

Lelia.  Does  it  not  really  seem  to  you,  dementia,  that  Fortune  makes  me  her 
sport? — dementia.  Be  of  good  cheer.  I'll  find  some  means  to  content  you.  But 
come  in  and  change  your  dress.  You  must  not  be  seen  so. 

Gher.  I  will  salute  her,  however,  and  learn  how  she  has  got  out.  Good  day  to 
you,  Lelia,  my  sweet  spouse.  Who  opened  the  door  for  you  ?  Pasquella,  eh  ?  I 
am  glad  you  have  gone  to  your  nurse's  house;  but  to  let  yourself  be  seen  in  this 
dress  does  little  honour  to  you  or  to  me. 

Lelia.  To  whom  are  you  speaking?     What  Lelia?     I  am  not  Lelia. 

Gher.  Oho,  a  little  while  ago,  when  your  father  and  I  locked  you  in  with  my 
daughter  Isabella,  didn't  you  confess  that  you  were  Lelia?  And  now  you  think  I 
don't  know  you  !  Go,  my  dear  wife,  and  change  your  dress. 

Lelia.  God  send  you  as  much  of  a  wife,  as  I  have  a  fancy  for  you  as  a  husband. 

[Exit. 

Clem.  Go  home,  Gherardo.  All  women  like  pranks,  some  one  kind,  some 
another.  This  is  a  very  innocent  one.  Still,  such  little  amusements  are  not  to 
be  talked  about. 


APPENDIX 

Gher.  No  one  shall  hear  of  it  from  me.  But  how  did  she  escape  from  my  house, 
where  I  had  locked  her  up  with  Isabella? — Clem.  Locked  up  whom  ? — Gher.  Lelia  ; 
this  very  Lelia. —  Clem.  You're  mistaken.  She  has  not  left  my  side  to-day  ;  just  for 
pastime  she  put  on  these  clothes,  as  girls  will  do,  and  asked  me  if  she  didn't  look 
well  in  them. 

Gher.  You  want  to  make  me  see  double.  I  tell  you  I  locked  her  up  with 
Isabella. — Clem.  \Vherehaveyou  just  come  from? — Gher.  From  the  hotel  of  The 
Madman. — Clem.  Did  you  drink? — Gher.  A  little. — Clem.  Now  go  to  bed,  and 
sleep  it  off.  —  Gher.  Let  me  see  Lelia  for  a  moment  before  I  go,  that  I  may  give  her 
a  piece  of  good  news.  Her  brother  is  returned  safe  and  sound,  and  her  father  is 
waiting  for  him  at  the  hotel. — Clem.  I  hasten  to  tell  her. — Gher.  And  I  to  blow  up 
Pasquella,  for  letting  her  escape.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE. — Enter  Pasquella.  [Pasquella  who  had  known  Lelia  only  as  Fabio,  and 
did  not  know  what  the  two  old  men  had  meant  by  calling  the  supposed  Lelia,  whom 
they  had  delivered  to  her  charge,  a  girl,  has  nevertheless,  obeyed  orders  in  locking 
up  Fabrizio  with  Isabella,  and  now  delivers  an  untranslateable  soliloquy.  Giglio 
enters,  and  Pasquella,  seeing  him  approach,  retires  within  the  court-yard,  through 
the  grated  door  of  which  a  dialogue  is  carried  on.  Giglio  wishes  to  gain  admission 
to  Gherardo's  house  without  giving  Pasquella  the  rosary  he  promised  her.  He 
shows  it  to  her,  but  withholds  it  on  pretence  that  it  needs  repairs.  She,  however, 
wishes  to  get  the  rosary,  and  give  him  nothing  in  return.  She  pretends  to  doubt  its 
genuineness  and  prevails  on  him  to  let  her  count  the  beads.  As  soon  as  she  has  it, 
she  cries  out  that  the  chickens  are  loose  and  that  she  cannot  open  the  gate  until  she 
has  got  them  all  in.  Giglio  declares  that  he  sees  no  fowls,  and  that  she  is  fooling 
him.  She  laughs  at  him  ;  he  expostulates,  implores,  threatens  to  break  down  the 
door,  set  fire  to  the  house,  to  burn  everything  in  it,  herself  included.  In  the  midst 
of  his  wrath,  he  sees  Gherardo  approaching,  and  then  runs  away.  Gherardo  enters]  : — 

Gherardo.  What  were  you  doing  at  the  gate  with  that  Spaniard  ? — Pasquella. 
He  was  making  a  great  noise  about  a  rosary.  I  couldn't  make  out  what  he  wanted. 
— Gher.  Oh,  you've  executed  your  trust  well.  I  could  find  it  in  my  heart  to  break 
all  your  bones. — Pas.  For  what? — Gher.  Because  you  have  let  Lelia  escape.  I 
told  you  to  keep  her  locked  in. — Pas.  She  is  locked  in. — Gher.  I  admire  your 
impudence.  She  is  not.  I  have  just  left  her  with  her  nurse,  dementia. — Pas. 
And  I  have  just  left  her  where  you  ordered  her  to  be  kept.  She  never  went  away. 
The  chamber  has  been  kept  locked.— Gher.  Where  is  the  key?  Give  it  to  me. 
If  she  is  not  there  you  shall  pay  for  it.  [Exit. 

Enter  Flaminio.  Flaminio.  Pasquella,  how  long  is  it  since  my  Fabio  was  here  ? 
— Pas.  Why? — Flam.  Because  he  is  a  traitor,  and  I'll  punish  him;  and  because 
Isabella  has  left  me  for  him.  Fine  honour  to  a  lady  in  her  position,  to  fall  in  love 
with  a  page  !  Tell  her  she  will  repent ;  and  as  for  him, — I  carry  this  dagger  for 
him. — Pas.  While  the  dog  barks,  the  wolf  feeds. — Flam.  You  will  see.  [Exit. 

Enter  Gherardo.  Gher.  Oh  me  !  to  what  am  I  come  !  Oh,  traitor,  Virginio  ! 
Oh  Heaven  !  what  shall  I  do  ! 

Pas.  What  is  the  matter,  master? — Gher.  Who  is  he  that  is  with  my  daughter? 
— Pas.  He?  Why  you  told  me  that  it  was  Virginio' s  daughter. 

[Gherardo  has  discovered  the  betrothal,  and  gives  vent  to  his  rage  in  untrans- 
lateable terms.] 

SCENE. — Enter  Gherardo,  .Virginia,  and  Messer  Piero. 

Piero.  I  wonder  he  has  not  returned  to  the  hotel.    I  do  not  know  what  to  make  of 


GL  INGANNATI— THE  DECEIVED  357 

it. — Gherardo.  Ho!  Virginio  !  a  pretty  outrage  you  have  put  on  me  !  Do  you  think 
I'll  submit  to  it? — Virginio.  What  are  you  roaring  about? — Cher.  Do  you  take  me 
for  a  sheep  ?  you  cheat,  you  thief,  you  traitor  !  But  the  Governor  shall  hear  of  it. — 
Virg.  Have  you  lost  your  senses  ?  Or  what  is  the  matter  ? — Gher.  Robber  ! —  Virg. 
I've  too  much  patience. —  Gher.  Liar! — Virg.  You  lie  in  your  own  throat. — Gher. 
Forger! — Piero.  Ha,  gentlemen  !  What  madness  is  this ? — Gher.  Let  me  come  at 
him. —  Virg.  He  wanted  to  marry  my  daughter,  and  I  left  her  in  his  charge.  I  am 
afraid  he  has  abused  my  confidence,  and  invents  a  pretext  for  breaking  off. 

Gher.  The  villain  has  ruined  me.  I'll  cut  him  to  pieces.  [  Virginio  exit,  to 
return  with  arms  and  followers.]  The  miscreant  has  run  away.  Come  in  with  me, 
and  you  shall  hear  the  whole  affair. — Piero.  I  go  in  with  you, — on  your  faith  ? — 
Gher.  On  my  faith,  solemnly. 

ACT  V. — Enter  Virginio,  Stragualcia  t  Scatizza ;  afterwards  Messer  Piero, 
Gherardo,  and  Fabrizio. 

Virginio.  Follow  me  all ;  and  you,  Stragualcia. — Stragualcia.  With  or  without 
arms?  I  have  no  arms. —  Virg.  Take  something  in  the  hotel  that  will  serve.  I 
fear  the  madman  has  killed  my  poor  daughter. 

Strag.  This  spit  is  a  good  weapon.  I'll  run  him  and  all  his  followers  through 
like  so  many  thrushes. —  Virg.  The  door  opens.  They  have  laid  some  ambuscade. 
— Piero.  Allow  me  to  settle  the  matter,  Signor  Gherardo. — Strag.  See,  master,  the 
tutor  has  rebelled,  and  sides  with  the  enemy.  There's  no  fidelity  in  this  class  of 
fellows.  Shall  I  spit  him  first,  and  count  one. — Piero.  Why  these  arms,  my  master? 
—  Virg.  What  has  become  of  my  daughter? — Piero.  I've  found  Fabrizio! — Virg. 
Where? — Piero.  Here,  within.  He  has  taken  a  beautiful  wife.  The  daughter  of 
Gherardo. —  Virg.  Gherardo!  It  was  but  just  now  he  wanted  to  kill  me. — Gher. 
Lay  down  those  arms  and  come  in.  'Tis  a  matter  for  laughter. —  Virg.  Can  I  do  it 
safely  ? — Piero.  Safely,  on  my  assurance. —  Virg.  Then  do  you  all  go  home,  and  lay 
down  your  arms. — Piero.  Fabrizio,  come  to  your  father. —  Virg.  Isn't  this  Lelia  ? 
— Piero.  No,  this  is  Fabrizio. —  Virg.  Oh,  my  son,  how  much  I  have  mourned  for 
you  ! — Fabrizio.  Oh,  dear  father,  so  long  desired  ! — Gher.  Come  in,  and  you  shall 
know  all.  I  can  tell  you  further,  that  your  daughter  is  in  the  house  of  her  nurse, 
dementia. —  Virg.  How  thankful  I  am  to  Heaven  ! 

SCENE. — Flaminio  and  Crivello  ;  afterwards  dementia. 

Crivello.  I  have  seen  him  with  these  eyes  in  the  house  of  dementia,  and  heard 
him  with  these  ears. — Flaminio.  Are  you  sure  it  was  Fabio? — Criv.  Do  you  think 
I  don't  know  him? — Flam.  Let  us  go  in,  and  if  I  find  him —  Criv.  You'll  spoil 
all.  Have  patience,  till  he  comes  out. — Flam.  Not  heaven  itself  could  make  me 
have  patience,  [knocks  at  the  door.~\ — dementia.  Who's  there? — Flam.  A  friend. 
Come  down  a  minute. — dem.  Oh,  Signor  Flaminio,  what  do  you  want  with  me? 

Flam.  Open,  and  I  will  tell  you.  [  To  Criv.~\  As  soon  as  she  opens  the  door,  go 
in,  and  if  you  find  him,  call  to  me.  —  Criv.  Leave  it  to  me. — Clem.  Now  what  have 
you  to  say,  Signor  Flaminio  ? 

Flam.  What  are  you  doing  in  your  house,  with  my  page? 

Clem.  What  page  ?     How  ?     Are  you  going  into  my  house  by  force  ? 

Flam,  dementia,  by  the  body  of  Bacchus  !  if  you  do  not  restore  him —  Clem. 
Whom? — Flam.  My  boy,  who  has  fled  into  your  house. — Clem.  There  is  no  boy  in 
my  house. — Flam,  dementia,  you've  always  been  friendly  to  me,  and  I  to  you  ; 
but  this  is  a  matter  of  too  great  moment — 

Clem.   What  fury  is  this?     Pause  a  little,  Flaminio.     Give  time  for  your  anger 


358 


APPENDIX 


to  cool. — Flam.  I  say,  restore  me  Fabio  ! — Clem.  Oh  !  not  so  much  rage.  I'  faith, 
if  I  were  a  young  woman,  and  pleased  you,  I'd  have  nothing  to  say  to  you.  What 
of  Isabella? — Flam.  I  wish  she  were  quartered. — Clem.  That  cannot  be  true. — 
Flam.  If  it's  not  true,  she  has  made  me  see  what  is  true. 

Clem.  You  young  men  deserve  all  the  ill  that  can  befall  you.  You  are  the  most 
ungrateful  creatures  on  earth. 

Flam.  That  cannot  be  said  of  me.     No  man  abhors  ingratitude  more  than  I  do. 

Clem.  I  don't  say  it  of  you;  but  in  this  city  there  is  a  young  woman,  who, 
thinking  herself  beloved  by  a  cavalier  of  your  rank,  became  so  much  in  love  with 
him  that  she  seemed  to  see  nothing  in  the  world  but  him. 

Flam.   Happy  man,  to  inspire  such  a  passion. 

Clem.  It  so  happened  that  her  father  sent  this  poor  girl  away  from  Modena,  and 
most  bitterly  she  wept  on  her  departure,  fearing  that  he  would  soon  forget  her,  and 
turn  to  another  ;  which  he  incontinently  did. 

Flam.  He  could  be  no  cavalier.     He  was  a  traitor. 

Clem.  Listen.  Worse  follows.  The  poor  girl,  returning  after  a  few  months, 
and  finding  that  her  lover  loved  another,  and  that  this  other  did  not  return  his  love, 
abandoned  her  home,  placed  her  honour  in  peril,  and,  in  male  attire,  engaged  her- 
self to  her  false  lover  as  a  servant. 

Flam.  Did  this  happen  in  Modena?  I'd  rather  be  this  fortunate  lover  than 
lord  of  Milan. 

Clem.  And  this  lover,  not  recognising  her,  employed  her  as  a  messenger  to  his 
new  flame,  and  she,  to  please  him,  submitted  to  this  painful  duty. 

Flam.  O  virtuous  damsel !  O  firm  love  !  a  thing  to  be  truly  put  as  an  example 
to  all  coming  time.  Oh,  that  such  a  chance  had  happened  to  me. — Clem.  But  you 
wouldn't  leave  Isabella. — Flam.  I  would  leave  her  or  any  one  thing  else,  for  such 
a  blessing.  Tell  me,  who  is  she  ? 

Clem.  Tell  me,  first,  what  would  you  do,  if  the  case  were  your  own  ? 

Flam.  I  swear  to  you,  by  the  light  of  Heaven,  may  I  never  more  hold  up  my 
head  among  honourable  men,  if  I  would  not  rather  take  her  for  a  wife,  even  if  she 
had  no  beauty,  nor  wealth,  nor  rank,  than  the  daughter  of  the  Duke  of  Ferrara. — 
Clem.  This  you  swear? — Flam.  This  I  swear,  and  this  would  I  do. — Clem.  You 
are  witness? — Criv.  I  am. — Clem.  Fabio,  come  down.  [Enter  Lelia,  in  her  own 
dress.~\  Here,  Signer  Flaminio,  is  your  Fabio,  and  also  the  constant,  loving  girl  I 
told  you  of.  Do  you  recognise  him  ?  Do  you  recognise  her?  Now  do  you  see  the 
worth  of  the  love  you  rejected? 

Flam.  There  cannot  be  on  earth  a  more  charming  deceit  than  this.  Is  it  possi- 
ble, that  I  can  have  been  so  blind  as  not  to  have  known  her?  [Enter  Pasquella. 

Pasquella.  dementia,  Virginio  desires  that  you  will  come  to  our  house.  He 
has  given  a  wife  to  his  son,  Fabrizio,  who  is  just  returned,  and  you  are  wanted  to 
put  things  in  order. — Clem.  A  wife  ?  and  whom  ? — Pasqu.  Isabella,  the  daughter 
of  my  master,  Gherardo. 

Flam.  The  daughter  of  Gherardo  Foiani ! 

Pasqu.  The  same.  I  saw  the  ring  put  on  the  bride's  finger,  just  now.  And  I 
was  sent  off  immediately  to  call  dementia. 

Lelia.  Oh,  heaven  !  all  this  at  once  is  enough  to  make  me  die  of  joy. 

Pasqu.  And  I  was  to  ask  if  Lelia  is  here.     Gherardo  says  she  is. 

Clem.  Yes  ;  and  they  want  to  marry  her  to  that  old  Messer  Ghost,  your  master, 
who  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  himself. — Flam.  Marry  her  to  Gherardo  ! 


GL  INGANNATI—  THE  DECEIVED  359 

Clem.  See,  how  unfortunate  the  poor  girl  is ! 

Flam.  May  he  have  as  much  of  life  as  he  will  have  of  her.  I  think,  dementia, 
this  is  certainly  the  will  of  heaven,  which  has  had  pity  on  this  virtuous  girl  no  less 
than  on  me  ;  and  therefore,  Lelia,  I  desire  no  other  wife  than  you,  and  I  vow  to 
you  most  solemnly,  that  if  I  do  not  have  you,  I  will  never  have  any  other. 

Lelia.   Flaminio,  you  are  my  lord.     I  have  revealed  my  heart  in  my  actions. 

Flam.  Indeed,  you  have,  and  revealed  it  bravely.  And  forgive  me  if  I  have 
caused  you  distress  ;  I  am  most  repentant  and  acknowledge  my  error. 

Lelia.  Your  pleasure,  Flaminio,  has  been  always  mine.  I  should  have  found  my 
own  happiness  in  promoting  yours. 

Flam,  dementia,  I  dread  some  accident.  If  she  is  content,  I'll  lose  no  time, 
but  marry  her  instantly. — Lelia.  Most  content. 

Clem.  Go  marry  her,  then,  and  come  back  here.  In  the  meantime,  I'll  tell 
Virginio  about  it,  and  wish  a  bad  night  to  Gherardo. 

[Two  Scenes  follow  ;  in  one,  Pasquella  again  befools  Giglio,  who  departs  vow- 
ing that  she  shall  never  again  impose  on  him ;  in  the  other  Flaminio  and  Lelia 
return  as  a  married  couple  to  dementia's  house.  The  last  Scene  concludes  as 
follows]  : — 

Isabella.  I  most  certainly  thought  that  you,  Fabrizio,  were  the  page  of  a  gentle- 
man of  this  city.  He  resembles  you  so  much,  that  he  must  surely  be  your  brother. 

Fabrizio.   I  have  been  mistaken  for  another  man,  more  than  once  to-day. 

Isab.  Here  is  your  nurse,  dementia. 

Clem.  This  must  be  he  who  is  so  like  Lelia.  Oh,  my  dear  child,  Fabrizio,  how 
is  it  with  you  ? 

Fabr.  All  well,  my  dear  nurse.     And  how  is  it  with  Lelia  ? 

Clem.  Well,  well ;  but  come  in.     I  have  much  to  say  to  you  all. 
Enter  Virginio. 

Virg.  I  am  so  overjoyed  in  recovering  my  son  that  I  am  contented  with  every- 
thing. 

Clem.  It  was  ordained  of  Heaven  that  she  should  not  be  married  to  that  withered 
old  stick,  Gherardo.  But  let  us  go  into  the  hotel  and  complete  our  preparations. 

[  They  enter  the  hotel. 

Stragualcia.  Spectators,  do  not  expect  that  any  of  these  characters  will  reappear. 
If  you  will  come  to  supper  with  us,  I  will  expect  you  at  The  Madman  ;  but  bring 
money  ;  entertainment  is  not  gratis,  there.  If  you  will  not  come  (and  you  seem  to 
say  'No!')  show  us  that  you  have  been  satisfied  here,  and  applaud;  and  you, 
Intronati,  make  known  your  gleeful  delight. 

Thus  ends  The  Ingannati  of  The  Intronati. 


GEORGE  B.  CHURCHILL  (Sh.  Jahrbueh*  1898,  vol.  xxziv,  p.  286) :  In  Laelia 
[MS.  Lambeth  Palace,  838,  4°,  p.  292],  which  was  performed  in  Cambridge  in 
1590  and  1598,  we  have  a  Latin  version  of  the  Ingannati.  Shakespeare  could  have 
easily  obtained  in  London  a  manuscript  of  it ;  a  successful  play  would  surely  be 
known  in  the  metropolis.  But  with  Apolonius  and  Silla  at  hand,  I  see  no  reason 
why  we  should  be  urged  to  seek  any  other  source  for  the  serious  portion  of  Shake- 

*  Die   lateinischen    Universities- Dramen   England*   in  der  Zeit  der  fConigin 
Elisabeth. 


APPENDIX 

speare's  plot.  The  few  points  lacking  in  Riche's  novel,  which  are  common  to 
Twelfth  Night  and  the  Ingannati,  might  well  be  accidental.  In  a  resemblance 
between  the  Pedant  Piero  and  Malvolio,  I  have  no  faith.  The  Ingannati  furnishes 
a  Bramarbas,  the  Spaniard,  Giglio,  who  is  omitted  in  Laelia.  Whether  or  not 
Shakespeare  availed  himseif  of  Laelia,  this  example  reveals  to  us,  at  all  events, 
how  an  Italian  Comedy  was  presented  in  a  Latin  garb  to  an  English  public.  That 
the  influence  of  this  comedy  on  the  morals  of  the  students  was  advantageous,  may  be, 
in  view  of  the  well-known  licentiousness  of  the  Italian  drama,  open  to  grave  doubt. 
[Page  292.]  The  first  page  contains  the  following  list  of  the  Dramatis  Per- 
sona: — 

Panneus  »        i     •  j  Scatissa  seruus  Virg. 

Sericus    /  *       »  Crivelus  seru.  Flaminii. 

Gerardus  -»  Stragalcius  seru.  Fabritii. 

Virginius  / senes>  Brulius          -, 

Flaminius  adoles.  M.  Aurelius  }  hosPites  duo- 

Fabritius  Virgin,  fil.  adoles.  Clemens  nutrix. 

Lelia  personata.  Pacquetta  ancill.  Isab. 

filia  Virginia  nominata  Fabius.  Finetta  filia  nutricis. 

Isabella  filia  Gerardi.  Moniales. 

Spela  seru.  Gerardi.  Serui  hospitum. 
Petrus  paedag. 

The  play  is  introduced  by  a  double  Prologue  spoken  by  Panneus  and  Sericus, 
and  the  Comedy  then  begins  : — 

Gerardus.   Agedum,  Virgini,  si  cordi  complacitum  est  tuo 
reapse  nobis  adesse  et  dictis  bonis 
et  si  ex  sententia  istae  futurae  sint  nuptiae 
ne  ultra  me  miserum  male  impediant  compedes. 

If  financial  losses  are  the  cause  of  Virginius' s  hesitation,  as  his  trouble  seems  to 
intimate,  Gerardus  will  gladly  help  him.  But  Virginius  is  troubled  on  account  of 
his  son,  whom  the  Spanish  foes  of  Rome  had  taken  prisoner.  He  favours  Gerardus' s 
suit,  but  Laelia  must  also  approve.  He  is  just  returned  home  from  a  business  jour- 
ney and  desires  to  send  at  once  for  his  daughter  to  the  Convent  where  he  had  left 
her  during  his  absence.  Gerardus  doubts  that  she  is  there  ;  he  had  been  there  and 
could  learn  nothing  of  her.  This,  Virginius  considers  as  mere  artifice  on  the  part 
of  the  nuns. 

Clemens  is  opposed  to  consigning  Laelia  to  Gerardus,  but  in  vain.  The  stipula- 
tions in  regard  to  the  dowry  are  too  favourable.  If  Fabritius  returns  within  four 
years,  Gerardus  is  to  receive  but  200  aurei ;  otherwise,  looo.  Clemens  is  dispatched 
to  find  Laelia  and  meets  her  on  the  street  clad  as  a  boy ;  she  had  escaped  by  the  help 
of  one  of  the  nuns,  and  had  entered  the  service  of  Flaminius,  whom  she  loves,  and 
who  in  former  days  had  loved  her,  but  had  deserted  her  for  Isabella.  Laelia  was 
now  carrying  the  love-letters  of  Flaminius  to  Isabella,  who,  supposing  her  to  be  a 
young  man,  had  fallen  in  love  with  her,  whereby  Laelia  hopes  to  alienate  the  affec- 
tion of  her  master  from  his  new  mistress.  A  meeting  is  arranged  with  the  nurse. 

Clemens  assures  Gerardus  that  Laelia  loves  him  devotedly  and  begs  him  to  await 
her  return  from  the  convent,  at  the  city  gate. 

Isabella  sends  word  by  Laelia  (Fabius)  to  Flaminius,  in  reply  to  his  appeals, 
that  she  can  never  love  him.  Laelia  urges  him  to  seek  a  more  worthy  object,  and 


GL  ING  ANN  A  77—  THE  DECEIVED  36 1 

reminds  him  of  his  former  love,  Laelia.  He  remains,  nevertheless,  faithful  to  Isa- 
bella. He  sends  Laelia  to  her  once  more  ;  Crivellus  and  Scatissa  spy  upon  the 
leave-taking  between  Isabella  and  Fabius  (Laelia)  and  note  Isabella's  demonstrative 
love  for  the  youth ;  Laelia  wishes  to  slip  away  without  betraying  herself.  She 
brings  word  to  Flaminius  that  she  failed  to  obtain  admission,  and  in  despair  he 
announces  that  he  desires  to  relinquish  Isabella.  But  to  Laelia' s  grief  he  changes 
his  mind.  Hereupon  Crivellus  discloses  to  him  the  treachery  of  Fabius.  Flaminius 
refuses  to  believe  it,  but  Crivellus  summons  Scatissa  as  a  witness. 

Fabritius,  Petrus,  and  Stragalcius  now  arrive  in  the  city.  After  a  lively  dispute 
between  the  two  innkeepers  the  party  put  up  at  the  inn  of  Brulius.  As  Fabritius 
was  leaving  the  inn  for  a  walk,  Brulius  tells  him  that  there  is  another  youth  in  the 
city  who  is  his  exact  counterpart.  Pacquetta  meets  him,  and,  mistaking  him  for 
Fabius,  invites  him  to  the  house  of  her  mistress.  Fabritius  is  extremely  surprised, 
but,  scenting  an  adventure,  follows  her.  On  arriving  at  Isabella's  house,  Pacquetta 
begs  him  to  wait  while  she  enters  to  see  if  the  coast  be  clear.  Gerardus  and  Vir- 
ginius  now  approach  ;  they  have  heard  of  Laelia' s  escapade  in  men's  clothes  and 
are  in  search  of  her.  They  catch  sight  of  Fabritius,  and,  in  spite  of  his  protesta- 
tions, insist  that  he  is  Laelia,  and  lock  him  up  in  the  house  with  Isabella,  while 
Virginius  returns  to  his  house  to  fetch  Laelia' s  clothes. 

Petrus  meets  Virginius  and  Gerardus  and  announces  the  return  of  Fabritius. 
All  go  to  the  inn  to  greet  him.  But  he  is  not  yet  returned.  Gerardus  on  his  way 
home  finds  Laelia  talking  with  her  nurse,  Clemens,  in  the  street.  To  his  astonished 
question  how  she  escaped  through  the  bolted  door  he  receives  no  satisfactory  answer, 
and,  believing  himself  tricked,  he  hastens  home  to  punish  the  faithless  maidservant 
who  had  let  her  escape.  But  Pacquetta,  who  derides  his  folly  in  locking  up  a 
young  man  with  Isabella,  asseverates  that  the  youth  has  not  left  the  house.  Gerardus 
enters  and  receives  ocular  proof  that  he  has  locked  up  a  young  man  with  his  daugh- 
ter. At  this  moment  Virginius  enters  and  Gerardus  in  his  rage  falls  foul  of  him  in 
lively  style.  Virginius  runs  away  to  summon  his  friends.  In  the  meanwhile  Petrus, 
whom  Gerardus  had  invited  into  his  house,  recognises  his  young  master,  and  when 
Virginius  makes  his  appearance  with  his  retinue,  Fabritius  is  presented  to  his  father. 
In  the  fair  Isabella  he  had  found  a  wife. 

While  this  was  going  on,  Flaminius  was  vainly  seeking  Fabius.  He  turns  to 
Clemens  for  aid.  Suppressing  all  names,  Clemens  tells  him  the  whole  story  of  his 
shameful  treatment  of  Laelia,  and  in  such  touching  terms  that  when  he  comprehends 
that  it  is  his  own  story  he  is  filled  with  repentance.  Laelia  readily  forgives  him. 
Through  the  intervention  of  Clemens,  Gerardus  renounces  his  claim  to  Laelia,  and 
Virginius  accedes  to  her  union  with  Flaminius.  The  play  ends  with  an  epilogue 
spoken  by  Petrus : — Praeclare  Solon  poela  non  ita  bonus  \  Philosophorum  facile 
princeps  \  Ante  obitum  nemo  supremaque  funera  foelix  \  Nostrae  extremum  iam 
actum  tanquam  obitum  \  Audiuistis  comoediae  \  Et  nos  defuncti  sumus ;  penes  vos 
indicium  est  \  Quam  foeliciter  egimus,  cuius  vt  indicium  constet  \  (ffonoratissimi 
virt,  honoratissimi  inquam  et  grauissimi  viri)  \  Cum  meo  Cicerone  plausum  date  \ 
Vel  potius  cum  Plauto,  plaudite. 


362 


APPENDIX 


BANDELLO 


The  Navels  of  MATTEO  BANDELLO  Bishop  of  Agen  now  first  done  into  English 
Prose  and  Verse  by  JOHN  PAYNE,  London,  1890  (For  The  Villon  Society},  vol.  iv, 
p.  121.*  THE  ElGHT-AND-TwENTlETH  STORY.  Nicuola  being  enamoured  of 
Lattanzio,  goeth  to  serve  him,  clad  as  a  page,  and  after  many  adventures,  marrieth 
him  ;  with  that  which  befell  a  brother  of  hers. 

.  .  .  Now,  not  to  hold  you  longer  in  suspense,  me  thinketh  there  is  well-nigh 
none  of  us  in  this  delectable  and  honourable  company  but  must  well  remember  him 
how  shamefully  the  Germans  and  Spanish  sacked  Rome  in  the  year  1527  ;  and  albeit 
the  sins  of  that  city  deserved  a  sharp  chastisement,  nevertheless  those  who  sacked  it, 
being  Christians,  did  not  well ;  indeed,  I  understand  that  they  were  for  the  most  part 
Lutherans,  Infidels,  and  Jews. .  .  . 

Accordingly  you  must  know  that  in  Rome,  whenas  it  was  taken  by  the  Imperial- 
ists and  everything  was  put  to  the  sack,  there  was  a  Marchegan  [z.  e.  a  native  of  the 
Marches  of  Ancona. —  Trans."]  made  prisoner,  a  native  of  Jesi  [the  modern  form  of 
£st,  a  town  near  Ancona. —  Trans.  ]  and  a  countryman  of  mine  own,  Ambrogio 
Nanni  by  name,  a  man  of  fair  wealth  and  a  most  loyal  merchant,  whose  wife  dying, 
had  left  him  two  children,  a  son  and  a  daughter,  both  born  in  Rome.  They  were 
both  fair  beyond  belief  and  so  like  the  one  to  the  other  that,  when  clad  alike  either 
as  boys  or  as  girls,  it  was  mighty  difficult  to  know  them  ;  wherefore  their  father  him- 
self, who  bytimes  for  diversion  let  dress  then  now  on  one  wise  and  now  on  another, 
could  not  distinguish  them,  and  having  been  born  at  one  birth,  they  were  of  equal 
growth.  Ambrogio  let  teach  them  letters  and  to  play  and  sing  and  bred  them  as  well 
as  their  age  comported,  they  being  then  fifteen  years  old  or  a  little  more.  The  boy, 
who  was  called  Paolo,  was  made  prisoner  by  a  German,  a  man  doughty  of  his  per- 
son and  high  in  esteem  among  his  countrymen,  who,  having  made  other  prisoners 
of  great  value  and  gotten  much  monies  by  their  ransom,  beside  much  other  booty  he 
had  made  of  gold  and  plate  and  rich  raiment  and  precious  stones  of  great  value, 
departed  Rome  and  betook  himself  to  Naples,  whither  he  carried  Paolo  with  him 
and  entreated  him  as  a  son.  There  he  busied  himself  with  selling  the  raiment  and 
the  greater  part  of  the  plate  he  had  gotten  and  turning  the  whole  into  money,  left 
the  keys  of  all  to  Paolo.  The  girl,  whose  name  was  Nicuola,  fell  into  the  hands  of 
two  Spanish  footmen  and  telling  them  she  was  the  daughter  of  a  rich  man,  was  for- 
tunate enough  to  be  honourably  entreated  of  them,  the  two  fellows  hoping  to  make 
great  profit  by  her. 

Ambrogio,  by  favour  of  certain  Neapolitans  his  friends,  who  served  in  the  Span- 
ish regiments,  escaped  being  made  prisoner  and  found  means  to  save  his  monies  and 
plate,  which  he  had  buried  in  a  stable  of  his  ;  but  the  rest  that  was  in  his  house  was 
all  plundered.  Thereafter,  enquiring  about  his  children,  he  found  Nicuola,  whom 
he  ransomed  with  five  hundred  gold  ducats ;  but  of  Paolo,  how  much  diligence 
soever  he  used,  he  could  never  learn  anything ;  wherefore  he  abode  sore  disconso- 
late, the  loss  of  his  son  grieving  him  incomparably  more  than  that  of  all  the  rest, 
great  as  was  the  value  thereof.  After  he  had  done  all  he  knew  and  might  to  find 
his  son,  but  could  get  no  news  of  him  nor  came  there  any  message  from  him  from 
any  quarter,  he  sore  misdoubted  him  the  lad  had  been  slain  and  caring  not  to  abide 
in  Rome,  returned,  woeful  beyond  measure,  to  Jesi,  where,  having  put  his  house  in 
order  and  being  well  to  do  for  lands  and  monies,  he  chose  no  longer  to  busy  himself 

*  Here  reprinted  by  the  kind  permission  of  the  Translator. — ED. 


BANDELLO  363 

with  merchandry,  but  applied  to  settle  his  accounts  with  every  one,  as  best  he  might. 
Now  there  was  in  our  city  a  rich  burgess  called  Gerardo  Lanzetti,  a  great  friend  of 
Ambrogio's,  who  being  a  widower  and  seeing  Nicuola's  charms,  fell  so  ardently  in 
love  with  her  that,  without  regard  to  the  fact  that  she  was  very  young  and  he  nearer 
threescore  than  fifty,  he  presently  demanded  her  of  her  father  to  wife,  agreeing  to 
take  her  without  dowry. .  .  .  Ambrogio,  albeit  himseemed  ill  to  give  Nicuola  to  an 
old  man,  said  neither  ay  nor  nay,  for  that  he  was  yet  in  hopes  of  finding  Paolo  and 
would  fain  have  forborne  to  marry  his  daughter  till  he  should  have  news  of  him. 
Meanwhile  great  was  the  report  of  Nicuola's  beauty  in  Jesi  and  it  was  indeed  talked 
of  no  otherwhat ;  nay,  whenassoever  she  went  forth,  she  was  pointed  at  of  all  with 
the  finger  and  many  passed  before  the  house  to  look  upon  her. 

Now  it  chanced  that  Lattanzio  Puccini,  a  youth  without  father  and  mother,  who 
was  very  rich  in  the  goods  of  fortune,  and  had  not  yet  overpast  his  one-and-twentieth 
year,  saw  Nicuola  and  she  him  ;  whereupon  each  fell  straightway  in  love  with  each 
other  and  he  attended  to  no  otherwhat  than  to  see  her  daily  and  show  her  with  his 
eyes  how  he  pined  for  love  of  her.  She  still  showed  him  a  very  good  countenance, 
which  the  youth  perceiving,  doubted  not  but  he  was  beloved  of  her  in  turn  and  held 
himself  the  happiest  lover  that  was  aye.  Nicuola,  on  her  part,  Lattanzio' s  good  looks 
and  manners  pleasing  her  more  than  those  of  any  other  she  had  ever  seen,  received 
the  amorous  flames  on  such  wise  into  her  soft  and  delicate  bosom  that,  without  his 
sight,  she  knew  not  how  to  live,  and  forasmuch  as  it  rarely  chanceth  that,  whenas 
two  lovers  are  of  one  mind,  there  ensueth  not  that  which  they  desire,  Lattanzio 
found  means  to  write  to  her  and  to  have  a  reply  from  her ;  but  scarce  had  they 
agreed  upon  a  means  of  conversing  together  when  it  befell  that  Ambrogio  was  con- 
strained to  return  to  Rome  upon  certain  business  and  to  abide  many  days  abroad ; 
wherefore,  choosing  not  that  Nicuola  should  remain  without  fitting  company,  he  sent 
her  to  Fabriano  to  the  house  of  a  brother-in-law  of  his,  who  had  a  wife  and  daugh- 
ters, and  that  so  suddenly  that  she  could  not  make  shift  to  advise  her  lover  of  her 
departure.  Ambrogio  himself  went  off  to  Rome  ;  whereupon  Lattanzio,  hearing  he 
was  gone  away,  doubted  not  but  he  had  carried  his  daughter  with  him  and  used  all 
diligence  to  find  out  the  truth  of  the  matter,  but,  learning  nothing  certain,  was  in 
despair  and  abode  sore  chagrined.  Algates,  being  a  high-spirited  and  hot-blooded 
youth,  it  was  no  great  while  ere  he  set  eyes  on  another  damsel,  to  wit,  the  daughter 
of  Gerardo  Lanzetti,  a  very  fair  and  agreeable  girl,  with  whose  sight  he  did  away  the 
memory  of  his  mistress  and  altogether  forgot  her. 

Meanwhile  the  disconsolate  Nicuola  abode  in  great  affliction,  seeing  she  had  left 
Jesi  in  such  wise  that  she  had  been  unable  to  bid  her  lover  farewell  either  by  letters 
or  messages,  and  did  no  otherwise  than  bemoan  herself,  Lattanzio  being  still  in  her 
mind.  She  thought  of  him  day  and  night  and  every  hour  seemed  to  her  a  thousand 
years  until  her  father  should  come  and  carry  her  back  to  Jesi,  so  she  might  see  him 
whom  she  loved  more  than  her  very  eyes.  But,  her  uncle  at  Fabriano,  in  whose 
house  she  was,  being  an  austere  man  and  a  stern,  whom  it  liked  not  that  marriage- 
able girls  should  have  liberty  to  speak  with  any  one,  except  he  were  well  known, 
nor  that  they  should  go  trapesing  hither  and  thither,  and  who  would  have  had  them 
rather  attend  to  their  woman's  works,  she  could  find  no  means  of  communicating 
with  Lattanzio,  for  the  damsels  her  cousins  still  kept  her  company  and  thinking  her 
melancholy  arose  from  her  father' s  absence,  comforted  her  as  best  they  might.  In 
this  most  bitter  life  the  disconsolate  Nicuola  abode  some  seven  months'  time,  for  that 
so  long  did  her  father  tarry  ere  he  returned  from  Rome  and  passed  through  Fabriano, 


364 


APPENDIX 


to  take  his  daughter  and  carry  her  back  to  Jesi.  She,  thinking  to  come  forth  of  he!2 
and  return  unto  Paradise,  went  with  him  as  blithely  as  you  may  imagine  ;  but,  when 
she  came  to  Jesi,  all  her  joy  was  turned  to  lamentation  and  to  such  sore  jealousy 
that  she  came  nigh  to  die  of  heartsgrief ;  for  that  she  found  her  lover  pledged  to 
other  than  the  Jews,  and  (what  was  worse)  he  seemed  to  remember  him  of  herself 
no  more  than  as  he  had  never  seen  her.  .  .  .  To  such  a  pass  was  it  come  with  the 
enamoured  Nicuola  that  she  might  e'en  write  and  send  messages  to  Lattanzio,  recall- 
ing to  his  memory  their  past  loves  and  that  which  had  befallen  between  them  ;  but 
all  in  vain  ;  whereat  she  was  beyond  measure  aggrieved  ;  yet,  for  that  the  worm  of 
amorous  wistful  ness  still  gnawed  at  her  heart  and  fretted  it  with  the  utmost  affliction, 
she  determined  to  do  and  say  to  such  purpose  that  she  should  regain  her  lover's  lost 
favour  or  else  live  no  longer  ;  for  that  herseemed  impossible  to  brook  that  he  should 
love  another  than  herself.  What  while  she  was  in  these  tribulations,  it  behooved 
Ambrogio  return  to  Rome  ;  but,  Nicuola  altogether  refusing  to  go  back  to  her  uncle's 
house  at  Fabriano,  she  was  placed  by  her  father  with  a  cousin  of  his,  one  Sister 
Camilla  Bizza,  in  a  nunnery,  which  was  otherwhiles  in  repute  for  exceeding  great 
sanctity.  .  . . 

Lattanzio  himself  let  oftentimes  sew  his  shirts  and  other  his  linen  [at  the  nunnery 
in  question],  and  Sister  Camilla  was  accordingly  one  day  called  to  speak  with  him  ; 
the  which  Nicuola  hearing,  herseemed  she  felt  a  fire  run  through  her  veins  that  all 
inflamed  her ;  then,  all  at  once,  there  spread  an  icy  coldness  over  her  whole  body, 
and  certes,  whoso  had  taken  note  of  her  had  seen  her  turn  a  thousand  colours,  so 
disordered  was  she  at  the  mention  of  her  lover's  name.  She  presently  betook  herself 
to  a  place  where,  without  being  seen  of  Lattanzio,  she  saw  him  and  heard  that  which 
he  said  ;  whence  it  befell  that  she  heard  him  complain  sore  of  the  loss  of  a  Perugian 
page,  who  had  lately  died  of  fever  in  his  house,  saying  that  he  had  been  served  of 
him,  during  the  three  years  he  had  abidden  with  him,  as  best  could  be  conceived  and 
declaring  that  he  should  account  himself  very  fortunate  if  he  found  another  like  unto 
him.  When  he  was  gone,  it  occurred  to  Nicuola  (see  how  love  had  served  her !)  to 
clothe  herself  as  a  boy  and  enter  her  lover's  service  ;  but,  knowing  not  how  to  pro- 
cure herself  men's  apparel,  she  abode  sore  perplexed.  Now  she  had  a  foster-mother, 
whose  milk  she  had  sucked  in  her  years  of  infancy  ;  and  this  her  nurse  was  cogni- 
zant of  her  love  and  came  daily  to  the  nunnery  to  see  her,  Ambrogio  having,  before 
his  departure,  prayed  her  visit  her  often,  and  whiles,  if  Nicuola  so  willed  it,  carry 
her  home  with  her ;  the  which  was  well  known  to  the  nuns.  For  her,  then,  she 
sent  and  coming  to  privy  converse  with  her,  discovered  to  her  her  intent.  Pippa 
[diminutive  of  Philippa. —  Trans.~\  (for  such  was  the  nurse's  name)  did  her  utmost 
endeavour  to  put  that  extravagance  out  of  her  head,  showing  her  the  peril  and 
scandal  which  might  lightly  ensue  thereof,  but  she  might  nowise  avail  to  convince 
her;  wheref>r  she  carried  her  home  to  her  house,  where  the  girl  found  means  to 
dress  herself  like  a  poor  lad  with  the  clothes  of  a  son  of  Pippa' s,  who  had  died  a 
little  before  ;  then,  on  the  morrow,  to  make  no  delay  about  the  matter,  Nicuola,  no 
more  a  girl  but  a  boy,  repaired  to  her  lover's  lodging  and  was  fortunate  enough  to 
find  him  all  alone  at  his  door. 

Romolo  (for  thus  Nicuola  chose  to  be  called),  seeing  him,  plucked  up  courage 
and  began  to  pass  through  the  street,  looking  hither  and  thither,  as  do  stranger  lads 
on  their  arrival  in  a  place  never  before  seen.  When  Lattanzio  saw  him  [Hence- 
forward Bandello  speaks  of  Nicuola  in  the  masculine  gender,  so  long  as  she  per- 
sonates a  boy. —  Trans.~\  go  thus  wandering,  he  judged  him  to  be  some  lad  who  had 


BANDELLO  365 

never  yet  been  in  Jesi  and  who  was  peradventure  in  quest  of  a  master ;  wherefore, 
coming  forward  from  the  doorway  where  he  stood,  he  said  to  him,  '  Harkye,  boy, 
art  thou  of  this  place?'  'Sir,'  replied  Romolo,  'I  am  a  Roman,'  and  here  he 
spoke  the  truth,  inasmuch  as  he  had  been  born  and  bred  in  Rome,  '  a  poor  lad, 
who,  since  the  sack  of  the  city,  whereat  I  lost  my  father  (for  that  my  mother  died 
many  years  before),  go  hitherto  wandering  meknoweth  not  whither,  for  that  I  set 
myself  to  serve  certain  folk,  and  they  would  have  me  curry  mules  and  horses,  which 
I,  being  unused  to  such  work,  know  not  what  to  do.  I  did  indeed  serve  a  master  in 
Rome  to  page  and  attended  to  his  person  and  chamber  ;  but  the  poor  gentleman  was 
wounded  at  the  sack  and  being  cast  into  the  Tiber,  was  there  drowned  ;  and  for 
that  I  bewept  him,  an  infidel  Spaniard  gave  me  many  buffets ;  so  that,  sir,  I  pres- 
ently fare  very  ill.'  Quoth  Lattanzio,  'An  thou  have  a  mind  to  abide  with  me  and 
serve  me,  as  thou  sayest  thou  didst  thine  old  master,  I  will  gladly  entertain  thee  ; 
and  if  thou  please  me,  I  will  entreat  thee  in  such  wise  that  thou  shall  have  reason 
to  be  content  with  me.'  'Sir,'  replied  Romolo,  'I  will  abide  here  nor  do  I  ask 
otherwhat  than  to  be  requited  of  you  according  to  my  service.'  And  so  he  entered 
the  house  with  his  master  and  addressed  himself  to  serve  him  with  such  diligence, 
address,  and  good  breeding  that  he  speedily  effaced  from  his  mind  all  regret  for  the 
Perugian.  Lattanzio  was  marvellously  content  with  him  and  flattered  himself  he 
had  found  the  prettiest,  the  best-bred,  and  the  discreetest  page  that  was  aye.  He 
clad  him  bravely  and  amongst  other  apparel  he  let  make  him,  he  clothed  him 
from  head  to  foot  all  in  white  ;  whilst  Romolo  accounted  himself  most  happy,  him- 
seeming  he  was  in  Paradise. 

Now,  as  you  have  already  heard,  Lattanzio  was  passionately  enamoured  of 
Catella,  daughter  of  Gerardo  Lanzetti,  and  passed  every  day  before  her  house, 
showing  her  by  signs  and  gestures  that  he  was  all  afire  for  her.  Catella,  albeit  she 
showed  him  a  good  countenance,  nevertheless  recked  not  overmuch  of  him,  neither 
opened  her  breast  to  the  amorous  flames.  He  had  sent  her  letters  and  messages 
galore,  but  could  never  get  any  certain  reply,  whether  good  or  ill,  for  that  the  girl 
refused  to  commit  herself  to  anything  particular.  Her  father  was  very  rich  in  the 
goods  of  fortune,  but  avaricious  beyond  measure,  and  kept  no  household  save  a 
decrepit  old  woman,  born  in  the  house  before  himself,  a  little  maid  and  a  lad,  the 
son  of  one  of  his  husbandmen,  whom  for  the  most  part  he  carried  with  him,  so  that 
Catella  had  abundant  leisure  and  commodity  to  stand  at  the  casement  and  speak 
with  whoso  most  liked  her,  for  that  the  old  crone  abode  without  cease  a-watch  over 
the  kitchen  fire.  As  for  the  maid,  she  left  the  field  free  and  favoured  Lattanzio, 
having  been  won  by  him  with  sundry  small  presents  ;  wherefore  he  might,  whenas- 
sover  it  pleased  him,  ply  Catella  (whom  in  effect  he  loved  beyond  measure)  with 
letters  and  messages,  and  himseeming  Romolo  was  a  very  goodly  speaker,  he  sent 
him  to  speak  with  his  mistress,  having  first  duly  instructed  him  of  that  which  he 
would  have  him  do. 

Romolo,  who  had  many  a  time  passed  before  Catella' s  house,  knew  where  it 
was  and  was  acquainted  with  her  maid  ;  wherefore,  having  gotten  this  commission, 
he  set  out,  all  despited  and  disconsolate  as  can  be  told.  But  ere  he  went  to  visit 
Catella,  he  betook  himself  to  Pippa's  house  and  after  some  talk,  bespoke  her  thus, 
saying,  '  Nurse  mine,  I  find  myself  in  the  most  desperate  plight  in  the  world,  for 
that,  never  having  dared  discover  myself  to  my  lover  and  seeing  him  ardently  enam- 
oured of  Catella  Lanzetti,  I  live  in  such  miscontent  of  this  my  love  that  I  cannot 
look  for  a  happy  issue  thereof.  And  what  is  worst  for  me  and  most  tormenteth  me 


366 


APPENDIX 


is  that  needs  must  I  go  presently  bespeak  her  in  Lattanzio's  name  and  persuade  her 
consent  to  love  him,  so  he  may  require  her  of  her  father  and  take  her  to  wife.  Look 
you  now,  nurse,  to  what  pass  I  am  reduced  and  if  Fortune  could  use  me  worse  than 
she  doth.  If  Catella  be  disposed  to  love  him  and  consent  to  take  him  to  husband, 
I  shall  not  live  an  hour  longer,  nor  can  I  see  any  shift  for  the  saving  of  my  afflicted 
life,  for  it  is  impossible  I  should  see  him  another's  than  mine  and  live.  Counsel  me 
then,  dear  my  nurse,  and  lend  me  aid  in  this  my  urgent  need.  I  had  e'en  hoped, 
seeing  my  service  to  be  very  acceptable  to  Lattanzio,  one  day  to  discover  to  him  my 
case  and  persuade  him  to  have  pity  on  me  ;  but  now  all  my  hopes  are  scattered  to 
the  winds,  inasmuch  as  I  see  him  so  enamoured  of  this  girl  that  he  thinketh  but  of 
her  day  and  night  nor  ever  talketh  of  otherwhat.  Woe  is  me,  if  my  father  should 
return  and  learn  this  that  I  have  done,  what  would  become  of  my  life  ?  Certes,  he 
would  kill  me ;  help  me  for  God's  sake,  dear  my  nurse';  and  so  saying  she  wept 
sore.  [Pippa  remonstrates  with  Nicuola  for  having  entered  on  an  adventure  so  fraught 
with  danger  to  her  reputation,  and  begs  her  to  relinquish  it  at  once,  remain  where 
she  is  a  few  days  and  then  return  to  the  nunnery.]  Nicuola  abode  awhile  in  thought ; 
then,  heaving  an  ardent  sigh,  '  Dear  my  nurse,'  quoth  she,  '  I  confess  thou  speakest 
very  lovingly;  but  I  have  gone  so  far  that  I  will  e'en  see  the  end  thereof,  come 
what  will.  I  will  go  now  to  speak  with  Catella  and  see  how  she  will  take  it ;  for 
hitherto  Lattanzio  hath  gotten  none  but  general  replies  from  her ;  and  for  the  rest 
God  shall  aid  me,  who  knoweth  my  heart  and  knoweth  that  I  strive  for  no  other- 
what than  to  have  Lattanzio  for  my  husband.  I  will  come  every  day  to  speak  with 
thee  here,  and  if  my  father  return,  we  will  provide  for  our  affairs  as  best  may  be, 
for  that  meseemeth  needless  for  the  nonce  to  take  thought  unto  evil  ere  it  betide." 
Therewithal  she  took  leave  of  Pippa  and  repairing  to  Lanzetti's  house,  arrived  there 
even  as  Gerardo  had  gone  to  the  market-place  on  certain  of  his  occasions.  Catella' s 
maid  was  at  the  door  and  Romolo,  giving  her  the  signal  which  his  master  had  taught 
him,  was  admitted  into  one  of  the  ground-floor  rooms  whilst  the  girl  went  up  and 
said  to  her  mistress,  '  Madam,  come  down,  for  that  Lattanzio  hath  sent  his  hand- 
some page  to  speak  with  you,  who  you  told  me  so  pleased  you.'  Catella  straight- 
way came  down  and  entering  the  chamber  where  Romolo  awaited  her,  no  sooner 
saw  him  than  she  thought  to  behold  an  angel,  so  fair  and  graceful  did  he  appear  to 
her.  He  did  his  obeisance  to  her  and  began  to  tell  her  what  he  had  in  charge  from 
his  master,  whilst  she  took  an  extreme  pleasure  in  hearing  him  talk  and  ogled  him 
amorously,  dying  of  desire  to  kiss  him  and  herseeming  there  issued  an  unwonted 
sweetness  from  his  fair  eyes. 

Romolo  addressed  himself  to  bespeak  her  of  Lattanzio' s  case ;  but  she  paid 
little  heed  to  that  which  he  said  to  her,  being  all  intent  upon  his  sight  and  saying  in 
herself  that  she  had  never  seen  so  handsome  a  youth.  In  fine,  she  viewed  him  so 
amorously  and  so  deeply  did  the  lad's  beauty  and  grace  penetrate  into  her  heart 
that,  unable  to  restrain  herself  longer,  she  threw  her  arms  about  his  neck  and  kiss- 
ing him  five  or  six  times  ardently  on  the  mouth,  said  to  him,  '  Seemeth  it  well  to 
thee  to  bring  me  such  messages  and  expose  thyself  to  the  risk  which  thou  runnest, 
an  my  father  find  thee  here  ?'  He,  seeing  her  turn  a  thousand  colours  and  plainly 
perceiving  that  she  was  enamoured  of  him,  answered  her,  saying,  '  Mistress  mine, 
needs  must  he  who  abideth  with  others  and  serveth  do  these  and  the  like  offices, 
according  to  the  will  and  commandment  of  his  master,  and  I  for  my  part  do  it 
very  unwillingly  ;  but  he  who  can  command  me  willing  this,  needs  must  I  also  will 
it.  Wherefore  I  pray  you  vouchsafe  me  an  acceptable  answer,  and  have  compassion 


BANDELLO  367 

on  my  master,  who  loveth  you  so  dear  and  is  so  much  your  servant,  so  on  my  return 
I  may  gladden  him  with  good  news.'  On  this  wise  they  talked  for  a  time  together, 
what  while  it  seemed  to  Catella  that  the  page's  beauty  waxed  ever  goodlier  and 
greater  and  bethinking  her  that  needs  must  she  part  from  him,  she  felt  certain  stings 
at  her  heart,  which  pierced  her  through  and  through  ;  wherefore  she  determined  to 
discover  her  passion  to  him  and  began  on  this  wise  to  bespeak  him,  saying,  '  I  know 
not  what  thou  hast  done  to  me  ;  methinketh  thou  must  have  bewitched  me.'  '  Madam,' 
replied  he,  '  you  mock  me  ;  I  have  done  nothing  to  you  and  am  neither  a  wizard  nor 
sorcerer  ;  I  am  e'en  your  servant  and  pray  you  give  me  a  fair  answer,  whereby  you 
will  keep  my  master  on  life  and  will  cause  him  tender  me  dearer  than  he  presently 
doth.'  Whereupon  quoth  Catella,  who  could  hold  out  no  longer  and  was  like  to 
melt  for  desire,  as  she  kissed  the  page,  '  Harkye,  my  life  and  soul  of  my  soul,  I 
know  no  youth  in  the  world  who  could  have  made  me  do  that  which  I  have  pres- 
ently done  with  thee ;  but  thy  beauty  and  the  infinite  love  which  I  bear  thee,  since 
first  I  saw  thee  behind  thy  master,  have  moved  me  to  this.  I  desire  thee  not  to  ser- 
vant, but  will  e'en  have  thee  (an  it  mislike  thee  not)  be  lord  over  me  what  while  I 
live  and  dispose  of  me  at  thy  pleasure.  I  ask  not  who  thou  art  nor  if  thou  be  poor 
or  rich  nor  of  what  blood  thou  art  born.  My  father,  Godamercy,  is  rich  enough  for 
thee  and  for  me  and  so  old  that  he  can  live  little  longer  ;  wherefore  do  thou  look  to 
thyself  and  let  Lattanzio  go,  for  that  I,  for  my  part,  am  never  like  to  love  him  and 
shall  henceforward  leave  showing  him  a  good  countenance.'  Romolo,  after  some 
farther  talk,  himseeming  the  thing  went  as  he  would  have  it,  promised  Catella  to  do 
what  she  wished  and  returned  her  infinite  thanks  for  her  proffers,  avouching  himself 
eternally  beholden  to  her,  but  declaring  that  it  behooved  to  proceed  cautiously,  so 
Lattanzio  should  perceive  nothing.  Then,  having  agreed  with  her  of  that  which 
was  to  be  said  to  the  latter,  he,  after  many  amorous  kisses  given  and  received,  took 
his  leave. 

Returning  home,  he  found  his  master  awaiting  him  impatiently  and  began  by 
excusing  himself  for  his  tardiness,  saying  that  it  had  been  a  good  while  ere  he  might 
get  speech  of  Catella  and  that,  whenas  he  came  to  speak  with  her,  he  had  found  her 
in  a  great  fume,  as  well  because  she  had  that  day  been  severely  rated  by  her  father 
for  that  her  love  as  also  because  she  had  heard  he  was  enamoured  of  another  girl. 
'  I  did  my  utmost  endeavour,'  said  Romolo,  '  to  oust  this  conceit  from  her  head, 
adducing  to  her  a  thousand  reasons,  and  argued  long  with  her ;  but  all  proved  in 
vain.'  Lattanzio  at  this  news  abode  sore  dismayed  and  chagrined  and  made  Romolo 
repeat  to  him  a  good  half  score  times  all  that  had  passed  between  himself  and 
Catella.  Moreover,  he  prayed  him  take  an  opportunity  of  returning  to  her  and 
assuring  her  that  he  loved  no  other  woman  in  the  world  than  herself,  that  he  was 
ready  to  give  her  all  possible  proofs  thereof  and  that,  do  what  she  would,  he  was 
never  like  to  love  another,  being  resolved  to  be  eternally  her  most  loyal  servitor ;  and 
Romolo  accordingly  promised  to  do  all  he  knew  and  might  to  get  speech  of  her. 

On  the  morrow,  Catella  being  at  the  window,  Lattanzio  passed  through  the 
street  and  as  he  drew  near  the  house,  the  damsel  with  a  disdainful  gesture  retired 
from  the  casement  and  withdrew  indoors.  This  act  added  new  assurance  to  the  story 
told  by  Romolo  to  his  master,  who  returned  home,  full  of  chagrin,  and  fell  a-com- 
plaining  to  the  page  of  his  ill -hap  and  sorry  fortune ;  then,  goaded  by  anger,  he 
went  on  to  say  that  Catella  was  not  withal  the  fairest  damsel  in  the  world  nor  the 
noblest  that  she  should  bear  herself  so  arrogantly  and  misprise  him  after  such  a 
fashion  ;  and  to  this  purpose  he  said  many  things.  Hereupon  Romolo  began  very 


368 


APPENDIX 


adroitly  to  remind  his  master  that  these  were  things  which  were  mostly  used  to 
happen,  either  for  despite  or  through  ill  tongues  or  because  of  unconformity  of 
humours,  it  being  oftentimes  seen  that  a  man  loveth  a  woman,  who  will  never 
incline  to  love  him,  whilst  another  will  love  him,  whom  he  can  nowise  bring  himself 
to  love.  '  Indeed,  Romolo,'  quoth  Lattanzio,  '  thou  sayest  sooth,  for  some  months 
agone  I  was  beloved  of  one  of  the  fairest  damsels  of  this  city,  who  was  newly  come 
from  Rome  and  who  I  know  loved  me  with  all  her  heart ;  nay,  I  also  loved  her  very 
ardently ;  but  she  went  I  know  not  whither  and  abode  many  days  absent ;  and  in 
the  meantime  I  chanced  to  set  eyes  on  this  proud  baggage  of  a  Catella  ;  whereupon, 
leaving  the  other's  love  and  altogether  casting  her  behind  my  back  and  into  oblivion, 
I  applied  to  serve  this  ingrate.  The  other  damsel,  on  her  return  to  the  city,  sent  me 
letters  and  messages,  but  I  took  no  heed  of  aught.'  '  My  lord,'  rejoined  Romolo, 
•  you  are  rightly  served  and  have  gotten  the  requital  you  deserved  ;  for  that,  an  you 
were  beloved  as  you  say  of  so  fair  a  damsel,  you  did  exceeding  ill  to  leave  her  for 
this  one,  who,  without  knowing  it,  wreaketh  vengeance  for  the  other.  We  should 
love  those  who  love  us  and  not  ensue  those  who  flee  from  us.  Who  knoweth  but 
this  fair  damsel  yet  loveth  you  and  liveth  in  sore  affliction  for  your  sake  ?  More  by 
token  that  I  have  many  a  time  heard  say  that  girls,  in  their  first  loves,  love  far  more 
tendeily  and  with  much  greater  fervour  than  do  men.  My  heart  forebodeth  me  this 
hapless  lass  must  needs  languish  for  you  and  live  a  life  of  anguish  and  misery.' 
« That  I  know  not,'  replied  Lattanzio,  « I  only  know  that  she  loved  me  passing  dear 
and  that  she  is  very  fair.  Catella  would  seem  to  thee  well-nigh  foul  in  comparison 
with  her ;  nay,  to  tell  thee  more,  it  hath  many  a  time  occurred  to  my  mind  that, 
wert  thou  clad  as  a  woman,  I  could  swear  thou  wast  herself,  so  much  meseemeth 
dost  thou  favour  her  in  everything,  and  methinketh  there  is  but  little  difference 
betwixt  thee  and  her  as  to  age,  albeit  meseemeth  indeed  she  is  a  thought  taller  than 
thou.  But  let  us  return  to  our  talk  of  yonder  trull  of  a  Catella,  whom  I  cannot 
avail  to  put  out  of  my  head ;  nay,  I  think  of  her  day  and  night  and  can  turn  my 
mind  to  no  otherwhat.  Tell  me  ;  doth  thy  heart  warrant  thee  to  bespeak  her  and 
throughly  to  discover  my  love  to  her  ?'  '  I  will  do  what  I  may  and  know,'  replied 
Romolo,  'nay,  were  I  certain  to  receive  death  at  her  hands,  I  would  return  thither.' 
Now  let  us  leave  these  awhile  to  their  affairs  and  speak  of  Ambrogio's  son, 
Paolo,  for  that  without  him  our  story  may  not  be  finished.  It  chanced  then,  that  the 
German,  Paolo's  master,  departing  Naples,  came  to  Acquapendente,  meaning  to  go 
thence  into  Lombardy  and  after  into  Almaine  ;  but,  when  he  would  fain  have  quitted 
Acquapendente,  he  was  taken  with  a  sore  colic  and  died  thereof  in  three  days, 
having  first  made  his  will  and  left  Paolo  heir  to  all  he  had.  Paolo  let  honourably 
bury  his  master  and  satisfied  the  host ;  then,  taking  the  right-hand  road,  he  set  out 
for  Jesi,  where  he  had  aforetime  abidden  some  months'  space,  having  been  sent 
thither  by  his  father.  When  he  arrived  there,  whatever  might  have  been  the  reason, 
he  went  not  home,  but  betook  himself  with  his  equipage  to  the  inn,  where,  letting 
unload  his  baggage  and  giving  it  in  charge  to  the  host,  he  refreshed  himself  and 
leaving  his  servants,  set  out  all  alone  to  go  about  the  city.  Now  he  was,  for  a  vow 
of  his,  clad  all  in  white,  after  the  same  fashion  as  Romolo.  He  went  first  to  see 
if  his  father's  house  was  open  and  on  his  way,  he  passed  before  Catella' s  house  and 
espied  her  at  the  window,  but  made  her  no  sign,  not  knowing  who  she  was  ;  whereat 
she  marvelled  sore,  never  doubting  but  he  was  Romolo,  and  straightway  sent  her 
maid  after  him  to  call  him,  it  being  presently  about  the  hour  of  none  and  few  people 
passing  through  the  street.  The  maid  accordingly  calling  to  him  for  Romolo  and 


BANDELLO  369 

saying,  '  Ho  there,  come  hither,  for  madam  calleth  you,'  he  perceived  that  he  was 
mistaken  for  another  and  was  the  more  certified  of  this  that  he  saw  the  maid  bespoke 
him  as  they  had  long  been  familiar  together ;  wherefore  he  resolved  in  himself  to 
see  who  was  this  madam  that  sought  him  and  thinking  her  to  be  a  woman  of  pleas- 
ure, said  in  himself,  '  Let  us  go  try  our  luck  ;  she  cannot  gain  much  by  me.' 

As  he  was  making  for  the  house,  behold,  Gerardo  came  to  the  head  of  the  street, 
whom  when  the  maid  saw,  '  Romolo,'  quoth  she,  '  see,  yonder  cometh  master ;  go 
thy  ways  now  and  return  by  and  by. '  Accordingly  he  went  off,  noting  the  while  the 
door  at  which  the  maid  entered  and  what  manner  of  man  was  the  master  of  the 
house.  The  maid  entered  the  house  and  shut  the  door,  feigning  not  to  see  her 
master,  who,  coming  slowly  along,  as  old  men  do,  had  not  observed  her.  Gerardo 
presently  reached  the  door  and  knocked  ;  whereupon  it  was  opened  to  him  and  he 
entered  the  house. 

Now  Paolo  had  taken  good  note  of  the  house  and  had  seen  Catella  at  the 
window,  who  pleased  him  beyond  measure,  himseeming  she  was  very  fair  and 
agreeable ;  wherefore  there  passed  many  thoughts  through  his  mind.  Then  he 
made  for  his  father's  house  and  found  it  closed  and  the  windows  shut,  which  made 
him  think  that  his  father  was  not  in  the  town.  Algates,  the  better  to  certify  him- 
self, he  enquired  of  a  certain  tailor,  who  had  his  shop  hard  by,  what  was  come  of 
Ambrogio  Nanni,  and  he  answered  him  that  it  was  many  days  since  he  had  been 
seen  in  Jesi.  Paolo  accordingly  returned  to  the  hostelry,  still  resolving  in  his 
thought  various  things  of  the  damsel  he  had  seen  and  having  a  mind  to  return  to 
visit  her,  he  abode  in  doubt  if  he  should  go  alone  or  carry  with  him  certain  serving- 
men  whom  he  had  of  his  dead  master. 

No  great  while  after,  Ambrogio  returned  from  Rome,  and  on  his  way  to  his  house 
fell  in  with  Gerardo,  who  bade  him  welcome  back  and  added,  'Ambrogio,  thou  com- 
est  in  time,  for  that,  hadst  thou  been  in  the  city  these  past  days,  methinketh  we 
should  have  concluded  the  match  between  thy  daughter  and  myself,  or  at  the  least  I 
should  have  been  certified  if  thou  art  willing  to  give  her  to  me  or  not,  for  that  I  am 
determined  to  abide  no  longer  in  this  doubt.'  'As  thou  seest,'  replied  Ambrogio, 
'  I  am  but  now  arrived  and  shall  abide  here  many  days,  without  going  away  again. 
We  shall  be  together  and  will  speak  more  at  leisure  of  this  matter.'  As  they  were 
in  discourse,  Ambrogio  ahorseback  and  Gerardo  afoot,  it  befell  that  Romolo,  on  his 
way  to  speak  with  Catella,  as  his  master  had  charged  him,  espied  his  father  and 
turning  in  another  direction,  went  off  to  Pippa  and  said  to  her,  'Alack,  minnie  mine, 
I  am  dead  ;  for  that  my  father  is  returned  and  I  know  not  what  to  do.'  '  Marry,' 
quoth  Pippa,  '  with  God  be  it ;  leave  not  the  house  and  let  me  do  ;  but  first  put  off 
these  clothes  and  don  thine  own,  which  are  in  this  chest.'  Thereupon  Pippa  went 
straight  to  Ambrogio' s  house,  and  finding  him  in  act  to  dismount,  saluted  him  with 
a  blithe  visage,  saying,  '  You  are  welcome,  sir,  a  thousand  times ;  how  do  you  ?' 
'  O  welcome,  Pippa  mine  !'  cried  Ambrogio,  '  What  goest  thou  about  in  this  haste  ?' 
'  I  come,'  replied  she,  '  straight  to  you,  for  that  Giannelloccio  Bindi  told  me  you 
were  returned,  so  I  may  do  what  is  needful,  for  meknoweth  not  how  these  your 
serving-men  can  cook.'  Quoth  Ambrogio,  '  I  thank  thee  ;  but  it  needed  not  that  thou 
shouldst  take  these  pains,  for  that  I  have  sent  to  fetch  Margarita,  who  used  to  abide 
in  the  house,  and  she  will  be  here  out  of  hand.  But  tell  me ;  how  long  is  it  since 
thou  sawest  our  Nicuola  ?'  '  Sir,'  replied  Pippa,  '  I  see  her  every  day,  and  only 
this  morning  I  abode  a  good  while  with  her.  Marry  she  dieth  of  longing  for  your 
return  and  I  have  often  carried  her  home  with  me  and  kept  her  two  or  three  days. 
24 


3-0  APPENDIX 

In  truth  she  is  a  good  girl  and  a  fair  and  worketh  marvellously  with  her  hands, 
more  so,  indeed,  than  I  can  tell  you.'  Meanwhile  up  came  Margarita,  who  fell 
to  doing  various  household  matters,  and  Pippa  wrought  a  good  while  with  her, 
helping  her  ;  then,  herseeming  every  hour  was  a  thousand  years  till  she  was  quit  of 
the  house.  '  Sir,'  said  she,  '  with  your  good  leave  I  will  go  this  evening  to  fetch 
Nicuola  from  the  nunnery  and  will  carry  her  home  with  me,  till  you  have  gotten 
the  house  in  order.'  '  Do  as  seemeth  best  to  thee,'  replied  Ambrogio.  '  Commend 
me  amain  to  Sister  Camilla  and  kiss  my  daughter  for  me ;  and  now  go  and  good 
luck  go  with  thee !'  Pippa  accordingly  departed  and  ere  she  went  home,  she 
repaired  to  the  nunnery  to  visit  and  speak  with  Sister  Camilla,  with  whom  she 
ordered  everything  that  was  needful  for  the  safeguarding  of  Nicuola,  in  case 
Ambrogio  should  go  thither,  and  the  sister,  who  was  a  past  mistress  in  such  crafts, 
bade  her  be  of  good  courage,  for  that  all  should  go  well.  She  then  returned 
whereas  Nicuola,  Romolo  no  more,  awaited  her  with  exceeding  impatience,  to 
hear  how  the  thing  had  gone,  having  already  donned  her  own  clothes  and  tired 
her  head  as  our  girls  use  to  do.  Pippa  acquainted  her  with  that  which  she  had 
done  and  told  her  that  it  was  in  her  discretion  if  she  would  go  home  next  day  to 
her  father  or  abide  a  day  or  two  with  her ;  whereupon  Nicuola  concluded  to  abide 
another  day  with  her  nurse  and  did  nought  but  plague  her  with  talk  of  Lattanzio, 
showing  such  a  desire  to  have  him  to  husband  that  greater  might  not  be.  Pippa 
still  exhorted  her  to  turn  her  thoughts  elsewhither,  for  that  she  saw  plainly  she 
wearied  herself  in  vain,  knowing  Lattanzio  to  be  so  passionately  enamoured  of 
Catella  that  he  thought  of  nothing  else  and  would  in  the  end  have  his  intent, 
demanding  her  of  Gerardo  to  wife.  '  It  is  that,'  rejoined  Nicuola,  '  which  torment- 
eth  me,  nor  do  I  ever  think  thereof  but  I  despair.  But,  had  not  my  father  returned 
so  soon,  I  warrant  me  I  would  have  brought  Lattanzio  so  in  disfavour  with  Catella 
that  she  had  rather  chosen  a  peasant  to  husband  than  him  ;  but  my  father's  unex- 
pected coming  hath  marred  all.'  'Marred?'  cried  Pippa,  'nay,  it  hath  rather  set 
all  right.  An  that  be  true  which  thou  tellest  me,  anent  the  love  which  Catella 
beareth  thee,  methinketh  thine  affairs  were  at  an  ill  pass,  inasmuch  as  had  she  found 
out  that  thou  wert  a  girl,  how  deemest  thou  she  would  have  judged  of  thee? 
Would  she  not  forthwith  have  suspected  thy  relation  to  Lattanzio?'  '  Tliat,' 
replied  Nicuola,  '  is  the  very  thing  which  I  would  have  had  happen.  Had  she 
e'en  discovered  me  to  be  a  girl,  she  had  not  withal  known  me  for  Nicuola,  daughter 
of  Ambrogio,  and  Lattanzio  had  fallen  into  such  ill  savour  with  her  that  she  would 
nevzr  again  have  brooked  the  sight  of  him  or  the  mention  of  his  name ;  so  that  I 
might  have  hoped  to  regain  his  love.'  Pippa  could  not  forbear  laughing  at  Nicuola's 
reasonings  and  said  to  her,  '  Daughter  mine,  set  thy  heart  at  rest.  An  it  be  ordained 
of  God  that  Catella  is  to  be  Lattanzio' s  wife,  neither  art  nor  address,  no,  nor  any 
shift  that  thou  canst  devise,  will  avail  to  hinder  such  a  marriage.  Thou  art  yet  very 
young,  thou  art  fair,  thou  art  rich,  for  there  can  be  little  doubt  that,  were  Paolo,  thy 
brother,  alive  something  had  by  this  been  heard  of  him ;  but  the  poor  lad  must 
certainly  be  dead,  our  Lord  God  have  his  soul !  So  that,  an  thou  govern  thyself 
sagely,  thou  wilt  abide  sole  heir  to  thy  father ;  wherefore  thou  wilt  not  lack  for 
suitors  of  the  noblest  and  richest  young  men  of  the  Marches.  Put  away  from  thee, 
therefore,  these  extravagant  fancies,  which  are  more  like  to  bring  thee  hurt  and 
vexation  than  profit  or  advantage.' 

What  while  these  things  were  in  doing,  Paolo  bethought  himself  to  go  alone  to 
see  Catella  and  accordingly  he  passed  before  her  house  late  that  afternoon  and  fail- 


BANDELLO  371 

ing  to  get  sight  of  her,  returned  to  the  hostelry  nor  would  go  abroad  again  for  that 
day.  Meanwhile,  Lattanzio,  to  whom  waiting  was  supremely  irksome,  seeing  night 
darken,  marvelled  amain  that  Romolo  returned  not  to  render  him  an  account  of  that 
which  he  had  done  with  Catella.  He  awaited  his  coming  an  hour  or  two  of  the 
night,  but,  seeing  that  he  came  not,  he  abode  sore  chagrined  and  misdoubted  him 
some  ill  chance  had  befallen  the  lad  ;  however,  he  could  conceive  nought  for  cer- 
tain and  abode  well-nigh  all  night  without  sleep,  revolving  various  thoughts  in  his 
mind.  He  indeed  loved  Romolo  greatly,  for  that  he  had  been  mighty  well  served 
of  him  and  had  found  him  a  discreet  and  well-mannered  lad,  who  had  never  made 
words  with  any  in  the  house  and  had  diligently  applied  to  do  whatsoever  was  bidden 
him  ;  wherefore  it  grieved  him  sore  to  have  lost  him.  On  the  other  hand,  Catella, 
who  was  passionately  enamoured  of  Romolo,  was  eager  to  see  him  again ;  but 
seeing  him  no  more  that  day  after  Gerardo's  coming  home  (for  that  she  had  mis- 
taken Paolo  for  him),  she  went  to  bed  sore  miscontent.  Nicuola  talked  all  night 
with  her  nurse  of  Lattanzio,  sighing  and  tossing  from  side  to  side,  so  that  she 
neither  slept  herself  nor  suffered  Pippa  to  sleep,  and  knowing  that  the  latter  had 
told  her  father  she  would  keep  her  a  day  or  two,  she  resolved  to  remain  with  her. 

The  day  come  and  Romolo  not  returning,  Lattanzio  sent  hither  and  thither  in 
search  of  him  and  let  diligently  enquire  on  various  wise  if  aught  might  be  learned 
of  him,  giving  the  particulars  of  his  raiment  and  age,  till  he  found  one  who  pro- 
fessed to  have  seen  him  on  the  previous  day  enter  the  house  of  Pippa  di  Giaco- 
maccio,  who  abode  hard  by  the  Cathedral  Church.  Lattanzio,  who  knew  the  latter, 
having  this  clue,  went  to  visit  her  about  dinner-time  and  knocked  at  the  house-door ; 
whereupon  Pippa  came  to  the  window  and  recognising  the  young  man,  marvelled 
and  misdoubted  her  he  knew  belike  that  Nicuola  was  in  the  house  and  said  to  him, 
1  Young  man,  what  seek  you?'  '  Dame  Pippa,'  replied  he,  '  an  it  mislike  you  not, 
I  would  fain  speak  half  a  score  words  with  you.'  '  Five  and  twenty,  an  you  will,' 
rejoined  she  and  telling  Nicuola  that  Lattanzio  was  below,  went  straightway  down 
and  opened  the  door.  The  young  man  entered  and  seating  himself  beside  Pippa, 
in  a  place  where  Nicuola  might,  without  being  seen  herself,  see  him  and  hear  what 
he  said,  bespoke  her  thus,  saying,  '  Dame  Pippa,  albeit  I  have  never  done  you  any 
service  which  warranteth  me  in  presuming  to  require  of  you  a  kindness,  nevertheless, 
my  usance,  which  is  to  complease  every  one,  and  my  knowledge  of  you  as  a  woman 
beloved  of  many  gentlemen  (the  which  showeth  you  to  be  courteous  and  obliging') , 
emboldeneth  me  to  have  recourse  to  you,  in  the  steadfast  hope  that  you  will  fully 
satisfy  my  desire  ;  wherefore,  without  more  words  or  ceremonies,  I  pray  you  instantly 
vouchsafe  to  tell  me  what  is  come  of  a  lad  of  maybe  seventeen  years  old,  by  name 
Romolo,  clad  all  in  white  and  mighty  well-favoured  and  sprightly  of  aspect,  who 
came  hither  yesterday  to  visit  you.  He  abode  with  me  to  page  and  hath  not 
returned  home  since  yesterday.  I  prithee  be  pleased  of  your  favour  to  give  me 
news  of  him,  for  you  will  do  me  a  singular  kindness  and  I  shall  be  eternally 
beholden  to  you.'  'My  son,'  replied  Pippa,  'I  thank  you  for  the  goodly  and 
courteous  mind  which  you  show  me  ;  marry,  it  is  passing  dear  to  me  and  I  am  well 
pleased  that  you  should  have  deigned  to  visit  the  poor  house,  for  I  have  this  many  a 
day  desired  to  have  an  opportunity  of  talking  with  you  ;  the  which  being  presently 
afforded  me  by  your  courtesy,  I  would  fain  not  lose  it.  But  first,  to  answer  your 
enquiry,  I  must  tell  you  I  can  render  you  no  account  of  your  lad,  for  that  neither 
yesterday  nor  these  many  days  hath  there  been  any  boy  or  youth  here  that  I  know  ; 
and  I  should  certainly  know  it  if  any  such  person  had  been  here.'  Quoth  Lattanzio, 


372 


APPENDIX 


1  You  fear  belike  that  I  shall  deal  the  page  some  chastisement  for  that  he  returned 
not  home ;  but  I  pledge  you  my  solemn  troth  to  give  him  no  annoy,  so  but  he  tell 
me  truly  for  what  reason  he  came  not  back  to  me  yesterday.'  'It  booteth  not  to 
weary  yourself  anent  that,'  rejoined  Pippa ;  '  for  that  no  man  is  in  this  house  nor 
was  here  yesterday,  and  it  grieveth  me  infinitely  that  1  cannot  serve  you  in  this 
matter,  gladly  as  I  would  do  it.'  Lattanzio  sighed  heavily,  what  while  Pippa  talked 
with  him ;  wherefore,  '  Young  man,'  quoth  she,  '  you  seem  sore  distressed,  and  no 
one  who  heard  those  ardent  sighs  but  would  judge  you  to  be  overmuch  enamoured 
of  yonder  page  of  yours,  albeit  my  having  otherwhiles  understood  that  you  loved  a 
fair  damsel  forbiddeth  me  to  believe  that  you  are  such  an  enemy  of  the  ladies.' 
•Alack,'  cried  Lattanzio,  '  would  God  I  were  not  in  love,  for  I  should  be  blither  and 
happier  than  I  presently  am  !  Nor  must  you  deem  that  I  refer  to  my  page,  for  I  think 
not  of  him ;  nay,  I  speak  of  a  damsel  whom  I  love  more  than  mine  eyes,  yea,  more 
than  my  very  soul.'  With  these  words,  the  hot  tears  brimmed  up  his  eyes  in  his 
own  despite  and  e'en  bathed  his  cheeks,  and  still  he  sighed  sore ;  whereupon  Pippa, 
herseeming  she  was  given  an  opportunity  of  essaying  that  which  it  had  already 
occurred  to  her  to  do,  said  to  him,  '  I  know  right  well,  my  son,  that  what  you  tell 
me  must  needs  be  true,  an  you  love  as  you  avouch  ;  more  by  token  I  am  firmly 
convinced  that  there  is  no  misery  in  the  world  sharper  or  more  grievous  than  to 
love  and  be  unloved.  Moreover,  I  know  that  the  damsel  whom  you  love  nowise 
loveth  you,  nay,  she  hateth  you  rather,  for  that  she  loveth  another.'  'How  know 
you  that,  Dame  Pippa?'  asked  Lattanzio,  all  full  of  wonderment.  'Ask  not,' 
replied  she,  '  how  I  know  it ;  suffice  it  that  I  know  you  presently  love  one  who 
loveth  you  not,  albeit  it  is  not  many  months  since  you  loved  another  damsel  far 
fairer  than  this,  and  I  know  that  she  loved  you  most  ardently ;  nay,  more,  she 
loveth  you  yet  more  than  ever,  and  you  love  her  not  and  remember  you  of  her  no 
more  than  as  she  had  never  been  seen  of  you."  'Verily,'  rejoined  Lattanzio,  'I 
know  not  what  to  say,  since  you  have  hit  so  aptly  on  the  truth  and  are  e'en  so  well 
acquainted  with  my  affairs.  But  prithee,  of  your  favour,  be  pleased  to  tell  me  how 
you  know  that  she  whom  I  presently  love  loveth  me  not  and  loveth  another.' 
'  That,'  answered  Pippa,  '  I  may  not  tell  you,  for  that  methinketh  were  unbehov- 
ing ;  but  meseemeth  right  to  remind  you  that  in  this  you  are  justly  served,  since 
you  scorn  her  who  loveth  you  and  love  her  who  loveth  you  not,  the  which  is  per- 
mitted of  God  for  the  chastisement  of  your  sin  and  of  your  heinous  ingratitude ; 
and  so  but  worse  betide  you  not  thereof,  the  thing  will  stand  well.  Alack,  unfortu- 
nate Nicuola,  whom  hast  thou  loved  and  lovest?  Thou  hast  e'en  done  the  greatest 
things  in  the  world  to  acquire  this  man's  favour  and  all  hath  been  in  vain  ;  whilst 
you,  Lattanzio,  love  Catella  more  than  yourself  and  she  recketh  no  whit  of  you. 
Go  to,  now,  follow  on  this  emprise,  for  in  the  end  you  will  become  aware  of  your 
error,  and  belike,  when  you  will,  there  may  be  none  to  amend  it.' 

The  young  man,  hearing  what  Pippa  said,  was  well-nigh  beside  himself  and 
knew  not  what  to  answer  her ;  whilst  Nicuola,  who  saw  and  heard  the  whole,  would 
fain  have  come  forth  and  said  her  own  say  anent  the  matter  ;  however,  being  resolved 
to  await  the  issue  of  the  talk,  she  abode  quiet.  Pippa  likewise  awaited  that  which  the 
young  man  should  say  ;  whereupon,  as  if  aroused  from  a  heavy  sleep,  '  Dame  Pippa,' 
quoth  he,  'I  will  e'en  deal  frankly  with  you,  since  you  know  my  affairs  better  than 
I  myself.  True  it  is  that  I  once  loved  Nicuola  Nanni  and  know  that  she  loved  me  ; 
but  she  was  sent  forth  the  city  by  her  father,  I  know  not  whither,  and  in  the  mean- 
time I  fell  in  love  with  Catella,  daughter  of  Gerardo  Lanzetti,  who  for  some  days 


BANDELLO  373 

made  a  show  of  loving  me ;  then,  I  know  not  wherefore,  she  showed  herself  alto- 
gether averse  to  me  and  contrary  to  my  desires,  so  that,  an  she  be  at  the  door  or 
the  window,  whenas  I  pass  through  the  street,  she  withdraweth  indoors,  so  soon  as 
she  seeth  me,  and  will  no  longer  hearken  to  my  letters  or  messages.  Yesterday, 
more  by  token,  I  sent  my  page  to  see  an  he  might  avail  to  speak  with  her ;  but  he 
hath  never  returned  to  render  me  an  answer,  so  that  I  find  myself  bereaved  at  once 
of  my  mistress  and  of  a  good  and  most  engaging  servant.  Had  he  returned  and 
brought  me  news  that  she  still  persisted  in  her  wonted  obduracy,  I  was  resolved  to 
importune  her  no  longer,  but  to  seek  me  another  lady,  to  whom  my  service  should 
be  more  acceptable,  since,  to  tell  the  truth,  meseemeth  a  great  folly  to  ensue  one  who 
shunneth  me,  to  love  one  who  loveth  me  not,  and  to  seek  one  who  will  none  of  me.' 
'  You  may  take  your  oath  of  that,'  rejoined  Pippa.  'A  fine  thing,  indeed  !  Certes, 
for  my  part,  I  would  not  be  so  fond  as  to  love  one  who  wished  me  not  well.  But 
tell  me,  an  it  please  you  ;  if  Nicuola  yet  wished  you  well,  nay,  loved  you  more  than 
ever,  what  would  you  say  thereof?  Think  you  she  would  deserve  to  be  loved  of 
you  ?'  '  Indeed,'  replied  the  young  man,  '  she  would  deserve  that  I  should  love  her 
even  as  myself.  But  it  may  not  be  as  you  say,  for  that  she  must  certainly  be  despited 
against  me,  inasmuch  as  she  wrote  to  me  again  and  again  after  her  return  to  Jesi 
and  I  took  no  manner  heed  of  her,  nor  know  I  where  she  is,  so  long  is  it  since  I 
saw  her.'  'Nay,  for  that  matter,'  rejoined  Pippa,  'I  know  you  have  seen  her 
innumerable  times  in  the  last  few  days  and  have  spoken  very  familiarly  with  her.' 
Whereupon  quoth  Lattanzio,  '  Dame  Pippa,  you  are  mistaken  in  this.'  And  she, 
'  Nay,  I  am  not  mistaken,  for  that  in  good  sooth  I  should  know  what  I  say  and 
speak  not  to  the  wind.  But  harkye,  an  it  were  as  I  tell  you  and  I  caused  you  see 
for  yourself  that  Nicuola  loveth  you  more  than  ever,  what  would  you  do  ?  And  if 
she  had  been  in  your  house  and  had  served  you  and  had  done  that  which  every  least 
servant  must  do  and  had  never  been  known  of  you,  what  would  you  think  ?  Nay, 
make  not  such  a  show  of  wonderment,  for  the  thing  is  e'en  as  I  say.  And  so  you 
may  see  I  have  told  you  the  truth,  I  am  ready  to  certify  you  thereof  in  such  wise- 
that  you  shall  say  as  I  say.  But  first  answer  me  ;  if  Nicuola  had  done  as  I  tell  you, 
what  would  she  deserve  ?'  '  You  tell  me  fables  and  dreams,'  answered  Lattanzio, 
'  but,  if  this  were  true,  I  know  not  what  to  say,  save  that  it  would  behoove  me  love 
her  infinitely  and  make  her  mistress  of  myself.'  Quoth  Pippa,  '  It  is  well,'  and 
calling  Nicuola,  bade  her  bring  with  her  the  page's  clothes  which  she  had  worn. 

Accordingly,  Nicuola,  who  had  heard  all,  took  up  the  clothes  and  presented  her- 
self, all  rosy  in  the  face,  before  her  nurse  and  her  lover ;  whereupon  quoth  Pippa, 
'  Here,  Lattanzio,  is  your  Nicuola ;  here  is  your  Romolo ;  here  is  your  so  much 
desired  page,  who  hath  abidden  with  you  and  hath  for  your  love  exposed  herself  to 
exceeding  great  risk  of  her  honour  and  her  life.  Here  is  she  who,  scorning  all  the 
world,  h.ith  recked  of  you  only ;  and  withal  you  have  never  known  her  in  all  this 
time."  With  this  she  told  the  whole  story  of  Nicuola's  turning  page,  adding,  '  Now 
what  say  you  ?'  Lattanzio  abode  as  one  half  beside  himself  and  stared  at  Nicuola, 
himseeming  he  dreamed,  nor  knew  not  what  to  say,  hearing  she  had  abidden  with 
him,  clad  as  a  boy.  However,  he  presently  recovered  himself  somewhat  and  bethink- 
ing of  the  cruelty  of  Catella,  than  whom  Nicuola  was  far  fairer,  and  considering  the 
latter' s  devotion  and  the  risk  to  which  she  had  exposed  herself  for  excess  of  love,  he 
said,  well-nigh  weeping,  '  Nicuola,  I  will  not  presently  enter  upon  the  labyrinth  of 
vain  excuses ;  but,  an  you  be  of  such  mind  as  Dame  Pippa  affirmeth,  I  will  take 
you  to  wife,  whenas  you  will.'  Nicuola,  who  desired  nothing  in  the  world  more 


374 


APPENDIX 


than  this,  could  scarce  contain  herself  for  joy,  and  casting  herself  at  his  feet,  replied 
to  him  on  this  wise,  saying,  '  My  Lord,  since  you,  of  your  favour,  deign  to  take  me 
for  yours,  here  am  I  at  your  service,  for  that  myself  and  my  pleasure  will  still  be 
yours  in  everything.'  With  this,  Lattanzio  drew  a  ring  from  his  finger  and  espoused 
her  to  his  lawful  wife  in  the  presence  of  Pippa,  saying,  '  So  our  affairs  may  be 
ordered  with  the  more  repute  and  honour,  I  will,  as  soon  as  I  have  dined,  go  speak 
with  your  father  and  demand  you  of  him  to  wife.'  Then,  having  taken  order  for 
that  which  he  purposed  to  do,  Lattanzio  departed  and  went  to  dinner ;  after  which 
he  set  out  to  visit  Nicuola's  father,  whilst  she  herself  went  home  with  Pippa  to  meet 
Messer  Ambrogio,  by  whom  she  was  joyfully  received. 

Meanwhile,  Paolo,  as  soon  as  he  had  dined,  went  forth  the  inn  and  made,  all 
alone,  for  Catella's  house.  When  he  reached  the  head  of  the  street,  he  saw  Gerardo 
come  out  of  the  house  and  go  I  know  not  whither.  Scarce  was  he  gone  when 
Catella  showed  herself  at  the  window  and  saw  Paolo  ;  whereupon,  thinking  him  her 
Romolo,  she  beckoned  to  him  to  enter,  as  soon  as  he  was  near  the  door,  and  he 
accordingly  entered  the  house,  resolved  to  certify  himself  what  this  meant.  Catella 
in  a  trice  came  down  the  stairs  and  embracing  him,  kissed  him,  for  that  she  believed 
him  to  be  Romolo;  then,  'Dear  my  life,'  quoth  she,  'and  ultimate  end  of  all  my 
thoughts,  thou  makest  thyself  over-scarce.  Marry,  I  told  thee  my  mind  two  days 
agone,  and  that  I  would  have  none  other  than  thyself  to  husband.'  Therewith  she 
bade  the  maid  watch  for  my  lord's  return  and  advise  her  thereof,  what  while  she  fell 
to  kissing  Paolo  and  bespeaking  him  with  the  softest  of  words.  He,  being  nowise  dull- 
witted  and  perceiving  that  she  mistook  him  for  another,  feigned  himself  fallen  well  nigh 
dumb  for  excess  of  love  and  kissed  her  again  and  again,  sighing  the  while.  Then, 
'  My  soul,'  quoth  she,  '  I  would  fain  have  thee  rid  thyself  of  yonder  master  of  thine, 
so  we  may  be  together  whenassoever  it  liketh  us.'  And  he,  '  Let  that  not  trouble  you, 
for  I  will  e'en  find  means  to  do  without  him.'  'Ay  do  thou,  my  life,'  rejoined  Catella. 
While  they  were  thus  holding  amorous  discourse,  Gerardo  came  home  and  entered 
the  house.  As  he  passed  the  door  of  the  chamber  where  the  two  lovers  had  seated 
themselves  on  a  bench  to  talk,  he  heard  folk  within  and  to  say  '  Who  is  there  ?'  and 
to  open  the  chamber-door  with  a  thrust  of  his  foot  were  one  and  the  same  thing. 
When  he  saw  Paolo  with  his  daughter,  he  mistook  him  for  Nicuola,  of  whom,  as  has 
been  already  said,  he  was  sore  enamoured ;  wherefore  the  anger  forsaking  him  into 
which  he  had  entered,  thinking  a  man  to  be  with  Catella,  he  stared  at  Paolo,  and 
the  more  he  eyed  him,  the  more  was  he  stablished  in  his  opinion  that  it  was  Nicuola. 
Catella  was  half-dead  at  her  father's  appearance,  and  Paolo  trembled  all  over ;  but, 
when  they  saw  the  old  man  stand  fast,  without  saying  aught,  they  awaited  the  result 
with  better  courage.  As  hath  already  been  said,  Paolo  and  Nicuola  his  sister  were 
so  alike  that  it  was  exceeding  uneath  for  whoso  was  most  familiar  with  them  to  dis- 
cern which  of  them  was  the  male  and  which  the  female  ;  wherefore  Gerardo,  after  he 
had  considered  Paolo  with  the  utmost  wonderment,  abode  certain,  knowing  Am- 
brogio's  son  to  be  lost,  that  Nicuola  had  clad  herself  as  a  man  and  said  to  Paolo, 
'  Nicuola,  Nicuola,  wert  thou  not  who  thou  art,  I  warrant  thee  I  had  played  thee 
and  Catella  an  ill  trick ' ;  then,  turning  to  his  daughter,  he  bade  her  go  aloft  and 
leave  Nicuola  there,  for  that  he  would  bear  the  latter  better  company  than  she. 
Catella  accordingly  departed,  herseeming  she  had  thitherto  come  off  good  cheap, 
since  her  father  had  nowise  chidden  nor  beaten  her,  but  knew  not  nor  might  divine 
to  what  end  he  called  Romolo  Nicuola.  Catella  being  gone,  '  Dear  my  Nicuola,' 
quoth  Gerardo,  'what  habit  is  this  in  which  I  see  thee?'  How  can  Ambrogio  thy 


SIDNEY'S  ARCADIA  375 

father  suffer  thee  go  thus  alone?  What  earnest  thou  to  do  here?  Camest  thou 
belike  to  see  how  I  order  the  house  and  how  I  live?  It  is  two  days  since  I  spoke 
with  thy  father  and  prayed  him  be  pleased  to  resolve  me  an  he  would  e'en  give  me 
thee  to  wife  or  not.  Marry,  I  assure  thee  thou  shalt  have  a  good  time  with  me  and 
I  will  leave  thee  the  governance  of  the  house.'  What  while  Paolo  said  to  himself, 
'I  have  e'en  been  twice  mistaken  to-day  for  some  one  else.  This  old  fellow's 
daughter  thinketh  I  am  a  certain  Romolo,  and  he  himself  taketh  me  for  my  sister.' 
Then  said  Gerardo,  '  Nicuola,  dost  thou  answer  me  nothing  ?'  and  offered  to  kiss 
her ;  but  Paolo  pushed  him  away,  '  An  you  will  aught,  speak  with  my  father  and 
let  me  go,  for  I  came  hither  I  know  not  how."  Whereupon  the  old  man  answered, 
'  Ay,  ay,  begone ;  I  will  speak  with  thy  father  and  make  an  end  of  the  matter.' 

Paolo  accordingly  went  away  and  repairing  to  his  father's  house,  there  found 
Lattanzio,  who  had  presently  sought  Nicuola  in  marriage  and  to  whom  Ambrogio, 
knowing  him  for  a  rich  and  noble  youth,  had  promised  her.  When  Paolo  entered, 
Lattanzio,  seeing  him,  abode  dumbfounded,  and  but  that  at  that  moment  Ambrogio 
caused  him  touch  his  daughter's  hand,  he  had  taken  him  for  Nicuola.  The  joy 
which  Ambrogio  felt  at  the  coming  of  Paolo,  whom  he  accounted  dead,  was  beyond 
measure  and  description,  more  by  token  that  he  had  not  only  recovered  his  son,  but 
had  honourably  married  his  daughter.  Great  was  the  rejoicing  and  many  the  caresses 
which  passed  between  the  four ;  then,  the  collation  being  brought,  behold,  in  came 
Gerardo,  who  seeing  Nicuola  seated  by  Lattanzio  and  Paolo,  whom  he  thought  to  be 
Nicuola,  speaking  with  his  father,  cried,  well-nigh  beside  himself,  '  God  aid  me  ! 
I  know  not  if  I  sleep  nor  what  I  do !'  and  clasping  his  hands,  abode  all  full  of 
wonderment.  Paolo,  to  whom  Catella's  savoury  kisses  had  been  supremely  grateful, 
told  his  father  he  would  do  him  a  favour  to  marry  him  with  Gerardo' s  daughter,  and 
Ambrogio,  knowing  that  the  match  could  not  but  be  a  good  one,  thereupon  told 
Gerardo  how  he  had  married  Nicuola  to  Lattanzio  and  prayed  him  consent  to  give 
Catella  to  Paolo  to  wife.  Accordingly,  this  match  also  was  concluded  and  so,  out 
of  all  hope,  Ambrogio  found  himself  to  have  recovered  his  son  rich  and  well  mar- 
ried and  to  have,  to  boot,  honourably  established  his  daughter.  Meanwhile,  Paolo 
let  fetch  his  gear  from  the  hostelry  and  keeping  two  serving-men  for  himself,  requited 
the  others  in  such  wise  that  they  avouched  themselves  content.  All  were  full  of  joy, 
except  Gerardo,  who  would  fain  have  had  Nicuola ;  however,  in  the  end  he  resigned 
himself  to  his  lot ;  whilst  the  two  lovers  and  their  wives  applied  to  give  themselves 
a  good  time,  and  yet  live  merrily  to  this  day. 

In  the  Second  Book  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney's  Arcadia,  Pyrocles  and  Philoclea  pass 
the  promise  of  marriage,  and  at  the  request  of  the  lovely  damsel,  the  '  Princesse  of 
his  Heart,'  Pyrocles  tells  the  story  of  his  recent  adventures,  and  among  them  the 
pathetic  and  tragic  story  of  Zelmane,  as  follows  :* — But  the  next  morning,  we 
(having  striven  with  the  Sunnes  earlinesse)  were  scarcely  beyond  the  prospect  of  the 
high  turrets  of  that  building,  when  there  overtooke  us  a  young  Gentleman,  for  so  he 
seemed  to  us,  but  indeede  (sweet  Ladie)  it  was  the  faire  Zelmane,  Plexirtus  daugh- 
ter ;  whom  unconsulting  affection  (unfortunately  borne  to  me-wards)  had  made 
borrowe  so  much  of  her  naturall  modestie,  as  to  leave  her  more-decent  rayments, 
and  taking  occasion  of  Andromanas  tumultuous  pursuing  us,  had  apparelled  her 
selfe  like  a  page,  with  a  pitifull  crueltie  cutting  off  her  golden  haire,  leaving  nothing, 

*  Book  II,  p.  1 86,  ed.  1598. 


3;6  APPENDIX 

but  the  short  curies,  to  cover  that  noble  head,  but  that  she  ware  upon  it  a  faire  head- 
peece,  a  shield  at  her  backe,  and  a  launce  in  her  hand,  els  disarmed.  Her  apparell 
of  white,  wrought  upon  with  broken  knots,  her  horse,  faire  and  lustie,  which  she  rid 
so,  as  might  shew  a  fearefull  boldnes,  daring  to  doo  that,  which  she  knew  that  she 
knew  not  how  to  doo  :  and  the  sweetnesse  of  her  countenance  did  give  such  a  grace 
to  what  she  did,  that  it  did  make  handsome  the  unhandsomnesse,  and  make  the  eye 
force  the  minde  to  beleeve,  that  there  was  a  praise  in  that  unskilfulnesse.  But  she 
straight  approached  me,  and  with  fewe  words  (which  borrowed  the  helpe  of  her 
countenance  to  make  themselves  understood)  she  desired  me  to  accept  her  into  my 
service :  telling  me  she  was  a  noblemans  sonne  of  Iberia,  her  name  Daiphantus, 
who  having  seen  what  I  had  done  in  that  court,  had  stolne  from  her  father,  to  follow 
me.  I  enquired  the  particularities  of  the  maner  of  Andromanas  following  me,  which 
by  her  I  understood,  she  hiding  nothing  (but  her  sexe)  from  me.  And  still  me 
thought  I  had  scene  that  face,  but  the  great  alteration  of  her  fortune,  made  her  far 
distant  from  my  memorie  :  but  liking  verie  well  the  yong  Gentleman  (such  I  tooke 
her  to  be)  admitted  this  Daiphantus  about  me,  who  well  shewed  there  is  no  service 
like  his,  that  serves  because  he  loves.  For  though  born  of  Princes  blood,  brought 
up  with  tenderest  education,  unapt  to  service  (because  a  woman)  and  full  of  thoughts 
(because  in  a  strange  estate),  yet  Love  enjoyned  such  diligence,  that  no  apprentice, 
no,  no  bondslave  could  ever  be  by  feare  more  readie  at  all  commandements,  then 
that  yong  Princesse  was.  How  often  (alas)  did  her  eyes  say  unto  me,  that  they 
loved?  and  yet  (I  not  looking  for  such  a  matter)  had  not  my  conceipt  open  to 
understand  them  ;  how  often  would  she  come  creeping  to  me,  betweene  gladnesse 
to  be  neare  me,  &  feare  to  offend  me?  Truly,  I  remember,  that  then  I  marvailed  to 
see  her  receive  my  commandements  with  sighes,  and  yet  do  them  with  cheereful- 
nesse  :  sometimes  answering  me  in  such  riddles,  as  I  then  thought  a  childish  inex- 
perience :  but  since  returning  to  my  remembrance  they  have  come  more  cleere  unto 
my  knowledge  :  and  pardon  me  (onely  deare  Lady)  that  I  use  many  words  :  for  her 
affection  to  me  deserves  of  me  an  affectionate  speach. 

[Poor  Zelmane  did  not  long  survive.  Finding  death  near  she  revealed  herself  to 
Pyrocles  in  a  most  touching  interview  and  breathed  her  last  in  his  arms. — ED.] 

In  Peele's  Sir  Clyomon  and  Sir  Clamydes,  1599,  Neronis,  the  daughter  of  the 
King  of  the  Strange  Marshes,  disguises  herself  as  a  page,  and  attends  on  her  lover, 
Sir  Clyomon,  acting  as  his  squire,  and  messenger  to  the  court  of  his  father,  the  King 
of  Denmark. 

It  is,  however,  needless  to  gather  the  dramas  wherein  the  heroine  disguises  her- 
self in  order  to  be  near  her  lover,  as  Dunlop  *  justly  remarks  this  feature  is  '  one  of 
•the  most  common  incidents  in  the  Italian  novels  and  our  early  British  drama. 
'  Besides  Twelfth  Night  and  The  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,  it  is  the  foundation  of 
'Beaumont  and  Fletcher's  Philaster,  Shirley's  Grateful  Servant,  School  of  Compli- 
'  men/,  Maid's  Revenge,  etc.* 

DUNLOP f  observes  that  the  'rudiments  of  Bandello's  story  may  be  found  in 
'  Cinthio.'  From  the  synopsis  which  he  proceeds  to  give,  it  is  evident  that  he  refers 
to  the  Eighth  Novel  of  the  Fifth  Decade  of  the  Hecatommithi.  It  is  somewhat  diffi- 
cult to  comprehend  what  Dunlop  means  by  'rudiments.'  In  Cinthio's  story  there 
are  twins,  a  shipwreck,  a  scattered  family,  and  a  boy  disguised  as  a  girl,  and  a  girl 

*  History  of  Fiction,  p.  274,  3rd  ed.  London,  1845. 
f  Ibid.,  p.  274,  3rd  ed.  1845. 


CRITICISMS  377 

disguised  as  a  boy,  and  both  disguises  assumed  in  pursuit  of  an  illicit  love,  which  in 
the  boy's  case  was  successful,  and  when  the  father  of  the  young  girl,  whom  the  boy 
has  disgraced  starts  forth  to  avenge  his  daughter  he  meets  the  disguised  sister,  and 
mistaking  her  for  her  brother  casts  her  into  prison. 

If  these  be  rudiments,  then  is  Dunlop  right.  But  we  now  know  that  Bandello 
took  his  story  not  from  Cinthio,  but  from  the  Ingannati. 

TlCKNOR  (ii,  II),  in  an  account  of  the  four  Comedias  of  Lope  de  Rueda  (who 
flourished  between  1544  and  1567),  says  that  the  'first  of  them,  Los  Enganos, — 
'"Frauds," — contains  the  story  of  a  daughter  of  Verginio,  who  has  escaped  from 
'  the  convent  where  she  was  to  be  educated,  and  is  serving  as  a  page  to  Marcelo, 
4  who  had  once  been  her  lover,  and  who  had  left  her  because  he  believed  himself  to 
'  have  been  ill  treated.  Clavela,  the  lady  to  whom  Marcelo  now  devotes  himself, 
'  falls  in  love  with  the  fair  page,  somewhat  as  Olivia  does  in  Twelfth  Night,  and  this 
'  brings  in  several  effective  scenes  and  situations.  But  a  twin-brother  of  the  lady- 
4  page  returns  home  after  a  considerable  absence,  so  like  her,  that  he  proves  the  other 
'  Sosia,  who,  first  producing  great  confusion  and  trouble,  at  last  marries  Clavela,  and 
'  leaves  his  sister  to  her  original  lover.' 

KLEIN  (ix,  159)  proves  that  Los  Engannos  of  Lope  de  Rueda  is  a  translation 
of  67'  Ingannati.  In  the  edition  of  1567  it  bore  the  title  Comedia  de  los  Engana- 
dos,  an  exact  translation  of  the  Italian  title.  Here  and  there  Rueda  had  shifted  the 
scenes  and  changed  the  names,  the  nurse  Clemencia  was  changed  to  Julietta,  etc., 
but  in  the  plot  and  progress  of  the  story  he  remained  faithful  to  his  original. 

In  a  review  (SA.  Jahrbuch,  1895,  xxxi,  414)  of  Dr  Bahlsen's  edition  of  Fletch- 
er's Rule  a  Wife  and  have  a  Wife,  it  is  said  that  Dr  Bahlsen  had  detected  a  note- 
worthy similarity  between  Twelfth  Night  and  an  anonymous  Spanish  drama  called, 
La  Espanola  en  Florencia.  I  can  find  no  notice  of  this  play  either  in  TlCKNOR,  or 
in  the  volumes  of  KLEIN  devoted  to  the  Spanish  Drama.  ALBERT  R.  FREY  (New 
York  SA.  Soc.t  Paper  No.  3,  p.  27)  says  that  '  in  the  Comedias  nuevas  escogidas 
'  (1659)  it  [La  Espanola  en  Florenda\  is  ascribed  to  Calderon,  a  fact  which  would 
'  settle  the  dispute,  did  not  Barrera  deny  that  he  is  the  author.  Rivadeneyra  ascribes 
4  it  to  Lope  de  Vega,  under  the  title  of  Burlas  Veras,  while  Chorley,  in  a  manuscript 
4  note  in  his  Catdlogo,  states  that  it  is  not  written  in  Lope's  style  and  cannot  be  his.' 


CRITICISMS 

SAMUEL  PEPYS  (Centurit  of  Prayse,  p.  316)  :  September  ti  (1661). — Walking 
through  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields  observed  at  the  Opera  a  new  play  4  Twelfth  Night,' 
was  acted  there,  and  the  King  there ;  so  I,  against  my  own  mind  and  resolution, 
could  not  forbear  to  go  in,  which  did  make  the  play  seem  a  burthen  to  me,  and  I  took 
no  pleasure  at  all  in  it. 

January  6  (1662-3). — After  dinner  to  the  Duke's  House,  and  there  saw 
4  Twelfth  Night '  acted  well,  though  it  be  but  a  silly  play,  and  not  related  at  all  to 
the  name  or  day. 

January  20  (1668). — To  the  Duke  of  York's  house  and  saw  'Twelfth  Night,'  as 


378 


APPENDIX 


it  is  now  revived ;  but,  I  think,  one  of  the  weakest  plays  that  ever  I  saw  on  the 
stage. 

DOWNES  (1662,  p.  32)  :  Twelfth  Night,  or  what  you  will ;  wrote  by  Mr  Shake- 
spear,  had  mighty  success  by  its  well  performance  :  Sir  Toby  Belch,  by  Mr  Better- 
ton;  Sir  Andrew  Agite-cheek  by  Mr  Harris  ;  Fool  by  Mr  Underhill ;  Malvolio,  the 
Steward,  by  Mr  Lovcl ;  Olivia  by  Miss  Ann  Gibbs  :  All  the  parts  being  justly  acted 
crown' d  the  Play.  Note,  It  was  got  up  on  purpose  to  be  acted  on  Twelfth  Night. 

JOHNSON  (1765)  :  This  play  is  in  the  graver  part  elegant  and  easy,  and  in  some 
of  the  lighter  scenes  exquisitely  humorous.  Ague-cheek  is  drawn  with  great  pro- 
priety, but  his  character  is,  in  a  great  measure,  that  of  natural  fatuity,  and  is  there- 
fore not  the  proper  prey  of  a  satirist.  The  soliloquy  of  Malvolio  is  truly  comick  ; 
he  is  betrayed  to  ridicule  merely  by  his  pride.  The  marriage  of  Olivia,  and  the 
succeeding  perplexity,  though  well  enough  contrived  to  divert  on  the  stage,  wants 
credibility,  and  fails  to  produce  the  proper  instruction  required  in  the  drama,  as  it 
exhibits  no  just  picture  of  life. 

A.  W.  SCHLEGEL  (1811,  ii,  174)  :  This  comedy  unites  the  entertainment  of  an 
intrigue,  contrived  with  great  ingenuity,  to  the  richest  fund  of  comic  characters  and 
situations,  and  the  beauteous  colours  of  an  ethereal  poetry.  In  most  of  his  plays 
Shakespeare  treats  love  more  as  an  affair  of  the  imagination  than  the  heart ;  but 
here  we  are  particularly  reminded  by  him  that,  in  his  language,  the  same  word, 
fancy,  signified  both  fancy  and  love.  The  love  of  the  music-enraptured  Duke  to 
Olivia  is  not  merely  a  fancy,  but  an  imagination  ;  Viola  appears  at  first  to  fall  arbi- 
trarily in  love  with  the  Duke,  whom  she  serves  as  a  page,  although  she  afterwards 
touches  the  tenderest  chords  of  feeling  ;  the  proud  Olivia  is  entangled  by  the  modest 
and  insinuating  messenger  of  the  Duke,  in  whom  she  is  far  from  suspecting  a  dis- 
guised rival,  and  at  last,  by  a  second  deception,  takes  the  brother  for  the  sister.  To 
these,  which  I  might  call  ideal  follies,  a  contrast  is  formed  by  the  undisguised 
absurdities  to  which  the  entertaining  tricks  of  the  ludicrous  persons  of  the  piece 
give  rise,  in  like  manner  under  pretence  of  love.  .  .  .  These  [comic]  scenes  are  as 
admirably  conceived  and  significant  as  they  are  laughable. 

W.  HAZLITT  {Characters,  etc.,  1817,  p.  255) :  This  is  justly  considered  as  one 
of  the  most  delightful  of  Shakespear's  comedies.  It  is  full  of  sweetness  and  pleas- 
antry. It  is  perhaps  too  good-natured  for  comedy.  It  has  little  satire,  and  no  spleen. 
It  aims  at  the  ludicrous  rather  than  the  ridiculous.  It  makes  us  laugh  at  the  follies 
of  mankind,  not  despise  them,  and  still  less  bear  any  ill-will  towards  them.  Shake- 
spear's  comic  genius  resembles  the  bee  rather  in  its  power  of  extracting  sweets  from 
weeds  or  poisons  than  in  leaving  a  sting  behind  it.  He  gives  the  most  amusing 
exaggeration  of  the  prevailing  foibles  of  his  characters,  but  in  a  way  that  they  them- 
selves, instead  of  being  offended  at,  would  almost  join  in  to  humour  ;  he  rather 
contrives  opportunities  for  them  to  show  themselves  off  in  the  happiest  lights,  than 
renders  them  contemptible  in  the  perverse  construction  of  the  wit  or  malice  of  others. 
...  (P.  257) :  Shakespear's  comedy  is  of  a  pastoral  and  poetical  cast.  Folly  is 
indigenous  to  the  soil,  and  shoots  out  with  native,  happy,  unchecked  luxuriance. 
Absurdity  has  every  encouragement  afforded  it ;  and  nonsense  has  room  to  flourish 
in.  Nothing  is  stunted  by  the  churlish,  icy  hand  of  indifference  or  severity.  The 


CRITICISMS  379 

poet  runs  riot  in  a  conceit,  and  idolizes  a  quibble.  His  whole  object  is  to  turn  the 
meanest  or  rudest  objects  to  a  pleasurable  account.  The  relish  which  he  has  of  a 
pun,  or  of  the  quaint  humour  of  a  low  character,  does  not  interfere  with  the  delight 
with  which  he  describes  a  beautiful  image  or  the  most  refined  love. 

HALLAM  (1839,  iii,  560)  :  The  general  style  [of  Twelfth  Nighf\  resembles,  in 
my  judgement,  that  of  Much  Ado  about  Nothing,  which  is  referred  with  probability 
to  the  year  1600.  Twelfth  Night,  notwithstanding  some  very  beautiful  passages,  and 
the  humorous  absurdity  of  Malvolio,  has  not  the  coruscations  of  wit  and  spirit  of 
character  that  distinguish  the  excellent  comedy  it  seems  to  have  immediately  fol- 
lowed ;  nor  is  the  plot  nearly  so  well  constructed.  Viola  would  be  more  interesting, 
if  she  had  not  indelicately,  as  well  as  unfairly  towards  Olivia,  determined  to  win 
the  Duke's  heart  before  she  had  seen  him.  The  part  of  Sebastian  has  all  that 
improbability  which  belongs  to  mistaken  identity,  without  the  comic  effect  for  the 
sake  of  which  that  is  forgiven  in  Plautus  and  in  The  Comedy  of  Errors. 

GERVINUS  (1850,  p.  429):  The  Duke's  mind,  wholly  filled  with  his  love  for 
Olivia,  seems  stirred  by  deep  sentiments  of  the  most  sacred  tenderness  and  truth. 
Sunk  in  melancholy,  he  avoids  all  noisy  society ;  the  chase  and  every  other 
employment  is  a  burden  to  him ;  '  unstaid  and  skittish '  in  everything,  he  seemc 
prompted  by  the  desire  to  compensate  for  this  variability  by  the  firm  constancy  of 
his  love.  To  nurture  this  love  with  the  most  delicate  and  strongest  aliments  is  his 
sole  business  ;  he  courts  therefore  the  solitude  of  nature,  and  surrounds  himself  with 
music.  He  attracts  the  Clown  from  the  Countess's  house,  that  with  his  full-sound- 
ing voice  he  may  sing  to  him  songs  of  hopeless  unrequited  love.  A  tender  poetic 
soul,  the  Duke  with  delicate  feeling  has  made  his  favourite  poetry  the  popular  song 
of  the  spinning-room,  which  is  more  exquisite  and  simple  in  its  touching  power  than 
aught  that  lyric  art  has  created  in  the  erotic  style ;  he  revels  even  to  satiety  in  the 
enjoyment  of  these  heart-felt  tunes,  which  are  like  an  echo  to  the  heart.  This  prone- 
ness  to  go  to  extremes  in  his  love,  in  his  melancholy,  and  in  all  inclinations  which 
are  congenital  to  and  in  accordance  with  his  ruling  passion,  is  expressed  in  all  that 
the  Duke  says  and  does.  .  .  .  He  calls  his  love  more  noble  than  the  world  ;  he  com- 
pares it  to  the  insatiable  sea  ;  no  other  love,  least  of  all  that  of  a  woman,  is  like  his  ; 
he  makes  a  show  of  it  everywhere,  by  messengers,  before  musicians,  and  compan- 
ions, and  even  the  sailors  know  the  story  of  it.  But  this  very  inclination  to  exag- 
geration induces  us  to  look  more  closely  into  the  genuineness  of  this  most  genuine 
love.  It  almost  seems  as  if  the  Duke  were  more  in  love  with  his  love,  than  with 
his  mistress;  as  if  like  Romeo  with  Rosalind  he  rather  speculated  in  thought  over 
his  fruitless  passion,  than  felt  it  actually  in  his  heart ;  as  if  his  love  were  rather  a 
production  of  his  fancy  than  a  genuine  feeling.  It  startles  us,  that  just  that  which 
in  a  paroxysm  of  self-loving  commendation  he  said  of  his  own  love  compared  to  the 
love  of  a  woman,  he  himself  contradicts  in  a  calm  thoughtful  moment,  when  he  says 
to  Viola  that  the  fancies  of  men  are  more  giddy  than  women's  are,  more  longing, 
but  yet  more  wavering,  sooner  lost  and  worn.  Thus  it  is  with  his  own.  To  give 
an  air  of  importance  to  their  love,  to  pride  themselves  and  to  presume  upon  it,  is  in 
truth  the  habit  or,  rather,  the  bad  habit  of  men.  Viola  tells  him,  what  is  just  his 
case,  that  men  make  more  words  about  their  love,  that  they  say  more,  swear  more, 
but  their  shows  are  more  than  will,  for  they  prove  much  in  their  vows,  but  litt'e  in 
their  love.  Olivia  must  feel  this  throughout  the  urgent  suit  of  the  Duke  ;  she  calls 


380 


APPENDIX 


his  love  heresy,  and  turns  coldly  away  from  his  seeming  favour.  She  sees  him  send 
to  her,  and  she  hears  of  his  longing,  but  she  does  not  see  him  bestirring  himself  in 
his  own  cause,  she  hears  a  claim  advanced,  but  she  finds  no  desert  unless  it  be  that 
of  higher  rank  ;  and  it  is  this  very  superiority  in  the  Duke  which  she  disdains. 
Must  she  not  have  remotely  gathered  even  from  his  messages  the  refined  conceit  of 
her  princely  suitor,  with  which  he  presumes  upon  his  love  :  '  it  can  give  no  place,  it 
can  bide  no  denay.'  Must  she  not  despise  this  very  tone  of  rank,  in  which  he  bids 
Cesario  tell  her  that  he  prizes  not  a  quantity  of  dirty  lands  and  values  not  her  for- 
tune ?  Must  not  all  this  sound  in  her  ears  as  if  the  Duke  meant  that  nothing  might 
and  could  be  lacking  to  him  and  his  love,  as  if  he  grounded  his  pretensions  rather 
upon  his  princely  rank  than  upon  the  high  nature  of  his  love?  In  other  instances 
she  is  far  removed  from  coldness  and  contempt,  something  in  the  very  nature  of  the 
Duke  must  have  provoked  her  proud  disdain,  and  we  shall  feel  that  he  indeed  gave 
her  good  cause  for  this. 

That  the  aim  and  object  of  desire  are  missed  by  this  self-reflection  on  love,  by 
this  melancholy  tarrying  upon  an  undefined  yearning,  by  this  too  tender  nurture  of 
a  self-pleasing  passion,  and  by  the  languid  inactivity  which  it  produces,  are  shown 
by  Orsino's  example  ;  and  the  poet  has  not  neglected  to  make  this  lesson  still  more 
forcible  by  a  striking  contrast.  The  Fool  no  less  than  Olivia,  has  seen  through  the 
Duke's  disease,  and  he  tells  him  of  an  excellent  remedy:  'I  would  have  men  of 
such  constancy,'  he  says,  '  put  to  sea  that  their  business  might  be  everything,  and 
their  intent  everywhere;  for  that's  it,  that  always  makes  a  good  voyage  of  nothing.' 
Thus  those  natures  which,  forgetful  of  all  else,  become  absorbed  in  one  constant 
affection,  he  would  drive  into  the  very  element  of  adventure,  that  they  might  forget 
their  ponderings  upon  one  intent,  that  in  a  natural  course  of  life  they  might  be  deliv- 
ered from  the  hard  service  of  one  idol,  that  that  freshness  might  be  restored  to  them 
which  permits  a  man  even  in  matters  of  love  to  reach  his  aim  more  quickly  and 
easily,  while  the  weak  votaries  of  love  forfeit  their  end. 

BATHURST  (1857,  p.  89)  :  It  is  a  pity  Shakespeare  could  not  have  written  more 
plays  in  such  verse  as  this  has.  It  contains  the  most  beautiful  description  of  music 
('  It  came  o'er  my  ear'),  and  it  might  so  describe  itself.  As  to  the  ideas,  they  are 
delightfully  clear,  though  never  prosaic.  There  is  a  disposition  to  excursiveness, 
and  most  beautiful ;  or  rather,  perhaps,  such  excursiveness  springs  naturally  from 
the  character  of  the  two  principal  personages,  who  are  made  for  each  other ;  and 
of  their  condition  of  mind,  being  in  love.  This  is  the  play  of  which  love  is 
peculiarly  the  subject ;  not  Romeo  and  Juliet,  where  the  love  is  mere  common- 
place love.  Even  a  sovereign  Prince  is  brought  in,  merely  to  be  in  love.  Shake- 
speare makes  him  express  very  strongly  that  love  of  music,  which  the  poet  himself 
felt  most  strongly,  as  we  often  see  elsewhere. .  .  .  Twelfth  Night  is  the  play  which 
Shakespeare  wrote  most  at  his  ease,  and  in  which  the  characters,  whether  serious 
or  comic,  seem  to  be  most  at  their  ease  too.  They  do  not  appear  to  be  taken  out 
of  their  places  to  form  a  drama ;  though  there  is  a  sufficient  amount  of  interest  in 
the  story. 

HALLIWELL  (.1857,  p.  247)  :  The  genius  displayed  in  the  works  of  Shakespeare 
is  of  so  transcendent  a  character,  an  editor  is  placed  at  this  disadvantage,  that,  in 
the  progress  of  his  labours,  the  consideration  of  each  successive  drama  unfolds  so 
much  of  wonderful  art,  the  tendency  of  his  criticism  is  liable  on  each  occasion  to  be 


CRITICISMS  381 

influenced  unduly  in  the  estimate  of  the  one  under  consideration,  impressed  by  those 
newly  discovered  excellencies  which  ever  attend  a  diligent  study  of  a  Shakespearian 
drama  ;  but  making  every  allowance  for  an  enthusiasm  resulting  from  a  recent  exami- 
nation of  the  beauties  of  the  following  play;  it  may  fairly  be  estimated  as  the  chief 
monument  of  the  author's  genius  for  comedy,  and  the  most  perfect  composition  of 
the  kind  in  the  English  or  in  any  other  language.  In  this,  as  in  some  other  plays, 
Shakespeare  exhibits  the  wonderful  power  of  his  dramatic  art  by  reconciling  the 
introduction  of  the  most  fascinating  poetry  with  the  action  of  characters  whose  dis- 
course is  replete  with  buffoonery ;  so  that,  when  the  curtain  falls,  our  admiration  is 
divided  between  the  serious  and  comic  portions  of  the  drama.  .  . .  Sir  Toby  Belch  is 
a  genuine  English  humourist  of  the  old  school,  and  his  butt,  Sir  Andrew  Aguecheek, 
is  perhaps  still  more  richly  comic,  always  enjoying  a  joke,  and  never  understand- 
ing it. 

F.  KREYSSIG  (1862,  iii,  268)  :  On  these  simple  foundations,  Shakespeare  erected 
the  exquisite,  graceful  structure  of  the  most  perfect  of  his  comedies,  and  at  the  same 
time,  by  the  most  complete  scheme  and  by  a  rarely  full  range  of  characters,  he  drew 
the  attention  from  external  circumstances  and  concentrated  it  on  the  inner  life  of  the 
action,  and  by  giving  an  absolute  unity  of  interest  he  breathed  into  it  all  the  true 
dramatic  soul.  That  saying  of  Goethe  :  '  That  in  every  finished  work  of  Shakespeare 
there  could  be  found  a  central  idea,'  here  finds  its  justification  in  fullest  measure. 
Let  it  be  supposed  that  Shakespeare  had  set  himself  the  task  to  show,  within  the 
limit  of  one  treatment,  like  a  recapitulation,  every  combination  of  comedies  in  one 
single  comedy,  and  it  would  not  be  difficult  to  prove  that  in  Twelfth  Night  the  task 
had  been  successfully  accomplished.  Just  consider,  for  a  moment,  the  three  wooers 
who  aspire  to  the  fair  Olivia's  hand,  observe  Olivia's  relation  to  Viola,  and  enlarge 
this  series  of  enamoured  situations  by  glancing  at  Maria' s  victorious  campaign  against 
the  bibulous  Knight,  and  we  shall  have  a  shaded  series,  tolerably  complete,  of  amour- 
ous  folly  or  foolish  amourousness  in  an  ascending  scale  from  the  wooing  of  a  charming 
woman  by  a  feeble-minded,  senseless  ninnyhammer,  on  through  the  self-seeking  of 
inane  puffed-up  stupidity  and  of  downright  shrewd  intriguing,  up  to  the  fantastic 
youthful  follies  of  natures,  noble  and  gifted,  to  be  sure,  but  untried  and  still  ignorant 
of  their  own  quality.  And  inasmuch  as  it  is  not  Shakespeare' s  wont  to  base  the 
action  of  his  comedies  on  the  requirements  of  frivolous  wit  or  even  of  malicious 
slander,  thus  in  this  play  we  do  not  fail  to  hear  the  lovely  ground-tone,  which  at  first 
softly  sounding,  at  last  rises  triumphantly  above  the  chaos  of  clashing  tones,  and  in 
the  most  delightful  way  harmonises  all  discords  ;  I  mean  the  portrayal  of  deep  and 
true  love  in  sound  healthy  natures.  Then  at  the  close  this  victory  puts  an  end  to  all 
mistakes  within  and  without,  and  leaves  us  in  a  mood  of  serene  and  joyous  peace, 
an  emotion  which  it  is  the  aim  of  true  comedy  to  produce,  just  as  the  subsidence  of 
passion  into  a  manly  resignation  is  that  of  tragedy. 

T.  KENNY  (1864,  p.  199)  :  The  grace  and  vigour  of  Shakespeare's  genius  are 
frequently  observable  throughout  the  whole  of  the  incidents  of  the  play ;  but  we 
cannot  class  this  work  among  his  highest  achievements,  and  the  admiration  with 
which  we  regard  it  is  by  no  means  free  from  any  qualification.  There  is  much  of 
extravagance  and  improbability  in  the  development  of  its  more  romantic  incidents, 
and  it  thus  frequently  becomes  less  purely  creative  and  less  absolutely  truthful  than 
less  striking  productions  of  the  poet's  genius.  The  treatment  of  the  story  is  some- 


382 


APPENDIX 


times  manifestly  melodramatic,  as,  for  instance,  in  the  appearance  of  Antonio,  and 
his  arrest  by  the  officers ;  and,  we  think  we  may  add,  in  the  hurried  and  strange 
marriage  contract  between  Olivia  and  Sebastian.  The  disguise  of  Viola  is  one  of 
those  artifices  -which  are  only  possible  in  the  large  domain  of  poetry  ;  and  the  free- 
dom of  poetry  itself  seems  somewhat  abused  in  the  representation  of  the  supposed 
complete  likeness  between  her  and  her  brother.  The  merely  comic  business  of  the 
play  is  more  naturally  executed.  Many  people  will  probably  regard  the  misadven- 
tures of  the  befooled  and  infatuated  Malvolio  as  its  most  vigorous  and  amusing 
episode.  But  we  cannot  help  thinking  that  the  punishment  to  which  the  vanity  of 
Malvolio  is  exposed,  is  somewhat  coarse  and  excessive.  In  spite  of  the  bad  char- 
acter which  he  bears  in  his  very  name,  there  is  nothing  in  his  conduct,  as  far  as  we 
can  see,  to  justify  the  unscrupulous  persecution  of  his  tormentors.  The  poet  him- 
self, when  the  pressure  of  dramatic  necessity  is  removed,  seeks  to  treat  this  incident 
in  his  usual  easy  temper ;  but  we  doubt  whether  such  an  outrageous  practical  joke 
could  ever  be  forgotten  or  forgiven  by  its  victim.  We  confess  that,  as  exemplifica- 
tions of  Shakespeare's  wonderful  comic  power,  we  prefer  to  this  humiliation  and 
discomfiture  of  Malvolio  the  scenes  in  which  Sir  Toby  and  Sir  Andrew  make  the 
welkin  ring  to  the  echo  of  their  uproarious  merriment.  It  is  often  in  lighter  sketches 
of  this  description  that  the  hand  of  Shakespeare  is  most  distinguishable  and  most 
inimitable;  and  this  triumphant  protest  against  the  pretensions  of  a  narrow  and 
jealous  austerity  will  no  doubt  last  as  long  as  social  humour  forms  one  of  the  ele- 
ments of  human  life : — '  Dost  thou  think,  because  thou  art  virtuous,  there  shall  be 
no  more  cakes  and  ale  ?'  We  find  in  Twelfth  Night  no  striking  indication  of 
Shakespeare's  power  in  the  delineation  of  character.  Such  a  display  was,  perhaps, 
hardly  compatible  with  the  general  predominance  of  the  lighter  romantic  element 
throughout  the  whole  work.  The  passion  of  the  Duke  for  Olivia  is  neither  very 
deep  nor  very  dramatic.  It  is  merely  dreamy,  restless,  longing,  and  enthralling 
desire.  It  is  the  offspring  of  a  mood  which,  we  cannot  help  thinking,  was  specially 
familiar  to  the  poet  himself ;  and  it  seems  directly  akin  to  the  state  of  feeling  which 
he  has  revealed  in  his  Sonnets.  We  do  not  believe,  however,  that  he  required  for 
its  delineation  the  light  of  a  personal  experience.  His  airy  imagination,  aided  by 
his  general  human  sensibility,  enabled  him  truly  to  reproduce  this,  and  perhaps  all 
other  conceivable  passions  ;  and  it  may  be  that  it  was  when  his  fancy  was  most  dis- 
engaged, it  was  most  readily  and  vividly  creative.  Neither  Viola  nor  Olivia  can  be 
ranked  among  his  finest  female  characters.  The  former  has  a  difficult  and  a  some- 
what unnatural  part  to  sustain  ;  and  although  she  fills  it  with  considerable  brilliancy 
and  spirit,  she  scarcely  enlists  our  strongest  sympathies  in  her  favour.  The  allusion, 
however,  to  her  untold  love  is  one  of  the  bright  passages  in  Shakespeare's  drama, 
and  will  for  ever  form  for  tender  hearts  a  cherished  remembrance.  The  character 
of  Olivia  suffers  much  more  from  the  perplexities  or  temptations  to  which  she  becomes 
exposed,  and  she  certainly  fails  to  display,  amidst  those  trials,  the  highest  maidenly 
purity  and  refinement.  Twelfth  Night  is,  we  think,  on  the  whole,  one  of  the  bright, 
fanciful,  and  varied  productions  of  Shakespeare's  less  earnest  dramatic  mood;  but 
it  possesses  neither  complete  imagination  nor  complete  natural  truthfulness  ;  and  it 
seems  to  us  to  be  more  or  less  deficient  throughout  in  consistency,  in  harmony,  in  the 
depth  and  firmness  of  touch,  which  distinguish  the  finer  creations  of  his  genius. 

E.  MONTtGUT  (1867,  iii,  361):  Twelfth  Night  is  a  masquerade,  slightly  gro- 
tesque, as  befits  a  play  whereof  the  title  recalls  one  of  those  festivals  which  were 


CRITICISMS  383 

most  dear  to  the  jocund  humour  of  our  forbears.  This  festival  was  the  day  whereon 
in  every  family  a  king  for  the  nonce  was  crowned  after  he  had  been  chosen  by  lot, 
sometimes  it  fell  to  a  child  to  be  the  ruler  over  the  whole  family,  again  a  servant 
was  crowned  by  his  master,  for  the  moment  it  was  the  world  turned  upside  down,  a 
rational  hierarchy  topsy-turvy,  authority  created  by  chance,  and  the  more  grotesque 
the  surprise,  the  merrier  the  festival.  You  have  seen  it  all  depicted  on  the  canvas 
of  the  jocose  and  powerful  Jordaens,  this  jolly  festival  and  its  king  with  a  large  red 
face,  his  glass  in  his  hand  and  his  crown  on  his  head,  his  fat  and  fair  Flemish  women 
excited  by  beer,  good  cheer,  good  health,  and  good  humour  ;  and  their  plump  chil- 
dren so  tempting  to  the  taste  of  the  Brillat-Savarin  of  cannibalism.  In  grotesqueness, 
Twelfth  Night  does  not  yield  to  the  picture  by  Jordaens,  and  assuredly  no  caricature 
from  the  brush  of  this  robust  and  popular  master  can  match,  either  in  comic  power 
or  as  a  reproduction  of  ancient  manners,  the  characters  of  Uncle  Toby  and  his  com- 
rades and  the  picture  of  their  nocturnal  drinking  bouts.  The  whole  episode  of  the 
wild  orgy  of  Toby  and  of  the  crotchety  Malvolio  is  drawn  incomparably  to  the  life  ; 
Shakespeare  has  there,  so  to  speak,  surpassed  himself,  for  he  has  there  shown  him- 
self a  consummate  master  of  a  species  of  composition  which  has  been  many  a  time 
denied  to  him,  namely,  comedy.  That  Shakespeare,  in  the  comedy  of  fancy,  of 
caprice,  of  adventure,  is  without  a  peer  is  acknowledged  by  every  one  ;  but  he  has 
been  gravely  reproached  with  not  being  able  to  stand  a  comparison  with  those  mas- 
ters who  draw  their  resources  exclusively  from  those  faculties  whence  alone  true 
comedy  springs  ;  in  a  word,  with  not  being  sufficiently  in  his  comedies  exclusively 
comic.  The  episodes  of  Sir  Toby  and  Malvolio  correct  this  judgement  of  error ; 
Rabelais  is  not  more  of  a  buffoon,  and  Moliere  not  more  exclusively  comic  than 
Shakespeare  in  these  two  episodes. 

The  sentimental  and  romantic  portions  of  the  play  are  stamped  with  that  inimi- 
table grace  which  especially  characterises  Shakespeare  ;  but  even  here  this  comedy 
remains  faithful  to  its  title  of  Twelfth  Night ;  for  ambiguity  still  reigns  sovereign 
mistress  there,  and  treats  the  real  world  under  its  double  form,  the  reality  of  nature 
and  that  of  society,  like  a  carnival  farce.  The  characters  instigated  by  their  whims 
or  the  spitefulness  of  chance  are  deceived  as  to  condition  and  sex  and  become 
involved  in  an  imbroglio  of  charming  and  dangerous  complications.  Beneath  the 
real  piece,  another  can  be  read  at  the  will  of  the  reader,  just  as  by  certain  artifices 
one  image  may  be  seen  beneath  another  image,  and  herein  lies  the  delicate  point  of 
this  charming  work  for  which  that  famous  saying  appears  to  have  been  expressly 
written  :  '  Glide,  mortals,  bear  not  heavily.'  A  surly  reader  or  a  stern  critic  might 
say  that  this  poetic  Viola  is  merely  an  amiable  adventuress.  And  her  brother, 
Sebastian,  her  living  mirror,  so  charming  that  the  friendships  which  he  inspires  cling 
to  him  like  lichens  on  a  rock — is  he  not  too  womanish  ?  in  sooth,  he  needed  but  the 
whim  of  donning  woman's  clothes  to  become  unafeminucda,  as  the  Italians  say  in 
their  expressive  diminutives.  Of  the  Countess  Olivia,  with  her  singular  mistakes, 
may  we  not  also  have  some  doubts?  We  might  suspect  that  Toby,  with  his  unman- 
nerly perverted  wit,  who  knew  his  world  and  fathomed  his  niece,  was  not  far  wrong 
when  he  said  she  was  a  '  Cataian,'  herein  alluding  to  that  land  of  Cathay  whence 
came,  with  the  Italian  renaissance,  and  that  princess  Angelique  through  whom 
Medor  was  made  happy  and  Roland  desperate,  all  the  magicians,  sorceresses, 
enchantresses,  and  sirens  who  ruled  all  henrts  in  the  chivalric  literature  of  the 
sixteenth  century.  But,  hush  !  youth,  grace,  beauty,  with  all  their  dreams,  their 
illusions  and  their  charms,  enwrap  these  adventures.  We  are  here  in  fairyland ; 


384 


APPENDIX 


why  should  we  try  to  discover  the  real  nature  of  these  personages  ?  They  are  the 
children  of  the  imagination,  of  caprice,  graceful  fairies,  sylphs  and  imps,  piccolini 
stregoni. 

f  In  Shakespeare's  plays  philosophy  is  rarely  lacking  ;  is  there  then  a  philosophy 
in  this  poetic  masquerade?  Ay,  there  is  one  here,  and  to  its  fullest  depth.  In  two 
words  it  is :  we  are  all,  in  varying  degrees,  insane  ;  for  we  are  all  the  slaves  of  our 
defects,  which  are  genuine  chronic  follies,  or  else  we  are  the  victims  of  dreams  which 
attack  us  like  follies  at  an  acute  stage.  Man  is  held  in  leash  by  his  imagination, 
which  deceives  him  even  to  the  extent  of  reversing  the  normal  conditions  of  nature 
and  the  laws  of  reality.  An  image,  ordinary  but  true,  of  man  in  every  station  is  this 
silly  Malvolio,  whose  folly  unavowed  and  secretly  cherished,  bursts  forth  on  a  frivo- 
lous pretext.  Malvolio  is,  no  question,  a  fool,  but  this  sly  waiting  woman  who 
ensnares  him  by  an  all-revealing  strategem,  is  she  herself  exempt  from  the  folly  of 
which  she  accuses  Malvolio?  and  if  the  steward  believes  himself  beloved  by  his 
mistress,  does  she  not  pursue  the  same  ambitious  dream  of  making  a  match  with 
Sir  Toby,  who,  however  degraded  and  drunken,  is  at  least  a  gentleman  and  the 
uncle  of  Olivia  ?  It  is  the  same  dream  under  very  different  conditions  which 
Viola  pursues, — a  dream  which  would  never  have  come  true,  if  luck  had  not  extri- 
cated her  from  the  cul  de  sac  whither  her  temerity  had  led  her.  What  is  to  be  said 
of  Olivia  but  that  her  imagination,  suddenly  smitten,  could  go  so  far  astray  as  to 
stifle  in  her  the  instinct  which  should  have  revealed  to  her  that  Viola  was  of  her  own 
sex?  The  friendship  of  Antonio  for  Sebastian, — a  friendship  which  involves  him 
in  perils  so  easily  foreseen, — is  a  sentiment  exactly  twin  with  the  love  of  Olivia  for 
Cesario-Viola.  All  dream,  all  arejnad,  and  differ  fromjirintriFr  only  in  the  kind  of 
their  madness, — some  have  a  graceful  and  poetic  madn.f><rg)  ntbgrg  q  ma^"*"  gro- 
tesojue  ana  trivial.  And  after  all,  some  of  these  dreams  come  true.  Must  we  ascribe 
the  honour  of  success  to  the  good  sense  of  the  happy  ones  who  see  their  secret  desires 
crowned  ?  Ah  no,  we  must  ascribe  it  to  nature.  We  all  dream, — it  is  a  condition 
of  humanity ;  but  in  this  multitude  of  dreams,  Nature  accepts  only  certain  ones 
which  are  in  harmony  with  grace,  with  poesy,  and  with  beauty  ;  for  Nature  is 
essentially  platonic,  and  thrusts  aside  as  a  revolt  and  a  sin,  every  dream  wherein 
ugliness  intrudes.  Hence  it  is  that  Viola's  secret  dream  comes  true,  while  Malvolio's 
is  condemned  to  remain  for  ever  a  grotesque  chimera.  Very  humble  indeed  should 
all  of  us  be,  for  we  are  only  a  little  less  mad  than  our  neighbours  ;  it  is  Nature  alone 
who  is  our  arbiter  and  decides  which  of  us  she  wishes  to  pose  as  sages,  and  which 
of  us  she  intends  to  retain  in  the  rank  of  fools. 

H.  I.  RUGGLES  (1870,  p.  15)  :  The  organic  idea  [which  is  '  Man  in  his  relations 
to  Pleasure  and  Pastime.'  See  note  on  'Title.' — ED.]  will  give  form  to  the  char- 
acters, incidents,  metaphors,  diction,  and  phraseology  of  the  piece.  This  idea  is  but 
another  name  for  the  law  which  forms  the  moral  basis  of  the  play,  and  which  is 
illustrated  both  in  its  observance  and  in  its  infraction,  that  is,  by  one  or  more  char- 
acters that  are  the  direct  representatives  of  it,  and  by  others  that  embody  the  differ- 
ent phases  and  degrees  of  error  which  arise  from  its  violation.  In  Twelfth  Night, 
this  fundamental  law  is  that  rule  of  reason  which  prescribes  the  standard  of  excel- 
lence, and  declares  that  the  highest  beauty  is  virtue  or  grace  (which  always  implies 
the  presence  of  temperance  and  decorum)  ;  that  genius, — comprising  all  natural 
gifts  and  propensities,  but  more  particularly  when  applied  to  the  mind,  wit,  imagi- 
nation, and  invention, — must  be  subordinated  to  the  judgement,  and  that  pleasure, 


CRITICISMS  385 

whether  of  the  sense  or  imagination,  must  be  restrained  from  excess.  The  obser- 
vance of  this  rule  will  be  evinced  in  grace  and  elegance  of  mind  and  deportment, 
and  in  gentleness  and  generosity  of  sentiment ;  such  a  character  is  Viola.  The 
grossest  infractions  of  the  rule,  on  the  other  hand,  will  be  personated  by  those  whose 
low  tastes,  intemperate  habits,  exuberant  humour,  or  rude  jests,  violate  all  decorum, — 
such  as  Sir  Toby  and  his  companions, — or  by  such  as  are  the  dupes  of  their  imagi- 
nations, through  inordinate  vanity,  as  Malvolio  ;  while  characters  more  complex  will 
be  found  in  those  who,  like  Orsino  and  Olivia,  are  marked  by  grace  and  gentility 
both  inborn  and  acquired,  but  who,  grounding  their  affections  upon  mere  external 
beauty,  are  devoid  of  all  restraints  in  the  indulgence  of  their  fancies  and  passions. 
(P.  39)  :  This  comedy  is  pervaded  with  the  spirit  of  literature  and  gentility.  It 
is  lifted  above  the  working-day  world  into  a  sphere  of  ease,  culture,  and  good- 
breeding.  Its  characters  are  votaries  of  pleasure  in  different  degrees,  from  the 
lowest  gratification  of  the  sense  up  to  the  more  refined  pleasures  derived  from  the 
exercise  of  the  imagination,  which,  after  all,  are  but  the  pleasures  of  the  sense  at 
second-hand.  Beside  the  air  of  elegance  it  possesses,  it  is  filled  to  the  brim  and 
overflowing  with  the  spirit  that  seeks  to  enjoy  this  world  without  one  thought  or 
aspiration  beyond.  It  jumps  the  hereafter  entirely.  Every  scene  of  it  glows  with 
the  warmth  and  sunshine  of  physical  enjoyment.  It  places  before  us  the  sensual 
man,  with  his  fondness  for  cheer,  his  cakes  and  ale,  his  delights  of  the  eye  and  ear, 
his  pleasure  in  pastime  and  sport,  his  high  estimation  of  a  good  leg  and  a  good 
voice,  in  short,  of  all  that  can  gratify  the  sense,  win  favour,  or  conduce  to  worldly 
advantage. 

F.  J.  FURNIVALL  (  The  Leopold  Shakspere,  1877,  Introd.  p.  lix.)  :  Still  one  of  the 
comedies  of  Shakspere' s  bright,  sweet  time.  True,  that  we  have  to  change  Rosa- 
lind's rippling  laugh  for  the  drunken  catches  and  bibulous  drollery  of  Sir  Toby  and 
his  comrade,  and  Touchstone  for  the  Clown  ;  but  the  leading  note  of  the  play  is 
fun,  as  if  Shakspere  had  been  able  to  throw  off  all  thought  of  melancholy,  and  had 
devised  Malvolio  to  help  his  friends  '  fleet  the  time  carelessly,'  as  they  did  in  the 
golden  world.  Still  though,  as  ever  in  the  comedies,  except  The  Merry  Wives, 
there's  the  shadow  of  death  and  distress  across  the  sunshine,  Olivia's  father  and 
brother  just  dead,  Viola  and  Sebastian  just  rescued  from  one  death,  Viola  threat- 
ened with  another,  and  Antonio  held  a  pirate  and  liable  to  death.  And  still  the 
lesson  is,  as  in  As  You  Like  It,  '  Sweet  are  the  uses  of  adversity ' ;  out  of  their 
trouble  all  the  lovers  come  into  happiness,  into  wedlock.  The  play  at  first  sight  is 
far  less  striking  and  interesting  than  Much  Ado  and  As  You  Like  It.  No  brilliant 
Beatrice  or  Benedick  catches  the  eye,  no  sad  Rosalind  leaping  into  life  and  joyous- 
ness  at  the  tfMich  of  assured  love.  The  self-conceited  Malvolio  is  brought  to  the 
front,  the  drui  kards  and  Clown  come  next ;  none  of  these  touches  any  h^art ;  and 
it's  not  till  we  \ook  past  them,  that  we  feel  the  beauty  of  the  characters  who  stand  in 
half-light  behii  id.  Then  we  become  conscious  of  a  quiet  harmony  of  colour  and 
form  that  mak  )s  a  picture  full  of  charm,  that  grows  on  you  as  you  study  it,  and 
becomes  one  o  '  the  possessions  of  your  life. 

A.  C.   SwiN  UJRNE  (A  Study  of  Shakespeare,   1880,  p.    155):   All  true  Panta- 
gruelians  will  a'  ways,  or  at  least  as  long  as  may  be  permitted  by  the  Society  for  the 
Suppression  of  Tice,  cherish  with  an  especial  regard  the  comedy  in  which  Shake- 
speare also  has  s*v>wn  himself  as  surely  the  loving  as  he  would  surely  have  been  the 
25 


386  APPENDIX 

beloved  disciple  of  that  insuppressible  divine,  the  immortal  and  most  reverend  vicar 
of  Meudon.  Two  only  among  the  mighty  men  who  lived  and  wrote  and  died  within 
the  century  which  gave  birth  to  Shakespeare  were  found  worthy  of  so  great  an 
honour  at  his  hands  as  the  double  homage  of  citation  and  imitation  ;  these  two, 
naturally  and  properly  enough,  were  Francois  Rabelais  and  Christopher  Marlowe. 
We  cannot  but  recognise  on  what  far  travels  in  what  good  company  '  Feste  the  jester ' 
had  but  lately  been,  on  that  night  of  '  very  gracious  fooling '  when  he  was  pleased  to 
enlighten  the  unforgetful  mind  of  Sir  Andrew  as  to  the  history  of  Pigrogromitus, 
and  of  the  Vapians  passing  the  equinoctial  of  Queubus.  At  what  precise  degree  of 
latitude  and  longitude  between  the  blessed  islands  of  Medamothy  and  Papimania 
this  equinoctial  may  intersect  the  Sporades  of  the  outer  ocean,  is  a  problem  on  the 
solution  of  which  the  energy  of  those  many  modern  sons  of  Aguecheek  who  have 
undertaken  the  task  of  writing  about  and  about  the  text  and  the  history  of  Shake- 
speare might  be  expended  with  an  unusually  reasonable  hope  and  expectation  of 
arriving  at  an  exceptionally  profitable  end. 

Even  apart  from  their  sunny  identity  of  spirit  and  bright  sweet  brotherhood  of 
style,  the  two  comedies  of  Twelfth  Night  and  As  You  Like  It  would  stand  forth  con- 
fessed as  the  common  offspring  of  the  same  spiritual  period  by  force  and  by  right  of 
the  trace  or  badge  they  proudly  and  professedly  bear  in  common,  as  of  a  recent  touch 
from  the  ripe  and  rich  and  radiant  influence  of  Rabelais.  No  better  and  no  fuller 
vindication  of  his  happy  memory  could  be  afforded  than  by  the  evident  fact  that  the 
two  comedies  which  bear  the  imprint  of  his  sign  manual  are  among  all  Shakespeare' s 
works  as  signally  remarkable  for  the  cleanliness  as  for  the  richness  of  their  humour. 
Here  is  the  right  royal  seal  of  Pantagruel,  clean-cut  and  clearly  stamped,  and  unin- 
crusted  with  any  flake  of  dirt  from  the  dubious  finger  of  Panurge.  In  the  comic 
parts  of  those  plays  in  which  the  humour  is  rank  and  fragrant  that  exhales  from  the 
lips  of  Lucio,  of  Boult,  or  of  Thersites,  there  is  no  trace  or  glimpse  of  Rabelais. 
From  him  Shakespeare  has  learnt  nothing  and  borrowed  nothing  that  was  not  wise 
and  good  and  sweet  and  clean  and  pure.  All  the  more  honour,  undoubtedly  to 
Shakespeare,  that  he  could  borrow  nothing  else  ;  but  assuredly,  also,  all  the  more 
honour  to  Rabelais,  that  he  had  enough  of  this  to  lend. 

WILH.  OECHELHAUSER  (Einfuhrungen  in  Shakespeare1  s  Buhnen-Dramen,  1885, 
2te  Aufl.  ii,  378)  :  The  closing  scene  of  this  comedy  presents  an  especial  difficulty. 
Whenever  I  have  seen  it  on  the  stage  under  the  most  diverse  arrangements,  and  in 
greater  or  less  completeness,  I  have  been  always  impressed  by  its  unsatisfactory  con- 
clusion ;  it  invariably  left  the  audience  cold  and  unmoved.  Here,  beyond  anywhere 
else,  we  miss,  in  the  original,  all  stage-directions ;  unquestionably  there  has  been 
here  committed  to  mimetic  art  and  to  by-play,  a  large  and  significant  share  of  the 
interpretation  of  the  poet's  intentions  and  of  filling  out  the  dialogue  in  its  produc- 
tion on  the  stage.  But  when  v  e  make  the  attempt,  which  is  unavoidable  in  any 
arrangement,  to  supply  our  own  stage-directions,  we  find,  in  the  apportionment  of 
the  various  interests,  which  are  combined  in  that  final  scene,  that  there  is  an  inherent 
obstruction  to  any  satisfactory  conclusion.  The  resolution  of  the  comic  episode  of 
Malvolio,  which  is  itself  interrupted  by  the  time  consumed  in  summoning  Malvolio, 
thrusts  itself  intolerably  upon  the  two  loving  couples  who,  post  tot  discrimina  rerunt, 
have  just  reached  the  threshold  of  their  joyous  freedom  which  must  now  remain, 
through  this  new  incident,  unsettled  in  the  balance.  Our  emotion  demands  that  at 
the  conclusion  the  solution  of  all  the  complications  ending  in  the  happiness  of  these 


CRITICISMS  387 

couples  thus  happily  brought  together,  shall  sound  forth  full  and  joyously.  Instead 
thereof,  in  the  original,  the  riddle  of  the  twin  brother  and  sister  is  brought  close  up 
to  a  clear  solution  ;  then,  when  the  excitement  of  both  couples  is  at  fullest  bent,  they 
must  needs  become  mere  spectators  of  the  ending  of  a  comic  episode,  which  at  such 
a  moment  cannot  but  be  to  them  utterly  uninteresting,  nay,  to  every  one  of  them 
except  to  Olivia,  the  beginning  of  it  was  utterly  unknown.  During  the  temporary 
interruption,  caused  by  summoning  Malvolio,  a  dialogue  between  the  duke  and 
Olivia  is  interjected,  but  it  is  so  short  that  it  cannot  charm  back  again  the  former 
emotion,  nor  does  it  lead  to  a  conclusion.  Hereupon,  follows  another  long  inter- 
ruption while  Malvolio' s  case  is  finished  off,  and  then  all  of  a  sudden,  after  Orsino 
has  addressed  six  lines  to  Olivia  and  to  Viola,  the  play  ends.  ...  (P.  379) :  I  cannot 
but  believe  that  I  have  discovered  an  effective  solution  without  disturbing  Shake- 
speare's arrangement  of  the  final  scene,  to  wit : — as  soon  as  Sebastian  has  recog- 
nised Viola,  and  her  own  secret  has  perforce  been  revealed,  I  represent  Viola  as 
leaving  the  stage,  and  then,  at  the  conclusion  of  Malvolio's  case  (which  affords 
abundant  time  for  dressing)  she  re-enters  in  her  maiden  weeds.  Accordingly,  merely 
by  the  addition  of  three  or  four  lines  of  my  own,  I  have  so  combined  the  dialogues 
of  the  lovers  (which  now  are  given  before,  during,  and  after  Malvolio's  episode)  as 
to  form  a  conclusion  whereby  a  spectator,  after  the  comic  episode  is  finished,  can 
again  adapt  his  emotion  to  the  tone  of  the  main  action  and  resume  its  solution  with 
unabated  interest. 

[The  lines  just  referred  to  are  inserted  after  V,  i,  256,  and  are  as  follows  :  Viola 
{gently  putting  aside  the  arms  of  Sebastian  -who  is  about  to  embrace  her}.  Embrace  me 
not,  until  Cesario  stands  Confessed  as  Viola.  Let  us  delay  A  moment  on  the  thresh- 
hold  of  our  joy.  ( She  hastens  away,  throwing  a  tender  glance  on  her  brother  and 
the  duke.)  Sebastian.  Too  much  of  joy  !  Olivia  and  Viola  !  (//<•  embraces  Olivia.) 
—ED.] 

When  the  chief  character,  about  whom  the  complications  are  woven  the  thickest, 
namely  Viola,  thus  absents  herself,  and  from  such  a  natural  and  urgent  motive,  the 
intensity  of  the  immediate  interest  in  the  three  characters  remaining  on  the  stage, 
Olivia,  Orsino,  and  Sebastian,  is  relaxed ;  hence  the  insertion  of  Malvolio's  scene 
really  ceases  to  jar.  Moreover,  the  reappearance  of  Viola  in  her  woman's  dress 
cannot  fail  greatly  to  deepen  the  impression  of  the  final  scene ;  on  the  other  hand, 
the  sight  of  a  duke  embracing  a  page  suggests  no  illusion.  This  way  of  ending  the 
play  seems  so  manifest  that,  at  first  glance,  it  is  not  easy  to  comprehend  why  the  poet 
did  not  make  use  of  it,  especially  since  in  the  original  the  duke  says  to  Viola,  '  Give 
me  thy  hand  And  let  me  see  thee  in  thy  woman's  weeds.' 

A  closer  examination,  however,  reveals  how  skilfully  Shakespeare  dealt  with  his 
materials.  On  his  stage  the  female  characters  were  played  by  boys  ;  in  this  case,  the 
woman's  weeds  would  have  disturbed  the  illusion,  by  no  means  would  they  have 
heightened  it.  Here  we  have  another  instance,  out  of  many,  of  the  necessity,  in 
dealing  with  the  old  dramas,  of  keeping  constantly  before  us  the  difference  between 
the  ancient  stage  and  our  own.  A  mechanical  reproduction  might  not  infrequently 
exert  at  the  present  time  an  effect  directly  opposite  to  that  which  it  would  have  had 
in  the  sixteenth  century.  And  to  attain  the  corresponding  effect  is  really  the  ideal 
aim  of  reproductions. 

HERMANN  CONRAD  (Preuss.  Jahrhucher,  Juli,  1887,  p.  28)  :  That  which  deter- 
mines the  artistic  unity  of  two  plots  is  solely  their  thorough,  organic  combination; 


388 


APPENDIX 


one  must  be  material  and  one  must  be  personal.  On  the  one  hand,  one  act  must 
influence  the  course  of  the  others  ;  on  the  other  hand,  the  actors,  especially  the  chief 
actors,  must  have  a  prominent  part  in  both  plots, — so  that  our  interest  in  both  is 
centralised  in  one  person.  If  this  central  character  is  at  the  same  time  the  hero  of 
one  plot,  all  the  better ;  but  at  any  rate,  he  must  be  a  prominent  personage  between 
the  two  heroes,  who  should  be  as  much  as  possible  involved  in  the  action  of  the  two 
plots,  so  that  both  may  be  equally  entangled  in  the  net. 

This  organic  unity  of  the  two  very  different  plots  may  be  readily  exemplified  in 
The  Merchant  of  Venice  :  Bassanio's  eagerness  to  win  Portia  is  the  inducement  to 
sign  the  fateful  bond  ;  it  is  only  on  the  score  of  this  contract  that  Bassanio  can  enter 
Belmont  as  a  wooer,  and  the  Jew  can  plot  to  execute  his  revenge  on  the  hated 
Antonio,  and  again,  in  turn,  had  not  Bassanio  won  Portia,  Antonio  would  have 
waited  for  a  rescuer  in  vain.  Both  plots,  that  in  Belmont  and  that  in  Venice,  grew 
as  though  from  one  germ,  out  of  the  bond,  ran  for  a  time  independently  side  by  side, 
in  order  to  be  reunited  in  the  Trial  scene,  in  which  all  the  chief  actors  of  both  plots 
are  brought  together.  The  personal  centre  of  both  plots,  the  ligature  between  the 
two  heroes,  Shylock  and  Portia,  is  Bassanio,  a  chief  actor  in  one,  while  his  whole 
soul  is,  at  the  same  time,  absorbed  in  the  other. 

What  Bassanio  is  for  the  organic  unity  of  The  Merchant  of  Venice,  Olivia  is  for 
Twelfth  Night.  In  neither  of  the  two  plots  is  she  the  chief  character,  but  merely  a 
very  prominent  one  ;  to  win  her  hand  is  the  main  spring  of  one,  whereby  a  chance  is 
given  to  Viola  to  reveal  her  feminine  advantages,  as  it  is  also  of  the  other,  which 
involves  Malvolio's  humiliation.  How  important  she  is  to  the  establishment  of  the 
artistic  whole  will  be  noted  if  we  were  to  put  another  character  in  her  place  as  the 
aim  of  Malvolio's  ambition.  Should  the  aspirations  of  the  Steward  extend  beyond 
the  house  of  his  mistress,  his  discomfiture  elsewhere  follows,  and  the  artistic  unity 
of  the  plot  is  lost  as  well  as  our  own  interest,  and,  in  fact,  we  have  enclosed  two 
comedies  in  one  frame.  To  guard  against  the  impression  that  we  have  here  a  mere 
unity  of  persons,  there  is  the  unity  of  place  ;  there  are  only  six  short  scenes,  second- 
ary components  of  the  composition,  and  one  chief  scene  (II,  iv)  which  are  not  laid 
in  Olivia's  house.  Through  this  arrangement  not  only  do  the  actors  in  both  plots 
come  in  continuous  touch  with  each  other,  but  the  plots  themselves  define  each  other 
and  interlace.  Just  as  the  haughty  Olivia  excites  the  aspirations  of  the  narrow 
prosaic  Malvolio,  so  Viola  is  brought  down  from  romantic  heights  to  common 
daily  life  by  the  episode  of  the  duel,  which  also  serves  to  reveal  the  pusillanimity 
of  Sir  Andrew.  Malvolio's  mad  presumption  was  fostered  by  the  favoured  position 
which  his  liberal  unsuspicious  mistress  gave  him  near  her  person  ;  and  his  hopes 
were  nourished  by  the  persistent  rejection  to  which  even  such  a  brilliant  wooer  as 
the  Duke  had  to  submit.  And  never  could  Sir  Toby  have  kindled  in  Sir  Andrew's 
soul  such  murderous  designs  had  not  Viola  been  the  messenger  of  love  from  a  pow- 
erful rival.  Sebastian,  too,  could  not  have  won  Olivia  until  he  had  proved  his  valour 
on  the  two  foolish  knights. 

CANON  AINGER  (Shakespeare  in  the  Middle  Temple.  Eng.  Illust.  Maga.,  March, 
1884,  p.  371)  :  But  besides  the  three  days  of  feasting  alternating  with  the  readings, 
there  were  two  special  festivals  during  the  Reader's  year  of  office  [at  the  Middle 
Temple],  at  which  solemn  revels  were  performed  for  the  entertainment  of  the  judges 
and  Serjeants  belonging  to  the  society.  These  took  place  on  All  Saints'  Day,  and  on 
the  feast  of  the  Purification,  February  2nd.  Much  ceremony  (and  it  is  in  this  sense 


CRITICISMS  389 

that  the  word  solemn  is  to  be  taken)  was  observed  on  these  occasions.  A  few  days 
before,  two  '  ancient  Barristers '  had  carried  the  invitation  to  the  judges  and  Ser- 
jeants, and  on  their  taking  their  places  in  hall  on  the  Grand  day,  two  other  bar- 
risters waited  on  them  with  '  basins  and  ewers  of  sweet  water  for  the  washing  of 
their  hands,  and  two  other  like  ancient  barristers  with  towels.'  The  Readers,  bear- 
ing white  staves,  ushered  in  the  dinner,  preceded  by  minstrels.  The  dinner  itself 
was  carried  in  by  young  gentlemen  under  the  Bar — the  students.  After  dinner,  the 
distinguished  guests,  again  escorted  by  the  Readers,  withdrew  to  the  Temple  Gar- 
dens, or  other  retirement,  while  the  hall  was  cleansed  and  prepared  for  the  festivities 
that  were  to  ensue.  On  their  return,  still  with  great  solemnity,  the  gentlemen  of  the 
Inn  trod  a  measure,  then  one  of  the  Readers  called  upon  one  of  the  'gentlemen  of 
the  Bar  to  give  the  Judges  a  song,'  the  rest  of  the  company  joining  in  chorus ;  and 
after  a  procession,  in  which  bowls  of  Ipocras  were  offered  to  the  judges  by  the  stu- 
dents— the  hall  was  gradually  vacated,  the  readers  ushering  their  distinguished 
guests  down  the  hall  to  the  court  gate,  where  they  took  their  leave  of  them. 

This  was  the  portion  of  the  revel  at  which  the  members  of  the  Inn  personally 
assisted.  But  after  dinner,  before  the  dance  and  song  began,  the  performance  of  a 
stage-play  seems  to  have  taken  place.  In  the  corresponding  account  of  the  revels  at 
the  Inner  Temple,  which  in  their  general  arrangements  were  identical  with  those  of 
the  sister  Inn,  Dugdale  writes,  '  First  the  solemn  Revels  {after  Dinner  and  the  Play 
ended)  are  begun  by  the  whole  House.'  At  the  Middle  Temple  we  are  equally  well 
assured  that  the  play  was  not  forgotten.  There  is  a  curious  list,  supplied  by  Dug- 
dale,  of  the  officers  and  servants  in  the  pay  of  the  Middle  Temple,  in  which  the 
professional  actors,  performing  on  these  occasions,  are  mentioned.  The  list  includes 
the  steward,  the  chief  butler,  the  chief  cook,  the  panyerman,  the  four  '  puisne  but- 
lers,' the  porter,  the  gardener,  the  second  cook,  the  turnspits,  the  two  washpots,  the 
laundress,  and  the  porter :  '  the  musick,  their  yearly  entertainment,  besides  their 
diurnal  pay  for  service ' ;  and  the  catalogue  is  completed  by  the  following  entry  : — 
4  The  stage-players  on  the  two  Grand  Days — for  each  play  io/.'  '  But  of  late,'  adds 
Dugdale,  writing  some  sixty  years  after  the  date  of  Manningham's  diary,  '  these  are 
doubled,  and  receive  forty  pounds  a  play.'  Perhaps  he  meant  £40  for  the  two 
occasions. 

On  the  Grand  day,  then,  of  Feb.  2nd,  1602,  the  Feast  of  the  Purification,  a  play 
was  represented  after  the  usual  custom,  by  professional  actors.  Mr  John  Manning- 
ham  had  borne  his  share  of  the  duties  required  from  young  gentlemen  under  the  Bar. 
He  had  helped  to  carry  the  bread  and  meat  to  the  high  table ;  he  had  danced  in  the 
measure,  and  joined  in  the  chorus,  and  offered  the  spiced  wine  to  the  judges.  But 
he  had  also  enjoyed  the  treat  of  a  theatrical  performance  by  real  professionals. 

(Page  373)  :  Moreover,  as  there  can  be  little  doubt,  Shakespeare  was  also  among 
the  actors  on  the  occasion.  The  company  who  played  Twelfth  Night  was  that  of 
the  Lord  Chamberlain's  servants,  acting  at  the  Globe  Theatre  on  Bankside.  We 
have  an  authentic  list  of  the  players  composing  that  company.  Two  of  them,  John 
Hemings  and  Henry  Condell,  who  edited  the  First  Collected  Edition  of  Shake- 
speare's plays,  prefixed  to  that  edition  the  'names  of  the  Principal  actors  in  all  these 
plays.'  This  list  of  twenty-six  names  is  headed  with  Shakespeare's,  not  perhaps  as 
the  most  distinguished  actor,  but  in  homage  to  the  famous  dramatist.  Next  in  order 
comes  the  great  tragedian,  Richard  Burbage,  the  Hamlet,  and  Lear,  and  Othello, 
and  Richard  III.  of  the  company — whose  claims  to  that  position  no  one  seems  to 
have  disputed.  But  we  know  something  of  Shakespeare's  line  as  an  actor,  and  he 


390 


APPENDIX 


was  giving  a  '  taste  of  his  quality '  in  several  plays  of  his  own  and  others  just  before 
and  just  after  this  performance  at  the  Middle  Temple.  He  had  acted  in  Every  Man 
in  his  Humour  in  1598  ;  had  played  old  Adam  in  As  You  Like  It,  probably  in  1600  ; 
and  was  soon  to  play  the  Ghost  in  his  own  Hamlet.  He  was  in  the  full  tide  of  his 
career  as  actor  in  the  winter  of  1 60 1 -2.  As  author  of  the  play  he  was  surely  not 
excluded  from  the  cast  when  it  was  acted  (as  seems  probable)  before  the  queen  a  few 
weeks  earlier,  and  on  this  important  occasion  of  a  Reader's  feast  at  the  Temple. 

What  did  he  play  ?  The  characters  which  we  know  to  have  been  assigned  to 
him  in  other  dramas  suggest  that  broad  comedy  and  the  role  of  jeune  premier  were 
alike  out  of  his  line.  Characters  of  an  age  past  middle  life — characters  of  dignity 
and  with  a  certain  pathetic  interest — seem  to  have  suited  him  best.  We  cannot  think 
of  him  as  cast  for  Sebastian.  At  eight  and  thirty  he  would  have  hardly  suited  for 
the  'double'  of  the  young  and  beautiful  Viola.  Toby,  Andrew,  and  the  clown,  are 
all  out  of  the  question.  Was  it  Malvolio  that  he  took — supposing  Burbage  to  have 
declined  it  ?  Perhaps  Burbage  created  the  character.  The  best  tragedians  in  modern 
times  have  not  scorned  the  part.  John  Kemble,  we  know,  occasionally  took  it ; 
and  in  our  own  time  we  have  seen  it  admirably  played  by  Mr  Phelps.  Tragedians 
have  discovered  what  Lamb  acutely  points  out,  that  Malvolio  '  is  not  essentially 
ludicrous.  He  becomes  comic  but  by  accident.'  The  character  is,  in  fact,  on  the 
border  land  between  the  serious  and  the  humorous,  and  supplies  the  sombre  element 
that  is  needed  to  set  off  the  comic  interest. 

It  would  indeed  be  curious  if,  failing  Malvolio,  the  character  of  Orsino  was 
sustained  by  its  author ;  curious  if  it  had  fallen  to  him  to  utter  the  lines  long  ago 
pointed  out  as  so  appropriate  to  his  own  matrimonial  fortunes  [II,  iv,  35-44]. 

Had  the  great  poet's  own  affection  'held  the  bent'  in  that  gay  and  wicked  city 
of  London  ?  Was  he  reminded,  with  no  touch  of  an  unquiet  conscience,  of  Ann 
Shakespeare  (nee  Hathaway),  patiently  bearing  her  widowed  lot,  a  matron  now  of 
five  and  forty,  in  far-off  Stratford  ?  Or  had  ten  years  of  the  prosaic  realities  of  an 
actor's  life  rubbed  off  some  of  the  gilt  of  sentiment,  and  as  he  lounged  at  the  side- 
scenes  was  he  considering  rather  about  those  hundred  and  seven  acres  of  arable 
land  in  the  parish  of  Old  Stratford  that  he  was  to  buy  of  William  and  John  Combe 
in  the  May  following  ? 

Of  author,  actors,  and  acting,  John  Manningham  tells  us  not  a  word.  What  an 
opportunity — for  us,  at  least — was  then  lost !  What  would  we  not  have  given  for 
any  criticism  by  a  gentleman  of  taste  and  intelligence  of  a  play  of  Shakespeare's 
performed  by  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  servants!  Did  John  Manningham  smile  on 
occasion  of  these  solemn  festivities,  when  Sir  Andrew  exclaimed,  '  I  am  a  fellow  of 
the  strangest  mind  in  the  world  !  I  delight  in  masques  and  revels  sometimes  alto- 
gether !'  Did  he  recognise  something  of  his  own  pleasant  manner-of-the- world's 
contempt  for  Puritanism  in  the  character  of  Malvolio,  and  the  practical  joking  to 
which  that  decorous  personage  was  subjected  ?  The  conjuring  of  the  evil  spirit  out 
of  poor  Malvolio  by  that  heartless  impostor,  the  Puritan  curate,  Sir  Topas,  we  are 
sure  must  have  delighted  the  young  gallants  of  the  Temple,  and  have  brought  the 
play  to  an  end  amid  boundless  merriment. 

And  so  the  curtain  falls,  alike  on  Shakespeare's  play,  and  on  our  glimpse  of  the 
festivities  at  an  Inn  of  Court  nearly  three  hundred  years  ago — 

'  Our  revels  now  are  ended  :  these  our  actors 
Are  melted  into  air — into  thin  air.' 


CRITICISMS— AINGER  391 

The  judges  have  paced  down  the  hall,  and  taken  water  at  the  Temple  stairs,  or 
coach  in  the  Strand  :  the  lights  are  out,  and  Mr  Manningham  and  his  chamber- 
fellow,  Mr  Curie,  are  on  their  way  to  their  single  room,  humming  to  one  another  in 
the  vein  of  sentiment  that  follows  hard  upon  revelling,  '  O,  mistress  mine,  where  are 
you  roaming?'  or  the  Clown's  jig  at  parting:  'When  that  I  was  and  a  little  tiny 
boy,'  etc. 

The  John  Manningham  of  this  fragment  of  diary  is  a  very  real  person  indeed. 
The  very  miscellaneousness  of  its  contents  shows  us  many  sides  of  him,  and  enables 
us  to  know  him  as  he  was.  Whether  he  is  telling  stories  of  Sir  Thomas  More,  on 
his  way  down  to  Westminster ;  or  complaining  in  good  set  terms  that  the  last 
preacher  at  the  Temple  Church  would  not  take  the  trouble  to  make  himself  heard  ; 
or  quoting  a  friend's  improper  remark  respecting  the  ancients  of  the  honourable 
society  (the  barristers  of  oldest  standing,  that  is  to  say),  that  '  if  you  put  a  case  in 
the  first  books  of  the  law  to  them,  you  may  presume  they  have  forgotten  it ;  if  in 
the  new  bookes,  you  may  doubt  whether  they  have  read  it ' — in  each  and  all  we  feel 
we  are  in  contact  with  a  once  living  piece  of  humanity,  and  through  no  other  relic  of 
that  famous  Elizabethan  age  are  we  brought  nearer,  it  seems  to  me,  to  Shakespeare 
and  his  fellow-actors.  There  are  echoes  or  premonitions  of  the  Shakespearian  man- 
ner scattered  throughout  the  diary,  moreover,  that  fall  very  pleasantly  on  the  ear. 
He  tells,  for  example,  the  following  anecdote  of  Marston  the  dramatist : — 

'John  Marston  the  last  Christmas  he  danced  with  Alderman  More's  daughter, 
a  Spaniard  born.  Fell  into  a  strange  commendacion  of  her  witt  and  beauty. 
When  he  had  done,  shee  thought  to  pay  him  home,  and  told  him  she  thought  he 
was  a  poet.  '"Tis  true,"  said  he,  "for  poets  fayne  and  lye,  and  soe  dyd  I  when 
I  commended  your  beauty,  for  you  are  exceeding  foule."  ' 

Is  it  merely  coincidence,  that  we  here  recall  a  passage  of  arms  between  Touch- 
stone and  Audrey  ?  '  The  truest  poetry  is  the  most  feigning  ;  and  lovers  are  given 
to  poetry ;  and  what  they  swear  in  poetry,  may  be  said  as  lovers,  they  do  feign. ' 
It  is  likely  enough  that  the  extravagance  of  young  lovers'  sonnets,  made  to  their 
mistress's  eyebrow,  was  a  stock -jest  in  many  shapes  in  that  era  of  exuberant  flattery. 
There  is  a  more  solemn  and  beautiful  echo  of  a  Shakespearian  thought  in  a  citation 
made  by  Manningham  from  some  divine  or  moralist  unknown  : — '  Wee  come  first 
unwitting,  weeping  and  crying  into  a  world  of  woe,  and  shall  we  not  weep  and  cry 
when  we  knowe  it  ?'  It  was  not  till  three  or  four  years  later  that  poor  mad  Lear 
repeated  the  thought  in  those  marvellous  lines : — 

'  Thou  must  be  patient :  we  came  crying  hither. 
Thou  know'st,  the  first  time  that  we  smell  the  air 
We  waul  and  cry — I  will  preach  to  thee,  mark  me ! 
When  we  are  born,  we  cry  that  we  are  come 
To  this  great  stage  of  fools.' 

And,  finally,  of  the  Middle  Temple  Hall — the  bricks,  as  Jack  Cade  would  have 
said, — 'are  alive  at  this  day  to  testify  it.'  The  exterior,  Mr  Halliwell-Phillipps 
tells  us,  '  has  undergone  numerous  changes  since  the  time  of  Shakespeare,  the  old 
louvre  having  long  been  removed,  the  principal  entrance  or  porch  rebuilt,  and  the 
whole  exposed  to  a  series  of  repairs  and  alterations.  The  main  features  of  the 
interior,  however,  bear  practically  the  same  appearance  they  originally  presented. 
It  is  true  that  some  of  the  minor  accessories  are  of  modern  date,  but  the  beautiful 


392 


APPENDIX 


oaken  screen  and  the  elegant  wood-carved  roof  suffice  to  convey  to  us  an  exact  idea 
of  the  room  in  which  the  humours  of  Malvolio  delighted  an  Elizabethan  audience.' 
Long  may  it  stand  unchanged,  though  the  buildings  that  surround  it  are  rapidly 
being  transformed  under  the  hand  of  the  restorer. 


VIOLA 

MRS  JAMESON  (1833,  i,  243) :  As  the  innate  dignity  of  Perdita  in  The  Winter's 
Tale  pierces  through  her  rustic  disguise,  so  the  exquisite  refinement  of  Viola  triumphs 
over  her  masculine  attire.  Viola  is,  perhaps,  in  a  degree  less  elevated  and  refined 
than  Perdita,  but  with  a  touch  of  sentiment  more  profound  and  heart-stirring ;  she 
is  '  deep-learned  in  the  lore  of  love,' — at  least  theoretically, — and  speaks  as  masterly 
on  the  subject  as  Perdita  does  of  flowers.  .  . . 

We  are  left  to  infer  (for  so  it  is  hinted  in  the  first  scene)  that  the  Duke — who, 
with  his  accomplishments  and  his  personal  attractions,  his  taste  for  music,  his  chival- 
rous tenderness,  and  his  unrequited  love,  is  really  a  very  fascinating  and  poetical 
personage,  though  a  little  passionate  and  fantastic — had  already  made  some  impres- 
sion on  Viola's  imagination  ;  and,  when  she  comes  to  play  the  confidante,  and  to 
be  loaded  with  favours  and  kindness  in  her  assumed  character,  that  she  should  be 
touched  by  a  passion  made  up  of  pity,  admiration,  gratitude,  and  tenderness,  does 
not,  I  think,  in  any  way  detract  from  the  genuine  sweetness  and  delicacy  of  her 
character,  for  '  she  never  told  her  love.' 

Now  all  this,  as  the  critic  wisely  observes,  may  not  present  a  very  just  picture 
of  life ;  and  it  may  also  fail  to  impart  any  moral  lesson  for  the  especial  profit  of 
well-bred  young  ladies:  but  is  it  not  in  truth  and  in  nature?  Did  it  ever  fail  to 
charm  or  to  interest,  to  seize  on  the  coldest  fancy,  to  touch  the  most  insensible 
heart  ?  .  .  . 

What  beautiful  propriety  in  the  distinction  drawn  between  Rosalind  and  Viola  ! 
The  wild  sweetness,  the  frolic  humour  which  sports  free  and  unblamed  amid  the 
shades  of  Ardennes,  would  ill  become  Viola,  whose  playfulness  is  assumed  as  part 
of  her  disguise  as  a  court-page,  and  is  guarded  by  the  strictest  delicacy.  She  has 
not,  like  Rosalind,  a  saucy  enjoyment  in  her  own  incognito  ;  her  disguise  does  not 
sit  so  easily  upon  her ;  her  heart  does  not  beat  freely  under  it 

The  feminine  cowardice  of  Viola,  which  will  not  allow  her  even  to  affect  a  cour- 
age becoming  her  attire, — her  horror  at  the  idea  of  drawing  a  sword, — is  very  natural 
and  characteristic  ;  and  produces  a  most  humorous  effect,  even  at  the  very  moment 
it  charms  and  interests  us. 

Contrasted  with  the  deep,  silent,  patient  love  of  Viola  for  the  Duke,  we  have  the 
lady-like  wilfulness  of  Olivia ;  and  her  sudden  passion,  or  rather  fancy,  for  the 
disguised  page  takes  so  beautiful  a  colouring  of  poetry  and  sentiment  that  we  do 
not  think  her  forward.  Olivia  is  like  a  princess  of  romance,  and  has  all  the 
privileges  of  one ;  she  is,  like  Portia,  high-born  and  high-bred,  mistress  over  her 
servants — but  not,  like  Portia,  «  queen  o'er  herself."  She  has  never  in  her  life  been 
opposed  ;  the  first  contradiction,  therefore,  rouses  all  the  woman  in  her,  and  turns 
a  caprice  into  a  headlong  passion.  .  .  . 

The  distance  of  rank  which  separates  the  Countess  from  the  youthful  page — the 
real  sex  of  Viola — the  dignified  elegance  of  Olivia's  deportment,  except  where 
passion  gets  the  better  of  her  pride — her  consistent  coldness  towards  the  Duke — 
the  description  of  that  '  smooth,  discreet,  and  stable  bearing '  with  which  she  rules 


CRITICISMS—  VIOLA  393 

her  household — her  generous  care  for  her  steward  Malvolio,  in  the  midst  of  her  own 
distress, — all  these  circumstances  raise  Olivia  in  our  fancy,  and  render  her  caprice 
for  the  page  a  source  of  amusement  and  interest,  not  a  subject  of  reproach.  Twelfth 
Night  is  a  genuine  comedy — a  perpetual  spring  of  the  gayest  and  the  sweetest  fan- 
cies. In  artificial  society  men  and  women  are  divided  into  castes  and  classes,  and  it 
is  rarely  that  extremes  in  character  or  manners  can  approximate.  To  blend  into 
one  harmonious  picture  the  utmost  grace  and  refinement  of  sentiment  and  the 
broadest  effects  of  humour,  the  most  poignant  wit  and  the  most  indulgent  benig- 
nity, in  short,  to  bring  before  us  in  the  same  scene  Viola  and  Olivia,  with  Malvolio 
and  Sir  Toby,  belonged  only  to  Nature  and  to  Shakespeare. 

CA  woman' s  affections,  however  strong,  are  sentiments  when  they  run  smooth ; 
ind  become  passions  only  when  opposed. 

In  Juliet  and  Helena  [in  All's  Well  that  Ends  lVell~\,  love  is  depicted  as  a 
passion,  properly  so  called ;  that  is,  a  natural  impulse  throbbing  in  the  heart's 
blood,  and  mingling  with  the  very  sources  of  life ; — a  sentiment  more  or  less  modi- 
fied by  the  imagination  ;  a  strong  abiding  principle  and  motive,  excited  by  resistance, 
acting  upon  the  will,  animating  all  the  other  faculties,  and  again  influenced  by  them. 
This  is  the  most  complex  aspect  of  love,  and  in  these  two  characters  it  is  depicted 
in  colours  at  once  the  most  various,  the  most  intense,  and  the  most  brilliant. 

In  Viola  and  Perdita,  love,  being  less  complex,  appears  more  refined  ;  more  a 
sentiment  than  a  passion, — a  compound  of  impulse  and  fancy,  while  the  reflective 
powers  and  moral  energies  are  more  faintly  developed. 

SIR  EDWARD  RUSSELL  (Fortnightly,  i  Sept.  1884,  p.  405)  :  Upon  Viola's 
character,  Miss  ELLEN  TERRY'S  sweet  and  happy  idiosyncrasy  has  wrought  an 
exquisite  modification.  Viola  undoubtedly  lies  in  most  of  our  minds  as  an 
extremely  sentimental  person.  The  impression  being  chiefly  derived  from  the 
speech,  '  She  never  told  her  love.'  In  order  to  conform  to  this  conception  it  was 
necessary  to  suppress  any  exuberant  gaiety  in  those  passages  in  which  Viola  is 
tickled  by  the  thought  that  she,  a  woman,  is  about  to  be  loved  as  a  man  by  Olivia. 
Those  who  see  Miss  Terry  in  the  part  will  be  convinced  by  the  most  irresistible  of 
demonstrations  that  Viola  was  rather  one  of  those  thoroughly  healthy  and  happy 
young  women,  who,  while  fraught  with  the  capacity  for  loving  and  certain  to  be 
true  in  love,  will  scarcely  pine  grievously  under  their  own  love- troubles,  or  regard 
those  of  any  ordinary  woman  as  likely  to  be  fatal.  It  is  not  very  seriously  of 
herself  that  she  tells  the  story  about  concealment  feeding  on  the  damask  cheek. 
She  will  not  play  patience  on  a  monument  unless  the  smiling  at  grief  be  very  genu- 
ine. She  feels  the  pathos  of  the  story.  Her  frame  quivers  as  she  tells  it  to  Orsino 
with  lowered  head,  and  his  head  presses  upon  hers  in  mere  brotherly  sympathy. 
But  Viola  is  hearty  though  not  heart-whole,  and  Miss  Terry  persuades  us  readily 
that  the  true  Viola  is  one  from  whose  gentle  nature  gaiety  is  not  likely  to  be 
permanently  estranged. 

JOSEPH  KNIGHT  (1893,  p.  205)  :  There  are  two  conceptions  of  Viola,  either  of 
which  is  defensible.  There  is  the  sentimental  view,  which  links  the  character  with 
Bellario  or  Euphrasia  in  the  Philaster  of  Beaumont  and  Fletcher  and  other  similar 
personages  of  the  early  drama ;  and  there  is  the  more  realistic  view,  which  makes 
her  assumption  of  masculine  attire  something  of  a  madcap  freak.  The  latter  view 
is  that  taken  by  Miss  Neilson.  It  is  fully  borne  out  by  the  text.  Viola  falls  in  love 


394  APPENDIX 

with  the  Duke  in  the  three  months  during  which  she  is  his  confidante  and  messenger. 
It  is  absurd  to  suppose  that  love  for  a  man  she  has  never  seen  could  have  led  her  to 
the  first  assumption  of  masculine  attire.  The  words,  moreover,  spoken  to  her  by 
Olivia  show  that  she  put  on,  with  Rosalind,  a  'swashing  and  a  martial  outside.' 
Olivia  charges  her  with  having  been  saucy,  and  tells  her  she  'began  rudely.' 
Viola's  address  to  Maria,  '  No,  good  swabber,  I  am  to  hull  here  a  little  longer,' 
affords  no  especial  proof  of  timidity  of  demeanour.  It  is  only,  then,  in  her  graver 
moments,  and  when  in  presence  of  her  lord,  that  Viola  shows  the  sentimental  aspect 
of  her  character.  Like  the  Di  Vernon  of  Scott,  she  can  melt  into  tenderness,  but 
her  general  mood  is  one  of  almost  saucy  defiance.  Miss  Neilson  presents  this 
character  to  the  life.  She  has  every  physical  qualification  for  the  part,  and  looks 
surprisingly  attractive  in  her  Grecian  costume.  She  enjoys  thoroughly  the  confusion 
her  assumption  of  manly  dress  creates,  and  her  delight  when  she  finds  herself  taken 
for  a  man  by  Olivia  is  infectious.  Not  less  happy  is  she  in  the  more  serious  passages, 
the  grace  and  delicacy  of  the  play  being,  so  far  as  the  scenes  in  which  she  plays  are 
concerned,  fully  preserved. 

W.  WINTER  (1895,  iii,  24)  :  Yet  Malvolio  is  not  the  central  image  in  the 
comedy,  to  the  exclusion  of  Viola.  If  the  humour  crystallises  around  him,  the 
tender  loveliness,  the  poetic  beauty,  the  ardent,  unselfish  emotion,  .the  exquisite 
glee  and  radiant  grace  crystallise  around  her.  Viola  is  Shakespeare's  ideal  of  the 
patient  idolatry  and  devoted,  silent  self-sacrifice  of  perfect  love.  Viola  makes  no 
attempt  to  win ;  spreads  no  lure ;  resorts  to  no  subterfuge.  In  such  cases  the 
advance  is  usually  made  by  woman.  It  is  so  made  by  Rosalind,  for  example,  a 
character  commonly,  and  erroneously,  named  as  the  perfection  of  abstract  poetical 
spirituality  and  refinement.  It  is  not  made  by  Viola.  She  loves,  and  she  is  simply 
herself,  and  she  will  submit,  without  a  murmur,  to  any  sorrow  that  may  await  her. 
'She  never  told  her  love.'  Rosalind  is  a  woman.  Viola  is_a_pofim.  Rosalind  is 
human.  Viola  is  human,  too,  but  also  sie  is  .celestial.  Disguised  as  a  boy,  she 
will  follow  the  fortunes  of  her  lord,  and  she  will  even  plead  his  cause,  as  a  lover, 
with  the  beautiful  woman  who  has  captured  his  physical  longing  and  languishing, 
sentimental  fancy.  A  woman,  under  such  circumstances,  commonly  hates  her  rival 
with  the  bitterness  of  death.  Viola  never  harbours  hate,  never  speaks  one  w.ord_of 
antagonism  or  malice.  She  does  not  assume  that  Orsino  is  her  property  because  she 
happens  to  love  him,  or  that  he  is  in  any  way  responsible  for  the  condition  of  her 
feelings,  or  that  Olivia  is  reprehensible  because  she  has  fascinated  him.  There  is  no 
selfishness  in  her  love,  because  there  is  no  selfishness  in  her  nature.  Her  desire  to 
see  the  face  of  Olivia  is  the  pathetic  desire  to  know  what  it  is  that  has  charmed  the 
man  whom  she  worships,  and,  through  her  simulated  glee,  when  she  does  see  it, 
shines  the  touching  consciousness  that  the  beauty  of  Olivia  might  well  inspire  any 
man's  devotion.  Nothing  could  be  more  fervent  and  generous  than  the  candour  and 
enthusiasm  with  which  she  recognises  that  beauty,  and  pleads  with  it  for  compassion 
upon  a  suffering  worshipper.  She  knows  Orsino' s  sorrows  by  her  own,  and  pities 
him  and  would  help  him  if  she  could.  That  is  true  love,  which  desires  not  its  own 
happiness,  but  the  happiness  of  its  object,  and  which  feels,  without  any  conscious 
knowledge,  that  itself  is  the  perfection  of  human  attainment,  and  that  it  may  be 
better  to  lose  than  to  win.  Shakespeare  has  incarnated  that  lovely  spirit  in  a  person 
of  equal  loveliness,  and  has  inspired  it  with  the  exuberant  glee  that  is  possible  only 
to  perfect  innocence.  Viola  is  as  gay  as  she  is  gentle,  and  as  guileless  and  simple  as 


CRITICISMS— VIOLA  395 

she  is  generous  and  sincere.  The  poet  has  emphasised  his  meaning,  furthermore, 
by  the  expedient  of  contrast  between  the  two  women.  Olivia, — self-absorbed, 
ostentatious  in  her  mourning,  acquisitive  and  voracious  in  her  love,  self-willed 
in  her  conduct,  conventional  in  her  character,  physically  very  beautiful,  but 
spiritually  insignificant, — while  she  is  precisely  the  sort  of  woman  for  whom  men 
go  wild,  serves  but  to  throw  the  immeasurable  superiority  of  Viola  into  stronger 
relief.  .  .  . 

(P.  43)  :  After  the  action  of  the  piece  has  opened,  several  comical  situations  are 
devised  for  Viola,  together  with  several  situations  of  serious  perplexity,  which  mostly 
tend  to  create  a  comic  effect  for  the  auditor.  In  those  situations  Viola's  gleeful 
spirit  is  liberated, — her  irrepressible  hilarity,  on  being  expected  to  play  the  part  of  a 
masculine  lover,  and  her^feminine_consternatiQn,  when  confronted  with  the  necessity 
of  combat,  being  artfully  contrasted,  for  the  sake  of  humorous  results.  The  true 
note  of  the  character,  however,  is  serious.  Viola  is  a  woman  of  deep  sensibility, 
and  that  way  Miss  REHAN  comprehended  and  reproduced  her, — permittingji_wistful 
sadness  to  glimmer  through  the  gauze  of  kindly  vivacity  with  which,  otherwise,  her 
bright  and  gentle  figure  is  artfully  swathed.  That  was  the  pervading  beauty  of  the 
impersonation.  Those  frolic  scenes  in  which  Viola  participated  are  consonant  with 
Miss  REHAN' s  propensity  for  mirth  and  with  her  faculty  for  comic  action.  She 
rejoiced  in  them  and  she  made  the  listener  rejoice  in  them.  But  the  underlying 
cause  of  her  success  in  them  was  the  profound  sincerity  of  her  feeling, — over  which 
her  glee  was  seen  to  play,  as  moonlight  plays  upon  the  rippling  surface  of  the  ocean 
depth.  In  that  embodiment,  more  than  in  any  assumption  of  character  previously 
presented  by  her,  she  relied  upon  a  soft  and  gentle  poetry  of  condition,  discarding 
strong  emphasis,  whether  of  colour,  demeanour,  or  speech.  Her  action  was  exceed- 
ingly delicate,  and  if  at  any  moment  she  became  conspicuous  in  a  scene  it  was  as 
the  consequence  of  dramatic  necessity,  not  of  self-assertion.  Lovely  reserve  and 
aristocratic  distinction  blended  in  the  performance,  and  dignified  and  endeared  it 
The  melody  of  Shakespeare's  verse, — especially  in  the  passage  of  Viola's  renuncia- 
tion,— fell  from  her  lips  in  a  strain  of  fluent  sweetness  that  enhanced  its  beauty  and 
deepened  the  pathos  of  its  tender  significance.  In  such  tones  the  heart  speaks,  and 
not  simply  the  warmth  of  an  excited  mind,  and  so  the  incommunicable  something 
that  the  soul  knows  of  love  and  sorrow  finds  an  utterance,  if  not  an  intelligible 
expression.  Subtlety  of  perception  naturally  accompanies  deep  feeling.  Viola, 
when,  as  Cesario,  she  has  captured  the  fancy  of  Olivia,  although  she  may  view  that 
ludicrous  dilemma  archly,  and  even  with  a  spice  of  innocent  mischief,  feels  a 
woman's  sympathy  with  the  emotions  of  her  sex,  and  her  conduct  toward  Olivia  is 
refined  and  considerate.  Miss  REHAN  was  admirably  true  to  the  Shakespearian 
ideal  in  that  particular,  as  also  she  was  in  expressing  the  large  generosity  of  Viola 
toward  Olivia's  beauty.  It  is  only  a  woman  intrinsically  noble  who  can  be  just 
toward  her  prosperous  rival  in  matters  of  the  heart.  Miss  REHAN,  in  her  embodi- 
ment of  Viola,  obeyed  the  fine  artistic  impulse  to  make  no  effort.  Her  elocution 
was  at  its  best, — concealing  premeditation,  and  flowing,  as  the  brook  flows,  with 
continuous  music  and  spontaneous,  accidental  variation. .  .  .  Her  witchery  in  Viola 
did  not  consist  in  her  action, — although  that  was  appropriate,  dignified,  symmetrical, 
expressive,  and  winning, — but  in  her  assumption  and  preservation  of  a  sweet,  re- 
signed patience  ;  not  despairing,  not  lachrymose, — a  gentle,  wistful  aspect  and  state 
of  romantic  melancholy,  veiled  but  not  concealed  beneath  an  outward  guise  of 
buoyant,  careless  joy. 


396  APPENDIX 

MALVOLIO 

CHARLES  LAMB  (1823?,  ii,  369):  The  part  of  Malvolio  was  performed  by 
Bensley  with  a  richness  and  a  dignity  of  which  (to  judge  from  some  recent  cast- 
ings of  that  character)  the  very  tradition  must  be  worn  out  from  the  stage.  No 
manager  in  these  days  would  have  dreamed  of  giving  it  to  Mr  Baddeley  or  Mr 
Parsons ;  when  Bensley  was  occasionally  absent  from  the  theatre,  John  Kemble 
thought  it  no  derogation  to  succeed  to  the  part.  Malvolio  is  not  essentially  ludi- 
crous. He  becomes  comic  but  by  accident.  He  is  cold,  austere,  repelling ;  but 
dignified,  consistent,  and,  for  what  appears,  rather  of  an  over-stretched  morality. 
Maria  describes  him  as  a  sort  of  Puritan  ;  and  he  might  have  worn  his  gold  chain 
with  honour  in  one  of  our  old  round-head  families,  in  the  service  of  a  Lambert  or 
a  Lady  Fairfax.  But  his  morality  and  manners  are  misplaced  in  Illyria.  He  is 
opposed  to  the  proper  levities  of  the  piece,  and  falls  in  the  unequal  contest.  Still 
his  pride,  or  his  gravity,  (call  it  which  you  will,)  is  inherent  and  native  to  the  man, 
not  mock  or  affected,  which  latter  only  are  the  fit  objects  to  excite  laughter.  His 
quality  is  at  the  best  unlovely,  but  neither  buffoon  nor  contemptible.  His  bearing 
is  lofty,  a  little  above  his  station,  but  probably  not  much  above  his  deserts.  We 
see  no  reason  why  he  should  not  have  been  brave,  honourable,  accomplished.  His 
careless  committal  of  the  ring  to  the  ground  (which  he  was  commissioned  to  restore 
to  Cesario)  bespeaks  a  generosity  of  birth  and  feeling.  His  dialect  on  all  occasions 
is  that  of  a  gentleman  and  a  man  of  education.  We  must  not  confound  him  with 
the  eternal,  old,  low  steward  of  comedy.  He  is  the  master  of  the  household  to  a 
great  princess  ;  a  dignity  probably  conferred  upon  him  for  other  respects  than  age 
or  length  of  service.  Olivia,  at  the  first  indication  of  his  supposed  madness,  declares 
that  she  '  would  not  have  him  miscarry  for  half  of  her  dowry.'  Does  this  look  as  if 
the  character  was  meant  to  appear  little  or  insignificant?  Once,  indeed,  she  accuses 
him  to  his  face, — of  what? — of  being  'sick  of  self-love,' — but  with  a  gentleness 
and  considerateness  which  could  not  have  been  if  she  had  not  thought  that  this 
particular  infirmity  shaded  some  virtues.  His  rebuke  to  the  knight  and  his  sottish 
revellers  is  sensible  and  spirited  ;  and  when  we  take  into  consideration  the  unpro- 
tected condition  of  his  mistress,  and  the  strict  regard  with  which  her  state  of  real 
or  dissembled  mourning  would  draw  the  eyes  of  the  world  upon  her  house-affairs, 
Malvolio  might  feel  the  honour  of  the  family  in  some  sort  in  his  keeping ;  as  it 
appears  not  that  Olivia  had  any  more  brothers  or  kinsmen  to  look  to  it, — for  Sir 
Toby  had  dropped  all  such  nice  respects  at  the  buttery-hatch.  That  Malvolio  was 
meant  to  be  represented  as  possessing  estimable  qualities,  the  expression  of  the 
Duke,  in  his  anxiety  to  have  him  reconciled,  almost  infers :  '  Pursue  him  and 
entreat  him  to  a  peace.'  Even  in  his  abused  state  of  chains  and  darkness,  a  sort 
of  greatness  seems  never  to  desert  him.  He  argues  highly  and  well  with  the  sup- 
posed Sir  Topas,  and  philosophises  gallantly  upon  his  straw.  There  must  have 
been  some  shadow  of  worth  about  the  man  ;  he  must  have  been  something  more 
than  a  mere  vapour, — a  thing  of  straw,  or  Jack  in  office, — before  Fabian  and  Maria 
could  have  ventured  sending  him  upon  a  courting  errand  to  Olivia.  There  was 
some  consonancy  (as  he  would  say)  in  the  undertaking,  or  the  jest  would  have  been 
too  bold  even  for  that  house  of  misrule. 

Bensley,  accordingly,  threw  over  the  part  an  air  of  Spanish  loftiness.  He 
looked,  spake,  and  moved  like  an  old  Castilian.  He  was  starch,  spruce,  opinion- 
ated, but  his  superstructure  of  pride  seemed  bottomed  upon  a  sense  of  worth. 


CRITICISMS— MALVOLIO  397 

There  was  something  in  it  beyond  the  coxcomb.  He  was  big  and  swelling,  but 
you  could  not  be  sure  it  was  hollow.  You  might  wish  to  see  it  taken  down,  but 
you  felt  that  it  was  upon  an  elevation.  He  was  magnificent  from  the  outset ;  but 
when  the  decent  sobrieties  of  the  character  began  to  give  way,  and  the  poison  of 
self-love,  in  his  conceit  of  the  Countess's  affection,  gradually  to  work,  you  would 
have  thought  that  the  hero  of  La  Mancha  in  person  stood  before  you.  How  he 
went  smiling  to  himself!  With  what  ineffable  carelessness  would  he  twirl  his 
gold  chain  !  What  a  dream  it  was  !  You  were  infected  with  the  illusion,  and  did 
not  wish  that  it  should  be  removed.  You  had  no  room  for  laughter.  If  an  unsea- 
sonable reflection  of  morality  obtruded  itself,  it  was  a  deep  sense  of  the  pitiable 
infirmity  of  man's  nature,  that  can  lay  him  open  to  such  frenzies ;  but,  in  truth,  you 
rather  admired  than  pitied  the  lunacy  while  it  lasted  ;  you  felt  that  an  hour  of  such 
mistake  was  worth  an  age  with  the  eyes  open.  Who  would  not  wish  to  live  but  for 
a  day  in  the  conceit  of  such  a  lady's  love  as  Olivia?  Why,  the  Duke  would  have 
given  his  principality  but  for  a  quarter  of  a  minute,  sleeping  or  waking,  to  have 
been  so  deluded.  The  man  seemed  to  tread  upon  air,  to  taste  manna,  to  walk  with 
his  head  in  the  clouds,  to  mate  Hyperion.  O  shake  not  the  castles  of  his  pride ; 
endure  yet  for  a  season  bright  moments  of  confidence  ;  '  stand  still,  ye  watches  of 
the  element,'  that  Malvolio  maybe  still  in  fancy  fair  Olivia's  lord! — but  fate  and 
retribution  say  « no.'  I  hear  the  mischievous  titter  of  Maria, — the  witty  taunts  of 
Sir  Toby,— the  still  more  insupportable  triumph  of  the  foolish  knight,— the  coun- 
terfeit Sir  Topas  is  unmasked,— and  « thus  the  whirligig  of  time,'  as  the  true  clown 
hath  it,  'brings  in  his  revenges.'  I  confess  that  I  never  saw  the  catastrophe  of  this 
character,  while  Bensley  played  it,  without  a  kind  of  tragic  interest.  ~\ 

HUNTER  (1845,  i,  381)  :  Though  in  other  plays  of  Shakespeare  we  have  indirect 
and  sarcastical  remarks  on  the  opinions  or  practices  by  which  the  Puritan  party  in 
the  Reformed  Church  of  England  were  distinguished,  casually  introduced,  it  is  in 
this  play  that  we  have  his  grand  attack  upon  them  ;  that  here  in  fact  there  is  a  sys- 
tematic design  of  holding  them  up  to  ridicule,  and  of  exposing  to  public  odium  what 
appeared  to  him  the  dark  features  of  the  Puritan  character.  Not  only  does  this  appear 
in  particular  expressions  and  passages  in  the  play,  but  to  those  who  are  acquainted 
with  the  representations  which  their  enemies  made  of  the  Puritan  character,  it  will 
appear  sufficiently  evident  that  Shakespeare  intended  to  make  Malvolio  an  abstract 
of  that  character,  to  exhibit  in  him  all  the  worst  features,  and  to  combine  them  with 
others  which  were  simply  ridiculous.  The  character  which  his  mistress  gives  him  is 
that  he  is  '  sad  and  civil,'  and  that  he  '  suits  as  a  servant  with  her  fortune,'  in  her 
state  of  affliction.  This  shows  that,  previously  to  the  introduction  into  his  mind  of 
the  fantastic  notions  which  afterwards  possessed  him,  it  was  intended  that  he  should 
be  of  a  formal,  grave,  and  solemn  demeanour,  and,  as  to  his  attire,  dressed  with  a 
Quaker-like  plainness,  which  would  heighten  the  comic  effect  when  afterwards  he 
decked  himself  with  all  manner  of  finery  when  he  sought  to  please,  as  he  supposed, 
his  mistress.  As  we  proceed  we  find  that  he  is  a  person  not  moved  to  cheerfulness 
by  any  innocent  jest ;  he  casts  a  malign  look  on  every  person  and  everything  around 
him  ;  he  seeks  to  depreciate  everything  and  everybody  ;  even  Feste,  the  poor  inno- 
cent domestic  fool,  who  plays  his  part  admirably,  is  not  too  far  removed  below  the 
line  of  a  rational  jealousy  to  be  free  from  the  effects  of  his  malign  disposition  :  « I 
saw  him  put  down  the  other  day  by  an  ordinary  fool."  At  the  same  time  he  has  a 
most  inordinate  conceit  of  himself,  '  sick  of  self-love  ;'  and,  without  possessing  any 


398 


APPENDIX 


of  the  qualities  by  which  a  generous  ambition  may  and  does  effect  its  designs,  he 
aims  at  objects  which  he  ought  to  have  regarded  as  without  the  range  of  his  desires, 
even  so  far  as  to  seek  to  possess  himself  of  the  hand  and  fortune  of  his  mistress. 
Under  a  show  of  humility  he  hides  a  proud  and  tyrannical  heart ;  in  what  he  says 
of  Sir  Toby  he  shows  the  petty  tyranny  which  he  will  exercise  when  the  golden 
opportunity  shall  arrive.  He  begrudges  any  little  service  to  any  one,  even  that 
belonging  to  the  office  which  he  holds ;  and  when  there  is  anything  in  which  he  is 
employed,  where  he  has  the  chance  of  smoothening  or  roughening  asperities,  or 
when  he  has  to  form  a  judgement  on  what  he  witnesses,  he  invariably  takes  the 
unkinder  part,  and  shows  at  the  same  time  that  he  has  pleasure  in  taking  it.  His 
first  introduction  to  the  audience  is  with  the  remark  which  he  makes,  '  Yes,  and 
shall  do  till  the  pangs  of  death  shake  him  ;'  and  he  makes  his  final  exit  exclaiming, 
'  I'll  be  revenged  on  the  whole  pack  of  you.'  Such  is  Malvolio,  who  thus  answers 
to  his  name,  and  who  is  perhaps  one  of  the  most  finished  characters  drawn  by 
Shakespeare,  or  any  other-dramatist.  As  the  representative  of  a  class,  however,  it 
is  overcharged  with  what  is  unamiable.  It  was  no  part  of  the  object  of  Shakespeare 
to  soften  or  to  mix  those  redeeming  features  which  were  to  be  found  in  the  Puritan 
character.  His  object  was  to  hold  up  the  Puritan  to  aversion  ;  and  the  moment  he 
entered,  the  spectators  would  perceive  by  his  attire  the  kind  of  person  brought  before 
them,  or,  if  that  were  not  sufficient,  there  was  no  mistaking  the  words  of  Maria : 
'Sometimes  he  is  a  kind  of  Puritan.' 

In  Malvolio' s  general  character  the  intention  was  to  make  the  Puritan  odious; 
in  the  strategem  of  which  he  is  the  victim  to  make  him  ridiculous.  It  seems  as  if 
it  were  originally  the  poet's  intention  to  deliver  him  up  into  the  hands  of  Falstaff. 
Sir  Toby  is  corpulent  and  witty,  needy,  dishonest,  shifting,  drunken,  and  '  much  a 
liar,'  with  all  Falstaff 's  address  in  extricating  himself  from  a  difficulty.  Several  of 
his  expressions  are  quite  in  the  Falstaff  vein.  Strip  Falstaff,  in  short,  of  his  mili- 
tary character  and  court  brocade,  and  send  him  from  the  taverns  of  London  to  a 
well-replenished  hall  in  the  country,  and  we  have  the  character  of  Sir  Toby.  In 
his  companion  Sir  Andrew  we  have  Slender  again  under  a  new  name,  even  to  the 
trick  of  quoting,  the  main  characteristic  of  Slender.  A  stroke  or  two  may  be  per- 
ceived, just  sufficient  to  discriminate  them,  but  such  strokes,  if  such  exist,  are  few; 
so  few  that  there  can  be  hardly  a  doubt  that  the  poet's  original  intention,  or  perhaps 
a  suggestion  made  to  him,  was  that  the  Puritan  should  be  delivered  up  into  the 
hands  of  Falstaff.  Falstaff 's  sera  was,  however,  too  decidedly  fixed,  and  this  ren- 
dered it  expedient  to  invent  a  new  name,  and  perhaps  to  introduce  certain  new 
features  into  the  character. 

HENRY  GILES  (1868,  p.  177)  :  I  pass  now  to  the  fool  sentimental.  I  am  not 
sure,  however,  that  we  should  make  the  sentimental  a  distinct  species  of  fool,  since 
every  man  is  at  one  time  or  other  in  the  sentimental  condition,  and  some  men  are 
never  out  of  it.  In  youth  we  hardly  call  it  folly  ;  but  there  are  those  who  escape  it 
in  youth,  on  whom  it  comes  with  obstinate  perverseness  when  youth  is  over.  Victims 
there  are  who  are  verdant,  poor  fellows,  all  their  lives ;  sensitive  perennial  plants, 
susceptible  evergreens  in  the  gardens  of  the  romantic.  But  love  is  the  soul  of  senti- 
ment ;  and  no  man  can  be  secure  against  love.  A  man  may  escape  it  six  days  in 
the  week,  but,  as  the  great  Shandy  asserts,  fall  over  head  and  ears  into  it  on  Satur- 
day night.  Wisdom,  strength,  and  valour,  love  breaks  down  ;  imperial  ambition 
and  the  most  sovereign  command  it  humbles  ;  it  turns  the  miser  into  a  spendthrift. 


CRITICISMS—  MALVOLIO  399 

and  charms  the  cynic  into  song.  .  .  .  Malvolio  is  even  such  a  weak  brother,  and  with 
such  indulgence  must  he  be  treated.  We  may  pity  him, — in  some  measure  respect 
him, — but  we  must  laugh  at  him.  He  is  an  excellent  specimen  of  the  sentimental 
fool,  and  we  must  enjoy  him.  He  makes  very  extraordinary  grimaces.  Men  in  love 
generally  do,  if  you  could  but  see  them.  He  cuts  very  strange  antics  ;  and  while  the 
fit  is  on  him,  he  is  in  the  highest  degree  amusing.  That  he  is  the  victim  of  a  plot  is 
true ;  and  before  he  loves  the  great  lady,  he  is  made  to  fancy  the  great  lady  loves 
him.  But  no  innately  modest  man  can  be  made  the  victim  of  such  a  plot.  Yet,  if 
we  could  see  every  man  as  we  see  Malvolio,  we  might  see  enough  to  laugh  at ;  if 
we  could  hear  men's  inward  whisperings  as  we  hear  his,  we  might  hear  soliloquies 
which  would  be  more  self-confident  and  more  self-admiring.  Malvolio  in  this  is  no 
singular  phenomenon ;  he  is  only  the  fool-fart  of  masculine  vanity  exposed ;  but 
men  laugh  at  him  as  sincerely  as  if  that  fool -part  had  no  concern  with  themselves. 
We  wonder  that  Malvolio  should  be  deceived  as  he  was.  But  Malvolio  had  been 
already  told  that  he  was  a  wondrous  proper  man.  If  Olivia  was  great,  was  she  not 
also  a  woman  ?  And  though  she  was  mistress  and  he  servant,  '  did  not  the  lady  of 
the  Strachy  marry  the  yeoman  of  the  wardrobe'?  And  so  the  visions  of  hope  grow 
into  blissful  brightness  by  the  interpretations  of  vanity.  Beguiled  into  absurd  dec- 
orations, he  disports  away  in  his  yellow  stockings  and  his  cross-garters.  He  does 
the  amiable,  but  not  bewitchingly ;  smiling  fantastically,  he  minces  out  his  horrid 
phrases,  his  whining  interjections,  and  murmurs,  as  with  the  music  of  a  raven's 
song,  «  Sweet  lady  !  ho  !  ho  !'  The  sweet  lady  only  thought  him  mad.  But  others 
do  of  themselves  what  Malvolio  only  did  from  prompting,  and  are  more  thorough 
fools  by  instinct  than  he  was  by  instruction. 

WILLIAM  ARCHER  (Macmillan1 s  Maga.,  August,  1884,  p.  275) :  I  confess  that 
Malvolio  has  always  been  to  me  one  of  the  most  puzzling  of  Shakespeare's  creations. 
The  theory,  so  popular  with  German,  and  with  some  English,  commentators,  which 
makes  of  him  a  satirical  type  of  the  Puritan  as  Shakespeare  conceived  him,  will  not 
hold  ground  for  a  moment.  It  is  founded  on  one  or  two  detached  speeches  wrested 
from  their  context.  Maria  says  of  him  that  '  he  is  sometimes  a  kind  of  a  Puritan,' 
only  to  say  in  the  next  breath  that  '  the  devil  a  Puritan  '  is  he  ;  and  when  Sir  Andrew 
expresses  a  desire  to  beat  him,  Sir  Toby  derisively  asks,  '  What,  for  being  a  Puritan  ? 
Thy  exquisite  reason,  dear  knight.'  Is  it  likely  that  Shakespeare  was  himself  guilty 
of  the  stupidity  which  even  Sir  Toby  ridicules  in  his  gull  ?  .  .  .  There  is  nothing  of 
the  typical  Puritan  in  Malvolio.  He  carries  out  his  lady's  orders  in  remonstrating 
with  her  kinsman  for  making  her  house  a  noisy  tavern,  and  by  so  doing  he  draws 
down  upon  himself  the  vengeance  of  the  leagued  spirits  of  misrule.  If  it  be  Puri- 
tanism to  do  his  duty  as  a  man  of  sense  and  a  faithful  steward  in  attempting  to  put  a 
stop  to  drunken  ribaldry,  then  the  poet  seems  rather  to  eulogise  than  to  satirise  Puri- 
tanism. On  the  other  hand,  his  misfortunes,  so  far  as  he  himself  is  responsible  for 
them,  spring  from  defects  by  no  means  characteristically  Puritan.  Spiritual  pride  is 
the  besetting  sin  of  the  'unco  guid';  it  is  physical  vanity  which  leads  Malvolio  so 
readily  to  swallow  his  tormentors'  bait.  A  scorn,  real  or  affected,  for  the  things  of 
this  life  is  the  mark  of  the  Puritan  ;  Malvolio,  however  little  taste  he  may  have  for 
the  gross  '  cakes  and  ale '  of  the  boon  companions,  has  not  the  slightest  desire  to 
conceal  his  worldliness  beneath  a  mask  of  other-wordliness.  But  such  argument  is 
futile.  No  one  who  reads  the  play  without  a  preconceived  theory  can  find  in  Mal- 
Tolio  the  smallest  trace  of  the  zealot.  All  that  can  by  any  stretch  of  language  be 


400 


APPENDIX 


called  Puritanism  in  his  conduct  redounds  entirely  to  his  honour.  To  me  it  seems 
that  Shakespeare,  in  drawing  him,  had  not  so  clear  an  idea  as  usual  of  the  precise 
phase  of  character  he  wished  to  represent.  He  was  more  concerned  to  obtain  comic 
effects  than  to  create  a  consistent,  closely-observed  type.  We  do  not  know  Malvolio 
as  we  know  Polonius,  Jaques,  Mercutio,  Dogberry.  This  may  be  a  mere  personal 
impression,  but  I  seem  to  trace  in  the  commentators  something  of  the  uncertainty 
which  has  always  troubled  me  with  reference  to  his  character.  The  very  fact  that  he 
has  been  so  misinterpreted  proves  that.  There  is  a  certain  vagueness  in  his  charac- 
terisation. ...  If  I  may  hazard  a  theory,  I  should  say  that  he  is  not  a  Puritan,  but  a 
Philistine.  The  radical  defect  of  his  nature  is  a  lack  of  that  sense  of  humour  which 
is  the  safety-valve  of  all  our  little  insanities,  preventing  even  the  most  expansive 
egoism  from  altogether  over-inflating  us.  He  takes  himself  and  the  world  too 
seriously.  He  has  no  intuition  for  the  incongruous  and  grotesque,  to  put  the  drag 
upon  his  egoistic  fantasy,  '  sick  of  self-love.'  His  face,  not  only  smileless  itself,  but 
contemptuous  of  mirth  in  others,  has  acted  as  a  damper  upon  the  humour  of  the 
sprightly  Maria  and  the  jovial  Sir  Toby  ;  he  has  taken  a  set  pleasure  in  putting  the 
poor  Clown  out  of  countenance  by  receiving  his  quips  with  a  stolid  gravity.  Hence 
the  rancour  of  the  humorists  against  a  fundamentally  antagonistic  nature ;  hence, 
perhaps,  their  whim  of  making  him  crown  his  absurdities  by  a  forced  smile,  a 
grimace  more  incongruous  with  his  pompous  personality  than  even  cross-garters  or 
yellow  stockings.  He  is  a  being,  in  short,  to  whom  the  world,  with  all  its  shows 
and  forms,  is  intensely  real  and  profoundly  respectable.  He  has  no  sense  of  its 
littleness,  its  evanescence,  without  which  he  can  have  no  true  sense  of  its  greatness 
and  its  mystery.  In  common  life  this  absorption  in  the  shows  of  things  manifests 
itself  in  a  deficient  feeling  for  proportion  and  contrast.  He  has  no  sense  of  humour, — 
that  is  the  head  and  front  of  his  offending.  That  his  punishment,  strictly  considered, 
is  excessive,  to  the  point  of  barbarity,  cannot,  I  think,  be  doubted  ;  but  the  air  of  the 
fairy  tale  interpenetrates  the  farce,  and  we  do  not  demand  a  strict  apportionment  of 
justice  either  poetical  or  practical.  It  is  certain  that  no  sense  of  painful  injustice 
has  generally  been  found  to  interfere  with  the  pleasure  to  be  derived  from  the  play. 

SIR  EDWARD  RUSSELL  {Fortnightly,  I  Sept.  1884,  p.  403)  :  Lean,  lank,  with 
self-occupied  visage,  and  formal,  peaked  Spanish  beard ;  dressed  in  close  garb  of 
black  striped  with  yellow,  and  holding  a  steward's  wand,  in  the  lightness  of  which 
there  is  something  of  fantastic  symbolism,  [IRVING' s  Malvolio]  steps  on  the  stage 
with  nose  in  air  and  eyes  half  shut,  as  if  with  singular  and  moody  contemplation. 
He  is  visibly  possessed  of  pride,  of  manners,  and  of  intelligence.  His  pride,  though 
intense,  is  not  diseased,  until  the  poison-dish  of  imagined  love  has  been  presented  to 
him  and  has  begun  its  work.  Irving' s  gait ;  his  abstraction  of  gaze,  qualified  by  a 
polite  observance  of  his  lady,  and  a  suspicious  vigilance  over  his  fellows  in  her 
service  and  her  turbulent  relations  and  followers  ;  his  sublime  encounter  with  the 
Fool  ;  his  sententious  observations  on  everything  in  general,  and  the  infinite  gravity 
yet  imaginative  airiness  of  his  movements,  carry  the  Malvolio  of  Shakespeare  to  a 
higher  point  of  effect,  probably,  than  it  has  ever  before  reached  on  the  stage.  ...  I 
do  not  wish,  as  Coleridge  said,  to  flounder-fiat  a  humorous  image,  but  there  is  no 
evading  certain  results  of  the  genuinely  humanistic  as  opposed  to  the  entirely  humor- 
istic  rendering  of  certain  of  Shakespeare's  characters.  The  gaunt  and  sombre  steward 
is  not,  and  is  not  likely  to  be,  a  purely  amusing  character.  Even  his  tormentors  at 
one  point  relent  a  little  at  the  thought  that  they  may  carry  their  cruel  joke  too  far, 


CRITICISMS—  MAL  VOLIO  401 

and  for  the  nineteenth  century  it  is  carried  too  far  to  be  entirely  funny.  Malvolio  in 
the  dark  hole  uttering  sage,  conscientious  words  to  prove  to  the  false  Sir  Topas  that 
he  is  not  mad,  becomes  a  pathetic  figure.  The  language  evidently  requires  to  be 
delivered  with  all  Mr  Irving's  serious  and  significant  earnestness. 

W.  WINTER  (Shadows  of  the  Stage,  1895,  iii,  22) :  People  laugh  at  Malvolio, 
but  they  miss  the  meaning  of  him  if  they  are  not  made  to  think  as  well  as  to  laugh. 
For  Malvolio  is  a  person  of  serious  individuality ;  a  capable  person,  and  one  of 
ruminant  mind  and  austere  temperament.  The  mirth  that  is  derived  from  him  is 
derived  by  devices  of  mischief, — as  when  a  sportive  boy  decorates  a  marble  statue 
with  a  stovepipe  hat.  No  plight  can  be  more  laughable  than  that  of  the  pompous 
ass  whose  pomposity  is  made  the  direct  means  of  his  ridiculous  disgrace.  Malvolio 
falls  into  that  plight  and  becomes  ludicrously  absurd,  but  his  discomfiture  is  due  to 
one  of  the  chronic  frailties  of  human  nature,  a  frailty  which,  in  him  and  by  means 
of  him,  it  is  the  purpose  of  the  poet  kindly  and  humorously  to  expose  and  rebuke. 
Malvolio  would  be  a  farce  part,  and  nothing  more,  if  he  were  simply  a  silly  coxcomb, 
cajoled  and  teased  by  a  pert  chambermaid.  He  is  manifestly  intended  for  the  image 
of  overweening  self-love,  of  opinionated  self-conceit,  of  narrow-minded,  strutting, 
consequential  complacency.  'Go  off"!'  he  cries,  'I  discard  you.  I  am  not  of  your 
element.'  The  world  contains  many  creatures  that  have  within  themselves,  more  or 
less  modified,  the  potentiality  of  Malvolio' s  disease.  Shakespeare  has  covered  him 
with  confusion  and  laughter,  making  him  the  butt  not  only  of  the  worldly,  rubicund, 
rollicking,  masterful  Sir  Toby,  but  of  lean  and  silly  Sir  Andrew,  with  his  thimbleful 
of  brains,  and  of  the  quaint,  jocose  Clown,  and  the  comic  serving-man,  Fabian,  and 
the  shallow,  prattling,  skittish  Maria.  The  spreading  of  the  snare  and  the  capture  of 
the  victim  are  deliciously  droll,  and  when  all  the  contributary  parts  are  well  acted 
the  resultant  effect  of  perfect  mirth  is  inevitable.  But  Shakespeare  has  also  covered 
with  confusion  and  swept  away,  upon  an  irresistible  tide  of  contemptuous  laughter, 
the  vicious  infirmity  of  self-conceit. 

J.  W.  HALES  (Contemporary  Rev.,  Jan.  1895,  P-  65) :  Thus  Shakespeare  took  no 
part  in  the  Puritan-baiting  that  became  a  favourite  dramatic  pastime.  And  this  for- 
bearance is  to  be  accounted  for  not  only  by  the  general  fairness  and  comprehensive 
sympathy  of  his  nature, — by  his  splendid  incapacity  to  believe  ill  of  a  large  section 
of  his  fellow-creatures  and  his  fellow-Englishmen, — by  his  innate  repugnance  to 
mere  abuse  and  vilification,  but  also  by  the  fact,  that  at  Stratford  he  was  brought 
into  such  close  and  intimate  contact  and  acquaintance  with  so  many  specimens, 
public  and  private,  of  the  Puritan  breed.  Annoyed  and  vexed  as  he  might  some- 
times be,  and  often  undoubtedly  was,  by  the  self-complacency  and  omniscience  and 
final  judgements  of  these  persons,  trying  as  it  must  have  been  to  hear  some  '  chosen 
vessels'  pour  out  their  wrath  on  the  stage  and  all  connected  with  it,  as  we  can 
scarcely  doubt  he  sometimes  did,  yet  he  was  never  made  unjust  or  truculent.  .  .  . 
Their  acrimony  might  well  seem  to  him  somewhat  oblivious  of  the  real  spirit  of 
Christianity,  and  their  opinions  sadly  wanting  in  breadth  of  view  and  in  a  real 
knowledge  of  the  subjects  on  which  they  delivered  themselves  with  such  assurance ; 
but  he  had  a  profound  respect  for  the  uprightness  of  their  intentions  and  their  genu- 
ine sincerity,  and  the  substantial  goodness  of  their  hearts  and  lives.  Happily,  to 
show  that  we  do  not  speak  quite  without  book,  we  are  able  to  give  a  very  suggestive 
illustration  of  the  attitude  of  Shakespeare  in  his  private  life  towards  the  Puritan 
26 


4O2 


APPENDIX 


divines  who  from  time  to  time  favoured  Stratford  with  a  visit.  In  the  Chamberlain's 
accounts  for  1614  is  to  be  found  this  remarkable  entry  :  'Item,  for  one  quart  of  sack 
and  one  quart  of  claret  wine,  given  to  a  Preacher  at  the  New  Place,  xxd."  By  way 
of  explanation,  we  must  point  out  that  it  was  customary  for  the  Corporations  of 
towns,  at  least  in  Warwickshire  and  Leicestershire,  to  pay  distinguished  visitors  ihe 
compliment  of  sending  them  a  present,  generally  of  wine,  to  the  house,  public  or 
private,  where  they  were  staying.  When  Sir  Thomas  Lucy,  or  Sir  Fulke  or  Sir 
Edward  Greville  came  into  Stratford,  this  little  attention  was  usually  shown  them. 
And,  with  the  growth  of  Puritanism,  the  same  civility  was  often  extended  to  the 
itinerant  lecturers.  Evidently  one  of  these  gentlemen  was,  in  1614,  the  guest  of 
Shakespeare ;  and  together,  perhaps  assisted  by  a  neighbour  or  two  who  dropped 
in,  they  discussed  a  bottle  of  sack  and  a  bottle  of  claret,  supplemented,  it  may  be 
suspected,  by  other  bottles  from  the  cellar  of  New  Place.  There,  in  the  parlour  or 
in  the  garden  by  the  bowling-green,  they  sat  hobnobbing,  the  preacher  and  the 
actor  and  playwright.  .  .  .  Both  host  and  guest  must  have  been  the  better  for  such 
intercourse, — the  more  catholic  and  human.  But  probably  the  guest  derived  the 
greater  advantage  from  it ;  his  ideas  of  the  drama  must  have  been  illuminated  and 
enlarged ;  and  he  must  have  realised  that  there  were  other  ways  of  benefiting  the 
world  besides  pulpit  ministrations,  that  comedies  and  tragedies  might  do  excellent 
service  no  less  than  his  own  expositions  and  discourses,  and  that  of  the  author  of 
them  it  might  be  said, — if  the  guest  was  fortunate  enough  to  have  read  Much  Ado 
about  Nothing, — '  the  man  doth  fear  God,  howsoever  it  seems  not  in  him  by  some 
large  jests  that  he  will  make.'  When  Shakespeare  made  Sir  Toby  ask  that  immortal 
question  : — '  Dost  thou  think,  because  thou  art  virtuous,  there  shall  be  no  more  cakes 
and  ale  ?'  he  had  probably  in  his  mind  the  local  headquarters  of  Puritanism,  that  very 
Banbury  from  which  in  later  life  his  guest,  or  guests,  probably  came.  Assuredly  that 
was  precisely  the  question  then  needing  to  be  put  to  the  overbearing  zealots  who 
threatened  by  their  intolerance  to  make  life  intolerable  ;  and  we  may  venture  to  hope 
that  that  well-timed  remonstrance  was  not  without  some  influence  in  assuaging  the 
fanatical  temper  of  that  age  as  well  as  of  ages  since.  At  all  events,  it  is  pleasant  to 
know  that  at  New  Place  itself  some  of  the  'virtuous'  enjoyed  their  'cakes  and  ale.' 

CLEMENT  SCOTT  (1896,  p.  272)  :  The  entrance  of  Mr  Irving  as  Malvolio  was, 
as  usual,  eagerly  expected.  As  the  self-conceited  steward,  with  an  air  of  disgust  and 
disdain  for  every  one  but  himself,  he  looked  like  some  grey  and  crafty  old  fox,  and 
was  scarcely  recognised.  Every  word  that  fell  from  his  lips  was  attentively  listened 
to,  every  gesture  was  faithfully  scanned.  There  were  roars  of  laughter,  of  course, 
when  the  old  man  disturbed  the  revellers  in  his  dressing-gown  and  night-cap.  The 
scene  with  the  latter,  if  too  deliberate  and  a  trifle  too  slow  in  utterance,  was,  of 
course,  one  of  the  acting  features  of  the  play,  and  it  was  noticed  that  Mr  Irving  in 
the  later  scenes,  after  Malvolio' s  cruel  imprisonment  as  a  madman,  worked  up  his 
indignation  to  almost  tragic  importance.  The  line,  'I'll  be  revenged  on  the  whole 
pack  of  you  !'  was  spoken  as  an  exit  with  the  concentrated  hate  and  ungovernable 
vehemence  of  a  Shylock. 

F  E  S  T  E 

H.  ULRICI  (1847,  ii,  7) :  The  contrasTrnost  carefully  worked  out  is  that  between 
the  Fool  by  profession  and  the  involuntary  fools,  Malvolio,  Sir  Andrew,  and  Sir 
Toby.  While  the  latter,  in  their  own  conceit  and  foolishness,  unconsciously  draw 


CRITICISMS— FESTE  403 

the  cap  and  bells  over  their  own  ears,  the  former,  in  his  self-adapted  mental  garb  of 
motley  colours,  moves  with  inimitable  adroitness,  and  pins  the  lappets  of  his  wit  to 
the  back  of  all  the  other  characters.  The  meaning  of  the  poem  is,  so  to  say,  centred  in 
him.  He  alone,  in  full  cnnsrimisnpss,  mntpmplafps  life  as  a  merry  Twelfth  Night. 
in  which  fyrry  """  h"j  in  farfj  nnly  *"  play  his  -allflttpd  part  to  the  greatest  possible 
ajnusemed-fif  himself  and  others.  He  does  not  wish  to  be  more  nor  lf|;g  tVia"  "  £rv%1 
in  the  great  mad- house  of  the  world  ;  ojj  .ihisjiccpunt  he  has  an  unconquerable  aver- 
'siqn.ta-alj_siarcjied__common-sense  and  calculating  plans,  to  that  hollow  unmeaning 

'  gravity  which  cannot  understand  a  joke,  because  it  fancies  its  proudly-adopted  dignity 
thereby  injured,  Ind  which  is  never  able  to  ris«»  above  tfrp  petty,  iglfifih  interesjs_o£ 

'  lts"own"'dear  self";"(this  accounts  for  his  dislike  of  Malvolicy  Again,  hfi  alnqgjias 
respect  forji^g_rar»jin<j__hf']1st  for  *"*  's_aware  that  fun  and  laughter,  joke  and  jest  are 
theTseasoning  of  life,  and  that  there  is  more  depth  and  sense  in  humorous  folly 
like  his  own,  than  in  the  sour-mindedness  of  so-called  sensible  people,  who  are  in 
reality  devoid  of  true  sense,  because  the  poetry  of  life,  all  the  higher  interests  of 
man  which  extend  beyond  common  prose,  are  unintelligible  to  them. 

G.  G.  GERVINUS  (1850,  p.  438)  :  Np_other  of  Shakespeare's  fools  is  so  conscious 
of  Jiis4«I{)ej2ority"as  Feste.  He  says  it,  indeed,  too  often,  and  he  shows  still  oftener 
that  hip  foolish  wisdom  is  in  fact  no  folly,  that  it  is  a  mistake  to  call  him  a  fool,  that 
the  cowl  does  not  make  the  monk,  that  his  brain  is  not  so  motley  as  his  dress.  JjThe 
poet  has  not  in  this  play  brought  the  words  and  actions  of  the  Fool  into  relation 
with  the~ohe  main~fdea  of  fhe ;  piece",  ""buTKeTias.  opposed  him  ratier  lo  the.  .sejxirate 
characters  in  separate  expressions.  It  is  in  this  play  that  the  instructive  passage 
occurs,  which  designates  the"  fool's  difficult  office  as  demanding  that  he  should 
'observe  th^jj-jp™^  "n  »h»m  fre.  jpstst  tfof  quality  nf  th<»  porgpns^ find  the  time. 
and  check  at  every  feather  that  comes  beforejuseve  ;'  thisJ&.ejtactly  the  part  which 
Shakespeare  has  made  Jhe  Fool  here  play.  He  is  fit  for  anything ;  he  lives  wjth 
eaj^_afifix_bis_own  fashion,  knowing  their  weaknesses,  considering  their  nature, 
c§r£fjjlly_jidapting  himself  to  the  mood  of  the  moment.  When  any  one,  Viola  or  the 
Duke,  wishes  to  speak  with  his  mistress,  he  knows  how  to  beg  gracefully ;  when  he 
sings  to  the  melancholy  Duke,  he  refuses  recompense  ;  he  deprecates  expressly  the 
idea  of  his  begging  being  construed  into  covetousness.  He  boasts  of  being  a  good 
householder,  but,  in  the  dissolute  society  of  the  Knights,  he  himself  is  also  somewhat 
mad  ;  yet  not  so  mad  as  to  allow  their  bloody  quarrels  to  pass  unpunished. '  He 
knows  how  to  discriminate  between  persons  as  well  as  between  time  and  place.  With 
natural,  fresh,  free  natures,  such  as  Sebastian  and  Viola,  he  is  at  once  on  a  friendly 
footing.  On  the  other  hand.  Jie  pu^ish^  MalT^]jn  for  the  contempt  with  which  he 
speaks  of  him  and  his  profession.  He  joins  in  nlayinp  him  the  trick  which  is  to  cure 
his  se|f-conceit,  and  he  tells  him  this,  witB  impressive  warning,  in  case  of  repetition. 
To  Sir  Andrew  he  talks  glaring  nonsense  which  enchants  him  ;  he  knows  that  he 
passes  for  no  fox  with  the  coarse  Sir  Toby,  the  more  craftily  and  easily  he  watches 
Maria,  as  she  lays  her  bait  for  the  churl  of  'most  weak pia  ma/fr';  and  he  praises 
her  as  the  most  witty  of  her  sex,  if  she  can  wean  him  from  drinking.  To  his  mis- 
tress Olivia  he  is  faithfully  devoted,  as  one  belonging  to  her  house  ;  he  condemns 
the  extravagance  of  her  incipient  melancholy ;  he  distinctly  designates  the  affair 
between  her  and  the  DuKe  as  foolish ;  he  promotes  the  connection  with  Viola  and 
Sebastian.  He  keenly  penetrates  the  Duke's  changeable  disposition,  and  bitingly, 
altjiough-goo~d;jmturedly_, Tup  brajo^hjin_  with  it ;  attbe  same  time  he  tells  him  of  a 


404 


APPENDIX 


remedy  which  exactly  gives  a  key  to  the  inward  condition  of  the  lover's  character. 
If  the  Fool  be  cleverly  played,  it  can  be,  therefore,  a  guide  through  the  most 
important  points  of  this  comedy. 

F.  KREYSSIG  (1862,  iii,  286)  :  In  Feste,  who  is  far  more  deeply  involved  in  the 
plot  than  Touchstone,  or  any  others  of  his  class  (except,  perhaps,  the  Fool  in  Lear], 
we  have  the  accomplished  Fool,  the  allowed  Merrvman.  in  the  full  exercise  of  his 
skill ;  but,  in  accordance  with  the  innocent  and  joyous  character  of  the  comedy, 
without  the  stinging  satire  which  we  feel  so  keenly  in  As  You  Like  It.  On  the  con- 
trary, it  is  his  aim  by  ingenious  jokes  and  harmless  teasings  to  add,  spice  to  the  flap-.  / 
piny  entertainment,  and,  at  the  same  time,  he  is  at  full  liberty  accurately  to  p;")gr_ 
the  characters  about  him,  and  as  opportunity  gives  benefit  to  proffer  jestingly  to 
them  his  opinion  of  them  ;  even  this,  however,  he  does  with  the  greatest  prudence  ; 
and  (which  is  noteworthy)  he  speaks  ill  of  no  one  behind  the  back.  Thus  it  is  that 
he  is  become  perfect  in  his  difficult  position,  and  well  deserves  Viola's  praise  :  'This 
fellow  is  wise  enough  to  play  the  fool,'  etc.,  Ill,  i.  60.  In  this  sense  he  may  well 
say  to  Olivia  :  '  Cucullus  non  facit  monachum,  I  wear  not  motley  in  my  brain.'  Of 
J.  course  he.  is  placed  in  the  sharpest  contrast  fp^a^vpljp.  the  personification  of  insipid 
^rrogancet  It  would,  indeed,  be  a  radical  defect  in  that  insufferable  pedant  if  he  could 
take  a  joke  ;Jf  he  did  not  invariably  regard  bird-bolts  as  cannon-bullets  as  soon  as 
ever  they  hilhis  TOjrtfey-person.  ...  It  is  against  this  principle,  therefore,  of  which 
Malvolio  is  the  representative,  anc^against  this  principle  alone  that  Feste  makes  an 
«»arnpst  fi-nr^-  His  remarks  about  the  changeable  taffeta  of  the  Duke's  doublet,  and 
about  Olivia's  weak  mourning  for  her  brother,-are  -purely  good  humoured  ;  he  never 
elsewhere  indulges  his  satire  against  classes  or  ranks,  unless  it  be  where  he  compares 
husbands  and  fools  to  pilchards  and  herrings.  But  when  it  comes  to  flouting  the 
arrogant  pietjstic  steward,  who  would  banish  cakes  and  ale  and  waUy_ fool eryt  then  he 
marshalls  all  his  talents,  and,  when  donning  the  ^rown  of  'Sir  Mathias.' *  oepnits. 
hjniself  to  utter  the  first  and  only  sharp  thrust  at  earnest  and  dangerous  people.: 
Li  would  I  were  the  first  that  ever  dissembled  in  such  a  gown.'  The  passage  j^ 
all  the  more  striking,  inasmuch  as  the  whole  dis£uiser  as  Maria  afterwards  remarks, 
/is  needless.  It  may  be  incidentally  remarked,  that ^hroaghouOhe-caajuration  scene 
V  the  Fnnl  imitates  the  unctuous  tone  of  the  Puritanic  dLvings^whereas  the  priest,  to 
*r  whom  Olivia  entrusts  her  fate,  is  to  be  regarded  clearly  as  a  Catholic  monk  ;  a 
further  indication  of  Shakespeare's  almost  instinctive  repugnance  to  the  whole 
canting  and  pietistic  Puritanical  movement  which,  shortly  after  his  death,  pro- 
scribed his  masterpieces,  together  with  all  other  sports  of  merry  England,  and  to 
whose  folly  it  is  to  be  ascribed  that  only  by  wading  through  the  slough  of  the 
demoralised  comedy  of  the  Restoration,  could  England  find  the  way  to  return  to 
her  Shakespeare. 

H.  I.  RUGGLES  (1870.  p.  34)  :  Among  the  other  characters,  all  of  whom  ate 
absorbed  in  the  pursuit  of  their  own  ends,  stands  idly  the  wise,  cool-headed  jester, 
Feste.  He  reads  the  minds  of  all,  penetrates  their  designs,  and  sees  cleailY_iQ_mhaL 

*  A  fresh  instance  of  the  unwisdom  (to  give  it  the  mildest  possible  name)  wherein 
even  the  best  of  Germans  (among  whom  Kreyssig  is  assuredly  pre-eminent)  will 
indulge  in  changing  at  pleasure  the  names  of  Shakespeare's  dramatis  persona -.  In 
the  present  instance,  what  point  is  gained  by  changing  '  Sir  Topas '  to  Sir  Mathias  f 
—ED. 


CRITICISMS— FESTE  405 

^dmjrabje  fooling '  they  all  are.  A  respecter  of  times  and  persons,,  ^p  adapts  hi"1' 
self  to  all  in  turn.  The  incoherent  jargon  with  which  he  tickles  the  ears  of  the  silly 
Sir  Andrew,  who  thinks  it  'the  best  fooling  when  all's  done,'  becomes  keen  and 
logical  satire  iu  his  colloquies  with  the  cultivated  Duke.  He  is  EW^™*  *  thnf  fanlpry 
'Atffi  walk  pbopt  the  orb,  like  tfoy  syn  •  it  shines  everywhere.'  and  this  truth  gives 
hirt)  a  Hjgh  regard  for  his  own  profession.  Fool  as  he  is,  he  '  wears  no  motley  in  his 
brain,'  but  is  a  serious,  thoughtful  man.  His  'practice  is  as  full  of  labour  as  a  wise 
man's  art.'  He  puts  forth  all  his  professional  ability  to  roast  Malvolio,  not  only 
because  between  them  there  is  the  natural  aversion  which  must  exist  between  the 
intolerant  and  the  all-tolerant,  but  more  particularly  hcrausp  Ma1Yoljo  sought  to  His, 
credit  him  and  his  vocation  with  his  mistress.  His  concluding  remark,  as  he  exults 
dver  the  mortified  steward,  '  thus  doth  the  whirligig  of  time  bring  in  his  revenges,' 
is  more  philosophic  than  would  befit  the  mouth  of  any  other  personage  in  the  play. 

C.  W.  HUTSON  (1875,  p.  480)  :  Feste's  versatility  and  his  reminiscences  of 
scholastic  training  make  one  suspect  that  he  must  have  been  educated  for  the 
Church  and  have  ruined  his  prospects  by  some  wild  prank.  .  .  .  (Page  489)  :  This 
sad  strain  ['Come  away,  come  away,  death,'  etc.],  sung  evidently  with  taste  and 
feeling  by  our  Feste,  to  please  the  Duke  so  well,  helps  to  point  us  to  the  real 
character  of  the  jester.  The  true  significance  of  the  great  dramatist's  putting  this 
wailing  dirge  into  the  Clown's  mouth  seems  to  me  to  be  that  he  wishes  to  indicate 
his  cqprrptl"ir,,r>f  the  Character  as  fogt  of  one  whose  culture  and  native  gifts  have^ 
both  been  overborne  by  some  imperious  and  ineradicable  foibles,  aided  by  the  force 
O^pirf ^stances.  Capacity  for  thought  .  .  .  and  capacity  for  sentiment,  siui  mani- 
fested  by  his  musical  ability  and  the  power  with  which  he  evidently  rendered  this 
song,  indicate  versatility  of  mind  and  character.  To  this  we  must  add  the  histrionic 
capacity  afterwards  shown  when  he  deceives  Malvolio  by  feigned  voice  and  style  into 
mistaking  him  for  the  Parson.  This  versatility  might  have  borne  better  fruit  than  the 
life  of  a  great  lady's  jester  but  for  the  large  developement  of  certain  lower  tastes 
and  passions,  which  one  cannot  help  noting  in  Feste,  and  also  the  opportune  opening 
for  him  in  the  new  profession,  when  his  lively  pranks  shut  him  off  from  the  clerical 
career  for  which  he  seems  to  have  been  originally  destined. 

JOHN  WEISS  (1876,  p.  198):  Of  all  Shakespeare's  clowns,  Feste  is  the  best 
endowed  with  a  many-sided  mirth,  as,  indeed,  he  should  be,  to  pass  lightly  through 
the  mingled  romance  and  roystering  of  the  play  and  favour  all  its  moods.     The.      A 
f  the  Duke  is  as  inebriated  as^the  revelling  which 


OH  via' s  protracted  grief  for  her  brother  is  as  carefully  cosseted  l>y  her.asjf_on  pur-        .. 

pose  to  fiive  the  Clown  an  opportunity. "  All  the  characters,  noble  anj-jr0"1"1"",       *^  ^  >  j£ 

have  some^  weakness  which  he  intuitively  r^]]j«»s-     The  charm  of  the  comedy  lies^ ._. 

in  these  unsubstantial  moods  ol  the  chief  personages  which  consort  with  the  more  IT   .-J- 

substantial  whims  and  appetites  of  the  others.     The  qnlv  sobriety  is  vested  in  the\f    I  VwrV- 
Clown  ;  for  all  his  fjaakft  1u<»i^  ft-corisjstent  disposition.     So  tEe  lovely  poetry  of  the 
ers.  alternates  with  the  tipsy  prose  of  the  genuine  fleshly  fellows.     Their_ 


hearty  caterwauling  penetrates  to  Olivia's  fond  seclusion,  and  breaks  up  her  brood- 
ing. Feste  is  everywhere  at  home.  When  he  plays  the  [part  of  Sir  Topas,  he 
replies  to  Sir  Toby's  congratulation],  'Nay,  I  am  for  all  waters,' — that  is,  for  topaz, 
diamond,  gems  of  the  first  water,  all  many-coloured  facets  I'll  reflect.  .  .  .  The 
Clown  is  not  only  quaint,  droll,  full  of  banter,  sly  with  sense,  like  clowns  in  the 


^ 


4o6  APPENDIX 

other  plays,  but  he  is  the  most  ebullient  with  spirits  of  them  all,  ready  for  the  next 
freak,  to  dissemble  himself  in  the  curate's  gown  and  carry  on  two  voices  with  Mal- 
volio  in  the  prison,  or  to  carouse  with  the  two  knights  till  daybreak,  and  delight 
them  with  manufacturing  burlesques.  .  .  .  (Page  202)  :  Though  Shakespeare  empties 
all  his  own  love  for  pure  fun  into  this  Clown,  he  makes  or  mm  the  only  <-nq!  anJt 
consistent  character  in  the_play7'a~nd  tTTus  conveys 

ority  oj\  an  observeTwTjo  fs  'wit,  humour,  repartee,  burlesquing,  ai  buffoonery  a.t 
commanoTior  none  but  wise  men  can  make  such  fools  of  -f,h,emsgijffi|,  Such  afane 
composition  Ts  apt  to  be  misunderstood  by  the  single-gifteoTano^prosaTC"  people  ;  but 
this  only  piques  the  bells  to  their  happiest  jingle  ;  and  a  man  is  never  more  con- 
vinced of  the  divine  origin  of  his  buffooning  talent  than  when  the  didactic  souls  reject 
it  as  heresy.  All  Shakespeare's  clowns  brandish  this  fine  bauble  ;  their  bells  swing 
in  a  Sabbath  air,  and  summon  us  to  a  service  of  wisdom.  Fe^e^Jj^sjy^jja^sjflnJe.  V  '  A- 

^ 


(pndle  and  no  chances  to  lie  in  wait  for  except  those  which  can  help  his  foolery  to  I/**-' " 

walk  over  everybody  like  the  sun.  Even  when  he  seems  to  be  wheedling  money 
out  of  the  Duke  and  Viola,  he  is  only  in  sport  with  the  weakness  which  purse-hold- 
ers have  to  fee,  to  conciliate,  to  enjoy  a  prospect  of  grandeur.  His 
sionate  temper  is  ugjjjjjy^j^jejf.  It  discerns 

'They  are  all  treated  with  amusing  impartiality.:  and  it  is  in  the  st 

^^•J^b^^^BMMM^M^M^^^MMHMM^BMBB^MI^MM^K^^^^^^^^^^^^^    ppB^^fc^l^MaMIBIIM^p^^^^^vr 

of  the  kosmos  itselfT^hjcJi_d^£SLJlQj-StandJJagaJwft  of  anybody.!   It  seems,  indeed,  as 

if  the  function  of  fool,  and  the  striking  toleration  which  has  always  invested  it,  was    £ —   P*  \s 

ck'veT6|je3  by 


tur£  for  protection  of  those  of  her  creatures 
to  be  damaged  by.Jt.  f  Not  for  shallow  amus 
boured  esters,  whcT  always  play  the  part  of  t 


flattery  and  liable  to  be  damaged  by  itTf  Not  for  shallow  amusement  have  rich  and 
titled  pprsons,  harboured  jesters,  whcT  always  play  the  part  of  the  slave  of  Pyrrhus, 
at  proper  intervals  to  remiad  them  that  they  are  mortal..  >lAlljnensecretlv  prefer  to 
know  the  truth"  but  the  pampered  people  cannot  bear  to  sit  in  the  full  draught  of  H- 
Its  benefit  must,  however,  be  in  some  way  conveyed  to  them,  Bluff  Kent  js  ban- 
ished for  saying  to  Lear,  in  plainest  Saxon,  what  the  Fool  kept  insinuating  with 
impunity.  Therefore  no  genuine  court  has  been  complete  without  its^ooj.  .  .  . 
Feste  bandies  words  with  Viola  and  makes  her  submit  to  delicate  insolences ;  her 
distinguishecTatr  "cannot  abate  him.  He  pretends  to  wish  to  be  convinced  by  Mal- 
volio  fliat  the  latter  is  sane,  but  concludes  that  he  will  never  believe  a  madman-ti^l 
be t  can  see  bis  brains.  Feste  keeps  his  own  head  on  a  level  keel  as  the  sparkling 
ripplps  of  hi.s.  drollery  go  by.  ShakcSDejU!cAi»_illtejltipJl-JS_J^llSjicjiDJlS_ill_him_tQ. 

of  their  creator. 


AGUECHEEK 

LAMB  (1823?,  ii,  373)  :  Few  now  remember  Dodd.  What  an  Aguecheek  the 
stage  lost  in  him !  Lovegrove,  who  came  nearest  to  the  old  actors,  revived  the 
character  some  few  seasons  ago,  and  made  it  sufficiently  grotesque  ;  but  Dodd  was 
it,  as  it  came  out  of  Nature's  hands.  It  might  be  said  to  remain  in puris  naturali- 
bus.  In  expressing  slowness  of  apprehension,  this  actor  surpassed  all  others.  You 
could  see  the  first  dawn  of  an  idea  stealing  slowly  over  his  countenance,  climbing  up 
by  little  and  little,  with  a  painful  process,  till  it  cleared  up  at  last  to  the  fulness  of  a 
twilight  conception, — its  highest  meridian.  He  seemed  to  keep  back  his  intellect, 
as  some  have  had  the  power  to  retard  their  pulsation.  The  balloon  takes  less  time 
in  filling  than  it  took  to  cover  the  expansion  of  his  broad  moony  face  over  all  its 


LATER  PERFORMANCES  407 

quarters  with  expression.  A  glimmer  of  understanding  would  appear  in  a  corner  of 
his  eye,  and  for  lack  of  fuel  go  out  again.  A  part  of  his  forehead  would  catch  a 
little  intelligence,  and  be  a  long  time  in  communicating  it  to  the  remainder. 


LATER  PERFORMANCES 

HALLIWELL  (  Works,  1857,  vii,  246) :  Twelfth  Night,  the  perfection  of  English 
comedy,  and  the  most  fascinating  drama  in  the  language,  could  not  have  failed  in 
success  as  an  acting  play,  and  there  is  sufficient  evidence  to  show  that  it  was  appre- 
ciated at  an  early  period  as  one  of  the  author's  most  popular  creations.  There  is  not 
only  the  testimony  of  Manningham  in  its  favour,  . .  .  but  Leonard  Digges,  in  the 
verses  describing  the  most  attractive  of  Shakespeare's  acting  dramas,  expressly 
alludes  to  the  estimation  in  which  the  character  of  Malvolio  was  held  by  the  fre- 
quenters of  the  theatre : — '  The  cock-pit,  galleries,  boxes,  all  are  full,  To  hear 
Malvolio,  that  cross-garter' d  gull.'*  Nor  was  Twelfth  Night  held  in  less  esteem 
by  the  sovereign  and  the  court.  It  was  performed  before  James  I.  long  after  there 
had  ceased  to  be  any  attraction  from  its  novelty,  as  appears  from  the  following  entry 
in  a  MS  preserved  at  the  Audit  Office  : — '  To  John  Heminges,  etc.,  upon  a  warrant 
dated  20  April,  1618,  for  presenting  two  severall  playes  before  his  Majesty,  on 
Easter  Monday,  Twelfte  Night,  the  play  soe  called,  and  on  Easter  Tuesday,  the 
Winters  Tale,  xx.  7i.'  A  few  years  afterwards,  it  seems  to  have  been  acted  under 
the  title  of  Malvolio  : — 'At  Candlemas,  Malvolio  was  acted  at  court  by  the  King's 
servants,' — Herbert's  Diary,  1622-3.  Twelfth  Night  was  also  occasionally  acted 
after  the  Restoration  of  Charles  II.  ...  Charles  Burnaby,  in  the  preface  to  his 
comedy  entitled,  Love  Betray' d,  or  the  Agreeable  Disappointment,  Lond.  1703, 
asserts  that  he  has  taken  part  of  the  tale,  and  about  fifty  lines,  from  Shakespeare's 
Twelfth  Night.  These  obligations  are  so  trifling,  Burnaby' s  comedy  can  scarcely 
be  admitted  into  the  list  of  Shakespearian  alterations,  but  it  is  curious  as  an  evi- 
dence of  the  liberty  permitted  in  those  days  to  be  taken  with  the  works  of  the  great 
dramatist. 

GENEST  records  fifteen  or  sixteen  revivals  of  Twelfth  Night  between  1663  and 
1813,  but  gives  no  more  than  the  names  of  the  actors.  In  November,  1820,  it  was 
acted  at  Covent  Garden  seventeen  times,  'degraded,'  says  Genest  (ix,  99),  'to  an 
opera';  '  it  was  a  wretched  piece  of  business,'  he  adds,  'but  as  it  is  not  printed,  it 
is  impossible  to  point  out  the  quantum  of  its  demerits.' 

*  These  lines  are  to.  be  found  in  some  Commendatory  verses  prefixed  to  the  Poems 
Written  by  Wil.  Shakes-peare.  Gent.  1640.  Immediately  preceding  the  two  lines 
quoted  above  by  Halliwell,  we  find,  '  let  but  Beatrice  And  Benedicke  be  scene,  loe 
in  a  trice';  then  follows,  'The  Cockpit,  Galleries,  Boxes,  all  are  full,  To  heare 
Maluoglio  that  crosse  garter'd  Gull.'  The  line,  'The  Cockpit,  Galleries,  Boxes, 
all  are  full,'  appears  to  be  amphibious  ;  it  applies  both  to  Beatrice  and  Benedicke, 
and  to  Malvolio. — ED. 


408  APPENDIX 

COSTUME,  ETC. 

In  LUDWIG  TlECK's  Novel,  Der  junge  Tischlermeister,  the  Baron  Elsheim 
devises  a  performance  of  Twelfth  Night  at  his  castle  as  a  festivity  for  his  mother's 
birthday.  The  play  is  analysed  scene  by  scene,  and  descriptions  given  of  the 
costumes.  Especial  importance  is  attached  to  the  construction  of  the  stage,  which 
has  greater  length  than  depth,  and  whereof  a  main  feature  is  two  short  flights  of 
steps,  one  on  each  side,  leading  to  an  upper,  inner,  and  smaller  stage.  The  acting 
of  the  amateurs  is  duly  depicted,  and  the  whole  novel  is  entertaining,  but  written  as 
it  was  in  1836,  and  as  a  protest  against  the  French  theatre  then  in  fashion,  there  is 
nothing  in  it  which  I  have  deemed  necessary,  in  these  days  of  scenic  splendour 
and  of  antiquarian  fidelity,  to  transfer  to  these  pages.  It  is  sufficient  to  call  the 
student's  attention  to  it  as  a  story  very  well  worth  reading  for  its  own  sake. 

KNIGHT  :  Twelfth  Night  is  amongst  the  most  perplexing  of  Shakspere's  plays  to 
the  sticklers  for  accuracy  of  costume.  The  period  of  action  is  undefined.  The  scene 
is  laid  in  Illyria,  whilst  the  names  of  the  Dramatis  Persona  are  a  mixture  of  Span- 
ish, Italian,  and  English.  The  best  mode  of  reconciling  the  discrepancies  arising 
from  so  many  conflicting  circumstances  appears  to  be  the  assumption,  first,  that  Duke 
Orsino  is  a  Venetian  governor  of  that  portion  of  Dalmatia  which  was  all  of  the 
ancient  Illyria  remaining  under  the  dominion  of  the  republic  at  the  commencement 
of  the  seventeenth  century,  and  that  his  attendants,  Valentine,  Curio,  etc.,  as  well 
as  Olivia,  Malvolio,  and  Maria,  are  also  Venetians ;  and,  secondly,  that  Sir  Toby 
and  Sir  Andrew  are  English  residents  ;  the  former  a  maternal  uncle  to  Olivia, — her 
father,  a  Venetian  Count,  having  married  Sir  Toby's  sister.  If  this  be  allowed, 
and  there  is  nothing  that  we  can  perceive  in  the  play  to  prevent  it,  there  is  no 
impropriety  in  dressing  the  above-named  characters  in  the  Venetian  and  English 
costume  of  Shakspere's  own  time,  and  the  two  sea-captains  and  Sebastian  in  the 
very  picturesque  habits  of  '  Chimariot,  Illyrian,  and  dark  Suliote.'  Viola  might, 
therefore,  by  assuming  the  national  male  dress,  be  more  readily  mistaken  for  her 
brother,  as  it  is  absurd  to  suppose  that  she  could  otherwise,  by  accident,  light  upon 
a  fac-simile  of  the  suit  he  appears  in  ;  and  any  manifest  difference,  either  in  form 
or  colour,  would  tend  to  destroy  the  illusion.  We  leave  the  decision,  however,  to 
our  readers,  at  the  same  time  referring  those  who  think  with  us  to  our  [remarks  on 
Costume  in]  The  Merchant  of  Venice  [pp.  386,  et  seq.  in  this  Ed.]  and  Othello 
[pp.  405,  et  seq.  ib.~\  for  the  Venetian  and  English  costume  of  the  commencement 
of  the  seventeenth  century,  and  confine  our  pictorial  illustrations  to  the  dress  of  a 
woman  of  Mitylene  from  the  Habiti  Antiche  e  Moderni  of  Csesare  Vecellio.  The 
embroidered  jacket  and  greaves,  '  the  snowy  camisa  and  the  shaggy  capote '  of  the 
Greek  captains  have  become  almost  as  familiar  to  our  sight  as  a  frock-coat,  Welling- 
ton boots,  and  trousers. 

EDWARD  W.  GODWIN,  F.  S.  A.  (  The  Architect,  24  April,  1875)  :  Although  the 
action  of  Twelfth  Night  is  described  as  taking  place  in  a  city  of  '  Illyria,'  there  are 
but  few  words  in  the  text  which  give  anything  like  a  Dalmatian  complexion.  If  we 
accept  Illyria,  we  have  a  city  or  sea-port  of  the  Venetian  Republic,  under  the  local 
government  of  a  duke.  Two  passages, — one  referring  to  the  arrest  of  Antonio,  the 
other  to  the  Count's  galleys  and  a  sea-fight  in  which  they  were  engaged,--  are  almost 
the  only  things,  apart  from  the  proper  names,  which  could  interfere  with  the  action 


COSTUME,  ETC.  409 

if  we  preferred  to  remove  it  to  England,  for  the  spirit  of  this  play  as  compared  with 
the  other  Italian  plays  is  thoroughly  English.  The  time  of  the  action  is  that  of  the 
production  of  the  work,  between  1598  and  1 602.  There  are  in  all,  eighteen  scenes, 
including  four  in  Olivia's  garden  and  two  at  the  sea-coast;  this  reduces  the  archi- 
tectural scenes  to  twelve,  from  which,  setting  aside  the  repetitions,  we  have  : — I.  An 
interior  in  the  COUNT'S  palace.  2.  An  interior  in  OLIVIA'S  house.  3.  A  street 
before  OLIVIA'S  house.  4.  Another  street.  It  is  quite  possible  to  treat  this  play 
for  the  modern  stage  as  I  have  already  treated  some  others,— that  is  to  say,  dividing 
it  into  acts,  each  containing  one  set  scene,  as  thus  : — 

Act      I.  OLIVIA'S  house, — an  interior.    (I,  iii,  v;  II,  iii.) 

Act    II.  The  Count  ORSINO'S  palace,— an  interior.    (II,  ii,  iv.) 

Act  III.  OLIVIA'S  house, — exterior  and  garden,  with  a  garden-house.    (II,  v; 

III,  i,  ii,  iv  ;  IV,  ii. ) 
Act  IV.  The  street  before  OLIVIA'S  house.    (IV,  i,  iii ;  V.) 

The  sea-coast  scenes  and  those  in  the  COUNT'S  palace,  not  here  included,  may 
be  described,  so  far  as  they  relate  to  the  plot,  either  by  the  characters  or  in  a  pro- 
logue, or  the  coast  scenes  may  be  retained  in  their  entirety  where  there  is  a  good 
proscenium,  and  acted  before  the  curtain  or  act-drop,  which  should  then,  of  course, 
be  painted  for  the  purpose. 

The  architecture  of  the  palace  of  Orsino  and  of  Olivia's  house  may  be  Renais- 
sance or  Gothic  or  both.  We  have  no  special  locality  or  town  to  consider,  and, 
therefore,  we  cannot  strictly  follow  any  old  examples.  Our  business  in  Twelfth  Night 
is  to  compose  or  design  the  architecture  in  harmony  with  that  which  obtained  in  a 
Venetian  town  on  the  eastern  coast  of  the  Adriatic  about  the  year  1600.  This  is  the 
work  of  an  architect  as  well  as  of  an  antiquary,  and  there  are  various  ways  of  doing 
it ;  but  there  is  more  than  this,  for  in  planning  the  scenes  it  is  necessary  that  the 
architect  should  understand  something  of  the  requirements  of  the  stage,  and  of  the 
business  of  the  action,  or  the  best  design  in  the  world  may  result  in  failure.  Stage 
management,  or  the  '  business,'  as  it  is  technically  called,  is  one  of  the  colours  on 
which  the  dramatic  picture  depends  ;  scenery  is  another  ;  costume  another  ;  and  the 
choicest  tints,  the  high  lights,  the  jewels  of  the  picture  are  to  be  found, — or  should 
be  found, — in  the  expression  of  the  actor's  voice,  face,  and  figure.  But  the  whole 
batch  of  colours  and  tints  must  be  as  one  in  their  treatment,  if  we  wish  to  see  a  play 
rendered  fitly.  For  one  man  to  design  an  interior  for  Olivia's  house  with  no  control 
of  or  understanding  as  to  the  stage  management ;  another  to  arrange  the  business 
of  the  action  in  total  ignorace  of  the  inner  arrangement  of  an  Italian  mansion,  or 
of  the  uses  of  its  several  parts  ;  for  one  to  paint  the  walls  knowing  nothing  of  the 
colours  of  the  costume  ;  another  to  design  the  dresses  utterly  indifferent  to  the  col- 
ours of  his  background  ;  are  the  happy-go-lucky  processes  usually  employed  on  the 
English  stage,  and  any  success  that  may  result  from  the  adoption  of  such  ways  and 
means  must  necessarily  be  of  the  nature  of  a  fluke.  If  we  really  want  to  progress 
in  these  matters,  the  first  step  is  to  accept  the  dictum  of  Macready : — No  actor 
should  be  a  manager.  This  strikes  at  the  very  root  of  the  compound  system  of 
ignorance,  mystery,  envy,  and  egotism  under  which  the  dramatic  and  histrionic  arts 
languish,  flickering  up  now  and  then  by  the  special  help  of  some  exceptional  indi- 
vidual with,  I  will  not  say  false,  but  misleading  brightness. 

The  Costume  need  not  detain  us  long.     VECF.LLIO  will  still  be  a  faithful  servant 
to  us  if  we  only  treat  him  properly.     The  text,  too,  refer*  to  a  number  cf  interesting 


APPENDIX 

details.  We  are  told  that  Sir  Toby  is  dressed  in  a  rough  country  style,  having  on 
his  feet  strapped  boots,  and  Sir  Andrew  has  a  weakness  for  dark  crimson  (damask) 
stockings.  In  I,  v,  we  see  one  of  the  uses  of  the  lady's  veil  which  occurs  so 
frequently  in  the  illustrations  of  Vecellio.  The  steward  Malvolio  has  a  gold  or 
silver-gilt  chain,  a  'branched  velvet'  gown  (i.e.  one  with  a  broad  branch  pattern), 
a  watch,  rich  jewels,  and  yellow  stockings  cross-gartered,  although  in  the  beginning 
of  the  action  his  stockings,  trunk  hose,  and  doublet  would  probably  have  been 
black.  Besides  this,  we  have  a  doublet  of  changeable  taffeta,  cheveril  or  kid 
gloves,  and  miniature  portraits  worn  as  jewels. 

WlLH.  BOLIN  (Jahrbuch  d.  d.  Sh.-Gesellschaft,  1889,  xxiv,  151):  We  divide 
Twelfth  Night  into  four  Acts,  whereof  only  the  second  demands  a  change  of  scene. 
Our  first  Act  lies  at  the  edge  of  a  grove  near  the  castle  of  Olivia ;  the  other  three  are 
in  her  garden,  which  is  converted  only  once  into  a  room  at  the  Duke's.  .  .  .  Malvolio 
is  locked  up  in  a  cellar  of  the  castle,  with  a  cellar-window  open  to  the  garden. 

E.  K[ILIAN?]  (Jahrbuch  d.  d.  Sh.-Gesellschaft,  1894,  xxix,  xxx,  288):  The 
scenic  arrangements  were  greatly  simplified  at  the  performances  at  Carlsruh  in  1893, 
inasmuch  as  Olivia's  garden  was  so  arranged  that  it  served  for  the  performance  of 
the  whole  first  Act.  It  represented  a  park  in  front  of  Olivia's  villa  ;  this  park  bor- 
dered on  the  public  highway  (from  lower  left  to  upper  right)  which  led  from  the  sea- 
coast  to  the  town.  On  the  left  Olivia's  mansion  extended  obliquely  into  the  stage. 
From  an  open  gallery  in  the  first  story,  two  flights  of  steps,  one  on  each  side,  led 
down  into  the  garden.  Between  these  flights  of  steps,  under  the  gallery,  there  was 
the  entrance  to  a  cellar-like  apartment,  wherein  in  the  fourth  Act  Malvolio  was  con- 
fined. On  the  right,  opposite  to  the  mansion,  there  was  a  slight  elevation,  on  which 
stood  a  marble  table,  surrounded  with  shrubbery  and  statues ;  here  Sir  Toby  and 
Sir  Andrew  were  convivial ;  on  the  left,  in  front,  screened  by  the  front  of  the  man- 
sion, was  a  quiet,  retired  little  spot  adapted  to  the  scene  between  Viola  and  Olivia. 
Through  the  trees  of  the  park  was  a  distant  view  of  the  sea. 

The  first  four  scenes  of  the  first  Act  are  played  consecutively  on  this  stage,  as  is 
likewise  done  by  the  Meiningen  troup.  But  Valentine's  words  at  the  opening  of  the 
fourth  scene,  where  he  says,  '  he  hath  known  you  but  three  days,'  etc.,  have  to  be 
changed  into  '  He  hardly  knows  you,  and  already  you  are  no  stranger.'  It  is  self- 
evident  that  the  opening  scene  of  the  play  is  to  be  accepted  as  a  serenade  by  the 
duke  before  the  windows  of  his  mistress.  On  this  stage  the  fifth  scene  of  the  first 
Act,  as  has  been  said,  can  be  also  played  without  further  change.  At  the  conclu- 
sion of  the  fourth  scene  Viola  goes  up  the  steps  into  the  house,  the  duke  makes  his 
exit  on  the  right.  Maria  and  Feste  advance  from  left  lower  entrance  ;  then  Olivia 
and  Malvolio,  returning  from  a  walk  in  the  garden,  advance  from  the  back.  When 
Maria  reappears  to  announce  Viola's  visit,  she  descends  the  steps  from  the  house. 
It  is  assumed  that  Viola  has  been  told  to  await  in  the  house  Olivia's  return  from  a 
walk  in  the  park.  Maria's  first  words  must  be  slightly  changed  :  '  Madam,  there  is 
in  the  house  a  young  gentleman,'  etc.  In  the  same  way  Sir  Toby's  and  Malvolio's 
references  to  '  the  gate '  must  be  suitably  changed. 

The  second  Act  opens  with  the  same  stage  by  moonlight  and  begins  with  the 
carouse  of  the  two  Squires  \sic\  and  the  Clown.  Then  for  the  fourth  scene  it  is 
changed  to  a  room  in  Orsino's  palace.  Viola's  monologue  (II,  ii)  is  introduced  at 
the  opening  of  this  scene,  in  accordance  with  OECHELHAUSER'S  suggestion  ;  apart 


COSTUME,  ETC.  4II 

from  other  grounds,  this  monologue  is  much  more  appropriate  and  excites  more 
sympathy  when  delivered  under  these  circumstances  than  if  it  were  spoken  in  the 
street.  The  song  '  Come  away,  come  away,  death '  is  sung  by  Viola,  who,  in  this 
scene,  is  most  properly  alone  with  the  duke.  The  following  scene  with  Malvolio, 
with  which  the  Act  closes,  is  again  in  Olivia's  park. 

This  same  stage-setting  remains  unchanged  in  the  last  three  Acts.  The  fifth  Act 
has  some  slight  changes  in  order  to  bring  it  in  accord  with  the  final  scene.  As  sug- 
gested by  OECHELHXUSER,  whose  exposition  in  reference  hereto  merits  unqualified 
assent,  Viola  hastens  from  the  stage  when  the  duke  has  expressed  the  wish  to  see 
her  in  her  maiden  weeds,  in  order  to  reappear  just  before  the  close  in  her  own  gar- 
ments. The  play  then  ends  with  the  oaths  of  fidelity  between  Orsino  and  Viola, 
which  have  been  transposed  so  as  to  be  very  last. 

THE  following  are  the  Costumes  of  some  of  the  principal  characters,  selected 
from  a  list  of  twenty-two,  embracing  every  character  in  the  play,  set  forth  in  Shake- 
spearian Costumes.  With  Illustrations  of  the  whole  of  the  Characters  in  each  Play, 
in  correct  costume,  compiled  from  authentic  Sources,  as  given  by  Montfaucon,  Royal  1 
MSS,  Holbein,  Zuccaro,  Strutt,  etc.  Drawn  by  Robert  L.  Boocke,  London,  Samuel 
Miller,  1889  :— 

ORSINO. — Doublet  made  in  white  brocaded  and  crimson  brocaded  silk,  fitting 
close  to  the  figure ;  to  which  is  joined  a  full  skirt  made  in  white  silk,  trimmed  with 
a  band  of  crimson  and  gold  brocaded  silk.  Puffed  sleeves.  Surtout  of  blue  satin 
brocaded  with  gold,  made  with  full  puffed  half-sleeves,  and  ornamented  with  a  deep 
collar  and  broad  facings  of  ermine.  Lace  ruffle  round  the  neck.  Orders  and  badges. 
Jewelled  sword-belt.  Slash  trunks.  Silk  tights.  Blue  satin  shoes. 

SEBASTIAN. — Vest  of  amber  silk  richly  embroidered  with  gold,  double  breasted 
and  wrapped  round  the  waist  by  a  sash  of  crimson  silk  ;  over  which  is  a  jewelled 
belt.  Slashed  sleeves,  showing  the  under-sleeves  of  white  cambric.  Short  Greek 
jacket  of  blue  velvet,  embroidered  with  gold  and  silver  thread,  and  trimmed  with 
epaulets.  White  cambric  or  satin  knickerbockers.  Silk  stockings.  Greaves  of 
crimson  silk  embroidered  with  gold.  Shoes.  Red  cloth  fez. 

VIOLA. — As  Cesario  (Second  Dress)  :  Doublet  of  pink  silk,  trimmed  with  a 
basque,  cut  in  tabs  and  ornamented  with  braces  of  blue  silk.  Full  sleeves, 
slashed  blue  and  pink,  and  trimmed  with  an  epaulet.  Pink  silk  short  cloak,  lined 
with  blue.  Pink  silk  trunks.  Blue  silk  tights.  Low  shoes.  Sugar-loaf  hat,  trimmed 
with  a  feather.  Sword.  NOTE. — According  to  some  authors,  Viola,  being  the 
sister  of  Sebastian,  would  assume  her  brother's  dress  in  her  disguise.  Therefore,  if 
Viola  wears  this  costume,  Sebastian  must  also  wear  it. 

VlOLA  (First  Dress). — Dress  of  puce  coloured  silk,  made  with  a  pointed  body, 
open  V-shape  at  the  neck,  and  trimmed  with  revers.  Holbein  sleeves,  lined  with 
cream  silk,  open,  and  showing  full  under-sleeves  of  cream  silk.  Lace  ruffle.  Full 
skirt,  forming  a  demi-train.  Low  hat,  forming  a  point  in  front,  and  trimmed  with 
an  ostrich-tip  plume. 

OLIVIA. — Train  dress  in  black  velvet  or  silk.  The  skirt  is  full,  pleated  in  at  the 
waist,  and  forms  a  demi-train.  Pointed  body,  cut  low  at  the  neck,  and  trimmed 
with  a  Medicis  collar.  Tight-fitting  sleeves,  with  short  hanging  sleeves,  loose  from 
the  shoulder.  Jewelled  girdle.  Large  lace  veil. 

MARIA. — Costume  in  two  shades  of  cashmere.  High  body,  cut  open  at  the 
neck,  trimmed  with  a  high  linen  collar,  and  ornamented  with  a  plastron,  laced. 


412 


APPENDIX 


Puffed  basque.  Coat  sleeves,  trimmed  with  puffed  epaulets.  Short  full  skirt. 
White  muslin  apron.  Stockings  to  match  the  dress.  Low  pointed  shoes,  orna- 
mented with  ribbon  bows. 

SIR  TOBY  BELCH. — Leather  jerkin,  fastened  round  the  waist  with  a  belt.  Sur- 
tout  of  brown  cloth,  made  with  full  short  sleeves  of  blue  and  brown  cloth,  and 
under-sleeves  of  brown.  Slashed  trunks  of  blue  and  brown  cloth.  Russet  brown 
silk  tights.  Lace  ruffle.  High  boots. 

SIR  ANDREW  AGUECHEEK. — Pointed  doublet  of  blue  silk,  slashed  with  white, 
made  with  full  sleeves  trimmed  with  puffed  epaulets.  Short  cape  in  amber  brocaded 
satin,  lined  with  white  silk.  Slasked  trunks  in  pink  and  blue  silk,  tied  to  the 
doublet  with  silk  bows.  Pink  silk  tights  tied  over  the  knee  with  silk  garters.  Low 
shoes.  Silk  hat  trimmed  with  a  plume. 

MALVOLIO. — Doublet  of  light  brown  silk,  quilted  or  latticed  with  gold  braid. 
Pink  silk  sleeves,  puffed  at  the  shoulder,  and  slashed  with  brown.  Trunks  slashed 
to  match.  Brown  silk  tights,  cross-gartered.  Lace  ruffle  and  cuffs.  Low  shoes. 


TIME  ANALYSIS 

P.  A.  DANIEL  (New  Skaksfere  Soc.  Trans.,  1877-9,  P-  *73)  •  DAY  I.  Act  I,  I. 
introduces  us  to  Orsino  and  his  love-suit  to  Olivia.  Scene  ii.  Viola,  who  has  been 
quite  recently  rescued  from  shipwreck,  resolves  to  enter  the  Duke's  service,  dis- 
guised as  a  boy.  Scene  iii.  makes  us  acquainted  with  Sir  Toby,  Sir  Andrew,  and 
Maria.  These  scenes  may  all  be  supposed  to  take  place  on  one  and  the  same  day. 

An  interval  of  three  days. 

DAY  2.  Act  I,  iv.  Viola  as  Cesario  is  already  in  high  favour  with  the  Duke. 
« He  hath  known  you,'  says  Valentine,  '  but  three  days,  and  already  you  are  no 
stranger.'  This  speech  marks  an  interval  of  three  days  between  this  and  the  pre- 
ceding scenes.  Scene  v.  At  Olivia's  house.  Olivia  requests  Cesario  to  come  again 
to-morrow.  Act  II,  i.  Sebastian  arrives,  and,  from  his  speeches,  we  judge  that  he  is 
still  in  the  first  agony  of  his  grief  for  the  loss  of  his  sister.  Scene  ii.  Malvolio 
delivers  the  ring.  Scene  iii.  Sir  Toby,  Sir  Andrew,  and  Feste  carouse.  Maria  per- 
suades Sir  Toby  'to  be  patient  for  to-night,'  for  'since  the  youth  of  the  Count's 
was  to-day  with  my  lady,  she  is  much  out  of  quiet.'  So  ends  Day  No.  2,  Sir  Toby 
retiring  to  burn  some  sack  ;  for  '  'tis  too  late  to  go  to  bed  now.' 

DAY  3.  From  this  point  to  the  end  of  the  play  all  is  but  matter  for  one  May 
morning. 

The  time  represented  by  this  Play  is  three  days,  with  an  interval  of  three  days 
between  the  first  and  second. 

DAY  I.  Act  I,  i-iii. 

Interval  of  three  days. 
"     2.  Act  I,  iv  and  v  ;  Act  II,  i-iii. 
"     3.  Act  II,  iv  and  v  ;  Acts  III,  IV,  and  V. 

There  remains  to  notice  in  Act  V.  a  statement  inconsistent  with  the  plot  of  the 
Play  as  revealed  in  the  previous  scenes.  Viola  and  Sebastian  both  suffered  the  same 


SUNDRY  TRANSLATIONS  413 

shipwreck,  and  when  they  arrive  in  Illyria  it  is  evident  that  but  very  few  days  can  have 
elapsed  since  their  escape.  Yet,  when  Antonio  is  brought  before  the  Duke  in  Act 
V,  he  asserts  that  Sebastian  has  been  in  his  company  for  three  months.  It  might 
indeed  be  said  that  this  inconsistency  is  merely  imaginary,  and  is  founded  on  too 
strict  an  interpretation  of  the  dialogue  in  Act  I,  ii,  and  Act  II,  i ;  but  the  Duke 
makes  a  similar  assertion  with  regard  to  Viola,  '  Three  months  this  youth  hath  tended 
upon  me.'  And  this  is  in  absolute  contradiction  to  Valentine's  speech  on  the  second 
day  of  the  action  (I,  iv),  where  he  says  that  the  Duke  'hath  known  you  [Viola] 
but  three  days.1 


SUNDRY  TRANSLATIONS  OF 
'  Come  away,  come  away  death,1  etc. — II,  iv,  60. 
J.  J.  ESCHENBURG  (Strasburg,  1778)  :— 

Korom  hinweg,  komm  hinweg,  Tod, 
In  dunkle  Cypressen  verschleuss  mich  ! 
Flieh  hinweg,  flieh  hinweg,  Hauch, 

Ein  grausames  Msidchen  erwiirgt  mich. 
Mein  Leichentuch,  mit  Laub  besteckt, 

Bereitet ! 

Die  Liebe  hat  zur  Bahre  mich 
Geleitet. 

Keine  Blum',  o  !  keine  Blum'  streu 

Je  Wohlgeruch  auf  meinen  Sarg  hin  ! 
Nicht  ein  Freund,  nicht  ein  Freund  geh 

Hin  zu  meinem  Leichnam,  und  klag'  ihn  ! 
Begrabt  mich,  tausendfalt'gen  Schmerz 

Zu  sparen, 

Hin,  wo  Verliebte  nichts  von  mir 
Erfahren. 

JOHANN  HEINRICH  Voss  (Leipzig,  1818) : — 

Komm  hinweg,  komm  hinweg,  Tod  ! 
Mit  traurigem  Schleier  umlegt  mich  ! 

Flieh  im  Hauch,  flieh  im  Hauch,  Noth  J 
Ein  grausames  Madchen  erschlagt  mich  J 
Im  weissen  Tuch  voll  Immergrun 

Denkt  meiner. 

Ob  mancher  starb,  so  treu  dahin 
Schied  keiner. 

Keine  Blum,  keine  Blum  suss, 
Streut  mir  auf  den  Hunkelen  Sarg  hin  ! 

Kein  Gesell,  kein  Gesell  griiss' 
Ach  Staub  mir,  wo  Erde  verbarg  ihn. 


414 


APPENDIX 

Zu  sparen  so  viel  tausend  Schmerz, 
Leg,  Freund,  mich 

Geheim,  wo  kein  treuliebend  Herz 
Beweint  mich. 


J.  G.  V.  HERDER  (1826,  Shakespear- Museum,  p.  79)  : — 

Susser  Tod,  siisser  Tod,  komm, 

Komm,  senk  mich  nieder  ins  kiihle  Grab ! 
Brich,  o  Herz,  brich,  o  Herz  fromm, 

Stirb  fromm  der  siissen  Tyrannin  ab  ! 
Mein  Gruftgewand  schneeweiss  und  rein, 

Legt  es  fertig ! 

Kein  Braiit'gam  hiillte  je  sich  drein 
So  frohlich. 

Keine  Blum',  keine  Blum'  suss 

Sollt  ihr  auf'n  schwarzen  Sarg  mir  strean  ! 
Keine  Tran',  keine  Tr5n'  fliess', 

Wo  sanft  wird  ruhn  mein  Totenbein  ! 
Ach  tausend,  tausend  Seufzer  schwer— 

Nein — ihr  Meinen, 
Legt  bin  mich,  wo  kein  Liebender 
Kommt  weinen. 

AUGUST  WlLHELM  VON  SCHLEGEL  (Berlin,  1826)  : — 

Komm  herbey,  komm  herbey,  Tod  ! 
Und  versenk'  in  Cypressen  den  Leib. 

Lass  mich  frey,  lass  mich  frey,  Noth  I 
Mich  erschlagt  ein  holdseliges  Weib. 
Mit  Rosmarin  mein  Leichenhemd, 

O  bestellt  es ! 

Ob  Lieb  ans  Herz  mir  todlich  kommt, 
Treu'  halt  es. 

Keine  Blum',  keine  Blum'  suss 
Sey  gestreut  auf  den  schwarzlichen  Sarg. 

Keine  Seel',  keine  Seel',  griiss' 
Mein  Gebein,  wo  die  Erd'  es  verbarg. 
Und  Ach  und  Weh  zu  wenden  ab, 

Bergt  alleine 

Mich,  wo  kein  Treuer  wall'  ans  Grab, 
Und  weine. 

FRANZ  DINGELSTEDT  (Hildburghausen,  1868)  :— 

ErlSs  mich,  Tod,  von  meiner  Pein 
Und  bett'  mich  in  Cypressen  ! 

Mich  schlagt  die  Herzallerliebste  mein, 
Dieweil  sie  mich  vergessen. 


SUNDRY  TRANSLATIONS  415 

Mit  Rosmarin  mein  Grab  bestreu', 

Darin  ich  lieg'  in  Frieden  ; 
Kein  Liebender  ist  je  so  treu 
Geschieden ! 

Meinen  Sarg  kein  Kranzlein  zieren  soil, 

Nicht  zu  Haupten,  noch  zu  Fiissen  ; 
Kein  Freund,  kein  Freund  soil  trauervoll 

Die  kalte  Asche  griissen. 
Und  dass  mir  Niemand  folgen  thu', 

Wenn  ich  bestattet  werde  ; 
Mein  schweres  Leid  deckt  schweigend  zu 
Die  Erde ! 

OTTO  GILDEMEISTER  (Leipzig,  1869)  : — 

Komm  rait,  O  Tod,  komm  mit  zur  Gruft, 
Und  Trauerkrepp  legt  auf  den  Schragen  ! 
men,  Lebensluft,  flieh,  Lebensluft ! 
Ein'  sch5ne  Jungfrau  hat  mich  erschlagen. 
Mein  Leichenhemd  mit  Eiben  dran, 
O,  lasst  es  kommen  ; 
Nie  hat  ein  so  getreuer  Mann 
Den  Tod  genommen. 

Keine  Blume  nicht,  keine  Blume  siiss 
Streut  mir  auf  meine  schwarze  Decke  ! 
Kein  Freund  auch  nicht,  kein  Freund  begriiss' 
Mein'  arme  Leich'  an  der  Kirchhofsecke. 
Um  tausend,  tausend  Seufzer  zu  sparen, 
Versenkt  mich  alleine, 
Dass  kein  Verliebter  mein  Grab  gewahre 
Und  um  rnich  weine  ! 

L.  VON  KOBELL  (Deutsche  Revue,  Berlin,  June,  1892) : — 
Komm'  herbei,  komm'  herbei,  Tod, 
Belt'  im  Cypressenschrein  den  Leib, 
Flieh',  Atem,  flieh'  meine  Not, 
Mir  brach  das  Herz  ein  schSnes  Weib. 
Mein  Leichentuch  schafft  schnell  herbei, 
Weiss  wie  Schnee, 
Das  Einzige,  das  mir  bleibt  treu, 
Das  teilt  mein  Weh  ! 

Keine  Blum',  keine  Blum'  siiss, 

Sei  mir  gestreut  auf  den  Sarg, 

Kein  Freund,  kein  Freund  griiss', 

Wo  die  Erde  mich  barg. 

Viel  tausend  Seufzer  zu  wenden  ab, 

Legt  mich  alleine, 

Dass  kein  Treuliebender  auf  meinem  Grac 

Mitleidig  weine. 


4I6  APPENDIX 

M.  LE  TOURNEUR  (Paris,  1783)  :  — 

Viens,  6  mort,  viens  ; 
Qu'on  me  couche  sous  un  triste  Cypres ; 
Fuis,  eteins-toi,  souffle  de  ma  vie. 
Une  beaute  cruelle  m'a  donne  la  mort. 
Semez  de  feuillage  mon  drap  funebre, 

Preparez-le. 
Jamais  homme  ne  fit  dans  la  mort  un  role  aussi  sincere. 

Que  Test  le  mien. 

Point  de  fleur,  pas  une  douce  fleur 

Sur  mon  triste  cercueil. 
Point  d'ami,  pas  un  seul  ami 
Qui  salue  ma  tombe  infortune'e. 
Pour  epargner  mille  &  mille  soupirs, 

Ah  !  placez-moi  dans  un  lieu  ignore, 
Oil  1'amant  fidele  &  melancolique  ne  trouve  jamais  moo  tombeau. 

Pour  1'arroser  de  ses  larmes. 

FRANCOIS- VICTOR  HUGO  (Paris,  1864) : — 

Arrive,  arrive,  6  mort, 
Et  que  je  sois  couche  sous  un  triste  cyprts  i 

Envole-toi,  envole-toi,  haleine, 
Je  suis  tue  par  une  belle  fille  cruelle  ; 
Mon  linceul  blanc,  tout  decore  d'if, 

Oh  !  preparez-le. 

Dans  la  scene  de  la  mort  nul  si  vraiment 
Ne  joua  son  rflle. 

Que  pas  une  fleur,  pas  une  fleur  embaumee 
Ne  soil  semee  sur  mon  noir  cercueil. 
Que  pas  un  ami,  pas  un  ami  ne  salue 
Mon  pauvre  corps,  la  oft  seront  jetes  mes  os. 
Pour  m' epargner  mille  et  mille  sanglots, 

Oh  !  mettez-moi  quelque  part 
Oil  un  triste  amant  ne  puisse  trouver  ma  tombe 

Pour  y  pleurer ! 

EMILE  MONTEGUT  (Paris,  1867) : — 

Viens,  o  mort,  viens, 

Et  dans  une  biere  de  triste  cypres,  couche-moi. 

Envole-toi,  envole-toi,  souffle  de  vie, 

Je  suis  tue  par  une  cruelle  belle  fille. 

Mon  blanc  linceul,  sem6  de  if, 

Oh  prepare-le ! 

Jamais  amant  plus  sincere  ne  representa 

La  scene  de  sa  mort. 


SUNDRY  TRANSLATIONS  417 

Que  pas  une  fleur,  pas  une  douce  fleur, 

Soit  jetee  sur  mon  noir  cercueil  ; 

Que  pas  un  ami,  pas  un  ami  ne  visite 

Mon  pauvre  corps,  la  ou  mes  os  seront  jetes. 

Pour  epargner  mille  et  mille  soupirs 

Couchez-moi,  oh  !  couchez-moi, 

La  ou  nul  triste  et  fidele  amant  ne  puisse  trouver  mon  tombeau 

Pour  y  pleurer. 

BENJAMIN  LAROCHE  (Paris,  Cinquieme  Edition,  1869)  : — 

O  trepas  !  viens  fermer  mes  yeux  ! 
Couchez  dans  le  Cyprus  ma  depouille  mortelle 

Mon  ame,  envolez-vous  aux  cieux  ! 
J' expire  sous  les  coups  d'une  beaute  cruelle 

Oh  !  preparez  mon  blanc  linceul ! 

Que  1'if  funebre  le  decore. 

Mon  trepas,  nul  ne  le  deplore: 

Pas  une  fleur  sur  mon  cercueu  t 
Nul  ami  ne  suivra  mon  cleuii. 
Que  je  sois  inhume  sans  gloire 
Dans  quelque  vallon  ecarte, 
Ou  nul  amant  ne  soit  tente 
D'offrir  des  pleurs  a  ma  memoire. 

MAURICE  BOUCHOR  (Paris,  1896)  : — 

Fuis,  mon  ame,  fuis  !     Je  meurs  sous  les  traits 

De  la  plus  cruelle  des  vierges. 
Viens,  6  Mort !  qu'on  m'etende,  a  la  lueur  des  cierges, 

Dans  un  cercueil  de  noir  cypres. 

Qu'on  m'ensevelisse  loin  d'elle 
Dans  le  blSme  linceul,  couvert  de  branches  d'if, 
Qui,  partageant  mon  sort,  ami  sur,  mais  tardif, 

Du  moins  me  restera  fidele. 

Que  pas  une  fleur,  une  pauvre  fleur 

Sur  ma  tombe  ne  soit  semee ; 
Pour  moi  que  nul  ami,  que  nulle  voix  aimee 

N'ait  des  paroles  de  douleur. 

Que  je  sois  seul  avec  mes  peines, 
Et  laissez  au  desert  blanchir  mes  ossements, 
De  peur  que  sur  ma  tombe,  helas  !  les  vrais  amants 

Ne  versent  trop  de  larmes  vaines. 

GIULIO  CARCANO  (Milano,  1881) : — 

T'appressa,  o  morte  ;  vieni,  t'affretta, 
Dentro  al  cipresso  posar  desio  • 
Fugge  1'estremo  respiro  mio, 
27 


41 8  APPENDIX 

Muojo,  fanciulla  crudel,  per  te  ! 
Bianco  lenzuolo,  di  fronde  ornato 
S'appresti  a  me. 

Ne  un  fior  soave,  ne  un  solo  fiore 
Altri  cosparga  sul  cener  muto  ; 
Ne  d'un  amico  sul  freddo  suol. 
Sotto  una  gleba  dormire  io  possa 

Ignota  al  sol, 

Ne  sosti  a  piangere  su  quella  fossa 
Amante  in  duol. 

JAIME  CLARK  (Madrid,  1873) : — 

Ven  a  mi,  ven  a  mi,  cruda  muerte ; 
De  cipreses  mi  tumba  cercad. 
Huye,  aliento,  que  es  fuerza  perderte, 
Ya  que  en  ella  no  encuentro  piedad. 
Preparad  mi  sepultura 

Yerta  y  fna : 

No  hubo  nunca  fe  tan  pura 
Cual  la  mia. 

Ni  una  flor,  ni  una  flor  candorosa 
Engalane  mi  negro  ataud  ; 
Ni  un  amigo,  ni  una  alma  piedosa 
Pulse  triste  en  mi  huesa  el  laud. 
Cerradla  y  borrad  su  huella  ; 

Nunca  errante 
Acuda  a  llorar  en  ella 
Fiel  amante. 


LIFE  AND  DEATH  OF  THE  MERRY  DEUILL   OF  EDMONTON 

WHILE  these  last  pages  are  going  through  the  press,  I  have  been  so  fortunate  as 
to  obtain  from  London  a  reprint,  in  1819,  of  this  book,  and  am  thus  enabled  to 
verify  Steevens's  quotation.  It  is  not  a  play,  and  has  very  little  to  tell  of  Peter 
Fabell,  the  Merry  Devil  of  Edmonton,  which  fully  accounts  for  its  absence  from 
the  Shakespeariana  in  the  various  libraries.  It  is  merely  a  collection  of  coarse 
stories,  twenty-one  in  number,  whereof  only  five  concern  Peter  Fabell  ;  the  remain- 
der consist  of  low,  and,  generally,  disgusting,  practical  jokes  of  Smug,  the  Smith. 
On  p.  24  is  to  be  found  Steevens's  quotation  :  '  honest  Smug  loued  ...  to  bee  mad 
merry  amongst  a  mad  company  of  his  bare-chind  boone  companions,  his  little 
wanton  wagtailes,  his  sweet  and  twenties,  his  pretty  pinchineyed  pigsnies,  etc.,  as 
hee  himselfe  used  commonly  to  call  them.'  This,  I  think,  decisively  confirms  the 
interpretation  of  '  sweet  and  twenty '  as  a  term  of  endearment.  The  small  volume 
of  fifty-two  pages  is  signed  '  Tho.  Brewer,'  who,  I  am  very  sure,  did  not  write  that 
truly  delightful  little  comedy,  The  Merry  Devil  of  Edmonton.  See  II,  iii,  54,  and 
Note,  where  an  unfilled  line  luckily  gives  the  chance  to  insert  in  the  electrotype 
plate  a  reference  to  the  present  page. 


PLAN  OF  THE  WORK,  ETC. 

IN  this  Edition  the  attempt  is  made  to  give,  in  the  shape  of  TEXTUAL  NOTES, 
on  the  same  page  with  the  Text,  all  the  VARIOUS  READINGS  of  Twelfth  Night, 
from  the  Second  Folio  down  to  the  latest  critical  Edition  of  the  play ;  then,  as 
COMMENTARY,  follow  the  Notes  which  the  Editor  has  thought  worthy  of  insertion, 
not  only  for  the  purpose  of  elucidating  the  text,  but  at  times  as  illustrations  of  the 
History  of  Shakespearian  criticism.  In  the  APPENDIX  will  be  found  criticisms  and 
discussions,  which  on  the  score  of  length  could  not  be  conveniently  included  in  the 
Commentary. 

LIST  OF  EDITIONS  COLLATED  IN  THE  TEXTUAL  NOTES 

THE  SECOND  FOLIO [F,]             .  .  .  .  1632 

THE  THIRD  FOLIO [F3]             .  .  .  .  1664 

THE  FOURTH  FOLIO [FJ              .  .  .  .  1685 

N.  ROWE  (First  Edition) [Rowe  i]      .  .  .  .  1709 

N.  ROWE  (Second  Edition) [Rowe  ii]    .  .  .  .  1714 

A.  POPE  (First  Edition)          [Pope  i]       .  .  .  .  1723 

A.  POPE  (Second  Edition) [Pope  ii]      .  .  .  .  1728 

L.  THEOBALD  (First  Edition)           [Theob.  i]  .  .  .  .  1733 

L.  THEOBALD  (Second  Edition)       [Theob.  ii]  .  .  .  1740 

SIR  T.  HANMER          [Han.]        .  .  .  .  1744 

W.  WARBURTON          [Warb.]      .  .  .  .  1747 

E.  CAPELL        [Cap.]         .  .  (?)  1761 

DR  JOHNSON [Johns.]         .  .  .  1765 

JOHNSON  and  STEEVENS          [Var.  '73]  .  .  .  .  1793 

JOHNSON  and  STEEVENS          [Var.  '78]  .  .  .  .  1778 

JOHNSON  and  STEEVENS          [Var.  '85]  .  .  .  .  1785 

J.  RANN [Ran.]        ..  ..  1787 

E.  MALONE [Mai.]        .  .  .  .  1790 

GEO  STEEVENS [Steev.]      .  .  .  .  1793 

REED'S  STEEVENS        [Var.  '03]  .  .  .  .  1803 

REED'S  STEEVENS        [Var.  '13]  .  .  .  .  1813 

BOSWELL'S  MALONE [Van]         .  .  .  .  1821 

C.  KNIGHT       [Knt.]        .  .  (?)  1840 

J.  P.  COLLIER  (First  Edition) [Coll.  i]      .  .  .  .  1842 

J.  O.  HALLIWELL  (Folio  Edition) [Hal.]         .  .  .  .  1856 

S.  W.  SINGER  (Second  Edition)         [Sing,  ii]    .  .  .  .  1856 

A.  DYCE  (First  Edition)          [Dyce  i]      .  .  .  .  1857 

H.  STAUNTON [Sta.]         .  .  .  .  1857 

J.  P.  COLLIER  (Second  Edition)         [Coll.  ii]     .  .  .  .  1858 

R.  G.  WHITE  (First  Edition) [Wh.  i]       .  .  .  .  1858 

CAMBRIDGE  (First  Edition,  W.  G.  CLARK  and  W.  A. 

WRIGHT) [Cam.]        .  .  .  .  1863 

T.  KF.IGHTLEY [Ktly.]       .  .  .  .  1864 

A.  DYCE  (Second  Edition) [Dyce  ii]     .  .  .  .  1866 

419 


420  APPENDIX 

A.  DVCE  (Third  Edition)        [Dyce  iii]  .  .  .  .  1875 

J.  P.  COLLIER  (Third  Edition)  [Coll.  iii]  .  .  .  .  1877 

W.  J.  ROLFE [Rife.]  .  .  .  .  1879 

H.  N.  HUDSON [Huds.]  .  .  .  .  1880 

R.  G.  WHITE  (Second  Edition)          [Wh.  ii]  .  .  .  .  1883 

W.  A.  WRIGHT  (Clarendon  Press  Series]      .  .         .  .  [Wrt.]  .  .  .  .  1885 

K.  DEIGHTON [Dtn.]  .  .  .  .  1889 

CAMBRIDGE  (Second  Edition,  W.  A.  WRIGHT)       .  .  [Cam.]  .  .  .  .  1891 


W.  HARNESS .  .          .  .        .  .     1830 

GLOBE  EDITION  (CLARK  and  WRIGHT)       .  .        .  .     [Glo.]         .  .        .  .     1864 

N.  DELIUS [Del.]  Elberfeld,  1869 

Rev.  JOHN  HUNTER  (Longman's  Series)      .  .         .  .  .  .  .  .         .  .     1870 

F.  A.  MARSHALL  (Henry  Irving  Edition)   .  .         .  .  .  .  .  .         .  .     1888 

W.  &  R.  CHAMBERS .  .          .  .        .  .     1895 

ARTHUR  D.  INNES  (  The  Warwick  Shakespeare} 1895 

ELIZABETH  LEE  (BlackiS s  Junior  School  Shakespeare)        ..  ..         ..     1895 

A.  WILSON  VERITY  (The  Pitt  Press  Shakespeare  for  Schools) 

4th  ed.  Cambridge,  1895 
R.  F.  CHOLMELEY  (Arnold's  School  Shakespeare)  .  .  .  .  .  .         .  .     n.  d. 

ISRAEL  GOLLANCZ        ....  n.  d. 


These  last  eleven  editions  I  have  not  collated  beyond  referring  to  them  in  disputed 
passages,  and  recording,  here  and  there  in  the  Commentary,  the  views  of  their 
editors. 

Within  the  last  twenty-five  years,  —  indeed,  since  the  appearance,  in  1864,  of 
The  Globe  Edition,  —  the  text  of  SHAKESPEARE  is  become  so  settled  that  to  collate, 
word  for  word,  the  text  of  editions  which  have  appeared  within  this  term,  would 
be  a  very  fruitless  task.  When,  however,  within  recent  years  an  Editor  revises  his 
text  in  a  Second  or  a  Third  Edition,  the  case  is  different  ;  it  then  becomes  interesting 
to  mark  the  effect  of  maturer  judgement. 

The  present  TEXT  is  that  of  the  FIRST  FOLIO  of  1623.  Every  word,  I  might  say 
almost  every  letter,  has  been  collated  with  the  original. 

In  the  TEXTUAL  NOTES  the  symbol  Ff  indicates  the  agreement  of  the  Second, 
Third,  and  Fourth  Folios. 

I  have  not  called  attention  to  every  little  misprint  in  the  Folio.  The  Textual 
Notes  will  show,  if  need  be,  that  they  are  misprints  by  the  agreement  of  all  the 
Editors  in  their  corrections. 

Nor  is  notice  taken  of  the  first  Editor  who  adopted  the  modern  spelling,  or 
substituted  commas  for  parentheses,  or  changed  ?  to  !. 

The  sign  +  indicates  the  agreement  of  ROWE,  POPE,  THEOBALD,  HANMER, 
WARBURTON,  and  JOHNSON  ;  hereafter  this  symbol  will  include  the  Variorum  of 


When  WARBURTON  precedes  HANMER  in  the  Textual  Notes,  it  indicates  that 
HANMER  has  followed  a  suggestion  of  WARBURTON'  s. 

The  words  et  cet.  after  any  reading  indicate  that  it  is  the  reading  of  all  other 
editions. 


PLAN  OF  THE  WORK  421 

The  words  et  seq.  indicate  the  agreement  of  all  subsequent  editions. 

The  abbreviation  (suds.)  indicates  that  the  reading  is  substantially  given,  and 
that  immaterial  variations  in  spelling,  punctuation,  or  stage-directions  are  disre- 
garded. 

When  Var.  precedes  Steev.  or  MaL  it  includes  the  Variorums  of  1773,  1778,  and 
1785  ;  when  it  follows  Steev.  or  Mai.  it  includes  the  Variorums  of  1803,  1813,  and 
1821. 

An  Emendation  or  Correction  given  in  the  Commentary  is  not  repeated  in  the 
Textual  Notes,  unless  it  has  been  adopted  by  an  Editor  in  his  Text ;  nor  is  conj. 
added  in  the  Textual  Notes  to  the  name  of  the  proposer  of  the  conjecture  unless  the 
conjecture  happens  to  be  that  of  an  Editor,  in  which  case  its  omission  would  lead  to 
the  inference  that  such  was  the  reading  of  his  text. 

Coll.  MS  refers  to  COLLIER'S  copy  of  the  Second  Folio  bearing  in  its  margin 
manuscript  annotations. 

In  citing  plays  or  quoting  from  them,  the  Acts,  Scenes,  and  Lines  of  The  Globe 
Edition  are  followed,  unless  otherwise  noted.  Of  course,  all  references  to  Twelfth 
Night  refer  to  the  present  text. 


LIST  OF  BOOKS 

To  economise  space  in  the  foregoing  pages,  as  a  general  rule  merely  the  name  of 
an  author  has  been  given,  followed,  in  parentheses,  by  the  number  of  volume  and 
page. 

In  the  following  LIST,  arranged  alphabetically,  enough  of  the  full  titles  is  set  forth 
to  serve  the  purposes  of  either  identification  or  reference. 

Be  it  understood  that  this  List  contains  only  those  books  wherefrom  quotations 
have  been  taken  at  rirst  hand.  It  does  not  include  those  which  have  been  consulted 
or  used  in  verifying  references  ;  were  these  included  the  List  would  be  many  times- 
longer. 

E.  A.  ABBOTT:  Shakespearian  Grammar         London,  1870 

ALFRED  AINGER  :  Shakespeare  in  the  Middle  Temple  (English 

Illustrated  Magazine,  March).  .         .  .         .  .         .  .         .  .  «         1884 

C.  ANDREWS  :  Lives  of  Twelve  Bad  Women "        1897 

W.  ARCHER  :  Macmillan's  Magazine,  August "        1884 

JOHN  AUBREY  :  Brief  Lives,  etc.,  1669  (ed.  CLARK)  .  .         .  .  Oxford,  1898 

C.  BADHAM  :    Text  of  Shakespeare  (Cambridge  Essays)           .  .  1856 

S.  BAILEY  :  Received  Text  of  Shakespeare         London,  1862 

MATTEO  BANDELLO,  trans,  by  JOHN  PAYNE  (Villon  Soc.)    . .  "       1890 

BARET'S  Alvearie     .  .         .  .         .  .         .  .         . .         .  .         .  .  "         1580 

J.  D.  BARNETT  :  Notes  on  Twelfth  Night         "        1895 

J.  BARTLETT  :  Concordance          "        1894 

C.   BATHURST  :  Differences  of  Shakespeare's  Versification,  etc.  "         1857 

BATMAN  VPPON  BARTHOLOME,  De  Proprietatibus  Rerum     .  .  "        1582 

T.  S.  BAYNES  :  Shakespearian  Glossaries  (Edin.  Rev.,  July)  .  .  1869 


422 


APPENDIX 


* 


- 


ANDREW  BECKET  :  Shakespeare's  Himself  Again         ..         ..  London,  1815 

FRANCOIS  DE  BELLE-FOREST  :  Histoires  Tragiques,  etc.         .  .  Lyon,  1578 

BLACKWOOD'S  Magazine,  August 1853 

F.  S.  BOAS  :  Shakespeare  and  his  Predecessors  .  .         .  .         .  .  London,  1896 

F.  BODENSTEDT  :  Shakespeare's  Dramatische  Werke   .  .         .  .  Leipzig,  1867 

MAURICE  BOUCHOR  :  Les  Chansons  de  Shakespeare      .  .         .  .  Paris,  1896 

FRANCIS  BOWEN  :   Gleanings  from  a  Literary  Life     ..         ..  New  York,  1880 

E.  C.  BREWER  :  Reader's  Handbook 1888 

THOS.   BREWER  :    Life  and  Death  of  the  Merry  Deuill  of 

Edmonton  (Reprint,  1819)    .  .         .  .         .  .         .  .         . .  London,  1631 

C.  ELLIOT  BROWNE  :  Athenaum,  June 1874 

J.  C.  BuCKNILL  :  Mad  Folk  of  Shakespeare  (2nd  edition)      .  .  "         1867 

J.  BULLOCH  :  Studies  of  the  Text  of  Shakespeare        ..         ..  "        1878 

E.  CAPELL  :  Notes,  etc "        1779 

GIULIO  CARCANO  :   Opere  di  Shakespeare           Milano,  1881 

R.  CARTWRIGHT  :  New  Readings  in  Shakespeare        .  .         .  .  London,  1866 

E.  J.  CASTLE:  Shakespeare,  Bacon,  Johnson,  and  Greene     .  .  "         1897 

G.CHALMERS:  Supplemental  Apology,  etc "        1799 

W.  &  R.  CHAMBERS  :  Book  of  Days 1863 

W.  CHAPPELL  :  Popular  Music  of  the  Olden  Time       .  .         .  .  "        n.  d. 

F.  J.  CHILD  :  English  and  Scottish  Ballads Boston,  1882 

G.  B.  CHURCHILL  :  Shakespeare  Jahrbuch Weimar,  1898 

JAIME  CLARK  :   Obras  de  Shakespeare Madrid,  n.  d. 

C.  C.  CLARKE:  Shakespeare  Characters.  .         . .         .  .         .  .  London,  1863 

HARTLEY  COLERIDGE  :  Essays  and  Marginalia          ..        ..  "        1851 

S.T.COLERIDGE:  Notes  and  Lectures "        1849 

E.  COLES  :  English  Dictionary "         1732 

J.  P.  COLLIER  :  Poetical  Decameron        "         1820 

"              History  of  English  Dramatic  Poetry ..         ..  "         1831 

J.  CHURTON  COLLINS  :  Essays  and  Studies       "        1895 

HERMANN  CONRAD:  Preussische  Jahrbiicher,  July      ..         ..  Berlin,  1887 

•  C.  H.  COOTE :  ShaksperSs  New  Map  in  Twelfth  Night        .  .  London,  1878 

COTGRAVE:  Dictionarie  of 'the  French  and  English  Tongues..  "        1632 

H.  H.  S.  CROFT :  Elyot's  Gouernour "         1883 

J.  CROFT  :  Annotations  on  Shakespeare York,  1810 

HELKIAH  CROOKE  :  Microcosmographia,  etc London,  1615 

JOSEPH  CROSBY  :  American  Bibliopolist,  June New  York,  1875 

P.  A.  DANIEL  :  Notes  and  Emendations            London,  1870 

T.  DEQUINCEY:  Biography  of  Shakespeare  (Works,  vol.  xv).  Edinburgh,  1863 
EDUARD  and  OTTO  DEVRIENT  :  Deutscher  Biihnen  and  Fa- 

milien  Shakespeare Leipzig,  1873 

F.  DOUCE  :  Illustrations  of  Shakespeare,  etc London,  1807 

DOWNES'S  Roscius  Anglicanus  (Reprint,  1789)            .  .         .  .  "        1662 

J.  DUNLOP :  History  of  Fiction  (Third  Edition)           .  .         . .  "         1845 

A.  DYCE :  Remarks  on  Collier's  and  Knight's  Editions          . .  "         1844 

"         Few  Notes,  etc. "         1853 

"         Strictures  on  Collier's  New  Edition "         1859 

J.  EARLE:  Philology  of  the  English  Tongue Oxford,  1879 

J.  EASTWOOD  and  W.  A.  WRIGHT  :  Bible  Word- Book           .  .  London,  1866 


PLAN  OF  THE  WORK 


423 


Edinburgh  Review,  April  .  .         .  .         .  .         .  .         .  .         .  .  1856 

S    T.  EDWARDS  :  Canons  of  Criticism        .  .         . .         .  .         . .  London,  1 765 

KARL  ELZE  :  Notes  on  Elizabethan  Dramatists            .  .         .  .  Halle,  1889 

J.  J.  ESCHENBURG:  Der  H.  Dreykonigsabend  oder   Was  ihr 

wollt Strassburg,  1778 

*     R.  FARMER  :   On  the  Learning  of  Shakespeare .  .         .  .         .  .  London,  1767 

JACOB  FEIS :  Shakespeare  and  Montaigne           "         1884 

F.  G.  FLEAY  :  Shakespeare  Manual "         1876 

"               Introduction  to  Shakespearian  Study     .  .         .  .  "         1877 

"               Life  and  Work  of  Shakespeare "         1886 

"               History  of  the  Stage,  1559-1642            ..         ..  "         1890 

W.  FRANZ;  Shakespeare- Grammatik Halle,  1898 

A.    R.    FREY  :    Shakespeare  and  alleged  Spanish   Prototypes 

(New  York  Shakespeare  Society) New  York,  1886 

F.  J.  FURNIVALL  :  Introduction  to  The  Leopold  Shakspere  .  .  London,  1877 

RUDOLPH  GENEE  :  Klassische  Frauenbilder Berlin,  1884 

P.  GENEST:    The  English  Stage,  1660-1830 Bath,  1832 

J.  GERARDE  :    The  Herball,  etc London,  1633 

^     G.  G.  GERVINUS  :  Shakespeare  (3te  Aufl.)         Leipzig,  1862 

OTTO  GILDEMEISTER  :   Was  ihr  wollt,  Uebersetzt  von.  ...  "         1869 

HENRY  GILES  :  Human  Life  in  Shakespeare Boston,  1868 

EDW.  W.  GODWIN  :   The  Architect,  April          London,  1875 

ARTHUR  GOLDING:  The.  XV.  Booke  of  P.  Ouidius  Naso,  etc.  "        1567 

G.GOULD:  Corrigenda,  etc "        1884 

H.  GREEN :  Shakespeare  and  the  Emblem  Writers       ..         ..  "         1870 

v'    Z.  GREY  :  Critical,  Historical,  and  Explanatory  Notes           .  .  "        1754 

/   MRS  GRIFFITHS  :  Morality  of  Shakespeare's  Dramas,  etc.     ..  "        1775 
M.  STEPHEN  GUAZZO :   The  ciuilc  Conuersation  of  (trans,  by 

G.  pettie  and  Earth.  Young) "        1586 

J.  W.  HALES :   Contemporary  Review,  January              . .         . .  "         1895 

FlTZEDWARD  HALL  :  Modern  English "         1873 

H.  HALLAM :  Literature  of  Europe        "         1839 

J.  O.  HALLIWELL-PHILLIPPS  :   Outlines  of  the  Life  of  Shake- 
speare       Brighton,  1882 

J.  O.  HALLIWELL-PHILLIPPS  :  Dictionary  of  Misprints        .  .  "          1887 

HAYDN'S  Dictionary  of  Dates 1886 

—   WILLIAM  HAZLITT:   Characters  of  Shakespeare's  Plays        . .  London,  1817 

BENJAMIN  HEATH:  Revisal of  Shakespeare's  Text      ..         ..  "        1765 

JAMES  HENRY:  JEneidea Dublin,  1879 

J.  G.  HERR  :  Notes  on  the  Text  of  Shakespeare           ..         .  .     Philadelphia,  1879 
JULIUS   HEUSSER  :   Der   Coupletreim  in  Shakespeare  (Shake- 
speare Jahrbuch,  xxviii)         Weimar,  I  S'93 

J.  HILES  :  Dictionary  of  Musical  Forms,  etc.   .  .         .  .         .  .  London,  1871 

C.  HOLLYBAND  :  A  Dictionarie,  French  and  English  .  .         .  .  "         1593 

.FRANgois- VICTOR  HUGO  :  (Euvres  Completes  de  Shakespeare.  .  Paris,  1 868 

'Y  LEIGH  HUNT  :    Wit  and  Humour            London,  1846 

J  JOSEPH  HUNTER  :  New  Illustrations  of  Shakespeare,  etc.        .  .  "         1845 
C.  W.  HUTSON  :  Three  of  Shakespeare1  s  Merry  Men  (Southern 

Magazine,  May)           Baltimore,  1875 


424 


APPENDIX 


C.  M.  INGLEBY  :  Shakespeare,  the  Man  and  the  Book  .  .         .  .  London,  1877 
/    MRS  JAMESON  :  Characteristics  of  Women,  etc.            .  .         .  .  "        1833 

T.  KEIGHTLEY  :   The  Shakespeare  Expositor "        1867 

T.  KENNY  :  Life  and  Genius  of  Shakespeare "        1864 

W.  KENRICK  :  Review  of  Johnson' s  Shakespeare          .  .         ..  "         1865 

J.  L.  KLEIN  :   Geschichte  des  Dramas Leipzig,  1872 

J  JOSEPH  KNIGHT  :   Theatrical  Notes         London,  1893 

F.  KREYSSIG  :    Vorlesungen  uber  Shakespeare    .  .         .  .         .  .  Berlin,  1862 

CHARLES  LAMB  :   Works London,  1870 

/GERARD  LANGBAINE  :  Account  of  English  Dramatic  Poets  .  .  Oxford,  1691 

SYDNEY  LEE  :  A  Life  of  Shakespeare London,  1898 

/  MRS  LENNOX  :  Shakespear  Illustrated,  etc "  1753 

M.  LE  TOURNEUR  ;  Shakespeare  traduit  de  /' Anglais .  .  .  .  Paris,  1781 

W.  W.  LLOYD:  Critical  Essays  (Singer's  Second  Edition)  .  .  London,  1856 

D.  H.  MADDEN  :  Diary  of  Master  William  Silence    .  .         .  .  "        1897 

G.  P.  MARSH  :  Lectures  on  the  English  Language      .  .        .  .  New  York,  1860 
J.  MONCK  MASON:  Comments  on  the  last  edition  [Var.  1778] 

of  Shakespeare  .  .         .  .         .  .         . .         .  .         .  .         . .  London,  1785 

E.  A.  MEREDITH  :  Note  on  some  Emendations,  etc.  (Transac.  of 

The  Literary  and  Historical  Society  of  Quebec,  vol.  i)    .  .  Quebec,  1863 

MAX  MOLTKE  :  Shakespear- Museum       .  .         . .         . .         .  .  Leipzig,  1871 

E.  MONTEGUT  :   CEuvres  Completes  de  Shakespeare      .  .         .  .  Paris,  1867 

NARES  :  Glossary  (ed.  HALLIWELL  and  WRIGHT)      . .         . .  London,  1867 

E.  W.  NAYLOR :  Shakespeare  and  Music           "         1896 

New  Shakspere  Society  (Transactions)      .  .         . .         . .         . .  "     1877-9 

JOHN  NICHOLS  :  Literary  Illustrations,  etc "         1817 

W.  OECHELHAUSER  :  Einfiihrungen  in  Shakespeare's  Dramen 

(2te  Aufl.)         Minden,  1885 

*    J.  G.  ORGER  :  Critical  Notes  on  Shakespeare's  Comedies         .  .  London,  n.  d. 

SIR  THOMAS  OVERBURYE  :  A  Wife,  etc.          "        1627 

PALSGRAVE:  L1  Eclaircissement  de  la  Langue  Francaist,  1530  Paris,  1852 

T.  L.  PEACOCK  :   The  Deceived,  etc London,  1862 

/   T.  PERCY  :  Reliques  of  Ancient  English  Poetry           ..         ..  "        1765 

SIR  PHILIP  PERRING  :  Hard  Knots  in  Shakespeare  (2nd  Ed.)  "        1886 

Promptorium  Parvulorum  (ed.  WAY,  Cam.  Soc.)        .  .         .  .  "         1865 
PUTTENHAM  :  Arte  of  English  Poesie,  1589  (ed.  ARBER). 

J.  P.  QuiNCY  :  MS  Corrections  from  a  Copy  of  the  Fourth  Folio  Boston,  1854 
B.   W.   RICHARDSON:    Shakspere  and  the  Pia   Mater  (The 

Asclepiad,  vol.  v.,  No.  20)    .  .         .  .         .  .         .  .         .  .  London,  1888 

/   LOCKE  RICHARDSON  :  Shakespeare  Studies        New  York,  1897 

BARNABE  RICHE  :  Apolonius  and  Silla,  1581  (ed.  Shakespeare 
Society). 

>/ J.  Ritson  :  Remarks,  Critical  and  Illustrative London,  1783 

"            Quip  Modest "         1788 

Cursory  Criticism        .  .         .  .         .  .         .  .         .  .  "         1792 

H.  J.  RUGGLES  :  Method  of  Shakespeare  as  an  Artist .  .         .  .  New  York,  1870 

W.  L.  RUSHTON  :  Shakespeare's  Testamentary  Language      .  .  London,  1869 

SIR  EDWARD  RUSSELL  :  Fortnightly,  September         . .         . .  "        1884 

W.  B.  RYE  :  England  as  seen  by  Foreigners,  etc "         1865 


PLAN  OF  THE  WORK 


425 


//  Sacrificio  Comedia  de  gll  Intronati.     Celebrate  ne  i  gavo- 
cki  di  vno  Carneuale  in  Siena.     Di  nuouo  corretta,  &* 
ristampata         .  .         .  .         .  .         .  .         . .         .  .         .  .       In  Venegia,  158$ 

G.  SARRAZIN  :  Zur  Chronologie  von  Shakespeare's  Dichtungen 

(Jahrbuch,  xxxii)         .  .         .  .         .  .         .  .         .  .         .  .  Weimar,  1896 

Saturday  Review,  July        .  .         .  .         .  .         .  .         .  .         . .  London,  1884 

VINCENTIO  SAVIOLO  :  his  Practise          "        1595 

v^  A.  W.  VON  SCHLEGEL:  Lectures  (trans,  by  J.  BLACK)          . .  ««        1815 

SCHLEGEL  ««</TlECK  :  Shakspear's  Dratnatische  Werke        ..  Berlin,  1833 
A.  SCHMIDT  :  Was  ihr  wollt  ( Uebersetzt  von  SCHLEGEL.  Durch- 

gesehen,  eingeleitet,  und  erldutert)     .  .         Berlin,  1869 

CLEMENT  SCOTT  :  From  '•The  Bells'  to  '  King  Arthur'          .  .  London,  1896 
SlGNOR  N.  S[ECCHl]  :   Gl'  Inganni.  Comedia  del  Recitata  in 
Milano  /'  anno  1547.  dinanzi  all  Maestd  del  Re  Filippo. 
Nvovamente    ristampata   dr»    con    somma    diligenza    cor- 

relta In  Venegia,  1582 

"*    E.  H.  SEYMOUR:  Remarks,  Critical,  Conjectural,  etc.            .  .  London,  1805 

P.B.SHELLEY:  Works,  etc Boston,  1857 

SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY  :  Arcadia London,  1598 

S.  W.  SINGER  :  Shakespeare  Vindicated,  etc "         1853 

W.  W.  SKEAT  :  Etymological  Dictionary          Oxford,  1882 

A.  SKOTTOWE  :  Life  of  Shakespeare,  etc.           London,  1824 

*   R.  A.  SMALL  :  Stage  Quarrel!  between  Jonson  and  the  Poet- 
asters, etc.          Breslau,  1899 

ADMIRAL  SMYTH  :  Sailor's  Wordbook London,  1867 

J.  SPEDDING  :  Eraser's  Magazine,  August         . .         .  .         . .  "        1865 

R.  M.  SPENCE  :  Notes  and  Queries. 

H.  P.  STOKES  :  Chronological  Order  of  Shakespeare's  Plays.  .  "        1878 

COL.  HENRY  STRACHEY  :  //  Sarto  Risardto.    The  Lady  of  the 

Strachy  (Privately  Printed) -.  .          Guildford,  1898 

A.  C.  SWINBURNE  :  A  Study  of  Shakespeare London,  1880 

NlCOLAUS   SYLLACIUS :    De   Insults   Meridiani  atque   Indict 
Maris  nuper  Invent  is,   1494  (Reprint,  with  Introduction 

by  J.  L[ENOX])  New  York,  i860 

W.  THtOBALD  :  On  the  Classical  Attainments  of  the  Author  of 

Shakespeare's  Plays  (Baconiana,  February)            .  .         .  .  London,  1895 

G.  TlCKNOR  :  History  of  Spanish  Literature    .  .         . .         .  .  Boston,  1854 

/^  T.  TYRWHITT  :   Observations  and  Conjectures,  etc.      .  .         .  .  London,  1766 

H.    ULRICI  :    Shakespeare's   Dramatic   Art,    1839    (trans,    by 

L.  DORA  SCHMITZ,  Bonn's  ed.) "        1876 

^  ].  UPTON :   Critical  Observations  on  Shakespeare          .  .         .  .  "         1746 

"            Remarks  on  Three  Plays  of  Jonson            .  .         .  .  "         '749 

J.  H.  Voss  :   Was  ihr  wollt           Leipzig,  1818 

W.  S.  WALKER  :  Shakespeare's  Versification London,  1854 

"                  Critical  Examination  of  the  Text,  etc.        ..  "         1859 

A.  W.  WARD  :  History  of  English  Dramatic  Literature        . .  "         1875 

J  T.  WARTON  :  History  of  English  Poetry           "         1775 

— •  J.  WEISS  :    Wit,  Humour,  and  Shakespeare Boston,  1876 


426  APPENDIX 

H.  WELLESLKY  :  Stray  Notes,  etc.          London,  1865 

H.  B.  WHEATLEY  :  Dictionary  of  Reduplicated  Words           .  .  "         1 866 

R.  G.  WHITE:  Shakespeare's  Scholar New  York,  1854 

J  W.  WHITER  :  Specimen  of  a  Commentary  on  Shakespeare      .  .  London,  1794 

F.  WlLLUGHBY :   Ornithology "         1768 

W.  WINTER  :  Shadows  of  the  Stage        New  York,  1895 


INDEX 


PAGE 

A  or  an  =  one 96 

A  =  in,on,  or  of    . 31 

Absorption 28,  40 

Abuse  =  beguile 192 

Accost 39 

Acteon  and  the  Emblem  Writers     .  16 

Action  of  battery 254 

Addicted,  in  a  good  sense 179 

Admire 228 

Affectioned 130 

Ainger,  on  Date  of  Composition   .    .  325 

"       on  the  Readers'  Festival .    .  388 

Allow 30 

Allowed  fool 72 

Almost  =  all  most 33 

Alone 14 

Already  =  all  ready 190 

And  a 315 

Answer,  in  fencing 240 

Ans\vered  =  Jt/ettdtJ 213 

Antique,  its  accent 136 

Apolonius  and  Silla 327 

Appraise  or  praise 88 

Arcadia,  Sidney's 375 

Archer,  on  Malvolio 399 

Argument  =  cause 213 

Artificial  aids  to  beauty 86 

As,  Omission  of 147 

"            after  so 100 

Aspect,  accent  of 55 

Astor- Place  riot 68 

Ass  =  as,  a  pun 132 

At 17 

Attend,  transitive  use 55 

Attraction,  plural  by      ....    172,286 

Ayword 129 

Back-trick 47 

Baffled 312 

Bandrllo's  Novel 363 


PAGE 

Barentz 201 

Barfull 57 

Baricado 262 

Barren  =  witless 42,  69 

Bathurst,  on  Date  of  Composition  .    .  323 

"         on  The  Play 380 

Battery,  action  of 254 

Bawbling 282 

Bawcock 225 

Beagle 132 

Bear  baiting 153 

Beard,  phonetic  spelling  of    .    .    .    .  265 

Bed,  day 162 

Bed  of  Ware 204 

Before  me 132 

Bennet,  bells  of  Saint 281 

Bent 141 

Beshrew 121 

Bias 303 

Bibble-babble 268 

Bide 68 

Bird-bolts 72 


Blazon 


92 


Blood  = passion,  courage 172 

Blows  him 161 

Bolin,  on  Stage-setting 410 

Bonds  disgracing  words 182 

Bones 142 

Book,  unclasp' d  the 54 

Boord 40 

Botched  up 256 

Botcher 65 

Bouchor,  '  Come  away,'  etc.     ...  417 

Bound  =  destined 95 

Branch'd  velvet  gown 162 

Breach  of  the  sea 96 

Breast  =  breath 108 

Bred  and  born 24 

Brine  ...  to  season 17 

Brock 168 

427 


428 


INDEX 


Brother's  dead  love 18 

Brownist 2O2 

But  =  except 77 

"   = prevention 122 

"    =tkan,  after  negative  compara- 
tives       54 

Buttry-bar 41 

Bum-bailiff 230 

By  =  near  at  hand 276 

Byrlady "7 

Cakes  and  ale 126 

Call  me  cut 133 

Canarie 42 

Cantons 91 

Capell,  on  Source  of  Plot 327 

Caper 47 

Capilet 241 

Carcano,  '  Come  away,'  etc.      .    .    .  417 

Carpet  consideration 235 

Carrauto 50 

Cars,  drawn  with 163 

Case,  spelling  of,  in  Ft 292 

Castiliano  vulgo 37 

Catayan 119 

Catch,  musical  term 108 

Ceremony,  pronunciation  of     .    .    .  292 

Chambermaid 39 

Chamber  round 17 

Changeable  taffeta 145 

Chantry 276 

Charles  I.' s  copy  of  Fa 5 

Check,  in  Falconry 169,  187 

Cherry-pit 225 

Cheveril 181 

Churchill  on  Laelia 359 

Civil 216 

Clark,  '  Come  away,'  etc 418 

Clere  stores 262 

Clown      59 

Cloyment 148 

Cockatrice 230 

Cockney 251 

Codling 78 

Cohere 302 

Colours,  fear  no 60 

Coleridge,  on  First  Scenes     .... 

Comedian 80 


'omfortable 85 

Commerce 229 

'ommodity  =  consignment    ....     184 

Compact,  accent  of 292 

Competitors  =  confederates    ....     260 

Comptible 79 

Con      130 

onceal  me  what  I  am  ....  29,  89 
Conclusions  to  be  as  kisses  ....  279 
Confusion  in  use  of  '  Duke,'  etc.  .  25 
Conrad,  on  Unity  of  the  Plot  .  .  .  387 

Consequently      221 

Constant  question 263 

Constellation 56 

Contagious Ii6 

Contempt  of  question 167 

Contract  =  betrothal 290 

Convents,  a  verb 313 

Cool  =  curl 44 

Costume,  etc 408 

Count  his  =  County's 212 

Country,  pronunciation  of  .    .    .    .      24 

Coystrill 35 

Cozier      122 

Crave  of  you  your  leave 95 

Credit      274 

Cressida 185 

Cross-gartered 173 

Crow 70 

Cubiculo 204 

Curst 203 

Curtain  before  'em 47,  85 

Curtsies 163 

Cut,  call  me 133 

Cypress 143,  193 

Dallies 142 

Dally  nicely  with  words 181 

Dam'd  colour*  d  stock 52 

Daniel,  Time  Analysis 412 

Day-bed 162 

Deadly  life 90 

Dear 284 

Decay,  used  actively 69 

Decefatbte«>dfagMfiM 276 

Deeply  in 161 

Delicacy,  standard  of 51 

Demure  travaile  of  regard    ....  162 


INDEX 


429 


Denay      151 

Desperate  of  shame 283 

Determinate,  Latin  use 95 

Detest  =  something  spokent  ....  288 

Deviations  in  quoting  from  memory  1 66 

Dexteriously 67 

Diet 214 

Digges,  lines  on  The  Play    ....  407 

Dimension 9° 

Dingelstedt,  '  Come  away,'  etc.    .    .  414 

Discourse 275 

Dishonest 65 

Dissemble 258 

Division  of  Acts 57 

Div'l 130 

Do,  used  transitively 192 

Dog  at  a  catch 117 

Dog,  give  a 278 

Dormouse 200 

Double  negatives 94 

Drawn  from  us  with  cars 163 

Dry 42,64 

Ducats 32 

Duello 242 

Duke,  .King,  Count,   confusion  in 

use 25 

Dunlop,  on  Source  of  Plot  ....  376 

Eater  of  beef 43 

Egyptian  thief 287 

Elder  than  herself 138 

Element 16,  185 

Elements,  the  four 107 

Elephant,  The 214 

Ellipsis  of  it 214 

"       of  verbs  of  motion    ....  81 

Employment  or  implement   ....  165 

Enwrap 274 

Eschenburg,  'Come  away,'  etc.   .    .  413 

Estimable  wonder 97 

Ethical  dative 203,  229 

Eunuch 30 

Ever  oft  good  turns 21 1 

Except  before  excepted 31 

Express  =  reveal 96 

Expressure 131 

Extent,  legal  term       256 

Extracting  frenzy 305 


Extravagancy,  Latin  use 9$ 

Eye  *=  sight 102 

Fadge      105 

Fancy  =  love 155 

Fangs  of  malice 80 

Fat  and  fulsome 286 

Fault,  at      171 

Fear  no  colours 60 

Fee'd  post 92 

Feigned  . 8l 

Fell      15 

Fertile  =  copious 89 

Feste 402 

Field,  challenge  him  the 128 

Firago 239 

First  Scenes,  Coleridge  on    ....  7 

Five  wits,  the 267 

Flatter  with 94 

Fleay,  on  Date  of  Composition     .    .  324 

Flesh'd 254 

Flock  of  all  affections 19 

Folly  fallen 187 

Fond 105 

Fool,  poor 311 

For  that 198 

For  =  as  regards 285 

Formal  capacity 169 

Four  elements 107 

Fourteen  years'  purchase 253 

Fraught,  a  noun 283 

Free 90 

Free  maids 141 

Frey,  on  La  Espanola  en  Florencia  377 

From 81 

Fumivall  on  The  Play 385 

Galliard 46 

Gaskins 63 

Geek 310 

Genest 407 

Genius 226 

Gerundive  use  of  infinitive  ....  192 

Gervinus,  on  The  Play 379 

"          on  Feste 403 

Giddily 146 

Gift  of  a  grave 34 

Giles,  on  Malvolio 398 


430 


INDEX 


Gin      166 

Ginger 127 

Glass,  living  in  my 248 

God  buy  you 269 

Godwin,  on  Costume 408 

Go  hunt ;  go  look  ;  go  see,  etc.   .    .  15 

Golden  shaft 18 

Good  life 113 

Good  my  mouse  of  virtue     ....  68 

Gorbodacke 260 

Gracious 90 

Grain,  in 87 

Grand  jurymen 200 

Great . . .  less,  in  rank 26 

Greek 252 

Grey 88 

Grize 195 

Guard,  out  of  his 70 

Gull 206 

Gust 34 

Haggard 186 

Hales,  on  Puritanism 401 

Hallam,  on  the  Play 379 

Halliwell,  on  Date  of  Composition  .  322 

"          on  Later  Performances  .  407 

Hang  thee 60 

H&r\.  =  heart 15,  256 

Ha's 77 

Having  = possession 245 

Hazlitt,  on  the  Play 378 

Heat,  seven  years' 17 

Hecatommithi 376 

Herder,  '  Come  away,'  etc 414 

Heresy 85 

Hermit  of  Prague 260 

Herring 75 

Hob-nob 236 

Hugo,  '  Come  away,'  etc 415 

Humour  =  caprice,  fancy      ....  54 

Humour  of  state 162 

Hunter,  on  Date  of  Composition  .    .  322 

"         on  Malvolio 397 

Hutson,  on  Feste 405 

Idleness 68 

Illyria .  .  .  Elizeum 22 

Impeticos  thy  gratility 1 1 1 


•  FAGR 

Implement  for  employment  ?  .    .    .  165 

In  =  French  en  .........  90 

Inaccuracy  in  quoting    ......  166 

Infinitive,  gerundive  use   .....  192 

"          used  indefinitely  ....  100 

Ingannati,  gli      .........  341 

Inganni,  gli    ..........  339 

Ingrateful    ...........  284 

Jade  me  ...........  176 

Mrs  Jameson,  on  Viola     .....  392 

Jealious    ............  276 

Jets  ..............  156 

Jezabel     ............  161 

J'g   ..............  51 

Johnson,  on  the  Play    ......  378 


Jove 
Jump 


176 
302 


Kenny,  on  the  Play  .......  381 

Kick-chawse  ..........  45 

Kilian,  on  Stage-setting  ......  410 

Kisses,  conclusions  to  be  as  .    .    .    .  279 

Klein,  on  Los  Enganos  of  Rueda  .  377 

C.  Knight,  on  Costume  ......  408 

J.  Knight,  on  Miss  Neilson's  Viola  393 

Kreyssig,  on  the  Play  ......  381 

"         on  Feste     .......  404 

Labell'd  ............  88 

Ladyship,  spelling  of    ......  69 

Laelia  .............  360 

Lamb  on  Malvolio     .......  396 

"      on  Aguecheek  .......  406 

Langbaine  ...........  32^ 

Lapsed    ............  213 

Laroche,  '  Come  away,'  etc.     .    .    .  415 

Late,  adverb   ..........  26 

Later  Performances   .......  407 

La,  you  ............  224 

Leasing  ............  73 

Leg  =  obeisance,  or  a  sign  of  nobility  108 

Leman     ............  no 

Lennox,  Mrs  ..........  326 

Lenten     ............  61 

Lies  or  lives    ..........  181 

Liest  in  thy  throat      .......  228 


INDEX 


431 


Life  in  it     ...........  45 

Limed      ............  222 

Little,  drawn  in     ........  223 

Live,  nautical  term   .......  23 

Liver   ...........    148,  205 

List      .............  189 

Lloyd,  on  Date  of  Composition    .    .  322 

Lost  and  worn    .........  140 

Lubber  the  world  .......  250 

Lucrece  ............  167 

Lullaby,  a  verb  .........  281 


Maidenhead    ..........  84 

Maidhood   ...........  197 

Malapert      ...........  255 

Malignancy     ..........  95 

Malvolio      ...........  396 

Mankind      ...........  78 

Manningham's  Diary    ......  321 

Map,  the  new     .........  208 

Marian     ............  107 

Martial  hand  ..........  203 

Maugre    ............  197 

May  morning  ..........  227 

Memory,  inaccuracies  in  quoting     .  166 

Messaline    ...........  96 

Mettle  of  India      ........  154 

W\g\\t  =  could  ........      16,192 

Miller,  Costume      ........  411 

Minx    .............  226 

Miscarry   •  ...........  221 

Misprision   ...........  66 

Mistress  Mai's  picture  ......  48 

M.  O.  A.  1  ...........  168 

Modest  =  moderate   ......     32,  80 

Monster  ............  105 

Montegut,  on  the  Play  ......  382 

'Come  away,"  etc.  .    .    .  415 

Mother     ............  99 

Motions  =  emotions     .......  138 

Mouse  .............  68 

Music  from  the  spheres     .....  191 

Natural    ............  I2i 

Negative,  double    ........  94 

"        triple  .........  198 

Miss  Neilson  as  Viola  ......  393 


New  map,  the 208 

None  =  nothing      45 

Non-regardance 287 

Not  after  negative  verbs 102 

Notoriously 267 

Number,  as  plural 23 

N  umbers  =  verses 168 

Nuntio 55 

Occurrence 303 

Oechelhauser,  on  Closing  Scene   .    .  386 

Of '=  concerning,  about 24 

"      connecting  words  in  apposition  61 

"  =  in  consequence  of 106 

"  =on 215 

Old  age,  the 142 

Old  man 45 

Olivia,  pronunciation 148 

Omission  of  verb  of  motion  ....  44 
"        of  relative     73,81,97,146,149 

"         of  prepositions 77 

"        <>/"as  after  so  ....  IOO,  281 

"         of  nominative Ill 

"        of  punctuation  in  Folio     .  191 

"        of  so 249,  266 

O  mistress  mine,  etc 113 

"           music  of    .    .    .    .  323 

On  =  of,  in,  at,  etc loo 

On't,  the  alliance  ........  308 

"      too  unchary 232 

On  your  attendance 54 

Opal 145 

Opposite  =  adverse 172 

Orbed  continent 304 

Ordinary  fool 70 

Orion 23 

Othergates •  294 

Out  of  his  guard 70 

One  =  own 94 

O  ivith  a  circumflex 144 

Painting,  as  an  aid  to  beauty   ...  86 

Pare  thy  nails 273 

Parish  top 36 

Pass,  in  fencing 183 

Passages  =  acts 207 

Passion 136 

Passy  measure  panyn 295 


432 


INDEX 


Patience  on  a  monument 150 

Peacock,  on  Source  of  Plot  ....  340 
Peele's  Sir  Cly onion  and  Sir  Clam- 

ydes 376 

Peevish 93 

Pepys 377 

Perchance 22 

Perdie 266 

Perfections,  quadrisyllable    ....  21 

Personage 78 

Perspective      299 

Persuaded 131 

Pia  mater 74 

Pigrogromitus no 

Pilcher 183 

Pitch,  in  Falconry 13 

Play  the  fool 186 

Please  one  and  please  all      ....  218 

Plural  by  attraction 172,  286 

Point  device 175 

Points 63 

Politic  authors 175 

Politician 119,  203 

Poor  fool 311 

Possess  =  inform 129 

Praise  or  appraise 88 

Pranks  her  in 146 

Pregnant 104,  190 

Preposterous,  The  (Puttenham)  .    .  24 

Preserved  = preferred  ? 303 

Presupposed 310 

Prevented 189 

Private  *=  privacy 223 

Probation 171 

Profound  heart 80 

Proper  false 104 

Proper  =  handsome 196 

Propertied  me 267 

Propriety  =  individuality 289 

Purchase,  /ourteen  years'      ....  253 

Puritan 129 

Puritanism,  Hales  on 401 

Quaffing 32 

Quick  =  living 13 

Rain  odours 190 

Rank  as  a  fox 170 


Receive  it  so 100 

Receiving  =  apprehension  ....  193 

Recollected  terms 136 

Record,  accent 302 

Recover  =  get,  gain 133 

Miss  Rehan  as  Viola 395 

Remembrance,  quadrisyllable  ...  18 

Renegado 207 

Retention 147 

Reverberate 91 

Rich  jewel 163 

Round  =  plain  spoken 123 

Rudesby 255 

Ruggles,  on  the  Play 384 

"  on  Feste 404 

Russell,  on  Miss  Terry's  Viola  .  .  393 

"        on  Irving' s  Malvolio  .    .    .  400 

Sack,  wine 134 

Sad  =  serious 216 

Sanctity  =  sanity  ? 222 

Sathan,  spelling 226,  261 

Save 198 

Scab 165 

Scathful 283 

Scedule 88 

Schlegel,  on  the  Play 378 

"          '  Come  away,'  etc.     .    .    .  414 

School  i'  the  church 208 

Scott,   Clement,  on   Irving' s   Mai- 

volio 4°2 

Scruple  of  a  scruple 222 

Sealing  wax 167 

Self,  an  adjective 21 

Semblative 5^ 

Set  at  eight 295 

Shake  your  ears 128 

Shall  =  must 203 

She,  the  cruel' st 88 

Sheep-biter 152 

Shent 269 

Sheriff' spost 77 

Shrew,  pronunciation  of 39 

Sick  of  self-love 72 

Sides  and  heart 53 

Sidney's  Arcadia 375 

Sillogism 65 

Simulation I72 


INDEX 


433 


Singularity,  trick  of 173 

Sir,  a  title 257 

Sir  of  note 221 

Sister,  pronunciation 313 

Skipping 82 

'Slight 156 

Sneck  up 122 

Some,  with  nouns  of  time     ....  96 

Sooth,  in  or  in  good 95 

Sophy 177 

Sound 56 

Sovereign  thrones,  these 19 

Sowter 170 

Speaks  madman 74 

Spedding,  vindication  of  Viola 

29,  1 06,  243 

"          on  division  of  Acts  ...  57 

Spheres,  music  from  the 191 

Spirit,  monosyllable 13 

Spleen 206 

Spoke  =  said 55 

Squash 78 

Stage-setting 408 

Stallion  for  staniel 169 

Standing  water    .    .    .    '. 78 

Star 52 

Starkey  or  Starchy 322 

State  =  canopy 161 

Stealing  and  giving  odour     ....  9 

Stock,  dam'd  colour' d 52 

Stone-bow 161 

Stoup 107 

Strachy,  Lady  of  the 156 

Stuck  in 240 

Studient 259 

Substractors 34 

Surfeiting,  spelling 8 

Swarths 131 

Sweet  and  twenty 114,  418 

Sweet-heart,  accent 41 

Sweet  sound 9 

Swinburne,  on  the  Play 385 

Tabor 180 

Taffeta,  changeable 145 

Take  and  give  back 275 

Take  you  a  blow 165 

Talents 61 

28 


Tall 32,  259 

Tang 172 

Tartar 179 

Taste  "test 189 

Taxation      84 

Miss  Terry  as  Viola 393 

Testrill 112 

That  =  z«  that 13,  54 

"     conjunctional  affix 28 

"    =  if  that 287 

There  is,  followed  by  the  plural    .    .  147 

These  set  kind 70 

This  present 85 

Those  poor  number 23,  70 

Thought  is  free 41 

Thou  thou'st  him 203 

Ticknor,  on  Los  Engafios  of  Rueda  377 

Tieck,  Der  junge  Tischlermeister     .  408 

Tilly  vally 120 

Tiny 315 

Time-analysis 412 

To  inserted  and  omitted 93 

"    inserted  before  the  second  infini- 
tive    61 

Tongues  =  tongs 43 

Took  the  ring  of  me 10 1 

Touch 95 

Trade 189 

Translation  of  names I 

Transposition      57,  84 

Tray-trip 178 

Trick  of  singularity 173 

Trout,  caught  by  tickling 155 

Trunks,  empty 248 

Tuck 234 

Turning  away 62 

Turns,  ever  oft  good 211 

Ulrici  on  Feste 402 

Unchary  on't 232 

Uncivil  rule 127 

Uncle,  Sir  Toby's  kinship  to  Olivia  .  2 

Understand  =  stand  under    ....  189 

Undertaker 243 

Unhatched 235 

Unkind  =  unnatural 247 

Unprizeable 282 

Upshot 265 


434 


INDEX 


PACK  I 

Use  =  interest 184  ! 

Usurp  =  counterfeit 81 

Validity « value 13 

Vent 250 

Verbal  noun 69,  288 

Vice,  the  old 271 

Vindication  of  Viola 29 

Viola 392 

Viol-de-gamboys 33 

Violenta 79 

Voices  well  divulged 90 

Voss,  '  Come  away,"  etc 413 

Vox 307 

Ware,  bed  of 204 

Watch 163 

Waters,  I  am  for  all 264 

Wax,  sealing 167 

Ways,  come  thy 152 

Weiss  on  Feste 405 

Welkin 116,  185 

Well-a-day 269 

Were  best 63,  104 

Westward,  ho 196 

We  three 108 

What's  she 26 

While,  the 199 


Whiles 277 

Whirligig 312 

Whiter,  on  association  of  ideas     .    .  54 

Will  misprint  for  well      28 

Winter  on  Miss  Rehan  as  Viola  .    .  394 

"       on  Malvolio 401 

WTiseman 70 

Wisemens  folly  falne 187 

Wise  woman 224 

Wit 64 

With  =  £y 69 

"     after  verbs 94 

Wits,  the  five 267 

Wonder,  estimable 97 

Woodcock 166 

Words  are  very  rascals 182 

World  =  the  social  world 146 

Worth  =  wealth 212 

Wrack 284 

Wren  of  mine 205 

Yare 234 

Y'are 191 

Yellow  stockings 173 

Yet 56 

Zanies 70 


..  PR 

Shakespeare,  W.  283?  ' 

.A2F8 
Twelfe  night  .  .