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THE  COMEDY 


OF 


TWELFTH   NIGHT 


OR,  WHAT  YOU  WILL 


BY 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


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LIBRARY  OF  CONGRESS. 

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ENGLISH  CLASSICS  FOR  SCHOOLS 


THE  COMEDY 


OF 


TWELFTH    NIGHT 

OR,  WHAT  YOU   WILL 


5Y 

WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 


NEW  YORK  •:•  CINCINNATI  •:•  CHICAGO 

AMERICAN    BOOK   COMPANY 

1892 


K- 


Copyright,  1892,  by 
American  Book  COxMPanv. 


TwLF.  Night. 


Iprinteb  b^ 

TUnm.  Hvison 

neve  lor??,  ia.  S.  B. 


INTRODUCTION. 

\^A  bridged  from  Professor  Dowden''s  Sketch  of  JVilliam  Shakespeare. '\ 

Warwickshire  has  been  named  by  Shakespeare's  contempo- 
rary and  fellow-poet,  Michael  Drayton,  "  the  heart  of  England." 
The  country  around  Stratford  presents  the  perfection  of  quiet 
English  scenery.  It  is  remarkable  for  its  wealth  of  lovely  wild 
flowers,  for  its  deep  meadows  on  each  side  of  the  tranquil  x\\'on, 
and  for  its  rich,  sweet  woodlands.  The  town  itself,  in  Shake- 
speare's time,  numbered  about  1400  inhabitants, — a  town  of  scat- 
tered timber  houses,  possessing  two  chief  buildings:  the  stately 
church  by  the  riverside ;  and  the  Guildhall,  where  companies  of 
players  would  at  times  perform,  when  the  corporation  secured 
their  services.  Flood  and  fire  were  the  chief  dangers  of  the  town. 
The  quiet  river  often  rose  angrily  in  autumn,  and  left  disease  be- 
hind it.  The  plague,  in  its  course,  did  not  turn  aside  from  Strat- 
ford. Here,  and  probably  in  a  low-ceiled  room  of  a  house  in 
Flenley  Street,  William  Shakespeare  was  born,  in  April,  1564, — 
upon  what  day  we  cannot  be  certain,  but  upon  the  26th  iie  was 
baptized ;  and  there  is  a  tradition  that  the  day  of  his  death 
(April  23)  was  the  anniversary  of  his  birthday. 

John  Shakespeare,  father  of  the  future  dramatist,  was  a  pros- 
perous burgess  of  Stratford.  He  made  and  sold  gloves,  farmed 
land,  and,  though  he  knew  not  how  to  write  his  name,  became  an 
important  public  person  of  the  tovrn,  tasting  ale  for  his  fellow- 


4  INTRODUCTION. 

burgesses,  keeping  the  Queen's  peace,  imposing  fines  upon  offend- 
ers, rising  in  course  of  time  to  the  honorable  posts  of  cham- 
berlain, alderman,  and  high  baihff.  He  married,  in  1557,  Mary 
ArdenJ  daughter  of  his  landlord,  who  had  died  about  a  year  be- 
fore, leaving  Mary  a  considerable  piece  of  landed  property  in 
possession  (including  a  farm  at  Ashbies),  and  one  much  m_ore 
valuable  in  reversion.  The  Ardens  had  been  Warwickshire  gentry 
since  before  the  Conquest,  and  two  of  the  family  had  held  places 
of  distinction  in  the  household  of  Henry  VII.  The  first  child, 
and  the  second,  of  John  and  Mary  Shakespeare,  were  girls,  who 
died  while  infants ;  the  third  —  their  first-born  son  —  was  to  Hve, 
in  spite  of  the  plague  which  desolated  Stratford  during  the  year 
of  his  birth,  and  was  to  write  the  plays  and  poems  that  we  know. 

To  the  Free  Grammar  School  of  Stratford  William  Shakespeare 
was  sent,  we  may  be  sure,  to  learn  what  neither  his  father  nor 
his  mother  could  teach.  There  he  w^as  taught  not  only  English, 
but  some  Latin,  and  perhaps  a  little  Greek.  Afterwards,  per- 
haps during  his  London  life,  Shakespeare  seems  to  have  learned 
something  of  French,  and  possibly  also  of  Italian.  In  the  first 
year  in  which  Shakespeare  could  have  been  admitted  to  the  Free 
Grammar  School,  his  father  became  chief  alderman  of  Stratford. 
The  corporation  seem  to  have  welcomed  the  players  who  occa- 
sionally visited  the  town.  The  boy,  his  father's  eldest  son,  may 
have  been  taken  to  see  the  entertainments  in  the  Guildhall.  In 
the  summer  of  1575  Queen  Ehzabeth.made  her  famous  visit  to 
Kenilworth,  and  was  entertained  by  Leicester  with  splendid  and 
varied  ceremonies  and  spectacles.  From  Stratford  it  is  only  a 
few  hours'  walk  to  Kenilworth :  Shakespeare's  father  might  ride 
across  with  the  boy  before  him. 

In  November,  1582,  the  Bishop  of  Worcester  granted  a  license 


INTR  on  uc  rioN.  5 

for  the  marriage  of  William  Shakespeare  and  i\nne  Hathaway. 
Anne  was  the  daughter  of  Richard  Hathaway,  a  substantial 
yeoman  hving  at  Shottery,  a  beautiful  hamlet  hardly  one  mile 
distant  from  Stratford.  For  four  or  five  years  he  resided  in 
Stratford,  and  in  1585  became  the  father  of  twins,  Hamnet  and 
Judith,  named  after  his  friends  Hamnet  Sadler  and  his  wife. 
Most  probably  during  the  poet's  London  hfe,  Anne,  with  his 
children,  staid  in  Stratford.  It  was  in  Stratford,  in  1596,  that 
Hamnet,  his  only  son,  was  buried.  Though  Shakespeare  chose 
to  leave  his  wife  and  children  in  the  country,  while  he  himself 
was  toiling  in  the  great  city,  a  tradition  records  that  he  paid  a 
yearly  visit  to  his  home.  There  is  no  doubt  that  he  toiled  with 
the  purpose  of  returning,  as  he  actually  did,  to  his  native  town, 
there,  with  his  family,  to  spend  the  later  3'ears  of  his  life. 

The  immediate  cause  of  Shakespeare's  departure  from  Stratford 
is  thus  told  circumstantially  by  Rowe,  his  first  biographer :  "  He 
had,  by  a  misfortune  common  enough  to  young  fellows,  fallen 
into  ill  company ;  and  amongst  them,  some  that  made  a  fre- 
quent practice  of  deer-stealing  engaged  him  more  than  once  in 
robbing  a  park  that  belonged  to  Sir  Thomas  Lucy  of  Charlcote, 
near  Stratford.  For  this  he  was  prosecuted  by  that  gentleman, 
as  he  thought,  somewhat  too  severely ;  and,  in  order  to  revenge 
the  ill  usage,  he  made  a  ballad  upon  him.  And  though  this, 
probably  the  first,  essay  of  his  poetry  be  lost,  yet  it  is  said  to 
have  been  so  very  bitter,  that  it  redoubled  the  prosecution  against 
him  to  that  degree,  that  he  was  obliged  to  leave  his  business  and 
family  in  Warwickshire  for  some  time,  and  shelter  himself  in 
London."  Part  of  this  story  is  probably  incorrect,  but  it  un- 
doubtedly has  a  foundation  of  fact. 

From  the  baptism  of  his  twins  in  February,  1584,  nothing  is 


6  INTRODUCTION. 

heard  of  Shakespeare  until  he  is  spoken  of  in  1592  as  a  suc- 
cessful actor  and  author.  The  "  Queen's  Players "  came  to 
Stratford  in  1587.  Then  perhaps  it  was  that  Shakespeare  decided 
to  leave  his  native  town,  and  seek  his  fortune  in  London.  The 
first  certain  reference  to  Shakespeare  which  has  been  discovered 
is  that  of  the  dramatist  Robert  Greene,  in  his  ''  Greenes  Groats- 
worth  of  Wit  bought  with  a  Million  of  Repentance,"  —  a  pam- 
phlet written  by  its  unhappy  author  upon  his  death-bed,  and 
published  immediately  after  Greene's  death  by  his  executor, 
Henry  Chettle.  Here  the  dying  playwright,  addressing  three 
of  his  fellow-authors,  warns  them  against  putting  any  trust 
in  players :  "  Yes,  trust  them  not  :  for  there  is  an  upstart 
Crow,  beautified  with  our  feathers,  that  with  his  tygers  heart 
wrapt  in  a  players  hide,  supposes  he  is  as  well  able  to  bumbast 
out  a  blanke  verse  as  the  best  of  you:  and  being  an  absolute 
Joha7ines  factotum^  is  in  his  owne  conceit  the  onely  Shake- 
scene  in  a  country."  We  have  evidence  here  that  before 
Greene's  death  the  players  had  been  turning  from  him  to  a 
rival  poet  who  was  also  an  actor,  who  could  write  a  swelling 
blank  verse  like  Marlowe,  who  turned  his  hand  to  everything,  and 
made  himself  useful  in  many  ways  to  his  company. 

Some  three  months  later,  in  December,  1592,  a  pamphlet  by 
Henry  Chettle  appeared,  entitled  "  Kind-Harts  Dream."  It 
seems  that  Marlowe  and  Shakespeare  took  offense  at  passages 
in  '*  Greenes  Groatsworth  "  referring  to  them.  Chettle  declares 
that  as  for  one  of  them  (Marlowe),  while  he  reverences  his 
learning,  he  has  nothing  to  answer  for,  and  cares  not  ever  to 
make  his  acquaintance.  To  Shakespeare  he  offers  a  liberal 
apology.  "The  other  \Shakespeare\  whome  at  that  time  I 
did  not  so  much  spare   as  since  I  wish  I  had  ...  I  am  as 


INTRODUCTION.  7 

sory  as  if  the  originall  fault  had  beene  my  fault,  because  my 
selfe  have  seene  his  demeanor  no  lesse  civill,  than  he  exelent 
in  the  quaUtie  he  professes ;  besides,  divers  of  worship  have 
reported  his  uprightnes  of  dealing,  which  argues  his  honesty, 
and  his  facetious  \felicitous\  gi'ace  in  wTitting,  that  aprooves 
his  art."  The  word  "quahtie,"  it  should  be  noted,  was  used 
in  vShakespeare's  time  with  special  reference  to  the  actor's 
profession ;  so  that  we  here  possess  testimony  to  Shakespeare's 
worth  as  a  man,  to  his  excellence  in  his  profession,  and  to  the 
friends  and  fame  he  had  already  acquired  as  a  writer. 

The  first  mention  we  possess  of  Shakespeare  by  name,  after  his 
arrival  in  London,  occurs  in  the  accounts  of  the  treasurer  of  the 
chamber,  from  which  we  learn  that  he  appeared  twice  with  Bur- 
bage  as  a  member  of  the  lord  chamberlain's  company,  before 
Queen  Elizabeth,  in  Christmas  time,  1593.  He  was  now  rapidly 
producing  his  historical  plays  and  earher  comedies,  and  was 
gathering  that  wealth  which  he  meant  should  release  him  from 
the  servitude  of  his  profession.  He  had  planned  to  return  in  due 
time  to  Stratford,  and  to  live  there  as  a  gentleman.  In  1596 
John  Shakespeare  applied  for  a  grant  of  coat  armor,  and  in  the 
following  year  the  grant  was  made  by  the  Garter  King-of-Arms. 
But  if  Shakespeare  hoped  to  found  a  family,  that  hope  received  a 
blow  ;  and  the  father's  heart  was  wounded  by  the  death,  in  1596, 
of  Hamnet,  his  only  son.  Still  he  pursued  his  plan,  and  looked 
forward  to  Stratford  as  his  home.  An  attempt  was  made  at  this 
time  by  John  Shakespeare  and  his  wife  to  recover  Ashbies,  prob- 
ably without  success.  In  1597,  William  Shakespeare  bought,  for 
£,^0^  New  Place,  a  goodly  dwelling  in  his  native  town. 

In  1598  most  remarkable  testimony  to  the  high  position  occu- 
pied by  Shakespeare  as  a  dramatist  and  as  a  narrative  and  lyrical 


I 


8  INrRODUCTION. 

poet  is  given  in  the  "Wit's  Treasury  "  by  Francis  Meres,  master  of 
arts.  The  passage  in  which  Meres  enumerates  twelve  of  Shake- 
speare's plays  is  of  the  utmost  importance  in  guiding  us  towards 
a  true  chronology  of  his  works ;  it  must  also  be  observed  that 
Meres  makes  mention  of  Shakespeare's  "  Sugred  sonnets  among 
his  private  friends."  The  earHest  editions  of  plays  by  Shake- 
speare belong  to  this  period.  In  1597  were  printed  "  Richard  II.," 
"Richard  III.,"  and  "  Romeo  and  Juliet."  Others  speedily  fol- 
lowed. It  is  clear  that  in  several  instances  the  copies  were  obtained 
surreptitiously ;  and,  to  gain  a  sale  for  plays  by  other  authors,  un- 
scrupulous printers  now  placed  the  popular  name  of  Shakespeare 
upon  the  title-page.  In  1599  a  volume  of  poems,  entitled  "The 
Passionate  Pilgrim,"  was  published,  and  its  authorship  ascribed  to  1 
Shakespeare.  Jaggard,  the  publisher,  had  got  hold  of  a  few  short 
pieces  of  Shakespeare's,  and  added  to  these  liberally  from  other 
quarters.  We  know,  on  the  testimony  of  Heywood,  that  Shake- 
speare, upon  occasion  of  a  subsequent  edition  containing  poems 
falsely  ascribed  to  him,  was  seriously  offended. 

In  1 60 1  died  at  Stratford  the  poet's  father,  John  Shakespeare. 
Still  his  son  pursued  his  plan  of  providing  himself  with  a  sub- 
stantial independence  and  a  home.  The  play  of  "  Hamlet "  is 
entered  in  Stationers'  Register  in  1602  ;  and  in  the  same  year 
the  creator  of  "Hamlet"  was  living  in  no  dream-world,  but  was 
taking  practical  possession  of  this  solid  earth  ;  purchasing  in  May, 
for  ^320,  one  hundred  and  seven  acres  in  the  parish  of  Old 
Stratford  (his  brother  Gilbert  receiving  the  conveyance  for  him), 
and  later  in  the  year  (the  author  of  "  Hamlet "  being  now  "  Wil- 
liam Shakespeare,  Gentleman  ")  a  second  and  smaller  property. 
His  largest  purchase  was  that  of  the  unexpired  term  of  a  lease  of 
the  tithes  of  Stratford,  Old  Stratford,  Bishopton,  and  Welcombe. 


INTRODUCTION.  9 

This  he  acquired  in  July,  1605,  for  the  sum  of  ^440.  But,  al- 
though now  styled  "  gentleman,  of  Stratford-on-Avon,"  he  had 
not  yet  left  London,  nor  abandoned  his  profession.  Elizabeth 
died  in  1603.  It  was  noticed  at  the  time  that  Shakespeare 
lamented  the  Queen  in  no  ode  or  elegy.  In  May  arrived  at 
London  her  successor,  James  I. ;  and  within  a  few  days  after  his 
arrival  a  warrant  was  issued,  licensing  the  theatrical  company  to 
which  Shakespeare  belonged.  His  name  appears  second  in  the 
list  of  players  contained  in  the  warrant.  Ben  Jonson's  "  Sejanus  " 
was  first  acted  in  the  same  year,  1603,  and  the  name  of  Shake- 
speare occupies  a  place  in  the  list  of  actors.  We  know  nothing 
of  his  having  acted  at  a  later  date  than  this ;  but  whether  he 
ceased  to  appear  upon  the  stage  about  1604,  or  continued  to  act 
for  several  years  later,  we  cannot  say. 

Between  the  years  1610  and  161 2  we  have  reason  to  suppose 
that  Shakespeare  returned  for  good  to  his  Stratford  home.  The 
change  was  great  from  the  streets  of  London,  the  noisy  theaters, 
the  brilliant  "  wit-combats  "  at  the  Mermaid  Tavern,  to  the  peace- 
ful retreat,  the  wife  whom  he  had  loved  as  a  boy,  his  children 
and  their  little  girl,  by  this  time  running  about  and  talking,  and 
encircling  these  the  quiet  fields  and  hills  and  brimming  river. 
Still  he  retained  an  interest  in  London.  In  the  following  year, 
1613,  the  Globe  Theater  was  destroyed  by  fire,  and  probably 
manuscripts  of  Shakespeare's  plays  perished  on  that  occasion. 
Fire  again  may  have  alarmed,  if  it  did  not  injure,  Shakespeare, 
in  1 6 14;  for  in  that  year  a  great  conflagration  took  place  at 
Stratford,  fifty-four  houses  being  burned  down.  At  the  same 
time  a  project  was  put  forward  for  the  inclosing  of  some  common 
lands  near  Stratford.  It  touched  Shakespeare's  interests,  and 
would  have  been  an  injury  to  the  poor:   Shakespeare  resisted 


lo  INTRODUCTION. 

the  scheme,  declaring  that  he  was  not  able  to  bear  the  inclosing 
of  Welcombe. 

On  Feb.  lo,  1616,  Shakespeare's  younger  daughter,  Judith, 
now  aged  thirty-one,  was  married  to  Thomas  Quiney,  a  vintner 
of  Stratford,  whose  father  —  a  friend  of  the  poet  —  had  been 
high  bailiff  of  the  town.  On  the  25th  of  the  next  month  he  exe- 
cuted his  will,  which  in  January  had  been  drawn,  and  in  another 
month  the  world  had  lost  Shakespeare.  He  died  April  23,  16 16. 
Shakespeare  was  buried  in  the  parish  church  at  Stratford.  Within 
a  few  years  after  his  death  a  bust  of  the  poet  was  erected  in  the 
church.  The  face  was  probably  modeled  from  a  cast  taken  after 
death.  It  was  originally  colored,  —  the  eyes  hazel,  the  hair  and 
beard  auburn.  This  and  the  portrait  which  is  prefixed  to  the 
First  Folio,  1623,  are  the  only  certain  hkenesses  of  Shakespeare 
which  remain  to  us.  That  known  as  the  "  Chandos  portrait," 
though  differing  in  some  important  particulars  from  the  other 
portraits,  has  by  many  persons  been  considered  genuine ;  and 
there  exists  a  death-mask  —  named,  from  a  supposed  former 
owner,  the  *' Kesselstadt  death-mask" — which  bears  the  date 
16 1 6,  and  which  may  be  the  original  cast  from  the  dead  poet's 
face.  It  exhibits  a  head  of  remarkable  proportions,  and  a  face 
of  great  power  and  refinement.  The  grave  in  the  parish  church 
at  Stratford  is  covered  by  a  flat  stone,  bearing  an  inscription 
attributed  to  Shakespeare  himself :  — 

"  Good  frend,  for  Jesus'  sake  forbeare 
To  digg  the  dust  enclosed  heare : 
Blest  be  the  man  that  spares  thes  stones, 
And  curst  be  he  that  moves  my  bones." 

A  comedy  acted  at  Siena  in  1531,  and  printed  at  Venice  six 
years  later,  bears  the  title  *'  Gl'Ingannati,"  or,  "  The  Deceived," 


INTK  on  UC  TIOX.  1 1 

The  analysis  of  the  story  is  this :  "  Fabritio  and  Lelia,  brother 
and  sister,  are  separated  at  the  sack  of  Rome,  in  1527.  LeHa  is 
carried  to  Modena,  where  resides  Flaminio,  to  whom  she  had  for- 
merly been  attached.  Lelia  disguises  herself  as  a  boy,  and  enters 
his  service.  Flaminio  had  forgotten  Leha,  and  was  a  suitor  to 
Isabella,  a  Modenese  lady.  Leha,  in  her  male  attire,  is  employed 
in  love  embassies  from  Flaminio  to  Isabella.  Isabella  is  insensible 
to  the  importunities  of  Flaminio,  but  conceives  a  violent  passion 
for  Lelia,  mistaking  her  for  a  man.  In  the  third  act  Fabritio 
arrives  at  Modena,  where  mistakes  arise  owing  to  the  close  resem- 

I  blance  there  is  between  Fabritio  and  his  sister  in  her  male  attire. 
Ultimately  recognitions  take  place  ;  the  affections  of  Isabella  are 
easily  transfenxd  from  Lelia  to  Fabritio,  and  Flaminio  takes  to 
his  bosom  the  affectionate  and  faithful  Lelia." 

This  is  in  outhne  the  story  of  "  Twelfth  Night,"  and  from  the 
Italian  comedy  Shakespeare  certainly  derived  his  plot.  "  But  it 
by  no  means  follows,"  says  Dyce,  "  that  the  foreign  originals  were 
used  by  Shakespeare ;  and,  indeed,  I  suspect  that  his  knowledge 
of  Italian  was  small.  Much  of  the  lighter  literature  of  his  time 
—  many  a  printed  tale  and  many  a  manuscript  play  —  has  long 

I  ago  perished  ;  and  among  them  may  have  been  some  piece  trans- 
lated or  imitated  from  the  Italian,  which  supplied  him  with  ma- 
terials for  the  serious  parts  of  '  Twelfth  Night ;  ' "  for  it  is  to  be 
noted  that  the  comic  characters  of  the  underplot  —  Sir  Toby,  Sir 
Andrew,  the  Clown,  Maria,  and  Malvolio  himself  —  are  entirely 
of  Shakespeare's  creation,  as  are,  of  course,  all  of  the  beauties 
and  the  poetry  of  the  piece. 

Two  facts  fix  the  date  of  this  play  at  about  1599  or  1600.  The 
name  of  "Twelfth  Night"  is  not  found  in  Meres's  hst  of  1598, 
and  it  could  hardly,  therefore,  have  been  printed  or  acted  before 


IN  TROD  UCTION. 


that.  The  fact  on  the  other  side  is  this :  Among  the  Harleian 
Manuscripts  in  the  British  Museum  is  a  small  volume  containing, 
among  other  things,  the  diary  of  a  member  of  the  Middle  Temple 
from  January,  1601,  to  April,  1603.  The  writer  of  this  diary  has 
been  identified  with  one  John  Manningham,  who  was  entered 
at  the  Middle  Temple,  March  16,  1597.  The  entry  M^hich  con- 
cerns us  reads, — 

*' Febr.  1601.  At  our  feast  wee  had  a  play  called  Twelve 
night  or  what  you  will,  much  like  the  comedy  of  errores  or 
Menechmi  in  Plautus,  but  most  like  and  neere  to  that  in  Itahan 
called  Inganni  a  good  practise  in  it  to  make  the  steward  beleeve 
his  Lady  widdowe  was  in  Love  with  him  by  counterfayting  a 
letter,  as  from  his  Lady,  in  generall  termes,  telling  him  what  shee 
liked  best  in  him,  and  prescribing  his  gesture  in  smiling  his  ap- 
paraile  &c.  And  then  when  he  came  to  practise  making  him 
beleeve  they  tooke  him  to  be  mad." 

This  entry  of  Manningham's  is  quite  sufficient  to  identify  the 
play  which  was  acted  in  the  Middle  Temple  Hall  at  the  Readers' 
Feast,  l6oi-o2,  with  the  "Twelfth  Night"  of  Shakespeare. 

Various  conjectures  have  been  made  as  to  the  reason  of  the 
name  given  to  this  comedy ;  but  the  most  probable  one  seems  to 
be  that  Shakespeare  considered  this  comedy  suitable  for  repre- 
sentation on  Twelfth  Night,  which  was  then  always  kept  in  Eng- 
land with  amusements  and  festivities.  The  second  title  of  "  What 
You  Will "  was  probably  added  by  Shakespeare  to  show  that  if 
"  Twelfth  Night "  was  not  a  good  enough  name,  people  could 
choose  for  themselves,  and  call  it  by  whatever  name  they  pre- 
ferred (compare  the  title  "As  You  Like  It").  This  was  to  a 
certain  extent  done :  for  some  twenty  years  after  its  first  pro- 
duction the  play  was  called  "  MalvoHo." 


TWELFTH     NIGHT; 


OR,  WHAT   YOU    WILL. 


PERSONS   OF   THE  FLAY. 


Orsino,  Duke  of  Illyria. 
Sebastian,  brother  to  Viola. 
Antonio,   a   sea   captain,  friend  to 

Sebastian. 
A  Sea  Captain,  friend  to  Viola. 
Valentine,  )  gentlemen  attending  on 
Curio,  S  the  DiiJze. 

Sir  Toby  Belch,  ttncle  to  Olivia. 
Sir  Andrew  Aguecheek. 


Malvolio,  steward  to  Olivia. 

Fabian, 

Feste, 


'  '     _,,  [  servants  to  Oli7 

I,  a  Clozv7i,  ) 


Olivia. 

Viola. 

Maria,  Olivia's  ivoman. 

Lords,  Priests,  Sailors,  Officers,  Mu- 
sicians, and  other  Attendants. 


Scene  :  A  city  in  Illyria,  and  the  seacoast  near  it. 


ACT    I. 

Scene  I.      The  Duke's  Palace. 

Enter  Duke,  Curio,  and  other  Lords ;   Musicians  attending. 

Duke.    If  music  be  the  food  of  love,  play  on ; 
Give  me  excess  of  it,  that,  surfeiting, 
The  appetite  may  sicken,  and  so  die. 
That  strain  again !    it  had  a  dying  fall :  ^ 
O,  it  came  o'er  my  ear  hke  the  sweet  south, 
That  breathes  upon  a  bank  of  violets, 
Stealing  and  giving  odor!      Enough;   no  more: 


1  "  A  dying  fall,"  i.e.,  it  died  away  softly. 
13 


14  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  i.     ( 

'Tis  not  so  sweet  now  as  it  was  before. 
O  spirit  of  love!    how  quick  and  fresh  art  thou, 
That,  notwithstanding  thy  capacity 
R^ceiveth  as  the  sea,  nought  enters  there, 
Of  what  vah'dityi  and  pitch  soe'er. 
But  falls  into  abatement  and  low  price. 
Even  in  a  minute :   so  full  of  shapes  is  fancy  2 
That  it  alone  is  high  fantastical.-^ 

Curio.    AVill  you  go  hunt,  my  lord? 

Duke.  What,  Curio  ? 

Curio.    The  hart, 

Duke.    Why,  so  I  do,  the  noblest  that  I  have : 
O,  when  mine  eyes  did  see  Oh  via  first, 
Methought  she  purg'd  the  air  of  pestilence! 
That  instant  was  I  turn'd  into  a  hart;'^ 
And  my  desires,  like  fell  and  cruel  hounds, 
E'er  since  pursue  me. 

Enter  Valentine. 

How  now!    what  news  from  her? 
Valentine.    So  please  my  lord,  I  might  not  be  admitted ; 
But  from  her  handmaid  do  return  this  answer : 
The  element  itself,  till  seven  years'  heat,^ 
Shall  not  behold  her  face  at  ample  view ; 
But,  like  a  cloistress,  she  will  veiled  walk 
And  water  once  a  day  her  chamber  round 
With  eye-offending  brine :   all  this  to  season 
A  brother's  dead  love,  which  she  would  keep  fresh 
And  lasting  in  her  sad  remembrance. 

1  Value.  2  Love. 

3  "  High  fantastical,"  i.e.,  in  the  highest  degree  imaginative. 

4  In  reference  to  one  of  the  fables  of  Ovid's  Metamorphoses,  in  which 
Actseon,  while  hunting,  having  discovered  Diana  bathing,  is  by  her  tnins- 
formed  to  a  hart,  and,  being  pursued  by  his  own  hounds,  is  devoured  by  them. 

5  "  Seven  years'  heat,"  i.e.,  seven  years'  heat  has  passed. 


CCEXL  1!.]  TWELFTH  XIGIIT.  15 

Duke.    O,  she  that  hath  a  heart  of  that  fine  frame 
To  pay  this  debt  of  love  but  to  a  brother, 
How  will  she  love,  when  the  rich  golden  shaft 
Hath  kill'd  the  flock  of  all  affections  else 
That  live  in  her ;   when  liver,  brain  and  heart, 
These  sovereign  thrones,  her  sweet  perfections,^ 
Are  all  supplied  and  fill'd  with  one  self  king  I 
Away  before  me  to  sweet  beds  of  flowers : 
Love-thoughts  lie  rich  when  canopied  with  bowers.  \Excu7it. 


Scene  II.      The  Seacoast. 

Ejiter  Viola,  a  Captain,  and  Sailors. 

Viola.    What  country,  friends,  is  this  ? 

Captain.    This  is  Illyria,  lady. 

Viola.    And  what  should  I  do  in  Illyria  ? 
My  brother  he  is  in  Elysium. 
Perchance  he  is  not  drown'd :    what  think  you,  sailors? 

Captain.    It  is  perchance  that  you  yourself  were  sav'd. 

Viola.    O  my  poor  brother!    and  so  perchance  may  he  be. 

Captain.    True,  madam :    and,  to  comfort  you  with  chance. 
Assure  yourself,  after  our  ship  did  split. 
When  you  and  those  poor  number  saved  with  you 
Hung  on  our  driving  2  boat,  I  saw  your  brother. 
Most  provident  in  peril,  bind  himself. 
Courage  and  hope  both  teaching  him  the  practice, 
To  a  strong  mast  that  liv'd  upon  the  sea  ; 
Where,  hke  Arion^  on  the  dolphin's  back, 

^  "  Her  sweet  perfections  "  represent  the  judgments,  passions,  and  senti- 
ments, of  which  it  was  supposed  the  Jiver,  brain,  and  heart  were  respectively 
the  seats. 

2  Drifting. 

3  "  Arion  on  the  dolphin's,"  etc.  Arion  was  a  famous  musician  of 
Methymna  in  the  Island  of  Lesbos.  He  visited  Italy,  and  obtained  great 
wealth  by  his  profession.      Some  time  after,  he  wished  to  return  to  his  native 


1 6  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  i. 

I  saw  him  hold  acquaintance  with  the  waves 
So  long  as  I  could  see. 

Viola.    For  saying  so,  there's  gold  : 
Mine  own  escape  unfoldeth  to  my  hope, 
Whereto  thy  speech  serves  for  authority, 
The  hke  of  him.      Know'st  thou  this  country? 

Captain.    Ay,  madam,  well ;   for  I  was  bred  and  born 
Not  three  hours'  travel  from  this  very  place. 

Viola.    Who  governs  here  ? 

Captai?i.    A  noble  duke,  in  nature  as  in  name. 

Viola.    What  is  his  name  ? 

Captain.    Orsino. 

Viola.    Orsino!      I  have  heard  my  father  name  him: 
He  was  a  bachelor  then. 

Captain.    And  so  is  now,  or  was  so  very  late ; 
For  but  a  month  ago  I  went  from  hence, 
And  then  'twas  fresh  in  murmur,  —  as,  you  know, 
What  great  ones  do  the  less  will  prattle  of, — 
That  he  did  seek  the  love  of  fair  Olivia. 

Viola.    What's  she? 

Captain.    A  virtuous  maid,  the  daughter  of  a  count 
That  died  some  twelvemonth  since,  then  leaving  her 
In  the  protection  of  his  son,  her  brother. 
Who  shortly  also  died :   for  whose  dear  love, 
They  say,  she  hath  abjur'd  the  company 
And  sight  of  men. 

Viola.  O  that  I  serv'd  that  lady 

And  might  not  be  dehvered  to  the  world, 

country ;  and  the  sailors  of  the  ship  on  which  he  was  embarked  conspired  to 
murder  him  and  obtain  the  riches  he  was  carrying  to  Lesbos.  Arion  begged 
that  before  being  put  to  death  he  might  be  permitted  to  play  some  melodious 
tune.  As  soon  as  he  had  finished,  he  threw  himself  into  the  sea.  A  number 
of  dolphins  had  been  attracted  round  the  vessel  by  the  sweetness  of  his 
music,  and  it  is  said  he  was  borne  on  the  back  of  one  of  them  in  safety  to 
Ttcnarus. 


SCENE  III.]  TWELFTH  NIGHT  17 

Till  1  had  made  mine  own  occasion  mellow, 
What  my  estate  is  !  ^ 

Captain.  That  were  hard  to  compass ; 

Because  she  will  admit  no  kind  of  suit, 
No,  not  the  duke's. 

Viola.    There  is  a  fair  behavior  in  thee,  captain ; 
And  though  that  nature  with  a  beauteous  wall 
Doth  oft  close  in  pollution,  yet  of  thee 
I  will  beheve  thou  hast  a  mind  that  suits 
With  this  thy  fair  and  outward  character. 
I  prithee,  and  I'll  pay  thee  bounteously, 
Conceal  me  what  I  am,  and  be  my  aid 
For  such  disguise  as  haply  shall  become 
The  form  of  my  intent.     I'll  serve  this  duke : 
Thou  shalt  present  me  as  a  singer  to  him : 
It  may  be  worth  thy  pains ;   for  I  can  sing 
And  speak  to  him  in  many  sorts  of  music 
That  will  allow-  me  very  worth  his  service. 
What  else  may  hap  to  time  I  will  commit ; 
Only  shape  thou  thy  silence  to  my  wit. 

Captain.    Be  you  his  singer,  and  your  mute  I'll  be : 
When  my  tongue  blabs,  then  let  mine  eyes  not  see. 

Viola.    I  thank  thee  :   lead  me  on.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  III.     Olivia's  House. 

Enter  SiR  ToBY  Belch  and  Maria. 

Sir  Toby.  What  a  plague  means  my  niece,  to  take  the  death 
of  her  brother  thus  ?     I  am  sure  care's  an  enemy  to  life. 

Maria.  By  my  troth,  Sir  Toby,  you  must  come  in  earlier  o' 
nights :  your  cousin,^  my  lady,  takes  great  exceptions  to  your  ill 
hours. 

1  *'  And  might  not  be,"  etc.,  i.e.,  and  that  my  identity  might  not  be  made 
public  until  I  find  occasion  to  reveal  it.  2  Approve. 

3  "  Cousin"  was  loosely  used  to  designate  any  kindred  not  in  the  first 
degree,  —  niece,  nephew,  uncle,  grandchild,  etc. 
2 


1 8  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  i. 

Sir  Toby.    Why,  let  her  except,  before  excepted. ^ 

Maria.  Ay,  but  you  must  confine  yourself  within  the  modest 
Hmits  of  order. 

Sir  Toby.  Confine!  I'll  confine  myself  no  finer  than  I  am: 
these  clothes  are  good  enough  to  drink  in ;  and  so  be  these 
boots  too ;  an  they  be  not,  let  them  hang  themselves  in  their 
own  straps. 

Maria.  That  quaffing  and  drinking  will  undo  you :  I  heard 
my  lady  talk  of  it  yesterday ;  and  of  a  foolish  knight  that  you 
brought  in  one  night  here  to  be  her  wooer. 

Sir  Toby.    Who,  Sir  Andrew  Aguecheek  ? 

Maria.    Ay,  he. 

Sir  Toby.    He's  as  talP  a  man  as  any's  in  Illyria. 

Maria.    What's  that  to  the  purpose  ? 

Sir  Toby.    Why,  he  has  three  thousand  ducats  a  year. 

Maria.  Ay,  but  he'll  have  but  a  year  in  all  these  ducats :  he's 
a  very  fool  and  a  prodigal. 

Sir  Toby.  Fie,  that  you'll  say  so!  he  plays  o'  the  viol-de- 
gamboys,^  and  speaks  three  or  four  languages  word  for  word 
without  book,  and  hath  all  the  good  gifts  of  nature. 

Maida.  He  hath  indeed,  almost  natural  :^  for  besides  that  he's 
a  fool,  he's  a  great  quarreler ;  and  but  that  he  hath  the  gift  of  a 
coward  to  allay  the  gust  he  hath  in  quarrehng,  'tis  thought  among 
the  prudent  he  would  quickly  have  the  gift  of  a  grave. 

Sir  Toby.  By  this  hand,  they  are  scoundrels  and  substractors 
that  say  so  of  him.     Who  are  they  ? 

Maria.  They  that  add,  moreover,  he's  drunk  nightly  in  your 
company. 

Sir  Toby.    With  drinking  healths  to  my  niece :    I'll  drink  to  her 

1  "  Except  before  excepted"  was  an  old  law  phrase  which  Sir  Toby  uses 
ludicrously  enough,  and  intentionally  without  meaning. 

2  Able. 

3  Sir  Toby's  corruption  of  "  viol-da-gamba,"  a  musical  instrument  like 
the  violoncello. 

*  Maria  puns  on  the  word  in  its  sense, of  "  fool "  or  "  idiot." 


I 


SCEN5-:  III.]  TWELFTH  NIGHT.  19 

as  long  as  there  is  a  passage  in  my  throat  and  drink  in  Illyria : 
he's  a  coward  and  a  coistril  1  that  will  not  drink  to  my  niece  till 
his  brains  turn  o'  the  toe  like  a  parish-top.^  What,  wench?  Cas- 
tiliano  vulgo !  ^  for  here  conies  Sir  Andrew  Agueface. 

Enter  Sir  Andrew  Aguecheek, 

Sir  Andrew.    Sir  Toby  Belch !    how  now^,  Sir  Toby  Belch  1 

Sir  Tody.    Sweet  Sir  Andrew! 

Sir  Afidrew.    Bless  you,  fair  shrew. 

Maria.    And  you  too,  sir. 

Sir  Toby.    Accost,  Sir  Andrew,  accost. 

Sir  Andrew.    What's  that? 

Sir  Toby.    My  niece's  chambermaid. 

Sir  Andrew.  Good  Mistress  Accost,  I  desire  better  acquaint- 
ance. 

Maria.    My  name  is  Mary,  sir. 

Sir  Andrew.    Good  Mistress  Mary  Accost — 

Sir  Toby.  You  mistake,  knight :  "  accost "  is  front  her,  address 
her,  woo  her. 

Sir  Andrew.  By  my  troth,  I  would  not  woo  her  in  this 
company.     Is  that  the  meaning  of  "  accost  "? 

Maria.    Fare  you  w^ell,  gentlemen. 

Sir  Toby.  An  thou  let  parf*  so,  Sir  Andrew,  w^ould  thou 
mightst  never  draw  sword  again. 

Sir  A7idrew.  An  you  part  so,  mistress,  I  w^ould  I  might  never 
draw  sword  again.  Fair  lady,  do  you  think  you  have  fools  in 
hand? 

Maria.    Sir,  I  have  not  you  by  the  hand. 

^  A  contemptible  fellow. 

2  In  Shakespeare's  time  "  a  large  top  was  kept  in  every  village  to  be  used 
in  frosty  weather,  that  the  peasants  might  be  kept  warm  by  exercise,  and  out 
of  mischief  while  they  could  not  work." 

3  Probably  Sir  Toby's  mistake  for  the  Italian  Castiliano  volto,  i.e.,  put 
on  a  Castilian  face,  that  is,  look  grave  and  solemn. 

4  "  Let  part,"  i.e.,  let  her  depart. 


20  SHAKESPEARE.  1_act  i. 

Sir  Andreiv.    Marry, i  but  you  shall  have  ;   and  here's  my  hand. 

Mcwia.  Now,  sir,  "  thought  is  free :  "  I  pray  you,  bring  your 
hand  to  the  buttery-bar-  and  let  it  drink. 

Sir  Andrew.    Wherefore,  sweet-heart?  what's  your  metaphor? 

Maria.    It's  dry,  sir. 

Sir  Andrew.  Why,  I  think  so :  I  am  not  such  an  ass  but  I 
can  keep  my  hand  dry.     But  what's  your  jest? 

Maria.    A  dry  jest,  sir. 

Sir  A7idrew.    Are  you  full  of  them? 

Maria.  Ay,  sir,  I  have  them  at  my  fingers'  ends :  marry,  now 
I  let  go  your  hand,  I  am  barren.  \^Exit. 

Sir  Toby.  O  knight,  thou  lack'st  a  cup  of  canary:^  when  did 
I  see  thee  so  put  dowm? 

Sir  Andrew.    Never    in  your  life,   I   think ;    unless  you    see 
canary  put  me  down.     Methinks  sometimes  I  have  no  more  wit 
than  a  Christian  or  an  ordinary  man  has :   but  I  am  a  great  eater    I 
of  beef,  and  I  believe  that  does  hiarm  to  my  wit. 

Sir  Toby.    No  question. 

Sir  Andreiv.  An  I  thought  that,  I 'Id  forswear  it.  I'll  ride 
home  to-morrow.  Sir  Toby. 

Sir  Toby.    Pourquoi,'^  my  dear  knight? 

Sir  Andrew.  What  is  "pourquoi"?  do  or  not  do?  I  would  I 
had  bestowed  that  time  in  the  tongues  that  I  have  in  fencing, 
dancing  and  bear-baiting:    O,  had  I  but  followed  the  arts! 

Sir  Toby.    Then  hadst  thou  had  an  excellent  head  of  hair.^ 

Sir  A?idrew.    Why,  would  that  have  mended  my  hair? 

1  This  petty  oath,  so  frequent  in  old  plays,  is  a  corruption  of  "By  the 
Virgin  Mary,"  and  was  used  in  avoidance  of  the  statute  against  profane 
swearing. 

2  The  "  buttery  "  was  a  room  in  which  provisions  and  liquors  were  kept; 
the  "  bar,"  the  opening  through  which  they  were  passed. 

3  A  sweet  wine  of  the  Canary  Islands. 

4  For  what,  why. 

5  Sir  Toby  puns  on  "tongues"  and  "tongs"  (curling-tongs  for  the 
hair).  The  words  were  formerly  pronounced  more  nearly  alike  than  at  the 
present  time. 


SCENE  III.]  TWELFTH  NIGHT.  21 

Sir  Toby.  Past  question ;  for  thou  seest  it  will  not  curl  by- 
nature. 

Sir  Andrew.    But  it  becomes  me  well  enough,  does't  not? 

Sir  Toby.    Excellent ;   it  hangs  like  flax  on  a  distaff. 

Sir  Andrew.  Faith,  I'll  home  to-morrow,  Sir  Toby :  your  niece 
will  not  be  seen  ;  or  if  she  be,  it's  four  to  one  she'll  none  of  me  : 
the  count  himself  here  hard  by  woos  her. 

Sir  Toby.  She'll  none  o'  the  count :  she'll  not  match  above 
her  degree,  neither  in  estate,  years,  nor  wit ;  I  have  heard  her 
swear't.     Tut,  there's  life  in't,  man. 

Sir  Andrew.  I'll  stay  a  month  longer.  I  am  a  fellow  o'  the 
strangest  mind  i'  the  world ;  I  delight  in  masques  and  revels 
sometimes  altogether. 

Sir  Toby.    Art  thou  good  at  these  kickshawses,^  knight  ? 

Sir  Andrew.  As  any  man  in  Illyria,  whatsoever  he  be,  under 
the  degree  of  my  betters ;  and  yet  I  will  not  compare  with  an 
old  man. 

Sir  Toby.    What  is  thy  excellence  in  a  galliard,^  knight? 

Sir  Andrew.    Faith,  I  can  cut  a  caper. 

Sir  Toby.    And  I  can  cut  the  mutton  to't.^ 

Sir  Andrew.  And  I  think  I  have  the  back-trick  simply  as 
strong  as  any  man  in  Illyria. 

Sir  Toby.  Wherefore  are  these  things  hid?  wherefore  have 
these  gifts  a  curtain  before  'em?  are  they  like  to  take  dust,  like 
Mistress  Mall's*  picture?  why  dost  thou  not  go  to  church  in  a 
galliard  and  come  home  inacoranto?^  My  very  walk  should 
be  a  jig.  What  dost  thou  mean?  Is  it  a  world  to  hide  virtues 
in?  I  did  think,  by  the  excellent  constitution  of  thy  leg,  it  was 
form'd  under  the  star  of  a  galliard. 

1  Kickshaws  ;  trifles.  2  A  lively  Spanish  dance. 

3  We  learn  from  the  knight's  quibble  on  the  word,  that  "  capers  "  were 
served  with  mutton  as  long  ago  as  Shakespeare's  day  at  least. 

*  It  is  probable  this  means  simply  a  lady's  picture ;  "as  we  say  '  Master 
Tom '  or  *  Master  Jack '  to  designate  no  particular  individual,  but  young  gen- 
tlemen generally." 


22  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  i. 

Sir  Ajtdrew.  Ay,  'tis  strong,  and  it  does  indifferent  well  in  a 
flame-color'd  stock. ^     Shall  we  set  about  some  revels? 

Sir  Toby.  What  shall  we  do  else?  were  we  not  bom  under 
Taurus?'^ 

Sir  Andrew.   Taurus!      That's  sides  and  heart. 

Sir  Toby.  No,  sir ;  it  is  legs  and  thighs.  Let  me  see  thee 
caper :   ha  1   higher :   ha,  ha !    excellent  1  \Exeimt. 


Scene  IV.      TJie  Duke's  Palace. 

Enter  Valentine,  and  Viola  in  man'^s  attire. 

Vale?itine.  If  the  duke  continue  these  favors  towards  you, 
Cesario,  you  are  like  to  be  much  advanc'd :  he  hath  known  you 
but  three  days,  and  already  you  are  no  stranger. 

Viola.  You  either  fear  his  humor  or  my  negligence,  that  you 
call  in  question  the  continuance  of  his  love  :  is  he  inconstant,  sir, 
in  his  favors? 

Valentine.    No,  believe  me. 

Viola.    I  thank  you.     Here  comes  the  count. 

Enter  DuKE,  CuRio,  mid  Attendants. 

Duke.    Wlio  saw  Cesario,  ho? 

Viola.    On  your  attendance,  my  lord  ;   here. 

Duke.    Stand  you  a  while  aloof.     Cesario, 
Thou  know'st  no  less  but^^  all ;   I  have  unclasp'd 
To  thee  the  book  even  of  my  secret  soul : 
Therefore,  good  youth,  address  thy  gait  unto  her; 
Be  not  denied  access,  stand  at  her  doors, 

^  StodsiTig-. 

^  An  allusion  to  the  astrology  of  the  almanac,  which  refers  the  affec- 
tions of  particular  parts  of  the  body  to  the  predominance  of  the  constellations 
of  the  zodiac.  Both  Sir  Toby  and  Sir  Andrew  are  wrong,  as  Tanrus  was 
supposed  to  govern  the  neck  and  the  throat. 

2  Than. 


SCENE  IV.]  TWELFTH  NIGHT.  23 

And  tell  them,  there  thy  fixed  foot  shall  grow 
Till  thou  have  audience. 

Viola.  Sure,  my  noble  lord, 

If  she  be  so  abandon 'd  to  her  sorrow 
As  it  is  spoke,  she  never  will  admit  me. 

Duke.    Be  clamorous  and  leap  all  civil  bounds 
Rather  than  make  unprofited  1  return. 

Viola.    Say  I  do  speak  with  her,  my  lord,  what  then? 

DiiJze.    O,  then  unfold  the  passion  of  my  love. 
Surprise  her  with  discourse  of  my  dear  faith : 
It  shall  become  thee  well  to  act  my  woes ; 
She  will  attend  it  better  in  thy  youth 
Than  in  a  nuncio's  of  more  grave  aspect. 

Viola.    I  think  not  so,  my  lord. 

Duke.  Dear  lad,  believe  it ; 

For  they  shall  yet  belie  thy  happy  years, 
That  say  thou  art  a  man :    Diana's  lip 
Is  not  more  smooth  and  rubious  ;2  thy  small  pipe 
Is  as  the  maiden's  organ,  shrill  in  sound. 
And  all  is  semblative  a  woman's  part. 
I  know  thy  constellation  is  right  apt 
For  this  affair.     Some  four  or  five  attend  him ; 
All,  if  you  will ;   for  I  myself  am  best 
When  least  in  company.     Prosper  well  in  this. 
And  thou  shalt  live  as  freely  as  thy  lord, 
To  call  his  fortunes  thine. 

Viola.    ,  I'll  do  my  best 

To  woo  your  lady :    [Aside]  yet,  a  barf ul  strife ! 
Whoe'er  I  woo,  myself  would  be  his  wife.  [Exeimt. 

1  Unprofitable.  2  Red  like  a  ruby. 


24  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  i. 

Scene  V.      Olivia's  House. 

Enter  Maria  and  Clown. 

Maria.  Nay,  either  tell  me  where  thou  hast  been,  or  I  will 
not  open  my  lips  so  wide  as  a  bristle  may  enter  in  way  of  thy 
excuse :   my  lady  will  hang  thee  for  thy  absence. 

Clown.  Let  her  hang  me  :  he  that  is  well  hang'd  in  this  world 
needs  to  fear  no  colors. ^ 

Aiaria.    Make  that  good. 

Clow7i.    He  shall  see  none  to  fear. 

Maiia.  A  good  lenten  ^  answer :  I  can  tell  thee  where  that 
saying  was  born,  of  ''I  fear  no  colors." 

Clown.    Where,  good  Mistress  Mary? 

Maria.  In  the  wars ;  and  that  may  you  be  bold  to  say  in 
your  foolery. 

Clown.  Well,  God  give  them  wisdom  that  have  it ;  and  those 
that  are  fools,  let  them  use  their  talents. 

Maria.  Yet  you  will  be  hang'd  for  being  so  long  absent ;  or, 
to  be  turn'd  away,  is  not  that  as  good  as  a  hanging  to  you? 

Clown.  Many  a  good  hanging  prevents  a  bad  marriage  ;  and, 
for  turning  away,  let  summer  bear  it  out.-^ 

Maiia.    You  are  resolute,  then  ? 

Cloivn.    Not  so,  neither ;   but  I  am  resolv'd  on  two  points. 

Maria.  That  if  one  break,  the  other  will  hold ;  or,  if  both 
break,  your  gaskins*  fall. 

Clown.    Apt,  in  good  faith ;   very  apt.     Well,  go  thy  way ;   if 

1  "Fear  no  colors,"  i.e.,  fear  no  enemy.  We  still  use  "colors"  for 
"  flag  "  or  "  standard."  It  was  a  proverbial  saying,  and  is  often  met  with  in 
dramas  of  the  time. 

2  Meager,  like  the  fare  in  Lent. 

3  "  Let  summer,"  etc.,  i.e.,  he  could  get  on  well  enough  if  he  were  dis- 
missed in  summer. 

*  A  kind  of  trousers.  The  tags  with  which  they  were  fastened  to  the 
doublet  were  also  called  "  points,"  and  Maria  puns  on  the  word  in  this  sense. 


SCENE  v.]  TWELFTH  XIGHT  25 

Sir  Toby  would  leave   drinking,  thou  wert  as  witty  a  piece  of 
Eve's  flesh  as  any  in  Illyria. 

Maria.  Peace,  you  rogue,  no  more  o'  that.  Here  comes  my 
lady :   make  your  excuse  wisely,  you  were  best.  \Exit. 

Clown.    Wit,   an't  be   thy  w^ill,  put   me   into  good  foohng  ! 
Those  wits,  that  think  they  have  thee,  do  very  oft  prove  fools ; 
and  I,  that  am  sure  I  lack  thee,  may  pass  for  a  wise  man :   for 
what  says  QuinapalusP^     "Better  a  witty  fool  than  a  foolish 
wit." 

Enter  Lady  Olivia  loith  Malvolio. 

God  bless  thee,  lady! 

Olivia.    Take  the  fool  away. 

Clown.    Do  you  not  hear,  fellows  ?     Take  away  the  lady. 

Olivia.  Go  to,  you're  a  dry  fool ;  I'll  no  more  of  you :  be- 
sides, you  grow  dishonest. 

CloiV7i.  Two  faults,  madonna,-  that  drink  and  good  counsel 
will  amend :  for  give  the  dry  fool  drink,  then  is  the  fool  not  dry  : 
bid  the  dishonest  man  mend  himself ;  if  he  mend,  he  is  no  longer 
dishonest ;  if  he  cannot,  let  the  botcher^  mend  him.  Anything 
that's  mended  is  but  patch'd :  virtue  that  transgresses  is  but 
patch'd  with  sin  ;  and  sin  that  amends  is  but  patch'd  with  virtue. 
If  that  this  simple  syllogism  will  serve,  so ;  if  it  will  not,  what 
remedy?  The  lady  bade  take  away  the  fool ;  therefore,  I  say 
again,  take  her  away. 

Olivia.    Sir,  I  bade  them  take  away  you. 

Cloivn.  Misprision  in  the  highest  degree!  Lady,  cucullus 
non  facit  monachum ;  ^  that's   as  much  to  say  as  I  wear  not 

1  The  clown  invents  a  philosopher  as  authority  for  his  own  aphorism. 
We  hear  of  him  again  as  having  exercised  his  inventive  genius  in  producing 
Pigrogromitus,  the  Vapians*  and  "the  Equinoctial  of  Queubus,"  for  the 
entertainment  of  Sir  Andrew. 

2  My  lady. 

3  A  patcher  of  old  garments. 

4  "  Cucullus  non  facit  monachum,"  i.e.,  the  cowl  does  not  make  the 
monk. 


26  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  i. 

motley  ^  in  my  brain.     Good  madonra,  give  me  leave  to  prove 
you  a  fool. 

Olivia.    Can  you  do  it? 

'Clown.    Dexteriously,-  good  madonna. 

Olivia.    Make  your  proof. 

Clown.  I  must  catechize  you  for  it,  madonna:  good  my 
mouse  3  of  virtue,  answer  me. 

Olivia.  Well,  sir,  for  want  of  other  idleness,  I'll  bide  your 
proof. 

Clown.    Good  madonna,  why  mourn'st  thou  ? 

Olivia.    Good  fool,  for  my  brother's  death. 

Clown.    I  think  his  soul  is  in  hell,  madonna. 

Olivia.    I  know  his  soul  is  in  heaven,  fool. 

Cloivn.  The  more  fool,  madonna,  to  mourn  for  your  brother's 
soul  being  in  heaven.     Take  away  the  fool,  gentlemen. 

Olivia.  What  think  you  of  this  fool,  Malvolio?  doth  he  not 
mend  ? 

Malvolio.  Yes,  and  shall  do  till  the  pangs  of  death  shake 
him :  infirmity,  that  decays  the  wise,  doth  ever  make  the  better 
fool. 

Clown.  God  send  you,  sir,  a  speedy  infirmity,  for  the  better 
increasing  your  folly!  Sir  Toby  will  be  sworn  that  I  am  no 
fox ;  but  he  will  not  pass  his  word  for  twopence  that  you  are  no 
fool. 

Olivia.    How  say  you  to  that,  Malvolio  ? 

Malvolio.  I  marA^el  your  ladyship  takes  delight  in  such  a 
barren  rascal :  I  saw  him  put  down  the  other  day  with^  an  ordi- 
nary fool  that  has  no  more  brain  than  a  stone.  Look  you  now, 
he's  out  of  his  guard  already  ;  unless  you  laugh  and  minister 
occasion  to  him,  he  is  gagg'd.     I  protest,  I  take  these  wise  men, 

1  Consisting  of  different  colors.  The  customary  dress  of  the  fool  or 
jester  was  party-colored. 

2  An  intentional  corruption,  no  doubt. 

3  A  familiar  term  of  endearment. 

4  By. 


SCENE  v.]  TWELFTH  NIGHT.  27 

that  crow  so  at  these  set  kind  of  fools,  no  better  than  the  fools' 
zanies.^ 

Olivia.  O,  you  are  sick  of  self-love,  Malvolio,  and  taste  with 
a  distemper'd  appetite.  To  be  generous,  guiltless  and  of  free 
disposition,  is  to  take  those  things  for  bird-bolts  ^  that  you  deem 
cannon-bullets :  there  is  no  slander  in  an  allow'd  fool,  though  he 
do  nothing  but  rail ;  nor  no  railing  in  a  known  discreet  man, 
though  he  do  nothing  but  reprove. 

Ciowjt.  Now  Merciuy  endue  thee  with  leasing,^  for  thou 
speak'st  well  of  fools! 

Reenter  Maria. 

Maria.  Madam,  there  is  at  the  gate  a  young  gentleman  much 
desires  to  speak  with  you. 

Olivia.    From  the  Count  Orsino,  is  it? 

Maria.  I  know  not,  madam :  'tis  a  fair  young  man,  and  well 
attended. 

Olivia.    Who  of  my  people  hold  him  in  delay? 

Maria.    Sir  Toby,  madam,  your  kinsman. 

Olivia.  Fetch  him  off,  I  pray  you ;  he  speaks  nothing  but 
madman:  fie  on  him!  \Exit  Maria  ^^  Go  you,  MalvoKo  :  if  it 
be  a  suit  from  the  count,  I  am  sick,  or  not  at  home ;  w'hat  you 
wnll,  to  dismiss  it.  \Exit  Malvolio.]  Now  you  see,  sir,  how  your 
fooling  grows  old,  and  people  dislike  it. 

Clown.  Thou  hast  spoke  for  us,  madonna,  as  if  thy  eldest 
son  should  be  a  fool  —  w^hose  skull  Jove  cram  wath  brains!  for 
here  he  comes,  —  one  of  thy  kin  has  a  most  weak  pia  mater.^ 

1  "  The  zany  in  Shakespeare's  day  was  the  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,  attempting  to 
imitate  his  tricks,  and  adding  to  the  general  merriment  by  his  ludicrous 
failures  and  comic  imbecility."  —  Edinhtirgh  Revieiu,  July,  1869. 

2  Short,  blunt-headed  arrows. 

^  Lying.  The  clown  invokes  Mercury,  as  this  celebrated  god  of  antiquity 
was  the  patron  of  thieves,  cheats,  and  deceitful  persons  generally. 

4  A  thin  inner  membrane  enveloping  the  brain.  The  clown  alludes  to 
the  approaching  Sir  Toby. 


28  SHAKE}iPEARE.  [act  i. 

Ente}'  Sir  Toby. 

Olivia.    By  mine  honor,  half  drunk.     What  is  he  at  the  gate,    | 
cousin? 

Sir  Toby.    A  gentleman. 

Olivia.    A  gentleman!      What  gentleman? 

Sir  Toby.  'Tis  a  gentleman  here  —  a  plague  o'  these  pickle- 
herring  l^     How  now,  sot! 

Clown.    Good  Sir  Toby! 

Olivia.  Cousin,  cousin,  how  have  you  come  so  early  by  this 
lethargy? 

Sir  Toby.    Lechery!     I  defy  lechery.     There's  one  at  the  gate. 

Olivia.    Ay,  marry,  what  is  he? 

Sir  Toby.  Let  him  be  the  devil,  an  he  will,  I  care  not :  give 
me  faith,  say  I.     Well,  it's  all  one.  \Exit. 

Olivia.    What's  a  drunken  man  like,  fool  ? 

Clown.  Like  a  drown'd  man,  a  fool  and  a  mad  man :  one 
draught  above  heat  makes  him.  a  fool;  the  second  mads  him;2 
and  a  third  drowns  him. 

Olivia.  Go  thou  and  seek  the  crowner,^  and  let  him  sit  o'  my 
coz  ;  for  he's  in  the  third  degree  of  drink,  he's  drown'd :  go, 
look  after  him. 

Clown.  He  is  but  mad  yet,  madonna ;  and  the  fool  shall  look 
to  the  madman.  \Exit. 

Reente}'  Malvolio. 

Malvolio.  Madam,  yond  young  fellow  swears  he  will  speak 
with  you.  I  told  him  you  were  sick ;  he  takes  on  him  to  under- 
stand so  much,  and  therefore  comes  to  speak  with  you.  I  told 
him  you  were  asleep ;   he  seems  to  have  a  foreknowledge  of  that 

1  Sir  Toby  is  interrupted  in  his  speech  by  a  drunken  liiccough,  which  he 
attributes  to  the  pickled  herring  he  had  eaten.  The  clown  laughing,  the 
knight  turns  to  him,  exclaiming  furiously,  "  How  now,  sot!" 

2  "  One  draught  above  heat,"  etc.,  i.e.,  one  glass  more  than  enough  makes 
him  a  fool ;  the  second  glass  maddens  him,  etc. 

3  Coroner. 


SCENE  v.]  TWELFTH  NIGHT.  29 

too,  and  therefore  comes  to  speak  with  you.  What  is  to  be  said 
to  him,  lady?  he's  fortified  against  any  denial. 

Olivia.    Tell  him  he  shall  not  speak  with  me. 

Malvolio.  Has  been  told  so ;  and  he  says  he'll  stand  at  your 
door  like  a  sheriff's  post,i  and  be  the  supporter  to  a  bench,  but 
he'll  speak  with  you. 

Olivia.    What  kind  o'  man  is  he? 

Malvolio.    Why,  of  mankind. 

Olivia.    What  manner  of  man? 

Malvolio.  Of  very  ill  m.anner ;  he'll  speak  with  you,  will  you 
or  no. 

Olivia.    Of  what  personage  and  years  is  he? 

Malvolio.  Not  yet  old  enough  for  a  man,  nor  young  enough 
for  a  boy ;  as  a  squash  is  before  'tis  a  peascod,  or  a  codling 
when  'tis  almost  an  apple :  'tis  with  him  e'en  standing  water, 
between  boy  and  man.  He  is  very  well-favor'd  and  he  speaks 
very  shrewishly. 

Olivia.    Let  him  approach :    call  in  my  gentlewoman. 

Malvolio.    Gentlewoman,  my  lady  calls.  \Exit. 

Reenter  MARIA. 

Olivia.    Give  me  my  veil :    come,  throw  it  o'er  my  face. 
We'll  once  more  hear  Orsino's  embassy. 

Enter  Viola. 

Viola.    The  honorable  lady  of  the  house,  which  is  she? 

Olivia.    Speak  to  me  ;    I  shall  answer  for  her.     Your  will? 

Viola.  Most  radiant,  exquisite  and  unmatchable  beauty, — 
I  pray  you,  tell  me  if  this  be  the  lady  of  the  house,  for  I  never  saw 
her :  I  would  be  loath  to  cast  away  my  speech,  for  besides  that 
it  is  excellently  well  penn'd,  I  have  taken  great  pains  to  con  it, 

1  "  Outside  the  sheriff's  door  there  used  to  he  set  up  painted  posts,  both 
for  the  purpose  of  showing  where  the  sheriff  lived,  and  for  posting  procla- 
mations." 


30  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  i. 

Good  beauties,  let  me  sustain  no  scorn  ;   I  am  very  comptible,i 
even  to  the  least  sinister  usage. 

Olivia.    Whence  came  you,  sir  ? 

.  Viola.    I  can  say  little  more  than  I  have  studied,  and  that . 
question's  out  of  my  part.     Good  gentle  one,  give  me  modest 
assurance  if  you  be  the  lady  of  the  house,  that  I  may  proceed 
in  my  speech. 

Olivia.    Are  you  a  comedian? 

Viola.  No,  my  profound  heart :  and  yet,  by  the  very  fangs  of 
mahce  I  swear,  I  am  not  that  I  play.  Are  you  the  lady  of  the 
house? 

Olivia.    If  I  do  not  usurp  myself,  I  am. 

Viola.  Most  certain,  if  you  are  she,  you  do  usurp  yourself; 
for  what  is  yours  to  bestow  is  not  yours  to  reserve.  But  this  is 
from  ^  my  commission :  I  will  on  with  my  speech  in  your  praise, 
and  then  show  you  the  heart  of  my  message. 

Olivia.  Come  to  what  is  important  in't :  I  forgive  you  the 
praise. 

Viola.    Alas,  I  took  great  pains  to  study  it,  and  'tis  poetical. 

Olivia.  It  is  the  more  like  to  be  feigned :  I  pray  you,  keep 
it  in.  I  heard  you  were  saucy  at  my  gates,  and  allow'd  your 
approach  rather  to  wonder  at  you  than  to  hear  you.  If  you  be 
mad,  be  gone ;  if  you  have  reason,  be  brief :  'tis  not  that  time  of 
moon  with  me  to  make  one  in  so  skipping  a  dialogue. 

Maria.    Will  you  hoist  sail,  sir?  here  lies  your  way. 

Viola.  No,  good  swabber;  ^  I  am  to  hull^  here  a  little  longer. 
Some  mollification  for  your  giant,*  sweet  lady. 

1  Sensitive.  2  Out  of. 

3  Viola  takes  up  Maria's  metaphor.  "  Swabber"  is  one  who  swabs  or 
washes  the  decks  of  a  ship ;   "  to  hull "  is  to  float,  as  a  vessel  in  a  calm. 

4  "  Some  mollification,"  etc.  Dr.  Johnson  notes  that  "  ladies  in  romance 
are  guarded  by  giants.  Viola,  seeing  the  waiting-maid  so  eager  to  oppose 
her  message,  entreats  Olivia  to  pacify  her  '  giant.'  "  There  is  also  an  ironi- 
cal allusion  to  the  size  of  Maria,  who  is  subsequently  represented  as  of 
diminutive  stature. 


SCENE  v.]  TWELFTH  NIGHT.  3^ 

Olivia.    Tell  me  your  mind. 

Viola.    I  am  a  messenger. 

Olivia.  Sure,  you  have  some  hideous  matter  to  deliver,  when 
the  courtesy  of  it  is  so  fearful.     Speak  your  office. 

Viola.    It  alone  concerns  your  ear.      I  bring  no  overture  of 
war,  no  taxation  ^  of  homage :      I  hold  the  olive  2  in  my  hand ; 
my  words  are  as  full  of  peace  as  matter. 
I         Olivia.    Yet  you  began  rudely.     What  are  you?  what  would 
you? 

Viola.  The  rudeness  that  hath  appear'd  in  me  have  I  learn'd 
from  my  entertainment.  What  I  am,  and  what  I  would,  are  as 
secret  as  maidenhood  ;  to  your  ears,  divinity,  to  any  other's, 
profanation. 

Olivia.  Give  us  the  place  alone :  we  will  hear  this  divinity. 
\^Exit  Maria. \     Now,  sir,  what  is  your  text? 

Viola.    Most  sweet  lady  — 
,         Olivia.    A  comfortable  doctrine,  and  much  may  be  said  of  it. 
I    Where  lies  your  text? 

Viola.    In  Orsino's  bosom. 

Olivia.    In  his  bosom!      In  what  chapter  of  his  bosom? 

Viola.    To  answer  by  the  method,  in  the  first  of  his  heart. 

Olivia.  O,  I  have  read  it :  it  is  heresy.  Have  you  no  more 
to  say  ? 

Viola.    Good  madam,  let  me  see  your  face. 
ip       Olivia.    Have  you  any  commission  from  your  lord  to  negoti- 
ate with  my  face  ?     You  are  now  out  of  your  text :   but  we  will 
draw  the  curtain  and  show  you  the  picture.     Look  you,  sir,  such 
a  one  I  was  this  present :  ^  is't  not  well  done  ?  [  Ujiveiling. 

Viola.    Excellently  done,  if  God  did  all. 

Olivia.    'Tis  in  grain,  sir ;   'twill  endure  wind  and  weather. 

Viola.    'Tis  beauty  truly  blent,  whose  red  and  white 
Nature's  own  sweet  and  cunning  hand  laid  on : 

1  Exaction.  2  An  emblem  of  peace, 

3  "  Such  a  one,"  etc.,  i.e.,  such  as  I  am  at  the  present  moment,  Olivia 
speaking  as  though  she  were  showing  Viola  the  picture. 


32  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  t.     [s 

Lady,  you  are  the  cruel'st  she  alive, 

If  you  will  lead  these  graces  to  the  grave 

And  leave  the  world  no  copy. 

.Olivia.  O,  sir,  I  will  not  be  so  hard-hearted ;  I  will  give  out 
divers  schedules  of  my  beauty  :  it  shall  be  inventoried,  and  every 
particle  and  utensil  label'd  to  my  will :  as,  item,  two  lips,  indif- 
ferent 1  red ;  item,  two  gray  eyes,  with  lids  to  them ;  item,  one 
neck,  one  chin,  and  so  forth.  Were  you  sent  hither  to  praise  ^ 
me  ? 

Viola.  I  see  you  what  you  are,  you  are  too  proud ; 
But,  if  you  were  the  devil,  you  are  fair. 
My  lord  and  master  loves  you :    O,  such  love 
Could  be  but  recompens'd,  though  you  were  crown'd 
The  nonpareil  of  beauty! 

Olivia.  How  does  he  love  me  ? 

Viola.    With  adorations,  with  fertile  tears. 
With  groans  that  thunder  love,  with  sighs  of  fire. 

Olivia.    Your  lord  does  know  my  mind ;    I  cannot  love  him : 
Yet  I  suppose  him  virtuous,  know  him  noble. 
Of  great  estate,  of  fresh  and  stainless  youth ; 
In  voices  well  divulg'd,  free,^  learn'd  and  valiant ; 
And  in  dimension  and  the  shape  of  nature 
A  gracious  person :    but  yet  I  cannot  love  him  ; 
He  might  have  took  his  answer  long  ago. 

Viola.    If  I  did  love  you  in  my  master's  flame, 
With  such  a  suffering,  such  a  deadly  life, 
In  your  denial  I  would  find  no  sense ; 
I  would  not  understand  it. 

Olivia.  Why,  what  would  you  ? 

Viola.    Make  me  a  willow  *  cabin  at  your  gate, 
And  call  upon  my  soul  within  the  house ; 

1  Fairly  or  tolerably.  2  Appraise. 

3  "In  voices  well  divulg'd,  free,"  i.e.,  well  spoken  of  by  the  world; 
generous. 

4  An  emblem  of  forsaken  or  unhappy  love. 


SCENE  v.]  TWELFTH  NIGHT.  Z?> 

Write  loyal  cantons^  of  contemned  love 

And  sing  them  loud  even  in  the  dead  of  night ; 

Halloo  yom:  name  to  the  reverberate  hills 

And  make  the  babbling  gossip  of  the  air 

Cry  out  "Olivia!  "     O,  you  should  not  rest 

Between  the  elements  of  air  and  earth, 

But  you  should  pity  me! 

Olivia.  You  might  do  much. 

What  is  your  parentage  ? 

Viola.    Above  my  fortunes,  yet  my  state  is  well : 

I  am  a  gentleman. 
I       Olivia.  Get  you  to  your  lord ; 

I  I  cannot  love  him :   let  him  send  no  more ; 

Unless,  perchance,  you  come  to  me  again, 
I  To  tell  me  hov/  he  takes  it.     Fare  you  well : 
'  I  thank  you  for  your  pains :   spend  this  for  me. 

Viola.    I  am  no  fee'd  post,  lady ;   keep  your  purse  : 

My  master,  not  myself,  lacks  recompense. 

Love  make  his  heart  of  flint  that  you  shall  love ; 

And  let  your  fervor,  hke  my  master's,  be 

Placed  in  contempt!      Farewell,  fair  cruelty.  \Exit. 

Olivia.    "  What  is  your  parentage  ?  " 

"Above  my  fortunes,  yet  my  state  is  well: 

I  am  a  gentleman."     I'll  be  sworn  thou  art; 

Thy  tongue,  thy  face,  thy  limbs,  actions  and  spirit. 

Do  give  thee  fivefold  blason:   not  too  fast:   soft,  soft! 

Unless  the  master  were  the  man.     How  now! 

Even  so  quickly  may  one  catch  the  plague  ? 

Methinks  I  feel  this  youth's  perfections 

With  an  invisible  and  subtle  stealth 

To  creep  in  at  mine  eyes.     Well,  let  it  be. 

What  ho,  Malvolio! 

1  Cantos. 


34  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  ii. 

Reenter  Malvolio. 

Malvolio.  Here,  madam,  at  your  service. 

'  Olivia.    Run  after  that  same  peevish  messenger, 
The  county's  man:^  he  left  this  ring  behind  him, 
Would  I  or  not :   tell  him  I'll  none  of  it. 
Desire  him  not  to  flatter  with  his  lord, 
Nor  hold  him  up  with  hopes  ;   I  am  not  for  him : 
If  that  the  youth  will  come  this  way  to-morrow, 
I'll  give  him  reasons  for't :   hie  thee,  Malvolio. 

Malvolio.    Madam,  I  will.  \Exit. 

Olivia.    I  do  I  know  not  what,  and  fear  to  find 
Mine  eye  too  great  a  flatterer  for  my  mind. 
Fate,  show  thy  force :   ourselves  we  do  not  owe  ;2 
What  is  decreed  must  be,  and  be  this  so.  \Exit. 

ACT  II. 
Scene  I.     77/*?  Scacoast. 

Enter  Antonio  and  Sebastian. 

Antonio.  Will  you  stay  no  longer?  nor  will  you  not  that  I  go 
with  you  ? 

Sebastian.  By  your  patience,  no.  My  stars  shine  darkly  over 
me  :  the  malignancy  of  my  fate  might  perhaps  distemper  yours  '."^ 
therefore  I  shall  crave  of  you  your  leave  that  I  may  bear  my 
evils  alone :  it  were  a  bad  recompense  for  your  love,  to  lay  any 
of  them  on  you. 

Antonio.    Let  me  yet  know  of  you  whither  you  are  bound. 

^  "County's  man,"  i.e.,  count's  manservant.  "County"  for  "  count  " 
is  often  used  in  Shakespeare. 

2  Own. 

3  "  My  stars,"  etc.  It  Avas  the  old  belief  of  the  astrologers  that  a  man's 
destiny  was  influenced  by  the  planets  which  were  in  the  ascendant  at  his  birth. 
"  Malignant"  was  an  epithet  commonly  applied  to  stars. 


SCENE  L]  TWELFTH  NIGHT.  35 

Sehastian.  No,  sooth,  sir:  my  determinate  voyage  is  mere 
extravagancy.!  But  I  perceive  in  you  so  excellent  a  touch  of 
modesty,  that  you  will  not  extort  from  me  what  I  am  wilhng  2  to 
keep  in ;  therefore  it  charges  me  in  manners  the  rather  to  ex- 
press myself.  You  must  know  of  me  then,  Antonio,  my  name 
is  Sebastian,  which  I  called  Roderigo.  My  father  was  that  Sebas- 
tian of  Messaline,  whom  I  know  you  have  heard  of.  He  left 
behind  him  myself  and  a  sister,  both  born  in  an  hour:  if  the 
heavens  had  been  pleas'd,  would  we  had  so  ended !  but  you,  sir, 
alter'd  that ;  for  some  hour  before  you  took  me  from  the  breach 
of  the  sea  was  my  sister  drown'd. 

Antonio.    Alas  the  day! 

Sebastian.  A  lady,  sir,  though  it  was  said  she  much  resembled 
me,  was  yet  of  many  accounted  beautiful :  but,  though  I  could 
not  with  such  estimable  wonder^  overfar  believe  that,  yet  thus 
far  I  will  boldly  publish  her ;  she  bore  a  mind  that  envy  could 
not  but  call  fair.  She  is  drown'd  already,  sir,  with  salt  water, 
though  I  seem  to  drown  her  remembrance  again  with  more. 

Antonio.    Pardon  me,  sir,  your  bad  entertainment. 

Sebastian.    O  good  Antonio,  forgive  me  your  trouble. 

Anto?iio.  If  you  will  not  murder  me  for  my  love,  let  me  be 
your  servant. 

Sebastian.    If  you  will  not  undo  what  you  have  done,  that  is, 

1  kill  him  whom  you  have  recover'd,  desire  it  not.     Fare  ye  well 

j  at  once :   my  bosom  is  full  of  kindness,  and  I  am  yet  so  near  the 

manners  of  my  mother,  that  upon  the  least  occasion  more  mine 

\  eyes  will  tell  tales  of  me.     I  am  bound  to  the  Count  Orsino's 

court :   farewell.  [Exit. 

Antonio.    The  gentleness  *  of  all  the  gods  go  with  thee ! 

1  "  My  determinate,"  etc.,  i.e.,  my  intended  travel  is  mere  roving.  "  Ex- 
travagancy "  signifies  vagrancy. 

2  Wishing. 

3  "With  such  estimable  wonder,"  i.e.,  with  the  admiration  which  in- 
fluenced such  a  judgment. 

^  Kindness. 


36  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  ii. 

I  have  many  enemies  in  Orsino's  court, 

Else  would  I  very  shortly  see  thee  there. 

But,  come  what  may,  I  do  adore  thee  so. 

That  danger  shall  seem  sport,  and  I  will  go.  \Exit. 


Scene  II.     A  Street. 

Enter  Viola,  Malvolio  following. 

Malvolio.    Were  not  you  ev'n  now  with  the  Countess  Olivia? 

Viola.  Even  now,  sir ;  on  a  moderate  pace  I  have  since  ar- 
riv'd  but  hither. 

Malvolio.  She  returns  this  ring  to  you,  sir:  you  might  have 
saved  me  my  pains,  to  have  taken  it  away  yourself.  She  adds, 
moreover,  that  you  should  put  your  lord  into  a  desperate  assur- 
ance she  will  none  of  him  :  and  one  thing  more,  that  you  be  never 
so  hardy  to  come  again  in  his  affairs,  unless  it  be  to  report 
your  lord's  taking  of  this.     Receive  it  so. 

Viola.    She  took  the  ring  of  me  :  ^  I'll  none  of  it. 

Malvolio.  Come,  sir,  you  peevishly  threw  it  to  her ;  and  her 
will  is,  It  should  be  so  return'd  :  if  it  be  w^orth  stooping  for,  there 
it  lies  in  your  eye  ;    if  not,  be  it  his  that  finds  it.  \Exit, 

Viola.    I  left  no  ring  with  her :   what  means  this  lady? 
Fortune  forbid  my  outside  have  not  charm'd  her! 
She  made  good  view  of  me ;   indeed,  so  much. 
That  sure  methought  her  eyes  had  lost  her  tongue. 
For  she  did  speak  in  starts  distractedly. 
She  loves  me,  sure ;   the  cunning  of  her  passion 
Invites  me  in  this  churlish  messenger. 
None  of  my  lord's  ring!    why,  he  sent  her  none. 
I  am  the  man :   if  it  be  so,  as  'tis. 
Poor  lady,  she  were  better  love  a  dream. 

1  "  Viola,  finding  the  ring  sent  after  her  accompanied  by  a  fiction,  is  pre- 
pared to  meet  it  with  another,  and  designedly  avoids  betraying  the  weakness 
of  Olivia  before  her  steward." 


SCENE  III.]  TWELFTH  NIGHT.  37 

Disguise,  I  see,  thou  art  a  wickedness, 

Wherein  the  pregnant  enemy  ^  does  much. 

How  easy  is  it  for  the  proper-false  - 

In  women's  waxen  hearts  to  set  their  forms ! 

Alas,  our  frailty  is  the  cause,  not  we! 
I  For  such  as  we  are  made  of,  such  we  be. 

How  will  this  fadge  ?  ^  my  master  loves  her  dearly  ; 

And  I,  poor  monster,  ^  fond  as  much  on  him ; 

And  she,  mistaken,  seems  to  dote  on  me. 

What  will  become  of  this  ?     As  I  am  man, 

My  state  is  desperate  for  my  master's  love ; 

As  I  am  woman, — now  alas  the  day!  — 
'  What  thriftless  sighs  shall  poor  Ohvia  breathe! 

O  time !    thou  must  untangle  this,  not  I ; 
!  It  is  too  hard  a  knot  for  me  to  untie!  \Exit. 

I  Scene  III.      Olivia's  House. 

Enter  SiR  Toby  ajid  Sir  Andrew. 
Sir  Toby.    Approach,   Sir   Andrew :    not    to    be    a-bed    after 

midnight  is  to  be  up  betimes ;   and   "  diluculo  surgere,"  ^  thou 
,  know'st  — 
I        Sir  Aiidi'ew.    Nay,  by  my  troth,  I  know  not :   but  I  know,  to 

be  up  late  is  to  be  up  late. 
I        Sir  Toby.    A  false  conclusion  :    I  hate  it  as  an  unfill'd  can.     To 

be  up  after  midnight  and  to  go  to  bed  then,  is  early :   so  that  to 
I   go  to  bed  after  midnight  is  to  go  to  bed  betimes.     Does  not  our 

life  consist  of  the  four  elements  ?  ^ 

1  "  Pregnant  enemy,"  i.e.,  ready  enemy  of  mankind. 

2  "  Proper-false,"  i.e.,  handsome  and   deceitful.      Double    adjectives  are 
I    not  infrequent  in  Shakespeare. 

3  Suit,  fit. 

*  Viola  refers  to  her  disguise :   a  woman  appearing  as  a  man. 
^  "  Diluculo  surgere  saluberrimum  est,"  i.e.,  to  rise  early  (at  dawn)  is 
most  healthful. 

6  "  Four  elements,"  i.e.,  earth,  air,  fire,  and  water.     These  were  supposed 


38  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  ii. 

Sir  Andrew.  Faith,  so  they  say  ;  but  I  think  it  rather  consists 
of  eating  and  drinking. 

Sir  Toby.  Thou'rt  a  scholar ;  let  us  therefore  eat  and  drink. 
Marian,  I  say!    a  stoup  of  wine! 

Enter  Clown. 

Sir  Andrew.    Here  comes  the  fool,  i'  faith. 

Clown.  How  now,  my  hearts!  did  you  never  see  the  picture 
of  ''  we  three  "  ?  i 

Sir  Toby.    Welcome,  ass.      Now  let's  have  a  catch. 

Sir  Andrew.  By  my  troth,  the  fool  has  an  excellent  breast.''^ 
I  had  rather  than  forty  shillings  I  had  such  a  leg,  and  so  sweet 
a  breath  to  sing,  as  the  fool  has.  In  sooth,  thou  wast  in  very 
gracious  foohng  last  night,  when  thou  spokest  of  Pigrogromitus, 
of  the  Vapians  passing  the  equinoctial  of  Queubus :  ^  'twas  very 
good,  i'  faith.     I  sent  thee  sixpence  for  thy  leman  :  ^  hadst  it  ? 

Clown.  I  did  impeticos  thy  gratillity ;  ^  for  Malvolio's  nose 
is  no  whipstock :  my  lady  has  a  white  hand,  and  the  Myrmidons 
are  no  bottle-ale  houses. 

Sir  Andrew.  Excellent !  why,  this  is  the  best  fooling,  when 
all  is  done.     Now,  a  song. 

Sir  Toby.  Come  on ;  there  is  sixpence  for  you :  let's  have  a 
song. 

Sir  Andrew.  There's  a  testril  ^  of  me  too  :  if  one  knight  give 
a  — 

to  enter  into  the  composition  of  every  man,  and  on  their  proper  mixture  a 
perfect  temperament  and  disposition  depended. 

1  A  picture  often  hung  in  ale-houses  represented  two  asses  with  the 
inscription  "  We  Three,"  The  spectator  who  saw  the  joke  rarely  boasted  of 
having  seen  it. 

2  Voice.  3  See  Note  i,  p.  25. 

4  Sweetheart. 

5  "  I  did  impeticos,"  etc.  I  did  pocket  thy  gratuity,  is  the  meaning 
probably,  but  the  clown's  speech  was  not  intended  to  be  explained :  it  is 
to  be  laughed  at  in  defiance  of  criticism. 

6  A  French  coin  of  about  sixpence  value  in  Shakespeare's  time. 


SCENE  III.]  TWELFTH  NIGHT  39 

Clown.  Would  you  have  a  love-song,  or  a  song  of  good 
lifePi 

Sir  Toby.    A  love-song,  a  love-song. 

Sir  Andrew.    Ay,  ay :    I  care  not  for  good  life. 

Clown.    \^Sings\ 

O  mistress  mine,  where  are  you  roaming? 
O,  stay  and  hear ;  your  true  lovers  comings 

That  can  sing  both  high  and  low  : 
Trip  no  further,  pretty  sweeting  ; 
Journeys  end  in  lovers  meeting, 
Every  wise  mail's  son  doth  know. 

Sir  Andrew.    Excellent  good,  i'  faith. 
Sir  Toby.    Good,  good. 
Clown.    \Sings\ 

What  is  love  ?  "'tis  not  hereafter ; 
Present  fnirth  hath  present  laughter; 

Whafs  to  come  is  still  unsure  : 
In  delay  there  lies  no  plenty  ; 
Then  come  kiss  me,  sweet  and  twenty. 
Youth'' s  a  stuff  will  not  endure. 

Sir  Andrew.    A  mellifluous  voice,  as  I  am  true  knight. 

Sir  Toby.    A  contagious  breath. 

Sir  Andrew.    Very  sweet  and  contagious,  i'  faith. 

Sir  Toby.  To  hear  by  the  nose,  it  is  dulcet  in  contagion.  But 
shall  we  make  the  welkin  dance  indeed  ?  shall  we  rouse  the 
night-owl  in  a  catch  that  will  draw  three  souls  out  of  one 
weaver  ?  2  shall  we  do  that  ? 

Sir  Andrew.  An  you  love  me,  let's  do't :  I  am  dog  at  a 
catch. 

Clown.    By'r  lady,  sir,  and  some  dogs  will  catch  well. 

Sir  Andrew.    Most  certain.     Let  our  catch  be,  "  Thou  knave." 

1  "  A  song  of  good  life,"  i.e.,  a  moral  song. 

2  "  To  draw  three  souls  out  of  one  weaver  can  be  nothing  more  than  a 
humorously  exaggerated  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." 


40  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  ii. 

Clown.  "  Hold  thy  peace,  thou  knave,"  knight  ?  I  shall  be 
constrained  in't  to  call  thee  knave,  knight. 

Sir  Andrew.  'Tis  not  the  first  time  I  have  constrained  one  to 
call  me  knave.     Begin,  fool :   it  begins  "  Hold  thy  peace." 

Clow7i.    I  shall  never  begin  if  I  hold  my  peace. 

Sir  Andrew.    Good,  i' faith.     Come,  begin.  \Catch  sung. 

Enter  Maria. 

Maria.  What  a  caterwauling  do  you  keep  here!  If  my  lady 
have  not  call'd  up  her  steward  Malvolio  and  bid  him  turn  you 
out  of  doors,  never  trust  me. 

Sir  Toby.  My  lady's  a  Catalan,  we  are  politicians,  Malvolio's 
a  Peg-a-Ramsey,i  and  "  Three  merry  men  be  we."  Am  not  I 
consanguineous?  am  I  not  of  her  blood?  Tillyvally.^  Lady! 
[xSzV/^j']  "  There  dwelt  a  man  in  Babylon,  lady,  lady  I  " 

Clown.    Beshrew  me,  the  knight's  in  admirable  fooling. 

Sir  A7idrew.  Ay,  he  does  well  enough  if  he  be  dispos'd,  and  so 
do  I  too  :   he  does  it  with  a  better  grace,  but  I  do  it  more  natural. 

Sir  Toby.    \Sings\  "  O,  the  twelfth  day  of  December'''' — 

Maria.    For  the  love  o'  God,  peace! 

Enter  Malvolio. 

Malvolio.  My  masters,  are  you  mad?  or  what  are  you?  Have 
you  no  wit,  manners,  nor  honesty,^  but  to  gabble  like  tinkers  at 
this  time  of  night?  Do  ye  make  an  ale-house  of  my  lady's  house, 
that  ye  squeak  out  your  coziers'  catches  without  any  mitigation 
or  remorse  of  voice?  Is  there  no  respect  of  place,  persons,  nor 
time  in  you? 

1  "Catalan  .  .  .  Peg-a-Ramsey."  A  "  Cataian  "  is  a  native  of  Cataia  or 
Cathay  (China).  "It  is  supposed  to  have  become  a  cant  term  for  a  thief 
or  sharper,  because  the  Chinese  were  notorious  for  their  skillful  thieving." 
"  Peg-a-Ramsey  "  is  the  name  of  an  old  tune.  Sir  Toby  is  not  in  condition 
to  choose  his  epithets  with  much  judgment. 

2  An  expression  of  contempt.  3  Propriety. 


SCENE  III.]  TWELFTH  NIGHT.  41 

Sir  Toby.    We  did  keep  time,  sir,  in  our  catches.     Sneck  upl^ 

Malvolio.  Sir  Toby,  I  must  be  round  with^  you.  My  lady 
bade  me  tell  you,  that,  though  she  harbors  you  as  her  kinsman, 
she's  nothing  allied  to  your  disorders.  If  you  can  separate  your- 
self and  your  misdemeanors,  you  are  welcome  to  the  house ;  if 
not,  an  it  would  please  you  to  take  leave  of  her,  she  is  very  will- 
ing to  bid  you  farewell. 

Sir  Toby.    "  Farewell,  dear  heart,  since  I  must  needs  be  gone." 

Maria.    Nay,  good  Sir  Toby. 

Clown.    "  His  eyes  do  show  his  days  are  almost  done." 

Malvolio.    Is't  even  so? 

Sir  Toby.    "  But  I  will  never  die." 

Clown.    Sir  Toby,  there  you  lie. 

Malvolio.    This  is  much  credit  to  you. 

Sir  Toby.    "  Shall  I  bid  him  go?  " 

Clown.    "  What  an  if  you  do?  " 

Sir  Toby.    "  Shall  I  bid  him  go,  and  spare  not  ?  " 

Clown.    "  O  no,  no,  no,  no,  you  dare  not." 

Sir  Toby.  Out  o'  time,  sir:  ye  lie.  Art  any  more  than  a 
steward?  Dost  thou  think,  because  thou  art  virtuous,  there 
shall  be  no  more  cakes  and  ale?^ 

Clown.  Yes,  by  Saint  Anne,  and  ginger  shall  be  hot  i'  the 
mouth  too. 

Sir  Toby.  Thou'rt  i'  the  right.  Go,  sir,  rub  your  chain  with 
crumbs.*     A  stoup  of  wine,  Maria! 

Malvolio.  Mistress  Mary,  if  you  prize  my  lady's  favor  at  any- 
thing more  than  contempt,  you  would  not  give  means  for  this 
uncivil  rule  i^  she  shall  know  of  it,  by  this  hand.  \Exif. 

1  "  Sneck  up!  "  i.e.,  go  and  be  hanged. 

2  "  Be  round  with,"  i.e.,  speak  plainly  to. 

3  "  Art  virtuous,  there  shall,"  etc.,  i.e.,  art  co  austere,  no  one  else  shall 
enjoy  himself. 

*  Stewards  wore  gold  and  silver  chains  as  a  badge  of  ofhce.     Crumbs  of 
bread  were  used  to  polish  plate  made  of  these  metals. 
^  "  Uncivil  rule,"  i.e.,  disorderly  conduct. 


42  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  ii. 

Maria.    Go  shake  your  ears.^ 

Sir  Andrew.  'Twere  as  good  a  deed  as  to  drink  when  a  man's 
a-hungry,  to  challenge  him  the  field,  and  then  to  break  promise 
with  him  and  make  a  fool  of  him. 

Sir  Toby.  Do't,  knight :  I'll  write  thee  a  challenge ;  or  I'll 
deliver  thy  indignation  to  him  by  word  of  mouth. 

Maria.  Sweet  Sir  Toby,  be  patient  for  to-night:  since  the 
youth  of  the  count's  was  to-day  with  my  lady,  she  is  much  out 
of  quiet.  For  Monsieur  Malvolio,  let  me  alone  with  him :  if  I 
do  not  gull  him  into  a  nayword,^  and  make  him  a  common 
recreation,  do  not  think  I  have  wit  enough  to  lie  straight  in  my 
bed :    I  know  I  can  do  it. 

Sir  Toby.    Possess  us,  possess  us  ;  ^  tell  us  something  of  him. 

Maria.    Marry,  sir,  sometimes  he  is  a  kind  of  puritan. 

Sir  Andrew.    O,  if  I  thought  that,  I'ld  beat  him  like  a  dog! 

Sir  Toby.  What,  for  being  a  puritan?  thy  exquisite  reason, 
dear  knight  ? 

Sir  Andrew.  I  have  no  exquisite  reason  for't,  but  I  have 
reason  good  enough. 

Maiia.  The  devil  a  puritan  that  he  is,  or  anything  constantly, 
but  a  time-pleaser ;  ^  an  affection'd^  ass,  that  cons  state  without 
book,  and  utters  it  by  great  swaths:^  the  best  persuaded  of  him- 
self, so  cramm'd,  as  he  thinks,  with  excellences,  that  it  is  his 
grounds  of  faith  that  all  that  look  on  him  love  him ;  and  on  that 
vice  in  him  will  my  revenge  find  notable  cause  to  work. 

Sir  Toby.    What  wilt  thou  do? 

Maria.  I  will  drop  in  his  way  some  obscure  epistles  of  love ; 
wherein,  by  the  color  of  his  beard,  the  shape  of  his  leg,  the 
manner  of  his  gait,  the  expressure  of  his  eye,  forehead,  and  com- 
plexion, he  shall  find  himself  most  feelingly  personated.     I  can 

1  Maria  implies  long  ears  ;   ass  cars,  of  course. 

2  Password ;  byword. 

3  "  Possess  us,"  i.e.,  give  it  to  us  ;  let  us  know  it. 

4  Time-server.  5  Affected. 

6  Lines  of  grass  cut  and  thrown  together  by  the  scythe. 


SCENE  III.]  TWELFTH  NIGHT.  43 

write  very  like  my  lady  your  niece :  on  a  forgotten  matter  we 
can  hardly  make  distinction  of  our  hands. 

Sir  Toby.    Excellent!      I  smell  a  device. 

Sir  Andrew.    I  have't  in  my  nose  too. 

Sir  Toby.  He  shall  think,  by  the  letters  that  thou  wilt  drop, 
I  that  they  come  from  my  niece,  and  that  she's  in  love  with  him. 

Maria.    My  purpose  is,  indeed,  a  horse  of  that  color. 

Sir  Andrew.    And  your  horse  now  would  make  him  an  ass. 

Maria.    Ass,  I  doubt  not. 

Sir  Andrew.    O,  'twill  be  admirable! 

Maria.  Sport  royal,  I  warrant  you :  I  know  my  physic  will 
work  with  him.  I  will  plant  you  two,  and  let  the  fool  make 
a  third,  where  he  shall  find  the  letter:  observe  his  construc- 
tion of  it.  For  this  night,  to  bed,  and  dream  on  the  event. 
Farewell.  [Exit. 

Sir  Toby.    Good  night,  Penthesilea.^ 

Sir  Andrew.    Before  me,  she's  a  good  wench. 

Sir  Toby.  She's  a  beagle,^  true-bred,  and  one  that  adores  me : 
what  o'  that? 

Sir  Andrew.    I  was  ador'd  once  too. 

Sir  Toby.  Let's  to  bed,  knight.  Thou  hadst  need  send  for 
more  money. 

Sir  Andrew.  If  I  cannot  recover^  your  niece,  I  am  a  foul  way 
out. 

Sir  Toby.  Send  for  money,  knight :  if  thou  hast  her  not  i'  the 
end,  call  me  cut. 

Sir  Andrew.    If  I  do  not,  never  trust  me,  take  it  how  you  will. 


1  A  queen  of  the  Amazons, —  a  community  of  women,  according  to  an  old 
tradition,  who  permitted  no  man  to  reside  among  them,  and,  fighting  under 
the  leadership  of  one  of  their  own  number,  long  constituted  a  formidable 
state.  Sir  Toby  applies  this  name  to  Maria  for  the  courage  and  spirit  shown 
in  her  device  to  dupe  the  steward ;  with  a  jocular  allusion,  also,  to  her  small 
size  as  compared  with  that  of  the  warrior  queen. 

2  A  small  hunting-dog. 

3  Win. 


44  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  ii. 

Sir  Toby.    Come,  come,  I'll  go  burn  some  sack ;  ^  'tis  too  late 
to  go  to  bed  now  :   come,  knight ;   come,  knight.  [Exeicnt. 

Scene  IV.      The  Duke's  Palace. 

Enter  DuKE,  Viola,  Curio,  and  others. 

Duke.    Give  me  some  music.      Now,  good  morrow,  friends. 
Now,  good  Cesario,  but  that  piece  of  song, 
That  old  and  antique  2  song  we  heard  last  night : 
Methought  it  did  reheve  my  passion  much, 
More  than  light  airs  and  recollected^  terms 
Of  these  most  briok  and  giddy -paced  times : 
Come,  but  one  verse. 

Ou'io.    He  is  not  here,  so  please  your  lordship,  that  should 
sing  it. 

Duke.    Who  was  it? 

Curio.    Feste,  the  jester,  my  lord  ;  a  fool  that  the  Lady  Ohvia's 
father  took  much  delight  in.     He  is  about  the  house. 

Duke.    Seek  him  out,  and  play  the  tune  the  while. 

\Exit  Curio.     Music  plays. 
Come  hither,  boy :   if  ever  thou  shalt  love, 
In  the  sweet  pangs  of  it  remember  me ; 
For  such  as  I  am  all  true  lovers  are, 
Unstaid  and  skittish  in  all  motions  else, 
Save  in  the  constant  image  of  the  creature 
That  is  belov'd.      How  dost  thou  like  this  tune? 

Viola.    It  gives  a  very  echo  to  the  seat 
Where  Love  is  thron'd. 

Duke.    Thou  dost  speak  masterly : 
My  life  upon't,  young  though  thou  art,  thine  eye 

1  A  Spanish  wine.     Mulled  or   burnt  sack  was  a  popular  drink  of  the 
time. 

2  Quaint ;   old-fashioned. 

3  Repeated. 


SCENE  IV.]  TWELFTH  NIGHT.  45 

Hath  stay'd  upon  some  favor i  that  it  loves: 
Hath  it  not,  boy? 

Viola.  A  httle,  by  your  favor. 

Duke.    What  kind  of  woman  is't? 

Viola.  Of  your  complexion. 

Duke.    She  is  not  worth  thee,  then.     What  years,  i'  faith? 

Viola.    About  your  years,  my  lord. 

Duke.    Too  old,  by  heaven :   let  still  the  woman  take 
An  elder  than  herself ;   so  wears  she  to  him, 
So  sways  she  level  in  her  husband's  heart : 
For,  boy,  however  we  do  praise  ourselves, 
Our  fancies  are  more  giddy  and  unfirm, 
More  longing,  wavering,  sooner  lost  and  worn, 
Than  women's  are. 

Viola.  I  think  it  well,  my  lord. 

Duke.    Then  let  thy  love  be  younger  than  thyself, 
Or  thy  affection  cannot  hold  the  bent ; 
For  women  are  as  roses,  whose  fair  flower 
Being  once  display'd,  doth  fall  that  very  hour. 

Viola.    And  so  they  are :    alas,  that  they  are  so  ; 
To  die,  even  when  they  to  perfection  grow! 

Reenter  CuRio  and  Clown. 

Duke.    O,  fellow,  come,  the  song  we  had  last  night. 
Mark  it,  Cesario,  it  is  old  and  plain ; 
The  spinsters  and  the  knitters  in  the  sun 
And  the  free  ^  maids  that  weave  their  thread  with  bones 
Do  use  to  chant  it :   it  is  silly  sooth,^ 
And  dallies  with  the  innocence  of  love. 
Like  the  old  age.'* 

1  Personal  appearance.     In  her  reply,  Viola  plays  on  the  word,  using  it 
in  the  sense  of  "  kindness." 

2  Free  from  care ;  happy. 

3  "  Silly  sooth,"  i.e.,  simple  truth. 

4  "  Old  age,"  i.e.,  olden  time. 


46  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  ii. 

Clown.    Are  you  ready,  sir? 

Duke.    Ay  ;   prithee,  sing.  \Music. 

Song. 
Clown.     Come  away,  come  away,  death, 

And  in  sad  cypress  ^  let  me  be  laid ; 
Fly  away,  fly  away,  breath  ; 

I  am  slain  by  a  fair  cruel  maid. 
My  shroud  of  white,  stuck  all  with  yew, 

O,  prepare  it ! 

My  part  of  death,  no  one  so  true 

Did  share  it."^ 

Not  a  flower,  not  a  flower  sweet, 

On  my  black  coflin  let  there  be  strewn  j 
Not  a  friend,  not  a  friend  gi-eet 

My  poor  corpse,  where  my  bones  shall  be  thrown : 
A  thousand  thousand  sighs  to  save. 

Lay  me,  O,  where 
Sad  true  lover  never  find  my  grave. 
To  weep  there  I 

Duke.    There's  for  thy  pains. 

Clown.    No  pains,  sir ;    I  take  pleasure  in  singing,  sir. 

Duke.    I'll  pay  thy  pleasure  then. 

Clown.    Truly,  sir,  and  pleasure   will  be   paid,  one   time   or 

another. 
Duke.    Give  me  now  leave  to  leave  thee.^ 
Clown.    Now,  the  melancholy  god  protect  thee  ;   and  the  tailor 

1  Cypress  being  an  emblem  of  mourning,  a  coffin  of  cypress  wood  is 
appropriate. 

2  "My  part  of  death,"  etc.,  i.e.,  "though  death  is  a  part  in  which 
every  one  acts  his  share,  yet  of  all  these  actors  no  one  is  so  true  as  I."  — 

JOHNSOxN. 

3  The  Duke  politely  requests  the  clown  to  retire.  This  form  of  dismissal 
is  frequent  in  Shakespeare,  though  there  is  mock  gravity  in  its  use  here  by 
the  Duke. 


SCENE  IV.]  TWELFTH  NIGHT.  47 

make  thy  doublet  of  changeable  taffeta,^  for  thy  mind  is  a  very 

opal.     I  would  have   men  of  such  constancy  put  to  sea,  that 

their  business  might  be  everything  and  their  intent  everywhere; 

for   that's   it  that    always    makes    a    good  voyage    of   nothing. 

Farewell.  \Exit, 

Duke.    Let  all  the  rest  give  place. 

[  Curio  a7id  Attendants  retire. 
Once  more,  Cesario, 

Get  thee  to  yond  same  sovereign  cruelty : 

Tell  her,  my  love,  more  noble  than  the  world, 

Prizes  not  quantity  of  dirty  lands ; 

The  parts  that  fortune  hath  bestow'd  upon  her, 

Tell  her,  I  hold  as  giddily  as  fortune ; 

But  'tis  that  miracle  and  queen  of  gems 
;  That  nature  pranks  her  in  ^  attracts  my  soul. 

Viola.    But  if  she  cannot  love  you,  sir  ? 
.      Duke.    1  cannot  be  so  answer'd. 
I       Viola.  Sooth,  but  you  must. 

Say  that  some  lady,  as  perhaps  there  is, 

Hath  for  your  loVe  as  great  a  pang  of  heart 
I  As  you  have  for  Olivia :   you  cannot  love  her ; 
)  You  tell  her  so ;   must  she  not  then  be  answer'd? 
Duke.    There  is  no  w^oman's  sides 

Can  bide  the  beating  of  so  strong  a  passion 

As  love  doth  give  my  heart ;   no  woman's  heart 

So  big,  to  hold  so  much ;   they  lack  retention. 

Alas,  their  love  may  be  call'd  appetite, 

No  motion  of  the  liver,  but  the  palate. 

That  suffers  surfeit,  cloyment  and  revolt ; 

But  mine  is  all  as  hungry  as  the  sea 

And  can  digest  as  much :   make  no  compare 

1  "  Changeable  taffeta,"  i.e.,  a  taffeta  or  silk  stuff  in  which  the  colors  are 
so  woven  that  they  vary  to  appearance  according  to  the  light  in  which  the 
silk  is  seen,  in  this  respect  resembling  opal. 

2  "  Pranks  her  in,"  i.e.,  adorns  her  with. 


48  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  ii. 

Between  that  love  a  woman  can  bear  me 
And  that  I  owe  Ohvia. 

Viola.  Ay,  but  I  know — 

.JDuke.    What  dost  thou  know? 

Viola.    Too  well  what  love  women  to  men  may  owe : 
In  faith,  they  are  as  true  of  heart  as  we. 
My  father  had  a  daughter  lov'd  a  man, 
As  it  might  be,  perhaps,  were  I  a  woman, 
I  should  your  lordship. 

Duke.  And  what's  her  history? 

Viola.    A  blank,  my  lord.     She  never  told  her  love, 
But  let  concealment,  like  a  worm  i'  the  bud. 
Feed  on  her  damask-cheek :   she  pin'd  in  thought, 
And  with  a  green  and  yellow  melancholy 
She  sat,  like  Patience  on  a  monument, 
SmiHng  at  grief.     Was  not  this  love  indeed? 
We  men  may  say  more,  swear  more :   but  indeed 
Our  shows  are  more  than  will;   for  still  we  prove. 
Much  in  our  vows,  but  little  in  our  love. 

Duke.    But  died  thy  sister  of  her  love,  my  boy? 

Viola.    I  am  all  the  daughters  of  my  father's  house, 
And  all  the  brothers  too :   and  yet  I  know  not. 
Sir,  shall  I  to  this  lady  ? 

Duke.  Ay,  that's  the  theme. 

To  her  in  haste  ;   give  her  this  jewel ;   say. 
My  love  can  give  no  place,  bide  no  denay.^  \Exeunt. 

Scene  V.     Olivia's  Garden. 

Enter  SiR  Toby,  Sir  Andrew,  and  Fabian. 

Sir  Toby.    Come  thy  ways,  Signior  Fabian. 
Fabian.    Nay,  I'll  come :   if  I  lose  a  scruple  of  this  sport,  let 
me  be  boil'd  to  death  with  melancholy. 

1  Denial. 


SCI 


SCENE  v.]  TWELFTH  NIGHT.  49 

Sir  Toby.  Wouldst  thou  not  be  glad  to  have  the  niggardly- 
rascally  sheep-biter^  come  by  some  notable  shame  ? 

Fabian.    I  would  exult,  man :   you  know,  he  brought  me  out 
o*  favor  with  my  lady  about  a  bear-baiting  here. 
'     Sir  Toby.    To  anger  him  we'll  have  the  bear  again ;   and  we 
will  fool  him  black  and  blue :   shall  we  not,  Sir  Andrew  ? 

Sir  Andrew.    An  we  do  not,  it  is  pity  of  our  lives. 

Sir  Toby.    Here  comes  the  little  villain. 

Enter  Maria. 

How  now,  my  metal  of  India!  ^ 

Maria.  Get  ye  all  three  into  the  box-tree :  Malvolio's  coming 
down  this  walk :  he  has  been  yonder  i'  the  sun  practicing  be- 
havior to  his  own  shadow  this  half-hour :  observe  him,  for  the 
love  of  mockery^ ;  for  I  know  this  letter  will  make  a  contem- 
plative idiot  of  him.  Close,  in  the  name  of  jesting!  Lie  thou 
there  [throws  down  a  letter] ;  for  here  comes  the  trout  that  must 
be  caught  with  tickling.  [Exit. 

Enter  Malvolio. 

Malvolio.  'Tis  but  fortune ;  all  is  fortune.  Maria  once  told 
me  she  did  affect  me :  and  I  have  heard  herself  come  thus  near, 
that,  should  she  fancy,  it  should  be  one  of  my  complexion.^  Be- 
sides, she  uses  me  with  a  more  exalted  respect  than  any  one  else 
that  follows  her.     What  should  I  think  on't  ? 

Sir  Toby.    Here's  an  overweening  rogue! 

Fabian.  O,  peace!  Contemplation  makes  a  rare  turkey-cock 
of  him:   how  he  jets  under  his  advanc'd  plumes!* 

Sir  Andrew.    'Slight,  I  could  so  beat  the  rogue! 

Sir  Toby.    Peace,  I  say. 

"I  A  morose,  censorious  fellow, 

2  "  Metal  of  India,"  i.e.,  precious  girl. 

3  Disposition,  temperament,  as  indicated  by  outward  appearance. 

*  "Jets  under  his,"  etc.,  i.e.,  struts  with  raised  feathers,  like  a  turkey- 
-^ock  when  excited. 


50  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  ii.     '' 

Malvolio.    To  be  Count  Malvolio! 

Sir  Toby.    Ah,  rogue! 

Sir  Andrew.    Pistol  him,  pistol  him. 

'Sir  Toby.    Peace,  peace! 

Malvolio.  There  is  example  for't ;  the  lady  of  the  Strachy 
married  the  yeoman  of  the  wardrobe. 

Sir  Andreiv.    Fie  on  him,  Jezebel! 

Fabiini.  O,  peace !  now  he's  deeply  in :  look  how  imagination 
blows  him.  * 

Malvolio.  Having  been  three  months  married  to  her,  sitting  in 
my  state — 

Sir  Toby.    O,  for  a  stone-bow,^  to  hit  him  in  the  eye! 

Malvolio.  Calling  my  officers  about  me,  in  my  branch'd  velvet 
gown,  and  after  a  demure  travel  of  regard,  ^  telling  them  I  know 
my  place  as  I  would  they  should  do  theirs,  to  ask  for  my  kinsman 
Toby  — 

Sir  Toby.    Bolts  and  shackles! 

Fabian.    O  peace,  peace,  peace!    now,  now. 

Malvolio.  Seven  of  my  people,  with  an  obedient  start,  make 
out  for  him :  I  frown  the  while ;  and  perchance  wind  up  my 
watch,^  or  play  with  my  —  some  rich  jewel.^  Toby  approaches; 
courtesies  there  to  me  — 

Sir  Toby.    Shall  this  fellow  \ywq1 

Fabian.  Though  our  silence  be  drawn  from  us  with  cords,  yet 
peace. 

Malvolio.  I  extend  my  hand  to  him  thus,  quenching  my 
familiar  smile  with  an  austere  regard  of  control  ^ — 

Sir  Toby.    And  does  not  Toby  take  you  a  blow  o'  the  lips  then  ? 

1  A  bow  for  throwing  stones. 

2  "After  a  demure,"  etc.,  i.e.,  after  slowly  and  gravely  staring  around. 

3  The  first  watches  used  in  England  were  introduced  from  Germany 
about  the  year  1580,  when  Shakespeare  was  a  lad  of  sixteen. 

*  Malvolio  is  about  to  say  "  chain,"  but,  remembering  his  altered  fortunes, 
substitutes  something  more  appropriate  than  the  steward's  badge. 
5  "Austere  regard,"  etc.,  i.e.,  stem,  authoritative  look. 


SCENE  v.]  TWELFTH  NIGHT.  5^ 

Malvolio.  Saying,  "  Cousin  Toby,  my  fortunes  having  cast  me 
on  your  niece  give  me  this  prerogative  of  speech"  — 

Sir  Toby.    What,  what? 

MalvcUo.    "  You  must  amend  your  drunkenness." 

Sir  Toby.    Out,  patch! 

Fabian.    Nay,  patience,  or  we  break  the  sinews  of  our  plot. 

Malvolio.  "Besides,  you  waste  the  treasure  of  your  time  with 
a  foolish  knight  "  — 

Sir  Andrew.    That's  me,  I  warrant  you. 

Malvolio.    "  One  Sir  Andrew  "  — 

Sir  Andreiv.    I  knew  'twas  I ;   for  many  do  call  me  fool. 

Malvolio.    What  employment  have  we  here  ? 

[  Taking  up  the  letter. 

Fabiaii.    Now  is  the  woodcock  near  the  gin. 

Sir  Toby.  O,  peace!  and  the  spirit  of  humors  intimate  reading 
aloud  to  him! 

Malvolio.  By  my  life,  this  is  my  lady's  hand :  these  be  her 
very  Cs,  her  6^'s  and  her  T's  ;  and  thus  makes  she  her  great  P^,. 
It  is,  in  contempt  of  question,  her  hand. 

Sir  AndreiiJ.    Her  Cs,  her  W^  and  her  Z"s  :   why  that  ? 

Malvolio.  \_Reads\  ' '  To  the  unknown  beloved,  this,  and  my  good 
wishes:'' — her  very  phrases!  By  your  leave,  wax.  Soft!  and 
the  impressure  her  Lucrece,  with  which  she  uses  to  seal ;  'tis  my 
lady.     To  whom  should  this  be  ? 

Fabiaii.    This  wins  him,  liver  and  all. 

Malvolio.    \Reads\      ''Jove  knows  I  love: 
I  But  who  ? 

Lips,  do  not  move; 
No  man  must  know.''' 

No  man  must  know."     What  follows?  the  numbers  alter'd!i 
No  man  must  know:"  if  this  should  be  thee,  Malvolio  ? 
Sir  Toby.    Marry,  hang  thee,  brock !  ^ 

1  "  The  numbers  alter'd,"  i.e.,  the  measure  changed,  as  we  see  when 
Malvolio  reads  again. 

2  Badger ;  often  used  as  a  term  of  contempt. 


52  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  ii. 

Malvolio.    \Reads\ 

*  */  may  command  where  I  adore; 
But  sile7Jce,  like  a  Lucrece  kjiife, 
With  bloodless  stroke  my  heart  doth  gore: 
M,  O,  A,  I,  doth  sway  my  life." 

Fabian.    A  fustian  riddle! 

Sir  Toby.    Excellent  wench,  say  I. 

Malvolio.  "J/,  O,  A,  I,  doth  sway  my  life."  Nay,  but  first, 
let  me  see,  let  me  see,  let  me  see. 

Fabian.    What  dish  o'  poison  has  she  dress'd  him! 

Sir  Toby.    And  with  what  wing  the  staniel  checks  at  it!  ^ 

Malvolio.  "  I  may  command  where  I  adore."  Why,  she  may 
command  me  :  I  serve  her ;  she  is  my  lady.  Why,  this  is  evident 
to  any  formal  2  capacity  ;  there  is  no  obstruction  in  this :  and  the 
end — what  should  that  alphabetical  position  portend?  If  I 
could  make  that  resemble  something  in  me  —  Softly!  M,  O,  A,  I — 

Sir  Toby.    O,  ay,  make  up  that :   he  is  now  at  a  cold  scent. 

Fabian.  Sowter^  will  cry  upon't  for  all  this,  though  it  be  as 
rank  as  a  fox. 

Malvolio.    M — Malvolio  ;   M — why,  that  begins  my  name. 

Fabian.  Did  not  I  say  he  would  work  it  out?  the  cur  is 
excellent  at  faults.* 

Malvolio.  M — but  then  there  is  no  consonancy  in  the  sequel; 
that  suffers  under  probation  \^  A  should  follow,  but  O  does. 

Fabian.    And  O  shall  end,  I  hope. 

Sir  Toby.    Ay,  or  I'll  cudgel  him,  and  make  him  cry  O! 

Malvolio.    And  then  /  comes  behind. 

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

1  The  staniel  is  a  kind  of  hawk.  "  Checks  "  is  a  technical  term  in  fal- 
conry, signifying  the  diversion  of  the  falcon  from  his  proper  quarry  by  the 
sight  of  some  other  prey,  upon  which  he  pounces  instead. 

2  Reasonable  or  reasoning. 

3  A  name  for  a  hound ;  here  applied  contemptuously  to  Malvolio. 

4  The  loss  or  confusion  of  the  trail  by  hunting-dogs.         ^  Examination. 


SCENE  v.]  TWELFTH  NIGHT.  53 

MalvoUo.  M,  O,  A,  I;  this  simulation  is  not  as  the  former: 
and  yet,  to  crush  this  a  httle,  it  would  bow  to  me,  for  every  one 
of  these  letters  are  in  my  name.     Soft !    here  follows  prose. 

\Reads\  ^-Jf  this  fall  into  thy  hand,  revolve.  In  my  stars  I  am 
above  thee ;  but  be  not  afraid  of  greatness  :  some  are  born  great,  some 
achieve  greatfiess  and  some  have  greatness  thrust  upon  V;;z.  Thy 
Fates  open  their  hands ;  let  thy  blood  and  spirit  efnbrace  themj  and, 
to  inure  thyself  to  what  thou  art  like  to  be,  cast  thy  humble  slough  and 
appear  fresh.  Be  opposite  with  a  kijisjnan,  surly  with  servants ;  let 
thy  tongue  tang^  arguments  of  state ;  put  thyself  into  the  trick  of 
singularity:  ^  she  thus  advises  thee  that  sighs  for  thee.  Remember 
who  commettded  thy  yellow  stockiiigs,  and  wished  to  see  thee  ever  cross- 
garter' d:  I  say,  rejnember.  Go  to,  thou  art  made,  if  thou  dcsirest  to 
be  so;  if  not,  let  me  see  thee  a  steward  still,  the  fellow  of  servants,  and 
not  worthy  to  touch  Fortune's  fingers.     Farewell.     She  that  would 

alter  services  with  thee, 
I  "The   Fortunate-Unhappy." 

Daylight  and  champain^  discovers  not  more:  this  is  open.  I 
will  be  proud,  I  will  read  politic  authors,  I  will  baffle  Sir  Toby,  I 
will  wash  off  gross  acquaintance,  I  will  be  point-devise*  the  very 
man.  I  do  not  now  fool  myself,  to  let  imagination  jade  me  ;  for 
every  reason  excites  to  this,  that  my  lady  loves  me.  She  did 
commend  my  yellow  stockings  of  late,  she  did  praise  my  leg 
being  cross-garter'd ;  and  in  this  she  manifests  herself  to  my  love, 
and  with  a  kind  of  injunction  drives  me  to  these  habits  of  her 
liking.  I  thank  my  stars  I  am  happy.  I  will  be  strange,^  stout,^ 
in  yellow  stockings,  and  cross-garter'd,  even  with  the  swiftness 
of  putting  on.  Jove  and  my  stars  be  praised!  Here  is  yet  a 
postscript. 

\Reads\  "  Thou  canst  not  choose  but  know  who  I  am.  If  thou  en- 
tertainest  my  love,  let  it  appear  in  thy  smiling;  thy  smiles  become  thee 
well;  therefore  in  m.y  presence  still  smile,  dear  my  sweet,  I  prithee.'''' 

Jove,  I  thank  thee :  I  will  smile ;  I  will  do  everything  that 
thou  wilt  have  me.  \Exit. 

1  Twang ;  clatter.         2  Being  eccentric.  3  Champaign. 

4  Exactly.  5  Disdainfully  reserved.         6  Proud ;  overbearing. 


li 


54  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  ii. 

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

Sir  Toby.    I  could  marry  this  wench  for  this  device. 

Sir  Ajidrew.    So  could  I  too. 

Sir  Toby.  And  ask  no  other  dowry  with  her  but  such  another 
jest. 

Sir  Andrew.    Nor  I  neither. 

Fabian.    Here  comes  my  noble  gull-catcher. 

Reenter  Maria. 

Sir  Toby.    Wilt  thou  set  thy  foot  o'  my  neck  ? 

Sir  Andrew.    Or  o'  mine  either  ? 

Sir  Toby.  Shall  I  play  my  freedom  at  tray-trip,^  and  become 
thy  bond-slave  ? 

Sir  Andrew.    V  faith,  or  I  either  ? 

Sir  Toby.  Why,  thou  hast  put  him  in  such  a  dream,  that  when 
the  image  of  it  leaves  him  he  must  run  mad. 

Maria.    Nay,  but  say  true  ;   does  it  work  upon  him  ? 

Sir  Toby.    Like  aqua-vitae.^ 

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

Sir  Toby.  To  the  gates  of  Tartar,^  thou  most  excellent  devil 
of  wit! 

Sir  Andrew.    I'll  make  one  too.  \Exeunt. 

1  The  Shah  of  Persia.  2  a  game  played  with  dice. 

3  Water  of  life ;  strong  spirits  ;  brandy.  *  Tartarus  ;  hell. 


SCENE  I.]  TWELFTH  NIGHT.  55 

ACT  III. 

Scene  I.      Olivia's  Gaj^den. 

Enter  Viola,  o7id  Clown  with  a  tabor. 

Viola.  Save  thee,  friend,  and  thy  music  :  dost  thou  live  by  thy 
tabor  ? 

Clown,    No,  sir,  I  Hve  by  the  church. 

Viola.    Art  thou  a  churchman  ? 

Clown.  No  such  matter,  sir :  I  do  hve  by  the  church ;  for  I 
do  hve  at  my  house,  and  my  house  doth  stand  by  the  church. 

Viola.  So  thou  mayst  say,  the  king  hes  by  a  beggar,  if  a  beg- 
gar dwell  near  him ;  or,  the  church  stands  by  thy  tabor,  if  thy 
tabor  stand  by  the  church. 

Clown.  You  have  said,  sir.  To  see  this  age!  A  sentence  is 
but  a  cheveril  ^  glove  to  a  good  wit :  how  quickly  the  wrong  side 
may  be  turn'd  outward! 

Viola.  Nay,  that's  certain ;  they  that  dally  nicely  with  words 
may  quickly  make  them  wanton. 

Clown.  But  indeed  words  are  very  rascals  since  bonds 
disgrac'd  them. 

Viola.    Thy  reason,  man  ? 

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

Viola.    I  warrant  thou  art  a  merry  fellow  and  car'st  for  nothing. 

Clown.  Not  so,  sir,  I  do  care  for  something ;  but  in  my  con- 
science, sir,  I  do  not  care  for  you :  if  that  be  to  care  for  nothing, 
sir,  I  would  it  would  make  you  invisible. 

Viola.    Art  not  thou  the  Lady  Olivia's  fool? 

Clown.  No,  indeed,  sir ;  the  Lady  Ohvia  has  no  folly :  she 
will  keep  no  fool,  sir,  till  she  be  married ;  and  fools  are  as  hke 
husbands  as  pilchards  ^  are  to  herrings  ;  the  husband's  the  bigger : 
I  am  indeed  not  her  fool,  but  her  corrupter  of  words. 

^   Kid.  2  Fish  much  like  herring. 


56  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  hi, 

Viola.    I  saw  thee  late  at  the  Count  Orsino's. 

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

Viola.  Nay,  and  thou  pass^  upon  me,  I'll  no  more  with  thee. 
Hold,  there's  expenses  for  thee.  \Gives  money. 

Clown.  Now  Jove,  in  his  next  commodity  ^  of  hair,  send  thee 
a  beard! 

Viola.  By  my  troth,  I'll  tell  thee,  I  am  almost  sick  for  one ; 
[Aside]  though  I  would  not  have  it  grow  on  my  chin.  Is  thy 
lady  within  ? 

Clow7i.    Would  not  a  pair  of  these  have  bred,  sir  ? 

Viola.    Yes,  being  kept  together  and  put  to  use.^ 

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

Viola.    I  understand  you,  sir;   'tis  well  begg'd.      \Gives  again. 

Clown.  The  matter,  I  hope,  is  not  great,  sir,  begging  but  a 
beggar :  Cressida  was  a  beggar.  My  lady  is  within,  sir.  I  will 
construe  to  them  whence  you  come ;  who  you  are  and  what  you 
would  are  out  of  my  welkin,  I  might  say  "  element,"  but  the  word 
is  over-worn.  \Exit. 

Viola.    This  fellow  is  wise  enough  to  play  the  fool ; 
And  to  do  that  well  craves  a  kind  of  wit : 
He  must  observe  their  mood  on  whom  he  jests, 
The  quality  of  persons,  and  the  time, 
Not,  like  the  haggard,^  check  at  every  feather^ 
That  comes  before  his  eye.     This  is  a  practice 
As  full  of  labor  as  a  wise  man's  art : 
For  folly  that  he  wisely  shows  is  fit ; 
But  wise  men's  folly  shown,  quite  taints  their  wit. 

^  Play  your  wit.  -  Shipment  or  cargo.  3  Usury ;  interest. 

4  An  untrained  hawk  or  falcon.  ^  See  Note  i,  p.  52. 


SCENE  I.]  TWELFTH  NIGHT.  57 

Enter  Sir  Toby  and  Sir  Andrew. 

Sir  Toby.    Save  you,  gentleman. 

Viola.    And  you,  sir. 

Sir  Andrew.    Dieu  vous  garde,  monsieur.^ 

Viola.    Et  vous  aussi ;   votre  serviteur.^ 

Sir  Andrew.    I  hope,  sir,  you  are ;   and  I  am  yours. 

Sir  Toby.  Will  you  encounter  the  house  ?  my  niece  is  desirous 
you  should  enter,  if  your  trade  be  to  her. 

Viola.  I  am  bound  to  your  niece,  sir;  I  mean,  she  is  the  list^ 
of  my  voyage. 

Sir  Toby.    Taste  your  legs,  sir ;   put  them  to  motion. 

Viola.  My  legs  do  better  understand  me,  sir,  than  I  under- 
stand what  you  mean  by  bidding  me  taste  my  legs. 

Sir  Toby.    I  mean,  to  go,  sir,  to  enter. 

Viola.  I  will  answer  you  with  gait  and  entrance.  But  we  are 
pre  vented. 3 

Enter  Olivia  and  Maria. 

Most  excellent  accomplish'd  lady,  the  heavens  rain  odors  on  you! 

Sir  Andrew.  That  youth's  a  rare  courtier:  "Rain  odors;" 
well. 

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

Sir  Andrew.  ''Odors,"  "pregnant"  and  "vouchsafed:"  I'll 
get  'em  all  three  all  ready. 

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

Viola.    My  duty,  madam,  and  most  humble  service. 

•  "Dieu  vous  garde,"  etc.,  i.e.,  "God  protect  you,  sir."  "Et  vous 
aussi,"  etc.,  i.e.,  "And  you  also;  your  servant."  Shakespeare  here  satirizes 
a  prevalent  affectation  of  introducing  French  phrases  into  conversation.  Sir 
Andrew  had  caught  some  familiar  expressions,  and  is  airing  one  of  them  for 
Viola's  benefit.     Viola  humors  his  conceit,  and  replies  in  the  same  strain. 

2  Limit.  3  Anticipated. 


5^  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  jii. 

Olivia.    What  is  your  name? 

Viola.    Cesario  is  your  servant's  name,  fair  princess. 

Olivia.    My  servant,  sir!      'Twas  never  merry  world 
Since'  lowly  feigning  was  call'd  compliment : 
You're  servant  to  the  Count  Orsino,  youth. 

Viola.    And  he  is  yours,  and  his  must  needs  be  yours : 
Your  servant's  servant  is  your  servant,  madam. 

Olivia.    For  him,  I  think  not  on  him :   for  his  thoughts, 
Would  they  were  blanks,  rather  than  fill'd  with  me! 

Viola.    Madam,  I  come  to  whet  your  gentle  thoughts 
On  his  behalf. 

Olivia.  O,  by  your  leave,  I  pray  you, 

I  bade  you  never  speak  again  of  him : 
But,  would  you  undertake  another  suit, 
I  had  rather  hear  you  to  solicit  that 
Than  music  from  the  spheres.^ 

Viola.  Dear  lady  — 

Olivia.    Give  me  leave,  beseech  you.     I  did  send, 
After  the  last  enchantment  you  did  here, 
A  ring  in  chase  of  you :   so  did  I  abuse 
Myself,  my  servant  and,  I  fear  me,  you : 
Under  your  hard  construction  must  I  sit. 
To  force  that  on  you,  in  a  shameful  cunning. 
Which  you  knew  none  of  yours :   what  might  you  think  ? 
Have  you  not  set  mine  honor  at  the  stake 
And  baited  it  with  all  the  unmuzzled  thoughts 
That  tyrannous  heart  can  think?     To  one  of  your  receiving ^ 
Enough  is  shown  :   a  cypress,^  not  a  bosom, 
Hideth  my  heart.     So,  let  me  hear  you  speak. 

Viola.    I  pity  you. 

Olivm.  That's  a  degree  to  love. 

^  It  was  the  doctrine  of  Pythagoras  that  the  stars  in  their  revolution  pro- 
duced a  heavenly  music. 

2  Ready  apprehension. 

3  A  thin,  semi-transparent  fabric. 


SCENE  I.]  TWELFTH  NIGHT.  59 

Viola.    No,  not  a  grise  ;^  for  'tis  a  vulgar  proof,^ 
That  very  oft  we  pity  enemies. 

Olivia.    Why,  then,  methinks  'tis  time  to  smile  again. 

0  world,  how  apt  the  poor  are  to  be  proud! 
If  one  should  be  a  prey,  how  much  the  better 

To  fall  before  the  lion  than  the  wolf !  [  Clock  strikes. 

The  clock  upbraids  me  with  the  waste  of  time. 

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

And  yet,  when  wit  and  youth  is  come  to  harvest. 

Your  wife  is  like  to  reap  a  proper  man : 

There  lies  your  way,  due  wxst. 

Viola.    Then  westward-ho !  ^     Grace  and  good  disposition 
Attend  your  ladyship! 
You'll  nothing,  madam,  to  my  lord  by  me? 

Olivia.    Stay : 

1  prithee,  tell  me  what  thou  think'st  of  me. 

Viola.    That  you  do  think  you  are  not  what  you  are. 

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

Viola.    Then  think  you  right :    I  am  not  what  I  am. 

Olivia.    I  would  you  were  as  I  w^ould  have  you  be! 

Viola.    Would  it  be  better,  madam,  than  I  am? 
I  wish  it  might,  for  now  I  am  your  fool. 

Olivia.    O,  what  a  deal  of  scorn  looks  beautiful 
In  the  contempt  and  anger  of  his  lip! 
A  murd'rous  guilt  shows  not  itself  more  soon 
Than  love  that  would  seem  hid :   love's  night  is  noon. 
Cesario,  by  the  roses  of  the  spring. 
By  maidhood,  honor,  truth  and  everything, 
I  love  thee  so,  that,  mauger^  all  thy  pride, 
Nor  wit  nor  reason  can  my  passion  hide. 

1  Step. 

2  "  Vulgar  proof,"  i.e.,  a  thing  of  every-day  experience. 

3  "  Westward-ho!  "  and  "  Eastward-ho!  "  were 'cries  of  the  boatmen  on 
the  Thames. 

*  In  spite  of.  ■ 


6o  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  hi. 

Do  not  extort  thy  reasons  from  this  clause, 
For  that  ^  I  woo,  thou  therefore  hast  no  cause ; 
But  rather  reason  thus  with  reason  fetter, 
Love  Sought  is  good,  but  given  unsought  is  better. 

Viola.    By  innocence  I  swear,  and  by  my  youth, 
I  have  one  heart,  one  bosom  and  one  truth. 
And  that  no  woman  has ;   nor  never  none 
Shall  mistress  be  of  it,  save  I  alone. 
And  so  adieu,  good  madam:   never  more 
Will  I  my  master's  tears  to  you  deplore. 

Olivia.    Yet  come  again ;   for  thou  perhaps  mayst  move 
That  heart,  which  now  abhors,  to  like  his  love.  \Exeuiit. 

Scene  II.     Olivia's  House. 

Enter  Sir  Toby,  Sir  Andrew,  and  Fabian. 

Sir  A?idrew.    No,  faith,  I'll  not  stay  a  jot  longer. 

Sir  Toby.    Thy  reason,  dear  venom,  give  thy  reason. 

Fabian.    You  must  needs  yield  your  reason.  Sir  Andrew. 

Sir  Andrew.  Marry,  I  saw  your  niece  do  more  favors  to  the 
count's  serving-man  than  ever  she  bestow'd  upon  me ;  I  saw't  i' 
the  orchard. 

Sir  Toby.    Did  she  see  thee  the  while,  old  boy?  tell  me  that. 

Sir  Andrew.    As  plain  as  I  see  you  now. 

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

Sir  Andrew.    'Shght,  will  you  make  an  ass  o'  me? 

Fabian.  I  will  prove  it  legitimate,  sir,  upon  the  oaths  of 
judgment  and  reason. 

Sir  Toby.  And  they  have  been  grand-jurymen  since  before 
Noah  was  a  sailor. 

Fabian.  She  did  show  favor  to  the  youth  in  your  sight  only  to 
exasperate  you,  to  awaken  your  dormouse  valor,  to  put  fire  in 
your  heart,  and  brimstone  in  your  liver.     You  should  then  have 

1  "  For  that,"  i.e.,  because. 


scEXE  II.]  TWELFTH  NIGHT.  6i 

accosted  her ;  and  with  some  excellent  jests,  fire-new  from  the 
mint,  you  should  have  bang'd  the  youth  into  dumbness.  This 
was  look'd  for  at  your  hand,  and  this  was  balk'd :  the  double 
guilt  of  this  opportunity  you  let  time  wash  off,  and  you  are  now 
sail'd  into  the  north  of  my  lady's  opinion ;  where  you  will  hang 
like  an  icicle  on  a  Dutchman's  beard,  unless  you  do  redeem  it  by 
some  laudable  attempt  either  of  valor  or  policy. 

Sir  A7idre'w.  An't  be  any  way,  it  must  be  with  valor ;  for 
policy  I  hate :    I  had  as  Hef  be  a  Brownist  ^  as  a  politician. 2 

Sir  Toby.  Why,  then,  build  me  thy  fortunes  upon  the  basis  of 
valor.  Challenge  me*^  the  count's  youth  to  fight  with  him  ;  hurt 
him  in  eleven  places  :  my  niece  shall  take  note  of  it ;  and  assure 
thyself,  there  is  no  love-broker  in  the  world  can  more  prevail  in 
man's  commendation  with  woman  than  report  of  valor..^ 

Fabidk.    There  is  no  way  but  this.  Sir  Andrew. 

Sir  Andi^ew.    Will  either  of  3^ou  bear  me  a  challenge  to  him  ? 

Sir  Toby.  Go,  write  it  in  a  martial  hand  ;  be  curst ^  and  brief ; 
it  is  no  matter  how  witty,  so  it  be  eloquent  and  full  of  invention  : 
taunt  him  with  the  license  of  ink:  if  thou  thou'st^  him  some 
thrice,  it  shall  not  be  amiss ;  and  as  many  lies  as  will  lie  in  thy 
sheet  of  paper,  although  the  sheet  were  big  enough  for  the  bed 
of  Ware^  in  England,  set  'em  down  :  go,  about  it.  Let  there  be 
gall  enough  in  thy  ink ;  though  thou  write  with  a  goose-pen,  no 
matter :   about  it. 

Sir  Andrew.    Where  shall  I  find  you? 

1  The  Brownists  were  a  sect  of  Puritans,  so  named  from  their  founder, 
Robert  Brown,  who  separated  himself  from  the  Church  of  England  about 
the  year  1580. 

2  "  This  word  is  generally  used  by  Shakespeare  in  an  unfavorable  sense, 
as  denoting  a  political  intriguer." 

3  This  redundant  "me"  was  often  used  colloquially,  and  occurs  fre- 
quently in  Shakespeare's  plays. 

4  Surly. 

5  To  use  "thou"  in  addressing  strangers  who  were  not  inferiors  was 
highly  offensive. 

6  This  celebrated  bed  is  carefully  preserved  as  a  Shakespearian  relic.     It 


62  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  hi. 

Sir  Toby.    We'll  call  thee  at  the  cubiculo  :  ^  go. 

yExit  Sir  Andrew. 

Fabian.    This  is  a  dear  manikin  2  to  you,  Sir  Toby. 

Sir- Toby.  I  have  been  dear  to  him,  lad,  some  two  thousand 
strong,  or  so. 

Fabia7i.  We  shall  have  a  rare  letter  from  him :  but  you'll  not 
deliver't? 

Sir  Toby.  Never  trust  me,  then ;  and  by  all  means  stir  on  the 
youth  to  an  answer.  I  think  oxen  and  wainropes  cannot  hale 
them  together.  For  Andrew,  if  he  were  open'd,  and  you  find  so 
much  blood  in  his  liver  as  will  clog  the  foot  of  a  flea,  I'll  eat  the 
rest  of  the  anatomy. 

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

Enter  Maria. 

Sir  Toby.    Look,  where  the  youngest  wren  of  nine^  comes. 

Maria.  If  you  desire  the  spleen,^  and  will  laugh  yourselves 
into  stitches,  follow  me.  Yond  gull  Malvolio  is  turn'd  heathen, 
a  very  renegado ;  for  there  is  no  Christian,  that  means  to  be 
saved  by  beheving  rightly,  can  ever  believe  such  impossible 
passages  of  grossness.     He's  in  yellow  stockings. 

Sir  Toby.    And  cross-garter'd  ? 

Maria.  Most  villainously ;  like  a  pedant  that  keeps  a  school  i' 
the  church.  I  have  dogg'd  him,  like  his  murderer.  He  does 
obey  every  point  of  the  letter  that  I  dropp'd  to  betray  him :   he 

was  sold  at  auction  in  1869,  bringing  five  hundred  dollars.  The  old  piece  of 
furniture  is  of  oak,  richly  carved,  over  seven  feet  in  height,  and  about  eleven 
feet  square. 

1  Lodgings. 

2  Little  man  ;   used  contemptuously.  ^  Adversary. 

*  Another  reference  to  Maria's  diminutive  size.  The  wren  usually  lays 
eight  to  ten  eggs,  and  of  the  young  birds  the  last  hatched  is  said  to  be  the 
smallest. 

5  Immoderate  laughter  was  supposed  to  have  the  effect  of  enlarging  the 
spleen. 


SCENE  III.]  TlVELFl'H  NIGHT.  63 

does  smile  his  face  into  more  lines  than  is  in  the  new  map  with 
the  augmentation  of  the  Indies  :^  you  have  not  seen  such  a  thing 
as  'tis.  I  can  hardly  forbear  hurling  things  at  him.  I  know  my 
lady  will  strike  him :  if  she  do,  he'll  smile  and  take't  for  a  great 
favor. 

Sir  Toby.    Come,  bring  us,  bring  us  where  he  is.  \Exeunt. 


Scene  III.     A  Street. 

Enter  Sebastian  and  Antonio. 

Sebastian.    I  would  not  by  my  will  have  troubled  you ; 
But,  since  you  make  your  pleasure  of  your  pains, 
I  will  no  further  chide  you. 

A7itonio.    I  could  not  stay  behind  you :   my  desire, 
More  sharp  than  filed  steel,  did  spur  me  forth ; 
And  not  all  love  to  see  you,  though  so  much 
As  might  have  drawn  one  to  a  longer  voyage, 
But  jealousy 2  what  might  befall  your  travel. 
Being  skill-less  in  these  parts ;   which  to  a  stranger, 
Unguided  and  unfriended,  often  prove 
Rough  and  unhospitable  :   my  wiUing  love. 
The  rather  by  these  arguments  of  fear. 
Set  forth  in  your  pursuit. 

Sebastian.  My  kind  Antonio, 

I  can  no  other  answer  make  but  thanks, 
And  thanks,  and  thanks ;   and  ever  oft  good  turns 
Are  shuffled  off  with  such  uncurrent  pay ! 
But,  were  my  worth  ^  as  is  my  conscience  firm. 
You  should  find  better  dealing.     What's  to  do? 
Shall  we  go  see  the  reliques  of  this  town.? 

1  This  refers  to  a  map  published  in  an  edition  of  Hakluyt's  Voyages 
( 1 599-1600),  in  which  the  East  Indies  are  given  in  greater  detail  than  in  any- 
previous  map. 

2  Apprehension.  3  Wealth. 


64  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  hi. 

Antonio.    To-morrow,  sir :  best  first  go  see  your  lodging. 

Sebastian.    I  am  not  weary,  and  'tis  long  to  night : 
I  pray  you,  let  us  satisfy  our  eyes 
With  the  memorials  and  the  things  of  fame 
That  do  renown  this  city. 

A?itojiio.  Would  you'ld  pardon  me ; 

I  do  not  without  danger  walk  these  streets : 
Once,  in  a  sea-fight,  'gainst  the  count  his^  galleys 
I  did  some  service  ;   of  such  note  indeed, 
That  were  I  ta'en  here  it  would  ^  scarce  be  answer'd. 

Sebastian.    Belike  you  slew  great  number  of  his  people. 

Antonio.    The  offense  is  not  of  such  a  bloody  nature ; 
Albeit  the  quality  of  the  time  and  quarrel 
Might  well  have  given  us  bloody  argument. 
It  might  have  since  been  answer'd  in  repaying 
What  we  took  from  them ;   which,  for  traffic  sake, 
Most  of  our  city  did :    only  myself  stood  out ; 
For  which,  if  I  be  lapsed ^  in  this  place, 
I  shall  pay  dear, 

Sebastian.  Do  not  then  walk  too  open. 

Antonio.    It  doth  not  fit  me.     Hold,  sir,  here's  my  purse. 
In  the  south  suburbs,  at  the  Elephant, 
Is  best  to  lodge :    I  will  bespeak  our  diet. 
Whiles  you  beguile  the  time  and  feed  your  knowledge 
With  viewing  of  the  town :   there  shall  you  have  me.^ 

Sebastian.    Why  I  your  purse? 

Antonio.    Haply  your  eye  shall  light  upon  some  toy 
You  have  desire  to  purchase ;   and  your  store, 
I  think,  is  not  for  idle  markets,  sir. 

Sebastian.    I'll  be  your  purse-bearer  and  leave  you 
For  an  hour. 

1  "  Count  his  galleys,"  i.e.,  galleys  belonging  to  the  count. 

2  Could. 

3  Here  used  in  the  sense  of  "  surprised,"  "  caught." 

4  Find  me. 


SCENE  IV.]  TWELFTH  NIGHT.  65 

Antonio.    To  the  Elephant. 

Sebastian.  I  do  remember.  \Exeunt. 


Scene  IV.     Olivia's  Garden. 

Enter  Olivia,  and  Maria. 

Olivia.    I  have  sent  after  him  :   he  says  he'll  come  ;^ 
How  shall  I  feast  him?  what  bestow  of  ^  him? 
For  youth  is  bought  more  oft  than  begg'd  or  borrow'd. 
I  speak  too  loud. 

Where  is  Malvolio?  he  is  sad  and  civil, 
And  suits  well  for  a  servant  with  my  fortunes : 
Where  is  Malvolio? 

Maria.    He's  comings  madam  ;   but  in  very  strange  manner. 
He  is,  sure,  possess'd,  madam. 

Olivia.    Why,  what's  the  matter?  does  he  rave? 

Maria.  No,  madam,  he  does  nothing  but  smile :  your  ladyship 
wer%  best  to  have  some  guard  about  you,  if  he  comes ;  for,  sure, 
the  man  is  tainted  in's  wits. 

Olivia.  Go  call  him  hither.  \Exit  Maria.]  I  am  as  mad  as  he, 
If  sad  and  merry  madness  equal  be. 

Reenter  Maria,  with  Malvolio. 

How  now,  Malvolio  ? 

Malvolio.    Sweet  lady,  ho,  ho. 

Olivia.    Smil'st  thou? 
I  sent  for  thee  upon  a  sad  occasion. 

Malvolio.  Sad,  lady !  I  could  be  sad :  this  does  make  some 
obstruction  in  the  blood,  this  cross-gartering;  but  what  of  that? 
if  it  please  the  eye  of  one,  it  is  with  me  as  the  very  true  sonnet 
is,  "  Please  one,  and  please  all." 

1  This  is  to  be  understood  hypothetically,  "  Suppose  he  says  he'll 
come?  "     Olivia's  messenger  had  not  yet  returned. 

2  On. 


66  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  iii. 

Olivia.  Why,  how  dost  thou,  man?  what  is  the  matter  with 
thee  ? 

Malvolio.  Not  black  in  my  mind,  though  yellow  in  my  legs. 
It  dii  come  to  his  hands,  and  commands  shall  be  executed :  I 
think  we  do  know  the  sweet  Roman  hand. 

Olivia.    Wilt  thou  go  to  bed,  MalvoHo  ? 

Malvolio.    To  bed!    ay,  sweet-heart,  if  it'll  please  thee. 

Olivia.  God  comfort  thee!  Why  dost  thou  smile  so  and  kiss 
thy  hand  so  oft! 

Maria.    How  do  you,  Malvolio  ? 

Malvolio.    At  your  request !    yes  ;   nightingales  answer  daws. 

Maria.  Why  appear  you  with  this  ridiculous  boldness  before 
my  lady? 

Malvolio.    "  Be  not  afraid  of  greatness :"  'twas  well  writ. 

Olivia.    What  mean'st  thou  by  that,  MalvoHo? 

Malvolio.    "  Some  are  born  great  "  — 

Olivia.    Ha ! 

Malvolio.    "  Some  achieve  greatness  " — 

Olivia.    What  say'st  thou  ? 

Malvolio.    "And  some  have  greatness  thrust  upon  them." 

Olivia.    Heaven  restore  thee! 

Malvolio.  "  Remember  who  commended  thy  yellow  stock- 
ings" — 

Olivia.    Thy  yellow  stockings! 

Malvolio.    "And  wish'd  to  see  thee  cross-garter'd." 

Olivia.    Cross-garter'd ! 

Malvolio.    "  Go  to,  thou  art  made,  if  thou  desir'st  to  be  so  "  — 

Olivia.    Am  I  made  ? 

Malvolio.    "  If  not,  let  me  see  thee  a  servant  still." 

Olivia.    Why,  this  is  very  midsummer  madness. 

Enter  Servant. 

Servant.  Madam,  the  young  gentleman  of  the  Count  Orsino's 
is  returned :  I  could  hardly  entreat  him  back :  he  attends  your 
ladyship's  pleasure. 


SCENE  IV.]  TWELFTH  NIGHT.  67 

Olivia.  I'll  come  to  him.  \Exit  Serva7it.\  Good  Maria,  let 
this  fellow  be  look'd  to.  Where's  my  cousin  Toby?  Let  some 
of  my  people  have  a  special  care  of  him :  I  would  not  have  him 
miscarry  for  the  half  of  my  dowry.      \^Exeuiit  Olivia  and  Maria. 

Malvolio.  O,  ho!  do  you  come  near  me  now?  no  worse  man 
than  Sir  Toby  to  look  to  me!  This  concurs  directly  with  the 
letter :  she  sends  him  on  purpose,  that  I  may  appear  stubborn  to 
him  ;  for  she  incites  me  to  that  in  the  letter.  "  Cast  thy  humble 
slough,"  says  she;  "be  opposite  with  a  kinsman,  surly  with  ser- 
vants ;  let  thy  tongue  tang  with  arguments  of  state ;  put  thyself 
into  the  trick  of  singularity;"  and  consequently  sets  down  the 
manner  how  ;  as,  a  sad  face,  a  reverend  carriage,  a  slow  tongue, 
in  the  habit  of  some  sir  of  note,  and  so  forth.  I  have  lim'd^  her ; 
but  it  is  Jove's  doing,  and  Jove  make  me  thankful!  And  when 
she  went  away  now,  "Let  this  fellow  be  look'd  to:"  fellow!  not 
Malvolio,  nor  after  my  degree,  but  fellow.^  Why,  everything 
adheres  together,  that  no  dram  of  a  scruple,  no  scruple  of  a 
scruple,  no  obstacle,  no  incredulous^  or  unsafe  circumstance  — 
What  can  be  said?  Nothing  that  can  be  can  come  between  me 
and  the  full  prospect  of  my  hopes.  Well,  Jove,  not  I,  is  the  doer 
of  this,  and  he  is  to  be  thanked. 

Reenter  Maria,  with  Sir  Toby  and  Fabian. 

Sir  Toby.  Which  way  is  he,  in  the  name  of  sanctity?  If  all 
the  devils  of  hell  be  drawn  in  httle,  and  Legion ^  himself  possess'd 
him,  yet  I'll  speak  to  him. 

Fabia7i.  Here  he  is,  here  he  is.  How  is't  with  you,  sir?  how 
is't  with  you,  man? 

Malvolio.  Go  off ;  I  discard  you :  let  me  enjoy  my  private : 
go  off. 

1  Caught,  as  -with  bird-lime. 

2  Malvolio  construes  the  word  as  having  been  used  by  Olivia  in  the  sense 
of  "  companionship,"  "  equality." 

3  Incredible. 

4  See  Mark  v.  9. 


68  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  hi. 

Maria.  Lo,  how  hollow  the  fiend  speaks  within  him!  did  not 
I  tell  you?     Sir  Toby,  my  lady  prays  you  to  have  a  care  of  him. 

Malvolio.    Ah,  ha!    does  she  so? 

Sir  Toby.  Go  to,  go  to ;  peace,  peace ;  we  must  deal  gently 
with  him:  let  me  alone.  How  do  you,  Malvolio?  how  is't  with 
you?  What,  man!  defy  the  devil:  consider,  he's  an  enemy  to 
mankind. 

Malvolio.    Do  you  know  what  you  say? 

Maria.  La  you,  an  you  speak  ill  of  the  devil,  how  he  takes  it 
at  heart!  Pray  God,  he  be  not  bewitch'd!  My  lady  would  not 
lose  him  for  more  than  I'll  say. 

Malvolio.    How  now,  mistress! 

Maria.    O  Lord! 

Sir  Toby.  Prithee,  hold  thy  peace ;  this  is  not  the  way :  do 
you  not  see  you  move  him?  let  me  alone  with  him. 

Fabian.  No  way  but  gentleness ;  gently,  gently :  the  fiend  is 
rough,  and  will  not  be  roughly  us'd. 

Sir  Toby.  Why,  how  now,  my  bawcock !  i  how  dost  thou, 
chuck  ? 

Malvolio.    Sir ! 

Sir  Toby.  Ay,  Biddy,  come  with  me.^  What,  man!  'tis  not 
for  gravity  to  play  at  cherry-pit ^  with  Satan:  hang  him,  foul 
collier ! 

Maria.  Get  him  to  say  his  prayers,  good  Sir  Toby,  get  him  to 
pray. 

Malvolio.    My  prayers,  minx! 

Maria.    No,  I  warrant  you,  he  will  not  hear  of  godliness. 

Malvolio.  Go,  hang  yourselves  all!  you  are  idle  shallow 
things :  I  am  not  of  your  element :  you  shall  know  more 
hereafter.  \Exit. 

Sir  Toby.    Is't  possible  ? 

1  Fine  fellow,  a  term  of  encouragement. 

2  "  Ay,  Biddy,  come  with  me,"  are  in  all  probability  words  from  an 
old  song. 

3  A  game  played  by  pitching  cherry-stones  into  a  small  hole. 


SCENE  IV. J  TWELFTH  NIGHT.  69 

Fabia7i.  If  this  were  play'd  upon  a  stage  now,  I  could  condemn 
it  as  an  improbable  fiction. 

Sir  Toby.  His  very  genius  hath  taken  the  infection  of^  the 
device,  man.  • 

Maria.  Nay,  pursue  him  now,  lest  the  device  take  air  and 
taint. 

Fabian.    Why,  we  shall  make  him  mad  indeed. 

Maria.    The  house  will  be  the  quieter. 

Sir  Toby.  Come,  we'll  have  him  in  a  dark  room  and  bound. 
My  niece  is  already  in  the  belief  that  he's  mad  :  we  may  carry  it 
thus,  for  our  pleasure  and  his  penance,  till  our  very  pastime,  tired 
out  of  breath,  prompt  us  to  have  mercy  on  him :  at  which  time 
we  will  bring  the  device  to  the  bar  and  crown  thee  for  a  finder 
of  madmen.     But  see,  but  see. 

Enter  SiR  ANDREW. 

Fabia7i.    More  matter  for  a  May  morning.^ 

Sir  Andrew.  Here's  the  challenge,  read  it :  I  warrant  there's 
vinegar  and  pepper  in't. 

Fabiafi.    Is't  so  saucy? 

Sir  Andrew.    Ay,  is't,  I  warrant  him  :   do  but  read. 

Sir  Toby.  Give  me.  [Feads]  "  Youth,  whatsoever  thou  art,  thou 
art  but  a  scurvy  fellow .'''' 

Fabian.    Good,  and  valiant. 

Sir  Toby.  \Reads\  '•'■  Wonder  not,  nor  admire  not  in  thy  mind, 
why  I  do  call  thee  so,  for  I  will  show  thee  no  reason  for' t. " 

Fabian.  A  good  note ;  that  keeps  you  from  the  blow  of  the 
law. 

Sir  Toby.  \Reads\  "  Thou  comest  to  the  Lady  Olivia,  and  in  my 
sight  she  tises  thee  kindly:  but  thou  liest  iii  thy  throat;  that  is  not  the 
matter  I  challenge  thee  for.''^  ^ 

Fabian.    Very  brief,  and  to  exceeding  good  sense  —  less. 

1  "  His  very  genius,"  etc.,  i.e.,  his  whole  nature  is  infected  with. 

2  Alluding  to  May-day  sports,  the  1st  of  May  being  given  up  to  merri- 
ment and  amusements  of  all  kinds. 


70  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  hi. 

Sti"  Toby.  \^Reads]  '■'■  I  will  waylay  thee  going  home ;  where  if  it 
be  thy  chance  to  kill  nie  "  — 

Fabian.    Good. 

Sir  Toby.    \^Reads\    '■^  Thotimkillest  7ne  like  a  ivgue  and  a  villain.'*'' 

Fabian.    Still  you  keep  o'  the  windy  side  of  the  law :   good. 

Sir  Toby.    \JR.eads\    '■Fare  thee  wellj  and  God  have  mercy  upon 

one  of  our  souls/     He  may  have  7ncrcy  upon  mi7te;  but  my  hope  is 

better^  and  so  look  to  thyself.      Thy  friend,  as  thou  usest  him,  and  thy 

sworn  enemy, 

"  Andrew  Agufxheek." 

If  this  letter  move  him  not,  his  legs  cannot :    I'll  give't  him. 

Maria.  You  may  have  very  fit  occasion  for't :  he  is  now  in 
some  commerce  with  my  lady,  and  will  by  and  by  depart. 

Sir  Toby.  Go,  Sir  Andrew ;  scout  me  for  him  at  the  corner  of 
the  orchard  like  a  bum-baily;^  so  soon  as  ever  thou  seest  him, 
draw ;  and,  as  thou  draw'st,  swear  horrible  ;  for  it  comes  to  pass 
oft  that  a  terrible  oath,  with  a  swaggering  accent  sharply  twang'd 
off,  gives  manhood  more  approbation  than  ever  proof  itself  would 
have  earn'd  him.     Away! 

Sir  Andrew.    Nay,  let  me  alone  for  swearing.  \Exit. 

Sir  Toby.  Now  will  not  I  deliver  his  letter :  for  the  behavior 
of  the  young  gentleman  gives  him  out  to  be  of  good  capacity  and 
breeding ;  his  employment  between  his  lord  and  my  niece  con- 
firms no  less :  therefore  this  letter,  being  so  excellently  ignorant, 
will  breed  no  terror  in  the  youth :  he  will  find  it  comes  from  a 
clodpole.  But,  sir,  I  will  deliver  his  challenge  by  word  of  mouth ; 
set  upon  Aguecheek  a  notable  reoort  of  valor,  and  drive  the 
gentleman,  as  I  know  his  youth  will  aptly  receive  it,  into  a  most 
hideous  opinion  of  his  rage,  skill,  fury,  and  impetuosity.  This 
will  so  fright  them  both  that  they  will  kill  one  another  by  the 
look,  like  cockatrices.^ 

1  Bum  or  bound  bailiff  is  analogous  to  our  sheriff's  deputy. 

^  The  cockatrice,  a  fabulous  animal,  with  the  head  of  a  cock,  the  wings 
of  a  fowl,  and  the  tail  of  a  dragon,  was  supposed  to  have  the  power  of  killing 
with  a  glance  of  the  eye. 


SCENE  IV.]  TWELFTH  NIGHT.  71 

Reenter  Olivia,  with  Viola. 

Fabiaii.  Here  he  comes  with  your  niece :  give  them  way  till 
he  take  leave,  and  presently  after  him. 

Sir  Toby.  I  will  meditate  the  while  upon  some  horrid  message 
for  a  challenge.  [Exeunt  Sir  Toby,  Fabian,  and  Maria. 

Olivia.    I  have  said  too  much  unto  a  heart  of  stone 
And  laid  mine  honor  too  unchary  out  : 
There's  something  in  me  that  reproves  my  fault ; 
But  such  a  headstrong  potent  fault  it  is, 
That  it  but  mocks  reproof. 

Viola.    With  the  same  'havior  that  your  passion  bears 
Goes  on  my  master's  grief, 

Olivia.    Here,  wear  this  jewel  for  me,  'tis  my  picture ; 
Refuse  it  not ;   it  hath  no  tongue  to  vex  you ; 
And  I  beseech  you  come  again  to-morrow. 
What  shall  you  ask  of  me  that  I'll  deny, 
That  honor  sav'd  may  upon  asking  give  ? 

Viola.    Nothing  but  this ;   your  true  love  for  my  master. 

Olivia.    How  with  mine  honor  may  I  ^iyq.  him  that 
Which  I  have  given  to  you  ? 

Viola.  I  will  acquit  you. 

Olivia.    Well,  come  again  to-morrow:   fare  thee  well: 
A  fiend  like  thee  might  bear  my  soul  to  hell.  [Exit. 

Reenter  SiK.  ToBY  and  Fabian. 

Sir  Toby.    Gentleman,  God  save  thee. 

Viola.    And  you,  sir. 

Sir  Toby.  That  defense  thou  hast,  betake  thee  to't :  of  what 
nature  the  wrongs  are  thou  hast  done  him,  I  know  not ;  but  thy 
intercepter,  full  of  despite,  bloody  as  the  hunter,  attends  thee  at 
the  orchard -end  :  dismount  thy  tuck,  be  yare^  in  thy  preparation, 
for  thy  assailant  is  quick,  skillful  and  deadly. 

1  "Dismount  thy  tuck,"  etc.,  i.e.,  unsheath  thy  rapier;  be  ready. 


72  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  hi. 

Viola.  You  mistake,  sir ;  I  am  sure  no  man  hath  any  quarrel 
to  me:  my  remembrance  is  very  free  and  clear  from  any  image 
of  offense  done  to  any  man. 

Sir'  Toby.  You'll  find  it  otherwise,  I  assure  you :  therefore,  if 
you  hold  your  life  at  any  price,  betake  you  to  your  guard ;  for 
your  opposite  hath  in  him  what  youth,  strength,  skill  and  wrath 
can  furnish  man  withal. 

Viola.    I  pray  you,  sir,  what  is  he? 

Sir  Toby.  He  is  knight,  dubb'd  with  unhack'd  rapier  and  on 
carpet  consideration ;  but  he  is  a  devil  in  private  brawl :  souls 
and  bodies  hath  he  divorc'd  three ;  and  his  incensement  at  this 
moment  is  so  implacable,  that  satisfaction  can  be  none  but  by 
pangs  of  death  and  sepulcher.  Hobnob  is  his  word ;  give't 
or  take't. 

Viola.  I  will  return  again  into  the  house  and  desire  some  con- 
duct ^  of  the  lady.  I  am  no  fighter.  I  have  heard  of  some  kind 
of  men  that  put  quarrels  purposely  on  others,  to  taste  ^  their  valor : 
belike  this  is  a  man  of  that  quirk. ^ 

Sir  Toby.  Sir,  no ;  his  indignation  derives  itself  out  of  a  very 
competent  injury :  therefore,  get  you  on  and  give  him  his  desire. 
Back  you  shall  not  to  the  house,  unless  you  undertake  that  with 
me  which  with  as  much  safety  you  might  answer  him :  therefore, 
on,  or  strip  your  sword  stark  naked  ;  for  meddle  you  must,  that's 
certain,  or  forswear  to  wear  iron  about  you. 

Viola.  This  is  as  uncivil  as  strange.  I  beseech  you,  do  me 
this  courteous  office,  as  to  know  of  the  knight  what  my  offense 
to  him  is :  it  is  something  of  my  negligence,  nothing  of  my 
purpose. 

Sir  Toby.  I  will  do  so.  Signior  Fabian,  stay  you  by  this 
gentleman  till  my  return.  \Exit. 

Viola.    Pray  you,  sir,  do  you  know  of  this  matter? 

Fabia7i.  I  know  the  knight  is  incens'd  against  you,  even  to  a 
mortal  arbitrament ;   but  nothing  of  the  circumstance  more. 

Viola.    I  beseech  you,  what  manner  of  man  is  he? 

1  Escort.  2  Test.  ^  Whim. 


SCENE  IV.]  TWELFTH  NIGHT.  73 

Fabian.  Nothing  of  that  wonderful  promise,  to  read  him  by 
his  form,  as  you  are  Hke  to  find  him  in  the  proof  of  his  valor. 
He  is,  indeed,  sir,  the  most  skillful,  bloody  and  fatal  opposite 
that  you  could  possibly  have  found  in  any  part  of  Illyria.  Will 
you  walk  towards  him?    I  will  make  your  peace  with  him  if  I  can. 

Viola.  I  shall  be  much  bound  to  you  for't :  I  am  one  that 
had  rather  go  with  sir  priest  than  sir  knight :  I  care  not  who 
knows  so  much  of  my  mettle.  \Exetmt. 

Reenter  Sir  Toby,  with  Sir  Andrew. 

Sir  Toby.  Why,  man,  he's  a  very  devil ;  I  have  not  seen  such 
a  firago.^  I  had  a  pass  with  him,  rapier,  scabbard  and  all,  and 
he  gives  me  the  stuck  in  with  such  a  mortal  motion,  that  it  is  in- 
evitable ;  2  and  on  the  answer,  he  pays  you  as  surely  as  your  feet 
hit  the  ground  they  step  on.  They  say  he  has  been  fencer  to  the 
Sophy. 

Sir  Andrew.    I'll  not  meddle  with  him. 

Sir  Toby.  Ay,  but  he  will  not  now  be  pacified :  Fabian  can 
scarce  hold  him  yonder. 

Sir  Andrew.  Plague  on't,  an  I  thought  he  had  been  valiant 
and  so  cunning  in  fence,  I'ld  have  seen  him  damn'd  ere  I'ld  have 
challeng'd  him.  Let  him  let  the  matter  slip,  and  I'll  give  him 
my  horse,  gray  Capilet. 

Sir  Toby.  I'll  make  the  motion:  stand  here,  make  a  good 
show  on't :  this  shall  end  without  the  perdition  of  souls.  [Aside] 
Marry,  I'll  ride  your  horse  as  well  as  I  ride  you. 

Reenter  Fabian  atid  Viola. 

\To  Fabian]    I  have  his  horse  to  take  up  the  quarrel:   I  have 
persuaded  him  the  youth's  a  devil. 

Fabian.  He  is  as  horribly  conceited  of  him ;  and  pants  and 
looks  pale,  as  if  a  bear  were  at  his  heels. 

1  Sir  Toby  means  "  virago." 

2  "  The  stuck  in  with,"  etc.,  i.e.,  it  is  impossible  to  parry  the  deadly  pre- 
cision of  his  thrust. 


74  SHAKESPEARE.  Lact  in. 

Sir  Toby.  [  To  V'iold\  There's  no  remedy,  sir ;  he  will  fight  with 
you  for's  oath  sake :  marry,  he  had  better  bethought  him  of  his 
quarrel,  and  he  finds  that  now  scarce  to  be  worth  talking  of : 
therefore  draw,  for  the  supportance  of  his  vow ;  he  protests  he 
will  not  hurt  you. 

Viola.  \Aside\  Pray  God  defend  me!  A  Httle  thing  would 
make  me  tell  them  how  much  I  lack  of  a  man. 

Fabian.    Give  ground,  if  you  see  him  furious. 

Sir  Toby.  Come,  Sir  Andrew,  there's  no  remedy ;  the  gentle- 
man will,  for  his  honor's  sake,  have  one  bout  with  you;  he 
cannot  by  the  duello  ^  avoid  it :  but  he  has  promis'd  me,  as  he 
is  a  gentleman  and  a  soldier,  he  will  not  hurt  you.  Come  on ; 
to't. 

Sir  Andi'ew.    Pray  God,  he  keep  his  oath! 

Viola.    I  do  assure  you,  'tis  against  my  will.  \They  draw. 

Enter  Antonio. 

Antonio.    Put  up  your  sword.      If  this  young  gentleman 
Have  done  offense,  I  take  the  fault  on  me : 
If  you  offend  him,  I  for  him  defy  you. 
Sir  Toby.    You,  sir!    why,  what  are  you? 
Aiitonio.    One,  sir,  that  for  his  love  dares  yet  do  more 
Than  you  have  heard  him  brag  to  you  he  will. 

Sir  Toby.    Nay,  if  you  be  an  undertaker,^  I  am  for  you. 

[T/tey  draw. 
Enter  Officers. 

Fabian.    O  good  Sir  Toby,  hold!    here  come  thp  officers. 

Sir  Toby.    I'll  be  with  you  anon. 

Viola.    Pray,  sir,  put  your  sword  up,  if  you  please. 

Sir  Andrew.  Marry,  will  I,  sir ;  and,  for  that  I  promis'd  you, 
I'll  be  as  good  as  my  word:  he  will  bear  you  easily  and  reins 
well. 

1  The  laws  that  regulate  dueling. 

2  Here  used  in  the  sense  of  an  intermeddler. 


SCENE  VI.]  TWELFTH  NIGHT  75 

F'u'st  Office}'.    This  is  the  man ;   do  thy  office. 

Seco?id  Officer.    Antonio,  I  arrest  thee  at  the  suit  of  Count 
Orsino. 

A?itomo.    You  do  mistake  me,  sir. 

First  Officer.    No,  sir,  no  jot ;    I  know  your  favor  well, 
Though  now  you  have  no  sea-cap  on  your  head. 
Take  him  away :   he  knows  I  know  him  well. 

Anto?iio.    I  -must  obey.    \To  Viola\    This  comes  with  seeking 
you: 
But  there's  no  remedy ;    I  shall  ansvver  it. 
What  will  you  do,  now  my  necessity 
Makes  me  to  ask  you  for  my  purse?     It  grieves  me 
Much  more  for  what  I  cannot  do  for  you 
Than  what  befalls  myself.     You  stand  amaz'd ; 
But  be  of  comfort. 

Second  Officer.    Come,  sir,  away. 

Antonio.    I  must  entreat  of  you  some  of  that  money. 

Viola.    What  money,  sir? 
For  the  fair  kindness  you  have  show'd  me  here, 
And,  part,  being  prompted  by  your  present  trouble, 
Out  of  my  lean  and  low  ability 
I'll  lend  you  something  :   my  having  is  not  much  ; 
I'll  make  division  of  my  present i  with  you: 
Hold,  there's  half  my  coffer. 

Aiitonio.  Will  you  deny  me  now? 

Is't  possible  that  my  deserts  to  you 
Can  lack  persuasion?     Do  not  tempt  my  misery, 
Lest  that  it  make  me  so  unsound  a  man 
As  to  upbraid  you  with  those  kindnesses 
That  I  have  done  for  you. 

Viola.  I  know  of  none  ; 

Nor  know  I  you  by  voice  or  any  feature : 
I  hate  ingratitude  more  in  a  man 
Than  lying,  vainness,  babbling,  drunkenness, 

1  Present  store. 


76  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  hi. 

Or  any  taint  of  vice  whose  strong  corruption 
Inhabits  our  frail  blood. 

Antonio.  0  heavens  themselves! 

Second  Officer.    Come,  sir,  I  pray  you,  go. 

Antonio.    Let  me  speak  a  little.     This  youth  that  you  see  here 
I  snatch'd  one  half  out  of  the  jaws  of  death ; 
Reliev'd  him  with  such  sanctity  of  love ; 
And  to  his  image,  which  methought  did  promise 
Most  venerable  worth,  did  I  devotion. 

First  Officer.    What's  that  to  us  ?     The  time  goes  by :   away ! 

Antonio.    But  O  how  vile  an  idol  proves  this  god! 
Thou  hast,  Sebastian,  done  good  feature  shame. 
In  nature  there's  no  blemish  but  the  mind ; 
None  can  be  call'd  deform'd  but  the  unkind : 
Virtue  is  beauty,  but  the  beauteous  evil 
Are  empty  trunks  o'erflourish'd  ^  by  the  devil. 

First  Officer.    The  man  grows  mad :   away  with  him !      Come, 
come,  sir. 

Antonio.    Lead  me  on.  \Exit  with  officers. 

Viola.    Methinks  his  words  do  from  such  passion  fly, 
That  he  believes  himself:   so  do  not  I.^ 
Prove  true,  imagination,  O,  prove  true, 
That  I,  dear  brother,  be  now  ta'en  for  you! 

Sir  Toby.    Come  hither,  knight ;    come  hither,  Fabian :   we'll 
whisper  o'er  a  couplet  or  two  of  most  sage  saws. 

Viola.    He  named  Sebastian :    I  my  brother  know 
Yet  living  in  my  glass ;  ^  even  such  and  so 
In  favor  was  my  brother,  and  he  went 
Still  in  this  fashion,  color,  ornament, 

1  Trunks  and  chests,  being  articles  of  furniture,  were  often  richly  orna- 
mented with  carvings. 

2  "  So   do  not   I,"  i.e.,    I    do    not   yet  believe   myself,   when   from  this 
accident  I  gather  hope  of  my  brother's  life. 

3  "  I  my  brother  know,"  etc.,  i.e.,  I  see  my  brother  as  if  living  in  my  own 
reflection  in  the  glass. 


iCENE  I.J  TWELFTH  NIGHT.  77 

For  him  I  imitate  •}  O,  if  it  prove, 

Tempests  are  kind  and  salt  waves  fresh  in  love.  \Exit. 

Sir  Toby.  A  very  dishonest  paltry  boy,  and  more  a  coward 
than  a  hare :  his  dishonesty  appears  in  leaving  his  friend  here  in 
necessity  and  denying  him ;    and  for  his  cowardship,  ask  Fabian. 

Fabian.    A  coward,  a  most  devout  coward,  religious  in  it. 

Sir  Afidrew.    'Shd,  I'll  after  him  again  and  beat  him. 

Sir  Toby.    Do ;   cuff  him  soundly,  but  never  draw  thy  sword. 

Sir  Andrew.    An  I  do  not  —  \Exit. 

Fabia7i.    Come,  let's  see  the  event. 

Sir  Toby.    I  dare  lay  any  money  'twill  be  nothing  yet. 

\Exeunt. 

ACT   IV. 

Scene  I.     Before  Olivia's  House. 

Enter  SEBASTIAN  and  Clown. 

Clown.    Will  you  make  me  believe  that  I  am  not  sent  for  you  ? 

Sebastian.    Go  to,  go  to,  thou  art  a  foolish  fellow : 
Let  me  be  clear  of  thee. 

Clown.  Well  held  out,  i'  faith!  No,  I  do  not  know  you;  nor 
I  am  not  sent  to  you  by  my  lady,  to  bid  you  come  speak  with 
her ;  nor  your  name  is  not  Master  Cesario ;  nor  this  is  not  my 
nose  neither.     Nothing  that  is  so  is  so. 

Sebastian.    I  prithee,  vent  thy  folly  somewhere  else : 
Thou  know'st  not  me. 

Clown.  Vent  m^y  folly !  he  has  heard  that  word  of  some  great 
man  and  now  applies  it  to  a  fool.  Vent  my  folly !  I  am  afraid 
this  great  lubber,  the  world,  will  prove  a  cockney.  I  prithee 
now,  ungird  thy  strangeness,^  and  tell  me  what  I  shall  ven^  to 
my  lady :   shall  I  vent  to  her  that  thou  art  coming  ? 

« 

1  "  He  went  still,"   etc.,  i.e.,  I  imitate  his  dress  in  fashion,  color,  and 

ornament. 

2  "  Ungird  thy  strangeness,"  i.e.,  put  off  thy  pretense  of  not  knowing  me. 


78  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  iv. 

Sebastian.    I  prithee,  foolish  Greek, ^  depart  from  me  : 
There's  money  for  thee :   if  you  tarry  longer, 
I  shall  give  worse  payment. 

CloHvJi.  By  my  troth,  thou  hast  an  open  hand.  These  wise 
men  that  give  fools  money  get  themselves  a  good  report  —  after 
fourteen  years'  purchase. 

Enter  Sir  Andrew,   Sir  Toby,  and  Fabian. 

Sir  Andrew.    Now,  sir,  have  I  met  you  again?  there's  for  you. 

Sebastian.    Why,  there's  for  thee,  and  there,  and  there. 
Are  all  the  people  mad? 

Sir  Toby.    Hold,  sir,  or  I'll  throw  your  dagger  o'er  the  house. 

Clown.  This  will  I  tell  my  lady  straight :  I  would  not  be  in 
some  of  your  coats  for  twopence.  \Exit. 

Sir  Toby.    Come  on,  sir;   hold. 

Sir  Andrew.  Nay,  let  him  alone  :  I'll  go  another  way  to  work 
with  him ;  I'll  have  an  action  of  battery  against  him,  if  there  be 
any  law  in  Illyria :  though  I  struck  him  first,  yet  it's  no  matter 
for  that. 

Sebastian.    Let  go  thy  hand. 

Sir  Toby.  Come,  sir,  I  will  not  let  you  go.  Come,  my  yoimg 
soldier,  put  up  your  iron :   you  are  well  flesh'd  ;   come  on.^ 

Sebastian.  I  will-"^  be  free  from  thee.  What  wouldst  thou  now? 
If  thou  dar'st  tempt  me  further,  draw  thy  sword. 

Sir  Toby.  What,  what  ?  Nay,  then  I  must  have  an  ounce  or 
two  of  this  malapert  blood  from  you. 

Enter  Olivia. 

Olivia.    Hold,  Toby;   on  thy  life  I  charge  thee,  hold! 
Sir  Toby.    Madam! 

1  "Foolish  Greek,"  i.e.,  foolish  jester;  "as  merry  as  a  Greek"  was 
proverbial. 

2  "  Put  up  your  iron,"  etc.,  i.e.,  put  up  your  sword;  you  are  eager  to  use 
it  for  one  so  young :  come  away. 

3  Wish  to. 


SCENE  II.]  TWELFTH  NIGHT.  79 

Olivia.    Will  it  be  ever  thus?     Ungracious  wretch, 
Fit  for  the  mountains  and  the  barbarous  caves, 
Where  manners  ne'er  were  preach'd!    out  of  my  sight! 
Be  not  offended,  dear  Cesario. 
Rudesby,^  be  gone!      \Exeunt  Sir  Toby.,  Sir  Andrew^  and  Fabian. 

I  prithee,  gentle  friend, 
Let  thy  fair  wisdom,  not  thy  passion,  sway 
In  this  uncivil  and  unjust  extent  ^ 
Against  thy  peace.      Go  with  me  to  my  house, 
And  hear  thou  there  how  many  fruitless  pranks 
This  ruffian  hath  botch'd  up,  that  thou  thereby 
Mayst  smile  at  this :   thou  shalt  not  choose  but  go : 
Do  not  deny.      Beshrew  his  soul  for  me, 
He  started  one  poor  heart ^  of  mine  in  thee. 

Sebastian.    What  relish  is  in  this?  how  runs  the  stream? 
Or  I  am  mad,  or  else  this  is  a  dream : 
Let  fancy  still  my  sense  in  Lethe '^  steep ; 
If  it  be  thus  to  dream,  still  let  me  sleep! 

Olivia.    Nay,  come,  I  prithee  ;  would  thou'ldst  be  rul'd  by  me ! 

Sebastian.    Madam,  I  will. 

Olivia.  O,  say  so,  and  so  be!        \Exeunt. 

Scene  II.      Olivia's  House. 

Enter  M-ARIA  and  Clown. 

Maria.  Nay,  I  prithee,  put  on  this  gown  and  this  beard ; 
make  him  believe  thou  art  Sir  Topas  the  curate :  do  it  quickly ; 
I'll  call  Sir  Toby  the  whilst.  \^Exit. 

1  Rude  fellow. 

2  "  Extent"  is  an  English  common-law  writ  of  execution  whereby  goods 
are  seized  for  the  King.     It  is  therefore  taken  here  for  violence  in  general. 

3  Olivia,  using  "  started  "  in  the  sense  of  starting  game,  puns  on  "  heart " 
and  "hart." 

*  In  classical  mythology,  one  of  the  rivers  of  Hades,  the  waters  of  which 
had  the  effect  of  making  those  who  drank  them  forget  what  they  had  done, 
heard,  or  seen  before. 


8o  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  iv. 

Clown.  Well,  I'll  put  it  on,  and  I  will  dissemble  myself  in't; 
and  I  would  I  were  the  first  that  ever  dissembled  in  such  a  gown. 
I  am  not  tall  enough  to  become  the  function  well,  nor  lean 
enough  to  be  thought  a  good  student ;  but  to  be  said  an  honest 
man  and  a  good  housekeeper  goes  as  fairly  as  to  say  a  careful 
man  and  a  great  scholar.     The  competitors^  enter. 

Enter  Sir  Toby  and  Maria. 

Sir  Toby.    Jove  bless  thee.  Master  Parson. 

Clown.  Bonos  dies,^  Sir  Toby :  for,  as  the  old  hermit  of 
Prague,^  that  never  saw  pen  and  ink,  very  wittily  said  to  a  niece 
of  King  Gorboduc,  ''That  that  is,  is;"  so  I,  being  Master  Par- 
son, am  Master  Parson  ;  for  what  is  "  that  "  but  "  that,"  and  "  is  " 
but ''is"? 

Sir  Toby.    To  him.  Sir  Topas. 

Clown.    What,  ho,  I  say!    peace  in  this  prison! 

Sir  Toby.    The  knave  counterfeits  well ;   a  good  knave. 

Malvolio.    [IVi^/iin]  Who  calls  there? 

Clown.  Sir  Topas  the  curate,  who  comes  to  visit  Malvolio  the 
lunatic. 

Malvolio.  Sir  Topas,  Sir  Topas,  good  Sir  Topas,  go  to  my 
lady. 

Clown.  Out,  hyperbohcal  fiend!  how  vexest  thou  this  man! 
talkest  thou  nothing  but  of  ladies? 

Sir  Toby.    Well  said.  Master  Parson. 

Malvolio.  Sir  Topas,  never  was  man  thu's  wronged :  good  Sir 
Topas,  do  not  think  I  am  mad :  they  have  laid  me  here  in 
hideous  darkness. 

Clown.  Fie,  thou  dishonest  Satan!  I  call  thee  by  the  most 
modest  terms ;  for  I  am  one  of  those  gentle  ones  that  will  use 
the  devil  himself  with  courtesy:   say'st  thou  that  house  is  dark? 

1  Confederates.  2  Happy  days,  good  day. 

3  This  hermit  and  the  niece  of  King  Gorboduc,  and  probably  Gorboduc, 
are  creations  of  the  inventive  clown. 


SCENE  II.]  TWELFTH  NIGHT.  8i 

Malvolio.    As  hell,  Sir  Topas. 

Clown.  Why,  it  hath  bay  windows  transparent  as  barricadoes, 
and  the  clearstories  toward  the  south  north  are  as  lustrous  as 
ebony ;   and  yet  complainest  thou  of  obstruction  ? 

Malvolio.  I  am  not  mad.  Sir  Topas :  I  say  to  you,  this  house 
is  dark. 

Clown.  Madman,  thou  errest :  I  say,  there  is  no  darkness  but 
ignorance  ;  in  which  thou  art  more  puzzl'd  than  the  Egyptians  in 
their  fog.^ 

Malvolio.  I  say,  this  house  is  as  dark  as  ignorance,  though 
ignorance  were  as  dark  as  hell ;  and  I  say,  there  was  never  man 
thus  abus'd.  I  am  no  more  mad  than  you  are :  make  the  trial 
of  it  in  any  constant  question. 

Clowfi.  What  is  the  opinion  of  Pythagoras  2  concerning  wild 
fowl? 

Malvolio.  That  the  soul  of  our  grandam  might  haply  inhabit 
a  bird. 

Clown.    What  think'st  thou  of  his  opinion? 

Malvolio.  I  think  nobly  of  the  soul,  and  no  way  approve  his 
opinion. 

Clown.  Fare  thee  well.  Remain  thou  still  in  darkness :  thou 
shalt  hold  the  opinion  of  Pythagoras  ere  I  will  allow  of  thy  wits, 
and  fear  to  kill  a  woodcock,  lest  thou  dispossess  the  soul  of  thy 
grandam.      Fare  thee  well. 

Malvolio.    Sir  Topas,  Sir  Topas ! 

Sir  Toby.    My  most  exquisite  Sir  Topas! 

Clow7i.    Nay,  I  am  for  all  waters.^ 

Maria.  Thou  mightst  have  done  this  without  thy  beard  and 
gown  :   he  sees  thee  not. 

Sir  Toby.    To  him  in  thine  own  voice,  and  bring  me  word  how 

1  See  Exodus  x.  21,  22. 

2  This  celebrated  Greek  philosopher,  one  of  whose  doctrines  was  the 
transmigration  of  souls,  flourished  about  five  hundred  years  before  the 
Christian  era. 

3  "  Nay,  I  am,"  etc.,  i.e.,  Oh,  I  can  turn  my  hand  to  anything. 

6 


♦ 


82  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  iv. 

thou  find'st  him :  I  wonld  we  were  well  rid  of  this  knavery.  If 
he  may  be  conveniently  deliver'd,  I  would  he  were,  for  I  am 
now  so  far  in  offense  with  my  niece  that  I  cannot  pursue  with 
any  safety  this  sport  to  the  upshot.  Come  by  and  by  to  my 
chamber.  \Exeunt  Sir  Toby  and  Maria. 

Clown .    [  Singing\    *  'Hey,  Robin,  jolly  Robin, 

Tell  me  how  thy  lady  does" 

Malvolio.    Fool! 

Clown.    '*  My  lady  is  unkind,  perdy." 

Malvolio.    Fool  1 

Clown.    "Alas,  why  is  she  so?  " 

Malvolio.    Fool,  I  sayl 

Clown.    "  She  loves  another  "  —  Who  calls,  ha? 

Malvolio.  Good  fool,  as  ever  thou  wilt  deserve  well  at  my 
hand,  help  me  to  a  candle,  and  pen,  ink  and  paper :  as  I  am  a 
gendeman,  I  will  live  to  be  thankful  to  thee  for't. 

Clown.    Master  Malvolio? 

Malvolio.    Ay,  good  fool. 

Clown.    Alas,  sir,  how  fell  you  beside  your  five  wits? 

Malvolio.  Fool,  there  was  never  man  so  notoriously  abus'd : 
I  am  as  well  in  my  wits,  fool,  as  thou  art. 

Clown,  But  as  well?  then  you  are  mad,  indeed,  if  you  be  no 
better  in  yowr  wits  than  a  fool. 

Malvolio.  They  have  here  propertied  me ;  ^  keep  me  in  dark- 
ness, send  ministers  to  me,  asses,  and  do  all  they  can  to  face  me 
out  of  my  wits. 

Clown.  Advise  you  what  you  say ;  the  minister  is  here.^ 
Malvolio,  Malvolio,  thy  wits  the  heavens  restore!  endeavor  diy- 
self  to  sleep,  and  leave  thy  vain  bibble  babble. 

Malvolio.   Sir  Topas! 

-   1  "  Propertied  me,"  i.e.,  made  a  property  of  me;  ti^eated  me  as  if  I  had 
no  will  of  my  own. 

2  The  clown,  in  this  speech  and  his  next,  acts  two  persons,  coanterfeitiiig 
by  variation  of  voice  a  conversation  between  the  curate  and  himself,  and  an 
exhortation  of  the  former  to  Malvolio. 


SCEXE  ii.}  TWELFTH  NIGHT.  ^2> 

Clown.  Maintain  no  words  with  him,  good  fellow.  Who,  I, 
sir?  not  I,  sir.  God  be  wi'  you,  good  Sir  Topas.  Marry,  amen. 
I  will,  sir,  I  will. 

MalvoUo.    Fool,  fool,  fool,  I  say! 

Clown.  Alas,  sir,  be  patient.  What  say  you,  sir?  I  am 
shent^  for  speaking  to  you. 

MalvoUo.  Good  fool,  help  me  to  some  light  and  some  paper: 
I  tell  thee,  I  am  as  well  in  my  wits  as  any  man  in  Illyria. 

Clown.    Well-a-day  that  you  were,  sir! 

MalvoUo.  By  this  hand,  I  am.  Good  fool,  some  ink,  paper 
and  light ;  and  convey  what  I  will  set  down  to  my  lady :  it  shall 
advantage  thee  more  than  ever  the  bearing  of  letter  did. 

Clown.  I  will  help  you  to't.  But  tell  me  true,  are  you  not 
mad  indeed?  or  do  you  but  counterfeit? 

MalvoUo.    Believe  me,  I  am  not ;    I  tell  thee  true. 

Clown.  Nay,  I'll  ne'er  believe  a  madman  till  I  see  his  brains. 
I  will  fetch  you  light  and  paper  and  ink. 

MalvoUo.  Fool,  Fll  requite  it  in  the  highest  degree  :  I  prithee, 
be  gone. 

Clown.    [Singi?ig\     I  am  gone,  sir. 
And  anon,  sir, 
Til  be  with  you  again. 
In  a  trice. 

Like  to  the  old  Vice,^ 
Your  need  to  sustain; 

Who,  with  dagger  of  lath. 
In  his  rage  and  his  wrath. 

Cries,  ah,  ha!  to  the  devil: 
Like  a  mad  lad. 
Pare  thy  7tails,  dad; 

Adieu,  good  man  devil.  VExit. 

1  Scolded. 

2  Vice  was  one  of  the  characters  in  the  Moralities,  or  Moral  plays,  which 
were  common  a  century  before  Shakespeare's  time.  In  them  the  performers 
personated  such  characters  as  Mercy,  Virtue,  Vice,  etc.  This  last  charac- 
ter, who  always  appeared  accompanied  by  the  Devil,  played  all  manner  of 


84  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  iv. 

Scene  III.     Olivia's  Gardeit. 

Enter  Sebastian. 

Sebastian.    This  is  the  air ;   that  is  the  glorious  sun ; 
This  pearl  she  gave  me,  I  do  feel't  and  see't ; 
And  though  'tis  wonder  that  inwraps  me  thus, 
Yet  'tis  not  madness.     Where's  Antonio,  then? 
I  could  not  find  him  at  the  Elephant : 
Yet  there  he  was ;   and  there  I  found  this  credit,^ 
That  he  did  range  the  town  to  seek  me  out. 
His  counsel  now  might  do  me  golden  service ; 
For  though  my  soul  disputes  well  with  my  sense, 
That  this  may  be  some  error,  but  no  madness, 
Yet  doth  this  accident  and  flood  of  fortune 
So  far  exceed  all  instance,  all  discourse,^ 
That  I  am  ready  to  distrust  mine  eyes 
And  wrangle  with  my  reason  that  persuades  me 
To  any  other  trust  but  that  I  am  mad 
Or  else  the  lady's  mad ;   yet,  if  'twere  so, 
She  could  not  sway  her  house,  command  her  followers, 
Take  and  give  back  affairs  and  their  dispatch -^ 
With  such  a  smooth,  discreet  and  stable  bearing 
As  I  perceive  she  does :   there's  something  in't 
That  is  deceivable.     But  here  the  lady  comes. 

Enter  OLIVIA  and  Priest. 

Olivia.    Blame  not  this  haste  of  mine.     If  you  mean  well, 
Now  go  with  me  and  with  this  holy  man 

practical  jokes  on  him,  mounting  his  back,  beating  his  sides  with  a  sword  of 
lath,  cutting  his  long  nails  with  a  wooden  dagger,  etc.,  greatly  to  the  amuse- 
ment of  the  spectators. 

1  News  or  intelligence. 

2  "  All  instance,  all  discourse,"  i.e.,  all  example,  all  reason. 

3  "Take  and  give  back,"  etc.,  i.e.,  take  in  hand  and  discharge  matters 
of  business. 


SCENE  I.]  TWELFTH  NIGHT.  85 

Into  the  chantry  1  by:   there,  before  him, 
And  underneath  that  consecrated  roof, 
PHght  me  2  the  full  assurance  of  your  faith ; 
That  my  most  jealous  and  too  doubtful ^  soul 
May  hve  at  peace.     He  shall  conceal  it 
Whiles  you  are  wiUing  it  shall  come  to  note, 
What  time  we  will  our  celebration  keep 
According  to  my  birth."^     What  do  you  say? 

Sebastiaji.    I'll  follow  this  good  man,  and  go  with  you ; 
And,  having  sworn  truth,  ever  will  be  true. 

Olivia.    Then  lead  the  way,  good  father ;   and  heavens  so  shine, 
That  they  may  fairly  note  this  act  of  mine!  \Exeu7it. 


ACT  V. 
Scene  I.     Before  Olivia's  House. 

Enter  Clowx  and  Fabian. 

Fabia7i.    Now,  as  thou  lov'st  me,  let  me  see  his  letter. 
Clown.    Good  Master  Fabian,  grant  me  another  request. 
Fabian.    Anything. 

Clown.    Do  not  desire  to  see  this  letter. 

Fabian.  This  is,  to  give  a  dog,  and  in  recompense  desire  my 
dog  again. 

Enter  Duke,  Viola,  Curio,  and  Lords. 

Duke.    Belong  you  to  the  Lady  Olivia,  friends? 

Clown.    Ay,  sir ;   we  are  some  of  her  trappings. 

Duke.    I  know  thee  well:   how  dost  thou,  my  good  fellow? 

1  A  private  chapel. 

2  "  Plight  me,"  etc.     This  was  a  betrothal,  not  a  full  marriage  ceremony. 

3  Fearful. 

*  "  Whiles  you  are  willing,"  etc.,  i.e.,  until  you  are  willing  it  shall  be 
made  known :  we  will  then  celebrate  our  nuptials  in  a  manner  befitting  my 
social  position. 


86  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  v. 

Clown.  Truly,  sir,  the  better  for  my  foes  and  the  worse  for  my 
friends. 

Duke.    Just  the  contrary ;   the  better  for  thy  friends. 

Clow 71.    No,  sir,  the  worse. 

Duke.    How  can  that  be? 

Clowft.  Marry,  sir,  they  praise  me  and  make  an  ass  of  me ; 
now  my  foes  tell  me  plainly  I  am  an  ass :  so  that  by  my  foes, 
sir,  I  profit  in  the  knowledge  of  myself,  and  by  my  friends  I  am 
abus'd :  so  that,  conclusions  to  be  as  kisses,  if  your  four  negatives 
make  your  two  affirmatives,  why  then,  the  worse  for  my  friends 
and  the  better  for  my  foes. 

Duke.    Why,  this  is  excellent. 

Cloivn.  By  my  troth,  sir,  no ;  though  it  please  you  to  be  one 
of  my  friends. 

Duke.    Thou  shalt  not  be  the  worse  for  me :   there's  gold. 

Clown.  But  that  it  would  be  double-dealing,  sir,  I  would  you 
could  make  it  another. 

Duke.    O,  you  give  me  ill  counsel. 

Clown.  Put  your  grace  in  your  pocket,  sir,  for  this  once,  and 
let  your  flesh  and  blood  obey  it. 

Duke.  Well,  I  will  be  so  much  a  sinner,  to  be  a  double-dealer : 
there's  another. 

Clown.  Primo,  secundo,  tertio,  is  a  good  play ;  and  the  old 
saying  is,  the  third  pays  for  all :  the  triplex,  sir,  is  a  good  tripping 
measure  ;  or^  the  bells  of  Saint  Bennet,  sir,  may  put  you  in  mind ; 
one,  two,  three. 

Duke.  You  can  fool  no  more  money  out  of  me  at  this  throw: 
if  you  will  let  your  lady  know  I  am  here  to  speak  with  her,  and 
bring  her  along  with  you,  it  may  awake  my  bounty  further. 

Clow7i.  Marry,  sir,  lullaby  to  your  bounty  till  I  come  again. 
I  go,  sir ;  but  I  would  not  have  you  to  think  that  my  desire  of 
having  is  the  sin  of  covetousness :  but,  as  you  say,  sir,  let  your 
bounty  take  a  nap,  I  will  aw^ake  it  anon.  \Exit. 

Viola.    Here  comes  the  man,  sir,  that  did  rescue  me. 

1  As. 


SCEXE  I.]  TWELFTH  NIGHT.  87 

Enter  Antonio  and  Officers. 

Duke.    That  face  of  his  I  do  remember  well ; 
Yet,  when  I  saw  it  last,  it  was  besmear' d 
As  black  as  Vulcan  ^  in  the  smoke  of  war : 
A  bawbling2  vessel  was  he  captain  of. 
For  shallow  draught  and  bulk  unprizable  ;' 
With  which  such  scathful  grapple  did  he  make 
With  the  most  noble  bottom^  of  our  fleet. 
That  very  envy  and  the  tongue  of  loss^ 
Cried  fame  and  honor  on  him.     What's  the  matter? 

First  Officer.    Orsino,  this  is  that  Antonio 
That  took  the  Phoenix  and  her  fraught  from  Candy  j'^ 
And  this  is  he  that  did  the  Tiger  board, 
When  your  young  nephew  Titus  lost  his  leg : 
Here  in  the  streets,  desperate  of  shame  and  state,"^ 
In  private  brabble  did  we  apprehend  him. 

Viola.    He  did  me  kindness,  sir,  drew  ^  on  my  side ; 
But  in  conclusion  put  strange  speech  upon  me : 
I  know  not  what  'twas  but  distraction.^ 

Duke.    Notable  pirate!    thou  salt-water  thief! 
What  foohsh  boldness  brought  thee  to  their  mercies, 
Whom  thou,  in  terms  so  bloody  and  so  dear,^*^ 
Hast  made  thine  enemies? 

Anto7iio,  Orsino,  noble  sir, 

Be  pleas' d  that  I  shake  off  these  names  you  give  me : 

1  The  smith  who  forged  armor  for  the  gods  of  the  Greek  mythology. 

2  Insignificant.  3  Worthless.  *  Ship.  ^  Xhe  losers. 
6  "  Fraught  from  Candy,"  i.e.,  her  freight  when  coming  from  Candia. 

"^  "  Desperate  of  shame,"  etc.,  i.e.,  utterly  regardless  of  shame  and  danger. 

8  Drew  his  sword. 

9  "Put  strange  speech,"  etc.,   i.e.,  said  strange  things  to  me:   I  know 
not  why  he  did  it,  save  that  he  is  mad. 

If*  "  Dear  "  is  often  used  by  Shakespeare  as  a  term  of  intensify,  whether  of 
love  or  hate. 


88  SHAKESPEARE.  tACT  v. 

Antonio  never  yet  was  thief  or  pirate, 

Though  I  confess,  on  base  and  ground  enough, 

Orsino's  enemy.     A  witchcraft  drew  me  hither : 

Tfiat  most  ingrateful  boy  there  by  your  side, 

From  the  rude  sea's  enrag'd  and  foamy  mouth 

Did  I  redeem ;   a  wreck  past  hope  he  was : 

His  hfe  I  gave  him  and  did  thereto  add 

My  love,  without  retention  or  restraint, 

All  his  in  dedication  ;   for  his  sake 

Did  I  expose  myself,  pure  for  his  love, 

Into  the  danger  of  this  adverse  town ; 

Drew  to  defend  him  when  he  was  beset : 

Where  being  apprehended,  his  false  cunning. 

Not  meaning  to  partake  with  me  in  danger, 

Taught  him  to  face  me  out  of  his  acquaintance, 

And  grew  a  twenty  years  removed  thing 

While  one  would  wink ;   deni'd  me  mine  own  purse, 

Which  I  had  recommended  ^  to  his  use 

Not  half  an  hour  before. 

Viola.  How  can  this  be? 

Duke.    When  came  he  to  this  town? 

Antonio.    To-day,  my  lord ;   and  for  three  months  before, 
No  interim,  not  a  minute's  vacancy. 
Both  day  and  night  did  we  keep  company. 

Enter  Olivia  mid  Attendants. 

Duke.    Here  comes  the  countess :  now  heaven  walks  on  earth. 
But  for  thee,  fellow  ;   fellow,  thy  words  are  madness : 
Three  months  this  youth  hath  tended  upon  me ; 
But  more  of  that  anon.     Take  him  aside. 

Olivia.    What  would  my  lord,  but  that  he  may  not  have, 
Wherein  Olivia  may  seem  serviceable? 
Cesario,  you  do  not  keep  promise  with  me. 

1  Intrusted. 


SCENE  I.]  TWELFTH  NIGHT.  89 

Viola.    Madam! 

Duke.    Gracious  Olivia — 

Olivia.    What  do  you  say,  Cesario?     Good  my  lord — 

Viola.    My  lord  would  speak ;   my  duty  hushes  me. 

Olivia.    If  it  be  aught  to  the  old  tune,  my  lord, 
It  is  as  fat  and  fulsome  ^  to  mine  ear 
As  howling  after  music. 

Duke.  Still  so  cruel? 

Olivia.    Still  so  constant,  lord. 

Duke.    What,  to  perverseness?  you  uncivil  lady, 
To  whose  ingrate  and  unauspicious  altars 
My  soul  the  faithful'st  offerings  hath  breath'd  out 
That  e'er  devotion  tender'd!      What  shall  I  do? 

Olivia.    Even  what  it  please  my  lord,  that  shall  become  him. 

Duke.    Why  should  I  not,  had  I  the  heart  to  do  it, 
Like  to  the  Egyptian  thief  ^  at  point  of  death, 
Kill  what  I  love?  —  a  savage  jealousy 
That  sometimes  savors  nobly.     But  hear  me  this : 
Since  you  to  non-regardance  cast  my  faith, 
And  that  I  partly  know  the  instrument 
That  screws  me  from  my  true  place  in  your  favor, 
Live  you  the  marble-breasted  tyrant  still ; 
But  this  your  minion,  whom  I  know  you  love. 
And  whom,  by  heaven  I  swear,  I  tender  dearly, 
Him  will  I  tear  out  of  that  cruel  eye. 
Where  he  sits  crowned  in  his  master's  spite. 
Come,  boy,  with  me ;   my  thoughts  are  ripe  in  mischief  : 
I'll  sacrifice  the  lamb  that  I  do  love, 
To  spite  a  raven's  heart  within  a  dove. 

1  "  Fat  and  fulsome,"  i.e.,  cloying  and  sickening. 

2  The  story  alluded  to  is  found  in  Heliodorus's  ^thiopica :  Thyamis,  a 
native  of  Memphis,  at  the  head  of  a  band  of  robbers,  had  seized  Theagenes 
and  Charicleia,  and  had  fallen  in  love  with  the  latter.  Being  attacked  by 
another  company  of  robbers,  he  shut  her  up  in  a  cave  with  his  treasures, 
until,  despairing  of  safety,  he  attempted  to  murder  her. 


90  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  v. 

Viola.    And  I,  most  jocund,  apt  and  willingly, 
To  do  you  rest,i  a  thousand  deaths  would  die. 

Olivia.    Where  goes  Cesario? 

'Viola.  After  him  I  love 

More  than  I  love  these  eyes,  more  than  my  life, 
More,  by  all  mores,  than  e'er  I  shall  love  wife. 
If  I  do  feign,  you  witnesses  above 
Punish  my  life  for  tainting  of  my  love ! 

Olivia.    Ay  me,  detested!    how  am  I  beguiled! 

Viola.    Who  does  beguile  you?  who  does  do  you  wrong? 

Olivia.    Hast  thou  forgot  thyself?  is  it  so  long? 
Call  forth  the  holy  father.  \Atteiidant  goes  out. 

Duke.  Come,  away! 

Olivia.    Whither,  my  lord?     Cesario,  husband,  stay. 

JDuke.    Husband ! 

Olivia.  Ay,  husband:   can  he  that  deny? 

Duke.    Her  husband,  sirrah! 

Viola.  No,  my  lord,  not  I. 

Olivia.    Alas,  it  is  the  baseness  of  thy  fear 
That  makes  thee  strangle  thy  propriety  i^ 
Fear  not,  Cesario  ;   take  thy  fortunes  up  ; 
Be  that  thou  know'st  thou  art,  and  then  thou  art 
As  great  as  that  thou  fear'st. 

Enter  Attendant  a7id  Priest. 

O,  welcome,  father! 
Father,  I  charge  thee,  by  thy  reverence, 
Here  to  unfold,  though  lately  we  intended 
To  keep  in  darkness  what  occasion  now 
Reveals  before  'tis  ripe,  what  thou  dost  know 
Hath  newly  pass'd  between  this  youth  and  me. 

Priest.    A  contract  of  eternal  bond  of  love, 
Confirm'd  by  mutual  joinder  of  your  hands, 

1  "  To  do  you  rest,"  i.e.,  to  give  you  ease. 

2  "  Strangle  thy  propriety,"  i.e.,  deny  thy  proper  self  or  identity. 


SCENE  I.]  TWELFTH  NIGHT.  91 

Attested  by  the  holy  close  of  lips, 

Strengthen'd  by  interchangement  of  your  rings ; 

And  all  the  ceremony  of  this  compact 

Seal'd  in  my  function,  by  my  testimony : 

Since  when,  my  watch  hath  told  me,  toward  my  grave 

I  have  travel'd  but  two  hours. 

Duke.    O  thou  dissembling  cub !    what  wilt  thou  be 
When  time  hath  sow'd  a  grizzle  on  thy  case?^ 
Or  will  not  else  thy  craft  so  quickly  grow. 
That  thine  own  trip  shall  be  thine  overthrow? ^ 
Farewell,  and  take  her ;   but  direct  thy  feet 
Where  thou  and  I  henceforth  may  never  meet. 

Viola.    My  lord,  I  do  protest  — 

Olivia.  O,  do  not  swear! 

Hold  little  faith,  though  thou  hast  too  much  fear. 

Ente7'  Sir  Andrew. 

Sir  Andrew.  For  the  love  of  God,  a  surgeon!  Send  one 
presently  to  Sir  Toby. 

Olivia.    What's  the  matter? 

Sir  Andrew.  He  has  broke  my  head  across  and  has  given  Sir 
Toby  a  bloody  coxcomb  too:  for  the  love  of  God,  your  help! 
I  had  rather  than  forty  pound  I  were  at  home. 

Olivia.    Who  has  done  this,  Sir  Andrew? 

Sir  Andrew.  The  count's  gentleman,  one  Cesario :  we  took 
him  for  a  coward,  but  he's  the  very  devil  incardinate. 

Duke.    My  gentleman,  Cesario? 

Sir  Andrew.  'Od's  lifehngs,  here  he  is!  You  broke  my  head 
for  nothing;  and  that  that  I  did,  I  was  set  on  to  do't  by  Sir 
Toby. 

Viola.    Why  do  you  speak  to  me?     I  never  hurt  you: 

1  "  Case  "  was  the  technical  name  for  "  skin,"  of  furred  animals  especially. 

2  "  That  thine  own  trip,"  etc.,  i.e.,  that  you  may  be  caught  in  your  own 
snare. 


92  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  v. 

You  drew  your  sword  upon  me  without  cause ; 
But  I  bespake  you  fair,  and  hurt  you  not. 

Sir  Andrew.  If  a  bloody  coxcomb  be  a  hurt,  you  have  hurt 
me-:    I  think  you  set  nothing  by  a  bloody  coxcomb. 

Enter  Sir  Toby  and  Clown. 

Here  comes  Sir  Toby  halting ;  you  shall  hear  more :  but  if  he 
had  not  been  in  drink,  he  would  have  tickled  you  othergates^ 
than  he  did. 

Duke.    How  now,  gentleman!    how  is't  with  you? 

Sir  Toby.  That's  all  one :  'has  hurt  me,  and  there's  the  end 
on't.     Sot,  didst  see  Dick  surgeon,  sot? 

Clown.  O,  he's  drunk.  Sir  Toby,  an  hour  agone ;  his  eyes 
were  set  at  eight  i'  the  morning. 

Sir  Toby.  Then  he's  a  rogue,  and  a  passy-measures  panym:^ 
I  hate  a  drunken  rogue. 

Olivia.  Away  with  him!  Who  hath  made  this  havoc  with 
them? 

Sir  Andrew.  I'll  help  you,  Sir  Toby,  because  we'll  be  dress'd 
together. 

Sir  Toby.  Will  you  help?  an  ass-head  and  a  coxcomb  and  a 
knave,  a  thin-fac'd  knave,  a  gull! 

Olivia.    Get  him  to  bed,  and  let  his  hurt  be  look'd  to. 

[Exeunt  Clown,  Fabian,  Sir  Toby,  a?id  Sir  Andrew. 

Enter  Sebastian. 

Sebastian.    I  am  sorry,  madam,  I  have  hurt  your  kinsman ; 
But,  had  it  been  the  brother  of  my  blood, 
I  must  have  done  no  less  with  wit  and  safety. 
You  throw  a  strange  regard  upon  me,  and  by  that 

1  In  another  manner. 

2  "A  rogue,  and  a  passy-measures  panym."  Sir  Toby  is  very  deep  in 
his  cups,  and  his  tongue  is  thick.  He  tries  to  call  the  surgeon  ^^  z.  past- 
measure  panyni  "  or  pagan.  **  Pagan  "  and  "  heathen  "  were  common  terms 
of  reproach. 


SCENE  I.]  TWELFTH  NIGHT.  93 

I  do  perceive  it  hath  offended  you : 
Pardon  me,  sweet  one,  even  for  the  vows 
We  made  each  other  but  so  late  ago. 

Duke.    One  face,  one  voice,  one  habit,  and  tw^o  persons, 
A  natural  perspective,^  that  is  and  is  not! 

Sebastian.    Antonio,  O  my  dear  Antonio! 
How  have  the  hours  rack'd  and  tortur'd  me. 
Since  I  have  lost  thee! 

Antonio.    Sebastian  are  you? 

Sebastian.  Fear'st  thou  that,  Antonio? 

Antonio.    How  have  you  made  division  of  yourself? 
An  apple,  cleft  in  two,  is  not  more  twin 
Than  these  two  cre'atures.     Which  is  Sebastian? 

Olivia.    Most  wonderful. 

Sebastian.    Do  I  stand  there?     I  never  had  a  brother; 
Nor  can  there  be  that  deity  in  my  nature. 
Of  here  and  everywhere. ^     I  had  a  sister. 
Whom  the  blind  waves  and  surges  have  devour'd. 
Of  charity,^  what  kin  are  you  to  me? 
What  countryman?   what  name?  what  parentage? 

Viola.    Of  Messaline  :    Sebastian  was  my  father ; 
Such  a  Sebastian  was  my  brother  too, 
So  went  he  suited^  to  his  watery  tomb : 
If  spirits  can  assume  both  form  and  suit, 
You  come  to  fright  us. 

Sebastian.  A  spirit  I  am  indeed ; 

But  am  in  that  dimension  grossly  clad 

1  "  It  is  a  pretty  art  that  in  a  pleated  paper  and  table  framed  or  indented, 
men  make  one  picture  to  represent  several  faces, —  which  being  viewed  from 
one  place  or  standing  did  show  the  head  of  a  Spaniard,  and  from  another  the 
head  of  an  ass."  Pictures  so  arranged  are  common  nowadays  as  advertis- 
ing signs, 

2  "  Deity  in  my  nature,"  etc.,  i.e.,  godlike  attribute  in  my  nature  of 
being  here  and  elsewhere  at  the  same  time. 

3  "  Of  charity,"  i.e.,  in  kindness  tell  me. 

4  "  So  went  he,"  etc.,  i.e.,  he  went,  dressed  as  you  are. 


/ 


94  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  v. 

Which  from  my  birth  I  did  participate. i 
Were  you  a  woman,  as  the  rest  goes  even, 
I  should  my  tears  let  fall  upon  your  cheek, 
And  say  "Thrice-welcome,  drowned  Viola!" 

Viola.    My  father  had  a  mole  upon  his  brow. 

Sebastian.    And  so  had  mine. 

Viola.    And  died  that  day  when  Viola  from  her  birth 
Had  number'd  thirteen  years. 

Sebastian.    O,  that  record  is  lively  in  my  soul! 
He  finished  indeed  his  mortal  act 
That  day  that  made  my  sister  thirteen  years. 

Viola.    If  nothing  lets^  to  make  us  happy  both 
But  this  my  masculine  usurp'd  attire, 
Do  not  embrace  me  till  each  circumstance 
Of  place,  time,  fortune,  do  cohere  and  jump^ 
That  I  am  Viola:   which  to  confirm, 
I'll  bring  you  to  a  captain  in  this  town. 
Where  lie  my  maiden  weeds  ;*  by  whose  gentle  help 
I  was  preserv'd  to  serve  this  noble  count. 
All  the  occurrence  of  my  fortune  since 
Hath  been  between  this  lady  and  this  lord. 

Sebastian.    [To    Olivia]    So    comes    it,   lady,   you   have    been 
mistook  :^ 
But  nature  to  her  bias  drew  in  that. 
You  would  have  been  contracted  to  a  maid ; 
Nor  are  you  therein,  by  my  life,  deceiv'd. 
You  are  betroth'd  both  to  a  maid  and  man. 

Duke.    Be  not  amaz'd ;   right  noble  is  his  blood. 
If  this  be  so,  as  yet  the  glass  seems  true, 
I  shall  have  share  in  this  most  happy  wreck. 
\To  Viola]  Boy,  thou  hast  said  to  me  a  thousand  times 
Thou  never  shouldst  love  woman  like  to  me. 

1  "  But  am  in  that  dimension,"  etc.,  i.e.,  but  am  dad  in  that  same  gross 
body  which  I  did  receive  at  my  birth. 

2  Hinders.  3  Agree.  *  Clothes.  ^  Mistaken. 


SCENE  I.]  TWELFTH  NIGHT  95 

Viola.    And  all  those  sayings  will  I  over-swear; 
And  all  those  swearings  keep  as  true  in  soul 
As  doth  that  orbed  continent  the  fire 
That  severs  day  from  night. 

Duke.  Give  mg  thy  hand ; 

And  let  me  see  thee  in  thy  w^oman's  weeds. 

Viola.    The  captain  that  did  bring  me  first  on  shore 
Hath  my  maid's  garments :   he  upon  some  action 
Is  now  in  durance,  at  Malvolio's  suit, 
A  gentleman,  and  follower  of  my  lady's. 

Olivia.    He  shall  enlarge  him  :   fetch  Malvolia  hither : 
And  yet,  alas,  now  I  remember  me, 
They  say,  poor  gentleman,  he's  much  distract. 

Reenter  Clowx  luith  a  letter,  and  Fabian. 

A  most  extracting  frenzy  ^  of  mine  own 
From  my  remembrance  clearly  banish'd  his. 
How  does  he,  sirrah? 

Clown.  Truly,  madam,  he  holds  Belzebub  at  the  stave's  end 
as  well  as  a  man  in  his  case  may  do :  'has  here  writ  a  letter  to 
you ;  I  should  have  given't  you  to-day  morning,  but  as  a  mad- 
man's epistles  are  no  gospels,  so  it  skills  ^  not  much  when  they 
are  deliver' d. 

Olivia.    Open't,  and  read  it. 

Clown.  Look  then  to  be  well  edified  when  the  fool  delivers 
the  madman.      \Reads\    ''By  the  Lord,  i7iadam''  — 

Olivia.    How  now!    art  thou  mad? 

Clown.  No,  madam,  I  do  but  read  madness :  an  your  ladyship 
wall  have  it  as  it  ought  to  be,  you  must  allow  Vox.^ 

1  Olivia  alludes  to  her  passion  for  Cesario  as  an  extracting  frenzy,  since  it 
effaced  from  her  remembrance  her  steward's  supposed  lunacy. 

2  IMatters. 

3  "An  your  ladyship,"  etc.  This  is  IMalone's  explanation:  "If  you 
would  have  it  read  in  character,  as  such  a  mad  epistle  ought  to  be,  you  must 
permit  me  to  assume  a  frantic  tone."     Vox  is  equivalent  to  voice. 


/, 


96  SHAKESPEARE.  [act  v. 

Olivia.    Prithee,  read  i'  thy  right  wits. 

Clown.  So  I  do,  madonna ;  but  to  read  his  right  wits  is  to 
read  thus :   therefore  perpend,^  my  princess,  and  ^\wq  ear. 

Vlivia.    Read  it  you,  sirrah.  [To  Fabian. 

Fabiaii.  \Reads\  ^^  By  the  Lord,  madam,  you  wrong  me,  and  the 
world  shall  know  it:  though  you  have  put  me  into  darkness  and  given 
your  drunken  cousin  rule  over  me,  yet  have  I  the  benefit  of  my  senses 
as  well  as  your  ladyship.  I  have  your  own  letter  that  induced  me  to 
the  semblance  I  put  onj  with  the  which  I  doubt  not  but  to  do  myself 
much  right,  or  you  much  shame.  Think  of  me  as  you  please.  I  leave 
my  duty  a  little  itnthought  of  and  speak  out  of  my  injury. 

*' The  madly-used  Malvolio." 

Olivia.    Did  he  write  this? 

Clown.    Ay,  madam. 

Duke.    This  savors  not  much  of  distraction. 

Olivia.    See  him  dehver'd,  Fabian  ;   bring  him  hither. 

\Exit  Fabian. 
My  lord,  so  please  you,  these  things  further  thought  on. 
To  think  me  as  well  a  sister  as  a  wife, 
One  day  shall  crown  th'  alliance  on't,  so  please  you, 
Here  at  my  house  and  at  my  proper  cost.^ 

Duke.    Madam,  I  am  most  apt  to  embrace  your  offer. 
\To  Viola]  Your  master  quits ^  you;   and  for  your  service  done 

him, 
So  much  against  the  mettle  of  your  sex, 
So  far  beneath  your  soft  and  tender  breeding, 
And  since  you  call'd  me  master  for  so  long, 
Here  is  my  hand :   you  shall  from  this  time  be 
Your  master's  mistress. 

Olivia.  A  sister!    you  are  she. 

1  Consider. 

2  "  Proper  cost,"  i.e.,  personal  expense. 

3  Discharges. 


SCENE  I.]  TWELFTH  NIGHT.  97 

Reenter  Fabian,  with  Malvolio. 

Duke,    Is  this  the  madman? 

Olivia.  Ay,  my  lord,  this  same. 

How  now,  MalvoHo! 

Malvolio.  Madam,  you  have  done  me  wrong. 

Notorious  wrong. 

Olivia.  Have  I,  MalvoHo?  no. 

Malvolio.    Lady,  you  have.     Pray  you,  peruse  that  letter. 
You  must  not  now  deny  it  is  your  hand : 
Write  from  it,  if  you  can,  in  hand  or  phrase ; 
Or  say  'tis  not  your  seal,  not  your  invention : 
You  can  say  none  of  this :   well,  grant  it  then 
And  tell  me,  in  the  modesty  of  honor. 
Why  you  have  given  me  such  clear  lights  of  favor, 
Bade  me  come  smiling  and  cross-garter'd  to  you, 
To  put  on  yellow  stockings  and  to  frown 
Upon  Sir  Toby  and  the  lighter  people ; 
And,  acting  this  in  an  obedient  hope. 
Why  have  you  suffer'd  me  to  be  imprison'd, 
Kept  in  a  dark  house,  visited  by  the  priest. 
And  made  the  most  notorious  geck^  and  gull 
That  e'er  invention  play'd  on?   tell  me  why. 

Olivia.    Alas,  Malvolio,  this  is  not  my  wTiting, 
Though,  I  confess,  much  like  the  character : 
But  out  of  question  'tis  Maria's  hand. 
And  now  I  do  bethink  me,  it  was  she 
First  told  me  thou  wast  mad ;   thou  cam'st  in  smiling. 
And  in  such  forms  which  here  were  presuppos'd 
Upon  thee  in  the  letter.^     Prithee,  be  content : 
This  practice  hath  most  shrewdly  pass'd  upon  thee  \^ 

1  Fool. 

2  "  Presuppos'd  upon   diee, "  etc.,   i.e.,  supposed  you  would  assume  on 
reading  the  letter. 

3  "  This  .   .    .   thee,"  i.e.,  this  trick  hath  been  most  mischievously  played 
upon  thee. 

7 


9^  SHAKESPEARE.  Fact  v. 

But  when  we  know  the  grounds  and  authors  of  it, 
Thou  shah  be  both  the  plaintiff  and  the  judge 
Of  thine  own  cause. 

•Fabian.  Good  madam,  hear  me  speak, 

And  let  no  quarrel  nor  no  brawl  to  come 
Taint  the  condition  of  this  present  hour. 
Which  I  have  wonder'd  at.     In  hope  it  shall  not, 
Most  freely  I  confess,  myself  and  Toby 
Set  this  device  against  Malvolio  here, 
Upon  some  stubborn  and  uncourteous  parts 
We  had  conceived  in  him :    Maria  writ 
The  letter  at  Sir  Toby's  great  importance  \^ 
In  recompense  whereof  he  hath  married  her. 
How  with  a  sportful  malice  it  was  follow'd, 
May  rather  pluck  on  laughter  than  revenge ; 
If  that  the  injuries  be  justly  weigh'd 
That  have  on  both  sides  pass'd. 

Olivia.    Alas,  poor  fool,  how  have  they  baffled  thee! 

Clown.  Why,  "some  are  born  great,  some  achieve  greatness 
and  some  have  greatness  thrown  upon  them."  I  was  one,  sir, 
in  this  interlude;  one  Sir  Topas,  sir ;  but  that's  all  one.  "By 
the  Lord,  fool,  I  am  not  mad."  But  do  you  remember? 
*'  Madam,  why  laugh  you  at  such  a  barren  rascal?  an  you  smile 
not,  he's  gagg'd:"  and  thus  the  whirligig  of  time  brings  in  his 
revenges. 

Malvolio.    I'll  be  reveng'd  on  the  whole  pack  of  you..      \Exit. 

Olivia.    He  hath  been  most  notoriously  abus'd. 

Duke.    Pursue  him,  and  entreat  him  to  a  peace : 
He  hath  not  told  us  of  the  captain  yet : 
When  that  is  known  and  golden  time  convents,^ 
A  solemn  combination  shall  be  made 
Of  our  dear  souls.     Meantime,  sweet  sister, 
We  will  not  part  from  hence.     Cesario,  come  ; 

1  Importunity.  2  Comes  fit. 


SCENE  I.]  TWELFTH  NIGHT.  99 

For  so  you  shall  be,  while  you  are  a  man ; 
But  when  in  other  habits  you  are  seen, 
Orsino's  mistress  and  his  fancy's  queen. 

\Exeunt  ail,  except  Clown. 
Clown.    \^Si7igs\ 

When  that  I  was  and  a  little  tiny  boy. 
With  hey,  ho,  the  wind  and  the  rain, 

A  foolish  thing  was  biU  a  toy, 
For  the  rain  it  raineth  every  day. 

But  when  I  came  to  man^s  estate, 

With  hey,  ho,  etc. 
^Gainst  knaves  and  thieves  me7i  shut  their  gate. 

For  the  rain,  etc. 

But  when  I  came;  alas  !  to  wive, 

With  hey,  ho,  etc. 
By  swaggeri7ig  could  I  never  thrive. 

For  the  rain,  etc. 

But  when  I  came  unto  my  beds. 

With  hey,  ho,  etc. 
With  toss-pots  1  still  had  drunkett  heads. 

For  the  rain,  etc. 

A  great  while  ago  the  world  begun. 

With  hey,  ho,  etc. 
But  thafs  all  one,  our  play  is  done, 

And  we'' II  strive  to  please  you  every  day.  \Exit, 

1  Drunkards. 


LIBRARY  OF  CONGRESS 


0  014  155  087  1 


ENGLISH  CLASSIi 
SCHOOLS. 


Carefully  Annotated. 


MACAULAY'S  SECOND  ESSAY  ON  CHATHAM*. 
IRVING'S   SKETCH-BOOK   (Ten  selections). 
THE  DE  COVERLEY  PAPERS,  from  the  Spectator. 
SHAKESPEARE'S  JULIUS  C/BSAR. 
SHAKESPEARE'S  TWELFTH  NIGHT. 
SCOTT'S  IVANHOE. 
SCOTT'S  MARMION. 


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