Part 201

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’erflourished by the devil.

FIRST OFFICER. The man grows mad, away with him. Come, come, sir.

ANTONIO. Lead me on.

[_Exeunt Officers with Antonio._]

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

SIR TOBY. Come hither, knight; come hither, Fabian. We’ll whisper o’er a couplet or two of most sage saws.

VIOLA. He nam’d Sebastian. I my brother know Yet living in my glass; even such and so In favour was my brother, and he went Still in this fashion, colour, ornament, For him I imitate. O if it prove, Tempests are kind, and salt waves fresh in love!

[_Exit._]

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

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

SIR ANDREW. ’Slid, I’ll after him again and beat him.

SIR TOBY. Do, cuff him soundly, but never draw thy sword.

SIR ANDREW. And I do not—

[_Exit._]

FABIAN. Come, let’s see the event.

SIR TOBY. I dare lay any money ’twill be nothing yet.

[_Exeunt._]

ACT IV.

SCENE I. The Street before Olivia’s House.

Enter Sebastian and Clown.

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

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

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

SEBASTIAN. I prithee vent thy folly somewhere else, Thou know’st not me.

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

SEBASTIAN. I prithee, foolish Greek, depart from me. There’s money for thee; if you tarry longer I shall give worse payment.

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

Enter Sir Andrew, Sir Toby and Fabian.

SIR ANDREW. Now sir, have I met you again? There’s for you.

[_Striking Sebastian._]

SEBASTIAN. Why, there’s for thee, and there, and there. Are all the people mad?

[_Beating Sir Andrew._]

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 Clown._]

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 young soldier, put up your iron: you are well fleshed. Come on.

SEBASTIAN. I will be free from thee. What wouldst thou now? If thou dar’st tempt me further, draw thy sword.

[_Draws._]

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

[_Draws._]

Enter Olivia.

OLIVIA. Hold, Toby! On thy life I charge thee hold!

SIR TOBY. Madam.

OLIVIA. Will it be ever thus? Ungracious wretch, Fit for the mountains and the barbarous caves, Where manners ne’er were preach’d! Out of my sight! Be not offended, dear Cesario. Rudesby, be gone!

[_Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir Andrew and Fabian._]

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

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

OLIVIA. Nay, come, I prithee. Would thou’dst be ruled by me!

SEBASTIAN. Madam, I will.

OLIVIA. O, say so, and so be!

[_Exeunt._]

SCENE II. A Room in Olivia’s House.

Enter Maria and Clown.

MARIA. Nay, I prithee, put on this gown and this beard; make him believe thou art Sir Topas the curate. Do it quickly. I’ll call Sir Toby the whilst.

[_Exit Maria._]

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 Parson, am Master Parson; for what is ‘that’ but ‘that’? and ‘is’ but ‘is’?

SIR TOBY. To him, Sir Topas.

CLOWN. What ho, I say! Peace in this prison!

SIR TOBY. The knave counterfeits well. A good knave.

Malvolio within.

MALVOLIO. Who calls there?

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

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

CLOWN. Out, hyperbolical fiend! how vexest thou this man? Talkest thou nothing but of ladies?

SIR TOBY. Well said, Master Parson.

MALVOLIO. Sir Topas, never was man thus wronged. Good Sir Topas, do not think I am mad. They have laid me here in hideous darkness.

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

MALVOLIO. As hell, Sir Topas.

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

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

CLOWN. Madman, thou errest. I say there is no darkness but ignorance, in which thou art more puzzled than the Egyptians in their fog.

MALVOLIO. I say this house is as dark as ignorance, though ignorance were as dark as hell; and I say there was never man thus abused. I am no more mad than you are. Make the trial of it in any constant question.

CLOWN. What is the opinion of Pythagoras concerning wildfowl?

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!

CLOWN. Nay, I am for all waters.

MARIA. Thou mightst have done this without thy beard and gown. He sees thee not.

SIR TOBY. To him in thine own voice, and bring me word how thou find’st him. I would we were well rid of this knavery. If he may be conveniently delivered, I would he were, for I am now so far in offence with my niece that I cannot pursue with any safety this sport to the upshot. Come by and by to my chamber.

[_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!

CLOWN. _Alas, why is she so?_

MALVOLIO. Fool, I say!

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 gentleman, I will live to be thankful to thee for’t.

CLOWN. Master Malvolio?

MALVOLIO. Ay, good fool.

CLOWN. Alas, sir, how fell you besides your five wits?

MALVOLIO. Fool, there was never man so notoriously abused. I am as well in my wits, fool, as thou art.

CLOWN. But as well? Then you are mad indeed, if you be no better in your wits than a fool.

MALVOLIO. They have here propertied me; keep me in darkness, send ministers to me, asses, and do all they can to face me out of my wits.

CLOWN. Advise you what you say: the minister is here. [_As Sir Topas_] Malvolio, Malvolio, thy wits the heavens restore. Endeavour thyself to sleep, and leave thy vain bibble-babble.

MALVOLIO. Sir Topas!

CLOWN. [_As Sir Topas_] Maintain no words with him, good fellow. [_As himself_] Who, I, sir? not I, sir. God buy you, good Sir Topas. [_As Sir Topas_] Marry, amen. [_As himself_] I will sir, I will.

MALVOLIO. Fool, fool, fool, I say!

CLOWN. Alas, sir, be patient. What say you, sir? I am shent for speaking to you.

MALVOLIO. Good fool, help me to some light and some paper. I tell thee I am as well in my wits as any man in Illyria.

CLOWN. Well-a-day that you were, sir!

MALVOLIO. By this hand, I am. Good fool, some ink, paper, and light, and convey what I will set down to my lady. It shall advantage thee more than ever the bearing of letter did.

CLOWN. I will help you to’t. But tell me true, are you not mad indeed? or do you but counterfeit?

MALVOLIO. Believe me, I am not. I tell thee true.

CLOWN. Nay, I’ll ne’er believe a madman till I see his brains. I will fetch you light, and paper, and ink.

MALVOLIO. Fool, I’ll requite it in the highest degree: I prithee be gone.

CLOWN. [_Singing._] _I am gone, sir, and anon, sir, I’ll be with you again, In a trice, like to the old Vice, Your need to sustain; Who with dagger of lath, in his rage and his wrath, Cries ‘ah, ha!’ to the devil: Like a mad lad, ‘Pare thy nails, dad. Adieu, goodman devil.’_

[_Exit._]

SCENE III. Olivia’s Garden.

Enter Sebastian.

SEBASTIAN. This is the air; that is the glorious sun, This pearl she gave me, I do feel’t and see’t, And though ’tis wonder that enwraps me thus, Yet ’tis not madness. Where’s Antonio, then? I could not find him at the Elephant, Yet there he was, and there I found this credit, That he did range the town to seek me out. His counsel now might do me golden service. For though my soul disputes well with my sense That this may be some error, but no madness, Yet doth this accident and flood of fortune So far exceed all instance, all discourse, That I am ready to distrust mine eyes And wrangle with my reason that persuades me To any other trust but that I am mad, Or else the lady’s mad; yet if ’twere so, She could not sway her house, command her followers, Take and give back affairs and their dispatch, With such a smooth, discreet, and stable bearing As I perceive she does. There’s something in’t That is deceivable. But here the lady comes.

Enter Olivia and a Priest.

OLIVIA. Blame not this haste of mine. If you mean well, Now go with me and with this holy man Into the chantry by: there, before him And underneath that consecrated roof, Plight me the full assurance of your faith, That my most jealous and too doubtful soul May live at peace. He shall conceal it Whiles you are willing it shall come to note, What time we will our celebration keep According to my birth. What do you say?

SEBASTIAN. I’ll follow this good man, and go with you, And having sworn truth, ever will be true.

OLIVIA. Then lead the way, good father, and heavens so shine, That they may fairly note this act of mine!

[_Exeunt._]

ACT V.

SCENE I. The Street before Olivia’s House.

Enter Clown and Fabian.

FABIAN. Now, as thou lov’st me, let me see his letter.

CLOWN. Good Master Fabian, grant me another request.

FABIAN. Anything.

CLOWN. Do not desire to see this letter.

FABIAN. This is to give a dog, and in recompense desire my dog again.

Enter Duke, Viola, Curio and Lords.

DUKE. Belong you to the Lady Olivia, friends?

CLOWN. Ay, sir, we are some of her trappings.

DUKE. I know thee well. How dost thou, my good fellow?

CLOWN. Truly, sir, the better for my foes, and the worse for my friends.

DUKE. Just the contrary; the better for thy friends.

CLOWN. No, sir, the worse.

DUKE. How can that be?

CLOWN. Marry, sir, they praise me, and make an ass of me. Now my foes tell me plainly I am an ass: so that by my foes, sir, I profit in the knowledge of myself, and by my friends I am abused. So that, conclusions to be as kisses, if your four negatives make your two affirmatives, why then, the worse for my friends, and the better for my foes.

DUKE. Why, this is excellent.

CLOWN. By my troth, sir, no; though it please you to be one of my friends.

DUKE. Thou shalt not be the worse for me; there’s gold.

CLOWN. But that it would be double-dealing, sir, I would you could make it another.

DUKE. O, you give me ill counsel.

CLOWN. Put your grace in your pocket, sir, for this once, and let your flesh and blood obey it.

DUKE. Well, I will be so much a sinner to be a double-dealer: there’s another.

CLOWN. _Primo, secundo, tertio_, is a good play, and the old saying is, the third pays for all; the triplex, sir, is a good tripping measure; or the bells of Saint Bennet, sir, may put you in mind—one, two, three.

DUKE. You can fool no more money out of me at this throw. If you will let your lady know I am here to speak with her, and bring her along with you, it may awake my bounty further.

CLOWN. Marry, sir, lullaby to your bounty till I come again. I go, sir, but I would not have you to think that my desire of having is the sin of covetousness: but as you say, sir, let your bounty take a nap, I will awake it anon.

[_Exit Clown._]

Enter Antonio and Officers.

VIOLA. Here comes the man, sir, that did rescue me.

DUKE. That face of his I do remember well. Yet when I saw it last it was besmear’d As black as Vulcan, in the smoke of war. A baubling vessel was he captain of, For shallow draught and bulk unprizable, With which such scathful grapple did he make With the most noble bottom of our fleet, That very envy and the tongue of loss Cried fame and honour on him. What’s the matter?

FIRST OFFICER. Orsino, this is that Antonio That took the _Phoenix_ and her fraught from Candy, And this is he that did the _Tiger_ board When your young nephew Titus lost his leg. Here in the streets, desperate of shame and state, In private brabble did we apprehend him.

VIOLA. He did me kindness, sir; drew on my side, But in conclusion, put strange speech upon me. I know not what ’twas, but distraction.

DUKE. Notable pirate, thou salt-water thief, What foolish boldness brought thee to their mercies, Whom thou, in terms so bloody and so dear, Hast made thine enemies?

ANTONIO. Orsino, noble sir, Be pleased that I shake off these names you give me: Antonio never yet was thief or pirate, Though, I confess, on base and ground enough, Orsino’s enemy. A witchcraft drew me hither: That most ingrateful boy there by your side From the rude sea’s enraged and foamy mouth Did I redeem; a wreck past hope he was. His life 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; denied me mine own purse, Which I had recommended to his use Not half an hour before.

VIOLA. How can this be?

DUKE. When came he to this town?

ANTONIO. Today, my lord; and for three months before, No int’rim, not a minute’s vacancy, Both day and night did we keep company.

Enter Olivia and Attendants.

DUKE. Here comes the Countess, now heaven walks on earth. But for thee, fellow, fellow, thy words are madness. Three months this youth hath tended upon me; But more of that anon. Take him aside.

OLIVIA. What would my lord, but that he may not have, Wherein Olivia may seem serviceable? Cesario, you do not keep promise with me.

VIOLA. Madam?

DUKE. Gracious Olivia—

OLIVIA. What do you say, Cesario? Good my lord—

VIOLA. My lord would speak, my duty hushes me.

OLIVIA. If it be aught to the old tune, my lord, It is as fat and fulsome to mine ear As howling after music.

DUKE. Still so cruel?

OLIVIA. Still so constant, lord.

DUKE. What, to perverseness? You uncivil lady, To whose ingrate and unauspicious altars My soul the faithfull’st off’rings hath breathed out That e’er devotion tender’d! What shall I do?

OLIVIA. Even what it please my lord that shall become him.

DUKE. Why should I not, had I the heart to do it, Like to the Egyptian thief at point of death, Kill what I love?—a savage jealousy That sometime savours nobly. But hear me this: Since you to non-regardance cast my faith, And that I partly know the instrument That screws me from my true place in your favour, Live you the marble-breasted tyrant still. But this your minion, whom I know you love, And whom, by heaven I swear, I tender dearly, Him will I tear out of that cruel eye Where he sits crowned in his master’s spite.— Come, boy, with me; my thoughts are ripe in mischief: I’ll sacrifice the lamb that I do love, To spite a raven’s heart within a dove.

VIOLA. And I, most jocund, apt, and willingly, To do you rest, a thousand deaths would die.

OLIVIA. Where goes Cesario?

VIOLA. After him I love More than I love these eyes, more than my life, More, by all mores, than e’er I shall love wife. If I do feign, you witnesses above Punish my life for tainting of my love.

OLIVIA. Ah me, detested! how am I beguil’d!

VIOLA. Who does beguile you? Who does do you wrong?

OLIVIA. Hast thou forgot thyself? Is it so long? Call forth the holy father.

[_Exit an Attendant._]

DUKE. [_To Viola._] Come, away!

OLIVIA. Whither, my lord? Cesario, husband, stay.

DUKE. Husband?

OLIVIA. Ay, husband. Can he that deny?

DUKE. Her husband, sirrah?

VIOLA. No, my lord, not I.

OLIVIA. Alas, it is the baseness of thy fear That makes thee strangle thy propriety. Fear not, Cesario, take thy fortunes up. Be that thou know’st thou art, and then thou art As great as that thou fear’st.

Enter Priest.

O, welcome, father! Father, I charge thee, by thy reverence Here to unfold—though lately we intended To keep in darkness what occasion now Reveals before ’tis ripe—what thou dost know Hath newly passed between this youth and me.

PRIEST. A contract of eternal bond of love, Confirmed by mutual joinder of your hands, Attested by the holy close of lips, Strengthen’d by interchangement of your rings, And all the ceremony of this compact Sealed in my function, by my testimony; Since when, my watch hath told me, toward my grave, I have travelled but two hours.

DUKE. O thou dissembling cub! What wilt thou be When time hath sowed a grizzle on thy case? Or will not else thy craft so quickly grow That thine own trip shall be thine overthrow? Farewell, and take her; but direct thy feet Where thou and I henceforth may never meet.

VIOLA. My lord, I do protest—

OLIVIA. O, do not swear. Hold little faith, though thou has too much fear.

Enter Sir Andrew.

SIR ANDREW. For the love of God, a surgeon! Send one presently to Sir Toby.

OLIVIA. What’s the matter?

SIR ANDREW. ’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 lifelings, 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: You drew your sword upon me without cause, But I bespake you fair and hurt you not.

Enter Sir Toby, drunk, led by the Clown.

SIR ANDREW. If a bloody coxcomb be a hurt, you have hurt me. I think you set nothing by a bloody coxcomb. Here comes Sir Toby halting, you shall hear more: but if he had not been in drink, he would have 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 th’ end on’t. Sot, didst see Dick Surgeon, sot?

CLOWN. O, he’s drunk, Sir Toby, an hour agone; his eyes were set at eight i’ th’ morning.

SIR TOBY. Then he’s a rogue, and a passy measures pavin. I hate a drunken rogue.

OLIVIA. Away with him. Who hath made this havoc with them?

SIR ANDREW. I’ll help you, Sir Toby, because we’ll be dressed together.

SIR TOBY. Will you help? An ass-head, and a coxcomb, and a knave, a thin-faced knave, a gull?

OLIVIA. Get him to bed, and let his hurt be looked to.

[_Exeunt Clown, Fabian, Sir Toby and Sir Andrew._]

Enter Sebastian.

SEBASTIAN. I am sorry, madam, I have hurt your kinsman; But had it been the brother of my blood, I must have done no less with wit and safety. You throw a strange regard upon me, and by that I do perceive it hath offended you. Pardon me, sweet one, even for the vows We made each other but so late ago.

DUKE. One face, one voice, one habit, and two persons! A natural perspective, that is, and is not!

SEBASTIAN. Antonio, O my dear Antonio! How have the hours rack’d and tortur’d me Since I have lost thee.

ANTONIO. Sebastian are you?

SEBASTIAN. Fear’st thou that, Antonio?

ANTONIO. How have you made division of yourself? An apple cleft in two is not more twin Than these two creatures. Which is Sebastian?

OLIVIA. Most wonderful!

SEBASTIAN. Do I stand there? I never had a brother: Nor can there be that deity in my nature Of here and everywhere. I had a sister, Whom the blind waves and surges have devoured. Of charity, what kin are you to me? What countryman? What name? What parentage?

VIOLA. Of Messaline: Sebastian was my father; Such a Sebastian was my brother too: So went he suited to his watery tomb. If spirits can assume both form and suit, You come to fright us.

SEBASTIAN. A spirit I am indeed, But am in that dimension grossly clad, Which from the womb I did participate. Were you a woman, as the rest goes even, I should my tears let fall upon your cheek, And say, ‘Thrice welcome, drowned Viola.’

VIOLA. My father had a mole upon his brow.

SEBASTIAN. And so had mine.

VIOLA. And died that day when Viola from her birth Had numbered 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, deceived: You are betroth’d both to a maid and man.

DUKE. Be not amazed; 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.