Chapter 1

Executive Director's Notes:

In addition to the notes below, and so you will *NOT* think all the spelling errors introduced by the printers of the time have been corrected, here are the first few lines of Hamlet, as they are presented herein:

Barnardo. Who's there? Fran. Nay answer me: Stand & vnfold your selfe

Bar. Long liue the King

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As I understand it, the printers often ran out of certain words or letters they had often packed into a "cliche". . .this is the original meaning of the term cliche. . .and thus, being unwilling to unpack the cliches, and thus you will see some substitutions that look very odd. . .such as the exchanges of u for v, v for u, above. . .and you may wonder why they did it this way, presuming Shakespeare did not actually write the play in this manner. . . .

The answer is that they MAY have packed "liue" into a cliche at a time when they were out of "v"'s. . .possibly having used "vv" in place of some "w"'s, etc. This was a common practice of the day, as print was still quite expensive, and they didn't want to spend more on a wider selection of characters than they had to.

You will find a lot of these kinds of "errors" in this text, as I have mentioned in other times and places, many "scholars" have an extreme attachment to these errors, and many have accorded them a very high place in the "canon" of Shakespeare. My father read an assortment of these made available to him by Cambridge University in England for several months in a glass room constructed for the purpose. To the best of my knowledge he read ALL those available . . .in great detail. . .and determined from the various changes, that Shakespeare most likely did not write in nearly as many of a variety of errors we credit him for, even though he was in/famous for signing his name with several different spellings.

So, please take this into account when reading the comments below made by our volunteer who prepared this file: you may see errors that are "not" errors. . . .

So. . .with this caveat. . .we have NOT changed the canon errors, here is the Project Gutenberg Etext of Shakespeare's play.

Michael S. Hart Project Gutenberg Executive Director

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Scanner's Notes:

What this is and isn't. This was taken from a copy of Shakespeare's first folio and it is as close as I can come in ASCII to the printed text.

The elongated S's have been changed to small s's and the conjoined ae have been changed to ae. I have left the spelling, punctuation, capitalization as close as possible to the printed text. I have corrected some spelling mistakes (I have put together a spelling dictionary devised from the spellings of the Geneva Bible and Shakespeare's First Folio and have unified spellings according to this template), typo's and expanded abbreviations as I have come across them. Everything within brackets [] is what I have added. So if you don't like that you can delete everything within the brackets if you want a purer Shakespeare.

Another thing that you should be aware of is that there are textual differences between various copies of the first folio. So there may be differences (other than what I have mentioned above) between this and other first folio editions. This is due to the printer's habit of setting the type and running off a number of copies and then proofing the printed copy and correcting the type and then continuing the printing run. The proof run wasn't thrown away but incorporated into the printed copies. This is just the way it is. The text I have used was a composite of more than 30 different First Folio editions' best pages.

David Reed

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Twelfe Night, Or what you will

Actus Primus, Scaena Prima.

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

Duke. If Musicke be the food of Loue, play on, Giue me excesse of it: that surfetting, The appetite may sicken, and so dye. That straine agen, it had a dying fall: O, it came ore my eare, like the sweet sound That breathes vpon a banke of Violets; Stealing, and giuing Odour. Enough, no more, 'Tis not so sweet now, as it was before. O spirit of Loue, how quicke and fresh art thou, That notwithstanding thy capacitie, Receiueth as the Sea. Nought enters there, Of what validity, and pitch so ere, But falles into abatement, and low price Euen in a minute; so full of shapes is fancie, That it alone, is high fantasticall

Cu. Will you go hunt my Lord? Du. What Curio? Cu. The Hart

Du. Why so I do, the Noblest that I haue: O when mine eyes did see Oliuia first, Me thought she purg'd the ayre of pestilence; That instant was I turn'd into a Hart, And my desires like fell and cruell hounds, Ere since pursue me. How now what newes from her? Enter Valentine.

Val. So please my Lord, I might not be admitted, But from her handmaid do returne this answer: The Element it selfe, till seuen yeares heate, Shall not behold her face at ample view: But like a Cloystresse she will vailed walke, And water once a day her Chamber round With eye-offending brine: all this to season A brothers dead loue, which she would keepe fresh And lasting, in her sad remembrance

Du. O she that hath a heart of that fine frame To pay this debt of loue but to a brother, How will she loue, when the rich golden shaft Hath kill'd the flocke of all affections else That liue in her. When Liuer, Braine, and Heart, These soueraigne thrones, are all supply'd and fill'd Her sweete perfections with one selfe king: Away before me, to sweet beds of Flowres, Loue-thoughts lye rich, when canopy'd with bowres.

Exeunt.

Scena Secunda.

Enter Viola, a Captaine, and Saylors.

Vio. What Country (Friends) is this? Cap. This is Illyria Ladie

Vio. And what should I do in Illyria? My brother he is in Elizium, Perchance he is not drown'd: What thinke you saylors? Cap. It is perchance that you your selfe were saued

Vio. O my poore brother, and so perchance may he be

Cap. True Madam, and to comfort you with chance, Assure your selfe, after our ship did split, When you, and those poore number saued with you, Hung on our driuing boate: I saw your brother Most prouident in perill, binde himselfe, (Courage and hope both teaching him the practise) To a strong Maste, that liu'd vpon the sea: Where like Orion on the Dolphines backe, I saw him hold acquaintance with the waues, So long as I could see

Vio. For saying so, there's Gold: Mine owne escape vnfoldeth to my hope, Whereto thy speech serues for authoritie The like of him. Know'st thou this Countrey? Cap. I Madam well, for I was bred and borne Not three houres trauaile from this very place

Vio. Who gouernes heere? Cap. A noble Duke in nature, as in name

Vio. What is his name? Cap. Orsino

Vio. Orsino: I haue heard my father name him. He was a Batchellor then

Cap. And so is now, or was so very late: For but a month ago I went from hence, And then 'twas fresh in murmure (as you know What great ones do, the lesse will prattle of,) That he did seeke the loue of faire Oliuia

Vio. What's shee? Cap. A vertuous maid, the daughter of a Count That dide some tweluemonth since, then leauing her In the protection of his sonne, her brother, Who shortly also dide: for whose deere loue (They say) she hath abiur'd the sight And company of men

Vio. O that I seru'd that Lady, And might not be deliuered to the world Till I had made mine owne occasion mellow What my estate is

Cap. That were hard to compasse, Because she will admit no kinde of suite, No, not the Dukes

Vio. There is a faire behauiour in thee Captaine, And though that nature, with a beauteous wall Doth oft close in pollution: yet of thee I will beleeue thou hast a minde that suites With this thy faire and outward charracter. I prethee (and Ile pay thee bounteously) Conceale me what I am, and be my ayde, For such disguise as haply shall become The forme of my intent. Ile serue this Duke, Thou shalt present me as an Eunuch to him, It may be worth thy paines: for I can sing, And speake to him in many sorts of Musicke, That will allow me very worth his seruice. What else may hap, to time I will commit, Onely shape thou thy silence to my wit

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

Vio. I thanke thee: Lead me on.

Exeunt.

Scaena Tertia.

Enter Sir Toby, and Maria.

Sir To. What a plague meanes my Neece to take the death of her brother thus? I am sure care's an enemie to life

Mar. By my troth sir Toby, you must come in earlyer a nights: your Cosin, my Lady, takes great exceptions to your ill houres

To. Why let her except, before excepted

Ma. I, but you must confine your selfe within the modest limits of order

To. Confine? Ile confine my selfe no finer then I am: these cloathes are good enough to drinke in, and so bee these boots too: and they be not, let them hang themselues in their owne straps

Ma. That quaffing and drinking will vndoe you: I heard my Lady talke of it yesterday: and of a foolish knight that you brought in one night here, to be hir woer To. Who, Sir Andrew Ague-cheeke? Ma. I he

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

Ma. What's that to th' purpose? To. Why he ha's three thousand ducates a yeare

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

To. Fie, that you'l say so: he playes o'th Viol-de-gamboys, and speaks three or four languages word for word without booke, & hath all the good gifts of nature

Ma. He hath indeed, almost naturall: for besides that he's a foole, he's a great quarreller: and but that hee hath the gift of a Coward, to allay the gust he hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought among the prudent, he would quickely haue the gift of a graue

Tob. By this hand they are scoundrels and substractors that say so of him. Who are they? Ma. They that adde moreour, hee's drunke nightly in your company

To. With drinking healths to my Neece: Ile drinke to her as long as there is a passage in my throat, & drinke in Illyria: he's a Coward and a Coystrill that will not drinke to my Neece, till his braines turne o'th toe, like a parish top. What wench? Castiliano vulgo: for here coms Sir Andrew Agueface. Enter Sir Andrew.

And. Sir Toby Belch. How now sir Toby Belch? To. Sweet sir Andrew

And. Blesse you faire Shrew

Mar. And you too sir

Tob. Accost Sir Andrew, accost

And. What's that? To. My Neeces Chamber-maid

Ma. Good Mistris accost, I desire better acquaintance Ma. My name is Mary sir

And. Good mistris Mary, accost

To, You mistake knight: Accost, is front her, boord her, woe her, assayle her

And. By my troth I would not vndertake her in this company. Is that the meaning of Accost? Ma. Far you well Gentlemen

To. And thou let part so Sir Andrew, would thou mightst neuer draw sword agen

And. And you part so mistris, I would I might neuer draw sword agen: Faire Lady, doe you thinke you haue fooles in hand? Ma. Sir, I haue not you by'th hand

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

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

An. Wherefore (sweet-heart?) What's your Metaphor? Ma. It's dry sir

And. Why I thinke so: I am not such an asse, but I can keepe my hand dry. But what's your iest? Ma. A dry iest Sir

And. Are you full of them? Ma. I Sir, I haue them at my fingers ends: marry now I let go your hand, I am barren.

Exit Maria

To. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of Canarie: when did I see thee so put downe? An. Neuer in your life I thinke, vnlesse you see Canarie put me downe: mee thinkes sometimes I haue no more wit then a Christian, or an ordinary man ha's: but I am a great eater of beefe, and I beleeue that does harme to my wit

To. No question

An. And I thought that, I'de forsweare it. Ile ride home to morrow sir Toby

To. Pur-quoy my deere knight? An. What is purquoy? Do, or not do? I would I had bestowed that time in the tongues, that I haue in fencing dancing, and beare-bayting: O had I but followed the Arts

To. Then hadst thou had an excellent head of haire

An. Why, would that haue mended my haire? To. Past question, for thou seest it will not coole my nature An. But it becoms me wel enough, dost not? To. Excellent, it hangs like flax on a distaffe: & I hope to see a huswife take thee between her legs, & spin it off

An. Faith Ile home to morrow sir Toby, your niece wil not be seene, or if she be it's four to one, she'l none of me: the Count himselfe here hard by, wooes her

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

And. Ile stay a moneth longer. I am a fellow o'th strangest minde i'th world: I delight in Maskes and Reuels sometimes altogether

To. Art thou good at these kicke-chawses Knight? And. As any man in Illyria, whatsoeuer he be, vnder the degree of my betters, & yet I will not compare with an old man

To. What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight? And. Faith, I can cut a caper

To. And I can cut the Mutton too't

And. And I thinke I haue the backe-tricke, simply as strong as any man in Illyria

To. Wherefore are these things hid? Wherefore haue these gifts a Curtaine before 'em? Are they like to take dust, like mistris Mals picture? Why dost thou not goe to Church in a Galliard, and come home in a Carranto? My verie walke should be a Iigge: I would not so much as make water but in a Sinke-a-pace: What dooest thou meane? Is it a world to hide vertues in? I did thinke by the excellent constitution of thy legge, it was form'd vnder the starre of a Galliard

And. I, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a dam'd colour'd stocke. Shall we sit about some Reuels? To. What shall we do else: were we not borne vnder Taurus? And. Taurus? That sides and heart

To. No sir, it is leggs and thighes: let me see thee caper. Ha, higher: ha, ha, excellent.

Exeunt.

Scena Quarta.

Enter Valentine, and Viola in mans attire.

Val. If the Duke continue these fauours towards you Cesario, you are like to be much aduanc'd, he hath known you but three dayes, and already you are no stranger

Vio. You either feare his humour, or my negligence, that you call in question the continuance of his loue. Is he inconstant sir, in his fauours

Val. No beleeue me. Enter Duke, Curio, and Attendants.

Vio. I thanke you: heere comes the Count

Duke. Who saw Cesario hoa? Vio. On your attendance my Lord heere

Du. Stand you a-while aloofe. Cesario, Thou knowst no lesse, but all: I haue vnclasp'd To thee the booke euen of my secret soule. Therefore good youth, addresse thy gate vnto her, Be not deni'de accesse, stand at her doores, And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow Till thou haue audience

Vio. Sure my Noble Lord, If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow As it is spoke, she neuer will admit me

Du. Be clamorous, and leape all ciuill bounds, Rather then make vnprofited returne, Vio. Say I do speake with her (my Lord) what then? Du. O then, vnfold the passion of my loue, Surprize her with discourse of my deere faith; It shall become thee well to act my woes: She will attend it better in thy youth, Then in a Nuntio's of more graue aspect

Vio. I thinke not so, my Lord

Du. Deere Lad, beleeue it; For they shall yet belye thy happy yeeres, That say thou art a man: Dianas lip Is not more smooth, and rubious: thy small pipe Is as the maidens organ, shrill, and sound, And all is semblatiue a womans part. I know thy constellation is right apt For this affayre: some foure or fiue attend him, All if you will: for I my selfe am best When least in companie: prosper well in this, And thou shalt liue as freely as thy Lord, To call his fortunes thine

Vio. Ile do my best To woe your Lady: yet a barrefull strife, Who ere I woe, my selfe would be his wife.

Exeunt.

Scena Quinta.

Enter Maria, and Clowne.

Ma. Nay, either tell me where thou hast bin, or I will not open my lippes so wide as a brissle may enter, in way of thy excuse: my Lady will hang thee for thy absence

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

Ma. Make that good

Clo. He shall see none to feare

Ma. A good lenton answer: I can tell thee where y saying was borne, of I feare no colours

Clo. Where good mistris Mary? Ma. In the warrs, & that may you be bolde to say in your foolerie

Clo. Well, God giue them wisedome that haue it: & those that are fooles, let them vse their talents

Ma. Yet you will be hang'd for being so long absent, or to be turn'd away: is not that as good as a hanging to you? Clo. Many a good hanging, preuents a bad marriage: and for turning away, let summer beare it out

Ma. You are resolute then? Clo. Not so neyther, but I am resolu'd on two points Ma. That if one breake, the other will hold: or if both breake, your gaskins fall

Clo. Apt in good faith, very apt: well go thy way, if sir Toby would leaue drinking, thou wert as witty a piece of Eues flesh, as any in Illyria

Ma. Peace you rogue, no more o'that: here comes my Lady: make your excuse wisely, you were best. Enter Lady Oliuia, with Maluolio.

Clo. Wit, and't be thy will, put me into good fooling: those wits that thinke they haue thee, doe very oft proue fooles: and I that am sure I lacke thee, may passe for a wise man. For what saies Quinapalus, Better a witty foole, then a foolish wit. God blesse thee Lady

Ol. Take the foole away

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

Ol. Go too, y'are a dry foole: Ile no more of you: besides you grow dis-honest

Clo. Two faults Madona, that drinke & good counsell wil amend: for giue the dry foole drink, then is the foole not dry: bid the dishonest man mend himself, if he mend, he is no longer dishonest; if hee cannot, let the Botcher mend him: any thing that's mended, is but patch'd: vertu that transgresses, is but patcht with sinne, and sin that amends, is but patcht with vertue. If that this simple Sillogisme will serue, so: if it will not, what remedy? As there is no true Cuckold but calamity, so beauties a flower; The Lady bad take away the foole, therefore I say againe, take her away

Ol. Sir, I bad them take away you

Clo. Misprision in the highest degree. Lady, Cucullus non facit monachum: that's as much to say, as I weare not motley in my braine: good Madona, giue mee leaue to proue you a foole

Ol. Can you do it? Clo. Dexteriously, good Madona

Ol. Make your proofe

Clo. I must catechize you for it Madona, Good my Mouse of vertue answer mee

Ol. Well sir, for want of other idlenesse, Ile bide your proofe

Clo. Good Madona, why mournst thou? Ol. Good foole, for my brothers death

Clo. I thinke his soule is in hell, Madona

Ol. I know his soule is in heauen, foole

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

Ol. What thinke you of this foole Maluolio, doth he not mend? Mal. Yes, and shall do, till the pangs of death shake him: Infirmity that decaies the wise, doth euer make the better foole

Clow. God send you sir, a speedie Infirmity, for the better increasing your folly: Sir Toby will be sworn that I am no Fox, but he wil not passe his word for two pence that you are no Foole

Ol. How say you to that Maluolio? Mal. I maruell your Ladyship takes delight in such a barren rascall: I saw him put down the other day, with an ordinary foole, that has no more braine then a stone. Looke you now, he's out of his gard already: vnles you laugh and minister occasion to him, he is gag'd. I protest I take these Wisemen, that crow so at these set kinde of fooles, no better then the fooles Zanies

Ol. O you are sicke of selfe-loue Maluolio, and taste with a distemper'd appetite. To be generous, guiltlesse, and of free disposition, is to take those things for Bird-bolts, that you deeme Cannon bullets: There is no slander in an allow'd foole, though he do nothing but rayle; nor no rayling, in a knowne discreet man, though hee do nothing but reproue

Clo. Now Mercury indue thee with leasing, for thou speak'st well of fooles. Enter Maria.

Mar. Madam, there is at the gate, a young Gentleman, much desires to speake with you

Ol. From the Count Orsino, is it? Ma I know not (Madam) 'tis a faire young man, and well attended

Ol. Who of my people hold him in delay? Ma. Sir Toby Madam, your kinsman

Ol. Fetch him off I pray you, he speakes nothing but madman: Fie on him. Go you Maluolio; If it be a suit from the Count, I am sicke, or not at home. What you will, to dismisse it.

Exit Maluo.

Now you see sir, how your fooling growes old, & people dislike it

Clo. Thou hast spoke for vs (Madona) as if thy eldest sonne should be a foole: whose scull, Ioue cramme with braines, for heere he comes. Enter Sir Toby.

One of thy kin has a most weake Pia-mater

Ol. By mine honor halfe drunke. What is he at the gate Cosin? To. A Gentleman

Ol. A Gentleman? What Gentleman? To. 'Tis a Gentleman heere. A plague o'these pickle herring: How now Sot

Clo. Good Sir Toby

Ol. Cosin, Cosin, how haue you come so earely by this Lethargie? To. Letcherie, I defie Letchery: there's one at the gate

Ol. I marry, what is he? To. Let him be the diuell and he will, I care not: giue me faith say I. Well, it's all one.

Exit

Ol. What's a drunken man like, foole? Clo. Like a drown'd man, a foole, and a madde man: One draught aboue heate, makes him a foole, the second maddes him, and a third drownes him

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

Clo. He is but mad yet Madona, and the foole shall looke to the madman. Enter Maluolio.

Mal. Madam, yond young fellow sweares hee will speake with you. I told him you were sicke, he takes on him to vnderstand so much, and therefore comes to speak with you. I told him you were asleepe, he seems to haue a fore knowledge of that too, and therefore comes to speake with you. What is to be said to him Ladie, hee's fortified against any deniall

Ol. Tell him, he shall not speake with me

Mal. Ha's beene told so: and hee sayes hee'l stand at your doore like a Sheriffes post, and be the supporter to a bench, but hee'l speake with you

Ol. What kinde o'man is he? Mal. Why of mankinde

Ol. What manner of man? Mal. Of verie ill manner: hee'l speake with you, will you, or no

Ol. Of what personage, and yeeres is he? Mal. Not yet old enough for a man, nor yong enough for a boy: as a squash is before tis a pescod, or a Codling when tis almost an Apple: Tis with him in standing water, betweene boy and man. He is verie well-fauour'd, and he speakes verie shrewishly: One would thinke his mothers milke were scarse out of him

Ol. Let him approach: Call in my Gentlewoman

Mal. Gentlewoman, my Lady calles. Enter.

Enter Maria.

Ol. Giue me my vaile: come throw it ore my face, Wee'l once more heare Orsinos Embassie. Enter Violenta.

Vio. The honorable Ladie of the house, which is she? Ol. Speake to me, I shall answer for her: your will

Vio. Most radiant, exquisite, and vnmatchable beautie. I pray you tell me if this bee the Lady of the house, for I neuer saw her. I would bee loath to cast away my speech: for besides that it is excellently well pend, I haue taken great paines to con it. Good Beauties, let mee sustaine no scorne; I am very comptible, euen to the least sinister vsage

Ol. Whence came you sir? Vio. I can say little more then I haue studied, & that question's out of my part. Good gentle one, giue mee modest assurance, if you be the Ladie of the house, that | I may proceede in my speech

Ol. Are you a Comedian? Vio. No my profound heart: and yet (by the verie phangs of malice, I sweare) I am not that I play. Are you the Ladie of the house? Ol. If I do not vsurpe my selfe, I am