Twelfth Night (1922) Yale/Text/Act I

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: 4
O! it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound
That breathes upon a bank of violets.
Stealing and giving odour. Enough! no more:
'Tis not so sweet now as it was before. 8
O spirit of love! how quick and fresh art thou,
That, notwithstanding thy capacity
Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there,
Of what validity and pitch soe'er, 12
But falls into abatement and low price.
Even in a minute: so full of shapes is fancy,
That it alone is high fantastical.

Cur. Will you go hunt, my lord?

Duke. What, Curio? 16

Cur. The hart.

Duke. Why, so I do, the noblest that I have.
​O! when mine eyes did see Olivia first,
Methought she purg'd the air of pestilence. 20
That instant was I turn'd into a hart,
And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds,
E'er since pursue me.

How now! what news from her?

Val. So please my lord, I might not be admitted; 24
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, 28
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. 32

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 36
That live in her; when liver, brain, and heart,
These sovereign thrones, are all supplied, and fill'd
Her sweet perfections with one self king.
Away before me to sweet beds of flowers; 40
Love-thoughts lie rich when canopied with bowers.

Vio. What country, friends, is this?

Cap. This is Illyria, lady.

Vio. And what should I do in Illyria?
My brother he is in Elysium.
Perchance he is not drown'd: what think you, sailors? 4

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

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

Cap. True, madam: and, to comfort you with chance,
Assure yourself, after our ship did split, 8
When you and those poor number sav'd with you
Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother,
Most provident in peril, bind himself,—
Courage and hope both teaching him the practice,— 12
To a strong mast that liv'd upon the sea;
Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back,
I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves
So long as I could see.

Vio. For saying so, there's gold. 16
Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope,
Whereto thy speech serves for authority,
The like of him. Know'st thou this country?

Cap. Ay, madam, well; for I was bred and born 20
Not three hours' travel from this very place.

Vio. Who governs here?

Cap. A noble duke, in nature as in name.

​Vio. What is his name? 24

Cap. Orsino.

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

Cap. And so is now, or was so very late; 28
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. 32

Vio. What's she?

Cap. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count
That died some twelvemonth since; then leaving her
In the protection of his son, her brother,36
Who shortly also died: for whose dear love,
They say, she hath abjur'd the company
And sight of men.

Vio. O! that I serv'd that lady,
And might not be deliver'd to the world, 40
Till I had made mine own occasion mellow,
What my estate is.

Cap. That were hard to compass,
Because she will admit no kind of suit,
No, not the duke's. 44

Vio. There is a fair behaviour in thee, captain;
And though that nature with a beauteous wall
Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee
I will believe thou hast a mind that suits 48
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 52
The form of my intent. I'll serve this duke:
Thou shalt present me as an eunuch to him:
​It may be worth thy pains; for I can sing
And speak to him in many sorts of music 56
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.

Cap. Be you his eunuch, and your mute I'll be: 60
When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see.

Vio. I thank thee: lead me on. Exeunt.

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

Mar. By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come 4
in earlier o' nights: your cousin, my lady, takes
great exceptions to your ill hours.

Sir To. Why, let her except before excepted.

Mar. Ay, but you must confine yourself within 8
the modest limits of order.

Sir To. 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 12
not, let them hang themselves in their own
straps.

Mar. That quaffing and drinking will undo
you: I heard my lady talk of it yesterday; and 16
of a foolish knight that you brought in one
night here to be her wooer.

Sir To. Who? Sir Andrew Aguecheek?

​Mar. Ay, he. 20

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

Mar. What's that to the purpose?

Sir To. Why, he has three thousand ducats
a year. 24

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

Sir To. Fie, that you'll say so! he plays o'
the viol-de-gamboys, and speaks three or four 28
languages word for word without book, and
hath all the good gifts of nature.

Mar. He hath indeed, almost natural; for,
besides that he's a fool, he's a great quarreller; 32
and but that he hath the gift of a coward to allay
the gust he hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought
among the prudent he would quickly have the
gift of a grave. 36

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

Mar. They that add, moreover, he's drunk
nightly in your company. 40

Sir To. With drinking healths to my niece.
I'll drink to her as long as there is a passage in
my throat and drink in Illyria. He's a coward
and a coystril, that will not drink to my niece 44
till his brains turn o' the toe like a parish-top.
What, wench! Castiliano vulgo! for here comes
Sir Andrew Agueface.

Sir And. Sir Toby Belch! how now, Sir Toby 48
Belch!

​Sir To. Sweet Sir Andrew!

Sir And. Bless you, fair shrew.

Mar. And you too, sir. 52

Sir To. Accost, Sir Andrew, accost.

Sir And. What's that?

Sir To. My niece's chambermaid.

Sir And. Good Mistress Accost, I desire 56
better acquaintance.

Mar. My name is Mary, sir.

Sir And. Good Mistress Mary Accost,—

Sir To. You mistake, knight: 'accost' is, 60
front her, board her, woo her, assail her.

Sir And. By my troth, I would not under-
take her in this company. Is that the meaning
of 'accost'? 64

Mar. Fare you well, gentlemen.

Sir To. An thou let her part so, Sir Andrew,
would thou mightst never draw sword again!

Sir And. An you part so, mistress, I would I 68
might never draw sword again. Fair lady, do
you think you have fools in hand?

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

Sir And. Marry, but you shall have; and 72
here's my hand.

Mar. Now, sir, 'thought is free': I pray you,
bring your hand to the buttery-bar and let it
drink. 76

Sir And. Wherefore, sweetheart? what's your
metaphor?

Mar. It's dry, sir.

Sir And. Why, I think so: I am not such an 80
ass but I can keep my hand dry. But what's
your jest?

​Mar. A dry jest, sir.

Sir And. Are you full of them? 84

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

Sir To. O knight! thou lackest a cup of
canary: when did I see thee so put down? 88

Sir And. Never in your life, I think; unless
you see canary put me down. Methinks some-
times I have no more wit than a Christian or an
ordinary man has; but I am a great eater of 92
beef, and I believe that does harm to my wit.

Sir To. No question.

Sir And. An I thought that, I'd forswear it.
I'll ride home to-morrow, Sir Toby. 96

Sir To. Pourquoi, my dear knight?

Sir And. 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-bait- 100
ing. O! had I but followed the arts!

Sir To. Then hadst thou had an excellent
head of hair.

Sir And. Why, would that have mended my 104
hair?

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

Sir And. But it becomes me well enough, 108
does 't not?

Sir To. Excellent; it hangs like flax on a
distaff, and I hope to see a housewife take thee
between her legs, and spin it off. 112

Sir And. 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. 116

Sir To. She'll none o' the count; she'll not
match above her degree, neither in estate, years,
nor wit; I have heard her swear it. Tut, there's
life in 't, man. 120

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

Sir To. Art thou good at these kickchawses, 124
knight?

Sir And. As any man in Illyria, whatsoever
he be, under the degree of my betters: and yet I
will not compare with an old man. 128

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

Sir And. Faith, I can cut a caper.

Sir To. And I can cut the mutton to 't. 132

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

Sir To. Wherefore are these things hid?
wherefore have these gifts a curtain before 'em? 136
are they like to take dust, like Mistress Mall's
picture? why dost thou not go to church in a
galliard, and come home in a coranto? My very
walk should be a jig: I would not so much as 140
make water but in a sink-a-pace. What dost
thou mean? is it a world to hide virtues in? I
did think, by the excellent constitution of thy
leg, it was formed under the star of a galliard. 144

​Sir And. Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent
well in a flame-coloured stock. Shall we set
about some revels?

Sir To. What shall we do else? were we not 148
born under Taurus?

Sir And. Taurus! that's sides and heart.

Sir To. No, sir, it is legs and thighs. Let me
see thee caper. Ha! higher: ha, ha! excellent! 152

Val. If the duke continue these favours to-
wards you, Cesario, you are like to be much
advanced: he hath known you but three days,
and already you are no stranger. 4

Vio. You either fear his humour or my negli-
gence, that you call in question the continuance
of his love. Is he inconstant, sir, in his favours?

Val. No, believe me. 8

Vio. I thank you. Here comes the count.

Duke. Who saw Cesario? ho!

Vio. On your attendance, my lord; here.

Duke. Stand you awhile aloof. Cesario, 12
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, 16
And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow
Till thou have audience.

Vio. Sure, my noble lord,
If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow
As it is spoke, she never will admit me. 20

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

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

Duke. O! then unfold the passion of my love; 24
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 of more grave aspect. 28

Vio. 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; thy small pipe 32
Is as the maiden's organ, shrill and 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; 36
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.

Vio. I'll do my best 40
To woo your lady: [Aside] yet, a barful strife!
Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife. Exeunt.

Mar. 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. 4

Clo. Let her hang me: he that is well hanged
in this world needs to fear no colours.

Mar. Make that good.

Clo. He shall see none to fear. 8

Mar. A good lenten answer: I can tell thee
where that saying was born, of 'I fear no colours.'

Clo. Where, good Mistress Mary?

Mar. In the wars; and that may you be bold 12
to say in your foolery.

Clo. Well, God give them wisdom that have
it; and those that are fools, let them use their
talents. 16

Mar. Yet you will be hanged for being so
long absent; or, to be turned away, is not that
as good as a hanging to you?

Clo. Many a good hanging prevents a bad 20
marriage; and, for turning away, let summer
bear it out.

Mar. You are resolute then?

Clo. Not so, neither; but I am resolved on 24
two points.

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

Clo. Apt, in good faith; very apt. Well, go thy 28
​way: if Sir Toby would leave drinking, thou wert
as witty a piece of Eve's flesh as any in Illyria.

Mar. Peace, you rogue, no more o' that. Here
comes my lady: make your excuse wisely, you 32
were best. [Exit.]

Clo. Wit, an 't be thy will, put me into good
fooling! Those wits that think they have thee,
do very oft prove fools; and I, that am sure I 36
lack thee, may pass for a wise man: for what
says Quinapalus? 'Better a witty fool than a
foolish wit.'

God bless thee, lady! 40

Oli. Take the fool away.

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

Oli. Go to, you're a dry fool; I'll no more of 44
you: besides, you grow dishonest.

Clo. Two faults, madonna, that drink and
good counsel will amend: for give the dry fool
drink, then is the fool not dry; bid the dis- 48
honest man mend himself; if he mend, he is no
longer dishonest; if he cannot, let the botcher
mend him. Any thing that's mended is but
patched: virtue that transgresses is but patched 52
with sin; and sin that amends is but patched
with virtue. If that this simple syllogism will
serve, so; if it will not, what remedy? As there
is no true cuckold but calamity, so beauty's a 56
flower. The lady bade take away the fool; there-
fore, I say again, take her away.

​Clo. Misprision in the highest degree! Lady, 60
cucullus non facit monachum; that's as much
to say as I wear not motley in my brain. Good
madonna, give me leave to prove you a fool.

Oli. Can you do it? 64

Clo. Dexteriously, good madonna.

Oli. Make your proof.

Clo. I must catechise you for it, madonna:
good my mouse of virtue, answer me. 68

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

Clo. Good madonna, why mournest thou?

Oli. Good fool, for my brother's death. 72

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

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

Clo. The more fool, madonna, to mourn for
your brother's soul being in heaven. Take away 76
the fool, gentlemen.

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

Mal. Yes; and shall do, till the pangs of 80
death shake him: infirmity, that decays the
wise, doth ever make the better fool.

Clo. God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for
the better increasing your folly! Sir Toby will 84
be sworn that I am no fox, but he will not pass
his word for two pence that you are no fool.

Oli. How say you to that, Malvolio?

Mal. I marvel your ladyship takes delight in 88
such a barren rascal: I saw him put down the
other day with an ordinary fool that has no more
​Page:Twelfth Night (1922) Yale.djvu/27 ​Page:Twelfth Night (1922) Yale.djvu/28 ​Page:Twelfth Night (1922) Yale.djvu/29 ​Page:Twelfth Night (1922) Yale.djvu/30 ​Page:Twelfth Night (1922) Yale.djvu/31 ​Page:Twelfth Night (1922) Yale.djvu/32 ​Page:Twelfth Night (1922) Yale.djvu/33 ​Page:Twelfth Night (1922) Yale.djvu/34 ​Fate, show thy force: ourselves we do not owe;
What is decreed must be, and be this so! 332