Twelfth Night; or, What You Will
William Shakespeare [Hudson edition]
Part 3 out of 3
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 and ATTENDANTS.]
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.
What would my lord, but that he may not have,
Wherein Olivia may seem serviceable?
Cesario, you do not keep promise with me.
What do you say, Cesario? Good my lord,--
My lord would speak; my duty hushes me.
If it be aught to the old tune, my lord,
It is as fat and fulsome to mine ear
As howling after music.
Still so cruel?
Still so constant, lord.
What, to perverseness? you uncivil lady,
To whose ingrate and unauspicious altars
My soul the faithfull'st off'rings have breath'd out
That e'er devotion tender'd! What shall I do?
Even what it please my lord that shall become him.
Why should I not, had I the heart to do it,
Like to th' 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.
And I, most jocund, apt, and willingly,
To do you rest, a thousand deaths would die.
Where goes Cesario?
After him I love
More than I love these eyes, more than my life,
More, by all mores, than ere I shall love wife.
If I do feign, you witnesses above,
Punish my life for tainting of my love!
Ay me, detested! how am I beguil'd!
Who does beguile you? who does do you wrong?
Hast thou forgot thyself? is it so long?
Call forth the holy father.
Whither, my lord? Cesario, husband, stay.
Ay, husband! can he that deny?
Her husband, sirrah!
No, my lord, not I.
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.
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 't is ripe, what thou dost know
Hath newly pass'd between this youth and me.
A contract of eternal bond of love,
Confirm'd 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
Seal'd in my function, by my testimony;
Since when, my watch hath told me, toward my grave
I have travell'd but two hours.
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.
My lord, I do protest,--
O, do not swear!
Hold little faith, though thou has too much fear.
[Enter SIR ANDREW.]
For the love of God, a surgeon! Send one presently to Sir Toby.
What 's the matter?
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.
Who has done this, Sir Andrew?
The count's gentleman, one Cesario; we took him for a coward, but
he 's the very devil incardinate.
My gentleman Cesario?
'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.
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.
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 tickl'd you othergates than he
How now, gentleman! how is 't with you?
That 's all one. Has hurt me, and there 's th' end on 't. Sot,
didst see Dick Surgeon, sot?
O, he 's drunk, Sir Toby, an hour agone; his eyes were set at
eight i' th' morning.
Then he 's a rogue, and a passy measures pavin. I hate a drunken
Away with him! Who hath made this havoc with them?
I 'll help you, Sir Toby, because we 'll be dress'd together.
Will you help? an ass-head and a coxcomb and a knave! a
thin-fac'd knave, a gull!
Get him to bed, and let his hurt be look'd to.
[Exeunt CLOWN, FABIAN, SIR TOBY, and SIR ANDREW.]
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.
One face, one voice, one habit, and two persons,
A natural perspective, that is and is not!
Antonio, O my dear Antonio!
How have the hours rack'd and tortur'd me,
Since I have lost thee!
Sebastian are you?
Fear'st thou that, Antonio?
How have you made division of yourself?
An apple cleft in two is not more twin
Than these two creatures. Which is 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?
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.
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!'
My father had a mole upon his brow.
And so had mine.
And died that day when Viola from her birth
Had numb'red thirteen years.
O, that record is lively in my soul!
He finished, indeed, his mortal act
That day that made my sister thirteen years.
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.
[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.
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.
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.
Give me thy hand;
And let me see thee in thy woman's weeds.
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.
He shall enlarge him. Fetch Malvolio hither;
And yet, alas, now I remember me,
They say, poor gentleman, he 's much distract.
[Re-enter CLOWN with a letter, and FABIAN.]
A most extracting frenzy of mine own
From my remembrance clearly banish'd his.
How does he, sirrah?
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 madman's
epistles are no gospels, so it skills not much when they are
Open 't, and read it.
Look then to be well edified when the fool delivers the madman.
[Reads] By the Lord, madam,--
How now! art thou mad?
No, madam, I do but read madness: and your ladyship will have it
as it ought to be, you must allow Vox.
Prithee, read i' thy right wits.
So I do, madonna; but to read his right wits is to read thus:
therefore perpend, my princess, and give ear.
[To FABIAN] Read it you, sirrah.
[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 induc'd me
to the semblance I put on; 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 unthought of, and speak out of
my injury. THE MADLY-US'D MALVOLIO.
Did he write this?
This savours not much of distraction.
See him deliver'd, Fabian; bring him hither.
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.
Madam, I am most apt t' 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.
A sister! you are she.
[Re-enter FABIAN, with MALVOLIO.]
Is this the madman?
Ay, my lord, this same.
How now, Malvolio!
Madam, you have done me wrong,
Have I, Malvolio? no.
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 't is not your seal, not your invention:
You can say none of this. Well, grant it then;
And tell me, in the modesty of honour,
Why you have given me such clear lights of favour,
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.
Alas, Malvolio, this is not my writing,
Though, I confess, much like the character;
But out of question 't is Maria's hand.
And now I do bethink me, it was she
First told me thou wast mad; then 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,
But when we know the grounds and authors of it,
Thou shalt be both the plaintiff and the judge
Of thine own cause.
Good madam, hear me speak;
And let no quarrel nor no brawl to come
Taint the condition of this present hour,
Which I have wond'red 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 conceiv'd against 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.
Alas, poor fool, how have they baffl'd thee!
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? and you smile not, he 's gagg'd': and
thus the whirligig of time brings in his revenges.
I 'll be reveng'd on the whole pack of you.
He hath been most notoriously abus'd.
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;
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 all but the CLOWN.]
When that I was and a little tiny boy,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
A foolish thing was but a toy,
For the rain it raineth every day.
But when I came to man's estate,
With hey, ho, &c.
'Gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gate,
For the rain, &c.
But when I came, alas! to wive,
With hey, ho, &c.
By swaggering could I never thrive,
For the rain, &c.
But when I came unto my beds,
With hey, ho, &c.
With toss-pots still had drunken heads,
For the rain, &c.
A great while ago the world begun,
With hey, ho, &c.
But that's all one, our play is done,
And we'll strive to please you every day.
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