Enter Sir Hugh Evans, like a Satyr; Mrs. Quickly Mrs. Page. I pray you come; hold up the jest no Now, good sir John, how like you Windsor wives? Ford. Now, sir, who's a cuckold now ?-Master Brook, Falstaff's a knave, a cuckoldly knave; here are his horns, master Brook: And, master Brook, he hath enjoyed nothing of Ford's but his buck-basket, his cudgel, and twenty pounds of money; which must be paid to master Brook; his horses are ar Pist. Elves, list your names; silence, you airy toys. could never meet. I will never take you for my love a maid, That, ere she sleep, has thrice her prayers said, But those as sleep, and think not on their sins, Search Windsor Castle, elves, within and out: And nightly, meadow-fairies, look, you sing, In emerald tufts, flowers purple, blue, and white; [birth. Fal. Heavens defend me from that Welsh fairy, Come, will this wood take fire? Fal. Oh, oh, oh! SONG. Fie on sinful fantasy! Fie on lust and luxury! Lust is but a bloody fire, Kindled with unchaste desire, Fed in heart, whose flames aspire, Fal. I do begin to perceive that I am made an ass. Ford. Ay, and an ox too; both the proofs are extant. Fal. And these are not fairies? I was three or four times in the thought they were not fairies: and yet the guiltiness of my mind, the sudden surprise of my powers, drove the grossness of the foppery into a received belief, in despite of the teeth of all rhyme and reason, that they were fairies. See now, how wit may be made a jack-a-lent, when 'tis upon ill employment!. Eva. Sir John Falstaff, serve Got, and leave your desires, and fairies will not pinse you. Ford. Well said, fairy Hugh. Era. And leave you your jealousies too, I pray you. Ford. I will never mistrust my wife again, till thou art able to woo her in good English. Fal. Have I laid my brain in the sun, and dried it, that it wants matter to prevent so gross o'erreaching as this? Am I ridden with a Welsh goat too! Shall I have a coxcomb of frize? 'Tis time I were choked with a piece of toasted cheese. Eva. Seese is not good to give putter; your pelly is all putter. Fal. Seese and putter! Have I lived to stand at the taunt of one that makes fritters of English? This is enough to be the decay of lust and late-walking, through the realm. Mrs. Page. Why, sir John, do you think, though we would have thrust virtue out of our hearts by the head and shoulders, and have given ourselves without scruple to hell, that ever the devil conld have made you our delight. Ford. What, a hodge-pudding? a bag of flax? Page. Old, cold, withered, and of intolerable entrails? Ford. And one that is as slanderous as Satan? Ford. And as wicked as his wife? Eva. And given to fornications, and to taverns, and sack, and wine, and metheglins, and to drinkings, and swearings, and starings, pribbles and prabbles? Fal. Well, I am your theme: you have the start of me; I am dejected; I am not able to answer the Welsh flannel; ignorance itself is a plummet o'er me: use me as you will. Ford. Marry, sir, we'll bring you to Windsor, to one Master Brook, that you have cozened of money, to whom you should have been a pander: over and above that you have suffered, I think, to repay that money will be a biting affliction. Mrs. Ford. Nay, husband, let that go to make amends: Forgive that sum, and so we'll all be friends. Ford. Well, here's my hand; all's forgiven at last. Page. Yet be cheerful, knight thou shalt eat a posset to-night at my house; where I will desire thee to laugh at my wife, that now laughs at thee: Tell As thoughts do blow them, higher and higher. her, master Slender hath married her daughter. Pinch him, fairies, mutually; Pinch him for his villany; Pinch him, and burn him, and turn him about, Enter Page, Ford, Mrs. Page, and Mrs. Ford. Page. Nay, do not fly: I think, we have watch'd Will none but Herne the hunter serve your turn? Mrs. Page. Doctors doubt that: If Anne Page be my daughter, she is, by this, doctor Caius' wife. Enter Slender. [Aside. Slen. Whoo, ho! ho! father Page! Page. Son! how now? how now, son? have you despatched? Slen. Despatched--I'll make the best in Gloncestershire know on't; would I were hang'd, la, else. Page. Of what, son? Slen. I came yonder at Eton to marry mistress Anne Page, and she's a great lubberly boy: If it had not been i'the church, I would have swinged him, or he should have swinged me. If I did not think it had been Anne Page, would I might never stir, and 'tis a postmaster's boy. Slen. I went to her in white, and cry'd mum, and she cry'd budget, as Anne and I had appointed; and yet it was not Anne, but a postmaster's boy. Eva. Jeshu! Master Slender, cannot you see but marry boys? Page. O, I am vexed at heart: What shall I do ? Mrs. Page. Good George, he not angry: I knew of your purpose; turned my daughter into green; and, indeed, she is now with the doctor at the deanery, and there married. Enter Caius. Caius. Vere is mistress Page! By gar, I am cozened; I ha' married un garcon, a boy; un paisan, by gar, a boy; it is not Anne Page: by gar, I am cozened. Mrs. Page. Why, did you take her in green? Caius. Ay, be gar, and 'tis a boy: be gar, I'll raise all Windsor. (Exit. Ford. This is strange: Who hath got the right Anne? Page. My heart misgives me : Here comes master Fenton. Page. Now, mistress! how chance you went not with master Slender? Mrs. Page. Why went you not with master doctor, maid? Fent. You do amaze her: Hear the truth of it. You would have married her most shamefully, Where there was no proportion held in love. The truth is, she and I, long since contracted, Are now so sure, that nothing can dissolve us. The offence is holy, that she hath committed: And this deceit loses the name of craft, Of disobedience, or unduteous title, Since therein she doth evitate and shun A thousand irreligious cursed hours, Which forced marriage would have brought upon her. Ford. Stand not amaz'd: here is no remedy:In love, the heavens themselves do guide the state; Money buys lands, and wives are sold by fate. Fal. I am glad, though you have ta'en a special stand to strike at me, that your arrow hath glanced. Page. Well, what remedy? Fenton, heaven give thee joy! What cannot be eschew'd, must be embrac'd. Fal. When night-dogs run, all sorts of deer are chas'd. Eva. I will dance and eat plums at your wedding. Mrs. Page. Well, I will muse no further:-Mas ter Fenton, Heaven give you many, many merry days! Good husband, let us every one go home, And laugh this sport o'er by a country fire; Sir John an-l all. Ford. Let it be so sir John, Anne. Pardon, good father, good my mother, par- To master Brook you yet shall hold your word; don! For he, to-night, shall lie with Mrs. Ford. [Exeunt. Twelfth Night; or, What You Will. Orsino, Duke of Illyria. DRAMATIS PERSONE. Sebastian, a young Gentleman, Brother to Viola. Cario, Gentlemen attending on the Duke. Sir Toby Belch, Uncle to Olivia. Malvolio, Steward to Olivia. Lords, Priests, Sailors, Officers, Musicians, and other Attendants. SCENE, a City in Illyria; and the Sea-Coast near it. ACT 1. SCENE I. An Apartment in the Duke's Palace. Even in a minute! so full of shapes is fancy, Cur. Will yon go hunt, my lord? Cur. What, Curio? The hart. And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds, Enter Valentine. Val. 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. Duke. O, she that hath a heart of that fine frame, SCENE II. The Sea-Coast. Illyria, lady. [lors? Vio. And what should I do in Illyria? My brother he is in Elysium. E'er since pursue me.-How now? what news from Perchance, he is not drown'd;-What think you, saiher? Cap. It is perchance, that you yourself were saved. Vio. O my poor brother! and so perchance may (Courage and hope both teaching him the practice) Vio. As in his name. Vio. What is his name? A noble duke, in nature, Orsino. Vio. Orsino! I have heard my father name him: He was a bachelor then. No, not the duke's. 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 Cap. Be you his eunuch, and your mute I'll be: SCENE III. A Room in Olivia's House. Enter Sir Toby Belch and Maria. 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. Sir To. Fie, that you'll say so! he plays o'the viol-de-gambo, and speaks three or four 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; and, but that he hath the gift of a coward to allay the gust he hath in quarreiling, 'tis thought among the prudent, he would quickly have the gift of a grave. 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. 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, till his brains turn o'the toe, like a parish-top. What, wench? Castiliano vulgo; for here comes sir Andrew Ague-face. Enter Sir Andrew Ague-cheek. Sir And. Sir Toby Belch! how now, sir Toby Belch? Sir And. Bless you, fair shrew. Sir To. Accost, sir Andrew, accost. Sir And. What's that? Sir To. My niece's chamber-maid. Sir And. Good mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance. Mar. My name is Mary, sir. Sir And. Good mistress Mary Accost, Sir To. You mistake, knight: accost, is, front her, board her, woo her, assail her. Sir And. By my troth, I would not undertake her in this company. Is that the meaning of accost? Mar. Fare you well, gentlemen. Sir To. An thou let part so, sir Andrew, 'would thou might'st never draw sword again. Sir And. An you part so, mistress, I would I might never draw sword again. Fair lady, do you think you have fools in hand? Mar. Sir, I bave not you by the hand. Sir And. Marry, but you shall have; and here's my hand. Mar. Now, sir, thought is free: I pray you, bring your hand to the buttery-bar, and let it drink. Sir And. Wherefore, sweetheart? what's your metaphor? Mar. It's dry, sir. Sir And. Why, I think so; I am not such an 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? Mar. Ay, sir; I have them at my fingers' ends: marry, now I let go your hand, I am barren. [Exit. Sir To. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of canary: when did I see thee so put down? Sir And. 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 cater of 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. Sir To. Pourquoy, my dear knight? Sir And. What is pourquoy? do or not do? I would I had bestowed that time in the tongues, that have in fencing, dancing, and bear-baiting: O, had I but followed the arts! Mar. By troth, sir Toby, you must come in earlier o'nights; your cousin, my lady, takes great ex-I ceptions to your ill hours. Sir To. Why, let her except before excepted. Mar. Ay, but you must confine yourself within 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 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 of a foolish knight, that you brought in one night here, to be her wooer. Sir To. Who? Sir Andrew Ague-cheek? Sir To. He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria. Sir To. Why, he has three thousand ducats a year. Mar. Ay, but he'll have but a year in all these ducats; he's a very fool, and a prodigal. Sir To. Then hadst thou had an excellent head of hair. Sir And. Why, would that have mended my hair? Sir To. Past question; for thou seest, it will not curl by nature. Sir And. But it becomes me well enough! 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. 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, wooes her. 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. Şir And. 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 To. Art thou good at these kickshaws, 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. 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. 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 them? 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 make water, but in a sinka-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. Sir And. Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a flame-colonred stock. Shall we set about some revels? Sir To. What shall we do else? were we not 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. [Exeunt. Enter Duke, Curio, and Attendants. 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, 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 deny'd access, stand at her doors, 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. Duke. Be clamorous, and leap all civil bounds, Rather than make unprofited returu. Vio. Say, I do speak with her, my lord; what then? Duke. 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 of more grave aspect. Vio. I think not so, my lord. Duke. Mar. Make that good. Clo. He shall see none to fear. 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 to say in your foolery. Clo. Well, God give them wisdom, that have it; and those that are fools, let them use their talents, 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 marriage; and, for turning away, let summer bear it out. Mar. You are resolute then? Clo. Not so neither; but I am resolved on 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 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 were [Exit. best. Enter Olivia and Malvolio. 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 lack thee, may pass for a wise man for what says Quinapalus? Better a witty fool, than a foolish wit.God bless thee, lady! Oli. Take the fool away. Clo. Do you not hear, fellows? take away the lady. Oli. Go to, you are a dry fool; I'll no more of 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 dishonest merd 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 with sin; and sin, that amends, is but patched with virtue: if that this simple syllogism will serve, so; ifit will not, what remedy? As there is no true cuckold but calamity, so beauty's a flower: -the lady bade take away the fool; therefore, I say again, take her away. Oli. Sir, I bade them take away you. Clo. Misprision in the highest degree!-Lady, Cucullus non facit monachum; that's as much as to say, I wear not motley in my brain. Good madonna, give me leave to prove you a fool. Oli. Can you do it? Clo. Dexterously, good madonna. Oli. Make your proof." Clo. I must catechise you for it, madonna; good my mouse of virtue, answer me. Oli. Well, sir, for want of other idleness, I'll 'bide your proof. Clo. Good madonna, why mourn'st thou? Oli. I know his soul is in heaven, fool. Clo. The more fool you, madonna, to mourn for Dear lad, believe it; your brother's soul being in heaven. Take away the fool, gentlemen. For they shall yet belie thy happy years, Is not more smooth and rubious; thy small pipe I know, thy constellation is right apt For this affair :-Some four, or five, attend him; Vio. I'll do my best, SCENE V. A Room in Olivia's House. 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. Clo. Let her hang me: he, that is well hanged in this world, needs to fear no colours. Oli. What think you of this fool, Malvolio? doth he not mend? Mal. Yes; and shall do, till the pangs of 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 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 such a barren rascal: I saw him put down the other day with an ordinary fool, that has no more brain than a stone. Look you now, he is ont of his guard already; unless you laugh and minister occasion to him, he is gagged. I protest, I take these wise men, that crow so at these set kind of fools, no better than the fools' zanies. Oli. O, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and taste with a distempered 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 allowed fool, though he do nothing but rail; nor no railing in a known discreet man, though he do nothing but reprove. Clo. Now Mercury endue thee with leasing, for thou speakest well of fools! Re-enter Maria. Mar. Madam, there is at the gate a young man, much desires to speak with you. Oli. From the count Orsino, is it? 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. Oli. Are you a comedian? Vio. No, my profound heart: and yet, by the very gentle-fangs of malice, I swear, I am not that I play. Are Mar. I know not, madam; 'tis a fair young man, and well attended. Oli. Who of my people hold him in delay! Mar. Sir Toby, Madam, your kinsman. Oli. Fetch him off, I pray you; he speaks nothing but madman: fie on bim! [Exit Maria.] Go you, Malvolio: if it be a suit from the count, I am sick, or not at home; what you will to dismiss it. [Exit Malvolio.] Now you see, sir, how your fooling grows old, and people dislike it. Clo. Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy eldest son should be a fool whose skull Jove cram with brains, for here he comes, one of thy kin, has a most weak pia mater. Enter Sir Toby Belch. Clo. Good sir Toby, Ol. Cousin, cousin, how have you come so early by this lethargy? Sir To. Lechery! I defy lechery: there's one at the gate. Oli. Ay, marry? what is he? Sir To. Let him be the devil, an he will, I care not give me faith, say I. Well, it's all one. [Exit. Oli. What's a drunken man like, fool? Clo. Like a drown'd man, a fool, and a madman: one draught above heat makes him a fool; the second mad's him; and a third drowns him. Oli. Go thou and seek the coroner, and let him sit o'my coz for he's in the third degree of drink, he's drown'd go, look after him. Clo. He is but mad yet, madonna; and the fool shall look to the madman. [Exit. Re-enter Malvolio. Mal. Madam, yond young fellow swears he will speak with you. I told him you were sick; he takes on him to understand so much, and therefore comes to speak with you: I told him you were asleep; he seems to have a fore-knowledge of that too, and therefore comes to speak with you. What is to be said to him, lady? he's fortified against any denial. Oli. Tell him, he shall not speak with me. Mal. He has been told so: and he says, he'll stand at your door like a sheriff's post, and be the supporter of a bench, but he'll speak with you. Oli. What kind of man is he? Oli. What manner of man? Mal. Of very ill manner: he'll speak with you, will you, or no. you the lady of the house? Oli. If I do not usurp myself, I am. yourself; for what is yours to bestow, is not yours Vio. Most certain, if you are she, you do usurp 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. Oli. Come to what is important in't: I forgive you the praise. Vio. Alas, I took great pains to study it, and 'tis poetical. Oli. It is the more like to be feigned; I pray you and allowed your approach, rather to wonder at you keep it in. I heard, you were saucy at my gates: than to hear you. If you be not 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. Mar. Will you hoist sail, sir! here lies your way. Vio. No, good swabber: I am to hull here a little longer. Some mollification for your giant,sweet lady. Oli. Tell me your mind. Vio. I am a messenger. Oli. Sure, you have some hideous matter to deliver, when the courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak your office. Vio. It alone concerns your ear. I bring no overture of war, no taxation of homage; I hold the olive in my hand my words are as full of peace as matter. Ol. Yet you began rudely. What are you? what would you? Vio. 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 maidenhead: to your ears, divinity; to any other's, profanation. Oli. Give us the place alone we will hear this divinity. Exit Maria.] Now, sir, what is your text! Vio. Most sweet lady, Oli. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be said of it. Where lies your text? Vio. In Orsino's bosom. Oli. In his bosom? in what chapter of his bosom? Vio. To answer by the method, in the first of his heart. Oli. O, I have read it; it is heresy. Have you no more to say? Vio. Good madam, let me see your face. Oli. Have you any commission from your lord to negociate 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 as I was this present: is't not well done? [Unveiling. Vio. Excellently done, if God did all. ther. Vio. "Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white Nature's own sweet and canning hand laid on: if you will lead these graces to the grave, Lady, you are the cruel'st she alive, And leave the world no copy. Oli. Of what personage, and years, is he? Mal. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young Oli. O, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted; I will enough for a boy; as a squash is before 'tis a peas- give out divers schedules of my beauty. it shall be cod, or a codling when 'tis almost an apple 'tis inventoried; and every particle, and utensil, labelled with him e'en standing water, between boy and man. to my will: as, item, two lips indifferent red; item, He is very well-favoured, and he speaks very shrew-two grey eyes, with lids to them; item, one neck, ishly one would think, his mother's milk were scarce out of him. Vio. The honourable lady of the house, which is she? Oli. Speak to me, I shall answer for her. Your will? Vio. Most radiant, exquisite, and unmatchable beanty, 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. Good beauties, let me sustain no scorn; I am very comptible, even to the least sinister usage. Óli. Whence came you, sir? Vio. I can say little more than I have studied, and one chin, and so forth. Were you sent hither to 'praise me? Vio. 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 The nonpareil of beauty! Could be but recompens'd, though you were crown'd Oli. Vio. If I did love you in my master's flame, F |