Mr. VVilliam Shakespeares comedies, histories, & tragedies Published according to the true originall copies.

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^t 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 Iacke 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: be∣sides 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 a∣mends, is but patcht with vertue. If that this simple Sillogisme will serue, so: if it will not, vvhat 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 ficke of selfe-loue Maluolio, and taste with a distemper'd appetite. To be generous, guitlesse, and of free disposition, is to take those things for Bird-bolts, that you deeme Cannon bullets: There is no slan∣der 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 Gentle∣man, 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, & peo∣ple 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 wa∣ter, 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.

Exit.

Enter Maria.

Ol.

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

Enter Ʋiolenta.

Vio.

The honorable Ladie of the house, which is she?

Ol.

Speake to me, I shall answer for her: your will.

Ʋio.

Most radiant, exquisite, and vnmatchable beau∣tie. 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 su∣staine 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

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.

Ʋio.

Most certaine, if you are she, you do vsurp your selfe: for what is yours to bestowe, is, not yours to re∣serue. But this is from my Commission: I will on with my speech in your praise, and then shew you the heart of my message.

Ol.

Come to what is important in't: I forgiue you the praise.

Vio.

Alas, I tooke great paines to studie it, and 'tis Poeticall.

Ol.

It is the more like to be feigned, I pray you keep it in. I heard you were sawcy at my gates, & allowd your approach rather to wonder at you, then to heare you. If you be not mad, be gone: if you haue reason, be breefe: 'tis not that time of Moone with me, to make one in so skipping a dialogue.

Ma.

Will you hoyst sayle sir, here lies your way.

Vio.

No good swabber, I am to hull here a little lon∣ger. Some mollification for your Giant, sweete Ladie; tell me your minde, I am a messenger.

Ol.

Sure you haue some hiddeous matter to deliuer, when the curtesie of it is so fearefull. Speake your office.

Vio.

It alone concernes your eare: I bring no ouer∣ture of warre, no taxation of homage; I hold the Olyffe 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 rudenesse that hath appear'd in mee, haue I learn'd from my entertainment. What I am, and what I would, are as secret as maiden-head: to your eares, Di∣uinity; to any others, prophanation.

Ol.

Giue vs the place alone, We will heare this diuinitie. Now sir, what is your text?

Vio.

Most sweet Ladie.

Ol.

A comfortable doctrine, and much may bee saide of it. Where lies your Text?

Vio.

In Orsinoes bosome.

Ol.

In his bosome? In what chapter of his bosome?

Vio.

To answer by the method in the first of his hart.

Ol.

O, I haue read it: it is heresie. Haue you no more to say?

Vio.

Good Madam, let me see your face.

Ol.

Haue you any Commission from your Lord, to negotiate with my face: you are now out of your Text: but we will draw the Curtain, and shew you the picture. Looke you sir, such a one I was this present: Ist not well done?

Ʋio.

Excellently done, if God did all.

Ol.

'Tis in graine sir, 'twill endure winde and wea∣ther.

Vio.

Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white, Natures owne sweet, and cunning hand laid on: Lady, you are the cruell'st shee aliue, If you will leade these graces to the graue, And leaue the world no copie.

Ol.

O sir, I will not be so hard-hearted: I will giue out diuers scedules of my beautie. It shalbe Inuentoried and euery particle and vtensile labell'd to my will: As, Item two lippes indifferent redde, Item two grey eyes, with lids to them: Item, one necke, one chin, & 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 diuell, you are faire: My Lord, and master loues you: O such loue Could be but recompenc'd, though you were crown'd The non-pareil of beautie.

Ol.

How does he loue me?

Vio.

With adorations, fertill teares, With groanes that thunder loue, with sighes of fire.

Ol.

Your Lord does know my mind, I cannot loue him Yet I suppose him vertuous, know him noble, Of great estate, of fresh and stainlesse youth; In voyces well divulg'd, free, learn'd, and valiant, And in dimension, and the shape of nature, A gracious person; But yet I cannot loue him: He might haue tooke his answer long ago.

Vio.

If I did loue you in my masters flame, With such a suffring, such a deadly life: In your deniall, I would finde no sence, I would not vnderstand it.

Ol.

Why, what would you?

Vio.

Make me a willow Cabine at your gate, And call vpon my soule within the house, Write loyall Cantons of contemned loue, And sing them lowd euen in the dead of night: Hallow your name to the reuerberate hilles, And make the babling Gossip of the aire, Cry out Oliuia: O you should not rest Betweene the elements of ayre, and earth, But you should pittie me.

Ol.

You might do much: What is your Parentage?

Vio.

Aboue my fortunes, yet my state is well: I am a Gentleman.

Ol.

Get you to your Lord: I cannot loue him: let him send no more, Vnlesse (perchance) you come to me againe, To tell me how he takes it: Fare you well: I thanke you for your paines: spend this for mee.

Vio.

I am no feede poast, Lady; keepe your purse, My Master, not my selfe, lackes recompence. Loue make his heart of flint, that you shal loue, And let your feruour like my masters be, Plac'd in contempt: Farwell fayre crueltie.

Exit

Ol.

What is your Parentage? Aboue my fortunes, yet my state is well; I am a Gentleman. Ile be sworne thou art, Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbes, actions, and spirit. Do giue thee fiue-fold blazon: not too fast: soft, soft, Vnlesse the Master were the man. How now? Euen so quickly may one catch the plague? Me thinkes I feele this youths perfections With an inuisible, and subtle stealth To creepe in at mine eyes. Well, let it be. What hoa, Maluolio.

Enter Maluolio.

Mal.

Heere Madam, at your seruice.

Ol.

Run after that same peeuish Messenger The Countes man: he left this Ring behinde him Would I, or not: tell him, Ile none of it. Desire him not to flatter with his Lord, Nor hold him vp with hopes, I am not for him: If that the youth will come this way to morrow, Ile giue him reasons for't: hie thee Maluolio.

Mal.

Madam, I will.

Exit.

Ol.

I do I know not what, and feare to finde Mine eye too great a flatterer for my minde:

Fate, shew thy force, our selues we do not owe, What is decreed, must be: and be this so.