Twelfth Night — Act 3
ACT III. SCENE I.
OLIVIA'S garden.
[Enter VIOLA, and CLOWN with a tabor.
] VIOLA.
Save thee, friend, and thy music!
dost thou live by thy tabor?
CLOWN.
No, sir, I live by the church.
VIOLA.
Art thou a churchman?
CLOWN.
No such matter, sir: I do live by the church; for I do live at my house, and my house doth stand by the church.
VIOLA.
So thou mayst say, the king lies by a beggar, if a beggar dwell near him; or the church stands by thy tabor, if thy tabor stand by the church.
CLOWN.
You have said, sir.
To see this age!
A sentence is but a cheveril glove to a good wit; how quickly the wrong side may be turn'd outward!
VIOLA.
Nay, that's certain; they that dally nicely with words may quickly make them wanton.
CLOWN.
I would, therefore, my sister had had no name, sir.
VIOLA.
Why, man?
CLOWN.
Why, sir, her name's a word; and to dally with that word might make my sister wanton.
But, indeed, words are very rascals since bonds disgrac'd them.
VIOLA.
Thy reason, man?
CLOWN.
Troth, sir, I can yield you none without words; and words are grown so false, I am loth to prove reason with them.
VIOLA.
I warrant thou art a merry fellow, and car'st for nothing.
CLOWN.
Not so, sir; I do care for something; but in my conscience, sir, I do not care for you: if that be to care for nothing, sir, I would it would make you invisible.
VIOLA.
Art not thou the Lady Olivia's fool?
CLOWN.
No, indeed, sir; the Lady Olivia has no folly: she will keep no fool, sir, till she be married; and fools are as like husbands as pilchards are to herrings, the husband's the bigger.
I am, indeed, not her fool, but her corrupter of words.
VIOLA.
I saw thee late at the Count Orsino's. CLOWN.
Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun, it shines everywhere.
I would be sorry, sir, but the fool should be as oft with your master as with my mistress.
I think I saw your wisdom there.
VIOLA.
Nay, and thou pass upon me, I'll no more with thee.
Hold, there's expenses for thee.
CLOWN.
Now Jove, in his next commodity of hair, send thee a beard!
VIOLA.
By my troth, I'll tell thee, I am almost sick for one; [Aside] though I would not have it grow on my chin.
Is thy lady within?
CLOWN.
Would not a pair of these have bred, sir?
VIOLA.
Yes, being kept together and put to use.
CLOWN.
I would play Lord Pandarus of Phrygia, sir, to bring a Cressida to this Troilus.
VIOLA.
I understand you, sir; 't is well begg'd. CLOWN.
The matter, I hope, is not great, sir, begging but a beggar.
Cressida was a beggar.
My lady is within, sir.
I will construe to them whence you come; who you are and what you would are out of my welkin,-- I might say 'element,' but the word is over-worn.
[Exit.
] VIOLA.
This fellow is wise enough to play the fool;
And to do that well craves a kind of wit: He must observe their mood on whom he jests, The quality of persons, and the time;
And, like the haggard, check at every feather That comes before his eye.
This is a practice As full of labour as a wise man's art: For folly that he wisely shows is fit;
But wise men, folly-fall'n, quite taint their wit.
[Enter SIR TOBY and SIR ANDREW.
] SIR TOBY.
Save you, gentleman!
VIOLA.
And you, sir.
SIR ANDREW.
Dieu vous garde, monsieur.
VIOLA.
Et vous aussi; votre serviteur.
SIR ANDREW.
I hope, sir, you are; and I am yours.
SIR TOBY.
Will you encounter the house?
my niece is desirous you should enter, if your trade be to her.
VIOLA.
I am bound to your niece, sir; I mean, she is the list of my voyage.
SIR TOBY.
Taste your legs, sir; put them to motion.
VIOLA.
My legs do better understand me, sir, than I understand what you mean by bidding me taste my legs.
SIR TOBY.
I mean, to go, sir, to enter.
VIOLA.
I will answer you with gait and entrance.
But we are prevented.
[Enter OLIVIA and MARIA.
] Most excellent accomplish'd lady, the heavens rain odours on you!
SIR ANDREW.
That youth's a rare courtier.
'Rain odours'; well.
VIOLA.
My matter hath no voice, lady, but to your own most pregnant and vouchsafed ear.
SIR ANDREW.
'Odours,' 'pregnant,' and 'vouchsafed': I'll get 'em all three all ready.
OLIVIA.
Let the garden door be shut, and leave me to my hearing.
[Exeunt SIR TOBY, SIR ANDREW, and MARIA.
] Give me your hand, sir.
VIOLA.
My duty, madam, and most humble service.
OLIVIA.
What is your name?
VIOLA.
Cesario is your servant's name, fair princess.
OLIVIA.
My servant, sir!
'T was never merry world Since lowly feigning was call'd compliment;
You're servant to the Count Orsino, youth.
VIOLA.
And he is yours, and his must needs be yours;
Your servant's servant is your servant, madam.
OLIVIA.
For him, I think not on him; for his thoughts, Would they were blanks, rather than fill'd with me!
VIOLA.
Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts On his behalf.
OLIVIA.
O, by your leave, I pray you, I bade you never speak again of him;
But, would you undertake another suit, I had rather hear you to solicit that Than music from the spheres.
VIOLA.
Dear lady,-- OLIVIA.
Give me leave, beseech you.
I did send, After the last enchantment you did here, A ring in chase of you; so did I abuse Myself, my servant, and, I fear me, you.
Under your hard construction must I sit, To force that on you, in a shameful cunning, Which you knew none of yours; what might you think?
Have you not set mine honour at the stake, And baited it with all th' unmuzzled thoughts That tyrannous heart can think?
To one of your receiving Enough is shown.
A cypress, not a bosom, Hides my heart.
So, let me hear you speak.
VIOLA.
I pity you.
OLIVIA.
That's a degree to love.
VIOLA.
No, not a grize; for 't is a vulgar proof, That very oft we pity enemies.
OLIVIA.
Why, then methinks 't is time to smile again.
O world, how apt the poor are to be proud!
If one should be a prey, how much the better To fall before the lion than the wolf!
[Clock strikes] The clock upbraids me with the waste of time.
Be not afraid, good youth, I will not have you;
And yet, when wit and youth is come to harvest, Your wife is like to reap a proper man.
There lies your way, due west.
VIOLA.
Then westward-ho!
Grace and good disposition Attend your ladyship!
You'll nothing, madam, to my lord by me?
OLIVIA.
Stay: I prithee, tell me what thou think'st of me.
VIOLA.
That you do think you are not what you are.
OLIVIA.
If I think so, I think the same of you.
VIOLA.
Then think you right; I am not what I am.
OLIVIA.
I would you were as I would have you be!
VIOLA.
Would it be better, madam, than I am?
I wish it might, for now I am your fool.
OLIVIA.
O, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful In the contempt and anger of his lip!
A murd'rous guilt shows not itself more soon Than love that would seem hid; love's night is noon.
Cesario, by the roses of the spring, By maidhood, honour, truth, and every thing, I love thee so, that, maugre all thy pride, Nor wit nor reason can my passion hide.
Do not extort thy reasons from this clause, For that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause;
But rather reason thus with reason fetter, Love sought is good, but given unsought is better.
VIOLA.
By innocence I swear, and by my youth, I have one heart, one bosom, and one truth, And that no woman has; nor never none Shall mistress be of it, save I alone.
And so adieu, good madam; never more Will I my master's tears to you deplore.
OLIVIA.
Yet come again; for thou perhaps mayst move That heart, which now abhors, to like his love.
[Exeunt.
] SCENE II.
OLIVIA'S house [Enter SIR TOBY, SIR ANDREW and FABIAN.
] SIR ANDREW.
No, faith, I'll not stay a jot longer.
SIR TOBY.
Thy reason, dear venom, give thy reason.
FABIAN.
You must needs yield your reason, Sir Andrew.
SIR ANDREW.
Marry, I saw your niece do more favours to the count's serving-man than ever she bestow'd upon me; I saw 't i' th' orchard.
SIR TOBY.
Did she see thee the while, old boy?
tell me that.
SIR ANDREW.
As plain as I see you now.
FABIAN.
This was a great argument of love in her toward you.
SIR ANDREW.
'Slight, will you make an ass o' me?
FABIAN.
I will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the oaths of judgment and reason.
SIR TOBY.
And they have been grand-jurymen since before Noah was a sailor.
FABIAN.
She did show favour to the youth in your sight only to exasperate you, to awake your dormouse valour, to put fire in your heart, and brimstone in your liver.
You should then have accosted her;
and with some excellent jests, fire-new from the mint, you should have bang'd the youth into dumbness.
This was look'd for at your hand, and this was balk'd: the double gilt of this opportunity you let time wash off, and you are now sail'd into the north of my lady's opinion; where you will hang like an icicle on Dutchman's beard, unless you do redeem it by some laudable attempt either of valour or policy.
SIR ANDREW.
And't be any way, it must be with valour; for policy I hate: I had as lief be a Brownist as a politician.
SIR TOBY.
Why, then, build me thy fortunes upon the basis of valour.
Challenge me the count's youth to fight with him; hurt him in eleven places: my niece shall take note of it; and assure thyself, there is no love-broker in the world can more prevail in man's commendation with woman than report of valour.
FABIAN.
There is no way but this, Sir Andrew.
SIR ANDREW.
Will either of you bear me a challenge to him?
SIR TOBY.
Go, write it in a martial hand; be curst and brief; it is no matter how witty, so it be eloquent and full of invention; taunt him with the license of ink; if thou thou'st him some thrice, it shall not be amiss; and as many lies as will lie in thy sheet of paper, although the sheet were big enough for the bed of Ware in England, set 'em down: go, about it.
Let there be gall enough in thy ink; though thou write with a goose-pen, no matter: about it.
SIR ANDREW.
Where shall I find you?
SIR TOBY.
We'll call thee at the cubiculo.
Go.
[Exit SIR ANDREW.
] FABIAN.
This is a dear manakin to you, Sir Toby.
SIR TOBY.
I have been dear to him, lad, some two thousand strong, or so.
FABIAN.
We shall have a rare letter from him; but you'll not deliver 't?
SIR TOBY.
Never trust me, then; and by all means stir on the youth to an answer.
I think oxen and wain-ropes cannot hale them together.
For Andrew, if he were open'd, and you find so much blood in his liver as will clog the foot of a flea, I'll eat the rest of th' anatomy.
FABIAN.
And his opposite, the youth, bears in his visage no great presage of cruelty.
SIR TOBY.
Look where the youngest wren of nine comes.
[Enter MARIA.
] MARIA.
If you desire the spleen, and will laugh yourselves into stitches, follow me.
Yond gull Malvolio is turn'd heathen, a very renegado; for there is no Christian, that means to be sav'd by believing rightly, can ever believe such impossible passages of grossness.
He's in yellow stockings.
SIR TOBY.
And cross-garter'd?
MARIA.
Most villainously; like a pedant that keeps a school i' th' church.
I have dogg'd him, like his murderer.
He does obey every point of the letter that I dropp'd to betray him; he does smile his face into more lines than is in the new map, with the augmentation of the Indies: you have not seen such a thing as 't is.
I can hardly forbear hurling things at him.
I know my lady will strike him; if she do, he'll smile, and take 't for a great favour.
SIR TOBY.
Come, bring us, bring us where he is.
[Exeunt.
] SCENE III.
A street [Enter SEBASTIAN and ANTONIO.
] SEBASTIAN.
I would not by my will have troubled you;
But, since you make your pleasure of your pains, I will no further chide you.
ANTONIO.
I could not stay behind you: my desire, More sharp than filed steel, did spur me forth;
And not all love to see you, though so much As might have drawn one to a longer voyage, But jealousy what might befall your travel, Being skilless in these parts; which to a stranger, Unguided and unfriended, often prove Rough and unhospitable.
My willing love, The rather by these arguments of fear, Set forth in your pursuit.
SEBASTIAN.
My kind Antonio, I can no other answer make but thanks, And thanks, and ever thanks; too oft good turns Are shuffl'd off with such uncurrent pay: But, were my worth as is my conscience firm, You should find better dealing.
What's to do?
Shall we go see the reliques of this town?
ANTONIO.
To-morrow, sir; best first go see your lodging.
SEBASTIAN.
I am not weary, and 't is long to night;
I pray you, let us satisfy our eyes With the memorials and the things of fame That do renown this city.
ANTONIO.
Would you'd pardon me;
I do not without danger walk these streets.
Once, in a sea-fight, 'gainst the count his galleys I did some service; of such note indeed, That, were I ta'en here, it would scarce be answer'd. SEBASTIAN.
Belike you slew great number of his people.
ANTONIO.
Th' offence is not of such a bloody nature;
Albeit the quality of the time and quarrel Might well have given us bloody argument.
It might have since been answer'd in repaying What we took from them; which, for traffic's sake, Most of our city did: only myself stood out;
For which, if I be lapsed in this place, I shall pay dear.
SEBASTIAN.
Do not then walk too open.
ANTONIO.
It doth not fit me.
Hold, sir, here's my purse.
In the south suburbs, at the Elephant, Is best to lodge.
I will bespeak our diet, Whiles you beguile the time and feed your knowledge With viewing of the town; there shall you have me.
SEBASTIAN.
Why I your purse?
ANTONIO.
Haply your eye shall light upon some toy You have desire to purchase; and your store, I think, is not for idle markets, sir.
SEBASTIAN.
I'll be your purse-bearer, and leave you For an hour.
ANTONIO.
