OLIVIA'S Garden. |
|
Enter VIOLA, and Clown with a tabor. |
Vio. Save thee, friend, and thy music. Dost thou live by thy tabor? |
Clo. No, sir, I live by the church. |
Vio. Art thou a churchman? |
Clo. 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. |
Vio. 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. |
Clo. 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 turned outward! |
Vio. Nay, that's certain: they that dally nicely with words may quickly make them wanton. |
Clo. I would therefore my sister had had no name, sir. |
Vio. Why, man? |
Clo. 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 disgraced them. |
Vio. Thy reason, man? |
Clo. Troth, sir, I can yield you none without words; and words are grown so false, I am loath to prove reason with them. |
Vio. I warrant thou art a merry fellow, and carest for nothing. |
Clo. 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. |
Vio. Art not thou the Lady Olivia's fool? |
Clo. 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. |
Vio. I saw thee late at the Count Orsino's. |
Clo. Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun; it shines every where. 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. |
Vio. Nay, an thou pass upon me, I'll no more with thee. Hold, there's sixpence for thee. [Gives a piece of money. |
Clo. Now Jove, in his next commodity of hair, send thee a beard! |
Vio. By my troth, I'll tell thee, I am almost sick for one, though I would not have it grow on my chin. Is thy lady within? |
Clo. [Pointing to the coin.] Would not a pair of these have bred, sir? |
Vio. Yes, being kept together and put to use. |
Clo. I would play Lord Pandarus of Phrygia, sir, to bring a Cressida to this Troilus. |
Vio. I understand you, sir; 'tis well begg'd. |
Clo. The matter, I hope, is not great, sir, begging but a beggar: Cressida was a beggar. My lady is within, sir. I will conster 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 overworn. [Exit. |
Vio. This fellow's 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. |
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Enter SIR TOBY BELCH and SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK. |
Sir To. Save you, gentleman. |
Vio. And you, sir. |
Sir And. Dieu vous garde, monsieur. |
Vio. Et vous aussi; votre serviteur. |
Sir And. I hope, sir, you are; and I am yours. |
Sir To. Will you encounter the house? my niece is desirous you should enter, if your trade be to her. |
Vio. I am bound to your niece, sir: I mean, she is the list of my voyage. |
Sir To. Taste your legs, sir: put them to motion. |
Vio. My legs do better understand me, sir, than I understand what you mean by bidding me taste my legs. |
Sir To. I mean, to go, sir, to enter. |
Vio. I will answer you with gait and entrance. But we are prevented. |
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Enter OLIVIA and MARIA. |
Most excellent accomplished lady, the heavens rain odours on you! |
Sir And. That youth's a rare courtier. 'Rain odours!' well. |
Vio. My matter hath no voice, lady, but to your own most pregnant and vouchsafed ear. |
Sir And. 'Odours,' 'pregnant,' and 'vouchsafed.' I'll get 'em all three all ready. |
Oli. Let the garden door be shut, and leave me to my hearing. [Exeunt SIR TOBY, SIR ANDREW, and MARIA. |
Give me your hand, sir. |
Vio. My duty, madam, and most humble service. |
Oli. What is your name? |
Vio. Cesario is your servant's name, fair princess. |
Oli. My servant, sir! 'Twas never merry world |
Since lowly feigning was call'd compliment. |
You're servant to the Count Orsino, youth. |
Vio. And he is yours, and his must needs be yours: |
Your servant's servant is your servant, madam. |
Oli. For him, I think not on him: for his thoughts, |
Would they were blanks rather than fill'd with me! |
Vio. Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts |
On his behalf. |
Oli. 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. |
Vio. Dear lady,— |
Oli 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, |
Hideth my heart. So, let me hear you speak. |
Vio. I pity you. |
Oli. That's a degree to love. |
Vio. No, not a grize; for 'tis a vulgar proof |
That very oft we pity enemies. |
Oli. Why, then methinks 'tis 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. |
Vio. Then westward-ho! |
Grace and good disposition attend your ladyship! |
You'll nothing, madam, to my lord by me? |
Oli. Stay: |
I prithee, tell me what thou think'st of me. |
Vio. That you do think you are not what you are. |
Oli. If I think so, I think the same of you. |
Vio. Then think you right: I am not what I am. |
Oli. I would you were as I would have you be! |
Vio. Would it be better, madam, than I am? |
I wish it might, for now I am your fool. |
Oli. O! what a deal of scorn looks beautiful |
In the contempt and anger of his lip. |
A murderous 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 giv'n unsought is better. |
Vio. 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. |
Oli. Yet come again, for thou perhaps mayst move |
That heart, which now abhors, to like his love. [Exeunt. |
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