William Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night – Act 2, Scenes 1-3

>>ANTONIO: Will you stay no longer? nor will you not that I go with you?>>SEBASTIAN: By your patience, no. My stars shine darkly over me: the malignancy of my fate might perhaps distemper yours; therefore I shall crave of you your leave that I may bear my evils alone: it were a bad recompense for your love, to lay any of them on you.>>ANTONIO: Tell me whither you are bound.>>SEBASTIAN: No, sooth, sir: my determinate voyage is mere extravagancy. But I perceive in you so excellent a touch of modesty, that you will not extort from me what I am willing to keep in; therefore it charges me in manners the rather to express myself. You must know of me then, Antonio, my name is Sebastian, which I called Roderigo. My father was that Sebastian of Messaline, whom I know you have heard of. He left behind him myself and a sister, both born in an hour: if the heavens had been pleased, would we had so ended! but you, sir, altered that; for some hour before you took me from the breach of the sea was my sister drowned.>>ANTONIO: Alas the day!>>SEBASTIAN: A lady, sir, though it was said she much resembled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful: but, though I could not with such estimable wonder overfar believe that, yet thus far I will boldly publish her; she bore a mind that envy could not but call fair. She is drowned already, sir, with salt water, though I seem to drown her remembrance again with more.>>ANTONIO: Pardon me, sir, your bad entertainment.>>SEBASTIAN: O good Antonio, forgive me your trouble.>>ANTONIO: If you will not murder me for my love, let me be your servant.>>SEBASTIAN: If you will not undo what you have done, that is, kill him whom you have recovered, desire it not. Fare ye well at once: my bosom is full of kindness, and I am yet so near the manners of my mother, that upon the least occasion more mine eyes will tell tales of me. I am bound to the Count Orsino’s court: farewell.>>ANTONIO: The gentleness of all the gods go with thee! I have many enemies in Orsino’s court, Else would I very shortly see thee there. But, come what may, That danger shall seem sport, and I will go. ->>MALVOLIO: Were not you even now with the Countess Olivia?>>VIOLA: Even now, on a moderate pace I have since arrived but hither.>>MALVOLIO: She returns this ring to you, sir: you might have saved me my pains, to have taken it away yourself. – She adds, moreover, that you should put your lord into a desperate assurance she will none of him: – and one thing more, that you be never so hardy to come again in his affairs, unless it be to report your lord’s taking of this. Receive it so.>>VIOLA: She took the ring of me: I’ll none of it.>>MALVOLIO: Come, sir, you peevishly threw it to her; and her will is, it should be so returned: if it be worth stooping for, there it lies in your eye; if not, be it his that finds it.>>VIOLA: I left no ring with her: what means this lady? Fortune forbid my outside have not charm’d her! She made good view of me; indeed, so much, Methought her eyes had lost her tongue, For she did speak in starts distractedly. She loves me, sure; the cunning of her passion Invites me in this churlish messenger. None of my lord’s ring! why, he sent her none. I am the man: if it be so, as ’tis, Poor lady, she were better love a dream. Disguise, I see, thou art a wickedness, Wherein the pregnant enemy does much. How easy is it for the proper-false In women’s waxen hearts to set their forms! Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we! For such as we are made of, such we be. How will this fadge? my master loves her dearly; And I, poor monster, fond as much on him; And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me. What will become of this? As I am man, My state is desperate for my master’s love; As I am woman,–now alas the day!– What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe! O time! thou must unravel this, not I; It is too hard a knot for me to untie! ->>SIR TOBY BELCH: Approach, Sir Andrew: not to be abed after midnight is to be up betimes; and ‘diluculo surgere,’ thou know’st,–>>SIR ANDREW: Nay, my troth, I know not: but I know, to be up late is to be up late.>>SIR TOBY BELCH: A false conclusion: I hate it as an unfilled can. To be up after midnight and to go to bed then, is early: And so to go to bed after midnight is to go to bed betimes. Does not our life consist of the four elements?>>SIR ANDREW: Faith, so they say; but I think it rather consists of eating and drinking.>>SIR TOBY BELCH: Thou’rt a scholar; let us therefore eat and drink. Marian, I say! a stoup of wine!>>SIR ANDREW: Here comes the fool, i’ faith.>>FESTE: How now, my hearts! Did you never see the picture of ‘we three’?>>SIR TOBY BELCH: Welcome, ass. Now let’s have a catch.>>SIR ANDREW: By my troth, the fool has an excellent breast. I had rather than forty shillings I had such a leg, and so sweet a breath to sing, as the fool has. In sooth, thou wast in very gracious fooling last night, when thou spokest of Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians passing the equinoctial of Queubus: ’twas very good, i’ faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy leman: hadst it?>>FESTE: I did impeticos thy gratillity; for Malvolio’s nose is no whipstock: my lady has a white hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses.>>SIR ANDREW: Excellent! why, this is the best fooling, when all is done. Now, a song.>>SIR TOBY BELCH: Come on; there is sixpence for you: let’s have a song.>>SIR ANDREW: There’s a testril of me too: if one knight give a–>>FESTE: Would you have a love-song, or a song of good life?>>SIR TOBY BELCH: A love-song, a love-song.>>SIR ANDREW: Ay, ay: I care not for good life.>>FESTE: [Sings] ~O mistress mine, where are you roaming?~ ~O, stay and hear; your true love’s coming,~ ~That can sing both high and low:~ ~That can sing both high and low:~ ~Trip no further, pretty sweeting;~ ~Journeys end in lovers meeting,~ ~Every wise man’s son doth know.~>>SIR ANDREW: Excellent good, i’ faith.>>SIR TOBY BELCH: Good, good.>>FESTE: [Sings] ~What is love? ’tis not hereafter;~ ~Present mirth hath present laughter;~ ~What’s to come is still unsure:~ ~In delay there lies no plenty;~ ~Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty,~ ~Youth’s a stuff will not endure.~>>SIR ANDREW: A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight.>>SIR TOBY BELCH: A contagious breath.>>SIR ANDREW: Very sweet and contagious.>>SIR TOBY BELCH: To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion. But shall we make the welkin dance indeed? shall we raise the night-owl in a catch that will draw three souls out of one weaver? shall we do that?>>SIR ANDREW: An you love me, let’s do’t: I am dog at a catch.>>FESTE: By’r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well.>>SIR ANDREW: Most certain. Let our catch be, ‘Thou knave.’>>FESTE: ‘Hold thy peace, thou knave,’ knight? I shall be constrained in’t to call thee knave, knight.>>SIR ANDREW: ‘Tis not the first time I have constrained one to call me knave. Begin, fool: it begins ‘Hold thy peace.’>>FESTE: I shall never begin if I hold my peace.>>SIR ANDREW: Good, good. Come, begin.>>ALL THRE: [Sing] ~Hold thy peace, thou knave!~>>MARIA: What a caterwauling do you keep here! If my lady have not called up her steward Malvolio and bid him turn you out of doors, never trust me.>>SIR TOBY BELCH: My lady’s a Cataian, we are politicians, Malvolio’s a Peg-a-Ramsey, and [Sings] ~Three merry men be we.~ Am not I consanguineous? am I not of her blood? Tillyvally. Lady! [Sings] ~There dwelt a man in Babylon, lady, lady!~>>FESTE: Beshrew me, the knight’s in admirable fooling.>>SIR ANDREW: Ay, he does well enough if he be disposed, and so do I too: he does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural. ->>SIR TOBY BELCH: [Sings] ~On the twelfth day of December,~>>MARIA: For the love o’ God, peace!>>MALVOLIO: My masters, are you mad? or what are you? Have ye no wit, manners, nor honesty, but to gabble like tinkers at this time of night? Do ye make an alehouse of my lady’s house, that ye squeak out your coziers’ catches without any mitigation or remorse of voice? Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time in you? ->>SIR TOBY BELCH: We did keep time, sir, in our catches. Sneck up!>>MALVOLIO: Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My lady bade me tell you, that, though she harbours you as her kinsman, she’s nothing allied to your disorders. If you can separate yourself and your misdemeanors, you are welcome to the house; if not, an it would please you to take leave of her, she is very willing to bid you farewell.>>SIR TOBY BELCH: [Sings] ~Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs be gone.~>>MARIA: Nay, good Sir Toby.>>FESTE: ~His eyes do show his days are almost done.~>>MALVOLIO: Is’t even so?>>SIR TOBY BELCH: ~But I will never die.~>>FESTE: ~Sir Toby, there you lie.~>>MALVOLIO: This is much credit to you.>>SIR TOBY BELCH: ~Shall I bid him go?~>>FESTE: ~What an if you do?~>>SIR TOBY BELCH: ~Shall I bid him go, and spare not?~>>FESTE: ~O no, no, no, no, you dare not.~>>SIR TOBY BELCH: Out o’ tune, sir: you lie. Art any more than a steward? Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, that there will be no more cakes and ale?>>FESTE: Yes, by Saint Anne, and ginger shall be hot i’ the mouth too.>>SIR TOBY BELCH: Thou’rt i’ the right. Go, sir, rub your chain with crumbs. A stoup of wine, Maria!>>MALVOLIO: Mistress Mary, if you prized my lady’s favour at anything more than contempt, you would not give means for this uncivil rule: she shall know of it, by this hand.>>MARIA: Go shake your ears. ->>SIR ANDREW: ‘Twere as good a deed as to drink when a man’s hungry, to challenge him the field, and then to break promise with him and make a fool of him.>>SIR TOBY BELCH: Do’t, knight: I’ll write thee a challenge: or I’ll deliver thy indignation to him by word of mouth.>>MARIA: Sweet Sir Toby, be patient for tonight: since the youth of the count’s was today with thy lady, she is much out of quiet. For Monsieur Malvolio, let me alone with him: if I do not gull him into a nayword, and make him a common recreation, do not think I have wit enough to lie straight in my bed: I know I can do it.>>SIR TOBY BELCH: Possess us, possess us; tell us something of him.>>MARIA: Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of puritan.>>SIR ANDREW: O, if I thought that I’d beat him like a dog!>>SIR TOBY BELCH: What, for being a puritan, knight? Thy exquisite reason, dear knight?>>SIR ANDREW: I have no exquisite reason for’t, but I have reason good enough.>>MARIA: The devil a puritan that he is, or anything constantly, but a time-pleaser; an affectioned ass, that cons state without book and utters it by great swarths: the best persuaded of himself, so crammed, as he thinks, with excellencies, that it is his grounds of faith that all that look on him love him; and on that vice in him shall my revenge find notable cause to work.>>SIR TOBY BELCH: What wilt thou do?>>MARIA: I will drop in his way some obscure epistles of love; wherein, the colour of his beard, the shape of his leg, the manner of his gait, the expressure of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he shall find himself most feelingly personated. I can write very like my lady your niece: on a forgotten matter we can hardly make distinction of our hands.>>SIR TOBY BELCH: Excellent! I smell a device.>>SIR ANDREW: I have’t in my nose too.>>SIR TOBY BELCH: He shall think, by the letters that thou wilt drop, that they come from my niece, and that she’s in love with him.>>MARIA: My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour.>>SIR ANDREW: And your horse now would make him an ass.>>MARIA: Ass, I doubt not.>>SIR ANDREW: O, ’twill be admirable!>>MARIA: Sport royal, I warrant you: I know my physic will work with him. I will plant you two, and let the fool make a third, where he shall find the letter: observe his construction of it. For this night, to bed, and dream on the event. Farewell.>>SIR TOBY BELCH: Good night, Penthesilea.>>SIR ANDREW: Before me, she’s a good wench.>>SIR TOBY BELCH: She’s a beagle, true-bred, and one that adores me: what o’ that?>>SIR ANDREW: I was adored once too.>>SIR TOBY BELCH: Let’s to bed, knight. Thou hadst need send for more money.>>SIR ANDREW: If I cannot recover your niece, I am a foul way out.>>SIR TOBY BELCH: Send for more money, knight: if thou hast her not i’ the end, call me cut. ->>SIR ANDREW: If I do not, never trust me, take it how you will.>>SIR TOBY BELCH: Come, come, I’ll go burn some sack; ‘Tis too late to go to bed now: come, knight; come, knight. undefined

Add a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *