[No audible sound]
Man: ¶ I'll tell thee a tale ¶
¶ now list' to me ¶
¶ with a hey, ho ¶
¶ the wind and the rain ¶
¶ but merry or sad ¶
¶ which shall it be? ¶
¶ for the rain it raineth every day ¶
man: Once upon twelfth night,
or what you will,
aboard a ship bound home to messaline,
the festive company,
dressed for masquerade and singing songs each other to amuse,
delight above the rest in two young twins...
Twins: ¶ o mistress mine, where are you roaming? ¶
¶ o, stay and hear ¶
¶ your true love's ¶
¶ coming ¶
¶ that can sing both high and... ¶
[singing with low voice] ¶ low ¶
¶ that can sing both high and... ¶
[singing with low voice] ¶ low ¶
[audience laughs]
[Laughter]
[Thunderous crash]
Man: The storm has forced their vessel from its course,
and now they strike upon submerged rocks.
Man: Uncertain what to leave and what to save,
brother and sister, orphaned since their father's death,
have but themselves alone in all the world.
[Thunder]
[Men shouting]
Brother: No!
No!
Man: Deep currents and the sinking bark above them
divide what naught had ever kept apart.
[Sister shouting]
The poor survivors reach an alien shore.
For messaline...
With this country...
Is at war.
What country, friends, is this?
This is illyria, lady.
And what should I do in illyria?
My brother...
He is in elysium.
[Sobbing]
Perchance he is not drowned.
My lady viola,
it is perchance that you yourself were saved.
[Sobbing] My poor brother!
Viola: Sebastian!
Sebastian!
[Horse neighing]
The war between the merchants here and ours
too oft has given us bloody argument.
We must not be discovered in this place.
[Humming]
Who governs here?
The Duke...
Orsino.
I have heard my father name him.
He was a bachelor then.
And so is now,
or was so very late.
'Tis said no woman may approach his court, but a month ago
'twas fresh in murmur that he did seek the love of fair Olivia.
[Rustling]
[Woman crying]
Viola: What's she?
That same Olivia,
the daughter of a count who died some twelvemonth since.
[Olivia crying]
Her brother has lately also died.
For whose dear love, they say, she hath abjured
the sight and company of men.
[Crying]
O, that I served that lady.
That were hard to compass,
because she will admit no kind of suit,
no, not the Duke's.
I prithee, be my aid for such disguise
as haply shall become the form of my intent.
I'll serve this Duke.
I shall present me as a boy to him.
It may be worth thy pains:
For I can sing, and speak to him in many sorts of music,
that will allow me very worth his service.
Ohh.
I thank thee.
[Viola gasping]
[Gasping]
[Yawn]
[Piano playing soft melody]
If music be the food of love, play on.
Give me...
Excess of it;
that, surfeiting, the appetite may sicken, and so...
Die.
[Piano playing]
That strain again.
[Stops playing]
It had a dying fall.
O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound
that breathes upon a bank of violets;
stealing and giving odor.
[Resumes playing]
Enough.
[Continues playing]
No more!
'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.
How now? What news from Olivia?
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..."
"all this to season a brother's dead love,
which she would keep fresh and lasting, in her sad remembrance."
O, she that hath a heart of that fine frame
to pay this debt of love but to a brother...
My lord orsino...
[Swords clashing]
Ahem.
Viola: Here comes the count!
Who saw cesario, hmm?
Viola: On your attendance, my lord, here.
Cesario...
Duke: Thou know'st no less but all:
I have unclasped to thee the book even of my secret soul.
Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her,
stand at her doors, and tell them,
there thy fixed foot shall grow till thou have audience.
Sure, my noble lord,
if she be so abandoned to her sorrow as it is spake,
she never will admit me.
Be clamorous and leap all civil bounds.
Say I do speak with her, my lord, what then?
O, then unfold the passion of my love;
it shall become thee well to act my woes;
she will attend it better in thy youth.
I think not so, my lord.
Dear lad, believe it.
For they shall yet belie thy happy years, that say thou art a man.
Ahem.
Diana's lip is not more smooth and rubious;
thy small pipe is as a woman's organ, shrill and sound...
and all is semblative a woman's part.
Uhh!
[Moaning]
I know thy constellation is right apt for this affair.
Duke: Some three or four attend him.
[Snoring]
By my troth, sir Toby, you must come in earlier o' nights.
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.
Who? Sir Andrew aguecheek?
Ay, he.
He's as tall a man as any's in illyria.
What's that to th' purpose?
He has 3,000 ducats a year.
He speaks three or four languages word for word without book...
he's a fool.
He's a great quarreler: And but that he hath the gift of a coward,
'tis thought he would quickly have the gift of a grave.
Man: Sir Toby belch!
Sir Andrew agueface!
How now, sir Toby belch?
Sweet sir Andrew!
[Laughter]
Bless you, fair shrew.
And you too, sir.
Accost, sir Andrew, accost.
What's that?
My niece's chambermaid.
O, good mistress accost, I desire better acquaintance.
My name is Mary, sir.
Good mistress Mary accost.
[Women giggling]
Uh, "accost" is... is front her,
board her, woo her,
assail her.
Fare you well, gentlemen.
Is that the meaning of "accost"?
Mmm. Know it.
When did I see thee so put down?
What a plague means my niece, to take the death of her brother thus?
I am sure care's an enemy to life.
I'll ride home tomorrow, sir Toby.
Pourquoi, my dear knight?
What is pourquoi?
Do or not do?
I would I had bestowed that time in the tongues,
that I have in fencing and dancing.
O, had I but followed the arts!
Faith, I'll home tomorrow, 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 woos her.
She'll none o'th' count...
she'll not match above her degree;
I've heard her swear't.
Tut, there's life in't, man!
I'll stay a month longer...
I am a fellow o'th' strangest mind I'th' world:
I delight in masques and revels sometimes altogether.
Art thou good at these kickshawses, knight?
Faith, I can cut a caper,
and I think I have the back-trick
simply as strong as any man in illyria.
[Begins playing]
Wherefore are these things hid?
Wherefore have these gifts a curtain before 'em?
Why dost thou not go to church in a Galliard
and come home in a coranto?
[Plays faster]
Is it a world to hide virtues in?
Excellent! Ha ha ha!
[Stops playing]
My lady will hang thee for thy absence.
Let her hang me: I fear no colours.
I can tell thee where that saying was born.
Where, good mistress Mary?
In the war.
Well, God give them wisdom that have it;
and those that are fools, let them use their talents.
You are resolute, then?
I'm resolved on two points...
that if one break, the other will hold;
or if both break, your britches fall.
Well, go thy ways.
That if sir Toby would leave drinking,
thou wert as witty a piece of Eve's flesh as any in illyria.
Peace, you rogue.
No more o'that.
[Organ playing]
Man: God bless thee, lady!
Olivia: Take the fool away.
Feste: Do you not hear, fellows? Take away the lady.
Go to: I'll no more of you:
Besides, you grow dishonest.
Bid the dishonest man mend 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.
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.
Sir, I bade them take away you.
Misprision in the highest degree!
Good Madonna, give me leave to prove you a fool.
Can you do it?
Dexteriously, good Madonna.
Make your proof.
Must catechize you for it...
Madonna.
Good my mouse of virtue,
answer me.
Olivia: Well, sir, for want of other idleness.
Good Madonna, why mourn'st thou?
Good fool, for my brother's death.
I think his soul is in hell, Madonna.
I know his soul is in heaven, fool.
The more fool, Madonna, to mourn for your brother's soul, being in heaven...
Take away the fool, gentleman.
What think you, malvolio?
Doth he not mend?
Yes...
And shall do, till the pangs of death shake him:
Infirmity, that decays the wise,
doth ever make the better fool.
God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity,
for the better increasing your folly.
How say you to that, malvolio?
I marvel your ladyship takes delight in such a barren rascal.
Look you now, he's out of his guard already;
unless you laugh and minister occasion to him, he is gagged.
Olivia: O, you are sick of self-love, malvolio,
and taste with a distempered appetite.
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.
Madam, there is at the gate
a young gentleman who much desires to speak with you.
[Gasp]
From the count orsino, is it?
Maria: I know not, madam.
Who of my people hold him in delay?
Sir Toby, madam.
He speaks nothing but madman.
Go you, malvolio:
If it be a suit from the count, I am sick or not at home...
What you will, to dismiss it.
Now you see, sir, how your fooling grows old,
and people...
Dislike it.
Thou hast spoke for us, Madonna,
as if thy eldest son should be a fool...
[Door opens]
Whose skull jove cram with brains!
For here comes one of thy kin,
has a most weak pia mater.
By mine honour, half drunk.
[Crash]
Ahem. What is he at the gate, cousin?
A gentleman.
What gentleman?
'Tis a gentleman there...
[Belch]
A plague o'these pickled herring.
How now, sot!
Good sir Toby!
Cousin... Cousin,
how have you come so early by this lethargy?
Lechery!
I defy lechery!
There's one at the gate.
Ay, marry, what is he?
Let him be the devil, an he will, I care not;
give me faith, say I.
Well, it's all one.
[Door closes]
[Laughter]
What's a drunken man like?
Like a drowned man, a fool, and a mad man:
The first draught above heat makes him a fool,
the second mads him,
and the third drowns him.
Go thou and seek the coroner.
He's drowned.
But, madam, yon young fellow swears he will speak with you.
I told him you were sick.
I told him you were asleep.
Tell him he shall not speak with me.
Has been told so;
and he says he'll stand at your door like a sheriff's post,
but he'll speak with you.
What kind o' man is he?
Of mankind.
What manner of man?
Of very ill manner; He'll speak with you, will you, or no.
Of what personage and years is he?
Not yet old enough for a man,
nor young enough for a boy.
One would think his mother's milk were scarce out of him.
Let him approach.
Call in my gentlewoman.
Gentlewoman.
My lady calls.
We'll once more hear orsino's embassy.
Give me my veil.
[Knock on door]
Uh...
[Whispering] The, uh...
Honorable lady of the house...
Which is she?
Speak to me, I shall answer for her:
Your will?
Ahem.
Most radiant, exquisite, and unmatched beauty!
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.
I have taken great pains to learn it.
Whence came you, sir?
That question's out of my part.
Good gentle one, give me modest assurance
if you be the lady of the house.
Are you a comedian?
No, my profound heart:
Are you the lady of the house?
I am.
I will on with my speech in your praise.
Come to what is important in't:
I forgive you the praise.
Alas, I took great pains to study it.
'Tis poetical.
It is the more like to be feigned.
I heard you were saucy at my gates,
and allowed your approach rather to wonder at you than to hear you.
If you be mad, be gone;
if you have reason, be brief.
Will you hoist sail, sir? Here lies your way.
No, good swabber;
I am to hull here a little longer...
Some mollification for your giant, sweet lady.
Speak your office.
It alone concerns your ear.
I bring no overture of war;
my words are as full of peace as matter.
Yet you began rudely.
What are you? What would you?
The rudeness that hath appeared in me
have I learned from my entertainment.
What I am, and what I would,
are as secret as maidenhead:
To your ears, divinity;
to any others, profanation.
Give us this place alone:
We will hear this divinity.
Now, sir, what is your text?
[Door closes]
Most sweet lady...
a comfortable doctrine, and much may be said of it.
Where lies your text?
In orsino's bosom.
In his bosom?
In what chapter of his bosom?
In the first of his heart.
O, I have read it; It's heresy.
Have you no more to say?
Good madam, let me see your face.
Have 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 show you the picture.
Look you, sir.
Is't not well-done?
Excellently done...
If God did all.
'Tis in grain, sir, 'twill endure wind and weather.
'Tis beauty truly blent.
Lady, you are the cruell'st she alive,
if you will lead these graces to the grave,
and leave the world no copy.
O, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted;
I will give out divers schedules of my beauty:
It shall be inventoried,
and every particle and utensil labeled: As, item,
two lips indifferent red;
item, two brown eyes with lids to them;
item, one neck, one chin, and so forth.
I see what you are,
you are too proud;
but, though you were the devil, you are fair...
My lord and master loves you;
such love could be but recompensed,
though you were crowned the nonpareil of beauty!
How does he love me?
With adorations...
With fertile tears...
With groans that thunder love...
With sighs of fire.
Your lord does know my mind,
I cannot love him:
Yet I suppose him virtuous,
know him noble, of great estate,
of fresh and stainless youth,
learned and Valiant:
But yet I cannot love him.
If I did love you in my master's flame,
with such a suff'ring,
such a deadly life, in your denial I find no sense,
I would not understand it.
Why, what would you?
Make me a willow cabin at your gate,
and call upon my soul within the house,
write loyal cantons of contemned love,
and sing them loud even in the dead of night;
holla your name to the reverberate hills,
and make the babbling gossip of the air cry out...
Olivia!
Shh!
[Birds squawking]
O, you should not rest between the elements of air and earth,
but you should pity me.
You might do much.
What is your parentage?
Above my fortunes, yet my state is well:
I am a gentleman.
Get you to your lord;
I cannot love him.
Let him send no more.
Unless... perchance... you come to me again,
to tell me how he takes it...
Fare thee well.
I thank you for your pains:
Spend this for me.
I am no fee'd post, lady;
keep your purse.
My master, not myself, lacks recompense.
Farewell, fair cruelty.
[Whistling]
Olivia, thinking: What is your parentage?
Above my fortunes, yet my state is well:
I am a gentleman.
I'll be sworn thou art!
Nay! Not too fast: Soft! Soft!
Unless the master were the man...
How now!
Even so quickly may one catch the plague?
Methinks I feel this youth's perfections
with an invisible and subtle stealth
to creep in at mine eyes...
Well...
Let it be.
What, ho, malvolio!
Here, madam, at your service.
Uh, run after that same peevish messenger,
the county's man:
He left this ring behind him,
would I or not; Tell him I'll none of it.
Desire him not to flatter with his lord
nor hold him up with hopes...
I am not for him:
If that youth will come this way tomorrow,
I'll, uh, give him reasons for't.
Hie thee, malvolio.
Madam, I will.
I do I know not what,
and fear to find mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind...
[Thoughts] Fate, show thy force...
ourselves we do not owe...
what is decreed, must be; And be this so!
[Bell ringing]
Were you not even now with the countess Olivia?
Even now, sir.
On a moderate pace I have since arrived but hither.
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.
Well, receive it so.
She took the ring of me...
I'll none of it.
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.
I left no ring with her.
Viola: What means this lady?
Fortune forbid my outside have not charmed 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.
I am the man.
Will you stay no longer?
Let me yet know of you whither you are bound.
No...
Sooth, sir.
You must know of me then, Antonio...
My name is Sebastian.
My father was that Sebastian of messaline,
whom I know you have heard of.
He left behind him myself and my sister viola,
both born in an hour:
Would we had so ended!
But you, sir, altered that,
before you took me from the breach of the sea was my sister drowned.
Alas, the day!
A lady, sir...
Though it was said she much resembled me,
was yet of many accounted beautiful.
Good Antonio, forgive me your trouble.
If you will not murder me for my love, let me be your servant.
Desire it not.
Fare thee well at once.
I am bound for the count orsino's court...
farewell!
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.
O, when mine eyes did see Olivia first...
Methought she purged the air of pestilence.
That instant was I turned into a heart
and my desires like fell and cruel hands
have since pursue me.
[Grunting]
Ha ha ha!
Approach, sir Andrew.
Sir Andrew?
[Sir Andrew shouting]
[Gunshot]
[Glass breaking]
Help!
Maria!
[Tap]
Maria!
Marian, I say!
A stoup of wine!
Did you never see the picture of "we three"?
Aah!
Ha ha ha!
Welcome, ass.
¶ Three merry men be we ¶
¶ three merry men be we ¶
shh! Sir Toby!
Shh!
Tillyvally! "Lady"!
Beshrew me, the knight is in admirable fooling.
¶ There dwelt a man in Babylon, lady, lady ¶
[indistinct shouting]
Malvolio's nose is no whipstock:
And the myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses.
Ha ha ha! Excellent!
Now a song!
Here comes fit this sixpence for you. Let's have a song.
[Piano playing]
That old and antic song we heard last night:
Methought it did relieve my passion much.
He is not here, so please your lordship, who should sing it?
Who was it?
Uh, feste, my lord,
a fool that the lady Olivia's father took much delight in.
Will you have a love-song, or a song of good life?
A love-song.
Ay, ay. I care not for good life.
¶ O mistress mine, where are you roaming? ¶
¶ o, stay and hear ¶
¶ your true love's coming ¶
¶ that... ¶
[piano playing]
How dost thou like this tune?
It gives a very echo to the seat where love is throned.
Thou dost speak masterly.
¶ Every wise man's son doth know ¶
excellent good, I'faith.
Good, good.
¶ What is love ¶
¶ 'tis not hereafter ¶
¶ present mirth hath present laughter ¶
my life upon't, young though thou art,
thine eye hath stayed upon some favour that it loves:
Hath it not, boy?
A little, by your favour.
What kind of woman is't?
Of your complexion.
She is not worth thee then.
What years, I'faith?
O, about your years.
Too old, by heaven.
[Sighs]
Let still the woman take an elder than herself;
so wears she to him,
for, boy...
However we do praise ourselves,
our fancies are more giddy and unfirm,
more longing, wavering,
sooner lost and worn, than women's are.
I think it well, my lord.
Then let thy love be younger than thyself, hmm?
Women are...
As roses, whose fair flower being once displayed...
Doth fall that very hour.
So they are.
Alas, that they are so.
To die, even when they to perfection grow!
¶ What's to come is still unsure ¶
¶ 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 ¶
[music stops]
Huh.
A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight.
Contagious breath.
Very sweet and contagious, I'faith.
But shall we...
Shall we make the welkin dance indeed?
Shall we do that?
No, and I do not!
¶ There dwelt a man in Babylon ¶
¶ there dwelt a man in Babylon ¶
¶ Babylon ¶
¶ there dwelt a man in Babylon ¶
¶ o' the twelfth day of December ¶
¶ my true love said to me ¶
[humming]
[Music stops]
My masters, are you mad?
Have you no wit, manners, nor honesty,
but to gabble like tinkers at this time of night?
Do ye make an ale-house of my lady's house?
Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time in you?
We did keep time, sir, in our catches.
Sneck up.
[Burps]
Sir Toby...
I must be round with you.
My mistress 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 misdemeanours,
you are welcome to the house;
if not, she is very willing to bid you farewell.
¶ Farewell, dear heart ¶
¶ since I must needs be gone ¶
nay, good sir Toby.
¶ His eyes do show his days are almost done ¶
¶ but I will never die ¶
¶ sir Toby, there you lie ¶
this is much credit to you.
¶ Shall I bid him go? ¶
¶ what an if you do? ¶
¶ shall I bid him go and spare not? ¶
¶ o no, no, no, no, ¶
¶ no, no, no, no, no, no ¶
¶ you dare not ¶
[plays dissonant chord]
Out o' tune, sir.
You lie...
Art any more than a steward?
Dost thou think because thou art virtuous,
there shall be no more cakes and ale?
Feste: Yes, by Saint Anne, and ginger shall be hot I'th' mouth too.
Th'art I'th' right.
Go, sir, rub your chain with crumbs...
A stoup of wine, Maria.
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.
Go shake your ears.
Sir Toby: Enough of these overwhelming rules...
Bolts and shackles!
Now be patient!
Yeah!
For monsieur malvolio...
If I do not make him a common recreation,
do not think I have wit enough
to lie straight in my bed:
I know I can do it.
Possess us, possess us, tell us something of him.
Marry, sir...
Sometimes he is a kind of puritan.
O, if I thought that, I'd beat him like a dog.
Maria: Devil a puritan that he is,
or any thing constantly but a time-pleaser,
so crammed, as he thinks, with excellencies,
that it is his ground of faith
that all that look on him love him;
and on that vice in him will my revenge find notable cause to work.
What wilt thou do?
I will drop in his way
some obscure epistle of love,
wherein he will 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.
Excellent!
I smell a device.
I have't in my nose too.
For this night...
To bed.
Ahem.
Dream on the event.
Farewell.
Good night, penthesilea.
Before me, she's a good wench.
She's a beagle, true-bred...
And one that adores me.
What o' that?
I was adored once too.
Come, I'll go burn some sack,
'tis too late to go to bed now.
Uh!
Disguise, I see thou art a wickedness,
wherein the pregnant enemy doth much.
How will this fadge?
As I am man...
My state is desperate for my master's love.
As I am woman...
Now alas the day!
What thriftless sighs will poor Olivia breathe?
Come hither, boy.
Ahem.
Come, boy. Come.
How will she love when the rich, golden shaft
has killed the flock of all affections else that live in her...
And when brain and heart are all supplied with one self king?
Sir, shall I to this lady?
Ay, that's the theme.
To her in haste.
Tell her my love will give no place, bide no denay...
Malvolio is coming down this walk!
Come thy ways, signior fabian.
Wouldst thou not be glad to have the niggardly rascally sheep-biter
come by some notable shame?
You know, he brought me out o'favour with my lady
about a bear-baiting here.
Get ye all three into the box-tree.
My lady.
My lady!
Countess.
Ahem.
Here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling.
'Tis but fortune, all is fortune.
Maria once told me she did affect me,
and I have heard herself come thus near,
that should she fancy...
It should be one of my complexion.
Besides, she uses me with a more exalted...
'Slight, I could so beat the rogue!
To be count malvolio!
Ah, rogue!
Ah.
Having been three months married to her,
sitting in my state...
O, for my stone-bow, to hit him in the eye!
Calling my officers about me, in my branched velvet gown...
Having come from a day-bed where, I left Olivia sleeping.
And after a demure travel of regard,
telling them I know my place
as I would they should do theirs,
to ask for my kinsman...
Toby.
Bolts and shackles!
I frown the while, and perchance wind up my watch,
or play with my...
Some rich jewel.
Toby approaches;
curtsies there to me.
I extend my hand to him thus; Saying, "cousin Toby,
you must amend your drunkenness."
Out, scab!
What employment have we here?
By my life...
This is my lady's hand.
"To the unknown beloved, this, and my good wishes."
By your leave, wax.
Soft!... And the impressure her lucrece,
with which she uses to seal.
'Tis my lady.
To whom should this be?
"Jove knows I love: But who?
Lips, do not move! No man must know."
No man must know...
[Breathing heavily]
If this should be thee, malvolio!
"I may command where I adore:
"But silence, like a lucrece knife,
"with bloodless stroke my heart doth Gore:
M, o, a, I, doth sway my life."
"M..."
Excellent wench, say I.
Let me see here.
"M, o, a, I."
"I may command where I adore."
Why, she may command me;
I serve her, she is my lady.
And the end: What should that alphabetical position portend?
"M, o, a, I."
Moai.
Moai?
"M..."
"M"... malvolio... "m."
Why, that begins my name... "m."
"A" should follow, but "o" does.
"M, o, a." And yet, to crush this a little,
it would bow to me, for every one of these letters are in my name.
Soft!
Here follows prose...
"In my stars, I am above thee,
"but be not afraid of greatness:
"Some are born great, some achieve greatness,
"and some have greatness thrust upon them.
"Be opposite with a kinsman, surly with servants;
"let thy tongue tang arguments of state;
"put thyself into the trick of singularity.
"She thus advises thee that sighs for thee.
Remember who..."
"Remember who commended thy yellow stockings,
"and wished to see thee ever cross-gartered:
"I say, remember.
"Go to, thou art made, if thou desir'st to be so;
"if not, let me see thee a steward still!
"The fellow of servants, and not worthy to touch fortune's fingers.
Farewell. She, that would alter services with thee, the fortunate-unhappy."
Daylight and champian discovers not more:
I will be proud, I will baffle sir Toby,
I will wash off gross acquaintance,
I will be point-device the very man.
I do not now fool myself, to let imagination jade me;
for every reason excites me to this,
that my lady loves me.
Jove, and my stars be praised!
Look. Here is yet a postscript.
"Thou canst not choose but know who I am.
"If thou entertain'st my love, let it appear in thy smiling,
"thy smiles become thee well.
Therefore in my presence still smile, dear, my sweet, I prithee."
Jove, I thank thee.
I will smile.
I will do everything that thou wilt have me!
Jove, I thank thee!
Malvolio: Jove, I am happy!
Daylight, champian!
I will not give my part of this sport
for a pension of thousands!
I could marry this wench for this device.
So could I too.
Wilt thou set thy foot o' my neck?
Or o' mine either?
Nay, but say true, does it work upon him?
Like aqua-vitae with a midwife.
Then mark his first approach before my lady:
He will come to her in yellow stockings,
and 'tis a colour she abhors.
Ha ha ha!
Uh!
Save thee, friend: Dost thou live by thy music?
No, sir, I live by the church.
Art thou a churchman?
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.
Hold.
There's expenses for thee.
Now...
Jove, in his next commodity of hair,
send thee a beard!
By my troth I'll tell thee,
I am almost sick for one...
But I would not have it grow on my chin.
Is thy lady within?
I would play lord pandarus of phrygia, sir,
to bring a cressida to this troilus.
I understand you, sir,
'tis well begged.
The matter is not great, sir;
begging but a beggar.
Cressida was a beggar.
My lady is within, sir.
I will conster to her whence you come.
God save you, gentleman.
And you, sir.
Dieu vous garde, monsieur.
Et vous aussi; Votre serviteur.
I hope, sir, you are... and I am yours.
My niece is desirous you should enter,
if your trade be to her.
Your niece, sir, is the list of my voyage.
Viola: But we have prevented.
Most excellent accomplished lady,
the heavens rain odours on you.
Rain odours?
That youth's a rare courtier.
My master hath no voice, lady,
but to your own most pregnant and vouchsafed ear.
Odours...
Pregnant and vouchsafed:
I'll get 'em all three all ready.
Let the garden door be shut,
and leave me to my hearing.
Give me your hand, sir.
My duty, madam, and most humble service.
What's your name?
Cesario is your servant's name, fair princess.
Y'are servant to the count orsino, youth.
And he is yours, and his must needs be yours.
Well, for him, I think not on him:
Not for his thoughts.
Would they were blanks, rather than filled with me!
I come to whet your thoughts on his behalf.
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...
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?
Let me hear you speak.
I pity you.
That's a degree to love.
No, not a grise;
for 'tis a vulgar proof, that very oft we pity enemies.
Why then...
Methinks 'tis time to smile again.
[Bell tolls]
The clock upbraids me with the waste of time.
Be not afraid, good youth, I will not have you.
Oh.
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.
Then, uh, westward-ho!
Oh.
You'll nothing, madam, to my lord by me?
Stay!
I prithee, tell me what thou think'st of me.
That you do think you are not what you are.
Well, if I think so, I think the same of you.
Well, then think you right;
I am not what I am.
I would you were as I would have you be!
Would it be better, madam, than I am,
I wish it might, for now I am your fool.
O, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful
in the contempt and anger of his lip!
O, grace my good disposition
to tend your ladyship.
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.
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.
Yet come again:
For thou perhaps mayst move that heart,
which now abhors, to like his love.
I could not stay behind you.
My kind Antonio.
But not all love to see you.
You, sir, are a stranger in these parts.
I can no other answer make but thanks, and thanks;
and ever oft good turns are shuffled off
with such uncurrent pay.
I am not weary. 'Tis long till night.
I pray you, let us satisfy our eyes
with the memorials and things of fame that do renown this city.
I do not without danger walk these streets.
Once in a sea fight 'gainst orsino's galleys
I did some service, of such note indeed
that were I ta'en here, it would scarce be answered.
Belike you slew great number of his people.
For which, if I be lapsed in this place,
I shall pay dear.
Do not then walk too open.
You shall find me at the elephant.
Why I your purse?
Haply your eye shall light on
some toy you have desire to purchase;
and your store, I think,
is not for idle markets, sir.
At th'elephant.
I do remember.
Ever thou shall love remember me.
[Thunder]
For, such as I am all true lovers are...
Unstaid and skittish in all motions else,
save in the constant image
of the creature that is beloved.
[Humming]
[Thunder]
O fellow, come, play that piece of song we heard last night.
Mark it, cesario, it is old and plain:
The spinners and the knitters in the sun used to chant it.
Prithee, sing.
[Playing guitar]
¶ Come away ¶
¶ come away death ¶
¶ and in sad cypress¶
¶ let me be laid ¶
¶ fly away breath ¶
¶ fly away, fly away breath ¶
¶ I am slain ¶
¶ by a fair cruel maid ¶
¶ not a friend ¶
¶ not a friend greet ¶
¶ my poor corpse ¶
¶ where my bones shall be thrown ¶
¶ a thousand ¶
¶ sighs to save ¶
¶ lay me o where ¶
¶ sad true lover ¶
¶never find my grave ¶
¶ to weep there ¶
[stops music]
There's for thy pains.
No pains, sir. I take pleasure in singing.
I'll pay thy pleasure, then.
Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid...
One time or another.
Now, the melancholy God protect you,
for your mind is a very opal.
Farewell.
Duke: Once more, cesario,
get thee to yon same sovereign cruelty.
But if she cannot love you, sir?
I cannot so be answered.
Sooth, but you must.
Say that some lady, as perhaps there is, hath for your love
as great a pang of heart as you have for Olivia:
You cannot love her; You tell her so; Must she not then be answered?
There is no woman's sides
can bear the beating of so strong a passion
as love doth give my heart:
No woman's heart so big, to hold so much, they lack retention.
Alas, their love may be called appetite...
but mine is all as hungry as the sea, and can digest as much.
[Thunder]
Make no compare between that love a woman can bear me and that I owe Olivia.
Ay, but I know...
what dost thou know?
Too well what love women to men may owe:
In faith they are as true of heart as we.
My father had a daughter loved a man,
as it might be, perhaps, were I a woman, I should your lordship.
And what's her history?
A blank, my lord.
She never told her love...
But let concealment like a worm I'th' bud
feed on her damask cheek.
She pined in thought...
And with a green and yellow melancholy
she sat like patience on a monument...
Smiling at grief.
Was not this love, indeed?
Oh.
We men may say more, swear more...
but indeed our shows are more than will;
for still we prove much in our vows,
but little in our love.
But died thy sister of her love, my boy?
I am all the daughters of my father's house...
And all the brothers too...
And yet I know not...
I'll do my best to woo your lady.
Viola, thinking: Yet, a barful strife!
Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife.
Hey!
No, faith, I'll not stay a jot longer.
Thy reason, dear venom, give thy reason.
Marry, I saw your niece do more favours to the count's serving-man
than ever she bestowed on me; I saw't I'th'garden.
Sir Toby: Did she see thee the while, old boy? Tell me that.
As plain as I see you now.
Fabian: This was a great argument of love in her toward you.
'Slight! Will you make an ass o' me?
She did show favour to the youth in your sight,
only to exasperate you, to awake your dormouse valour:
You should then have accosted her, and banged the youth into dumbness:
You are now sailed into the north of my lady's opinion,
unless you do redeem it
by some laudable attempt of either valour or policy.
It must be with valour, for policy I hate:
I had as lief be a puritan, as a politician.
Sir Toby: Why then. Challenge the count's youth to fight with him,
hurt him in eleven places...
my niece shall take note of it,
and there is no love-broker in the world
can more prevail with woman than report of valour.
Sir Andrew: Will either of you bear me a challenge to him?
Go, write it in a martial hand, be curst and brief;
it is no matter how witty, so it be eloquent.
About it.
Sir Toby: Taunt him with the license of ink.
Where will I find you?
Go, go.
We'll call thee at thy cubiculum.
This was a dear manakin to you, sir Toby.
I have been dear to him, lad...
some two thousand strong, or so.
Yon gull malvolio is turned heathen...
He is in yellow stockings!
And cross-gartered?
[Knock on door]
How now, malvolio?
Sweet...
Lady.
Olivia: Smil'st thou?
I sent for thee upon a sad occasion.
Sad, lady?
I could be sad:
This does make some obstruction in the blood, this cross-gartering...
but what of that?
If it please the eye of one, "please one and please all."
Olivia: Why, how dost thou, man?
What is the matter with thee?
Not black in my mind, though yellow in my legs...
It did come to his hands,
and commands shall be executed.
I think we do know the sweet Roman hand.
Wilt thou go to bed, malvolio?
To bed!
Ay, sweet-heart...
And I'll come to thee.
God comfort thee!
Why dost thou smile so, and kiss thy hand so oft?
How do you, malvolio?
Why appear you with this ridiculous boldness before my lady?
"Be not afraid of greatness":
'Twas well writ.
What mean'st thou by that, malvolio?
"Some are born great,
some achieve greatness..."
What say'st thou?
"And some have greatness thrust upon them."
Oh, God! Stop it!
"Remember, who commended thy yellow stockings
and wished to see thee cross-gartered."
Cross-gartered?
"Go to, thou art made,
if thou desir'st to be so..." - Am I made?
"If not, let me see thee a servant still."
Why, this is very midsummer madness.
Servant: Madam, the young gentleman
of the count orsino's is returned.
I'll come to him.
Good Maria, let this fellow be looked to.
Where's my cousin Toby?
Let some of my people have a special care of him.
Do you come near me now?
No worse man than sir Toby to look to me!
[Door slams]
She sends him on purpose, that I may appear stubborn to him.
I have limed her!
But it is God's doing, and God make me thankful!
And when she went away now,
"let this fellow be looked to":
Not malvolio, not after my degree, but a "fellow."
Why, every thing adheres together.
What can be said?
Nothing that can be, can come between me and the full prospect of my hopes.
In the name of sanctity?
If all the devils of hell possess him, I'll speak to him.
How is't with you, sir?
Malvolio: Go off, I discard you.
Sir Toby, my lady prays you to have a care of him.
Ah, ha!
Does she so!
What, man! Defy the devil.
Do you know what you say?
LA you! An you speak ill of the devil,
how he takes it at heart!
Carry his water to th'wise woman.
It shall be done to-morrow morning.
My lady would not lose him for more than I'll say.
How now, mistress!
O lord!
Malvolio: Let me enjoy my private.
Get him to say his prayers, good sir Toby. Get him to pray.
My prayers, minx!
No, I warrant you, he will not hear of godliness.
Malvolio: You are idle shallow things...
I am not of your element...
you shall know more hereafter.
[Laughs loudly]
Shh!
Is't possible?
If this were played upon a stage now,
I would condemn it as an improbable fiction.
Come, we'll have him in a dark room and bound.
Why, we shall make him mad indeed.
My niece is already in the belief that he's mad;
we may carry it thus, for our pleasure and his penance.
Sir Andrew: "...Scurvy fellow.
In thy throat."
More matter for a may morning!
Sir Andrew: Here's the challenge, read it:
I warrant there's vinegar and pepper in't.
Is't so saucy?
Do but read.
Give me.
Sir Toby: "Youth, whatsoever thou art, thou art but a scurvy fellow."
Good, and Valiant.
"Thou com'st to the lady Olivia, and in my sight she uses thee kindly:
But that is not the matter I challenge thee for."
Very brief, and to exceeding good sense.
"I will waylay thee going home, where if it be thy chance to kill me,"...
good.
"Thou kill'st me like a rogue and a villain."
Still you keep to the the windy side of the law: Good.
Sir Toby: "Fare thee well, and God have mercy upon one of our souls!
"He may have mercy upon mine,
but my hope is better, and so look to thyself."
"Thy friend..."
"As thou usest him, and thy sworn enemy, Andrew aguecheek."
If this letter move him not, his legs cannot: I'll give't him.
He is now in some commerce with my lady,
but will by and by depart.
Go, sir Andrew;
scout me for him at the corner of the orchard
like a bum-baily:
So soon as ever thou seest him, draw thy sword.
As thou draw'st, swear horrible.
Away!
Nay, let me alone for swearing.
I'll deliver his challenge by word of mouth.
Olivia: And I beseech you come again tomorrow.
What shall you ask of me, that I'll deny?
Nothing but this... your true love for my master.
How with mine honour may I give him that which I have given to you?
I will acquit you.
Sebastian: Thou art a foolish fellow.
Will you make me believe that I am not sent for you?
Go to.
Go to!
Well, come again to-morrow: Fare thee well.
A fiend, like thee, might bear my soul to hell.
Viola: Ah!
Let me be clear of thee.
Well held out.
Gentleman, God save thee.
And you, sir.
That defense thou hast, betake thee to't:
Of what nature the wrongs are thou hast done him, I know not;
but thy intercepter, bloody as the hunter,
attends thee at the orchard end.
You mistake, sir.
I am sure no man hath
any quarrel to me.
You'll find it otherwise, I assure you:
Therefore, if you hold your life at any price, betake you to your guard;
for your opposite hath in him
what youth, strength, skill and wrath can furnish man.
I beseech you, sir, what is he?
He is a devil in private brawl:
Souls and bodies hath he divorced... Three.
I will return again into the house
and desire some conduct of the lady.
I am no fighter.
I beseech you to know of the knight what my offence to him is;
it is something of my negligence, nothing of my purpose.
Signior fabian, stand you by the gentleman till I return.
I pray you, sir, do you know of this matter?
I know the knight is incensed against you,
even to a mortal arbitrement.
Why, man, he's the very devil,
I have not seen such a firago...
I had a pass with him,
and he gives me the stuck in with such a mortal motion that it is inevitable.
They say he has been the fencer to the shah of persia.
Pox on't. I'll not meddle with him.
Ay, but he will not now be pacified:
Fabian can scarce hold him yonder.
Plague on't.
Let him let the matter slip,
and I'll give him my horse.
I'll make the motion:
Stand here, make a good show on't.
[Under breath] I'll ride your horse as well as I ride you.
I will make your peace with him if I can.
I'll be much bound to you for it.
I have persuaded him the youth's a devil.
He is as horribly conceited of him.
Mm-hmm.
There's no remedy, sir, he will fight with you for's oath sake.
Give ground, if you see him furious.
Come, sir Andrew, there's no remedy,
the gentleman will for his honour's sake have one bout with you.
Come on.
To't!
Ya!
Uh!
[Yells]
[Shrieks]
Ah!
Antonio: Put up your sword.
Antonio: If this young gentleman have done offence...
I take the fault on me.
Sir Toby: You, sir!
And what are you?
One, sir, that for his love dares yet do more
than you have heard him brag to you he will.
Nay, if you be an undertaker, I am for you.
[Gunshots]
Hold; Here come the officers.
I'll be with you anon.
[Gunshots]
Pray, sir, put your sword up.
For that I promised you, I'll be as good as my word.
He will bear you easily, and reins well.
Officer: This is the man.
Second officer: Antonio, I arrest thee in the name of orsino.
You do mistake me, sir.
First officer: No, sir, no jot; I know your favour well:
Though now you wear no sea-cap on your head...
Take him away, he knows I know him well.
I must obey.
This comes with seeking you.
What will you do, now my necessity makes me to ask you for my purse?
Come, away, sir.
I must entreat of you some of that money.
What money, sir?
For the fair kindness you have showed me here, I'll lend you something.
Will you deny me now?
Second officer: Come, sir, I pray you, go.
This youth that you see here I snatched one half out of the jaws of death.
First officer: What's that to us?
Go tell my lord orsino we will hold him here.
Lead me on.
A very dishonest and paltry boy, and more a coward than a hare,
leaving his friend here in necessity and denying him.
A coward, a most devout coward, religious in it.
'Slid, I'll after him again and beat him.
Do, cuff him soundly, but never draw thy sword.
An I do not.
Malvolio: Thy wronged me!
Thy have put me into darkness!
The world shall know it!
[Bangs on door]
[Whistling]
Feste: No, I do not know you,
nor I am not sent to you by my lady,
nor your name is not master cesario,
nor this is not my nose neither: Nothing that is so, is so.
I prithee, foolish Greek, vent thy folly somewhere else,
thou know'st not me.
Vent my folly!
Tell me what shall I vent to my lady:
Shall I vent to her that thou art coming?
There's money for thee.
If you tarry any longer, I shall give you worse payment.
By my troth, thou hast an open hand.
Now, sir, have I met you again? There's for you.
Sebastian: Ooh!
There's for thee.
And there.
Ooh!
And...
Sebastian: Are all the people mad?
Sir Toby: Hold, sir, or I'll throw your dagger o'er the house.
Feste: I would not be in some of your coats for two pence.
I'll have an action of battery against him:
Though I struck him first, yet it's no matter for that.
Let go thy hand!
I will not let you go, my young soldier.
I will be free from thee.
Ah!
What would'st thou now?
What, what?
[Snaps fingers]
Nay, then I must have an ounce or two of this malapert blood from you.
Hold, Toby!
On thy life, I charge thee, hold!
Madam.
Will it be ever thus?
Ungracious wretch.
Fit for the mountains and the barbarous caves,
where manners ne'er were preached!
Out of my sight!
Be not offended, dear cesario...
Rudesby, be gone!
I prithee, gentle friend, go with me to the house,
and hear thou there how many fruitless pranks
this ruffian hath botched up,
that thou thereby may smile at this...
Thou shalt not choose but go; Do not deny.
[To himself] What relish is in this? How runs the stream?
Or I am mad, or else this is a dream:
Let fancy still my sense in lethe steep...
if it be thus to dream,
still let me sleep!
Nay, come, I prithee:
Would thou'dst be ruled by me!
Madam...
I will.
O, say so, and so be!
Viola, thinking: Prove true, imagination.
Prove true.
[Malvolio yelling and banging on door]
I would I were the first that ever dissembled in such a gown.
Jove bless thee, master parson!
Bonos dies, sir Toby:
For as the old hermit of Prague, who never saw pen and ink,
very wittily said to a niece of king gorboduc, "that that is, is":
So I, being master parson, am master parson;
for what is "that" but that? And "is" but is?
To him, master topas.
Feste: What, ho!
Peace in this prison!
Malvolio: Who calls there?
Master topas the curate who comes to visit malvolio the lunatic.
Malvolio, breathing heavily: Master topas, good master topas, go to my lady.
Out, hyperbolical fiend!
Talkest thou nothing but of ladies?
The knave counterfeits well.
Malvolio: Good master topas, do not think I am mad;
they have laid me here in hideous darkness.
Say'st thou this house is dark?
As hell, master topas.
Why, it hath bay windows transparent as barricadoes,
and the clerestories to the South-north are as lustrous as ebony.
I am not mad.
This is the air, that is the glorious sun.
This pearl she gave me,
I do feel't and see't.
Yet doth this accident and flood of fortune
so far exceed all instance, all discourse,
that I am ready to distrust mine eyes and wrangle with my reason,
that persuades me to any other trust but that I am mad.
[Crying] I am no more mad than you are.
[Malvolio bangs on door and cries]
Fare thee well.
Master topas!
I would we were well rid of this knavery.
For I am now so far in offence with my niece,
that I cannot pursue it with any safety.
Come by and by to my chamber.
Feste: ¶ jolly Robin ¶
¶ tell me how my lady does ¶
feste.
Malvolio: Feste!
Feste!
Who calls, ha?
Feste!
Feste, good feste, help me to a candle, pen, ink and paper.
Master malvolio! Alas, sir, how fell you besides your five wits?
There was never a man so notoriously abused.
They have here propertied me;
keep me in darkness, send ministers to me.
I tell thee, I am as well in my wits, as any man in illyria.
Well-a-day that you were, sir!
By this hand, I am...
Good feste, some ink, paper and light:
And convey what I will set down to my lady.
Sebastian: Or else the lady's mad.
Yet, if 'twere so, she could not sway her house, command her followers,
take and give back affairs and their dispatch,
as I perceive she does:
There's something in't that is... Deceivable.
Olivia: Blame not this haste of mine...
If you mean well,
now go with me and with this holy man into the chantry by:
There, before him, plight me the full assurance of your faith,
that my most jealous and too doubtful soul may live at peace.
He shall conceal it, whiles you are willing it shall come to note.
What do you say?
I'll follow this good man and go with you,
and having sworn truth, ever will be true.
But tell me true, are you not mad indeed?
Or do you but counterfeit?
Believe me, I am not...
I tell thee true.
Nay, I'll ne'er believe a madman till I see his brains.
Ah!
I will fetch thee light and paper and ink.
I'll requite it in the highest degree.
Feste: ¶ I am gone, sir, and anon, sir ¶
¶ I'll be with you again ¶
¶ in a trice, like to the old vice ¶
¶ your need to sustain ¶
¶ who with dagger of lath ¶
¶ in his rage and his wrath ¶
¶ cries ah ha, to the devil ¶
¶ like a mad lad ¶
¶ pare thy nails dad ¶
¶ adieu Goodman devil ¶
[horses neighing]
Fabian: Now, as thou lov'st me, show me his letter.
Belong you to the lady Olivia, friends?
Feste: Ay, sir, we are some of her trappings.
Duke: If you will let your lady know I'm here,
and bring her along with you,
it may awake my bounty further.
Marry, sir, lullaby to your bounty till I come again.
Viola: This is the man, sir, that did rescue me.
That face of his I do remember well.
Orsino, this is that Antonio that took the Phoenix
when your young cousin Titus lost his leg.
He did me kindness, sir, drew on my side.
Notable pirate!
Thou salt-water thief!
What foolish boldness brought thee to their mercies,
whom thou, in terms so bloody and so dear, hast made thine enemies?
Orsino, noble sir,
Antonio never yet was thief or pirate, though I confess,
on base and ground enough, orsino's enemy.
A witchcraft drew me hither:
That most ingrateful boy there by your side.
His life I gave him and did thereto add my love without retention.
For his sake, faced the danger of this adverse town.
How can this be?
When came he to this town?
Yesterday;
and for three months before, both day and night did we keep company.
Duke: Here comes the countess!
Now heaven walks on earth...
But for thee, fellow... fellow, thy words are madness,
three months this youth hath tended on me.
Duke: Bring him away.
What would my lord, but that he may not have?
Cesario, you do not keep promise with me.
Madam?
Gracious Olivia,...
what do you say, cesario?... Good, my lord,...
my lord would speak, my duty hushes me.
If it be aught to the old tune, my lord,
it is as fat and fulsome to mine ear as howling after music.
Still so cruel?
Still so constant, lord.
What, to perverseness?
You uncivil lady,
my soul the faithful'st off'rings hath breathed out,
that e'er devotion tendered!
What shall I do?
Olivia: Even what it please my lord, that shall become him.
Why should I not in savage jealousy,
like to th'Egyptian thief, on point of death,
kill what I love?
But, madam, hear me this:
Since you to non-regardance cast my faith,
live you, the marble-breasted tyrant, still;
but this your Minion, whom I know you love,
and whom, by heaven I swear, I tender dearly,
him will I tear out of that cruel eye.
And I, most jocund, apt and willingly, to do you rest,
a thousand deaths would die.
Come, boy, with me. My thoughts are ripe in mischief.
Where goes cesario?
After him I love more than I love these eyes, more than my life,
more, by all mores, than e'er I shall love wife.
Ay me, detested! How am I beguiled!
Who does beguile you? Who does do you wrong?
Hast thou forgot thyself? Is it so long?
Call forth the holy father.
Duke: Come, away!
Olivia: Whither, my lord? Cesario, husband, stay.
Husband?
Ay, husband.
Can he that deny?
Her husband, sirrah?
No, my lord,
not I.
Fear not, cesario, take thy fortunes up.
O, welcome, father!
Father, I charge thee, by thy reverence,
here to unfold... though lately we intended to keep in darkness,
what thou dost know hath newly passed between this youth and me.
A contract of eternal bond of love,
confirmed by mutual joinder of your hands,
strength'ned by interchangement of your rings,
sealed in my function, by my testimony.
O, thou dissembling cub!
What wilt thou be when time hath sowed a grizzle on thy case?
Farewell, and take her, but direct thy feet
where thou and I henceforth may never meet.
My lord, I do protest...
o, do not swear! Hold little faith, though thou hast too much fear.
Sir Andrew: For the love of God, a surgeon!
Send one presently to sir Toby.
For the love of God, your help!
What's the matter?
H'as broke my head across and has given sir Toby a bloody coxcomb too.
I had rather than forty pound I were at home.
Who has done this, sir Andrew?
The count's gentleman, one cesario:
He's the very devil incardinate.
My gentleman, cesario?
'Od's lifelings, here he is!
You broke my head for nothing, and that I did, I was set on to do't by sir Toby.
Why do you speak to me? I never hurt you:
You drew your sword on me without cause.
If a bloody coxcomb be a hurt, you have hurt me.
Here comes sir Toby halting.
If he had not been in drink, he would have tickled you othergates than he did.
Duke: How now, gentleman! How is't with you?
That's all one... he's hurt me, and there's th'end on't...
Sot, didst see dick surgeon, sot?
O he's drunk, sir Toby, an hour agone.
I hate a drunken rogue.
Away with him! Who hath made this havoc with them?
I'll help you, sir Toby, because we'll be dressed together.
Will you help me?
An ass-head,
and a coxcomb,
and a knave!
A thin-faced knave, a gull!
Get him to bed, and let his hurt be looked to.
I am sorry, madam.
I have hurt your kinsman;
but had it been the brother of my blood,
I must have done no less with wit and safety.
Sebastian: Pardon me, sweet one,
even for the vows we made each other but so late ago.
Antonio!
My dear Antonio!
How have the hours racked and tortured me, since I have lost thee!
Sebastian are you?
Fear'st thou that, Antonio?
How have you made division of yourself?
Antonio: Which is Sebastian?
Most wonderful!
Do I stand there?
I never had a brother.
I had a sister,
whom the blind waves and surges have devoured...
Of charity, what kin are you to me?
What countryman?
What name?
What parentage?
Of messaline.
Sebastian was my father.
Such a Sebastian was my brother too:
So went he suited to his watery tomb.
Sebastian: Were you a woman, as the rest goes even...
I should my tears let fall upon your cheek...
And say "thrice-welcome, drowned viola!"
My father had a mole upon his brow.
And so had mine.
And died that day when viola from her birth...
that day that made my sister thirteen years.
If nothing lets to make us happy both,
but this my masculine usurped attire, do not embrace me
till each circumstance of place, time, fortune, do cohere and jump
that I am...
Viola.
Which to confirm, I'll bring you to a captain
by whose gentle help I was preserved...
To serve this noble count.
So, comes it, lady, you have been mistook.
But nature to her bias drew in that.
You would have been contracted to a maid.
Nor are you therein, by my life, deceived,
you are betrothed both to a maid and man.
If this be so, as yet the glass seems true,
I shall have share in this most happy wrack.
Boy...
Thou hast said to me a thousand times
thou never shouldst love woman like to me.
And all those sayings will I over-swear.
Give me thy hand.
Your master quits you; And for your services done him,
so much against the mettle of your sex.
Here is my hand.
You shall from this time be your master's mistress.
[Sighs]
Let me see thee in thy woman's weeds.
Oh.
A sister! You are she.
From malvolio?
How now, malvolio?
Madam, you have done me wrong, notorious wrong.
Have I, malvolio?
No!
Lady, you have.
Pray you, peruse that letter...
You must not now deny it is your hand.
Well, grant it then, and tell me, in the modesty of honour,
why you have given me such clear lights of favour,
bade me come smiling and cross-gartered to you,
and, acting this in an obedient hope,
why you have suffered me to be imprisoned,
kept in a dark house, visited by the priest,
and made the most notorious geck and gull
that e're invention played on?
Tell me... Why.
Alas, malvolio, this is not my writing...
Though, I confess, much like the character.
But, out of question, 'tis Maria's hand.
And now I do bethink me, it was she first told me thou wast mad.
This practice hath most shrewdly passed upon thee.
Good madam, hear me speak.
Most freely I confess, Maria writ the letter at sir Toby's great importance,
in recompense whereof he hath married her.
Alas, poor fool! How have they baffled thee!
Feste: Why, "some are born great,
"some achieve greatness,
and some have greatness thrown upon them."
I was one, sir, in this interlude,
one master topas.
"By the lord, fool, I am not mad!"
But do you remember?
"Madam, why laugh you at such a barren rascal?
An you smile not, he's gagged."
Thus the whirligig of time...
Brings in his revenges.
I'll be revenged...
On the whole pack of you.
Pursue him, and entreat him to a peace.
¶ When that I was and a little tiny boy ¶
¶ with a hey, ho, the wind and the rain ¶
¶ a foolish thing was but a toy ¶
¶ for the rain it raineth every day ¶
¶ but when I came to man's estate ¶
¶ with a hey, ho, the wind and the rain ¶
¶ 'gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gate ¶
¶ for the rain it raineth every day ¶
he hath been most notoriously abused.
When that is done, and golden time convents,
a solemn combination shall be made of our dear souls.
¶ But when I came alas to wive ¶
¶ with a hey, ho, the wind and the rain ¶
¶ by swaggering could I never thrive ¶
¶ for the rain it raineth every day ¶
¶ but when I came unto my beds ¶
¶ with a hey, ho, the wind and the rain ¶
¶ with toss-pots still had drunken heads ¶
¶ for the rain it raineth every day ¶
¶ a great while ago the world begun ¶
¶ with a hey, ho, the wind and the rain ¶
¶ but that's all one, my tale is done ¶
¶ and I'll strive to please you every day ¶
every day.
Ha ha ha!
Every day.