Seb. 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. Ant. Alas the day! : Seb. 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(10) 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. Ant. Pardon me, sir, your bad entertainment. Seb. O good Antonio, forgive me your trouble! Ant. If you will not murder me for my love, let me be your servant. Seb. 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. [Exit. Ant. 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: [Exit. SCENE II. A street. Enter VIOLA, MALVOLIO following. Mal. Were not you even now with the Countess Olivia? Vio. Even now, sir; on a moderate pace I have since arrived but hither. Mal. 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. Vio. She took the ring of me;-I'll none of it. (1) Mal. Come, sir, you peevishly threw it to her; and her She loves me, sure; the cunning of her passion Poor lady, she were better love a dream. In women's waxen hearts to set their forms! For such as we are made of, (13) such we be. What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe! O Time, thou must untangle this, not I; It is too hard a knot for me to untie! [Exit. SCENE III. A room in Olivia's house. Enter Sir TOBY BELCH and Sir ANDREW AGUECHEEK. Sir To. Approach, Sir Andrew: not to be a-bed after midnight is to be up betimes; and diluculo surgere, thou knowest, be Sir And. Nay, by my troth, I know not: but I know, to late is to be up late. up Sir To. A false conclusion: I hate it as an unfilled can. To be up after midnight, and to go to bed then, is early so that, to go to bed after midnight, is to go to bed betimes. Do not our lives consist of the four elements? Sir And. Faith, so they say; but, I think, it rather consists of eating and drinking. Sir To. Thou 'rt a scholar; let us therefore eat and drink. -Marian, I say! a stoop of wine! Sir And. Here comes the fool, i' faith. Enter Clown. Clo. How now, my hearts! did you never see the picture of we three? Sir To. Welcome, ass. Now let's have a catch. Sir And. 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? Clo. 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 And. Excellent! why, this is the best fooling, when all is done. Now, a song. Sir To. Come on; there is sixpence for you: let's have a song. Sir And. There's a testril of me too: if one knight give a-(15) Clo. Would you have a love-song, or a song of good life? Sir And. Ay, ay: I care not for good life. SONG. Clo. O mistress mine, where are you roaming? Trip no further, pretty sweeting; Clo. What is love? 'tis not hereafter; 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 And. A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight. Sir To. A contagious breath. Sir And. Very sweet and contagious, i' faith. Sir To. To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion. But shall we make the welkin dance indeed? shall we rouse the night-owl in a catch that will draw three souls out of one weaver? shall we do that? Sir And. An you love me, let's do't: I am dog at a catch. Clo. By'r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well. Sir And. Most certain. Let our catch be, "Thou knave." Clo. "Hold thy peace, thou knave," knight? I shall be constrained in't to call thee knave, knight. Sir And. 'Tis not the first time I have constrained one to call me knave. Begin, fool: it begins, "Hold thy peace." Clo. I shall never begin, if I hold my peace. Sir And. Good, i' faith. Come, begin. [They sing a catch. Enter MARIA. Mar. 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 To. My lady's a Cataian, we are politicians; Malvolio's a Peg-a-Ramsey, and "Three merry men be we." Am not I consanguineous? am I not of her blood? Tilly-vally, lady! There dwelt a man in Babylon, lady, lady! [Singing. Clo. Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable fooling. Sir And. 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 To. O, the twelfth day of December,- Enter MALVOLIO. [Singing. Mal. My masters, are you mad? or what are you? Have you 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 cosiers' catches without any mitigation or remorse of voice? Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time, in you? Sir To. We did keep time, sir, in our catches. Snick-up! Mal. 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 misdemeanours, 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 To. Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs be gone. [Singing.(16) Mar. Nay, good Sir Toby. Clo. His eyes do show his days are almost done. [Singing. Mal. Is 't even so? |