SCENE I. OLIVIA'S garden.
[Enter VIOLA, and CLOWN with a tabor.]
Save thee, friend, and thy music. Dost thou live by thy tabor?
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.
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.
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
Nay, that's certain; they that dally nicely with words may
quickly make them wanton.
I would, therefore, my sister had had no name, sir.
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.
Thy reason, man?
Troth, sir, I can yield you none without words; and words
are grown so false I am loath to prove reason with them.
I warrant, thou art a merry fellow, and carest for nothing.
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.
Art not thou the Lady Olivia's fool?
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.
I saw thee late at the Count Orsino's.
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
Nay, an thou pass upon me, I'll no more with thee.
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; though I
would not have it grow on my chin. Is thy lady within?
Would not a pair of these have bred, sir?
Yes, being kept together and put to use.
I would play Lord Pandarus of Phrygia, sir, to bring a
Cressida to this Troilus.
I understand you, sir; 'tis well begged.
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 overworn.
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-fallen, quite taint their wit.
[Enter SIR TOBY BELCH and SIR ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK.]
Save you, gentleman.
And you, sir.
Dieu vous garde, monsieur.
Et vous aussi; votre serviteur.
I hope, sir, you are; and I am yours.
Will you encounter the house? my niece is desirous you
should enter, if your trade be to her.
I am bound to your niece, sir: I mean, she is the list of my
Taste your legs, sir; put them to motion.
My legs do better understand me, sir, than I understand what
you mean by bidding me taste my legs.
I mean, to go, sir, to enter.
I will answer you with gait and entrance: but we are prevented.
[Enter OLIVIA and MARIA.]
Most excellent accomplished lady, the heavens rain odours on you!
That youth's a rare courtier- 'Rain odours'! well.
My matter hath no voice, lady, but to your own most pregnant
and vouchsafed car.
'Odours,' 'pregnant,' and 'vouchsafed': - I'll get 'em all
Let the garden door be shut, and leave me to my hearing.
[Exeunt SIR TOBY, SIR ANDREW, and MARIA.]
Give me your hand, sir.
My duty, madam, and most humble service.
What is your name?
Cesario is your servant's name, fair princess.
My servant, sir! 'Twas never merry world,
Since lowly feigning was call'd compliment:
You are servant to the Count Orsino, youth.
And he is yours, and his must needs be yours;
Your servant's servant is your servant, madam.
For him, I think not on him: for his thoughts,
Would they were blanks rather than fill'd with me!
Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts
On his behalf: -
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.
Dear lady, -
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 the unmuzzl'd 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.
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:
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.
Grace and good disposition 'tend your ladyship!
You'll nothing, madam, to my lord by me?
I pr'ythee tell me what thou think'st of me.
That you do think you are not what you are.
If I think so, I think the same of you.
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!
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 everything,
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.
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.
SCENE II. A Room in OLIVIA'S House.
[Enter SIR TOBY BELCH, SIR ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK, and FABIAN.]
No, faith, I'll not stay a jot longer.
Thy reason, dear venom: give thy reason.
You must needs yield your reason, Sir Andrew.
Marry, I saw your niece do more favours to the count's
servingman than ever she bestowed upon me; I saw't i' the
Did she see thee the while, old boy? tell me that.
As plain as I see you now.
This was a great argument of love in her toward you.
'Slight! will you make an ass o' me?
I will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the oaths of judgment
And they have been grand jurymen since before Noah was a
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 banged the youth into dumbness. This was
looked for at your hand, and this was baulked: the double gilt of
this opportunity you let time wash off, and you are now sailed
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.
And't be any way, it must be with valour: for policy I
hate; I had as lief be a Brownist as a politician.
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.
There is no way but this, 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 and full of invention;
taunt him with the licence 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.
Where shall I find you?
We'll call thee at the cubiculo. Go.
[Exit SIR ANDREW.]
This is a dear manakin to you, Sir Toby.
I have been dear to him, lad; some two thousand strong, or so.
We shall have a rare letter from him: but you'll not deliver it.
Never trust me then; and by all means stir on the youth
to an answer. I think oxen and wainropes cannot hale them
together. For Andrew, if he were opened and you find so much
blood in his liver as will clog the foot of a flea, I'll eat the
rest of the anatomy.
And his opposite, the youth, bears in his visage no great
presage of cruelty.
Look where the youngest wren of nine comes.
If you desire the spleen, and will laugh yourselves into
stitches, follow me: yond gull Malvolio is turned heathen, a very
renegado; for there is no Christian, that means to be saved by
believing rightly, can ever believe such impossible passages of
grossness. He's in yellow stockings.
Most villainously; like a pedant that keeps a school i' the
church. - I have dogged him like his murderer. He does obey every
point of the letter that I dropped 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
'tis; 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
Come, bring us, bring us where he is.
SCENE III. A street.
[Enter ANTONIO and 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.
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.
My kind Antonio,
I can no other answer make but thanks,
And thanks, and ever thanks. Often good turns
Are shuffled 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?
To-morrow, sir; best, first, go see your lodging.
I am not weary, and 'tis long to night;
I pray you, let us satisfy our eyes
With the memorials and the things of fame
That do renown this city.
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 answered.
Belike you slew great number of his people.
The 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 answered 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.
Do not then walk too open.
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.
Why I your purse?
Haply your eye shall light upon some toy
You have desire to purchase; and your store,
I think, is not for idle markets, sir.
I'll be your purse-bearer, and leave you for an hour.
To the Elephant. -
I do remember.
SCENE IV. OLIVIA'S garden.
[Enter OLIVIA and MARIA.]
I have sent after him. He says he'll come;
How shall I feast him? what bestow on him?
For youth is bought more oft than begged or borrowed.
I speak too loud. -
Where's Malvolio? - He is sad and civil,
And suits well for a servant with my fortunes; -
Where is Malvolio?
He's coming, madam:
But in very strange manner. He is sure possessed.
Why, what's the matter? does he rave?
No, madam, he does nothing but smile: your ladyship were
best to have some guard about you if he come;
For, sure, the man is tainted in his wits.
Go call him hither. - I'm as mad as he,
If sad and merry madness equal be. -
How now, Malvolio?
Sweet lady, ho, ho.
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, it is with me as the very true
sonnet is: 'Please one and please all.'
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, sweetheart; and I'll come to thee.
God comfort thee! Why dost thou smile so, and kiss thy hand so
How do you, Malvolio?
At your request? Yes; nightingales answer daws.
Why appear you with this ridiculous boldness before my lady?
'Be not afraid of greatness': - 'twas well writ.
What meanest thou by that, Malvolio?
'Some are born great,' -
'Some achieve greatness,' -
What say'st thou?
'And some have greatness thrust upon them.'
Heaven restore thee!
'Remember who commended thy yellow stockings;' -
Thy yellow stockings?
'And wished to see thee cross-gartered.'
'Go to: thou an made, if thou desirest to be so:' -
Am I made?
'If not, let me see thee a servant still.'
Why, this is very midsummer madness.
Madam, the young gentleman of the Count Orsino's is
returned; I could hardly entreat him back; he attends your
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; I would not
have him miscarry for the half of my dowry.
[Exeunt OLIVIA and MARIA.]
O, ho! do you come near me now? No worse man than Sir
Toby to look to me? This concurs directly with the letter: she
sends him on purpose, that I may appear stubborn to him; for she
incites me to that in the letter. 'Cast thy humble slough,' says
she; - 'be opposite with a kinsman, surly with servants, - let thy
tongue tang with arguments of state, - put thyself into the trick
of singularity; - and consequently, sets down the manner how; as,
a sad face, a reverend carriage, a slow tongue, in the habit of
some sir of note, and so forth. I have limed her; but it is
Jove's doing, and Jove make me thankful! And, when she went away
now, 'Let this fellow be looked to;' Fellow! not Malvolio, nor
after my degree, but fellow. Why, everything adheres together;
that no dram of a scruple, no scruple of a scruple, no obstacle,
no incredulous or unsafe circumstance, - What can be said?
Nothing, that can be, can come between me and the full prospect
of my hopes. Well, Jove, not I, is the doer of this, and he is to
[Re-enter MARIA, with SIR TOBY BELCH and FABIAN.]
Which way is he, in the name of sanctity? If all the
devils of hell be drawn in little, and Legion himself possessed
him, yet I'll speak to him.
Here he is, here he is: - How is't with you, sir? how is't with
Go off; I discard you; let me enjoy my private; go off.
Lo, how hollow the fiend speaks within him! did not I tell
you? - Sir Toby, my lady prays you to have a care of him.
Ah, ha! does she so?
Go to, go to; peace, peace, we must deal gently with him;
let me alone. How do you, Malvolio? how is't with you? What, man!
defy the devil: consider, he's an enemy to mankind.
Do you know what you say?
La you, an you speak ill of the devil, how he takes it at
heart! Pray God he be not bewitched.
Carry his water to the wise woman.
Marry, and it shall be done to-morrow morning, if I live. My
lady would not lose him for more than I'll say.
How now, mistress!
Pr'ythee hold thy peace; this is not the way. Do you not
see you move him? let me alone with him.
No way but gentleness; gently, gently: the fiend is rough,
and will not be roughly used.
Why, how now, my bawcock? how dost thou, chuck.
Ay, Biddy, come with me. What, man! 'tis not for gravity
to play at cherry-pit with Satan. Hang him, foul collier!
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.
Go, hang yourselves all! you are idle shallow things: I
am not of your element; you shall know more hereafter.
If this were played upon a stage now, I could condemn it as
an improbable fiction.
His very genius hath taken the infection of the device, man.
Nay, pursue him now; lest the device take air and taint.
Why, we shall make him mad indeed.
The house will be the quieter.
Come, we'll have him in a dark room and bound. My niece
is already in the belief that he's mad; we may carry it thus, for
our pleasure and his penance, till our very pastime, tired out of
breath, prompt us to have mercy on him: at which time we will
bring the device to the bar, and crown thee for a finder of
madmen. But see, but see.
[Enter SIR ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK.]
More matter for a May morning.
Here's the challenge, read it; I warrant there's vinegar and
Is't so saucy?
Ay, is't, I warrant him; do but read.
Give me. [Reads.] 'Youth, whatsoever thou art, thou art but a
Good and valiant.
'Wonder not, nor admire not in thy mind, why I do
call thee so, for I will show thee no reason for't.'
A good note: that keeps you from the blow of the law.
'Thou comest to the Lady Olivia, and in my sight
she uses thee kindly: but thou liest in thy throat; that is not
the matter I challenge thee for.'
Very brief, and to exceeding good senseless.
'I will waylay thee going home; where if it be
thy chance to kill me,' -
'Thou kill'st me like a rogue and a villain.'
Still you keep o' the windy side of the law. Good.
'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 Ague-Cheek.'
If this letter move him not, his legs cannot: I'll give't him.
You may have very fit occasion for't; he is now in some
commerce with my lady, and will by and by depart.
Go, Sir Andrew; scout me for him at the corner of the
orchard, like a bum-bailiff; so soon as ever thou seest him,
draw; and as thou drawest, swear horrible; for it comes to pass
oft that a terrible oath, with a swaggering accent sharply
twanged off, gives manhood more approbation than ever proof
itself would have earned him. Away.
Nay, let me alone for swearing.
Now will not I deliver his letter; for the behaviour of
the young gentleman gives him out to be of good capacity and
breeding; his employment between his lord and my niece confirms
no less; therefore this letter, being so excellently ignorant,
will breed no terror in the youth: he will find it comes from a
clodpole. But, sir, I will deliver his challenge by word of
mouth, set upon Ague-cheek notable report of valour, and drive
the gentleman, - as I know his youth will aptly receive it, - into
a most hideous opinion of his rage, skill, fury, and impetuosity.
This will so fright them both that they will kill one another by
the look, like cockatrices.
[Enter OLIVIA and VIOLA.]
Here he comes with your niece; give them way till he take
leave, and presently after him.
I will meditate the while upon some horrid message for a
[Exeunt SIR TOBY, FABIAN, and MARIA.]
I have said too much unto a heart of stone,
And laid mine honour too unchary on it:
There's something in me that reproves my fault;
But such a headstrong potent fault it is
That it but mocks reproof.
With the same 'haviour that your passion bears
Goes on my master's griefs.
Here, wear this jewel for me; 'tis my picture;
Refuse it not; it hath no tongue to vex you:
And, I beseech you, come again to-morrow.
What shall you ask of me that I'll deny,
That, honour saved, may upon asking give?
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.
Well, come again to-morrow. Fare thee well;
A fiend like thee might bear my soul to hell.
[Re-enter SIR TOBY BELCH and SIR FABIAN.]
Gentleman, God save thee.
And you, sir.
That defence thou hast, betake thee to't. Of what nature
the wrongs are thou hast done him, I know not; but thy
intercepter, full of despite, bloody as the hunter, attends
thee at the orchard end: dismount thy tuck, be yare in thy
preparation, for thy assailant is quick, skilful, and deadly.
You mistake, sir; I am sure no man hath any quarrel to me;
my remembrance is very free and clear from any image of offence
done to any man.
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 withal.
I pray you, sir, what is he?
He is knight, dubbed with unhacked rapier and on carpet
consideration; but he is a devil in private brawl; souls and
bodies hath he divorced three; and his incensement at this moment
is so implacable that satisfaction can be none but by pangs of
death and sepulchre: hob, nob is his word; give't or take't.
I will return again into the house and desire some conduct
of the lady. I am no fighter. I have heard of some kind of men
that put quarrels purposely on others to taste their valour:
belike this is a man of that quirk.
Sir, no; his indignation derives itself out of a very
competent injury; therefore, get you on and give him his desire.
Back you shall not to the house, unless you undertake that with
me which with as much safety you might answer him: therefore on,
or strip your sword stark naked; for meddle you must, that's
certain, or forswear to wear iron about you.
This is as uncivil as strange. I beseech you, do me this
courteous office as to know of the knight what my offence to him
is; it is something of my negligence, nothing of my purpose.
I Will do so. Signior Fabian, stay you by this gentleman
till my return.
[Exit SIR TOBY.]
Pray you, sir, do you know of this matter?
I know the knight is incensed against you, even to a mortal
arbitrement; but nothing of the circumstance more.
I beseech you, what manner of man is he?
Nothing of that wonderful promise, to read him by his form,
as you are like to find him in the proof of his valour. He is
indeed, sir, the most skilful, bloody, and fatal opposite that
you could possibly have found in any part of Illyria. Will you
walk towards him? I will make your peace with him if I can.
I shall be much bound to you for't. I am one that would
rather go with sir priest than sir knight: I care not who knows
so much of my mettle.
[Re-enter SIR TOBY With SIR ANDREW.]
Why, man, he's a very devil; I have not seen such a
virago. I had a pass with him, rapier, scabbard, and all, and he
gives me the stuck-in with such a mortal motion that it is
inevitable; and on the answer, he pays you as surely as your feet
hit the ground they step on. They say he has been fencer to the
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; an I thought he had been valiant, and so
cunning in fence, I'd have seen him damned ere I'd have
challenged him. Let him let the matter slip and I'll give him
my horse, grey Capilet.
I'll make the motion. Stand here, make a good show on't;
this shall end without the perdition of souls. [Aside.] Marry,
I'll ride your horse as well as I ride you.
[Re-enter FABIAN and VIOLA.]
I have his horse [To FABIAN.] to take up the quarrel; I have
persuaded him the youth's a devil.
He is as horribly conceited of him; and pants and looks pale, as
if a bear were at his heels.
There's no remedy, sir: he will fight with you for's oath sake:
marry, he hath better bethought him of his quarrel, and he finds
that now scarce to be worth talking of: therefore, draw for the
supportance of his vow; he protests he will not hurt you.
[Aside] Pray God defend me! A little thing would make me
tell them how much I lack of a man.
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: he cannot by the
duello avoid it; but he has promised me, as he is a gentleman and
a soldier, he will not hurt you. Come on: to't.
Pray God he keep his oath!
I do assure you 'tis against my will.
Put up your sword: - if this young gentleman
Have done offence, I take the fault on me;
If you offend him, I for him defy you.
You, sir! why, 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.
[Enter two Officers.]
FABIAN. O good Sir Toby, hold; here come the officers.
[To ANTONIO] I'll be with you anon.
[To Sir Andrew.] Pray, sir, put your sword up, if you please.
Marry, will I, sir; and for that I promised you, I'll be
as good as my word. He will bear you easily and reins well.
This is the man; do thy office.
Antonio, I arrest thee at the suit
Of Count Orsino.
You do mistake me, sir.
No, sir, no jot; I know your favour well,
Though now you have no sea-cap on your head. -
Take him away; he knows I know him well.
I Must obey. - This comes with seeking you;
But there's no remedy; I shall answer it.
What will you do? Now my necessity
Makes me to ask you for my purse. It grieves me
Much more for what I cannot do for you
Than what befalls myself. You stand amazed;
But be of comfort.
Come, sir, away.
I must entreat of you some of that money.
What money, sir?
For the fair kindness you have showed me here,
And part being prompted by your present trouble,
Out of my lean and low ability
I'll lend you something; my having is not much;
I'll make division of my present with you:
Hold, there is half my coffer.
Will you deny me now?
Is't possible that my deserts to you
Can lack persuasion? Do not tempt my misery,
Lest that it make me so unsound a man
As to upbraid you with those kindnesses
That I have done for you.
I know of none,
Nor know I you by voice or any feature:
I hate ingratitude more in a man
Than lying, vainness, babbling, drunkenness,
Or any taint of vice whose strong corruption
Inhabits our frail blood.
O heavens themselves!
Come, sir, I pray you go.
Let me speak a little. This youth that you see here
I snatched one half out of the jaws of death,
Relieved him with such sanctity of love, -
And to his image, which methought did promise
Most venerable worth, did I devotion.
What's that to us? The time goes by; away.
But O how vile an idol proves this god!
Thou hast, Sebastian, done good feature shame.
In nature there's no blemish but the mind;
None can be call'd deform'd but the unkind:
Virtue is beauty; but the beauteous-evil
Are empty trunks, o'erflourished by the devil.
The man grows mad; away with him. Come, come, sir.
Lead me on.
[Exeunt Officers with ANTONIO.]
Methinks his words do from such passion fly
That he believes himself; so do not I.
Prove true, imagination; O prove true,
That I, dear brother, be now ta'en for you!
Come hither, knight; come hither, Fabian; we'll whisper
o'er a couplet or two of most sage saws.
He named Sebastian; I my brother know
Yet living in my glass; even such and so
In favour was my brother; and he went
Still in this fashion, colour, ornament,
For him I imitate. O, if it prove,
Tempests are kind, and salt waves fresh in love!
A very dishonest paltry boy, and more a coward than a
hare: his dishonesty appears in leaving his friend here in
necessity, and denying him; and for his cowardship, ask Fabian.
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.
And I do not, -
Come, let's see the event.
I dare lay any money 'twill be nothing yet.