SIR ANDREW Wherefore, sweet-heart? what’s your metaphor?
MARIA It’s dry, sir.
SIR ANDREW Why, I think so: I am not such an ass but I can
keep my hand dry. But what’s your jest?
MARIA A dry jest, sir.
SIR ANDREW Are you full of them?
MARIA Ay, sir, I have them at my fingers’ ends: marry,
now I let go your hand, I am barren.
Exit
SIR TOBY BELCH O knight thou lackest a cup of canary: when did I
see thee so put down?
SIR ANDREW Never in your life, I think; unless you see canary
put me down. Methinks sometimes I have no more wit
than a Christian or an ordinary man has: but I am a
great eater of beef and I believe that does harm to my wit.
SIR TOBY BELCH No question.
SIR ANDREW An I thought that, I’ld forswear it. I’ll ride home
to-morrow, Sir Toby.
SIR TOBY BELCH Pourquoi, my dear knight?
SIR ANDREW What is ‘Pourquoi’? do or not do? I would I had
bestowed that time in the tongues that I have in
fencing, dancing and bear-baiting: O, had I but
followed the arts!
SIR TOBY BELCH Then hadst thou had an excellent head of hair.
SIR ANDREW Why, would that have mended my hair?
SIR TOBY BELCH Past question; for thou seest it will not curl by nature.
SIR ANDREW But it becomes me well enough, does’t not?
SIR TOBY BELCH Excellent; it hangs like flax on a distaff; and I
hope to see a housewife take thee between her legs
and spin it off.
SIR ANDREW Faith, I’ll home to-morrow, 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.
SIR TOBY BELCH She’ll none o’ the count: she’ll not match above
her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit; I
have heard her swear’t. Tut, there’s life in’t,
man.
SIR ANDREW I’ll stay a month longer. I am a fellow o’ the
strangest mind i’ the world; I delight in masques
and revels sometimes altogether.
SIR TOBY BELCH Art thou good at these kickshawses, knight?
SIR ANDREW As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be, under the
degree of my betters; and yet I will not compare
with an old man.
SIR TOBY BELCH What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight?
SIR ANDREW Faith, I can cut a caper.
SIR TOBY BELCH And I can cut the mutton to’t.
SIR ANDREW And I think I have the back-trick simply as strong
as any man in Illyria.
SIR TOBY BELCH Wherefore are these things hid? wherefore have
these gifts a curtain before ’em? are they like to
take dust, like Mistress Mall’s picture? why dost
thou not go to church in a galliard and come home in
a coranto? My very walk should be a jig; I would not
so much as make water but in a sink-a-pace. What
dost thou mean? Is it a world to hide virtues in?
I did think, by the excellent constitution of thy
leg, it was formed under the star of a galliard.
SIR ANDREW Ay, ’tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a
flame-coloured stock. Shall we set about some revels?
SIR TOBY BELCH What shall we do else? were we not born under Taurus?
SIR ANDREW Taurus! That’s sides and heart.
SIR TOBY BELCH No, sir; it is legs and thighs. Let me see the
caper; ha! higher: ha, ha! excellent!
Exeunt
Scene 4
DUKE ORSINO’s palace.
Enter VALENTINE and VIOLA in man’s attire
VALENTINE If the duke continue these favours towards you,
Cesario, you are like to be much advanced: he hath
known you but three days, and already you are no stranger.
VIOLA You either fear his humour or my negligence, that
you call in question the continuance of his love:
is he inconstant, sir, in his favours?
VALENTINE No, believe me.
VIOLA I thank you. Here comes the count.
Enter DUKE ORSINO, CURIO, and Attendants
DUKE ORSINO Who saw Cesario, ho?
VIOLA On your attendance, my lord; here.
DUKE ORSINO Stand you a while aloof, Cesario,
Thou know’st no less but all; I have unclasp’d
To thee the book even of my secret soul:
Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her;
Be not denied access, stand at her doors,
And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow
Till thou have audience.
VIOLA Sure, my noble lord,
If she be so abandon’d to her sorrow
As it is spoke, she never will admit me.
DUKE ORSINO Be clamorous and leap all civil bounds
Rather than make unprofited return.
VIOLA Say I do speak with her, my lord, what then?
DUKE ORSINO O, then unfold the passion of my love,
Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith:
It shall become thee well to act my woes;
She will attend it better in thy youth
Than in a nuncio’s of more grave aspect.
VIOLA I think not so, my lord.
DUKE ORSINO Dear lad, believe it;
For they shall yet belie thy happy years,
That say thou art a man: Diana’s lip
Is not more smooth and rubious; thy small pipe
Is as the maiden’s organ, shrill and sound,
And all is semblative a woman’s part.
I know thy constellation is right apt
For this affair. Some four or five attend him;
All, if you will; for I myself am best
When least in company. Prosper well in this,
And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord,
To call his fortunes thine.
VIOLA I’ll do my best
To woo your lady:
Aside
yet, a barful strife!
Whoe’er I woo, myself would be his wife.
Exeunt
Scene 5
OLIVIA’S house.
Enter MARIA and Clown
MARIA Nay, either tell me where thou hast been, or I will
not open my lips so wide as a bristle may enter in
way of thy excuse: my lady will hang thee for thy absence.
Clown Let her hang me: he that is well hanged in this
world needs to fear no colours.
MARIA Make that good.
Clown He shall see none to fear.
MARIA A good lenten answer: I can tell thee where that
saying was born, of ‘I fear no colours.’
Clown Where, good Mistress Mary?
MARIA In the wars; and that may you be bold to say in your foolery.
Clown Well, God give them wisdom that have it; and those
that are fools, let them use their talents.
MARIA Yet you will be hanged for being so long absent; or,
to be turned away, is not that as good as a hanging to you?
Clown Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage; and,
for turning away, let summer bear it out.
MARIA You are resolute, then?
Clown Not so, neither; but I am resolved on two points.
MARIA That if one break, the other will hold; or, if both
break, your gaskins fall.
Clown Apt, in good faith; very apt. Well, go thy way; if
Sir Toby would leave drinking, thou wert as witty a
piece of Eve’s flesh as any in Illyria.
MARIA Peace, you rogue, no more o’ that. Here comes my
lady: make your excuse wisely, you were best.
Exit
Clown Wit, an’t be thy will, put me into good fooling!
Those wits, that think they have thee, do very oft
prove fools; and I, that am sure I lack thee, may
pass for a wise man: for what says Quinapalus?
‘Better a witty fool, than a foolish wit.’
Enter OLIVIA with MALVOLIO
God bless thee, lady!
OLIVIA Take the fool away.
Clown Do you not hear, fellows? Take away the lady.
OLIVIA Go to, you’re a dry fool; I’ll no more of you:
besides, you grow dishonest.
Clown Two faults, madonna, that drink and good counsel
will amend: for give the dry fool drink, then is
the fool not dry: 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. If that this
simple syllogism will serve, so; if it will not,
what remedy? 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.
OLIVIA Sir, I bade them take away you.
Clown Misprision in the highest degree! Lady, cucullus non
facit monachum; that’s as much to say as I wear not
motley in my brain. Good madonna, give me leave to
prove you a fool.
OLIVIA Can you do it?
Clown Dexterously, good madonna.
OLIVIA Make your proof.
Clown I must catechise you for it, madonna: good my mouse
of virtue, answer me.
OLIVIA Well, sir, for want of other idleness, I’ll bide your proof.
Clown Good madonna, why mournest thou?