wench? Castiliano volto;' for here comes Sir Andrew Ague-face. Enter SIR ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK. Sir And. Sir Toby Belch! how now, Sir Toby Belch. Sir To. Sweet Sir Andrew! Sir And. Bless you, fair shrew. Mar. And you too, sir. Sir To. Accost, Sir Andrew, accost. Sir And. What's that? Sir To. My niece's chamber-maid. Sir To. 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 And. '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 noue of me: the count himself, here hard by, woos her. Sir To. She'll none o' the count; she'll not match above her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit; I have heard her swear it. Tut, there's life in't, man. Sir And. I'll stay a month longer. I am a fel Sir And. Good mistress Accost, I desire better low o' the strangest mind i' the world; I delight in acquaintance. Mar. My name is Mary, sir. Sir And. Good mistress Mary Accost, Sir To. You mistake, knight: accost, is, front her, board her, woo her, assail her. Sir And. By my troth, I would not undertake her in this company. Is that the meaning of accost? Mar. Fare you well, gentlemen. Sir To. An thou let part so, Sir Andrew, 'would thou might'st never draw sword again. Sir And. An you part so, mistress, I would I might never draw sword again. Fair lady, do you think you have fools in hand? Mar. Sir, I have not you by the hand. Sir And. Marry, but you shall have; and here's my hand. Mar. Now, sir, thought is free: I pray you, bring your hand to the buttery-bar, and let it drink. Sir And. Wherefore, sweetheart? what's your metaphor? Mar. It's dry, sir. Sir And. Why, I think so; I am not such an ass, but I can keep my hand dry. But what's your jest? Mar. A dry jest, sir. Sir And. Are you full of them? Mar. Ay, sir; I have them at my fingers' ends: marry, now I let go your hand, I am barren. [Exit MARIA. Sir To. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of canary: When did I see thee so put down? Sir And. 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 To. No question. masques and revels sometimes altogether. Sir To. Art thou good at these kickshaws, knight? Sir And. 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 To. What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight? Sir And. 'Faith, I can cut a caper. Sir To. And I can cut the mutton to't. Sir And. And, I think I have the back-trick, simply as strong as any man in Illyria. fore have these gifts a curtain before them? 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 To. Wherefore are these things hid? where Sir And. Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a flame-coloured stock. Shall we set about some revels? Sir To. What shall we do else? were we not born under Taurus? ལྟ་ །ཟླ་ Sir And. Taurus? that's sides and heart. Sir To. No, sir; it is legs and thighs. Let me see thee caper: ha! higher: ha, ha!-excellent! [Exeunt. SCENE IV. A Room in the Duke's palace. Enter VALENTINE, and VIOLA in man's attire. Val. If the Duke continues these favours towards you, Cesario, you are like to be much advanced; he hath known you but three days, and already you Sir And. An I thought that, I'd forswear it. I'll are no stranger. ride home to-morrow, Sir Toby. Sir To. Pourquoy, my dear knight? I Sir And. What is pourquoy? do or not do? would I had bestowed that time in the tongues, that I have in fencing, dancing, and bear-baiting: 0, had I but followed the arts! Sir To. Then hadst thou had an excellent head of hair. Sir And. Why, would that have mended my hair? Sir To. Past question; for thou seest it will not curl by nature. Sir And. But it becomes me well enough, does't not? 1 The old copy reads Castiliano vulgo. Warburton proposed reading Castiliano volto. In English, put on your Castilian countenance, i. e.' grave serious looks. I have no doubt that Warburton was right, for that read. ing is required by the context, and Castiliano vulgo has no meaning. But I have met with a passage in Hall's Satires, B. iv. S. 2, which I think places it beyond a doubt: -'he can kiss hand in gree, Vio. You either fear his humour, or my negli- Enter DUKE, CURIO, and Attendants. Vio. On your attendance, my lord; here. 2 i. e. Mall Cutpurse, whose real name was Mary Frith. She was at once an hermaphrodite, a bawd, a prostitute, a bully, a thief, and a receiver of stolen goods. A book called The Madde Prankes of Merry Mall of the Bankside, with her Walks in Man's Apparel, and to what purpose, by John Day,' was entered on the Stationers' books in 1610. Middleton and Decker wrote a Comedy, of which she is the heroine, and a life of her was published in 1662, with her portrait in male attire. As this extraordinary personage partook of both sexes, the curtain which Sir Toby mentions would not have been unnecessarily drawn before such a picture of her as might have been exhibited in an age of which neither too much delicacy nor too much decency was the characteristic. 3 Cinque-pace, the name of a dance, the measures whereof are regulated by the number 5, also called a Galliard. And shake his head, and cringe his neck and side,'&c. The Spaniards were in high estimation for courtesy, though the natural gravity of the national countenance was thought to be a cloak for villany. The Castiliano volto was in direct opposition to the viso sciolto which the noble Roman told Sir Henry Wootton would go safe over the world. Castiliano vulgo, besides its want of 5 Alluding to the medical astrology of the almanacks. connexion or meaning in this place, could hardly have Both the knights are wrong, but their ignorance is per. been a proverbial phrase, when we remember that Cas-haps intentional. Taurus is made to govern the neck tile is the noblest part of Spain 4 Stocking. and throat. SCENE V. TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. Therefore, good youth, address thy gait1 unto her; | thee, may pass for a wise man: For what says Vio. Quinapalus? Better a witty fool, than a foolish wit. Clo. Do you not hear, fellows? Take If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow Vio. Say, I do speak with her, my lord; what then? lady. away the Ŏli. Go to, you're a dry fool; I'll no more of you: besides you grow dishonest. Clo. 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 Duke. O, then unfold the passion of my love, he cannot, let the botcher mend him: Any thing Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith: that's mended, is but patched: virtue, that transIt shall become thee well to act my woes; gresses, is but patched with sin: and sin, that She will a tend it better in thy youth, amends, is but patched with virtue: If that this Than in a nuncio of more grave aspect. simple syllogism will serve, so; if it will not, what Vio. I think not so, my lord. Dear lad, believe it; remedy? As there is no true cuckold but calamity, Duke. so beauty's a flower :-the lady bade take away For they shall yet belie thy happy years fool; therefore, I say again, take her away. That say, thou art a man: Diana's lip Oli. Sir, I bade them take away you. Clo. Misprision in the highest degree!-Lady, Cucullus non facit mmachum; that's as much as to say, I wear not motley in my brain. Good madonna, give me leave to prove you a fool. Oli. Can you do it? Is not more smooth and rubious; thy small pipe For this affair:-Some four or five attend him; When least in company:-Prosper well in this, Vio. I'll do my best To woo your lady: yet [Aside,] a barful strife! Enter Mar. 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. Clo. Let her hang me: he that is well hanged in his world needs to fear no colours. Mar. Make that good. Clo. He shall see none to fear. Mar. A good lenten answer: I can tell thee where that saying was born, of, I fear no colours. Clo. Where, good mistress Mary! Mar. In the wars; and that may you be bold to say in your foolery. Clo. Well, God give them wisdom, that have it; and those that are fools, let them use their talents. Mar. 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? Clo. Dexterously, good madam. the Clo. I must catechize you for it, madonna · Good my mouse of virtue, answer me. Oli. Well, sir, for want of other idleness, I'll 'bide your proof. Clo. Good madonna, why mourn'st thou? Oli. I know his soul is in heaven, fool Clo. The more fool you, madonna, to mourn for your brother's soul being in heaven.-Take away the fool, gentlemen. Oli. What think you of this fool, Malvolio? doth he not mend? Mal. Yes; and shall do, till the pangs of death shake him: Infirmity, that decays the wise, doth ever make the better fool. Clo. God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for the better encreasing your folly! Sir Toby will be no fox; but he will not pass his sworn that I am word for twopence that you are no fool. Oli. How say you to that, Malvolio? Mal. I marvel your ladyship takes delight in such a barren rascal; I saw him put down the other day with an ordinary fool that has no more brain than a stone. Look you now, he's out of his guard alreaClo. Many a good hanging prevents a bad mar-dy; unless you laugh and minister occasion to him, riage; and, for turning away, let summer bear it out. he is gagged. I protest I take these wise men, that crow so at these set of kind fools, no better than the "Mar. You are resolute then? fools' zanies." 1 Go thy way. 2 A contest full of impediments. 8 The clown in this play is a domestic fool in the service of Olivia. He is specifically termed an allowed fool, and Feste, the jester that the lady Olivia's father took much delight in. Malvolio speaks of him as 'a set fool. The dress of the domestic fool was of two sorts, described by Mr. Douce in his Essay on the Clowns and Fools of Shakspeare, to which we must refer the reader for full information. The dress sometimes appropriated to the character is thus described in Tarleton's Newes out of Purgatory: I saw one attired in russet, with a button'd cap upon his head, a bag by his side, and a strong bat in his hand; so artificially ai Mar. Madam, there is at the gate a young gentleman, much desires to speak with you. tired for a clowne as I began to call Tarleton's wonted shape to remembrance,' 4 Short and spare. Sparing, niggardly, insufficient, like the fare of old times in Lent. Metaphorically, short, laconic. Says Steevens. I rather incline to Johnson's explanation, a good dry answer.' Steevens does not seem to have been aware that a dry fig was called a lenten fig. In fact, lenten fare was dry fare. 5 Points were laces which fastened the hose or breeches. Oli. From the count Orsino, is it? Mar. I know not, madam; 'tis a fair young man, and well attended, Oli. Who of my people hold him in delay? Oli. Fetch him off, I pray you; he speaks nothing but madman: Fie on him! [Exit MARIA.] Go you, Malvolio; if it be a suit from the count, am sick, or not at home; what you will to dismiss it. [Exit MALVOLIO.] Now you see, sir, how your fooling grows old, and people dislike it. Clo. Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy eldest son should be a fool: whose skull Jove cram with brains, for here he comes, one of thy kin, has a most weak pia mater.1 Enter SIR TOBY BELCH. Re-enter MARIA, Oli. Give me my veil; come, throw it o'er my face; We'll once more hear Orsino's embassy. Enter VIOLA. Vio. The honourable lady of the house, which is she? Oli. Speak to me, I shall answer for her: Your will? Vio. Most radiant, exquisite, and unmatchable 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; for, besides that it is excellently well penn'd, I have taken great pains to con it. Good beauties, let me sustain no scorn; I am very comptible, even to the least sinister Öli. Whence come you, sir? Oli. By mine honour, half drunk.-What is he usage. at the gate, cousin? Sir To. A gentleman. Oli. A gentleman! what gentleman? Vio. I can say little more than I have studied, and that question's out of my part. Good gentle Sir To. "Tis a gentleman here-A plague o'these one, give me modest assurance, if you be the lady pickle-herrings !-How now, sot? Clo. Good Sir Toby, Oli. Cousin, cousin, how have you come so early by this lethargy? Sir To. Lechery! I defy lechery: There's one at the gate. Oli. Ay, marry; what is he? Sir To. Let him be the devil, an he will, I care not give me faith, say I. Well, it's all one. [Exit. Oli. What's a drunken man like, fool? Clo. Like a drown'd man, a fool, and a madman: one draught above heat makes him a fool; the second mads him; and a third drowns him. Oli. Go thou and seek the coroner, and let him sit o' my coz; for he's in the third degree of drink; he's drown'd; go, look after him. Clo. He is but mad yet, madonna; and the fool shall look to the madman. [Exit Clown. Re-enter MALVOLIO. Mal. Madam, yond' young fellow swears he will speak to you. I told him you were sick; he takes on him to understand so much, and therefore comes to speak with you: I told him you were asleep; he seems to have a foreknowledge of that too, and therefore comes to speak with you. What is to be said to him, lady? he's fortified against any denial. Oli. Tell him, he shall not speak with me. Mal. He has been told so: and he says, he'll stand at your door like a sheriff's post, and be the supporter of a bench, but he'll speak with you. Oli. What kind of man is he? Mal. Why, of man kind. Oli. What manner of man? Mal. Of very ill manner; he'll speak with you, will you or no. Oli. Of what personage and years is he? Mal. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy; as a squash is before 'tis a peascod, or a codling when 'tis almost an apple: 'tis with him e'en standing water, between boy and man. He is very well favoured, and he speaks very shrewishly; one would think, his mother's milk were scarce out of him. Oli. Let him approach: Call in my gentle 1 The membrane that covers the brain. 2 The sheriffs formerly had painted posts set up at their doors, on which proclamations, &c. were affixed. 3 A codling (according to Mr. Gifford,) means an involucrum or kell, and was used by our old writers for that early state of vegetation, when the fruit, after shaking off the blossom, began to assume a globular and determinate shape. Mr. Nares says, a codling was a young raw apple, fit for nothing without dressing, and that it is so named because it was chiefly eaten when coddled or scalded; codlings being particularly so used when unripe. Florio interprets Mele cotte, quodlings, boiled apples. 4 Accountable. of the house, that I may proceed in my speech. Oli. Are you a comedian? Vio. No, my profound heart: and yet, by the very fangs of malice, I swear, I am not that I play. Are you the lady of the house? Ol. If I do not usurp myself, I am. Vio. Most certain, if you are she, you do usurp yourself; for what is yours to bestow, is not yours to reserve. But this is from my commission: I will on with my speech in your praise, and then shew you the heart of my message. Oli. Come to what is important in't: I forgive you the praise. Vio. Alas, I took great pains to study it, and 'tis poetical. Oli. It is the more like to be feigned; I pray you. keep it in. I heard you were saucy at my gates; and allowed your approach, rather to wonder at you than to hear you. If you be not mad, he gone; if you have reason, be brief: 'tis not that time of moon with me, to make one in so skipping" a dialogue. Mar. Will you hoist sail, sir? here lies your way. Vio. No, good swabber: I am to hull here a little longer.-Some mollification for your giant, sweet lady. Oli. Tell me your mind. Vio. I am a messenger. Oli. Sure, you have some hideous matter to deliver, when the courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak your office. Vio. It alone concerns your ear. I bring no overture of war, no taxation of homage; I hold the olive in my hand: my words are as full of peace as matter. Oli. Yet you began rudely. What are you? what would you? Vio. The rudeness, that hath appear'd in me, have I learn'd from my entertainment. What I am, and what I would, are as secret as maidenhead: to your ears, divinity; to any other's, profanation. Oli. Give us the place alone; we will hear this divinity. [Exit MARIA.] Now, sir, what is your text? SCENE IV. Vio. In Orsino s bosom? Oli. In his bosom? In what chapter of his bosom heart. Oli. O, I have read it; it is heresy. Have you no more to say? Vio. Good madam, let me see your face. Oli. 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 shew you the picture. Look you, sir, such a one as I was, [Unveiling. this presents:-Is't not well done? Vio. Excellently done, if God did all." Oh. "Tis in grain, sir; 'twill endure wind and weather. Vio. 'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white If you will lead these graces to the grave, Oli. 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 to my will: as, item, two lips indifferent red; item, two gray eyes, with lids to them; item, one neck, one chin, and so forth. Were you sent hither to 'praise me? Vio. I see you what you are: you are too proud; Oli. How does he love me? Oli. Your lord does know my mind, I cannot love Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble, Oli. You might do much: What is your parent- Vio. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well: Oli. Get you to your lord; I cannot love him: let him send no more; 8 8 Messenger. Love make his heart of flint, that you shall love; soft! soft! Above my fortunes, yet my state is well: Re-enter MALVOLIO. Mal. Oli. I do I know not what: and fear to find ACT II. SCENE I. The Sea Coast. Enter ANTONIO and Ant. Will you stay no longer? nor will you not, that I with you? go Seb. By your patience, no: my stars shine darkly over me; the malignancy of my fate might, per. haps, distemper yours; therefore I shall crave of you your leave, that I may bear my evils alone: It were a bad recompense for your love, to lay any of them on you. Ant. Let me yet know of you, whither you are bound. 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 express11 myself. You must know of me, then, Antonio, my name is Sebastian, which I called Rodorigo: my father was that Sebastian of Messaline, 14 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 9 Proclamation of gentility. 11 i. e. she fears that her eyes had formed so flattering an idea of the supposed youth Cesario, that she should not have strength of mind sufficient to resist the impres. sion. 12 i. e. we are not our own masters, we cannot govern ourselves; owe for own, possess. 13 Reveal. 14 Probably intended for Metelin, an island in the Archipelago. 15 i. c. esteeming wonder, or wonder and esteem. 16 There is a similar false thought in Hamlet: Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia, And therefore I forbid my tears. Ant. Purdon me, sir, your bad entertainment. Seb. O, good Antonio, forgive me your trouble. Ant. If will not murder me for my love, let you me be your servant. Sir And. Nay, by my troth, I know not: but] know to be up late, is to be up late. Sir And. 'Faith, so they say; but, I think, it rather consists of eating and drinking." Sir To. Thou art a scholar; let us therefore eat and drink.-Marian, I say!-a stoop of wine! Enter Clown. Sir To. A false conclusion; I hate it as an unfilled can: To be up after midnight, and to go to Seb. If you will not undo what you have done,bed then, is early; so that to go to bed after midthat is, kill him whom you have recovered, desire night, is to go to bed betimes. Do not our lives it not. Fare ye well at once; my bosom is full of consist of the four elements? 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: But, come what may, I do adore thee so, That danger shall seem sport, and I will go. [Exit. MALVOSCENE II. A Street. Enter VIOLA ; LIO 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. Mal. 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. [Exit. None of my lord's ring! why, he sent her none. In woman's waxen hearts to set their forms! How will this fadge ? My master loves her dearly: My state is desperate for my master's love; As I am woman, now alas the day! What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe? [Exit. SCENE III.-A Room in Olivia's House. CHEEK. Sir To. Approach, Sir Andrew: not to be a-bed after midnight, is to be up betimes; and diluculo surgere, thou know'st. 1 So, in Henry V. Act v. Sc. 6. And all my mother came into my eyes." 2 i. e. the fixed and eager view she took of me perverted the use of her tongue, and made her talk distractedly. 3 Dexterous, ready fiend. 4 How easy is it for the proper (i. e. fair in their appearance,) and false (i. e. deceitful,) to make an impression on the easy hearts of women! 5 Suit, or fit. 6 Diluculo surgere, saluberrimum est. This adage is in Lilly's Grammar. 7 A ridicule of the medical theory of that time, which supposed health to consist in the just temperament of the four elements in the human frame. Homer agrees with Sir Andrew: " -strength consists in spirits and in blood, Sir And. Here comes the fool, i'faith. 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 nas. 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, faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy leman: Hadst it? Clo. I did impeticos thy gratillity;" for Malvoho'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 Clo. Would you have a love-song, or a song of good life? Sir To. A love-song, a love-song. Sir And. Ay, ay; I care not for good life. SONG. Clo. O mistress mine, where are you roaming? Clo. What is love? 'tis not hereafter; Then come kiss me, sweet-and-twenty,12 Sir And. A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight. Sir And. Very sweet and contagious, i'faith. S Alluding to an old common sign representing two fools or loggerheads, under which was inscribed, We three loggerheads be." 9 i. e. Voice. In Fiddes's Life of Wolsey, Append. p 128, Singing men well breasted.' The phrase is common to all writers of the poet's age. 10 i e. mistress. 11 The greater part of this scene, which the commentators have endeavoured to explain, is mere gracious fooling, and was hardly meant to be seriously understood. The Clown uses the same fantastic language before. By some the phrase has been thought to mean I did impetticoat or impocket thy gratuity. 12 Sweet-and-twenty, appears to have been an ancient term of endearment. 13 Drink till the sky seems to turn round. 14 Shakspeare represents weavers as much given to harmony in his time. The peripatetic philosophy then in vogue liberally gave every man three souls, the vegetative or plastic, the animal, and the rational. Thus, in Hutton's Dictionary, 1583, Plato feigned the soul to be threefold, whereof he placed reason in the head, anger in the breast, desire or lust under the heart, liver, lites, &c.' But it may be doubted whether any allusion |