William Shakespeare - The Complete Works of William Shakespeare

DUKE.

O, she that hath a heart of that fine frame

To pay this debt of love but to a brother,

How will she love when the rich golden shaft

Hath kill’d the flock of all affections else

That live in her; when liver, brain, and heart,

These sovereign thrones, are all supplied, and fill’d—

Her sweet perfections — with one self king!

Away before me to sweet beds of flow’rs;

Love-thoughts lie rich when canopied with bow’rs.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE II. The seacoast.

[Enter VIOLA, a CAPTAIN, and SAILORS.]

VIOLA.

What country, friends, is this?

CAPTAIN.

This is Illyria, lady.

VIOLA.

And what should I do in Illyria?

My brother he is in Elysium.

Perchance he is not drown’d. What think you, sailors?

CAPTAIN.

It is perchance that you yourself were sav’d.

VIOLA.

O my poor brother! and so perchance may he be.

CAPTAIN.

True, madam: and, to comfort you with chance,

Assure yourself, after our ship did split,

When you, and those poor number sav’d with you,

Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother,

Most provident in peril, bind himself,

Courage and hope both teaching him the practice,

To a strong mast that liv’d upon the sea;

Where, like Arion on the dolphin’s back,

I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves

So long as I could see.

VIOLA.

For saying so, there’s gold:

Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope,

Whereto thy speech serves for authority,

The like of him. Know’st thou this country?

CAPTAIN.

Ay, madam, well; for I was bred and born

Not three hours’ travel from this very place.

VIOLA.

Who governs here?

CAPTAIN.

A noble duke, in nature as in name.

VIOLA.

What is his name?

CAPTAIN.

Orsino.

VIOLA.

Orsino! I have heard my father name him;

He was a bachelor then.

CAPTAIN.

And so is now, or was so very late;

For but a month ago I went from hence,

And then ‘twas fresh in murmur—as, you know,

What great ones do the less will prattle of—

That he did seek the love of fair Olivia.

VIOLA.

What’s she?

CAPTAIN.

A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count

That died some twelvemonth since, then leaving her

In the protection of his son, her brother,

Who shortly also died; for whose dear love,

They say, she hath abjur’d the company

And sight of men.

VIOLA.

O that I serv’d that lady,

And might not be delivered to the world,

Till I had made mine own occasion mellow,

What my estate is!

CAPTAIN.

That were hard to compass,

Because she will admit no kind of suit,

No, not the duke’s.

VIOLA.

There is a fair behaviour in thee, captain;

And though that nature with a beauteous wall

Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee

I will believe thou hast a mind that suits

With this thy fair and outward character.

I prithee, and I’ll pay thee bounteously,

Conceal me what I am, and be my aid

For such disguise as haply shall become

The form of my intent. I’ll serve this duke:

Thou shalt present me as an eunuch 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.

What else may hap, to time I will commit;

Only shape thou silence to my wit.

CAPTAIN.

Be you his eunuch, and your mute I’ll be;

When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see.

VIOLA.

I thank thee; lead me on.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE III. OLIVIA’S house.

[Enter SIR TOBY BELCH and MARIA.]

SIR TOBY. What a plague means my niece, to take the death of her brother thus? I am sure care’s an enemy to life.

MARIA. By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o’ nights; your cousin, my lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours.

SIR TOBY.

Why, let her except before excepted.

MARIA. Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modest limits of order.

SIR TOBY. Confine! I’ll confine myself no finer than I am. These clothes are good enough to drink in, and so be these boots too; and they be not, let them hang themselves in their own straps.

MARIA. 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.

SIR TOBY.

Who, Sir Andrew Aguecheek?

MARIA.

Ay, he.

SIR TOBY.

He’s as tall a man as any’s in Illyria.

MARIA.

What’s that to th’ purpose?

SIR TOBY.

Why, he has three thousand ducats a year.

MARIA. Ay, but he’ll have but a year in all these ducats; he’s a very fool and a prodigal.

SIR TOBY. Fie, that you’ll say so! he plays o’ th’ viol-de-gamboys, and speaks three or four languages word for word without book, and hath all the good gifts of nature.

MARIA. He hath indeed, almost natural; for, besides that he’s a fool, he’s a great quarreller; and but that he hath the gift of a coward to allay the gust he hath in quarrelling, ‘tis thought among the prudent he would quickly have the gift of a grave.

SIR TOBY. By this hand, they are scoundrels and subtractors that say so of him. Who are they?

MARIA.

They that add, moreover, he’s drunk nightly in your company.

SIR TOBY. With drinking healths to my niece. I’ll drink to her as long as there is a passage in my throat and drink in Illyria: he’s a coward and a coystrill that will not drink to my niece till his brains turn o’ th’ toe like a parish-top. What, wench! Castiliano vulgo! for here comes Sir Andrew Agueface.

[Enter SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK.]

SIR ANDREW.

Sir Toby Belch; how now, Sir Toby Belch!

SIR TOBY.

Sweet Sir Andrew!

SIR ANDREW.

Bless you, fair shrew.

MARIA.

And you too, sir.

SIR TOBY.

Accost, Sir Andrew, accost.

SIR ANDREW.

What’s that?

SIR TOBY.

My niece’s chambermaid.

SIR ANDREW.

Good Mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance.

MARIA.

My name is Mary, sir.

SIR ANDREW.

Good Mistress Mary Accost,—

SIR TOBY. You mistake, knight; ‘accost’ is front her, board her, woo her, assail her.

SIR ANDREW. By my troth, I would not undertake her in this company. Is that the meaning of ‘accost’?

MARIA.

Fare you well, gentlemen.

SIR TOBY. An thou let part so, Sir Andrew, would thou mightst never draw sword again.

SIR ANDREW. And you part so, mistress, I would I might never draw sword again. Fair lady, do you think you have fools in hand?

MARIA.

Sir, I have not you by th’ hand.

SIR ANDREW.

Marry, but you shall have; and here’s my hand.

MARIA. Now, sir, ‘thought is free.’ I pray you, bring your hand to th’ buttery-bar and let it drink.

SIR ANDREW.

Wherefore, sweetheart? 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. O knight, thou lack’st 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.

No question.