William Shakespeare: The Complete Works 2nd Edition (333 page)

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Authors: William Shakespeare

Tags: #Drama, #Literary Criticism, #Shakespeare

BOOK: William Shakespeare: The Complete Works 2nd Edition
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VIOLA Ay, but I know—
ORSINO What dost thou know?
VIOLA
Too well what love women to men may owe.
In faith, they are as true of heart as we.
My father had a daughter loved a man
As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman
I should your lordship.
ORSINO
And what’s her history?
VIOLA
A blank, my lord. She never told her love,
But let concealment, like a worm i’th’ bud,
Feed on her damask cheek. She pined in thought,
And with a green and yellow melancholy
She sat like patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed?
We men may say more, swear more, but indeed
Our shows are more than will; for still we prove
Much in our vows, but little in our love.
ORSINO
But died thy sister of her love, my boy?
VIOLA
I am all the daughters of my father’s house,
And all the brothers too; and yet I know not.
Sir, shall I to this lady?
ORSINO
Ay, that’s the theme,
To her in haste. Give her this jewel. Say
My love can give no place, bide no denay.
Exeunt severally
2.5
Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian
 
SIR TOBY Come thy ways, Signor Fabian.
FABIAN Nay, I’ll come. If I lose a scruple of this sport let me be boiled to death with melancholy.
SIR TOBY Wouldst thou not be glad to have the niggardly rascally sheep-biter come by some notable shame?
FABIAN I would exult, man. You know he brought me out o’ favour with my lady about a bear-baiting here.
SIR TOBY To anger him we’ll have the bear again, and we will fool him black and blue, shall we not, Sir Andrew?
SIR ANDREW An we do not, it is pity of our lives.
Enter Maria with a letter
 
SIR TOBY Here comes the little villain. How now, my metal of India?
MARIA Get ye all three into the box-tree. Malvolio’s coming down this walk. He has been yonder i’ the sun practising behaviour to his own shadow this half-hour. Observe him, for the love of mockery, for I know this letter will make a contemplative idiot of him. Close, in the name of jesting!
The men hide. Maria places the letter
 
Lie thou there, for here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling.
Exit
Enter Malvolio
 
MALVOLIO ’Tis but fortune, all is fortune. Maria once told me she did affect me, and I have heard herself come thus near, that should she fancy it should be one of my complexion. Besides, she uses me with a more exalted respect than anyone else that follows her. What should I think on’t?
SIR TOBY Here’s an overweening rogue.
FABIAN O, peace! Contemplation makes a rare turkeycock of him—how he jets under his advanced plumes!
SIR ANDREW ’Slight, I could so beat the rogue.
SIR TOBY Peace, I say.
MALVOLIO To be Count Malvolio!
SIR TOBY Ah, rogue.
SIR ANDREW Pistol him, pistol him.
SIR TOBY Peace, peace.
MALVOLIO There is example for’t: the Lady of the Strachey married the yeoman of the wardrobe.
SIR ANDREW Fie on him, Jezebel.
FABIAN O peace, now he’s deeply in. Look how imagination blows him.
MALVOLIO Having been three months married to her, sitting in my state—
SIR TOBY O for a stone-bow to hit him in the eye!
MALVOLIO Calling my officers about me, in my branched velvet gown, having come from a day-bed where I have left Olivia sleeping—
SIR TOBY Fire and brimstone!
FABIAN O peace, peace.
MALVOLIO And then to have the humour of state and—after a demure travel of regard, telling them I know my place, as I would they should do theirs—to ask for my kinsman Toby.
SIR TOBY Bolts and shackles!
FABIAN O peace, peace, peace, now, now.
MALVOLIO Seven of my people with an obedient start make out for him. I frown the while, and perchance wind up my watch, or play with my—(
touching his chain
) some rich jewel. Toby approaches; curtsies there to me.
SIR TOBY Shall this fellow live?
FABIAN Though our silence be drawn from us with cars, yet peace.
MALVOLIO I extend my hand to him thus, quenching my familiar smile with an austere regard of control—
SIR TOBY And does not Toby take you a blow o’ the lips, then?
MALVOLIO Saying ‘Cousin Toby, my fortunes, having cast me on your niece, give me this prerogative of speech’—
SIR TOBY What, what!
MALVOLIO ‘You must amend your drunkenness.’
SIR TOBY Out, scab.
FABIAN Nay, patience, or we break the sinews of our plot.
MALVOLIO ‘Besides, you waste the treasure of your time with a foolish knight’—
SIR ANDREW That’s me, I warrant you.
MALVOLIO ‘One Sir Andrew.’
SIR ANDREW I knew ’twas I, for many do call me fool.
MALVOLIO (
seeing the letter
) What employment have we here? FABIAN Now is the woodcock near the gin.
SIR TOBY O peace, and the spirit of humours intimate reading aloud to him.
MALVOLIO (
taking up the letter
) By my life, this is my lady’s hand. These be her very c‘s, her u’s, and her t’s, and thus makes she her great P’s. It is in contempt of question her hand.
SIR ANDREW Her c‘s, her u’s, and her t’s? Why that?
MALVOLIO (
reads
) ‘To the unknown beloved, this, and my good wishes.’ Her very phrases! (
Opening the letter
) By your leave, wax—soft, and the impressure her Lucrece, with which she uses to seal—’tis my lady. To whom should this be?
FABIAN This wins him, liver and all.
MALVOLIO
‘Jove knows I love,
But who?
Lips do not move,
No man must know.’
 
‘No man must know.’ What follows? The numbers altered. ‘No man must know.’ If this should be thee, Malvolio?
SIR TOBY Marry, hang thee, brock.
MALVOLIO
‘I may command where I adore,
But silence like a Lucrece knife
With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore.
M.O.A.I. doth sway my life.’
 
FABIAN A fustian riddle.
SIR TOBY Excellent wench, say I.
MALVOLIO ’M.O.A.I. doth sway my life.’ Nay, but first let me see, let me see, let me see. FABIAN What dish o’ poison has she dressed him!
SIR TOBY And with what wing the staniel checks at it!
MALVOLIO ‘I may command where I adore.’ Why, she may command me. I serve her, she is my lady. Why, this is evident to any formal capacity. There is no obstruction in this. And the end—what should that alphabetical position portend? If I could make that resemble something in me. Softly—‘M.O.A.I.’
SIR TOBY O ay, make up that, he is now at a cold scent.
FABIAN Sowter will cry upon’t for all this, though it be as rank as a fox.
MALVOLIO ‘M.’ Malvolio—‘M’—why, that begins my name.
FABIAN Did not I say he would work it out? The cur is excellent at faults.
MALVOLIO ‘M’ But then there is no consonancy in the sequel. That suffers under probation. ‘A’ should follow, but ‘O’ does.
FABIAN And ‘O’ shall end, I hope.
SIR TOBY Ay, or I’ll cudgel him, and make him cry ‘O!’
MALVOLIO And then ‘I’ comes behind.
FABIAN Ay, an you had any eye behind you you might see more detraction at your heels than fortunes before you.
MALVOLIO ‘M.O.A.I.’ This simulation is not as the former; and yet to crush this a little, it would bow to me, for every one of these letters are in my name. Soft, here follows prose: ‘If this fall into thy hand, revolve. In my stars I am above thee, but be not afraid of greatness. Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon ’em. Thy fates open their hands, let thy blood and spirit embrace them, and to inure thyself to what thou art like to be, cast thy humble slough, and appear fresh. Be opposite with a kinsman, surly with servants. Let thy tongue tang arguments of state; put thyself into the trick of singularity. She thus advises thee that sighs for thee. Remember who commended thy yellow stockings, and wished to see thee ever cross-gartered. I say remember, go to, thou art made if thou desirest to be so; if not, let me see thee a steward still, the fellow of servants, and not worthy to touch Fortune’s fingers. Farewell. She that would alter services with thee,
The Fortunate-Unhappy.’
Daylight and champaign discovers not more. This is open. I will be proud, I will read politic authors, I will baffle Sir Toby, I will wash off gross acquaintance, I will be point-device the very man. I do not now fool myself, to let imagination jade me; for every reason excites to this, that my lady loves me. She did commend my yellow stockings of late, she did praise my leg, being cross-gartered, and in this she manifests herself to my love, and with a kind of injunction drives me to these habits of her liking. I thank my stars, I am happy. I will be strange, stout, in yellow stockings, and cross-gartered, even with the swiftness of putting on. Jove and my stars be praised. Here is yet a postscript. ‘Thou canst not choose but know who I am. If thou entertainest my love, let it appear in thy smiling, thy smiles become thee well. Therefore in my presence still smile, dear my sweet, I prithee.’ Jove, I thank thee. I will smile, I will do everything that thou wilt have me.
Exit
Sir
Toby,
Sir Andrew, and
Fabian
come from hiding
 
FABIAN I will not give my part of this sport for a pension of thousands to be paid from the Sophy.
SIR TOBY I could marry this wench for this device.
SIR ANDREW So could I, too.
SIR TOBY And ask no other dowry with her but such another jest.
Enter Maria
 
SIR ANDREW Nor I neither.
FABIAN Here comes my noble gull-catcher.
SIR TOBY (to Maria) Wilt thou set thy foot o’ my neck?
SIR ANDREW (
to Maria
) Or o’ mine either?
SIR TOBY (
to Maria
) Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip, and become thy bondslave?
SIR ANDREW (
to Maria
) I’faith, or I either?
SIR TOBY (
to Maria
) Why, thou hast put him in such a dream that when the image of it leaves him, he must run mad.
MARIA Nay, but say true, does it work upon him?
SIR TOBY Like aqua vitae with a midwife.
MARIA If you will then see the fruits of the sport, mark his first approach before my lady. He will come to her in yellow stockings, and ’tis a colour she abhors, and cross-gartered, a fashion she detests; and he will smile upon her, which will now be so unsuitable to her disposition, being addicted to a melancholy as she is, that it cannot but turn him into a notable contempt. If you will see it, follow me.
SIR TOBY To the gates of Tartar, thou most excellent devil of wit.
SIR ANDREW I’ll make one, too.
Exeunt
3.1
Enter Viola as Cesario and Feste the clown, with
⌈
pipe and
⌉
tabor
 
VIOLA Save thee, friend, and thy music. Dost thou live by thy tabor?
FESTE No, sir, I live by the church.
VIOLA Art thou a churchman?
FESTE 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.
VIOLA 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.
FESTE You have said, sir. To see this age!—A sentence is but a cheverel glove to a good wit, how quickly the wrong side may be turned outward.
VIOLA Nay, that’s certain. They that dally nicely with words may quickly make them wanton.
FESTE I would therefore my sister had had no name, sir.

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