SIR ANDREW. Ay, ‘t is strong, and it does indifferent well in flame-colour’d stock. Shall we set about some revels?
SIR TOBY.
What shall we do else? were we not born under Taurus?
SIR ANDREW.
Taurus! That’s sides and heart.
SIR TOBY. No, sir; it is legs and thighs. Let me see the caper. Ha! higher! ha, ha, excellent!
[Exeunt.]
SCENE IV. The DUKE’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 advanc’d. 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, CURIO, and ATTENDANTS.]
DUKE.
Who saw Cesario, ho?
VIOLA.
On your attendance, my lord; here.
DUKE.
Stand you awhile 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.
Be clamorous and leap all civil bounds
Rather than make unprofited return.
VIOLA.
Say I do speak with her, my lord, what then?
DUKE.
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.
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 V. 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 hang’d 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 hang’d for being so long absent; or to be turn’d 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 resolv’d 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, and ‘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 LADY 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 patch’d; virtue that transgresses is but patch’d with sin; and sin that amends is but patch’d 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.