Henry the Sixt




Executive Director's Notes:

In addition to the notes below, and so you will *NOT* think all
the spelling errors introduced by the printers of the time have
been corrected, here are the first few lines of Hamlet, as they
are presented herein:

  Barnardo. Who's there?
  Fran. Nay answer me: Stand & vnfold
your selfe

   Bar. Long liue the King

***

As I understand it, the printers often ran out of certain words
or letters they had often packed into a "cliche". . .this is the
original meaning of the term cliche. . .and thus, being unwilling
to unpack the cliches, and thus you will see some substitutions
that look very odd. . .such as the exchanges of u for v, v for u,
above. . .and you may wonder why they did it this way, presuming
Shakespeare did not actually write the play in this manner. . . .

The answer is that they MAY have packed "liue" into a cliche at a
time when they were out of "v"'s. . .possibly having used "vv" in
place of some "w"'s, etc.  This was a common practice of the day,
as print was still quite expensive, and they didn't want to spend
more on a wider selection of characters than they had to.

You will find a lot of these kinds of "errors" in this text, as I
have mentioned in other times and places, many "scholars" have an
extreme attachment to these errors, and many have accorded them a
very high place in the "canon" of Shakespeare.  My father read an
assortment of these made available to him by Cambridge University
in England for several months in a glass room constructed for the
purpose.  To the best of my knowledge he read ALL those available
. . .in great detail. . .and determined from the various changes,
that Shakespeare most likely did not write in nearly as many of a
variety of errors we credit him for, even though he was in/famous
for signing his name with several different spellings.

So, please take this into account when reading the comments below
made by our volunteer who prepared this file:  you may see errors
that are "not" errors. . . .

So. . .with this caveat. . .we have NOT changed the canon errors,

Part of Henry the Sixt.

Michael S. Hart

Executive Director


***


Scanner's Notes: What this is and isn't.  This was taken from
a copy of Shakespeare's first folio and it is as close as I can
come in ASCII to the printed text.

The elongated S's have been changed to small s's and the
conjoined ae have been changed to ae.  I have left the spelling,
punctuation, capitalization as close as possible to the
printed text.  I have corrected some spelling mistakes (I have put
together a spelling dictionary devised from the spellings of the
Geneva Bible and Shakespeare's First Folio and have unified
spellings according to this template), typo's and expanded
abbreviations as I have come across them.  Everything within
brackets [] is what I have added.  So if you don't like that
you can delete everything within the brackets if you want a
purer Shakespeare.

Another thing that you should be aware of is that there are textual
differences between various copies of the first folio.  So there may
be differences (other than what I have mentioned above) between
this and other first folio editions.  This is due to the printer's
habit of setting the type and running off a number of copies and
then proofing the printed copy and correcting the type and then
continuing the printing run.  The proof run wasn't thrown away but
incorporated into the printed copies.  This is just the way it is.
The text I have used was a composite of more than 30 different
First Folio editions' best pages.

If you find any scanning errors, out and out typos, punctuation
errors, or if you disagree with my spelling choices please feel
free to email me those errors.  I wish to make this the best
etext possible.  My email address for right now are haradda@aol.com
and davidr@inconnect.com.  I hope that you enjoy this.

David Reed

Twelfe Night, Or what you will

Actus Primus, Scaena Prima.

Enter Orsino Duke of Illyria, Curio, and other Lords.

  Duke. If Musicke be the food of Loue, play on,
Giue me excesse of it: that surfetting,
The appetite may sicken, and so dye.
That straine agen, it had a dying fall:
O, it came ore my eare, like the sweet sound
That breathes vpon a banke of Violets;
Stealing, and giuing Odour. Enough, no more,
'Tis not so sweet now, as it was before.
O spirit of Loue, how quicke and fresh art thou,
That notwithstanding thy capacitie,
Receiueth as the Sea. Nought enters there,
Of what validity, and pitch so ere,
But falles into abatement, and low price
Euen in a minute; so full of shapes is fancie,
That it alone, is high fantasticall

   Cu. Will you go hunt my Lord?
  Du. What Curio?
  Cu. The Hart

   Du. Why so I do, the Noblest that I haue:
O when mine eyes did see Oliuia first,
Me thought she purg'd the ayre of pestilence;
That instant was I turn'd into a Hart,
And my desires like fell and cruell hounds,
Ere since pursue me. How now what newes from her?
Enter Valentine.

  Val. So please my Lord, I might not be admitted,
But from her handmaid do returne this answer:
The Element it selfe, till seuen yeares heate,
Shall not behold her face at ample view:
But like a Cloystresse she will vailed walke,
And water once a day her Chamber round
With eye-offending brine: all this to season
A brothers dead loue, which she would keepe fresh
And lasting, in her sad remembrance

   Du. O she that hath a heart of that fine frame
To pay this debt of loue but to a brother,
How will she loue, when the rich golden shaft
Hath kill'd the flocke of all affections else
That liue in her. When Liuer, Braine, and Heart,
These soueraigne thrones, are all supply'd and fill'd
Her sweete perfections with one selfe king:
Away before me, to sweet beds of Flowres,
Loue-thoughts lye rich, when canopy'd with bowres.

Exeunt.

Scena Secunda.

Enter Viola, a Captaine, and Saylors.

  Vio. What Country (Friends) is this?
  Cap. This is Illyria Ladie

   Vio. And what should I do in Illyria?
My brother he is in Elizium,
Perchance he is not drown'd: What thinke you saylors?
  Cap. It is perchance that you your selfe were saued

   Vio. O my poore brother, and so perchance may he be

   Cap. True Madam, and to comfort you with chance,
Assure your selfe, after our ship did split,
When you, and those poore number saued with you,
Hung on our driuing boate: I saw your brother
Most prouident in perill, binde himselfe,
(Courage and hope both teaching him the practise)
To a strong Maste, that liu'd vpon the sea:
Where like Orion on the Dolphines backe,
I saw him hold acquaintance with the waues,
So long as I could see

   Vio. For saying so, there's Gold:
Mine owne escape vnfoldeth to my hope,
Whereto thy speech serues for authoritie
The like of him. Know'st thou this Countrey?
  Cap. I Madam well, for I was bred and borne
Not three houres trauaile from this very place

   Vio. Who gouernes heere?
  Cap. A noble Duke in nature, as in name

   Vio. What is his name?
  Cap. Orsino

   Vio. Orsino: I haue heard my father name him.
He was a Batchellor then

   Cap. And so is now, or was so very late:
For but a month ago I went from hence,
And then 'twas fresh in murmure (as you know
What great ones do, the lesse will prattle of,)
That he did seeke the loue of faire Oliuia

   Vio. What's shee?
  Cap. A vertuous maid, the daughter of a Count
That dide some tweluemonth since, then leauing her
In the protection of his sonne, her brother,
Who shortly also dide: for whose deere loue
(They say) she hath abiur'd the sight
And company of men

   Vio. O that I seru'd that Lady,
And might not be deliuered to the world
Till I had made mine owne occasion mellow
What my estate is

   Cap. That were hard to compasse,
Because she will admit no kinde of suite,
No, not the Dukes

   Vio. There is a faire behauiour in thee Captaine,
And though that nature, with a beauteous wall
Doth oft close in pollution: yet of thee
I will beleeue thou hast a minde that suites
With this thy faire and outward charracter.
I prethee (and Ile pay thee bounteously)
Conceale me what I am, and be my ayde,
For such disguise as haply shall become
The forme of my intent. Ile serue this Duke,
Thou shalt present me as an Eunuch to him,
It may be worth thy paines: for I can sing,
And speake to him in many sorts of Musicke,
That will allow me very worth his seruice.
What else may hap, to time I will commit,
Onely shape thou thy silence to my wit

   Cap. Be you his Eunuch, and your Mute Ile bee,
When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see

   Vio. I thanke thee: Lead me on.

Exeunt.

Scaena Tertia.

Enter Sir Toby, and Maria.

  Sir To. What a plague meanes my Neece to take the
death of her brother thus? I am sure care's an enemie to
life

   Mar. By my troth sir Toby, you must come in earlyer
a nights: your Cosin, my Lady, takes great exceptions
to your ill houres

   To. Why let her except, before excepted

   Ma. I, but you must confine your selfe within the
modest limits of order

   To. Confine? Ile confine my selfe no finer then I am:
these cloathes are good enough to drinke in, and so bee
these boots too: and they be not, let them hang themselues
in their owne straps

   Ma. That quaffing and drinking will vndoe you: I
heard my Lady talke of it yesterday: and of a foolish
knight that you brought in one night here, to be hir woer
  To. Who, Sir Andrew Ague-cheeke?
  Ma. I he

   To. He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria

   Ma. What's that to th' purpose?
  To. Why he ha's three thousand ducates a yeare

   Ma. I, but hee'l haue but a yeare in all these ducates:
He's a very foole, and a prodigall

   To. Fie, that you'l say so: he playes o'th Viol-de-gamboys,
and speaks three or four languages word for word
without booke, & hath all the good gifts of nature

   Ma. He hath indeed, almost naturall: for besides that
he's a foole, he's a great quarreller: and but that hee hath
the gift of a Coward, to allay the gust he hath in quarrelling,
'tis thought among the prudent, he would quickely
haue the gift of a graue

   Tob. By this hand they are scoundrels and substractors
that say so of him. Who are they?
  Ma. They that adde moreour, hee's drunke nightly
in your company

   To. With drinking healths to my Neece: Ile drinke
to her as long as there is a passage in my throat, & drinke
in Illyria: he's a Coward and a Coystrill that will not
drinke to my Neece, till his braines turne o'th toe, like a
parish top. What wench? Castiliano vulgo: for here coms
Sir Andrew Agueface.
Enter Sir Andrew.

  And. Sir Toby Belch. How now sir Toby Belch?
  To. Sweet sir Andrew

   And. Blesse you faire Shrew

   Mar. And you too sir

   Tob. Accost Sir Andrew, accost

   And. What's that?
  To. My Neeces Chamber-maid

   Ma. Good Mistris accost, I desire better acquaintance
  Ma. My name is Mary sir

   And. Good mistris Mary, accost

   To, You mistake knight: Accost, is front her, boord
her, woe her, assayle her

   And. By my troth I would not vndertake her in this
company. Is that the meaning of Accost?
  Ma. Far you well Gentlemen

   To. And thou let part so Sir Andrew, would thou
mightst neuer draw sword agen

   And. And you part so mistris, I would I might neuer
draw sword agen: Faire Lady, doe you thinke you haue
fooles in hand?
  Ma. Sir, I haue not you by'th hand

   An. Marry but you shall haue, and heeres my hand

   Ma. Now sir, thought is free: I pray you bring your
hand to'th Buttry barre, and let it drinke

   An. Wherefore (sweet-heart?) What's your Metaphor?
  Ma. It's dry sir

   And. Why I thinke so: I am not such an asse, but I
can keepe my hand dry. But what's your iest?
  Ma. A dry iest Sir

   And. Are you full of them?
  Ma. I Sir, I haue them at my fingers ends: marry now
I let go your hand, I am barren.

Exit Maria

  To. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of Canarie: when did
I see thee so put downe?
  An. Neuer in your life I thinke, vnlesse you see Canarie
put me downe: mee thinkes sometimes I haue no
more wit then a Christian, or an ordinary man ha's: but I
am a great eater of beefe, and I beleeue that does harme
to my wit

   To. No question

   An. And I thought that, I'de forsweare it. Ile ride
home to morrow sir Toby

   To. Pur-quoy my deere knight?
  An. What is purquoy? Do, or not do? I would I had
bestowed that time in the tongues, that I haue in fencing
dancing, and beare-bayting: O had I but followed the
Arts

   To. Then hadst thou had an excellent head of haire

   An. Why, would that haue mended my haire?
  To. Past question, for thou seest it will not coole my nature
  An. But it becoms me wel enough, dost not?
  To. Excellent, it hangs like flax on a distaffe: & I hope
to see a huswife take thee between her legs, & spin it off

   An. Faith Ile home to morrow sir Toby, your niece wil
not be seene, or if she be it's four to one, she'l none of me:
the Count himselfe here hard by, wooes her

   To. Shee'l none o'th Count, she'l not match aboue hir
degree, neither in estate, yeares, nor wit: I haue heard her
swear't. Tut there's life in't man

   And. Ile stay a moneth longer. I am a fellow o'th
strangest minde i'th world: I delight in Maskes and Reuels
sometimes altogether

   To. Art thou good at these kicke-chawses Knight?
  And. As any man in Illyria, whatsoeuer he be, vnder
the degree of my betters, & yet I will not compare with
an old man

   To. What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight?
  And. Faith, I can cut a caper

   To. And I can cut the Mutton too't

   And. And I thinke I haue the backe-tricke, simply as
strong as any man in Illyria

   To. Wherefore are these things hid? Wherefore haue
these gifts a Curtaine before 'em? Are they like to take
dust, like mistris Mals picture? Why dost thou not goe
to Church in a Galliard, and come home in a Carranto?
My verie walke should be a Iigge: I would not so much
as make water but in a Sinke-a-pace: What dooest thou
meane? Is it a world to hide vertues in? I did thinke by
the excellent constitution of thy legge, it was form'd vnder
the starre of a Galliard

   And. I, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a
dam'd colour'd stocke. Shall we sit about some Reuels?
  To. What shall we do else: were we not borne vnder
Taurus?
  And. Taurus? That sides and heart

   To. No sir, it is leggs and thighes: let me see thee caper.
Ha, higher: ha, ha, excellent.

Exeunt.

Scena Quarta.

Enter Valentine, and Viola in mans attire.

  Val. If the Duke continue these fauours towards you
Cesario, you are like to be much aduanc'd, he hath known
you but three dayes, and already you are no stranger

   Vio. You either feare his humour, or my negligence,
that you call in question the continuance of his loue. Is
he inconstant sir, in his fauours

   Val. No beleeue me.
Enter Duke, Curio, and Attendants.

  Vio. I thanke you: heere comes the Count

   Duke. Who saw Cesario hoa?
  Vio. On your attendance my Lord heere

   Du. Stand you a-while aloofe. Cesario,
Thou knowst no lesse, but all: I haue vnclasp'd
To thee the booke euen of my secret soule.
Therefore good youth, addresse thy gate vnto her,
Be not deni'de accesse, stand at her doores,
And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow
Till thou haue audience

   Vio. Sure my Noble Lord,
If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow
As it is spoke, she neuer will admit me

   Du. Be clamorous, and leape all ciuill bounds,
Rather then make vnprofited returne,
  Vio. Say I do speake with her (my Lord) what then?
  Du. O then, vnfold the passion of my loue,
Surprize her with discourse of my deere faith;
It shall become thee well to act my woes:
She will attend it better in thy youth,
Then in a Nuntio's of more graue aspect

   Vio. I thinke not so, my Lord

   Du. Deere Lad, beleeue it;
For they shall yet belye thy happy yeeres,
That say thou art a man: Dianas lip
Is not more smooth, and rubious: thy small pipe
Is as the maidens organ, shrill, and sound,
And all is semblatiue a womans part.
I know thy constellation is right apt
For this affayre: some foure or fiue attend him,
All if you will: for I my selfe am best
When least in companie: prosper well in this,
And thou shalt liue as freely as thy Lord,
To call his fortunes thine

   Vio. Ile do my best
To woe your Lady: yet a barrefull strife,
Who ere I woe, my selfe would be his wife.

Exeunt.


Scena Quinta.


Enter Maria, and Clowne.

  Ma. Nay, either tell me where thou hast bin, or I will
not open my lippes so wide as a brissle may enter, in way
of thy excuse: my Lady will hang thee for thy absence

   Clo. Let her hang me: hee that is well hang'de in this
world, needs to feare no colours

   Ma. Make that good

   Clo. He shall see none to feare

   Ma. A good lenton answer: I can tell thee where y
saying was borne, of I feare no colours

   Clo. Where good mistris Mary?
  Ma. In the warrs, & that may you be bolde to say in
your foolerie

   Clo. Well, God giue them wisedome that haue it: &
those that are fooles, let them vse their talents

   Ma. 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?
  Clo. Many a good hanging, preuents a bad marriage:
and for turning away, let summer beare it out

   Ma. You are resolute then?
  Clo. Not so neyther, but I am resolu'd on two points
  Ma. That if one breake, the other will hold: or if both
breake, your gaskins fall

   Clo. Apt in good faith, very apt: well go thy way, if
sir Toby would leaue drinking, thou wert as witty a piece
of Eues flesh, as any in Illyria

   Ma. Peace you rogue, no more o'that: here comes my
Lady: make your excuse wisely, you were best.
Enter Lady Oliuia, with Maluolio.

  Clo. Wit, and't be thy will, put me into good fooling:
those wits that thinke they haue thee, doe very oft proue
fooles: and I that am sure I lacke thee, may passe for a
wise man. For what saies Quinapalus, Better a witty foole,
then a foolish wit. God blesse thee Lady

   Ol. Take the foole away

   Clo. Do you not heare fellowes, take away the Ladie

   Ol. Go too, y'are a dry foole: Ile no more of you: besides
you grow dis-honest

   Clo. Two faults Madona, that drinke & good counsell
wil amend: for giue the dry foole drink, then is the foole
not dry: bid the dishonest man mend himself, if he mend,
he is no longer dishonest; if hee cannot, let the Botcher
mend him: any thing that's mended, is but patch'd: vertu
that transgresses, is but patcht with sinne, and sin that amends,
is but patcht with vertue. If that this simple
Sillogisme will serue, so: if it will not, what remedy?
As there is no true Cuckold but calamity, so beauties a
flower; The Lady bad take away the foole, therefore I
say againe, take her away

   Ol. Sir, I bad them take away you

   Clo. Misprision in the highest degree. Lady, Cucullus
non facit monachum: that's as much to say, as I weare not
motley in my braine: good Madona, giue mee leaue to
proue you a foole

   Ol. Can you do it?
  Clo. Dexteriously, good Madona

   Ol. Make your proofe

   Clo. I must catechize you for it Madona, Good my
Mouse of vertue answer mee

   Ol. Well sir, for want of other idlenesse, Ile bide your
proofe

   Clo. Good Madona, why mournst thou?
  Ol. Good foole, for my brothers death

   Clo. I thinke his soule is in hell, Madona

   Ol. I know his soule is in heauen, foole

   Clo. The more foole (Madona) to mourne for your
Brothers soule, being in heauen. Take away the Foole,
Gentlemen

   Ol. What thinke you of this foole Maluolio, doth he
not mend?
  Mal. Yes, and shall do, till the pangs of death shake
him: Infirmity that decaies the wise, doth euer make the
better foole

   Clow. God send you sir, a speedie Infirmity, for the
better increasing your folly: Sir Toby will be sworn that
I am no Fox, but he wil not passe his word for two pence
that you are no Foole

   Ol. How say you to that Maluolio?
  Mal. I maruell your Ladyship takes delight in such
a barren rascall: I saw him put down the other day, with
an ordinary foole, that has no more braine then a stone.
Looke you now, he's out of his gard already: vnles you
laugh and minister occasion to him, he is gag'd. I protest
I take these Wisemen, that crow so at these set kinde of
fooles, no better then the fooles Zanies

   Ol. O you are sicke of selfe-loue Maluolio, and taste
with a distemper'd appetite. To be generous, guiltlesse,
and of free disposition, is to take those things for Bird-bolts,
that you deeme Cannon bullets: There is no slander
in an allow'd foole, though he do nothing but rayle;
nor no rayling, in a knowne discreet man, though hee do
nothing but reproue

   Clo. Now Mercury indue thee with leasing, for thou
speak'st well of fooles.
Enter Maria.

  Mar. Madam, there is at the gate, a young Gentleman,
much desires to speake with you

   Ol. From the Count Orsino, is it?
  Ma I know not (Madam) 'tis a faire young man, and
well attended

   Ol. Who of my people hold him in delay?
  Ma. Sir Toby Madam, your kinsman

   Ol. Fetch him off I pray you, he speakes nothing but
madman: Fie on him. Go you Maluolio; If it be a suit
from the Count, I am sicke, or not at home. What you
will, to dismisse it.

Exit Maluo.

Now you see sir, how your fooling growes old, & people
dislike it

   Clo. Thou hast spoke for vs (Madona) as if thy eldest
sonne should be a foole: whose scull, Ioue cramme with
braines, for heere he comes.
Enter Sir Toby.

One of thy kin has a most weake Pia-mater

   Ol. By mine honor halfe drunke. What is he at the
gate Cosin?
  To. A Gentleman

   Ol. A Gentleman? What Gentleman?
  To. 'Tis a Gentleman heere. A plague o'these pickle
herring: How now Sot

   Clo. Good Sir Toby

   Ol. Cosin, Cosin, how haue you come so earely by
this Lethargie?
  To. Letcherie, I defie Letchery: there's one at the
gate

   Ol. I marry, what is he?
  To. Let him be the diuell and he will, I care not: giue
me faith say I. Well, it's all one.

Exit

  Ol. What's a drunken man like, foole?
  Clo. Like a drown'd man, a foole, and a madde man:
One draught aboue heate, makes him a foole, the second
maddes him, and a third drownes him

   Ol. Go thou and seeke the Crowner, and let him sitte
o'my Coz: for he's in the third degree of drinke: hee's
drown'd: go looke after him

   Clo. He is but mad yet Madona, and the foole shall
looke to the madman.
Enter Maluolio.

  Mal. Madam, yond young fellow sweares hee will
speake with you. I told him you were sicke, he takes on
him to vnderstand so much, and therefore comes to speak
with you. I told him you were asleepe, he seems to haue
a fore knowledge of that too, and therefore comes to
speake with you. What is to be said to him Ladie, hee's
fortified against any deniall

   Ol. Tell him, he shall not speake with me

   Mal. Ha's beene told so: and hee sayes hee'l stand at
your doore like a Sheriffes post, and be the supporter to
a bench, but hee'l speake with you

   Ol. What kinde o'man is he?
  Mal. Why of mankinde

   Ol. What manner of man?
  Mal. Of verie ill manner: hee'l speake with you, will
you, or no

   Ol. Of what personage, and yeeres is he?
  Mal. Not yet old enough for a man, nor yong enough
for a boy: as a squash is before tis a pescod, or a Codling
when tis almost an Apple: Tis with him in standing water,
betweene boy and man. He is verie well-fauour'd,
and he speakes verie shrewishly: One would thinke his
mothers milke were scarse out of him

   Ol. Let him approach: Call in my Gentlewoman

   Mal. Gentlewoman, my Lady calles.
Enter.

Enter Maria.

  Ol. Giue me my vaile: come throw it ore my face,
Wee'l once more heare Orsinos Embassie.
Enter Violenta.

  Vio. The honorable Ladie of the house, which is she?
  Ol. Speake to me, I shall answer for her: your will

   Vio. Most radiant, exquisite, and vnmatchable beautie.
I pray you tell me if this bee the Lady of the house,
for I neuer saw her. I would bee loath to cast away my
speech: for besides that it is excellently well pend, I haue
taken great paines to con it. Good Beauties, let mee sustaine
no scorne; I am very comptible, euen to the least
sinister vsage

   Ol. Whence came you sir?
  Vio. I can say little more then I haue studied, & that
question's out of my part. Good gentle one, giue mee
modest assurance, if you be the Ladie of the house, that | I
may proceede in my speech

   Ol. Are you a Comedian?
  Vio. No my profound heart: and yet (by the verie
phangs of malice, I sweare) I am not that I play. Are you
the Ladie of the house?
  Ol. If I do not vsurpe my selfe, I am

   Vio. Most certaine, if you are she, you do vsurp your
selfe: for what is yours to bestowe, is, not yours to reserue.
But this is from my Commission: I will on with
my speech in your praise, and then shew you the heart of
my message

   Ol. Come to what is important in't: I forgiue you
the praise

   Vio. Alas, I tooke great paines to studie it, and 'tis
Poeticall

   Ol. It is the more like to be feigned, I pray you keep
it in. I heard you were sawcy at my gates, & allowd your
approach rather to wonder at you, then to heare you. If
you be not mad, be gone: if you haue reason, be breefe:
'tis not that time of Moone with me, to make one in so
skipping a dialogue

   Ma. Will you hoyst sayle sir, here lies your way

   Vio. No good swabber, I am to hull here a little longer.
Some mollification for your Giant, sweete Ladie;
tell me your minde, I am a messenger

   Ol. Sure you haue some hiddeous matter to deliuer,
when the curtesie of it is so fearefull. Speake your office

   Vio. It alone concernes your eare: I bring no ouerture
of warre, no taxation of homage; I hold the Olyffe
in my hand: my words are as full of peace, as matter

   Ol. Yet you began rudely. What are you?
What would you?
  Vio. The rudenesse that hath appear'd in mee, haue I
learn'd from my entertainment. What I am, and what I
would, are as secret as maiden-head: to your eares, Diuinity;
to any others, prophanation

   Ol. Giue vs the place alone,
We will heare this diuinitie. Now sir, what is your text?
  Vio. Most sweet Ladie

   Ol. A comfortable doctrine, and much may bee saide
of it. Where lies your Text?
  Vio. In Orsinoes bosome

   Ol. In his bosome? In what chapter of his bosome?
  Vio. To answer by the method, in the first of his hart

   Ol. O, I haue read it: it is heresie. Haue you no more
to say?
  Vio. Good Madam, let me see your face

   Ol. Haue 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.
Looke you sir, such a one I was this present: Ist not well
done?
  Vio. Excellently done, if God did all

   Ol. 'Tis in graine sir, 'twill endure winde and weather

   Vio. Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white,
Natures owne sweet, and cunning hand laid on:
Lady, you are the cruell'st shee aliue,
If you will leade these graces to the graue,
And leaue the world no copie

   Ol. O sir, I will not be so hard-hearted: I will giue
out diuers scedules of my beautie. It shalbe Inuentoried
and euery particle and vtensile labell'd to my will: As,
Item two lippes indifferent redde, Item two grey eyes,
with lids to them: Item, one necke, one chin, & so forth.
Were you sent hither to praise me?
  Vio. I see you what you are, you are too proud:
But if you were the diuell, you are faire:
My Lord, and master loues you: O such loue
Could be but recompenc'd, though you were crown'd
The non-pareil of beautie

   Ol. How does he loue me?
  Vio. With adorations, fertill teares,
With groanes that thunder loue, with sighes of fire

   Ol. Your Lord does know my mind, I cannot loue him
Yet I suppose him vertuous, know him noble,
Of great estate, of fresh and stainlesse youth;
In voyces well divulg'd, free, learn'd, and valiant,
And in dimension, and the shape of nature,
A gracious person; But yet I cannot loue him:
He might haue tooke his answer long ago

   Vio. If I did loue you in my masters flame,
With such a suffring, such a deadly life:
In your deniall, I would finde no sence,
I would not vnderstand it

   Ol. Why, what would you?
  Vio. Make me a willow Cabine at your gate,
And call vpon my soule within the house,
Write loyall Cantons of contemned loue,
And sing them lowd euen in the dead of night:
Hallow your name to the reuerberate hilles,
And make the babling Gossip of the aire,
Cry out Oliuia: O you should not rest
Betweene the elements of ayre, and earth,
But you should pittie me

   Ol. You might do much:
What is your Parentage?
  Vio. Aboue my fortunes, yet my state is well:
I am a Gentleman

   Ol. Get you to your Lord:
I cannot loue him: let him send no more,
Vnlesse (perchance) you come to me againe,
To tell me how he takes it: Fare you well:
I thanke you for your paines: spend this for mee

   Vio. I am no feede poast, Lady; keepe your purse,
My Master, not my selfe, lackes recompence.
Loue make his heart of flint, that you shal loue,
And let your feruour like my masters be,
Plac'd in contempt: Farwell fayre crueltie.

Exit

  Ol. What is your Parentage?
Aboue my fortunes, yet my state is well;
I am a Gentleman. Ile be sworne thou art,
Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbes, actions, and spirit,
Do giue thee fiue-fold blazon: not too fast: soft, soft,
Vnlesse the Master were the man. How now?
Euen so quickly may one catch the plague?
Me thinkes I feele this youths perfections
With an inuisible, and subtle stealth
To creepe in at mine eyes. Well, let it be.
What hoa, Maluolio.
Enter Maluolio.

  Mal. Heere Madam, at your seruice

   Ol. Run after that same peeuish Messenger
The Countes man: he left this Ring behinde him
Would I, or not: tell him, Ile none of it.
Desire him not to flatter with his Lord,
Nor hold him vp with hopes, I am not for him:
If that the youth will come this way to morrow,
Ile giue him reasons for't: hie thee Maluolio

   Mal. Madam, I will.
Enter.

  Ol. I do I know not what, and feare to finde
Mine eye too great a flatterer for my minde:
Fate, shew thy force, our selues we do not owe,
What is decreed, must be: and be this so.

Finis, Actus primus.


Actus Secundus, Scaena prima.

Enter Antonio & Sebastian.

  Ant. Will you stay no longer: nor will you not that
I go with you

   Seb. By your patience, no: my starres shine darkely
ouer me; the malignancie of my fate, might perhaps distemper
yours; therefore I shall craue of you your leaue,
that I may beare my euils alone. It were a bad recompence
for your loue, to lay any of them on you

   An. Let me yet know of you, whither you are bound

   Seb. No sooth sir: my determinate voyage is meere
extrauagancie. But I perceiue in you so excellent a touch
of modestie, that you will not extort from me, what I am
willing to keepe in: therefore it charges me in manners,
the rather to expresse my selfe: you must know of mee
then Antonio, my name is Sebastian (which I call'd Rodorigo)
my father was that Sebastian of Messaline, whom I
know you haue heard of. He left behinde him, my selfe,
and a sister, both borne in an houre: if the Heauens had
beene pleas'd, would we had so ended. But you sir, alter'd
that, for some houre before you tooke me from the
breach of the sea, was my sister drown'd

   Ant. Alas the day

   Seb. A Lady sir, though it was said shee much resembled
me, was yet of many accounted beautiful: but thogh
I could not with such estimable wonder ouer-farre beleeue
that, yet thus farre I will boldly publish her, shee
bore a minde that enuy could not but call faire: Shee is
drown'd already sir with salt water, though I seeme to
drowne her remembrance againe with more

   Ant. Pardon me sir, your bad entertainment

   Seb. O good Antonio, forgiue me your trouble

   Ant. If you will not murther me for my loue, let mee
be your seruant

   Seb. If you will not vndo what you haue done, that is
kill him, whom you haue recouer'd, desire it not. Fare
ye well at once, my bosome is full of kindnesse, and I
am yet so neere the manners of my mother, that vpon the
least occasion more, mine eyes will tell tales of me: I am
bound to the Count Orsino's Court, farewell.

Exit

  Ant. The gentlenesse of all the gods go with thee:
I haue 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 seeme sport, and I will go.
Enter.


Scaena Secunda.

Enter Viola and Maluolio, at seuerall doores.

  Mal. Were not you eu'n now, with the Countesse Oliuia?
  Vio. Euen now sir, on a moderate pace, I haue since ariu'd
but hither

   Mal. She returnes this Ring to you (sir) you might
haue saued mee my paines, to haue taken it away your
selfe. She adds moreouer, that you should put your Lord
into a desperate assurance, she will none of him. And one
thing more, that you be neuer so hardie to come againe
in his affaires, vnlesse it bee to report your Lords taking
of this: receiue it so

   Vio. She tooke the Ring of me, Ile none of it

   Mal. Come sir, you peeuishly threw it to her: and
her will is, it should be so return'd: If it bee worth stooping
for, there it lies, in your eye: if not, bee it his that
findes it.
Enter.

  Vio. I left no Ring with her: what meanes this Lady?
Fortune forbid my out-side haue not charm'd her:
She made good view of me, indeed so much,
That me thought her eyes had lost her tongue,
For she did speake in starts distractedly.
She loues me sure, the cunning of her passion
Inuites me in this churlish messenger:
None of my Lords Ring? Why he sent her none;
I am the man, if it be so, as tis,
Poore Lady, she were better loue a dreame:
Disguise, I see thou art a wickednesse,
Wherein the pregnant enemie does much.
How easie is it, for the proper false
In womens waxen hearts to set their formes:
Alas, O frailtie is the cause, not wee,
For such as we are made, if such we bee:
How will this fadge? My master loues her deerely,
And I (poore monster) fond asmuch on him:
And she (mistaken) seemes to dote on me:
What will become of this? As I am man,
My state is desperate for my maisters loue:
As I am woman (now alas the day)
What thriftlesse sighes shall poore Oliuia breath?
O time, thou must vntangle this, not I,
It is too hard a knot for me t' vnty.

Scoena Tertia.

Enter Sir Toby, and Sir Andrew.

  To. Approach Sir Andrew: not to bee a bedde after
midnight, is to be vp betimes, and Deliculo surgere, thou
know'st

   And. Nay by my troth I know not: but I know, to
be vp late, is to be vp late

   To. A false conclusion: I hate it as an vnfill'd Canne.
To be vp after midnight, and to go to bed then is early:
so that to go to bed after midnight, is to goe to bed betimes.
Does not our liues consist of the foure Elements?
  And. Faith so they say, but I thinke it rather consists
of eating and drinking

   To. Th'art a scholler; let vs therefore eate and drinke
Marian I say, a stoope of wine.
Enter Clowne.

  And. Heere comes the foole yfaith

   Clo. How now my harts: Did you neuer see the Picture
of we three?
  To. Welcome asse, now let's haue a catch

   And. By my troth the foole has an excellent breast. I
had rather then forty shillings I had such a legge, and so
sweet a breath to sing, as the foole has. Insooth thou wast
in very gracious fooling last night, when thou spok'st of
Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians passing the Equinoctial of
Queubus: 'twas very good yfaith: I sent thee sixe pence
for thy Lemon, hadst it?
  Clo. I did impeticos thy gratillity: for Maluolios nose
is no Whip-stocke. My Lady has a white hand, and the
Mermidons are no bottle-ale houses

   An. Excellent: Why this is the best fooling, when
all is done. Now a song

   To. Come on, there is sixe pence for you. Let's haue
a song

   An. There's a testrill of me too: if one knight giue a
  Clo. Would you haue a loue-song, or a song of good
life?
  To. A loue song, a loue song

   An. I, I. I care not for good life

   Clowne sings .
O Mistris mine where are you roming?
O stay and heare, your true loues coming,
That can sing both high and low.
Trip no further prettie sweeting.
Iourneys end in louers meeting,
Euery wise mans sonne doth know

   An. Excellent good, ifaith

   To. Good, good

   Clo. What is loue, tis not heereafter,
Present mirth, hath present laughter:
What's to come, is still vnsure.
In delay there lies no plentie,
Then come kisse me sweet and twentie:
Youths a stuffe will not endure

   An. A mellifluous voyce, as I am true knight

   To. A contagious breath

   An. Very sweet, and contagious ifaith

   To. To heare by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion.
But shall we make the Welkin dance indeed? Shall wee
rowze the night-Owle in a Catch, that will drawe three
soules out of one Weauer? Shall we do that?
  And. And you loue me, let's doo't: I am dogge at a
Catch

   Clo. Byrlady sir, and some dogs will catch well

   An. Most certaine: Let our Catch be, Thou Knaue

   Clo. Hold thy peace, thou Knaue knight. I shall be constrain'd
in't, to call thee knaue, Knight

   An. 'Tis not the first time I haue constrained one to
call me knaue. Begin foole: it begins, Hold thy peace

   Clo. I shall neuer begin if I hold my peace

   An. Good ifaith: Come begin.

Catch sung

Enter Maria.

  Mar. What a catterwalling doe you keepe heere? If
my Ladie haue not call'd vp her Steward Maluolio, and
bid him turne you out of doores, neuer trust me

   To. My Lady's a Catayan, we are politicians, Maluolios
a Peg-a-ramsie, and Three merry men be wee. Am not I
consanguinious? Am I not of her blood: tilly vally. Ladie,
There dwelt a man in Babylon, Lady, Lady

   Clo. Beshrew me, the knights in admirable fooling

   An. I, he do's well enough if he be dispos'd, and so
do I too: he does it with a better grace, but I do it more
naturall

   To. O the twelfe day of December

   Mar. For the loue o' God peace.
Enter Maluolio.

  Mal. My masters are you mad? Or what are you?
Haue you no wit, manners, nor honestie, but to gabble
like Tinkers at this time of night? Do yee make an Alehouse
of my Ladies house, that ye squeak out your Coziers
Catches without any mitigation or remorse of voice?
Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time in you?
  To. We did keepe time sir in our Catches. Snecke vp

   Mal. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My Lady
bad me tell you, that though she harbors you as her kinsman,
she's nothing ally'd to your disorders. If you can
separate your selfe and your misdemeanors, you are welcome
to the house: if not, and it would please you to take
leaue of her, she is very willing to bid you farewell

   To. Farewell deere heart, since I must needs be gone

   Mar. Nay good Sir Toby

   Clo. His eyes do shew his dayes are almost done

   Mal. Is't euen so?
  To. But I will neuer dye

   Clo. Sir Toby there you lye

   Mal. This is much credit to you

   To. Shall I bid him go

   Clo. What and if you do?
  To. Shall I bid him go, and spare not?
  Clo. O no, no, no, no, you dare not

   To. Out o' tune sir, ye lye: Art any more then a Steward?
Dost thou thinke because thou art vertuous, there
shall be no more Cakes and Ale?
  Clo. Yes by S[aint]. Anne, and Ginger shall bee hotte y'th
mouth too

   To. Th'art i'th right. Goe sir, rub your Chaine with
crums. A stope of Wine Maria

   Mal. Mistris Mary, if you priz'd my Ladies fauour
at any thing more then contempt, you would not giue
meanes for this vnciuill rule; she shall know of it by this
hand.

Exit

  Mar. Go shake your eares

   An. 'Twere as good a deede as to drink when a mans
a hungrie, to challenge him the field, and then to breake
promise with him, and make a foole of him

   To. Doo't knight, Ile write thee a Challenge: or Ile
deliuer thy indignation to him by word of mouth

   Mar. Sweet Sir Toby be patient for to night: Since
the youth of the Counts was to day with my Lady, she is
much out of quiet. For Monsieur Maluolio, let me alone
with him: If I do not gull him into a nayword, and make
him a common recreation, do not thinke I haue witte enough
to lye straight in my bed: I know I can do it

   To. Possesse vs, possesse vs, tell vs something of him

   Mar. Marrie sir, sometimes he is a kinde of Puritane

   An. O, if I thought that, Ide beate him like a dogge

   To. What for being a Puritan, thy exquisite reason,
deere knight

   An. I haue no exquisite reason for't, but I haue reason
good enough

   Mar. The diu'll a Puritane that hee is, or any thing
constantly but a time-pleaser, an affection'd Asse, that
cons State without booke, and vtters it by great swarths.
The best perswaded of himselfe: so cram'd (as he thinkes)
with excellencies, that it is his grounds of faith, that all
that looke on him, loue him: and on that vice in him, will
my reuenge finde notable cause to worke

   To. What wilt thou do?
  Mar. I will drop in his way some obscure Epistles of
loue, wherein by the colour of his beard, the shape of his
legge, the manner of his gate, the expressure of his eye,
forehead, and complection, he shall finde himselfe most
feelingly personated. I can write very like my Ladie
your Neece, on a forgotten matter wee can hardly make
distinction of our hands

   To. Excellent, I smell a deuice

   An. I hau't in my nose too

   To. He shall thinke by the Letters that thou wilt drop
that they come from my Neece, and that shee's in loue
with him

   Mar. My purpose is indeed a horse of that colour

   An. And your horse now would make him an Asse

   Mar. Asse, I doubt not

   An. O twill be admirable

   Mar. Sport royall I warrant you: I know my Physicke
will worke with him, I will plant you two, and let
the Foole make a third, where he shall finde the Letter:
obserue his construction of it: For this night to bed, and
dreame on the euent: Farewell.

Exit

  To. Good night Penthisilea

   An. Before me she's a good wench

   To. She's a beagle true bred, and one that adores me:
what o'that?
  An. I was ador'd once too

   To. Let's to bed knight: Thou hadst neede send for
more money

   An. If I cannot recouer your Neece, I am a foule way
out

   To. Send for money knight, if thou hast her not i'th
end, call me Cut

   An. If I do not, neuer trust me, take it how you will

   To. Come, come, Ile go burne some Sacke, tis too late
to go to bed now: Come knight, come knight.

Exeunt.

Scena Quarta.

Enter Duke, Viola, Curio, and others

   Du. Giue me some Musick; Now good morow frends.
Now good Cesario, but that peece of song,
That old and Anticke song we heard last night;
Me thought it did releeue my passion much,
More then light ayres, and recollected termes
Of these most briske and giddy-paced times.
Come, but one verse

   Cur. He is not heere (so please your Lordshippe) that
should sing it?
  Du. Who was it?
  Cur. Feste the Iester my Lord, a foole that the Ladie
Oliuiaes Father tooke much delight in. He is about the
house

   Du. Seeke him out, and play the tune the while.

Musicke playes.

Come hither Boy, if euer thou shalt loue
In the sweet pangs of it, remember me:
For such as I am, all true Louers are,
Vnstaid and skittish in all motions else,
Saue in the constant image of the creature
That is belou'd. How dost thou like this tune?
  Vio. It giues a verie eccho to the seate
Where loue is thron'd

   Du. Thou dost speake masterly,
My life vpon't, yong though thou art, thine eye
Hath staid vpon some fauour that it loues:
Hath it not boy?
  Vio. A little, by your fauour

   Du. What kinde of woman ist?
  Vio. Of your complection

   Du. She is not worth thee then. What yeares ifaith?
  Vio. About your yeeres my Lord

   Du. Too old by heauen: Let still the woman take
An elder then her selfe, so weares she to him;
So swayes she leuell in her husbands heart:
For boy, howeuer we do praise our selues,
Our fancies are more giddie and vnfirme,
More longing, wauering, sooner lost and worne,
Then womens are

   Vio. I thinke it well my Lord

   Du. Then let thy Loue be yonger then thy selfe,
Or thy affection cannot hold the bent:
For women are as Roses, whose faire flowre
Being once displaid, doth fall that verie howre

   Vio. And so they are: alas, that they are so:
To die, euen when they to perfection grow.
Enter Curio & Clowne.

  Du. O fellow come, the song we had last night:
Marke it Cesario, it is old and plaine;
The Spinsters and the Knitters in the Sun,
And the free maides that weaue their thred with bones,
Do vse to chaunt it: it is silly sooth,
And dallies with the innocence of loue,
Like the old age

   Clo. Are you ready Sir?
  Duke. I prethee sing.

Musicke.

The Song.

Come away, come away death,
And in sad cypresse let me be laide.
Fye away, fie away breath,
I am slaine by a faire cruell maide:
My shrowd of white, stuck all with Ew, O prepare it.
My part of death no one so true did share it.
Not a flower, not a flower sweete
On my blacke coffin, let there be strewne:
Not a friend, not a friend greet
My poore corpes, where my bones shall be throwne:
A thousand thousand sighes to saue, lay me o where
Sad true louer neuer find my graue, to weepe there

   Du. There's for thy paines

   Clo. No paines sir, I take pleasure in singing sir

   Du. Ile pay thy pleasure then

   Clo. Truely sir, and pleasure will be paide one time, or
another

   Du. Giue me now leaue, to leaue thee

   Clo. Now the melancholly God protect thee, and the
Tailor make thy doublet of changeable Taffata, for thy
minde is a very Opall. I would haue men of such constancie
put to Sea, that their businesse might be euery thing,
and their intent euerie where, for that's it, that alwayes
makes a good voyage of nothing. Farewell.

Exit

  Du. Let all the rest giue place: Once more Cesario,
Get thee to yond same soueraigne crueltie:
Tell her my loue, more noble then the world
Prizes not quantitie of dirtie lands,
The parts that fortune hath bestow'd vpon her:
Tell her I hold as giddily as Fortune:
But 'tis that miracle, and Queene of Iems
That nature prankes her in, attracts my soule

   Vio. But if she cannot loue you sir

   Du. It cannot be so answer'd

   Vio. Sooth but you must.
Say that some Lady, as perhappes there is,
Hath for your loue as great a pang of heart
As you haue for Oliuia: you cannot loue her:
You tel her so: Must she not then be answer'd?
  Du. There is no womans sides
Can bide the beating of so strong a passion,
As loue doth giue my heart: no womans heart
So bigge, to hold so much, they lacke retention.
Alas, their loue may be call'd appetite,
No motion of the Liuer, but the Pallat,
That suffer surfet, cloyment, and reuolt,
But mine is all as hungry as the Sea,
And can digest as much, make no compare
Betweene that loue a woman can beare me,
And that I owe Oliuia

   Vio. I but I know

   Du. What dost thou knowe?
  Vio. Too well what loue women to men may owe:
In faith they are as true of heart, as we.
My Father had a daughter lou'd a man
As it might be perhaps, were I a woman
I should your Lordship

   Du. And what's her history?
  Vio. A blanke my Lord: she neuer told her loue,
But let concealment like a worme i'th budde
Feede on her damaske cheeke: she pin'd in thought,
And with a greene and yellow melancholly,
She sate like Patience on a Monument,
Smiling at greefe. Was not this loue indeede?
We men may say more, sweare more, but indeed
Our shewes are more then will: for still we proue
Much in our vowes, but little in our loue

   Du. But di'de thy sister of her loue my Boy?
  Vio. I am all the daughters of my Fathers house,
And all the brothers too: and yet I know not.
Sir, shall I to this Lady?
  Du. I that's the Theame,
To her in haste: giue her this Iewell: say,
My loue can giue no place, bide no denay.

Exeunt.

Scena Quinta.

Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian.

  To. Come thy wayes Signior Fabian

   Fab. Nay Ile come: if I loose a scruple of this sport,
let me be boyl'd to death with Melancholly

   To. Wouldst thou not be glad to haue the niggardly
Rascally sheepe-biter, come by some notable shame?
  Fa. I would exult man: you know he brought me out
o' fauour with my Lady, about a Beare-baiting heere

   To. To anger him wee'l haue the Beare againe, and
we will foole him blacke and blew, shall we not sir Andrew?
  An. And we do not, it is pittie of our liues.
Enter Maria.

  To. Heere comes the little villaine: How now my
Mettle of India?
  Mar. Get ye all three into the box tree: Maluolio's
comming downe this walke, he has beene yonder i'the
Sunne practising behauiour to his own shadow this halfe
houre: obserue him for the loue of Mockerie: for I know
this Letter wil make a contemplatiue Ideot of him. Close
in the name of ieasting, lye thou there: for heere comes
the Trowt, that must be caught with tickling.

Exit

Enter Maluolio.

  Mal. 'Tis but Fortune, all is fortune. Maria once
told me she did affect me, and I haue heard her self come
thus neere, that should shee fancie, it should bee one of
my complection. Besides she vses me with a more exalted
respect, then any one else that followes her. What
should I thinke on't?
  To. Heere's an ouer-weening rogue

   Fa. Oh peace: Contemplation makes a rare Turkey
Cocke of him, how he iets vnder his aduanc'd plumes

   And. Slight I could so beate the Rogue

   To. Peace I say

   Mal. To be Count Maluolio

   To. Ah Rogue

   An. Pistoll him, pistoll him

   To. Peace, peace

   Mal. There is example for't: The Lady of the Strachy,
married the yeoman of the wardrobe

   An. Fie on him Iezabel

   Fa. O peace, now he's deepely in: looke how imagination
blowes him

   Mal. Hauing beene three moneths married to her,
sitting in my state

   To. O for a stone-bow to hit him in the eye

   Mal. Calling my Officers about me, in my branch'd
Veluet gowne: hauing come from a day bedde, where I
haue left Oliuia sleeping

   To. Fire and Brimstone

   Fa. O peace, peace

   Mal. And then to haue the humor of state: and after
a demure trauaile of regard: telling them I knowe my
place, as I would they should doe theirs: to aske for my
kinsman Toby

   To. Boltes and shackles

   Fa. Oh peace, peace, peace, now, now

   Mal. Seauen of my people with an obedient start,
make out for him: I frowne the while, and perchance
winde vp my watch, or play with my some rich Iewell:
Toby approaches; curtsies there to me