SCENE IOLIVIA'S garden.
Enter VIOLA, and CLOWN with a tabor.
Save thee, friend, and thy music:
dost thou live by thy tabor?
No, sir, I live by the church.
Art thou a churchman?
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.
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 (11)
by the church.
You have said, sir. To see this age!
A sentence is but a cheveril glove to a good
wit: how quickly the wrong side may be
Nay, that's certain; they that dally
nicely with words may quickly make them
I would, therefore, my sister had had (20)
no name, sir.
Why, sir, her name's a word; and to
dally with that word might make my sister
wanton. But indeed words are very rascals
since bonds disgraced them.
Thy reason, man?
Troth, sir, I can yield you none without
words; and words are grown so false, I
am loath to prove reason with them.
I warrant thou art a merry fellow (31)
and carest for nothing.
Not so, sir, I do care for something;
but in my conscience, sir, I do not care for
you: if that be to care for nothing, sir, I
would it would make you invisible.
Art not thou the Lady Olivia's fool?
No, indeed, sir; the Lady Olivia has
no folly: she will keep no fool, sir, till she be
married; and fools are as like husbands as
pilchards are to herrings; the husband's the
bigger: I am indeed not her fool, but her corrupter
I saw thee late at the Count Orsino's.
Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb
like the sun, it shines every where. I would
be sorry, sir, but the fool should be as oft with
your master as with my mistress: I think I
saw your wisdom there.
Nay, an thou pass upon me, I'll no
more with thee. Hold, there's expenses for
Now Jove, in his next commodity of (51)
hair, send thee a beard!
By my troth, I'll tell thee, I am almost
sick for one; [Aside] though I would not have
it grow on my chin. Is thy lady within?
Would not a pair of these have bred, sir?
Yes, being kept together and put to use.
I would play Lord Pandarus of
Phrygia, sir, to bring a Cressida to this
I understand you, sir; 'tis well begged.
The matter, I hope, is not great, sir,
begging but a beggar: Cressida was a beggar.
My lady is within, sir. I will construe to them
whence you come; who you are and what you
would are out of my welkin, I might say 'element,'
but the word is over-worn. [Exit.
This fellow is wise enough to play the fool;
And to do that well craves a kind of wit:
He must observe their mood on whom he jests, (70)
The quality of persons, and the time,
And, like the haggard, check at every feather
That comes before his eye. This is a practice
As full of labor as a wise man's art:
For folly that he wisely shows is fit;
But wise men, folly-fall'n, quite taint their wit. Enter SIR TOBY and SIR ANDREW.
Save you, gentleman.
And you, sir.
Dieu vous garde, monsieur.
Et vous aussi; votre serviteur.
I hope, sir, you are; and I am (81)
Will you encounter the house? my
niece is desirous you should enter, if your
trade be to her.
I am bound to your niece, sir; I
mean, she is the list of my voyage.
Taste your legs, sir; put them to
My legs do better understand me, sir,
than I understand what you mean by bidding (91)
me taste my legs.
I mean, to go, sir, to enter.
I will answer you with gait and entrance.
But we are prevented. Enter OLIVIA and MARIA.
Most excellent accomplished lady, the heavens
rain odors on you!
That youth's a rare courtier:
'Rain odors;' well.
My matter hath no voice, lady, but
to your own most pregnant and vouchsafed ear.
'Odors,' 'pregnant' and 'vouchsafed:'
I'll get 'em all three all ready.
Let the garden door be shut, and leave
me to my hearing. [Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir
Andrew, and Maria.] Give me your hand, sir.
My duty, madam, and most humble service.
What is your name?
Cesario is your servant's name, fair princess.
My servant, sir! 'Twas never merry world
Since lowly feigning was call'd compliment:
You're servant to the Count Orsino, youth.
And he is yours, and his must needs be yours:
Your servant's servant is your servant, madam.
For him, I think not on him: for his thoughts,
Would they were blanks, rather than fill'd with me!
Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts
On his behalf.
O, by your leave, I pray you,
I bade you never speak again of him:
But, would you undertake another suit, (120)
I had rather hear you to solicit that
Than music from the spheres.
Give me leave, beseech you. I did send,
After the last enchantment you did here,
A ring in chase of you: so did I abuse
Myself, my servant and, I fear me, you:
Under your hard construction must I sit,
To force that on you, in a shameful cunning,
Which you knew none of yours: what might you think? (129)
Have you not set mine honor at the stake
And baited it with all the unmuzzled thoughts
That tyrannous heart can think? To one of your receiving
Enough is shown: a cypress, not a bosom,
Hideth my heart. So, let me hear you speak.
I pity you.
That's a degree to love.
No, not a grize; for 'tis a vulgar proof,
That very oft we pity enemies.
Why, then, methinks 'tis time to smile again.
O world, how apt the poor are to be proud!
If one should be a prey, how much the better (140)
To fall before the lion than the wolf! Clock strikes.
The clock upbraids me with the waste of time.
Be not afraid, good youth, I will not have you:
And yet, when wit and youth is come to harvest,
Your wife is like to reap a proper man:
There lies your way, due west.
Then westward-ho! Grace and good disposition
Attend your ladyship!
You'll nothing, madam, to my lord by me?
I prithee, tell me what thou think'st of me.
That you do think you are not what you are.
If I think so, I think the same of you.
Then think you right: I am not what I am.
I would you were as I would have you be!
Would it be better, madam, than I am?
I wish it might, for now I am your fool.
O, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful
In the contempt and anger of his lip!
A murderous guilt shows not itself more soon (160)
Than love that would seem hid: love's night is noon.
Cesario, by the roses of the spring,
By maidhood, honor, truth and every thing,
I love thee so, that, maugre all thy pride,
Nor wit nor reason can my passion hide.
Do not extort thy reasons from this clause,
For that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause,
But rather reason thus with reason fetter,
Love sought is good, but given unsought is better.
By innocence I swear, and by my youth, (170)
I have one heart, one bosom and one truth,
And that no woman has; nor never none
Shall mistress be of it, save I alone.
And so adieu, good madam: never more
Will I my master's tears to you deplore.
Yet come again; for thou perhaps mayst move
That heart, which now abhors, to like his love. [Exeunt.