Imágenes de página
PDF
ePub

Sir To Possess us, possess us; tell us something of him.
Mar. Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of a puritan.
Sir And. O, if I thought that, I'd beat him like a dog.

Sir To. What, for being a puritan? thy exquisite reason, dear knight.

Šir And. I have no exquisite reason for’t, but I have reason good enough.

Mar. The devil a puritan that he is, or any thing constantly but a time-pleaser, an affected ass, that cons state without book, and utters it by great swarths. The best persuaded of himself: so cram'd, as he thinks, with excellencies, that it is his ground of faith, that all, that look on him, love him; and on that vice in him will my revenge find notable cause to work.

Sir To. What wilt thou do?

Mar. I will drop in his way fome obscure epistles of love; wherein, by the colour of his beard, the shape of his leg, the manner of his gait, the expressure of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he shall find himself

most feelingly personated: I can write very like my lady your niece; on a forgotten matter we can hardly make distinction of our hands.

Sir To. Excellent! I smell a device.
Sir And. I have't in my nose too.

Sir To. He shall think by the letters that thou wilt drop, that they come from my niece, and that she is in love with him.

Mar. My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour.
Sir And. And your horse now would make him an ass.
Mar. Ass, I doubt not.
Sir And. O, 'twill be admirable.

Mar. Sport royal, I warrant you: I know, my phyfick will work with him. I will plant you two, and let the fool make a third, where he shall find the letter: observe his construction of it: for this night, to bed, and dream on the event. Farewel. [Exit.

Sir To. Good night, Penthifilea.
Sir And. Before me, she's a good wench.

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

Sir

Sir To. Let's to bed, knight: thou hadît need send for more money:

Sir And. If I cannot recover your niece, I am a foul way out.

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

Sir And. If I do not, never trust me, take it how you will.

Sir To. Come, come; I'll go burn some fack, 'tis too late to go to bed now: come, knight, come, knight. [Exeunt.

[merged small][ocr errors][merged small]

Enter Duke, Viola, Curio, and others.
Duke. VIVE me some musick; now, good-morrow, friends :

Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song,
That old and antique fong we heard last night:
Methought, it did relieve my passion much;
More than light airs, and recollected terms,
Of these most brilk and giddy-pated times.
Come, but one verse.

Cur. He is not here, so please your lordship, that should fing it.
Duke. Who was it?

Cur. Feste the jester, my lord, a fool that the lady Olivia's father took much delight in. He is about the house. Duke. Seek him out, and play the tune the while. [Ex. Curio.

[musick. Come hither, boy; if ever thou shalt love, In the sweet pangs of it, remember me; For, such as I am, all true lovers are, Unstaid and skittish in all motions else, Save in the constant image of the creature That is belov’d. How dost thou like this tune?

Vio. It gives a very echo to the seat Where love is thron’d.

L11 2

Duke.

Duke. Thou dost speak masterly.
My life upon't, young though thou art, thine eye
Hath stay'd upon some favour that it loves :
Hath it not, boy?

Vio. A little, by your favour.
Duke. What kind of woman is't?
Vio. Of your complexion.
Duke. She is not worth thee then. What years, i'faith?
Vio. About your years, my lord.

Duke. Too old, by heav'n ; let still the woman take
An elder than herself, so wears she to him ;
So sways she level in her husband's heart.
For, boy, however we do praise ourselves,
Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm,
More longing, wavering, sooner loft and won,
Than women's are.

Vio. I think it well, my lord.

Duke. Then let thy love be younger than thyself,
Or thy affection cannot hold the bent:
For women are as roses, whose fair flower
Being once display'd, doth fall that very hour.

Vio. And so they are: alas, that they are so,
To die, even when they to perfection grow!

Enter Curio, and Clown.
Duke. O, fellow, come, the song we had last night.
Mark it, Cesario; it is old and plain :
The spinsters and the knitters in the sun,
And the free maids that weave their thread with bones,
Do use to chant it: it is filly sooth,
And dallies with the innocence of love,
Like the old age.

Clo. Are you ready, fir?
Duke. I pr’ythee, sing.

Song.

[mufick.

Song
Come away, come away, death,

And in fad cypress let me be lay'd;
Fly away, fly away, breatb,

I am Jain by a fair cruel maid.
My proud of white, suck all with yew,

Prepare it.
My part of death no one so true

Did bare it.

Not a flower, not a flower sweet,

On my black coffin let there be strown :
Not a friend, not a friend greet

My poor corps, where my bones shall be thrown.
A thousand thousand hghs to save,

Lay me where
True lover never find my grave,

To weep there.

Duke. There's for thy pains.
Clo. No pains, fir; 1 take pleasure in singing, fir.
Duke. I'll pay thy pleasure then.
Clo. Truly, sir, and pleasure will be pay'd one time or other.
Duke. Give me now leave to leave thee.

Clo. Now, the melancholy god protect thee, and the tailor make thy doublet of changeable taffeta, for thy mind is a very opal! I would have men of such constancy put to sea, that their business might be every thing, and their intent every where, for that's it that always makes a good voyage of nothing. Farewel.

[Exit. SCENE VI. Duke. Let all the rest give place. Once more, Cesario, Get thee to yond same sovereign cruelty:

Tell

Tell her, my love, more noble than the world,
Prizes not quantity of dirty lands;
The parts that fortune hath bestow'd upon her,
Tell her, I hold as giddily as fortune :
But 'tis that miracle, and queen of gems
That nature pranks her in, attracts my foul.

Vio. But, if she cannot love you, fir?
Duke. I cannot be fo answer'd.
Vio. Sooth, but

you

must. Say that some lady, as, perhaps, there is, Hath for your love as great a pang of heart As you

have for Olivia : you cannot love her; You tell her so; must she not then he answer'd?

Duke. There is no woman's fides
Can bide the beating of so strong a passion,
As love doth give my heart: no woman's heart
So big to hold so much; they lack retention.
Alas, their love may be call'd appetite:
No motion of the liver, but the palate,
That suffers surfeit, cloyment, and revolt;
But mine is all as hungry as the sea,
And can digeft as much; make no compare
Between that love a woman can bear me,
And that I owe Olivia.

Vio. Ay, but I know
Duke. What dost thou know?

Vio. Too well what love women to men may owe;
In faith, they are as true of heart as we.
My father had a daughter lov'd a man,
As it might be, perhaps, where I a woman,
I should your lordship,

Duke. What's her history?

Vio. A blank, my lord: she never told her love,
But let concealment, like a worm i’th'bud,
Feed on her damask cheek: she pin’d in thought;
And, with a green and yellow melancholy,

She

« AnteriorContinuar »