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. Mar. Ass, I doubt not. Sir And. O, 'twill be admirable. Mar. Sport royal, I warrant you: I know, my physic 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. Farewell. [Exit. Sir To. Good night, Penthesilea. Sir And. Before me, she's a good wench. Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, Duke. O fellow, come, the song we had last Sir To. She's a beagle, true bred, and one that And dallies with the innocence of love, adores me; What o'that? Sir And. I was adored once too. Sir To. Let's to bed, knight.-Thou hadst 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'the 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 sack, 'tis too late to go to bed now: come, knight; come, knight. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-A Room in the Duke's Palace. Enter DUKE, VIOLA, CURIO, and others. Duke. Give me some music:-Now, good morrow, Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song, Cur. He is not here, so please your lordship, that should sing 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. Dake. Seek him out, and play the tune the while. Duke. Thou dost speak masterly: My life upon't, young though thou art, thine eye Vio. A little, by your favour. Like the old age. Clo. Are you ready, sir? SONG. Clo. Come away, come away, death, I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My part of death no one so true Not a flower, not a flower sweet, Not a friend, not a friend greet [Music My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown: Lay me, O, where Sad true lover never find my grave, Duke. There's for thy pains. Clo. No pains, sir; I take pleasure in singing, sir. Clo. Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid, one time or another. Duke. I give thee now leave to leave me. Clo. Now, the melancholy god protect thee; and Duke. Let all the rest give place.- 'Sooth, but you must. Vio. A blank, my lord: She never told her love, Duke. But died thy sister of her love, my boy? Duke. Ay, that's the theme. Sir To. To anger him, we'll have the bear again; and we will fool him black and blue :-Shall we not, sir Andrew? Sir And. An we do not, it is pity of our lives. Enter MARIA. Sir To. Here comes the little villain :-How now, my metal of India? Sir To. Here's an over-weening rogue! Fab. O, peace! Contemplation makes a rare turkey- Mal. To be count Malvolio ;- Sir And. Pistol him, pistol him. Mal. There is example for't; the lady of the Fab. O, peace! now he's deeply in; look, how imagination blows him. Mal. Having been three months married to her, sitting in my state, Sir To. O, for a stone-bow, to hit him in the eye! Mal. Calling my officers about me, in my branched velvet gown; having come from a day-bed, where I left Olivia sleeping. Sir To. Fire and brimstone! Fab. O, peace, peace. Mal. 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 To. Bolts and shackles ! Fab. O, peace, peace, peace! now, now. Mal. 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 some rich jewel. Toby approaches; court'sies there to me: Sir To. Shall this fellow live? Fab. Though our silence be drawn from us with cars, yet peace. Mal. I extend my hand to him thus, quenching my familiar smile with an austere regard of control: Sir To. And does not Toby take you a blow o' the lips then? Mal. Saying, Cousin Toby, my fortunes having cast me on your niece, give me this prerogative of speech :Sir To. What, what? Mal. You must amend your drunkenness. Fab. Nay, patience, or we break the sinews of our plot. Mal. Besides, you waste the treasure of your time with a foolish knight. Sir And. That's me, I warrant you. Mal. One Sir Andrew: Sir And. I knew, 'twas I; for many do call me fool. Mar. Get ye all three into the box-tree: Mal-mate reading aloud to him! Mal. 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. Enter MALVolio. Sir And. Her C's, her U's, and her T's: Why that? Mal. [reads.] To the unknown beloved, this, and my good wishes: her very phrases!-By your leave, wax. [Exit MARIA.Soft!-and the impressure her Lucrece, with which she uses to seal: 'tis my lady: To whom should this be? Mal. '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 any one else that follows her. What should I think on 't? Fab. This wins him, liver and all. |