SYGGORY REMARKS EVERAL of the conjectural chronologists of the plays of Shakspere assign a very late date to the first appearance of the "TWELFTH NIGHT;" considering it, indeed, to have been the last-written of all his wondrous dramas; and, certainly, of his many marvellous works, there is not one upon which the seal of that consummate perfection for which even the most exalted genius must stand indebted to all-maturing Time, is more lovelly and vividly set. But the truth is, Ettie is positively known as to the actual order in which the plays of Shakspere were either written or acted: and of his numerous commentators, the figural labours have been equally futile and superfaces with the great bulk of their verbal ingenuities. The story of the serious portions of this fine play, "the right happy and copious industry" as his contemporary Webster somewhat sneeringly phrases it) of its great author may have derived from one of Belleforest's "HISTORIES TRAGIQUES," or from its Italian original, the thirty-sixth novel of the second part of the "TALES OF BANDELLO:" & Dovelist in whose rich mine all the dramatists of the age of Elizabeth wrought deeply for the materials of their incessant gorgeous poetic coinage; from one of the "EGLOGS" of Barnaby Googe, whose poems were published in 1563; or from the "HISTORY OF APOLLONIUS AND SILLA," which was printed in 1583, in a miscellany entitled, "RICH, HIS FAREWELL TO MILITARY PROFESSION." It was, however, the mere form of which Shakspere availed himself: the subtle spirit of the work is his, and his alone; and the exquisitely comic characters of the drama-that prince-royal of joyous topers, Sir Toby Belch, a joker worthy to have been the intimate of Sir John Falstaff: the foolish, prodigal, conceited, quarrelsome, cowardly, super-silly fortune-hunter, Sir Andrew Aguecheek (a distant cousin, we have always thought, of Master Abraham Slender), who "harms his wit" by his "great eating of beef;" who has "an excellent head of hair," that “hangs like fax on a distaf;" who, in dancing, has "the back-trick simply as strong as any man in Illyria;" and who "delights in masks and revels sometimes altogether:" the exuberantly witty Clown, Festo the Jester, "a fool that the lady Olivia's father took much delight in," and whose veriest freedoms are therefore rendered permissive, and even sacred, to the lady Olivia; he, the pathetic vocalist, who "takes pleasure in singing:" Malvolio, the fantastic, ill-natured, self-admiring, and sadly but deservedly betricked steward; and the vivacious little Maria," the youngest wren of nine," "the nettle of India :"-these admirable creations are Shakspere's, soul, body, and all! As we abandon ourselves to the poetry of this play, the sweetest spirit of love floats balmily over the heart and imagination, "Like the sweet south, That breathes upon a bank of violets, The sense is saturated with it. We are "canopied with bowers," under the fragrant beauty of which our love-thoughts "lie rich" beyond richness. By the "rich golden shaft" of the heavenliest of human passions, are killed "the flock of all affections else that live in us;" and in its sole and omnipotent power we are chained, entranced, spell-bound: "It gives a very echo to the seat Where love is throned!" and one which, in the mysterious distance, we hear calling to us alluringly for ever. T. W. SCENE I.-An Apartment in the DUKE'S Palace. Enter DUKE, CURIO, Lords; Musicians attending. Duke. If music be the food of love, play on, O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou! Axeure gorest, after our ship did split, "When you, and that poor number saved with you, Vio For saying so, there's gold; Cup. Ay, madam, well; for I was bred and born Not three hours' travel from this very place. Vin, Who governs here ? In the tection of his son. her brother, The may so tiei: for whose dear love, They way, the hath aspired the company And right of men. C. that I served that lady! Cam Fo. There is a fair behaviour in thee, captain, And though that nature with a beauteous wall Dota oft close in pollution, yet of thee I will believe thou hast a mind that suits For such disguise as haply shall become Cap. Be you his eunuch, and your mute I'll be; When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see! Vio. I thank thee; lead me on. [Exeunt. SCENE III-A Room in OLIVIA's house. Enter SIR TOBY BELCH and MARIA, Sir Toby. What a plague means my niece, to take the death of her brother thus? I am sure care's an enemy to life. Mar. By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o' nights; your cousin, my lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours. Sir Toby. Why, let her except before excepted. Mar. Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modest limits of order. Sir Toby. Confine? I'll confine myself no finer than I am; these clothes are good enough to drink in, and so be these boots too! an' they be not, let them hang themselves in their own straps. Mar. That quaffing and drinking will undo you: I heard my lady talk of it yesterday; and of a foolish knight, that you brought in one night here to be her wooer. Sir Toby. Who? Sir Andrew Aguecheek? Sir Toby. He's as tall a man as any 's in Illyria. Mar. Ay; but he 'll have but a year in all these ducats; he's a very fool, and a prodigal. Sir Toby. Fie, that you'll say so! he plays o' the viol-de-gambo, and speaks three or four languages word for word without book, and hath all the good gifts of nature. Mar. He hath, indeed,-almost natural: for, besides that he's a fool, he's a great quarreller; and, but that he hath the gift of a coward to allay the gust he hath in quarrelling, 't is thought. among the prudent, he would quickly have the gift of a grave. Sir Toby. By this hand, they are scoundrels and subtractors that say so of him. Who are they? Mar. They that add, moreover, he's drunk nightly in your company. Sir Toby. With drinking healths to my niece; I'll drink to her as long as there is a passage in my throat, and drink in Illyria: he's a coward and a coystril that will not drink to my niece till his brains turn o' the toe like a parish top. What, wench? Castiliano vulgo; for here comes Sir Andrew Agueface. Enter SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK. Sir And. Sir Toby Belch' how now, Sir Toby Belch? Sir Toby. Sweet Sir Andrew! Sir And. Bless you, fair shrew. Mar. And you too, sir. Sir Toby. Accost, Sir Andrew, accost. Sir And. What's that. Sir Toby. My niece's chambermaid. Sir And. Good Mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance. Mar. My name is Mary, sir. Sir And. Good Mistress Mary Accost, Sir Toby. You mistake, knight; accost is, front her, board her, woo her, assail her Sir And. By my troth, I would not undertake her in this company. Is that the meaning of accost? Mar. Fare you well, gentlemen. Sir Toby. An thou let part so, Sir Andrew, 'would thou mightst never draw sword again. Sir And. An you part so, mistress, I would I might never draw sword again. Fair lady, do you think you have fools in hand? Mar. Sir, I have not you by the hand. Sir And. Marry, but you shall have: and here's my hand. Mar. Now, sir, thought is free: I pray you, bring your hand to the buttery-bar, and let it drink. Sir And. Wherefore, sweet heart? what's metaphor? Mar. It's dry, sir. your Sir And. Why, I think so; I am not such an ass but I can keep my hand dry. But what's your jest? Mar. A dry jest, sir. Sir And. Are you full of them? Mar. Ay, sir; I have them at my fingers' ends: marry, now I let go your hand, I am barren. [Exit MARIA. Sir Toby. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of canary: When did I see thee so put down? Sir And. Never in your life, I think: unless you see canary put me down: methinks, sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian, or an or dinary man has: but I am a great eater of beef, and I believe that does harm to my wit. Sir Toby. No question. Sir And. An I thought that, I'd forswear it. I'll ride home to-morrow, Sir Toby. Sir Toby. Pourquoy, my dear knight! Sir And. What is pourquoy? do or not do? I would I had bestowed that time in the tongues, that I have in fencing, dancing, and bear-baiting: O, had I but followed the arts! Sir Toby. Then hadst thou had an excellent head of hair. Sir And. Why, would that have mended my hair? Sir Toby. Past question; for thou seest it will not curl by nature. Sir And. But it becomes me well enough, does 't not? Sir Toby. Excellent! it hangs like flax on a distaff; and I hope to see a housewife take thee between her legs, and spin it off. Sir And. 'Faith, I'll home to-morrow, Sir Toby: your niece will not be seen; or, if she be, it's four to one she 'll none of me: the count himself, here hard by, woos her Sir Toby. She'll none o'the count; she'll not match above her degree; neither in estate, years, nor wit; I have heard her swear it. Tut, there's life in t, man. Sir And. I 'll stay a month longer. I am a fellow o' the strangest mind i' the world; I delight in masques and revels sometimes altogether. Sir Toby. Art thou good at these kickshaws, knight? Sir And. As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be, under the degree of my betters; and yet I will not compare with an old man. Sir Toby. What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight? Sir And. 'Faith, I can cut a caper. Sir Toby. And I can cut the mutton to 't. Sir And. And I think I have the back-trick simply as strong as any man in Illyria. Sir Toby. Wherefore are these things hid? wherefore have these gifts a curtain before them? are they like to take dust, like Mistress Mall's picture? why dost thou not go to church in a galliard, and come home in a coranto? My very walk should be a jig; I would not so much as make water but in a sink-a-pace. What dost thou mean? is it a world to hide virtues in? I did think, by the excellent constitution of thy leg, it was formed under the star of a galliard. Sir And. Ay, 't is strong, and it does indifferent well in a flame-coloured stock. Shall we set about some revels? Sir Toby. What shall we do else? were we not born under Taurus? |