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twg_000000027800 | tie his body to my horses tail; Along the field I will the Trojan trail. [_Exeunt_.] SCENE IX. Another part of the plain. Sound retreat. Shout. Enter Agamemnon, Ajax, Menelaus, Nestor, Diomedes and the rest, marching. AGAMEMNON. Hark! hark! what shout is this? NESTOR. Peace, drums! SOLDIERS. [_Within_.] Achilles! Achilles! Hectors slain. Achilles! DIOMEDES. The bruit is, Hectors slain, and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027801 | by Achilles. AJAX. If it be so, yet bragless let it be; Great Hector was as good a man as he. AGAMEMNON. March patiently along. Let one be sent To pray Achilles see us at our tent. If in his death the gods have us befriended; Great Troy is ours, and our sharp wars are ended. [_Exeunt_.] SCENE X. Another | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027802 | part of the plain. Enter Aeneas, Paris, Antenor and Deiphobus. AENEAS. Stand, ho! yet are we masters of the field. Never go home; here starve we out the night. Enter Troilus. TROILUS. Hector is slain. ALL. Hector! The gods forbid! TROILUS. Hes dead, and at the murderers horses tail, In beastly sort, draggd through the shameful field. Frown on, you | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027803 | heavens, effect your rage with speed. Sit, gods, upon your thrones, and smile at Troy. I say at once let your brief plagues be mercy, And linger not our sure destructions on. AENEAS. My lord, you do discomfort all the host. TROILUS. You understand me not that tell me so. I do not speak of flight, of fear of death, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027804 | But dare all imminence that gods and men Address their dangers in. Hector is gone. Who shall tell Priam so, or Hecuba? Let him that will a screech-owl aye be calld Go in to Troy, and say there Hectors dead. There is a word will Priam turn to stone; Make wells and Niobes of the maids and wives, Cold statues | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027805 | of the youth; and, in a word, Scare Troy out of itself. But, march away; Hector is dead; there is no more to say. Stay yet. You vile abominable tents, Thus proudly pight upon our Phrygian plains, Let Titan rise as early as he dare, Ill through and through you. And, thou great-sizd coward, No space of earth shall sunder | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027806 | our two hates; Ill haunt thee like a wicked conscience still, That mouldeth goblins swift as frenzys thoughts. Strike a free march to Troy. With comfort go; Hope of revenge shall hide our inward woe. Enter Pandarus. PANDARUS. But hear you, hear you! TROILUS. Hence, broker-lackey. Ignominy and shame Pursue thy life, and live aye with thy name! [_Exeunt all | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027807 | but_ Pandarus.] PANDARUS. A goodly medicine for my aching bones! O world! world! Thus is the poor agent despisd! O traitors and bawds, how earnestly are you set a-work, and how ill requited! Why should our endeavour be so lovd, and the performance so loathed? What verse for it? What instance for it? Let me see Full merrily the humble-bee | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027808 | doth sing Till he hath lost his honey and his sting; And being once subdud in armed trail, Sweet honey and sweet notes together fail. Good traders in the flesh, set this in your painted cloths. As many as be here of Pandars hall, Your eyes, half out, weep out at Pandars fall; Or, if you cannot weep, yet give | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027809 | some groans, Though not for me, yet for your aching bones. Brethren and sisters of the hold-door trade, Some two months hence my will shall here be made. It should be now, but that my fear is this, Some galled goose of Winchester would hiss. Till then Ill sweat and seek about for eases, And at that time bequeath you | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027810 | my diseases. [_Exit_.] TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL Contents ACT I Scene I. An Apartment in the Dukes Palace. Scene II. The sea-coast. Scene III. A Room in Olivias House. Scene IV. A Room in the Dukes Palace. Scene V. A Room in Olivias House. ACT II Scene I. The sea-coast. Scene II. A street. Scene III. A Room | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027811 | in Olivias House. Scene IV. A Room in the Dukes Palace. Scene V. Olivias garden. ACT III Scene I. Olivias garden. Scene II. A Room in Olivias House. Scene III. A street. Scene IV. Olivias garden. ACT IV Scene I. The Street before Olivias House. Scene II. A Room in Olivias House. Scene III. Olivias Garden. ACT V Scene I. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027812 | The Street before Olivias House. Dramatis Person ORSINO, Duke of Illyria. VALENTINE, Gentleman attending on the Duke CURIO, Gentleman attending on the Duke VIOLA, in love with the Duke. SEBASTIAN, a young Gentleman, twin brother to Viola. A SEA CAPTAIN, friend to Viola ANTONIO, a Sea Captain, friend to Sebastian. OLIVIA, a rich Countess. MARIA, Olivias Woman. SIR TOBY BELCH, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027813 | Uncle of Olivia. SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK. MALVOLIO, Steward to Olivia. FABIAN, Servant to Olivia. CLOWN, Servant to Olivia. PRIEST Lords, Sailors, Officers, Musicians, and other Attendants. SCENE: A City in Illyria; and the Sea-coast near it. ACT I. SCENE I. An Apartment in the Dukes Palace. Enter Orsino, Duke of Illyria, Curio, and other Lords; Musicians attending. DUKE. If music | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027814 | be the food of love, play on, Give me excess of it; that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken and so die. That strain again, it had a dying fall; O, it came oer my ear like the sweet sound That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odour. Enough; no more; Tis not so sweet now as it | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027815 | was before. O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou, That notwithstanding thy capacity Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there, Of what validity and pitch soever, But falls into abatement and low price Even in a minute! So full of shapes is fancy, That it alone is high fantastical. CURIO. Will you go hunt, my lord? DUKE. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027816 | What, Curio? CURIO. The hart. DUKE. Why so I do, the noblest that I have. O, when mine eyes did see Olivia first, Methought she purgd the air of pestilence; That instant was I turnd into a hart, And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds, Eer since pursue me. How now? what news from her? Enter Valentine. VALENTINE. So | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027817 | please my lord, I might not be admitted, But from her handmaid do return this answer: The element itself, till seven years heat, Shall not behold her face at ample view; But like a cloistress she will veiled walk, And water once a day her chamber round With eye-offending brine: all this to season A brothers dead love, which she | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027818 | would keep fresh And lasting in her sad remembrance. DUKE. O, she that hath a heart of that fine frame To pay this debt of love but to a brother, How will she love, when the rich golden shaft Hath killd the flock of all affections else That live in her; when liver, brain, and heart, These sovereign thrones, are | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027819 | all supplied and filld Her sweet perfections with one self king! Away before me to sweet beds of flowers, Love-thoughts lie rich when canopied with bowers. [_Exeunt._] SCENE II. The sea-coast. Enter Viola, a Captain and Sailors. VIOLA. What country, friends, is this? CAPTAIN. This is Illyria, lady. VIOLA. And what should I do in Illyria? My brother he is | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027820 | in Elysium. Perchance he is not drownd. What think you, sailors? CAPTAIN. It is perchance that you yourself were savd. VIOLA. O my poor brother! and so perchance may he be. CAPTAIN. True, madam; and to comfort you with chance, Assure yourself, after our ship did split, When you, and those poor number savd with you, Hung on our driving | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027821 | boat, I saw your brother, Most provident in peril, bind himself, (Courage and hope both teaching him the practice) To a strong mast that livd upon the sea; Where, like Arion on the dolphins back, I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves So long as I could see. VIOLA. For saying so, theres gold! Mine own escape unfoldeth to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027822 | my hope, Whereto thy speech serves for authority, The like of him. Knowst thou this country? CAPTAIN. Ay, madam, well, for I was bred and born Not three hours travel from this very place. VIOLA. Who governs here? CAPTAIN. A noble duke, in nature as in name. VIOLA. What is his name? CAPTAIN. Orsino. VIOLA. Orsino! I have heard my | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027823 | father name him. He was a bachelor then. CAPTAIN. And so is now, or was so very late; For but a month ago I went from hence, And then twas fresh in murmur, (as, you know, What great ones do, the less will prattle of) That he did seek the love of fair Olivia. VIOLA. Whats she? CAPTAIN. A virtuous | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027824 | maid, the daughter of a count That died some twelvemonth since; then leaving her In the protection of his son, her brother, Who shortly also died; for whose dear love They say, she hath abjurd the company And sight of men. VIOLA. O that I served that lady, And might not be delivered to the world, Till I had made | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027825 | mine own occasion mellow, What my estate is. CAPTAIN. That were hard to compass, Because she will admit no kind of suit, No, not the Dukes. VIOLA. There is a fair behaviour in thee, Captain; And though that nature with a beauteous wall Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee I will believe thou hast a mind that suits | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027826 | With this thy fair and outward character. I pray thee, and Ill pay thee bounteously, Conceal me what I am, and be my aid For such disguise as haply shall become The form of my intent. Ill serve this duke; Thou shalt present me as an eunuch to him. It may be worth thy pains; for I can sing, And | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027827 | speak to him in many sorts of music, That will allow me very worth his service. What else may hap, to time I will commit; Only shape thou thy silence to my wit. CAPTAIN. Be you his eunuch and your mute Ill be; When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see. VIOLA. I thank thee. Lead me on. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027828 | [_Exeunt._] SCENE III. A Room in Olivias House. Enter Sir Toby and Maria. SIR TOBY. What a plague means my niece to take the death of her brother thus? I am sure cares an enemy to life. MARIA. By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o nights; your cousin, my lady, takes great exceptions to your ill | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027829 | hours. SIR TOBY. Why, let her except, before excepted. MARIA. Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modest limits of order. SIR TOBY. Confine? Ill confine myself no finer than I am. These clothes are good enough to drink in, and so be these boots too; and they be not, let them hang themselves in their own straps. MARIA. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027830 | 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? MARIA. Ay, he. SIR TOBY. Hes as tall a man as anys in Illyria. MARIA. Whats that to th purpose? SIR TOBY. Why, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027831 | he has three thousand ducats a year. MARIA. Ay, but hell have but a year in all these ducats. Hes a very fool, and a prodigal. SIR TOBY. Fie, that youll say so! he plays o the viol-de-gamboys, and speaks three or four languages word for word without book, and hath all the good gifts of nature. MARIA. He hath | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027832 | indeed, almost natural: for, besides that hes a fool, hes a great quarreller; and, but that he hath the gift of a coward to allay the gust he hath in quarrelling, tis thought among the prudent he would quickly have the gift of a grave. SIR TOBY. By this hand, they are scoundrels and substractors that say so of him. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027833 | Who are they? MARIA. They that add, moreover, hes drunk nightly in your company. SIR TOBY. With drinking healths to my niece; Ill drink to her as long as there is a passage in my throat, and drink in Illyria. Hes a coward and a coystril that will not drink to my niece till his brains turn o the toe | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027834 | like a parish top. What, wench! _Castiliano vulgo:_ for here comes Sir Andrew Agueface. Enter Sir Andrew. AGUECHEEK. Sir Toby Belch! How now, Sir Toby Belch? SIR TOBY. Sweet Sir Andrew! SIR ANDREW. Bless you, fair shrew. MARIA. And you too, sir. SIR TOBY. Accost, Sir Andrew, accost. SIR ANDREW. Whats that? SIR TOBY. My nieces chamber-maid. SIR ANDREW. Good | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027835 | Mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance. MARIA. My name is Mary, sir. SIR ANDREW. Good Mistress Mary Accost, SIR TOBY. You mistake, knight: accost is front her, board her, woo her, assail her. SIR ANDREW. By my troth, I would not undertake her in this company. Is that the meaning of accost? MARIA. Fare you well, gentlemen. SIR TOBY. And | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027836 | thou let part so, Sir Andrew, would thou mightst never draw sword again. SIR ANDREW. And you part so, mistress, I would I might never draw sword again. Fair lady, do you think you have fools in hand? MARIA. Sir, I have not you by the hand. SIR ANDREW. Marry, but you shall have, and heres my hand. MARIA. Now, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027837 | sir, thought is free. I pray you, bring your hand to th buttery bar and let it drink. SIR ANDREW. Wherefore, sweetheart? Whats your metaphor? MARIA. Its dry, sir. SIR ANDREW. Why, I think so; I am not such an ass but I can keep my hand dry. But whats your jest? MARIA. A dry jest, sir. SIR ANDREW. Are | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027838 | you full of them? MARIA. 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 lackst a cup of canary: When did I see thee so put down? SIR ANDREW. Never in your life, I think, unless you see canary put me down. Methinks | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027839 | sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian or an ordinary man has; but I am a great eater of beef, and I believe that does harm to my wit. SIR TOBY. No question. SIR ANDREW. And I thought that, Id forswear it. Ill ride home tomorrow, Sir Toby. SIR TOBY. _Pourquoy_, my dear knight? SIR ANDREW. What is | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027840 | _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 ANDREW. Why, would that have mended my hair? SIR TOBY. Past question; for thou seest it will not | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027841 | curl by nature. SIR ANDREW. But it becomes me well enough, doest not? SIR TOBY. Excellent, it hangs like flax on a distaff; and I hope to see a huswife take thee between her legs, and spin it off. SIR ANDREW. Faith, Ill home tomorrow, Sir Toby; your niece will not be seen, or if she be, its four to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027842 | one shell none of me; the Count himself here hard by woos her. SIR TOBY. Shell none o the Count; shell not match above her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit; I have heard her sweart. Tut, theres life int, man. SIR ANDREW. Ill stay a month longer. I am a fellow o the strangest mind i the world; | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027843 | I delight in masques and revels sometimes altogether. SIR TOBY. Art thou good at these kick-shawses, knight? SIR ANDREW. 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 ANDREW. Faith, I can cut a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027844 | caper. SIR TOBY. And I can cut the mutton tot. SIR ANDREW. 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 em? Are they like to take dust, like Mistress Malls picture? Why dost thou not go to church in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027845 | 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 ANDREW. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027846 | Ay, tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a damd-colourd stock. Shall we set about some revels? SIR TOBY. What shall we do else? Were we not born under Taurus? SIR ANDREW. Taurus? Thats sides and heart. SIR TOBY. No, sir, it is legs and thighs. Let me see thee caper. Ha, higher: ha, ha, excellent! [_Exeunt._] SCENE IV. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027847 | A Room in the Dukes Palace. Enter Valentine and Viola in mans attire. VALENTINE. If the duke continue these favours towards you, Cesario, you are like to be much advanced; he hath known you but three days, and already you are no stranger. VIOLA. You either fear his humour or my negligence, that you call in question the continuance of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027848 | his love. Is he inconstant, sir, in his favours? VALENTINE. No, believe me. Enter Duke, Curio and Attendants. VIOLA. I thank you. Here comes the Count. DUKE. Who saw Cesario, ho? VIOLA. On your attendance, my lord, here. DUKE. Stand you awhile aloof.Cesario, Thou knowst no less but all; I have unclaspd To thee the book even of my secret | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027849 | soul. Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her, Be not denied access, stand at her doors, And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow Till thou have audience. VIOLA. Sure, my noble lord, If she be so abandond to her sorrow As it is spoke, she never will admit me. DUKE. Be clamorous and leap all civil bounds, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027850 | Rather than make unprofited return. VIOLA. Say I do speak with her, my lord, what then? DUKE. O then unfold the passion of my love, Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith; It shall become thee well to act my woes; She will attend it better in thy youth, Than in a nuncios of more grave aspect. VIOLA. I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027851 | think not so, my lord. DUKE. Dear lad, believe it; For they shall yet belie thy happy years, 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 semblative a womans part. I know thy constellation is right apt For this affair. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027852 | Some four or five attend him: All, if you will; for I myself am best When least in company. Prosper well in this, And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord, To call his fortunes thine. VIOLA. Ill do my best To woo your lady. [_Aside._] Yet, a barful strife! Whoeer I woo, myself would be his wife. [_Exeunt._] | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027853 | SCENE V. A Room in Olivias House. Enter Maria and Clown. MARIA. Nay; either tell me where thou hast been, or I will not open my lips so wide as a bristle may enter, in way of thy excuse: my lady will hang thee for thy absence. CLOWN. Let her hang me: he that is well hanged in this world | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027854 | needs to fear no colours. MARIA. Make that good. CLOWN. He shall see none to fear. MARIA. A good lenten answer. I can tell thee where that saying was born, of I fear no colours. CLOWN. Where, good Mistress Mary? MARIA. In the wars, and that may you be bold to say in your foolery. CLOWN. Well, God give them | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027855 | wisdom that have it; and those that are fools, let them use their talents. MARIA. Yet you will be hanged for being so long absent; or to be turned away; is not that as good as a hanging to you? CLOWN. Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage; and for turning away, let summer bear it out. MARIA. You | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027856 | are resolute then? CLOWN. Not so, neither, but I am resolved on two points. MARIA. That if one break, the other will hold; or if both break, your gaskins fall. CLOWN. Apt, in good faith, very apt! Well, go thy way; if Sir Toby would leave drinking, thou wert as witty a piece of Eves flesh as any in Illyria. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027857 | MARIA. Peace, you rogue, no more o that. Here comes my lady: make your excuse wisely, you were best. [_Exit._] Enter Olivia with Malvolio. CLOWN. Wit, andt be thy will, put me into good fooling! Those wits that think they have thee, do very oft prove fools; and I that am sure I lack thee, may pass for a wise | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027858 | man. For what says Quinapalus? Better a witty fool than a foolish wit. God bless thee, lady! OLIVIA. Take the fool away. CLOWN. Do you not hear, fellows? Take away the lady. OLIVIA. Go to, yare a dry fool; Ill no more of you. Besides, you grow dishonest. CLOWN. Two faults, madonna, that drink and good counsel will amend: for | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027859 | give the dry fool drink, then is the fool not dry; bid the dishonest man mend himself, if he mend, he is no longer dishonest; if he cannot, let the botcher mend him. Anything thats mended is but patched; virtue that transgresses is but patched with sin, and sin that amends is but patched with virtue. If that this simple | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027860 | syllogism will serve, so; if it will not, what remedy? As there is no true cuckold but calamity, so beautys a flower. The lady bade take away the fool, therefore, I say again, take her away. OLIVIA. Sir, I bade them take away you. CLOWN. Misprision in the highest degree! Lady, _cucullus non facit monachum:_ thats as much to say, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027861 | I wear not motley in my brain. Good madonna, give me leave to prove you a fool. OLIVIA. Can you do it? CLOWN. Dexteriously, good madonna. OLIVIA. Make your proof. CLOWN. I must catechize you for it, madonna. Good my mouse of virtue, answer me. OLIVIA. Well sir, for want of other idleness, Ill bide your proof. CLOWN. Good madonna, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027862 | why mournst thou? OLIVIA. Good fool, for my brothers death. CLOWN. I think his soul is in hell, madonna. OLIVIA. I know his soul is in heaven, fool. CLOWN. The more fool you, madonna, to mourn for your brothers soul being in heaven. Take away the fool, gentlemen. OLIVIA. What think you of this fool, Malvolio? doth he not mend? | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027863 | MALVOLIO. Yes; and shall do, till the pangs of death shake him. Infirmity, that decays the wise, doth ever make the better fool. CLOWN. God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for the better increasing your folly! Sir Toby will be sworn that I am no fox; but he will not pass his word for twopence that you are no | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027864 | fool. OLIVIA. How say you to that, Malvolio? MALVOLIO. I marvel your ladyship takes delight in such a barren rascal; I saw him put down the other day with an ordinary fool, that has no more brain than a stone. Look you now, hes out of his guard already; unless you laugh and minister occasion to him, he is gagged. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027865 | I protest I take these wise men, that crow so at these set kind of fools, no better than the fools zanies. OLIVIA. O, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and taste with a distempered appetite. To be generous, guiltless, and of free disposition, is to take those things for bird-bolts that you deem cannon bullets. There is no slander | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027866 | in an allowed fool, though he do nothing but rail; nor no railing in a known discreet man, though he do nothing but reprove. CLOWN. Now Mercury endue thee with leasing, for thou speakst well of fools! Enter Maria. MARIA. Madam, there is at the gate a young gentleman much desires to speak with you. OLIVIA. From the Count Orsino, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027867 | is it? MARIA. I know not, madam; tis a fair young man, and well attended. OLIVIA. Who of my people hold him in delay? MARIA. Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman. OLIVIA. Fetch him off, I pray you; he speaks nothing but madman. Fie on him! [_Exit Maria._] Go you, Malvolio. If it be a suit from the Count, I am | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027868 | sick, or not at home. What you will, to dismiss it. [_Exit Malvolio._] Now you see, sir, how your fooling grows old, and people dislike it. CLOWN. Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy eldest son should be a fool: whose skull Jove cram with brains, for here he comes, one of thy kin has a most weak | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027869 | _pia mater_. Enter Sir Toby. OLIVIA. By mine honour, half drunk. What is he at the gate, cousin? SIR TOBY. A gentleman. OLIVIA. A gentleman? What gentleman? SIR TOBY. Tis a gentleman here. A plague o these pickle-herrings! How now, sot? CLOWN. Good Sir Toby. OLIVIA. Cousin, cousin, how have you come so early by this lethargy? SIR TOBY. Lechery! | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027870 | I defy lechery. Theres one at the gate. OLIVIA. Ay, marry, what is he? SIR TOBY. Let him be the devil an he will, I care not: give me faith, say I. Well, its all one. [_Exit._] OLIVIA. Whats a drunken man like, fool? CLOWN. Like a drowned man, a fool, and a madman: one draught above heat makes him | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027871 | a fool, the second mads him, and a third drowns him. OLIVIA. Go thou and seek the coroner, and let him sit o my coz; for hes in the third degree of drink; hes drowned. Go, look after him. CLOWN. He is but mad yet, madonna; and the fool shall look to the madman. [_Exit Clown._] Enter Malvolio. MALVOLIO. Madam, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027872 | yond young fellow swears he will speak with you. I told him you were sick; he takes on him to understand so much, and therefore comes to speak with you. I told him you were asleep; he seems to have a foreknowledge of that too, and therefore comes to speak with you. What is to be said to him, lady? | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027873 | Hes fortified against any denial. OLIVIA. Tell him, he shall not speak with me. MALVOLIO. Has been told so; and he says hell stand at your door like a sheriffs post, and be the supporter of a bench, but hell speak with you. OLIVIA. What kind o man is he? MALVOLIO. Why, of mankind. OLIVIA. What manner of man? MALVOLIO. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027874 | Of very ill manner; hell speak with you, will you or no. OLIVIA. Of what personage and years is he? MALVOLIO. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy; as a squash is before tis a peascod, or a codling, when tis almost an apple. Tis with him in standing water, between boy and man. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027875 | He is very well-favoured, and he speaks very shrewishly. One would think his mothers milk were scarce out of him. OLIVIA. Let him approach. Call in my gentlewoman. MALVOLIO. Gentlewoman, my lady calls. [_Exit._] Enter Maria. OLIVIA. Give me my veil; come, throw it oer my face. Well once more hear Orsinos embassy. Enter Viola. VIOLA. The honourable lady of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027876 | the house, which is she? OLIVIA. Speak to me; I shall answer for her. Your will? VIOLA. Most radiant, exquisite, and unmatchable beauty,I pray you, tell me if this be the lady of the house, for I never saw her. I would be loath to cast away my speech; for besides that it is excellently well penned, I have taken | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027877 | great pains to con it. Good beauties, let me sustain no scorn; I am very comptible, even to the least sinister usage. OLIVIA. Whence came you, sir? VIOLA. I can say little more than I have studied, and that questions out of my part. Good gentle one, give me modest assurance, if you be the lady of the house, that | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027878 | I may proceed in my speech. OLIVIA. Are you a comedian? VIOLA. No, my profound heart: and yet, by the very fangs of malice I swear, I am not that I play. Are you the lady of the house? OLIVIA. If I do not usurp myself, I am. VIOLA. Most certain, if you are she, you do usurp yourself; for | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027879 | what is yours to bestow is not yours to reserve. But this is from my commission. I will on with my speech in your praise, and then show you the heart of my message. OLIVIA. Come to what is important int: I forgive you the praise. VIOLA. Alas, I took great pains to study it, and tis poetical. OLIVIA. It | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027880 | is the more like to be feigned; I pray you keep it in. I heard you were saucy at my gates; and allowed your approach, rather to wonder at you than to hear you. If you be mad, be gone; if you have reason, be brief: tis not that time of moon with me to make one in so skipping | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027881 | a dialogue. MARIA. Will you hoist sail, sir? Here lies your way. VIOLA. No, good swabber, I am to hull here a little longer. Some mollification for your giant, sweet lady. Tell me your mind. I am a messenger. OLIVIA. Sure, you have some hideous matter to deliver, when the courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak your office. VIOLA. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027882 | It alone concerns your ear. I bring no overture of war, no taxation of homage; I hold the olive in my hand: my words are as full of peace as matter. OLIVIA. Yet you began rudely. What are you? What would you? VIOLA. The rudeness that hath appeared in me have I learned from my entertainment. What I am and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027883 | what I would are as secret as maidenhead: to your ears, divinity; to any others, profanation. OLIVIA. Give us the place alone: we will hear this divinity. [_Exit Maria._] Now, sir, what is your text? VIOLA. Most sweet lady OLIVIA. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be said of it. Where lies your text? VIOLA. In Orsinos bosom. OLIVIA. In | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027884 | his bosom? In what chapter of his bosom? VIOLA. To answer by the method, in the first of his heart. OLIVIA. O, I have read it; it is heresy. Have you no more to say? VIOLA. Good madam, let me see your face. OLIVIA. Have you any commission from your lord to negotiate with my face? You are now out | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027885 | of your text: but we will draw the curtain and show you the picture. [_Unveiling._] Look you, sir, such a one I was this present. Ist not well done? VIOLA. Excellently done, if God did all. OLIVIA. Tis in grain, sir; twill endure wind and weather. VIOLA. Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white Natures own sweet and cunning | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027886 | hand laid on. Lady, you are the cruelst she alive If you will lead these graces to the grave, And leave the world no copy. OLIVIA. O, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted; I will give out divers schedules of my beauty. It shall be inventoried and every particle and utensil labelled to my will: as, item, two lips | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027887 | indifferent red; item, two grey eyes with lids to them; item, one neck, one chin, and so forth. Were you sent hither to praise me? VIOLA. I see you what you are, you are too proud; But, if you were the devil, you are fair. My lord and master loves you. O, such love Could be but recompensd though you | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027888 | were crownd The nonpareil of beauty! OLIVIA. How does he love me? VIOLA. With adorations, fertile tears, With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire. OLIVIA. Your lord does know my mind, I cannot love him: Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble, Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth; In voices well divulgd, free, learnd, and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027889 | valiant, And in dimension and the shape of nature, A gracious person. But yet I cannot love him. He might have took his answer long ago. VIOLA. If I did love you in my masters flame, With such a suffring, such a deadly life, In your denial I would find no sense, I would not understand it. OLIVIA. Why, what | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027890 | would you? VIOLA. Make me a willow cabin at your gate, And call upon my soul within the house; Write loyal cantons of contemned love, And sing them loud even in the dead of night; Hallow your name to the reverberate hills, And make the babbling gossip of the air Cry out Olivia! O, you should not rest Between the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027891 | elements of air and earth, But you should pity me. OLIVIA. You might do much. What is your parentage? VIOLA. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well: I am a gentleman. OLIVIA. Get you to your lord; I cannot love him: let him send no more, Unless, perchance, you come to me again, To tell me how he takes | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027892 | it. Fare you well: I thank you for your pains: spend this for me. VIOLA. I am no feed post, lady; keep your purse; My master, not myself, lacks recompense. Love make his heart of flint that you shall love, And let your fervour like my masters be Placd in contempt. Farewell, fair cruelty. [_Exit._] OLIVIA. What is your parentage? | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027893 | Above my fortunes, yet my state is well: I am a gentleman. Ill be sworn thou art; Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit, Do give thee five-fold blazon. Not too fast: soft, soft! Unless the master were the man. How now? Even so quickly may one catch the plague? Methinks I feel this youths perfections With an | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027894 | invisible and subtle stealth To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be. What ho, Malvolio! Enter Malvolio. MALVOLIO. Here, madam, at your service. OLIVIA. Run after that same peevish messenger The Countys man: he left this ring behind him, Would I or not; tell him, Ill none of it. Desire him not to flatter with his lord, Nor | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027895 | hold him up with hopes; I am not for him. If that the youth will come this way tomorrow, Ill give him reasons fort. Hie thee, Malvolio. MALVOLIO. Madam, I will. [_Exit._] OLIVIA. I do I know not what, and fear to find Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind. Fate, show thy force, ourselves we do not | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027896 | owe. What is decreed must be; and be this so! [_Exit._] ACT II. SCENE I. The sea-coast. Enter Antonio and Sebastian. ANTONIO. Will you stay no longer? Nor will you not that I go with you? SEBASTIAN. By your patience, no; my stars shine darkly over me; the malignancy of my fate might perhaps distemper yours; therefore I shall crave | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027897 | of you your leave that I may bear my evils alone. It were a bad recompense for your love, to lay any of them on you. ANTONIO. Let me know of you whither you are bound. SEBASTIAN. No, sooth, sir; my determinate voyage is mere extravagancy. But I perceive in you so excellent a touch of modesty, that you will | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027898 | not extort from me what I am willing to keep in. Therefore it charges me in manners the rather to express myself. You must know of me then, Antonio, my name is Sebastian, which I called Roderigo; my father was that Sebastian of Messaline whom I know you have heard of. He left behind him myself and a sister, both | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000027899 | born in an hour. If the heavens had been pleased, would we had so ended! But you, sir, altered that, for some hour before you took me from the breach of the sea was my sister drowned. ANTONIO. Alas the day! SEBASTIAN. A lady, sir, though it was said she much resembled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful. But | 60 | gutenberg |
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