The Complete Works of William Shakespeare. William Shakespeare
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be to care for nothing, sir, I
would it would make you invisible.
VIOLA.
Art not thou the Lady Olivia’s fool?
CLOWN. 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 of words.
VIOLA.
I saw thee late at the Count Orsino’s.
CLOWN. Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun, it shines everywhere. 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.
VIOLA. Nay, and thou pass upon me, I’ll no more with thee. Hold, there’s expenses for thee.
CLOWN.
Now Jove, in his next commodity of hair, send thee a beard!
VIOLA. 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?
CLOWN.
Would not a pair of these have bred, sir?
VIOLA.
Yes, being kept together and put to use.
CLOWN. I would play Lord Pandarus of Phrygia, sir, to bring a Cressida to this Troilus.
VIOLA.
I understand you, sir; ‘t is well begg’d.
CLOWN. 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.]
VIOLA.
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,
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 labour 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.]
SIR TOBY.
Save you, gentleman!
VIOLA.
And you, sir.
SIR ANDREW.
Dieu vous garde, monsieur.
VIOLA.
Et vous aussi; votre serviteur.
SIR ANDREW.
I hope, sir, you are; and I am yours.
SIR TOBY. Will you encounter the house? my niece is desirous you should enter, if your trade be to her.
VIOLA. I am bound to your niece, sir; I mean, she is the list of my voyage.
SIR TOBY.
Taste your legs, sir; put them to motion.
VIOLA. My legs do better understand me, sir, than I understand what you mean by bidding me taste my legs.
SIR TOBY.
I mean, to go, sir, to enter.
VIOLA.
I will answer you with gait and entrance. But we are prevented.
[Enter OLIVIA and MARIA.]
Most excellent accomplish’d lady, the heavens rain odours on you!
SIR ANDREW.
That youth’s a rare courtier. ‘Rain odours’; well.
VIOLA. My matter hath no voice, lady, but to your own most pregnant and vouchsafed ear.
SIR ANDREW. ‘Odours,’ ‘pregnant,’ and ‘vouchsafed’: I’ll get ‘em all three all ready.
OLIVIA.
Let the garden door be shut, and leave me to my hearing.
[Exeunt SIR TOBY, SIR ANDREW, and MARIA.] Give me your hand, sir.
VIOLA.
My duty, madam, and most humble service.
OLIVIA.
What is your name?
VIOLA.
Cesario is your servant’s name, fair princess.
OLIVIA.
My servant, sir! ‘T was never merry world
Since lowly feigning was call’d compliment;
You’re servant to the Count Orsino, youth.
VIOLA.
And he is yours, and his must needs be yours;
Your servant’s servant is your servant, madam.
OLIVIA.
For him, I think not on him; for his thoughts,
Would they were blanks, rather than fill’d with me!
VIOLA.
Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts
On his behalf.
OLIVIA.
O, by your leave, I pray you,
I bade you never speak again of him;
But, would you undertake another suit,
I had rather hear you to solicit that
Than music from the spheres.
VIOLA.
Dear lady,—
OLIVIA.
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?
Have you not set mine honour at the stake,
And baited it with all th’ unmuzzled thoughts
That tyrannous heart can think? To one of your receiving
Enough is shown. A cypress, not a bosom,
Hides my heart. So, let me hear you speak.
VIOLA.
I pity you.
OLIVIA.
That’s a degree to love.
VIOLA.
No, not a grize; for ‘t is a vulgar proof,
That very oft we pity enemies.
OLIVIA.
Why, then methinks ‘t is time to smile again.
O world, how apt the poor are to be proud!
If one should be a prey, how much the better
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.
VIOLA.
Then