Vio. It gives a very echo to the seat Where Love is thron'd. Duke. Thou dost speak masterly. My life upon 't, young though thou art, thine eye Hath it not, boy? Vio. A little, by your favour. Duke. What kind of woman is 't? Duke. She is not worth thee, then. Of your complexion. What years, i' faith? Duke. Too old, by heaven. 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, More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn, 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! Re-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 chaunt it: it is silly sooth, And dallies with the innocence of love, Like the old age. Clo. Are you ready, Sir? Duke. Ay; pr'ythee, sing. [Music. Clo. 1 THE SONG. Come away, come away, death, My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, My part of death no one so true Not a flower, not a flower sweet, My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown: Lay me, 0! where Sad true lover never find my grave, Duke. There's for thy pains. Clo. No pains, Sir: I take pleasure in singing, Sir. Duke. I'll pay thy pleasure then. Clo. Truly, Sir, and pleasure will be paid, one time or another. Duke. Give me now leave to leave thee. Clo. Now, the melancholy god protect thee, and the tailor make thy doublet of changeable taffata, 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. Farewell. [Exit Clown. Duke. Let all the rest give place. [Exeunt CURIO and Attendants. Once more, Cesario, Get thee to yond' same sovereign cruelty: The parts that fortune hath bestow'd upon her, Tell her, I hold as giddily as fortune; Duke. It cannot be so answer'd. Sir? Sooth, but you must. Say, that some lady, as perhaps there is, Can bide the beating of so strong a passion And can digest as much. Make no compare Vio. Too well what love women to men may owe: In faith, they are as true of heart as we. As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman, Duke. And what's her history? Vio. A blank, my lord. She never told her love, - Feed on her damask cheek: she pin'd in thought: She sat like patience on a monument, Smiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed? We men may say more, swear more; but, indeed, Our shows are more than will, for still we prove Duke. But died thy sister of her love, my boy? Sir, shall I to this lady? Duke. To her in haste: give her Ay, that's the theme. this jewel; say, My love can give no place, bide no denay. SCENE V. OLIVIA'S Garden. [Exeunt. Enter Sir TOBY BELCH, Sir Andrew Ague-chEEK, and FABIAN. Sir To. Come thy ways, signior Fabian. Fab. Nay, I'll come: if I lose a scruple of this sport, let me be boiled to death with melancholy. Sir To. Would'st thou not be glad to have the niggardly, rascally sheep-biter come by some notable shame? Fab. I would exult, man: you know, he brought me out o' favour with my lady about a bear-baiting here. 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? Mar. Get ye all three into the box-tree. Malvolio 's coming down this walk: he has been yonder i' the sun, practising behaviour to his own shadow, this half hour. Observe him, for the love of mockery; for, I know, this letter will make a contemplative idiot of him. Close, in the name of jesting! [The men hide them -selves.] Lie thou there; [throws down a letter] for here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling. [Exit MARIA. Enter MALVOLIO. Mal. 'T is 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? Sir To. Here's an over-weening rogue! Fab. O, peace! Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock of him: how he jets under his advanced plumes! Sir And. 'Slight, I could so beat the rogue. Sir To. Peace! I say. Mal. To be count Malvolio. Sir To. Ah, rogue! Sir And. Pistol him, pistol him. Sir To. Peace! peace! Mal. There is example for 't: the lady of the Strachy married the yeoman of the wardrobe. Sir And. Fie on him, Jezebel! 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 have 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, would they should do theirs, telling them, I know my place, as I Sir To. Bolts and shackles! to ask for my kinsman Toby 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 my 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! |