Obrázky na stránke
PDF
ePub

Alas, our frailty is the caufe, not we,

For fuch as we are made, ev'n fuch we be.
How will this fadge? my master loves her dearly,
And I, poor minifter, fond as much on him;
And the, mistaken, feems to doat on me :
What will become of this? as I am man,
My ftate is defperate from my mafter's love;
As I am woman, now alas the day!

What thriftless fighs fhall poor Olivia breathe!
O time, thou muft untangle this, not I,
It is too hard, a knot for me t' unty.

[ocr errors]

SCENE III. Olivia's House.
Enter Sir Toby and Sir Andrew.

[Exit.

Sir To. Approach, Sir Andrew: not to be a-bed after midnight, is to be up betimes, and Diluculo furgere, thou know'ft,

Sir And. Nay, by my troth, I know not: but I know, to be up late, is to be up late.

Sir To. A falfe conclufion: I hate it as an unfill'd can; to be up after midnight, and to go to bed then, is early; fo that to go to bed after midnight, is to go to bed betimes. Does not our life confift of the four elements?

Sir And. 'Faith, fo they fay, but I think it rather confifts of eating and drinking.

Sir To. Th'art a scholar, let us therefore eat and drink. Maria! I fày; a ftoop of wine.

Enter Clown.

Sir And. Here comes the fool, i'faith.

Clo. How now, my hearts? did you never see the picture of we three?

-Sir To. Welcome, afs, now let's have a catch.

Sir And. By my troth, the fool has an excellent breast. I had rather than forty fhillings I had fuch a leg, and fo fweet a breath to fing, as the fool has. Infooth thou waft in very gracious fooling laft night, when thou fpok'ft of Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians paffing the equinoctial of Queubus 'twas very good, i'faith: I fent thee fix pence forthy leman, hadft it?

Clo. I did impeticos thy gratillity; for Malvolio's nofe He means to fay, impocket thy gratuity.

is no whip-ftock, my Lady has a white hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses.

Sir And. Excellent: why, this is the beft fooling, when all is done. Now a fong.

Sir To. Come on, there is fix pence for you. Let's have a fong.

Sir And. There's a teftril of me too; if one Knight give a

Clo. Would you have a love-fong, or a fong of good life? Sir To. A love-fong, a love-fong.

Sir And. Ay, ay, I care not for good life.

Clown fings.

O miftrefs mine, where are you roaming?
O ftay and bear, your true love's coming,
That can fing both bigh and low.
Trip no further, pretty sweeting,
Journeys end in lovers meeting,

Every wife man's fon doth know.

Sir And. Excellent good, 'faith.
Sir To. Good, good.

Clo. What is love? 'tis not hereafter:
Prefent mirth bath prefent laughter:
What's to come, is still unfure.

In delay there lyes no plenty,

Then come kifs me, fweet, and twenty :
Youth's a stuff will not endure.

Sir And. A mellifluous voice, as I am a true Knight.
Sir To. A contagious breath.

Sir And. Very fweet and contagious, i'faith.

Sir To. To hear by the nofe, it is dulcet in contagion. But shall we make the welkin dance indeed? fhall we rouze the night-owl in a catch, that will draw three fouls out of one weaver? fhall we do that?

Sir And. An you love me, let's do't: I am a dog at a catch,

Clo. By'r Lady, Sir, and fome dogs will catch well. Sir And. Moft certain: let our catch be, Thou knave. Clo. Hold thy peace, thou knave, Knight. I fhall be constrain'd in't, to call thee knave, Knight,

Sir And. 'Tis not the first time I have conftrain'd one to call me knave. Begin, fool; it begins, Hold thy peace. Clo. I fhall never begin, if I hold my peace.

Sir And. Good, i'faith: come, begin. [They fing a catch. SCENE IV. Enter Maria.

Mar. What a catterwauling do you keep here? if my Lady have not call'd up her fteward Malvolio, and bid him turn you out of doors, never truft me.

Am

Sir To My Lady's a Cataian, we are politicians, Malvolio's a Peg-a-Ramfey, and Three merry men be we. not I confanguinious? am not I of her blood? Tilly valley, lady! there dwelt a man in Babylon, lady, lady. [Singing.

Clo. Befhrew me, the Knight's in admirable fooling. Sir And. Ay, he does well enough if he be difpos'd, and fo do I too: he does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural.

Sir To. O the twelfth day of December.
Mar. For the love o'God, peace.

Enter Malvolio.

[Singing.

Mal. My mafters, are you mad? or what are you? have you, no wit, manners, nor honesty, but to gabble like tinkers at this time of night? do you make an ale-houfe of my Lady's houfe, that ye fqueak out your cofier catches without any mitigation or remorfe of voice? is there no refpect of place, perfons, nor time in you?

up.

Sir To. We did keep time, Sir, in our catches. Strike

Mal. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My Lady bade me tell you, that she harbours you as her uncle, fhe's nothing ally'd to your diforders. If you can feparate your felf and your misdemeanors, you are welcome to the house: if not, an it would pleafe you to take leave of her, fhe is very willing to bid you farewel.

3

Sir To, Farewel, dear beart, fince I must needs be gone.

Mal. Nay, good Sir Toby.

Clo. His eyes do fhew his days are almost done.

Mal. Is't even fo?

Sir To. But I will never die.

Clo. Sir Toby, there you lie.

[Singing

[Singing

Mal.

Mal. This is much credit to you.
Sir To. Sball I bid him go?

Clo. What an if you do?

Sir To. Shall I bid bim go, and spare not ?
Clo. O no, no, no, you dare not.

[Singing

Sir To. Out o' tune, Sir, ye lie: art thou any more than a fteward? doft thou think because thou art virtuous, there fhould be no more cakes and ale?

Clo. Yes, by St. Anne; and ginger fhall be hot i'th' mouth too.

Sir To. Thou'rt i' th' right. Go, Sir, rub your chain with crums. A ftoop of wine, Maria.

Mal. Miftrefs Mary, if you priz'd my Lady's favour at any thing more than contempt, you would not give means for this uncivil rule; fhe fhall know of it, by this hand.

Mar. Go, shake your ears.

[Exit.

Sir And. 'Twere as good a deed as to drink when a man's a hungry, to challenge him to the field, and then to break promife with him, and make a fool of him.

Sir To. Do't, Knight, I'll write thee a challenge: of I'll deliver thy indignation to him by word of mouth.

Mar. Sweet Sir Toby, be patient for to-night; fince the youth of the Duke's was to-day with my Lady, fhe is much out of quiet. For Monfieur Malvolio, let me alone with him: if I do not gull him into a nay-word, and make him a common recreation, do not think I have wit enough to lye ftrait in my bed: I know I can do it.

Sir. To. Poffefs us, poffefs us, tell us fomething of him. Mar. Marry, Sir, fometimes he is a kind of a puritan. Sir And. O, if I thought that, I'd beat him like a dog. Sir To. What for being a puritan? thy exquifite reason, dear Knight.

Sir And. And I have no exquifite reafon for't, but I have reafon good enough.

Mar. The devil a puritan that he is, or any thing conftantly but a time-pleafer, an affected afs, that cons ftate without book, and utters it by great fwarths. The best perfuaded of himfelf: So cram'd, as he thinks, with excellencies, that is his ground of faith, that all that look

[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]

on him, love him ; and on that vice in him will my revenge find notable cause to work.

Sir To. What wilt thou do?

Mar. I will drop in his way fome obfcure epiftles of love, wherein, by the colour of his beard, the fhape of his leg, the manner of his gate, the expreffure of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he fhall find himself moft feelingly perfonated. I can write very like my Lady your neice; on a forgotten matter we can hardly make diftinction of our hands.

Sir To. Excellent, I smell a device.

Sir And. I hav't in my nofe too.

Sir. To. He fhall think by the letters that thou wilt drop, that they come from my neice, and that the is in love with him.

Mar. My purpofe is indeed a horse of that colour.

Sir And. And your horfe now would make him an ass,
Mar. Afs, I doubt not.

Sir And. O, 'twill be admirable.

Mar. Sport royal, I warrant you: I know my phyfick will work with him. I will plant you two, and let the fool make a third, where he fhall find the letter: obferve his conftruction of it: for this night to bed, and dream on the event. Farewel. [Exit.

Sir To. Good night, Penthifilea.

Sir And. Before me, the's a good wench.

Sir To. She's a beagle, true bred, and one that adores what o'that?

me;

Sir And. I was ador'd once too.

Sir To. Let's to bed, Knight: thou hadst need fend for more mony.

Sir And. If I cannot recover your neice, I am a foul way out.

Sir To. Send for mony, Knight; if thou haft her not i'th' 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 fome fack, 'tis too late to go to bed now come, Knight, come, Knight.

[Exeunt. SCENE

« PredošláPokračovať »