Let's take the instant by the forward top, My liege, at first You remember Admiringly. I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart Well excus'd: King. That thou didst love her strikes some scores away From the great compt. But love, that comes too late, Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried, To the great sender turns a sour offence, Crying, that's good that's gone. Our rash faults Make trivial price of serious things we have, Not knowing them, until we know their grave: Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust, Destroy our friends, and after weep their dust: Our own love, waking, cries to see what's done, While shameful hate sleeps out the afternoon. Be this sweet Helen's knell, and now forget her. Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin : The main consents are had; and here we'll stay To see our widower's second marriage-day. That knows the tinct and multiplying medicine, Confess 'twas hers, and by what rough enforcement Laf. Which better than the first, O, dear heaven, bless! Ber. Hers it was not. King. Now, pray you, let me see it; for mine eye, Ber. She never saw it. King. Thou speak'st it falsely, as I love mine honour, And mak'st conjectural fears to come into me, Which I would fain shut out. If it should prove That thou art so inhuman,-'twill not prove so ;And yet I know not:-thou didst hate her deadly, And she is dead;-which nothing, but to close Her eyes myself, could win me to believe, More than to see this ring.-Take him away.[Guards seize BERTRAM. My fore-past proofs, howe'er the matter fall, Shall tax my fears of little vanity, Having vainly fear'd too little.-Away with him! We'll sift this matter farther. If you shall prove I would relieve her. Had you that craft to reave her Ber. This ring was ever hers, you shall as easy Ber. Count. Son, on my life, I have seen her wear it; and she reckon'd it I am sure I saw her wear it. Plutus himself, King. I am wrapp'd in dismal thinkings. Gent. Gracious sovereign, Whether I have been to blame, or no, I know not: Here's a petition from a Florentine, Who hath, for four or five removes, come short To tender it herself. I undertook it, Vanquish'd thereto by the fair grace and speech Of the poor suppliant, who by this, I know, Is here attending: her business looks in her With an importing visage; and she told me, In a sweet verbal brief, it did concern Your highness with herself. King. [Reads.] "Upon his many protestations to marry me, when his wife was dead, I blush to say it, he won me. Now is the count Rousillon a widower: his vows are forfeited to me, and my honour's paid to him. He stole from Florence, taking no leave, and I follow him to his country for justice. Grant it me, O king! in you it best lies; otherwise a seducer flourishes, and a poor maid is undone. "DIANA CAPILET." Laf. I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, and toll him: for this, I'll none of him. King. The heavens have thought well on thee, Lafeu, To bring forth this discovery.-Seek these suitors.— Go speedily, and bring again the count. [Exeunt Gentleman, and some Attendants. Now, justice on the doers! King. I wonder, sir, for wives are monsters to you, [Kneeling. Re-enter Gentleman, with Widow, and DIANA. Wid. I am her mother, sir, whose age and honour Both suffer under this complaint we bring, Ber. My lord, I neither can, nor will deny Ber. She's none of mine, my lord. [Rising. marry, If you shall That she which marries you must marry me; Laf. [To BERTRAM.] Your reputation comes too short for my daughter: you are no husband for her. Ber. My lord, this is a fond and desperate creature, Whom sometime I have laugh'd with. Let your highness Lay a more noble thought upon mine honour, King. Sir, for my thoughts, you have them ill to friend, Till your deeds gain them: fairer prove your honour, Than in my thought it lies. Dia. Good my lord, King. What say 'st thou to her? She's impudent, my lord; And was a common gamester to the camp. Dia. He does me wrong, my lord: if I were so, Count. He blushes, and 'tis his. This is his wife: Methought, you said, You saw one here in court could witness it. Dia. I did, my lord, but loth am to produce So bad an instrument: his name's Parolles. Laf. I saw the man to-day, if man he be. King. Find him, and bring him hither. Ber. (Since you lack virtue, I will lose a husband) Ber. The same upon your finger. Sir, much like King. Know you this ring? this ring was his of late. Dia. And this was it I gave him, being a-bed. King. The story then goes false, you threw it him Out of a casement. Is this the man you speak of? Dia. Ay, my lord. King. Tell me, sirrah, but tell me true, I charge you, Not fearing the displeasure of your master, (Which, on your just proceeding, I'll keep off) By him, and by this woman here, what know you? Par. So please your majesty, my master hath been an honourable gentleman: tricks he hath had in him, which gentlemen have. King. Come, come; to the purpose. Did he love this woman? Par. 'Faith, sir, he did love her; but how? Par. He did love her, sir, as a gentleman loves a woman. King. How is that? Par. He loved her, sir, and loved her not. King. As thou art a knave, and no knave.~ What an equivocal companion is this! Par. I am a poor man, and at your majesty's command. Laf. He's a good drum, my lord, but a naughty orator. Dia. Do you know, he promised me marriage? King. But wilt thou not speak all thou know'st? Par. Yes, so please your majesty. I did go between them, as I said; but more than that, he loved her,for, indeed, he was mad for her, and talked of Satan, and of limbo, and of furies, and I know not what: yet I was in that credit with them at that time, that I knew of their going to bed, and of other motions, as promising her marriage, and things that would derive me ill will to speak of: therefore, I will not speak What of him? what I know. yours. He's quoted for a most perfidious slave, With all the spots o' the world tax'd and debauch'd, Whose nature sickens but to speak a truth. Am I or that, or this, for what he'll utter, That will speak any thing? King. She hath that ring of Ber. I think, she has: certain it is, I lik'd her, And boarded her i' the wanton way of youth. She knew her distance, and did angle for me, Madding my eagerness with her restraint, As all impediments in fancy's course Are motives of more fancy; and, in fine, Her infinite cunning, with her modern grace, Subdued me to her rate: she got the ring, And I had that, which any inferior might At market-price have bought. Dia. I must be patient: You, that turn'd off a first so noble wife, May justly diet me. I pray you yet, King. Thou hast spoken all already, unless thou canst Dia. Ay, my good lord. King. Where did you buy it? or who gave it you? Dia. It was not given me, nor I did not buy it. King. Who lent it you? Dia. I found it not? It was not lent me neither. I never gave it him. Laf. This woman's an easy glove, my lord: she goes off and on at pleasure. King. This ring was mine: I gave it his first wife. To prison with her; and away with him.- I'll never tell you. King. Take her away. Dia. Because he's guilty, and he is not guilty. The jeweller that owes the ring is sent for, King. Re-enter Widow, with HELENA. Hel. No, my good lord: "Tis but the shadow of a wife you see; The name, and not the thing. Ber. Both, both! O, pardon! [Kneeling. Hel. O! my good lord, when I was like this maid, I found you wondrous kind. There is your ring; And, look you, here's your letter: this it says: "When from my finger you can get this ring, And are by me with child," &c.-This is done : Will you be mine, now you are doubly won? Ber. If she, my liege, can make me know this clearly, [Rising. I'll love her dearly, ever, ever dearly. Hel. If it appear not plain, and prove untrue, Laf. Mine eyes smell onions, I shall weep anon.— Good Tom Drum, [TO PAROLLES.] lend me a handkerchief: so, I thank thee. Wait on me home, I'll make sport with thee: let thy courtesies alone, they are Scurvy ones. King. Let us from point to point this story know, Is there no exorcist All yet seems well; and if it end so meet, Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes? EPILOGUE BY THE KING. The king's a beggar, now the play is done. With strife to please you, day exceeding day: TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL. SCENE I.—An Apartment in the DUKE's Palace. 'Tis not so sweet now, as it was before. That, notwithstanding thy capacity Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there, Of what validity and pitch soe'er, But falls into abatement and low price, Even in a minute! so full of shapes is fancy, Cur. Will you go hunt, my lord? What, Curio? The hart. Cur. E'er since pursue me.-How now! what news from her? Val. So 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 brother's dead love, which she would keep fresh And lasting in her sad remembrance. Duke. O! she that hath a heart of that fine frame, pay this debt of love but to a brother, Το SCENE II.-The Sea-coast. Vio. What country, friends, is this? This is Illyria, lady. he be. What my estate is. Cap. Vio. There is a fair behaviour in thee, captain, I will believe, thou hast a mind that suits 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. Sir To. Fie, that you'll 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. Mar. He hath, indeed,-all most 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, 'tis thought among the prudent he would. quickly have the gift of a grave. [Exeunt. SCENE III.-A Room in OLIVIA'S House. Enter Sir TOBY BELCH, and MARIA. Sir To. By this hand, they are scoundrels, and substractors that say so of him. Who are they? Mar. They that add, moreover, he's drunk nightly in your company. I'll Sir To. What a plague means my niece, to take the death of her brother thus? I am sure care's an enemy to life. Sir To. With drinking healths to my niece. drink to her, as long as there is a passage in my throat, and drink in Illyria. He's a coward, and a coistril, 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 Ague-face. Enter Sir ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK. 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 To. Why, let her except before excepted. Mar. Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modest limits of order. Sir To. 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 To. Who? Sir Andrew Ague-cheek? Sir To. He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria. Sir And. Sir Toby Belch! how now, sir Toby Belch? Sir To. Sweet sir Andrew. Sir And. Bless you, fair shrew. Mar. And you too, sir. Sir To. Accost, sir Andrew, accost. Sir And. What's that? Sir To. My niece's chamber-maid. Sir And. Good mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance. Mar. My name is Mary, sir. Sir And. Good mistress Mary Accost,- Sir To. You mistake, knight: accost is front her, board her, woo her, assail her. Sir To. Why, he has three thousand ducats a year. Mar. Ay, but he'll have but a year in all these ducats: he's a very fool, and a prodigal. 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 To. An thou let her part so, sir Andrew, would thou might'st 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 your metaphor? Mar. It's dry, sir. 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 To. 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 ordinary man has; but I am a great eater of beef, and, I believe, that does harm to my wit. Sir To. No question. Sir And. An I thought that, I'd forswear it. I'll ride home to-morrow, sir Toby. Sir To. Pourquoi, my dear knight? Sir And. What is pourquoi? 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! |