ANTONIO.Pardon me, sir, your bad entertainment.
SEBASTIAN.
O good Antonio, forgive me your trouble!
ANTONIO.
If you will not murder me for my love, let me be your servant.
SEBASTIAN. If you will not undo what you have done, that is, kill him whom you have recover’d, desire it not. Fare ye well at once; my bosom is full of kindness, and I am yet so near the manners of my mother that upon the least occasion more mine eyes will tell tales of me. I am bound to the Count Orsino’s court; farewell. [Exit.]
ANTONIO.
The gentleness of all the gods go with thee!
I have many enemies in Orsino’s court,
Else would I very shortly see thee there.
But, come what may, I do adore thee so
That danger shall seem sport, and I will go.
[Exit.]
SCENE II. A street
[Enter VIOLA, MALVOLIO following.]
MALVOLIO.
Were you not ev’n now with the Countess Olivia?
VIOLA. Even now, sir; on a moderate pace I have since arriv’d but hither.
MALVOLIO. She returns this ring to you, sir; you might have sav’d me my pains, to have taken it away yourself. She adds, moreover, that you should put your lord into a desperate assurance she will none of him; and one thing more, that you be never so hardy to come again in his affairs, unless it be to report your lord’s taking of this. Receive it so.
VIOLA.
She took the ring of me; I’ll none of it.
MALVOLIO. Come, sir, you peevishly threw it to her; and her will is it should be so return’d. If it be worth stooping for, there it lies in your eye; if not, be it his that finds it. [Exit.]
VIOLA.
I left no ring with her; what means this lady?
Fortune forbid my outside have not charm’d her!
She made good view of me; indeed, so much
That, methought, her eyes had lost her tongue,
For she did speak in starts distractedly.
She loves me, sure: the cunning of her passion
Invites me in this churlish messenger.
None of my lord’s ring! why, he sent her none.
I am the man. If it be so, as ‘t is,
Poor lady, she were better love a dream.
Disguise, I see thou art a wickedness,
Wherein the pregnant enemy does much.
How easy is it for the proper-false
In women’s waxen hearts to set their forms!
Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we!
For such as we are made of, such we be.
How will this fadge? my master loves her dearly;
And I, poor monster, fond as much on him,
And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me.
What will become of this? As I am man,
My state is desperate for my master’s love;
As I am woman— now, alas the day!—
What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe!
O time, thou must untangle this, not I;
It is too hard a knot for me to untie!
[Exit.]
SCENE III. OLIVIA’S house [Enter SIR TOBY and SIR ANDREW.]
SIR TOBY. Approach, Sir Andrew: not to be a-bed after midnight is to be up betimes; and ‘diluculo surgere,’ thou know’st—
SIR ANDREW. Nay, by my troth, I know not; but I know, to be up late is to be up late.
SIR TOBY. A false conclusion; I hate it as an unfill’d can. To be up after midnight, and to go to bed then, is early; so that to go to bed after midnight is to go to bed betimes. Does not our life consist of the four elements?
SIR ANDREW. Faith, so they say; but I think it rather consists of eating and drinking.
SIR TOBY. Thou ‘rt a scholar; let us therefore eat and drink. Marian, I say! a stoup of wine!
[Enter CLOWN.]
SIR ANDREW.
Here comes the fool, i’ faith.
CLOWN.
How now, my hearts! did you never see the picture of ‘We Three’?
SIR TOBY.
Welcome, ass. Now let’s have a catch.
SIR ANDREW. By my troth, the fool has an excellent breast. I had rather than forty shillings I had such a leg, and so sweet a breath to sing, as the fool has. In sooth, thou wast in very gracious fooling last night, when thou spokest of Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians passing the equinoctial of Queubus; ‘t was very good, i’ faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy leman; hadst it?
CLOWN. I did impeticos thy gratillity; for Malvolio’s nose is no whipstock; my lady has a white hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses.
SIR ANDREW. Excellent! why, this is the best fooling, when all is done. Now, a song.
SIR TOBY.
Come on; there is sixpence for you: let’s have a song.
SIR ANDREW.
There’s a testril of me too. If one knight give a—
CLOWN.
Would you have a love-song, or a song of good life?
SIR TOBY.
A love-song, a love-song.
SIR ANDREW.
Ay, ay; I care not for good life.
CLOWN.
[Sings.]
O mistress mine, where are you roaming?
