Twelfth Night

write very like my lady your niece: on a forgotten matter we can hardly make distinction of our hands. Sir Toby Excellent! I smell a device. Sir Andrew I have’t in my nose too. Sir Toby He shall think, by the letters that thou wilt drop, that they come from my niece, and that she’s in love with him. Maria My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour. Sir Andrew And your horse now would make him an ass. Maria Ass, I doubt not. Sir Andrew O, ’twill be admirable! Maria Sport royal, I warrant you: I know my physic will work with him. I will plant you two, and let the fool make a third, where he shall find the letter: observe his construction of it. For this night, to bed, and dream on the event. Farewell. Exit. Sir Toby Good night, Penthesilea. Sir Andrew Before me, she’s a good wench. Sir Toby She’s a beagle, true-bred, and one that adores me: what o’ that? Sir Andrew I was adored once too. Sir Toby Let’s to bed, knight. Thou hadst need send for more money. Sir Andrew If I cannot recover your niece, I am a foul way out. Sir Toby Send for money, knight: if thou hast her not i’ the end, call me cut. Sir Andrew If I do not, never trust me, take it how you will. Sir Toby Come, come, I’ll go burn some sack; ’tis too late to go to bed now: come, knight; come, knight. Exeunt.

Scene IV

The Duke’s palace.

	Enter Duke, Viola, Curio, and others.
Duke	Give me some music. Now, good morrow, friends. Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song, That old and antique song we heard last night: Methought it did relieve my passion much, More than light airs and recollected terms Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times: Come, but one verse.
Curio	He is not here, so please your lordship, that should sing it.
Duke	Who was it?
Curio	Feste, the jester, my lord; a fool that the lady Olivia’s father took much delight in. He is about the house.
Duke	Seek him out, and play the tune the while. Exit Curio. Music plays. Come hither, boy: if ever thou shalt love, In the sweet pangs of it remember me; For such as I am all true lovers are, Unstaid and skittish in all motions else, Save in the constant image of the creature That is beloved. How dost thou like this tune?
Viola	It gives a very echo to the seat Where Love is throned.
Duke	Thou dost speak masterly: My life upon’t, young though thou art, thine eye Hath stay’d upon some favour that it loves: Hath it not, boy?
Viola	A little, by your favour.
Duke	What kind of woman is’t?
Viola	Of your complexion.
Duke	She is not worth thee, then. What years, i’ faith?
Viola	About your years, my lord.
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, Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn, Than women’s are.
Viola	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.
Viola	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 chant it: it is silly sooth, And dallies with the innocence of love, Like the old age.
Clown	Are you ready, sir?
Duke	Ay; prithee, sing. Music.
	Song.
Clown	Come away, come away, death, And in sad cypress let me be laid; Fly away, fly away, breath; I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, O, prepare it! My part of death, no one so true Did share it. Not a flower, not a flower sweet, On my black coffin let there be strown; Not a friend, not a friend greet My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown: A thousand thousand sighs to save, Lay me, O, where Sad true lover never find my grave, To weep there!
Duke	There’s for thy pains.
Clown	No pains, sir; I take pleasure in singing, sir.
Duke	I’ll pay thy pleasure then.
Clown	Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid, one time or another.
Duke	Give me now leave to leave thee.
Clown	Now, the melancholy god protect thee; and the tailor make thy doublet of changeable taffeta, 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 everywhere; for that’s it that always makes a good voyage of nothing. Farewell. Exit.
Duke	Let all the rest give place. Curio and Attendants retire. Once more, Cesario, Get thee to yond same sovereign cruelty: Tell her, my love, more noble than the world, Prizes not quantity of dirty lands; The parts that fortune hath bestow’d upon her, Tell her, I hold as giddily as fortune; But ’tis that miracle and queen of gems That nature pranks her in attracts my soul.
Viola	But if she cannot love you, sir?
Duke	I cannot be so answer’d.
Viola	Sooth, but you must. Say that some lady, as perhaps there is, Hath for your love a great a pang of heart As you have for Olivia: you cannot love her; You tell her so; must she not then be answer’d?
Duke	There is no woman’s sides Can bide the beating of so strong a passion As love doth give my heart; no woman’s heart So big, to hold so much; they lack retention. Alas, their love may be call’d appetite, No motion of the liver, but the palate, That suffer surfeit, cloyment and revolt; But mine is all as hungry as the sea, And can digest as much: make no compare Between that love a woman can bear me And that I owe Olivia.
Viola	Ay, but I know⁠—
Duke	What