DEIPHOBUS.
It is the Lord Aeneas.
AENEAS.
Is the Prince there in person?
Had I so good occasion to lie long
As you, Prince Paris, nothing but heavenly business
Should rob my bed-mate of my company.
DIOMEDES.
That’s my mind too. Good morrow, Lord Aeneas.
PARIS.
A valiant Greek, Aeneas—take his hand:
Witness the process of your speech, wherein
You told how Diomed, a whole week by days,
Did haunt you in the field.
AENEAS.
Health to you, valiant sir,
During all question of the gentle truce;
But when I meet you arm’d, as black defiance
As heart can think or courage execute.
DIOMEDES.
The one and other Diomed embraces.
Our bloods are now in calm; and so long health!
But when contention and occasion meet,
By Jove, I’ll play the hunter for thy life
With all my force, pursuit, and policy.
AENEAS.
 In humane gentleness,
Welcome to Troy!  By Venus’ hand I swear
No man alive can love in such a sort
The thing he means to kill, more excellently.
DIOMEDES.
We sympathise. Jove let Aeneas live,
If to my sword his fate be not the glory,
A thousand complete courses of the sun!
But in mine emulous honour let him die
With every joint a wound, and that tomorrow!
AENEAS.
We know each other well.
DIOMEDES.
We do; and long to know each other worse.
PARIS.
This is the most despiteful gentle greeting
The noblest hateful love, that e’er I heard of.
What business, lord, so early?
AENEAS.
I was sent for to the King; but why, I know not.
PARIS.
His purpose meets you: ’twas to bring this Greek
To Calchas’ house, and there to render him,
For the enfreed Antenor, the fair Cressid.
Let’s have your company; or, if you please,
Haste there before us. I constantly believe—
Or rather call my thought a certain knowledge—
My brother Troilus lodges there tonight.
Rouse him and give him note of our approach,
With the whole quality wherefore; I fear
We shall be much unwelcome.
AENEAS.
That I assure you:
Troilus had rather Troy were borne to Greece
Than Cressid borne from Troy.
PARIS.
There is no help;
The bitter disposition of the time
Will have it so. On, lord; we’ll follow you.
AENEAS.
Good morrow, all.
[Exit with servant.]
PARIS.
And tell me, noble Diomed, faith, tell me true,
Even in the soul of sound good-fellowship,
Who in your thoughts deserves fair Helen best,
Myself, or Menelaus?
DIOMEDES.
Both alike:
He merits well to have her that doth seek her,
Not making any scruple of her soilure,
With such a hell of pain and world of charge;
And you as well to keep her that defend her,
Not palating the taste of her dishonour,
With such a costly loss of wealth and friends.
He like a puling cuckold would drink up
The lees and dregs of a flat tamed piece;
You, like a lecher, out of whorish loins
Are pleas’d to breed out your inheritors.

PARIS.

DIOMEDES.
She’s bitter to her country.  Since she could speak,
She hath not given so many good words breath
As for her Greeks and Trojans suff’red death.
PARIS.
Fair Diomed, you do as chapmen do,
Dispraise the thing that you desire to buy;
But we in silence hold this virtue well,
We’ll not commend what we intend to sell.
Here lies our way.
[Exeunt.]
Enter Troilus and Cressida.
TROILUS.
Dear, trouble not yourself; the morn is cold.
CRESSIDA.
Then, sweet my lord, I’ll call mine uncle down;
He shall unbolt the gates.
TROILUS.
Trouble him not;
To bed, to bed! Sleep kill those pretty eyes,
And give as soft attachment to thy senses
As infants empty of all thought!
CRESSIDA.
Good morrow, then.
TROILUS.
I prithee now, to bed.
CRESSIDA.
Are you aweary of me?
TROILUS.
O Cressida! but that the busy day,
Wak’d by the lark, hath rous’d the ribald crows,
And dreaming night will hide our joys no longer,
I would not from thee.
CRESSIDA.
Night hath been too brief.
TROILUS.
Beshrew the witch! with venomous wights she stays
As tediously as hell, but flies the grasps of love
With wings more momentary-swift than thought.
You will catch cold, and curse me.
CRESSIDA.
Prithee tarry.
You men will never tarry.
O foolish Cressid! I might have still held off,
And then you would have tarried. Hark! there’s one up.
PANDARUS.
[Within.] What’s all the doors open here?
TROILUS.
It is your uncle.
Enter Pandarus.
CRESSIDA.
A pestilence on him! Now will he be mocking.
I shall have such a life!
PANDARUS.
How now, how now! How go maidenheads?
Here, you maid! Where’s my cousin Cressid?
CRESSIDA.

PANDARUS.
To do what? to do what? Let her say what.
What have I brought you to do?
CRESSIDA.
Come, come, beshrew your heart! You’ll ne’er be good, nor suffer others.
PANDARUS.
Ha, ha! Alas, poor wretch! Ah, poor capocchia! Hast not slept tonight? Would he not, a
naughty man, let it sleep? A bugbear take him!
CRESSIDA.
Did not I tell you? Would he were knock’d i’ th’ head!
[One knocks.]
Who’s that at door? Good uncle, go and see.
My lord, come you again into my chamber.
You smile and mock me, as if I meant naughtily.
TROILUS.
Ha! ha!
CRESSIDA.
Come, you are deceiv’d, I think of no such thing.
[Knock.]
How earnestly they knock! Pray you come in:
I would not for half Troy have you seen here.
[Exeunt Troilus and Cressida.]
PANDARUS.
Who’s there? What’s the matter? Will you beat down the door? How now?
What’s the matter?
Enter Aeneas.
AENEAS.
Good morrow, lord, good morrow.
PANDARUS.
Who’s there? My lord Aeneas? By my troth,
I knew you not. What news with you so early?
AENEAS.
Is not Prince Troilus here?
PANDARUS.
Here! What should he do here?
AENEAS.
Come, he is here, my lord; do not deny him.
It doth import him much to speak with me.
PANDARUS.
Is he here, say you? It’s more than I know, I’ll be sworn. For my own part, I
came in late. What should he do here?
AENEAS.
Who, nay then! Come, come, you’ll do him wrong ere you are ware; you’ll be so
true to him to be false to him. Do not you know of him, but yet go fetch him hither;
go.
Re-enter Troilus.
TROILUS.
How now! What’s the matter?
AENEAS.
My lord, I scarce have leisure to salute you,
My matter is so rash. There is at hand
Paris your brother, and Deiphobus,
The Grecian Diomed, and our Antenor
Deliver’d to us; and for him forthwith,
Ere the first sacrifice, within this hour,
We must give up to Diomedes’ hand
The Lady Cressida.
TROILUS.
Is it so concluded?
AENEAS.
By Priam and the general state of Troy.
They are at hand, and ready to effect it.
TROILUS.
How my achievements mock me!
I will go meet them; and, my Lord Aeneas,
We met by chance; you did not find me here.
AENEAS.
Good, good, my lord, the secrets of neighbour Pandar
Have not more gift in taciturnity.
[Exeunt Troilus and Aeneas.]
PANDARUS.
Is’t possible? No sooner got but lost? The devil take Antenor! The young prince will
go mad. A plague upon Antenor! I would they had broke’s neck.
Re-enter Cressida.
CRESSIDA.
How now! What’s the matter? Who was here?
PANDARUS.
Ah, ah!
CRESSIDA.
Why sigh you so profoundly? Where’s my lord? Gone? Tell me, sweet uncle,
what’s the matter?
PANDARUS.
Would I were as deep under the earth as I am above!
CRESSIDA.
O the gods! What’s the matter?
PANDARUS.
Pray thee get thee in. Would thou hadst ne’er been born! I knew thou wouldst be his
death! O, poor gentleman! A plague upon Antenor!
CRESSIDA.

PANDARUS.
Thou must be gone, wench, thou must be gone; thou art chang’d for Antenor; thou must
to thy father, and be gone from Troilus. ’Twill be his death; ’twill be his
bane; he cannot bear it.
CRESSIDA.
O you immortal gods! I will not go.
PANDARUS.
Thou must.
CRESSIDA.
I will not, uncle. I have forgot my father;
I know no touch of consanguinity,
No kin, no love, no blood, no soul so near me
As the sweet Troilus. O you gods divine,
Make Cressid’s name the very crown of falsehood,
If ever she leave Troilus! Time, force, and death,
Do to this body what extremes you can,
But the strong base and building of my love
Is as the very centre of the earth,
Drawing all things to it. I’ll go in and weep—
PANDARUS.
Do, do.
CRESSIDA.
Tear my bright hair, and scratch my praised cheeks,
Crack my clear voice with sobs and break my heart,
With sounding ‘Troilus.’ I will not go from Troy.
[Exeunt.]
Enter Paris, Troilus, Aeneas, Deiphobus, Antenor and Diomedes.
PARIS.
It is great morning; and the hour prefix’d
For her delivery to this valiant Greek
Comes fast upon. Good my brother Troilus,
Tell you the lady what she is to do
And haste her to the purpose.
TROILUS.
Walk into her house.
I’ll bring her to the Grecian presently;
And to his hand when I deliver her,
Think it an altar, and thy brother Troilus
A priest, there off’ring to it his own heart.
[Exit.]
PARIS.
I know what ’tis to love,
And would, as I shall pity, I could help!
Please you walk in, my lords?
[Exeunt.]
Enter Pandarus and Cressida.
PANDARUS.
Be moderate, be moderate.
CRESSIDA.
Why tell you me of moderation?
The grief is fine, full, perfect, that I taste,
And violenteth in a sense as strong
As that which causeth it. How can I moderate it?
If I could temporize with my affections
Or brew it to a weak and colder palate,
The like allayment could I give my grief.
My love admits no qualifying dross;
No more my grief, in such a precious loss.
Enter Troilus.
PANDARUS.
Here, here, here he comes. Ah, sweet ducks!
CRESSIDA.
[Embracing him.] O Troilus! Troilus!
PANDARUS.
What a pair of spectacles is here! Let me embrace too. ‘O heart,’ as the
goodly saying is,—
O heart, heavy heart,
Why sigh’st thou without breaking?
where he answers again
Because thou canst not ease thy smart
By friendship nor by speaking.
There was never a truer rhyme. Let us cast away nothing, for we may live to have need of such a verse. We see it, we see it. How now, lambs!
TROILUS.
Cressid, I love thee in so strain’d a purity
That the bless’d gods, as angry with my fancy,
More bright in zeal than the devotion which
Cold lips blow to their deities, take thee from me.
CRESSIDA.
Have the gods envy?
PANDARUS.
Ay, ay, ay, ay; ’tis too plain a case.
CRESSIDA.
And is it true that I must go from Troy?
TROILUS.
A hateful truth.
CRESSIDA.
What! and from Troilus too?
TROILUS.
From Troy and Troilus.
CRESSIDA.
Is’t possible?
TROILUS.
And suddenly; where injury of chance
Puts back leave-taking, justles roughly by
All time of pause, rudely beguiles our lips
Of all rejoindure, forcibly prevents
Our lock’d embrasures, strangles our dear vows
Even in the birth of our own labouring breath.
We two, that with so many thousand sighs
Did buy each other, must poorly sell ourselves
With the rude brevity and discharge of one.
Injurious time now with a robber’s haste
Crams his rich thiev’ry up, he knows not how.
As many farewells as be stars in heaven,
With distinct breath and consign’d kisses to them,
He fumbles up into a loose adieu,
And scants us with a single famish’d kiss,
Distasted with the salt of broken tears.
AENEAS.
[Within.] My lord, is the lady ready?
TROILUS.
Hark! you are call’d. Some say the Genius
Cries so to him that instantly must die.
Bid them have patience; she shall come anon.
PANDARUS.
Where are my tears? Rain, to lay this wind, or my heart will be blown up by my throat!
[Exit.]
CRESSIDA.
I must then to the Grecians?
TROILUS.
No remedy.
CRESSIDA.
A woeful Cressid ’mongst the merry Greeks!
When shall we see again?
TROILUS.
Hear me, my love. Be thou but true of heart.
CRESSIDA.
I true? How now! What wicked deem is this?
TROILUS.
Nay, we must use expostulation kindly,
For it is parting from us.
I speak not ‘Be thou true’ as fearing thee,
For I will throw my glove to Death himself
That there’s no maculation in thy heart;
But ‘Be thou true’ say I to fashion in
My sequent protestation: be thou true,
And I will see thee.
CRESSIDA.
O! you shall be expos’d, my lord, to dangers
As infinite as imminent! But I’ll be true.
TROILUS.
And I’ll grow friend with danger. Wear this sleeve.
CRESSIDA.
And you this glove. When shall I see you?
TROILUS.
I will corrupt the Grecian sentinels
To give thee nightly visitation.
But yet be true.
CRESSIDA.
O heavens! ‘Be true’ again!
TROILUS.
Hear why I speak it, love.
The Grecian youths are full of quality;
They’re loving, well compos’d, with gifts of nature,
Flowing and swelling o’er with arts and exercise.
How novelty may move, and parts with person,
Alas, a kind of godly jealousy,
Which, I beseech you, call a virtuous sin,
Makes me afear’d.
CRESSIDA.

TROILUS.
Die I a villain then!
In this I do not call your faith in question
So mainly as my merit. I cannot sing,
Nor heel the high lavolt, nor sweeten talk,
Nor play at subtle games; fair virtues all,
To which the Grecians are most prompt and pregnant;
But I can tell that in each grace of these
There lurks a still and dumb-discoursive devil
That tempts most cunningly. But be not tempted.
CRESSIDA.
Do you think I will?
TROILUS.
No.
But something may be done that we will not;
And sometimes we are devils to ourselves,
When we will tempt the frailty of our powers,
Presuming on their changeful potency.
AENEAS.
[Within.] Nay, good my lord!
TROILUS.
Come, kiss; and let us part.
PARIS.
[Within.] Brother Troilus!
TROILUS.
Good brother, come you hither;
And bring Aeneas and the Grecian with you.
CRESSIDA.
My lord, will you be true?
TROILUS.
Who, I? Alas, it is my vice, my fault!
Whiles others fish with craft for great opinion,
I with great truth catch mere simplicity;
Whilst some with cunning gild their copper crowns,
With truth and plainness I do wear mine bare.
Fear not my truth: the moral of my wit
Is plain and true; there’s all the reach of it.
Enter Aeneas, Paris, Antenor, Deiphobus and Diomedes.
Welcome, Sir Diomed! Here is the lady
Which for Antenor we deliver you;
At the port, lord, I’ll give her to thy hand,
And by the way possess thee what she is.
Entreat her fair; and, by my soul, fair Greek,
If e’er thou stand at mercy of my sword,
Name Cressid, and thy life shall be as safe
As Priam is in Ilion.
DIOMEDES.
Fair Lady Cressid,
So please you, save the thanks this prince expects.

TROILUS.
Grecian, thou dost not use me courteously
To shame the zeal of my petition to thee
In praising her. I tell thee, lord of Greece,
She is as far high-soaring o’er thy praises
As thou unworthy to be call’d her servant.
I charge thee use her well, even for my charge;
For, by the dreadful Pluto, if thou dost not,
Though the great bulk Achilles be thy guard,
I’ll cut thy throat.
DIOMEDES.
O, be not mov’d, Prince Troilus.
Let me be privileg’d by my place and message
To be a speaker free: when I am hence
I’ll answer to my lust. And know you, lord,
I’ll nothing do on charge: to her own worth
She shall be priz’d. But that you say ‘Be’t so,’
I speak it in my spirit and honour, ‘No.’
TROILUS.
Come, to the port. I’ll tell thee, Diomed,
This brave shall oft make thee to hide thy head.
Lady, give me your hand; and, as we walk,
To our own selves bend we our needful talk.
[Exeunt Troilus, Cressida and Diomedes.]
[Sound trumpet.]
PARIS.
Hark! Hector’s trumpet.
AENEAS.
How have we spent this morning!
The Prince must think me tardy and remiss,
That swore to ride before him to the field.
PARIS.
’Tis Troilus’ fault. Come, come to field with him.
DEIPHOBUS.
Let us make ready straight.
AENEAS.
Yea, with a bridegroom’s fresh alacrity
Let us address to tend on Hector’s heels.
The glory of our Troy doth this day lie
On his fair worth and single chivalry.
[Exeunt.]
Enter Ajax, armed; Agamemnon, Achilles, Patroclus, Menelaus, Ulysses, Nestor and others.
AGAMEMNON.
Here art thou in appointment fresh and fair,
Anticipating time with starting courage.
Give with thy trumpet a loud note to Troy,
Thou dreadful Ajax, that the appalled air
May pierce the head of the great combatant,
And hale him hither.
AJAX.
Thou, trumpet, there’s my purse.
Now crack thy lungs and split thy brazen pipe;
Blow, villain, till thy sphered bias cheek
Out-swell the colic of puff’d Aquilon.
Come, stretch thy chest, and let thy eyes spout blood:
Thou blowest for Hector.
[Trumpet sounds.]
ULYSSES.
No trumpet answers.
ACHILLES.
’Tis but early days.
AGAMEMNON.
Is not yond Diomed, with Calchas’ daughter?
ULYSSES.
’Tis he, I ken the manner of his gait:
He rises on the toe. That spirit of his
In aspiration lifts him from the earth.
Enter Diomedes and Cressida.
AGAMEMNON.
Is this the Lady Cressid?
DIOMEDES.
Even she.
AGAMEMNON.
Most dearly welcome to the Greeks, sweet lady.
NESTOR.
Our general doth salute you with a kiss.
ULYSSES.
Yet is the kindness but particular;
’Twere better she were kiss’d in general.
NESTOR.
And very courtly counsel: I’ll begin.
So much for Nestor.
ACHILLES.
I’ll take that winter from your lips, fair lady.
Achilles bids you welcome.
MENELAUS.
I had good argument for kissing once.
PATROCLUS.
But that’s no argument for kissing now;
For thus popp’d Paris in his hardiment,
And parted thus you and your argument.
ULYSSES.
O deadly gall, and theme of all our scorns!
For which we lose our heads to gild his horns.
PATROCLUS.
The first was Menelaus’ kiss; this, mine:
Patroclus kisses you.
MENELAUS.
O, this is trim!
PATROCLUS.
Paris and I kiss evermore for him.
MENELAUS.
I’ll have my kiss, sir. Lady, by your leave.
CRESSIDA.
In kissing, do you render or receive?
PATROCLUS.
Both take and give.
CRESSIDA.
I’ll make my match to live,
The kiss you take is better than you give;
Therefore no kiss.
MENELAUS.
I’ll give you boot; I’ll give you three for one.
CRESSIDA.

MENELAUS.
An odd man, lady! Every man is odd.
CRESSIDA.
No, Paris is not; for you know ’tis true
That you are odd, and he is even with you.
MENELAUS.
You fillip me o’ th’head.
CRESSIDA.
No, I’ll be sworn.
ULYSSES.
It were no match, your nail against his horn.
May I, sweet lady, beg a kiss of you?
CRESSIDA.
You may.
ULYSSES.
I do desire it.
CRESSIDA.
Why, beg then.
ULYSSES.
Why then, for Venus’ sake give me a kiss
When Helen is a maid again, and his.
CRESSIDA.
I am your debtor; claim it when ’tis due.
ULYSSES.

DIOMEDES.
Lady, a word. I’ll bring you to your father.
[Exit with Cressida.]
NESTOR.
A woman of quick sense.
ULYSSES.
Fie, fie upon her!
There’s language in her eye, her cheek, her lip,
Nay, her foot speaks; her wanton spirits look out
At every joint and motive of her body.
O! these encounterers so glib of tongue
That give a coasting welcome ere it comes,
And wide unclasp the tables of their thoughts
To every tickling reader! Set them down
For sluttish spoils of opportunity,
And daughters of the game.
[Trumpet within.]
ALL.
The Trojans’ trumpet.
AGAMEMNON.
Yonder comes the troop.
Enter Hector, armed; Aeneas, Troilus, Paris, Deiphobus and other
Trojans, with attendants.
AENEAS.
Hail, all you state of Greece! What shall be done
To him that victory commands? Or do you purpose
A victor shall be known? Will you the knights
Shall to the edge of all extremity
Pursue each other, or shall be divided
By any voice or order of the field?
Hector bade ask.
AGAMEMNON.
Which way would Hector have it?
AENEAS.
He cares not; he’ll obey conditions.
AGAMEMNON.
’Tis done like Hector.
ACHILLES.
But securely done,
A little proudly, and great deal misprising
The knight oppos’d.
AENEAS.
If not Achilles, sir,
What is your name?
ACHILLES.
If not Achilles, nothing.
AENEAS.
Therefore Achilles. But whate’er, know this:
In the extremity of great and little
Valour and pride excel themselves in Hector;
The one almost as infinite as all,
The other blank as nothing. Weigh him well,
And that which looks like pride is courtesy.
This Ajax is half made of Hector’s blood;
In love whereof half Hector stays at home;
Half heart, half hand, half Hector comes to seek
This blended knight, half Trojan and half Greek.
ACHILLES.
A maiden battle then? O! I perceive you.
Re-enter Diomedes.
AGAMEMNON.
Here is Sir Diomed. Go, gentle knight,
Stand by our Ajax. As you and Lord Aeneas
Consent upon the order of their fight,
So be it; either to the uttermost,
Or else a breath. The combatants being kin
Half stints their strife before their strokes begin.
Ajax and Hector enter the lists.
ULYSSES.
They are oppos’d already.
AGAMEMNON.
What Trojan is that same that looks so heavy?
ULYSSES.
The youngest son of Priam, a true knight;
Not yet mature, yet matchless; firm of word;
Speaking in deeds and deedless in his tongue;
Not soon provok’d, nor being provok’d soon calm’d;
His heart and hand both open and both free;
For what he has he gives, what thinks he shows,
Yet gives he not till judgement guide his bounty,
Nor dignifies an impure thought with breath;
Manly as Hector, but more dangerous;
For Hector in his blaze of wrath subscribes
To tender objects, but he in heat of action
Is more vindicative than jealous love.
They call him Troilus, and on him erect
A second hope as fairly built as Hector.
Thus says Aeneas, one that knows the youth
Even to his inches, and, with private soul,
Did in great Ilion thus translate him to me.
[Alarum. Hector and Ajax fight.]
AGAMEMNON.
They are in action.
NESTOR.
Now, Ajax, hold thine own!
TROILUS.
Hector, thou sleep’st; awake thee!
AGAMEMNON.
His blows are well dispos’d. There, Ajax!
[Trumpets cease.]
DIOMEDES.
You must no more.
AENEAS.
Princes, enough, so please you.
AJAX.
I am not warm yet; let us fight again.
DIOMEDES.
As Hector pleases.
HECTOR.
Why, then will I no more.
Thou art, great lord, my father’s sister’s son,
A cousin-german to great Priam’s seed;
The obligation of our blood forbids
A gory emulation ’twixt us twain:
Were thy commixtion Greek and Trojan so
That thou could’st say ‘This hand is Grecian all,
And this is Trojan; the sinews of this leg
All Greek, and this all Troy; my mother’s blood
Runs on the dexter cheek, and this sinister
Bounds in my father’s; by Jove multipotent,
Thou shouldst not bear from me a Greekish member
Wherein my sword had not impressure made
Of our rank feud; but the just gods gainsay
That any drop thou borrow’dst from thy mother,
My sacred aunt, should by my mortal sword
Be drained! Let me embrace thee, Ajax.
By him that thunders, thou hast lusty arms;
Hector would have them fall upon him thus.
Cousin, all honour to thee!
AJAX.
I thank thee, Hector.
Thou art too gentle and too free a man.
I came to kill thee, cousin, and bear hence
A great addition earned in thy death.
HECTOR.
Not Neoptolemus so mirable,
On whose bright crest Fame with her loud’st Oyes
Cries ‘This is he!’ could promise to himself
A thought of added honour torn from Hector.
AENEAS.
There is expectance here from both the sides
What further you will do.
HECTOR.
We’ll answer it:
The issue is embracement. Ajax, farewell.
AJAX.
If I might in entreaties find success,
As seld’ I have the chance, I would desire
My famous cousin to our Grecian tents.
DIOMEDES.
’Tis Agamemnon’s wish; and great Achilles
Doth long to see unarm’d the valiant Hector.
HECTOR.
Aeneas, call my brother Troilus to me,
And signify this loving interview
To the expecters of our Trojan part;
Desire them home.
Agamemnon and the rest of the Greeks come forward.
AJAX.
Great Agamemnon comes to meet us here.
HECTOR.
The worthiest of them tell me name by name;
But for Achilles, my own searching eyes
Shall find him by his large and portly size.
AGAMEMNON.
Worthy all arms! as welcome as to one
That would be rid of such an enemy.
But that’s no welcome. Understand more clear,
What’s past and what’s to come is strew’d with husks
And formless ruin of oblivion;
But in this extant moment, faith and troth,
Strain’d purely from all hollow bias-drawing,
Bids thee with most divine integrity,
From heart of very heart, great Hector, welcome.
HECTOR.
I thank thee, most imperious Agamemnon.
AGAMEMNON.
[To Troilus.] My well-fam’d lord of Troy, no less to you.
MENELAUS.
Let me confirm my princely brother’s greeting.
You brace of warlike brothers, welcome hither.
HECTOR.
Who must we answer?
AENEAS.
The noble Menelaus.
HECTOR.
O you, my lord? By Mars his gauntlet, thanks!
Mock not that I affect the untraded oath;
Your quondam wife swears still by Venus’ glove.
She’s well, but bade me not commend her to you.
MENELAUS.
Name her not now, sir; she’s a deadly theme.
HECTOR.
O, pardon; I offend.
NESTOR.
I have, thou gallant Trojan, seen thee oft,
Labouring for destiny, make cruel way
Through ranks of Greekish youth; and I have seen thee,
As hot as Perseus, spur thy Phrygian steed,
Despising many forfeits and subduements,
When thou hast hung thy advanced sword i’ th’air,
Not letting it decline on the declined;
That I have said to some my standers-by
‘Lo, Jupiter is yonder, dealing life!’
And I have seen thee pause and take thy breath,
When that a ring of Greeks have shrap’d thee in,
Like an Olympian wrestling. This have I seen;
But this thy countenance, still lock’d in steel,
I never saw till now. I knew thy grandsire,
And once fought with him. He was a soldier good,
But, by great Mars, the captain of us all,
Never like thee. O, let an old man embrace thee;
And, worthy warrior, welcome to our tents.
AENEAS.
’Tis the old Nestor.
HECTOR.
Let me embrace thee, good old chronicle,
That hast so long walk’d hand in hand with time.
Most reverend Nestor, I am glad to clasp thee.
NESTOR.
I would my arms could match thee in contention
As they contend with thee in courtesy.
HECTOR.
I would they could.
NESTOR.
Ha!
By this white beard, I’d fight with thee tomorrow.
Well, welcome, welcome! I have seen the time.
ULYSSES.
I wonder now how yonder city stands,
When we have here her base and pillar by us.
HECTOR.
I know your favour, Lord Ulysses, well.
Ah, sir, there’s many a Greek and Trojan dead,
Since first I saw yourself and Diomed
In Ilion on your Greekish embassy.
ULYSSES.
Sir, I foretold you then what would ensue.

HECTOR.
I must not believe you.
There they stand yet; and modestly I think
The fall of every Phrygian stone will cost
A drop of Grecian blood. The end crowns all;
And that old common arbitrator, Time,
Will one day end it.
ULYSSES.
So to him we leave it.
Most gentle and most valiant Hector, welcome.
After the General, I beseech you next
To feast with me and see me at my tent.
ACHILLES.
I shall forestall thee, Lord Ulysses, thou!
Now, Hector, I have fed mine eyes on thee;
I have with exact view perus’d thee, Hector,
And quoted joint by joint.
HECTOR.
Is this Achilles?
ACHILLES.
I am Achilles.
HECTOR.
Stand fair, I pray thee; let me look on thee.
ACHILLES.
Behold thy fill.
HECTOR.
Nay, I have done already.
ACHILLES.
Thou art too brief. I will the second time,
As I would buy thee, view thee limb by limb.
HECTOR.
O, like a book of sport thou’lt read me o’er;
But there’s more in me than thou understand’st.
Why dost thou so oppress me with thine eye?
ACHILLES.
Tell me, you heavens, in which part of his body
Shall I destroy him? Whether there, or there, or there?
That I may give the local wound a name,
And make distinct the very breach whereout
Hector’s great spirit flew. Answer me, heavens.
HECTOR.
It would discredit the blest gods, proud man,
To answer such a question. Stand again.
Think’st thou to catch my life so pleasantly
As to prenominate in nice conjecture
Where thou wilt hit me dead?
ACHILLES.
I tell thee yea.
HECTOR.
Wert thou an oracle to tell me so,
I’d not believe thee. Henceforth guard thee well;
For I’ll not kill thee there, nor there, nor there;
But, by the forge that stithied Mars his helm,
I’ll kill thee everywhere, yea, o’er and o’er.
You wisest Grecians, pardon me this brag.
His insolence draws folly from my lips;
But I’ll endeavour deeds to match these words,
Or may I never—
AJAX.

You may have every day enough of Hector,
If you have stomach. The general state, I fear,
Can scarce entreat you to be odd with him.
HECTOR.
I pray you let us see you in the field;
We have had pelting wars since you refus’d
The Grecians’ cause.
ACHILLES.
Dost thou entreat me, Hector?
Tomorrow do I meet thee, fell as death;
Tonight all friends.
HECTOR.
Thy hand upon that match.
AGAMEMNON.
First, all you peers of Greece, go to my tent;
There in the full convive we; afterwards,
As Hector’s leisure and your bounties shall
Concur together, severally entreat him.
Beat loud the tambourines, let the trumpets blow,
That this great soldier may his welcome know.
[Exeunt all but Troilus and Ulysses.]
TROILUS.
My Lord Ulysses, tell me, I beseech you,
In what place of the field doth Calchas keep?
ULYSSES.
At Menelaus’ tent, most princely Troilus.
There Diomed doth feast with him tonight,
Who neither looks upon the heaven nor earth,
But gives all gaze and bent of amorous view
On the fair Cressid.
TROILUS.
Shall I, sweet lord, be bound to you so much,
After we part from Agamemnon’s tent,
To bring me thither?
ULYSSES.
You shall command me, sir.
As gentle tell me of what honour was
This Cressida in Troy? Had she no lover there
That wails her absence?
TROILUS.
O, sir, to such as boasting show their scars
A mock is due. Will you walk on, my lord?
She was belov’d, she lov’d; she is, and doth;
But still sweet love is food for fortune’s tooth.
[Exeunt.]
Enter Achilles and Patroclus.
ACHILLES.
I’ll heat his blood with Greekish wine tonight,
Which with my scimitar I’ll cool tomorrow.
Patroclus, let us feast him to the height.
PATROCLUS.
Here comes Thersites.
Enter Thersites.
ACHILLES.
How now, thou core of envy!
Thou crusty batch of nature, what’s the news?
THERSITES.

ACHILLES.
From whence, fragment?
THERSITES.
Why, thou full dish of fool, from Troy.
PATROCLUS.
Who keeps the tent now?
THERSITES.
The surgeon’s box or the patient’s wound.
PATROCLUS.
Well said, adversity! And what needs these tricks?
THERSITES.
Prithee, be silent, boy; I profit not by thy talk; thou art said to be Achilles’
male varlet.
PATROCLUS.
Male varlet, you rogue! What’s that?
THERSITES.

PATROCLUS.
Why, thou damnable box of envy, thou, what meanest thou to curse thus?
THERSITES.
Do I curse thee?
PATROCLUS.
Why, no, you ruinous butt; you whoreson indistinguishable cur,
no.
THERSITES.
No! Why art thou, then, exasperate, thou idle immaterial
skein of sleave silk, thou green sarcenet flap for a sore eye,
thou tassel of a prodigal’s purse, thou? Ah, how the poor world
is pestered with such water-flies, diminutives of nature!
PATROCLUS.
Out, gall!
THERSITES.
Finch egg!
ACHILLES.
My sweet Patroclus, I am thwarted quite
From my great purpose in tomorrow’s battle.
Here is a letter from Queen Hecuba,
A token from her daughter, my fair love,
Both taxing me and gaging me to keep
An oath that I have sworn. I will not break it.
Fall Greeks; fail fame; honour or go or stay;
My major vow lies here, this I’ll obey.
Come, come, Thersites, help to trim my tent;
This night in banqueting must all be spent.
Away, Patroclus!
[Exit with Patroclus.]
THERSITES.
 Here’s Agamemnon, an honest fellow
enough, and one that loves quails, but he has not so much brain
as ear-wax; and the goodly transformation of Jupiter there, his
brother, the bull, the primitive statue and oblique memorial of
cuckolds, a thrifty shoeing-horn in a chain at his
brother’s leg, to what form but that he is, should wit larded
with malice, and malice forced with wit, turn him to?   To be a dog, a mule, a cat, a fitchook, a
toad, a lizard, an owl, a puttock, or a herring without a roe, I
would not care; but to be Menelaus, I would conspire against
destiny. Ask me not what I would be, if I were not Thersites; for
I care not to be the louse of a lazar, so I were not Menelaus.
Hey-day! sprites and fires!
Enter Hector, Troilus, Ajax, Agamemnon, Ulysses, Nestor, Menelaus and Diomedes with lights.
AGAMEMNON.
We go wrong, we go wrong.
AJAX.
No, yonder ’tis;
There, where we see the lights.
HECTOR.
I trouble you.
AJAX.
No, not a whit.
ULYSSES.
Here comes himself to guide you.
Re-enter Achilles.
ACHILLES.
Welcome, brave Hector; welcome, Princes all.
AGAMEMNON.
So now, fair Prince of Troy, I bid good night;
Ajax commands the guard to tend on you.
HECTOR.
Thanks, and good night to the Greeks’ general.
MENELAUS.
Good night, my lord.
HECTOR.
Good night, sweet Lord Menelaus.
THERSITES.
Sweet draught! ‘Sweet’ quoth a’!
Sweet sink, sweet sewer!
ACHILLES.
Good night and welcome, both at once, to those
That go or tarry.
AGAMEMNON.
Good night.
[Exeunt Agamemnon and Menelaus.]
ACHILLES.
Old Nestor tarries; and you too, Diomed,
Keep Hector company an hour or two.
DIOMEDES.
I cannot, lord; I have important business,
The tide whereof is now. Good night, great Hector.
HECTOR.
Give me your hand.
ULYSSES.
[Aside to Troilus.] Follow his torch; he goes to
Calchas’ tent; I’ll keep you company.
TROILUS.
Sweet sir, you honour me.
HECTOR.
And so, good night.
[Exit Diomedes, Ulysses and Troilus following.]
ACHILLES.
Come, come, enter my tent.
[Exeunt all but Thersites.]
THERSITES.
That same Diomed’s a false-hearted rogue, a most unjust
knave; I will no more trust him when he leers than I will a
serpent when he hisses.  I will rather
leave to see Hector than not to dog him. They say he keeps a
Trojan drab, and uses the traitor Calchas’ tent. I’ll after.
Nothing but lechery! All incontinent varlets!
[Exit.]
Enter Diomedes.
DIOMEDES.
What, are you up here, ho! Speak.
CALCHAS.
[Within.] Who calls?
DIOMEDES.
Diomed. Calchas, I think. Where’s your daughter?
CALCHAS.
[Within.] She comes to you.
Enter Troilus and Ulysses, at a distance; after them Thersites.
ULYSSES.
Stand where the torch may not discover us.
Enter Cressida.
TROILUS.
Cressid comes forth to him.
DIOMEDES.
How now, my charge!
CRESSIDA.
Now, my sweet guardian! Hark, a word with you.
[Whispers.]
TROILUS.
Yea, so familiar?
ULYSSES.
She will sing any man at first sight.
THERSITES.
And any man may sing her, if he can take her cliff; she’s noted.
DIOMEDES.
Will you remember?
CRESSIDA.
Remember! Yes.
DIOMEDES.
Nay, but do, then;
And let your mind be coupled with your words.
TROILUS.
What should she remember?
ULYSSES.
List!
CRESSIDA.
Sweet honey Greek, tempt me no more to folly.
THERSITES.
Roguery!
DIOMEDES.
Nay, then—
CRESSIDA.
I’ll tell you what—
DIOMEDES.

CRESSIDA.
In faith, I cannot. What would you have me do?
THERSITES.
A juggling trick, to be secretly open.
DIOMEDES.
What did you swear you would bestow on me?
CRESSIDA.
I prithee, do not hold me to mine oath;
Bid me do anything but that, sweet Greek.
DIOMEDES.
Good night.
TROILUS.
Hold, patience!
ULYSSES.
How now, Trojan!
CRESSIDA.
Diomed!
DIOMEDES.
No, no, good night; I’ll be your fool no more.
TROILUS.
Thy better must.
CRESSIDA.
Hark! a word in your ear.
TROILUS.
O plague and madness!
ULYSSES.
You are moved, Prince; let us depart, I pray,
Lest your displeasure should enlarge itself
To wrathful terms. This place is dangerous;
The time right deadly; I beseech you, go.
TROILUS.
Behold, I pray you.
ULYSSES.

TROILUS.
I pray thee stay.
ULYSSES.
You have not patience; come.
TROILUS.

DIOMEDES.
And so, good night.
CRESSIDA.
Nay, but you part in anger.
TROILUS.
Doth that grieve thee? O withered truth!
ULYSSES.
How now, my lord?
TROILUS.
By Jove, I will be patient.
CRESSIDA.
Guardian! Why, Greek!
DIOMEDES.
Fo, fo! adieu! you palter.
CRESSIDA.
In faith, I do not. Come hither once again.
ULYSSES.
You shake, my lord, at something; will you go?
You will break out.
TROILUS.
She strokes his cheek.
ULYSSES.
Come, come.
TROILUS.
Nay, stay; by Jove, I will not speak a word:
There is between my will and all offences
A guard of patience. Stay a little while.
THERSITES.
 Fry,
lechery, fry!
DIOMEDES.
But will you, then?
CRESSIDA.
In faith, I will, la; never trust me else.
DIOMEDES.
Give me some token for the surety of it.
CRESSIDA.
I’ll fetch you one.
[Exit.]
ULYSSES.
You have sworn patience.
TROILUS.
Fear me not, my lord;
I will not be myself, nor have cognition
Of what I feel. I am all patience.
Re-enter Cressida.
THERSITES.
Now the pledge; now, now, now!
CRESSIDA.
Here, Diomed, keep this sleeve.
TROILUS.
O beauty! where is thy faith?
ULYSSES.
My lord!
TROILUS.
I will be patient; outwardly I will.
CRESSIDA.
You look upon that sleeve; behold it well.
He lov’d me—O false wench!—Give’t me again.
DIOMEDES.
Whose was’t?
CRESSIDA.
It is no matter, now I have’t again.
I will not meet with you tomorrow night.
I prithee, Diomed, visit me no more.
THERSITES.
Now she sharpens. Well said, whetstone.
DIOMEDES.
I shall have it.
CRESSIDA.
What, this?
DIOMEDES.
Ay, that.
CRESSIDA.
O all you gods! O pretty, pretty pledge!
Thy master now lies thinking on his bed
Of thee and me, and sighs, and takes my glove,
And gives memorial dainty kisses to it,
As I kiss thee. Nay, do not snatch it from me;
He that takes that doth take my heart withal.
DIOMEDES.
I had your heart before; this follows it.
TROILUS.
I did swear patience.
CRESSIDA.
You shall not have it, Diomed; faith, you shall not;
I’ll give you something else.
DIOMEDES.
I will have this. Whose was it?
CRESSIDA.
It is no matter.
DIOMEDES.
Come, tell me whose it was.
CRESSIDA.
’Twas one’s that lov’d me better than you will.
But, now you have it, take it.
DIOMEDES.
Whose was it?
CRESSIDA.

DIOMEDES.
Tomorrow will I wear it on my helm,
And grieve his spirit that dares not challenge it.
TROILUS.
Wert thou the devil and wor’st it on thy horn,
It should be challeng’d.
CRESSIDA.
Well, well, ’tis done, ’tis past; and yet it is not;
I will not keep my word.
DIOMEDES.
Why, then farewell;
Thou never shalt mock Diomed again.
CRESSIDA.
You shall not go. One cannot speak a word
But it straight starts you.
DIOMEDES.
I do not like this fooling.
THERSITES.
Nor I, by Pluto; but that that likes not you
Pleases me best.
DIOMEDES.
What, shall I come? The hour?
CRESSIDA.
Ay, come; O Jove! Do come. I shall be plagu’d.
DIOMEDES.
Farewell till then.
CRESSIDA.
Good night. I prithee come.
[Exit Diomedes.]
Troilus, farewell! One eye yet looks on thee;
But with my heart the other eye doth see.
Ah, poor our sex! this fault in us I find,
The error of our eye directs our mind.

[Exit.]
THERSITES.
A proof of strength she could not publish more,
Unless she said ‘My mind is now turn’d whore.’
ULYSSES.
All’s done, my lord.
TROILUS.
It is.
ULYSSES.
Why stay we, then?
TROILUS.
To make a recordation to my soul
Of every syllable that here was spoke.
But if I tell how these two did co-act,
Shall I not lie in publishing a truth?
Sith yet there is a credence in my heart,
An esperance so obstinately strong,
That doth invert th’attest of eyes and ears;
As if those organs had deceptious functions
Created only to calumniate.
Was Cressid here?
ULYSSES.
I cannot conjure, Trojan.
TROILUS.
She was not, sure.
ULYSSES.
Most sure she was.
TROILUS.
Why, my negation hath no taste of madness.
ULYSSES.
Nor mine, my lord. Cressid was here but now.
TROILUS.
Let it not be believ’d for womanhood.
Think, we had mothers; do not give advantage
To stubborn critics, apt, without a theme,
For depravation, to square the general sex
By Cressid’s rule. Rather think this not Cressid.
ULYSSES.
What hath she done, Prince, that can soil our mothers?
TROILUS.
Nothing at all, unless that this were she.
THERSITES.
Will he swagger himself out on’s own eyes?
TROILUS.
This she? No; this is Diomed’s Cressida.
If beauty have a soul, this is not she;
If souls guide vows, if vows be sanctimonies,
If sanctimony be the god’s delight,
If there be rule in unity itself,
This was not she. O madness of discourse,
That cause sets up with and against itself!
Bi-fold authority! where reason can revolt
Without perdition, and loss assume all reason
Without revolt: this is, and is not, Cressid.
Within my soul there doth conduce a fight
Of this strange nature, that a thing inseparate
Divides more wider than the sky and earth;
And yet the spacious breadth of this division
Admits no orifice for a point as subtle
As Ariachne’s broken woof to enter.
Instance, O instance! strong as Pluto’s gates:
Cressid is mine, tied with the bonds of heaven.
Instance, O instance! strong as heaven itself:
The bonds of heaven are slipp’d, dissolv’d, and loos’d;
And with another knot, five-finger-tied,
The fractions of her faith, orts of her love,
The fragments, scraps, the bits, and greasy relics
Of her o’er-eaten faith, are given to Diomed.
ULYSSES.
May worthy Troilus be half attach’d
With that which here his passion doth express?
TROILUS.
Ay, Greek; and that shall be divulged well
In characters as red as Mars his heart
Inflam’d with Venus. Never did young man fancy
With so eternal and so fix’d a soul.
Hark, Greek: as much as I do Cressid love,
So much by weight hate I her Diomed.
That sleeve is mine that he’ll bear on his helm;
Were it a casque compos’d by Vulcan’s skill
My sword should bite it. Not the dreadful spout
Which shipmen do the hurricano call,
Constring’d in mass by the almighty sun,
Shall dizzy with more clamour Neptune’s ear
In his descent than shall my prompted sword
Falling on Diomed.
THERSITES.
He’ll tickle it for his concupy.
TROILUS.
O Cressid! O false Cressid! false, false, false!
Let all untruths stand by thy stained name,
And they’ll seem glorious.
ULYSSES.
O, contain yourself;
Your passion draws ears hither.
Enter Aeneas.
AENEAS.
I have been seeking you this hour, my lord.
Hector, by this, is arming him in Troy;
Ajax, your guard, stays to conduct you home.
TROILUS.
Have with you, Prince. My courteous lord, adieu.
Fairwell, revolted fair! and, Diomed,
Stand fast, and wear a castle on thy head.
ULYSSES.
I’ll bring you to the gates.
TROILUS.
Accept distracted thanks.
[Exeunt Troilus, Aeneas and Ulysses.]
THERSITES. Would I could meet that rogue Diomed! I would croak like a raven; I would bode, I would bode. Patroclus will give me anything for the intelligence of this whore; the parrot will not do more for an almond than he for a commodious drab. Lechery, lechery! Still wars and lechery! Nothing else holds fashion. A burning devil take them!
[Exit.]
Enter Hector and Andromache.
ANDROMACHE.
When was my lord so much ungently temper’d
To stop his ears against admonishment?
Unarm, unarm, and do not fight today.
HECTOR.

By all the everlasting gods, I’ll go.
ANDROMACHE.
My dreams will, sure, prove ominous to the day.
HECTOR.
No more, I say.
Enter Cassandra.
CASSANDRA.
Where is my brother Hector?
ANDROMACHE.

CASSANDRA.
O, ’tis true!
HECTOR.
Ho! bid my trumpet sound.
CASSANDRA.
No notes of sally, for the heavens, sweet brother!
HECTOR.
Be gone, I say. The gods have heard me swear.
CASSANDRA.
The gods are deaf to hot and peevish vows;
They are polluted off’rings, more abhorr’d
Than spotted livers in the sacrifice.
ANDROMACHE.
O, be persuaded! Do not count it holy
To hurt by being just. It is as lawful,
For we would give much, to use violent thefts
And rob in the behalf of charity.
CASSANDRA.
It is the purpose that makes strong the vow;
But vows to every purpose must not hold.
Unarm, sweet Hector.
HECTOR.
Hold you still, I say.
Mine honour keeps the weather of my fate.
Life every man holds dear; but the dear man
Holds honour far more precious dear than life.
Enter Troilus.
How now, young man! Mean’st thou to fight today?
ANDROMACHE.
Cassandra, call my father to persuade.
[Exit Cassandra.]
HECTOR.
No, faith, young Troilus; doff thy harness, youth;
I am today i’ th’vein of chivalry.
Let grow thy sinews till their knots be strong,
And tempt not yet the brushes of the war.
Unarm thee, go; and doubt thou not, brave boy,
I’ll stand today for thee and me and Troy.
TROILUS.
Brother, you have a vice of mercy in you,
Which better fits a lion than a man.
HECTOR.
What vice is that? Good Troilus, chide me for it.
TROILUS.
When many times the captive Grecian falls,
Even in the fan and wind of your fair sword,
You bid them rise and live.
HECTOR.
O, ’tis fair play!
TROILUS.
Fool’s play, by heaven, Hector.
HECTOR.
How now? how now?
TROILUS.
For th’ love of all the gods,
Let’s leave the hermit Pity with our mother;
And when we have our armours buckled on,
The venom’d vengeance ride upon our swords,
Spur them to ruthful work, rein them from ruth!
HECTOR.
Fie, savage, fie!
TROILUS.
Hector, then ’tis wars.
HECTOR.
Troilus, I would not have you fight today.
TROILUS.
Who should withhold me?
Not fate, obedience, nor the hand of Mars
Beckoning with fiery truncheon my retire;
Not Priamus and Hecuba on knees,
Their eyes o’er-galled with recourse of tears;
Nor you, my brother, with your true sword drawn,
Oppos’d to hinder me, should stop my way,
But by my ruin.
Re-enter Cassandra with Priam.
CASSANDRA.

PRIAM.
Come, Hector, come, go back.

Therefore, come back.
HECTOR.
Aeneas is a-field;
And I do stand engag’d to many Greeks,
Even in the faith of valour, to appear
This morning to them.
PRIAM.
Ay, but thou shalt not go.
HECTOR.
I must not break my faith.
You know me dutiful; therefore, dear sir,
Let me not shame respect; but give me leave
To take that course by your consent and voice
Which you do here forbid me, royal Priam.
CASSANDRA.
O Priam, yield not to him!
ANDROMACHE.
Do not, dear father.
HECTOR.
Andromache, I am offended with you.
Upon the love you bear me, get you in.
[Exit Andromache.]
TROILUS.
This foolish, dreaming, superstitious girl
Makes all these bodements.
CASSANDRA.
O, farewell, dear Hector!
Look how thou diest. Look how thy eye turns pale.
Look how thy wounds do bleed at many vents.
Hark how Troy roars; how Hecuba cries out;
How poor Andromache shrills her dolours forth;
Behold distraction, frenzy, and amazement,
Like witless antics, one another meet,
And all cry, ‘Hector! Hector’s dead! O Hector!’
TROILUS.
Away, away!
CASSANDRA.
Farewell! yet, soft! Hector, I take my leave.
Thou dost thyself and all our Troy deceive.
[Exit.]
HECTOR.
You are amaz’d, my liege, at her exclaim.
Go in, and cheer the town; we’ll forth, and fight,
Do deeds worth praise and tell you them at night.
PRIAM.
Farewell. The gods with safety stand about thee!
[Exeunt severally Priam and Hector. Alarums.]
TROILUS.
They are at it, hark! Proud Diomed, believe,
I come to lose my arm or win my sleeve.
Enter Pandarus.
PANDARUS.
Do you hear, my lord? Do you hear?
TROILUS.
What now?
PANDARUS.
Here’s a letter come from yond poor girl.
TROILUS.
Let me read.
PANDARUS.
A whoreson tisick, a whoreson rascally tisick, so troubles
me, and the foolish fortune of this girl, and what one thing,
what another, that I shall leave you one o’ these days; and I
have a rheum in mine eyes too, and such an ache in my bones that
unless a man were curs’d I cannot tell what to think on’t. What
says she there?
TROILUS.
Words, words, mere words, no matter from the heart;
Th’effect doth operate another way.
[Tearing the letter.]
Go, wind, to wind, there turn and change together.
My love with words and errors still she feeds,
But edifies another with her deeds.
[Exeunt severally.]
Alarums. Excursions. Enter Thersites.
THERSITES.
Now they are clapper-clawing one another; I’ll go look
on. That dissembling abominable varlet, Diomed, has got that same
scurvy doting foolish young knave’s sleeve of Troy there in his
helm.  O’ the other side, the policy of those
crafty swearing rascals that stale old mouse-eaten dry cheese,
Nestor, and that same dog-fox, Ulysses, is not prov’d worth a
blackberry. They set me up, in policy, that mongrel cur, Ajax,
against that dog of as bad a kind, Achilles; and now is the cur,
Ajax prouder than the cur Achilles, and will not arm today;
whereupon the Grecians begin to proclaim barbarism, and policy
grows into an ill opinion.
Enter Diomedes, Troilus following.
Soft! here comes sleeve, and t’other.
TROILUS.
Fly not; for shouldst thou take the river Styx,
I would swim after.
DIOMEDES.
Thou dost miscall retire.
I do not fly; but advantageous care
Withdrew me from the odds of multitude.
Have at thee!
THERSITES.
Hold thy whore, Grecian; now for thy whore,
Trojan! now the sleeve, now the sleeve!
[Exeunt Troilus and Diomedes fighting.]
Enter Hector.
HECTOR.
What art thou, Greek? Art thou for Hector’s match?
Art thou of blood and honour?
THERSITES.
No, no I am a rascal; a scurvy railing knave; a very filthy rogue.
HECTOR.
I do believe thee. Live.
[Exit.]
THERSITES.
God-a-mercy, that thou wilt believe me; but a plague
break thy neck for frighting me! What’s become of the wenching
rogues? I think they have swallowed one another. I would laugh at
that miracle. Yet, in a sort, lechery eats itself. I’ll seek
them.
[Exit.]
Enter Diomedes and a Servant.
DIOMEDES.
Go, go, my servant, take thou Troilus’ horse;
Present the fair steed to my lady Cressid.
Fellow, commend my service to her beauty;
Tell her I have chastis’d the amorous Trojan,
And am her knight by proof.
SERVANT.
I go, my lord.
[Exit.]
Enter Agamemnon.
AGAMEMNON.
Renew, renew!  Polixenes is slain;
Amphimacus and Thoas deadly hurt;
Patroclus ta’en, or slain; and Palamedes
Sore hurt and bruis’d. The dreadful Sagittary
Appals our numbers. Haste we, Diomed,
To reinforcement, or we perish all.
Enter Nestor.
NESTOR.
Go, bear Patroclus’ body to Achilles,
And bid the snail-pac’d Ajax arm for shame.
There is a thousand Hectors in the field;
Now here he fights on Galathe his horse,
And there lacks work; anon he’s there afoot,
And there they fly or die, like scaled sculls
Before the belching whale; then is he yonder,
And there the strawy Greeks, ripe for his edge,
Fall down before him like the mower’s swath.
Here, there, and everywhere, he leaves and takes;
Dexterity so obeying appetite
That what he will he does, and does so much
That proof is call’d impossibility.
Enter Ulysses.
ULYSSES.
O, courage, courage, courage, Princes! Great Achilles
Is arming, weeping, cursing, vowing vengeance.
Patroclus’ wounds have rous’d his drowsy blood,
Together with his mangled Myrmidons,
That noseless, handless, hack’d and chipp’d, come to him,
Crying on Hector. Ajax hath lost a friend
And foams at mouth, and he is arm’d and at it,
Roaring for Troilus; who hath done today
Mad and fantastic execution,
Engaging and redeeming of himself
With such a careless force and forceless care
As if that lust, in very spite of cunning,
Bade him win all.
Enter Ajax.
AJAX.
Troilus! thou coward Troilus!
[Exit.]
DIOMEDES.
Ay, there, there.
NESTOR.
So, so, we draw together.
[Exit.]
Enter Achilles.
ACHILLES.
Where is this Hector?
Come, come, thou boy-queller, show thy face;
Know what it is to meet Achilles angry.
Hector! where’s Hector? I will none but Hector.
[Exeunt.]
Enter Ajax.
AJAX.
Troilus, thou coward Troilus, show thy head.
Enter Diomedes.
DIOMEDES.
Troilus, I say! Where’s Troilus?
AJAX.
What wouldst thou?
DIOMEDES.
I would correct him.
AJAX.
Were I the general, thou shouldst have my office
Ere that correction. Troilus, I say! What, Troilus!
Enter Troilus.
TROILUS.
O traitor Diomed!
DIOMEDES.
Ha! art thou there?
AJAX.
I’ll fight with him alone. Stand, Diomed.
DIOMEDES.
He is my prize. I will not look upon.
TROILUS.

[Exeunt fighting.]
Enter Hector.
HECTOR.
Yea, Troilus? O, well fought, my youngest brother!
Enter Achilles.
ACHILLES.
Now do I see thee. Ha! have at thee, Hector!
HECTOR.
Pause, if thou wilt.
ACHILLES.
I do disdain thy courtesy, proud Trojan.
Be happy that my arms are out of use;
My rest and negligence befriend thee now,
But thou anon shalt hear of me again;
Till when, go seek thy fortune.
[Exit.]
HECTOR.
Fare thee well.
I would have been much more a fresher man,
Had I expected thee.
Re-enter Troilus.
How now, my brother!
TROILUS.
Ajax hath ta’en Aeneas. Shall it be?
No, by the flame of yonder glorious heaven,
He shall not carry him; I’ll be ta’en too,
Or bring him off. Fate, hear me what I say:
I reck not though thou end my life today.
[Exit.]
Enter one in armour.
HECTOR.
Stand, stand, thou Greek; thou art a goodly mark.
No? wilt thou not? I like thy armour well;
I’ll frush it and unlock the rivets all
But I’ll be master of it. Wilt thou not, beast, abide?
Why then, fly on; I’ll hunt thee for thy hide.
[Exeunt.]
Enter Achilles with Myrmidons.
ACHILLES.
Come here about me, you my Myrmidons;
Mark what I say.
Follow me, sirs, and my proceedings eye.
It is decreed Hector the great must die.
[Exeunt.]
Enter Menelaus and Paris, fighting; then Thersites.
THERSITES.
The cuckold and the cuckold-maker are at it. Now, bull! Now, dog! ’Loo, Paris,
’loo! now my double-hen’d Spartan! ’loo, Paris, ’loo! The bull has
the game. ’Ware horns, ho!
[Exeunt Paris and Menelaus.]
Enter Margarelon.
MARGARELON.
Turn, slave, and fight.
THERSITES.
What art thou?
MARGARELON.

THERSITES.
  One bear will not bite another, and
wherefore should one bastard?
[Exit.]
MARGARELON.
The devil take thee, coward!
[Exit.]
Enter Hector.
HECTOR.
Most putrified core so fair without,
Thy goodly armour thus hath cost thy life.
Now is my day’s work done; I’ll take my breath:
Rest, sword; thou hast thy fill of blood and death!
[Disarms.]
Enter Achilles and Myrmidons.
ACHILLES.
Look, Hector, how the sun begins to set,
How ugly night comes breathing at his heels;
Even with the vail and dark’ning of the sun,
To close the day up, Hector’s life is done.
HECTOR.
I am unarm’d; forego this vantage, Greek.
ACHILLES.
Strike, fellows, strike; this is the man I seek.
[Hector falls.]
So, Ilion, fall thou next! Now, Troy, sink down;
Here lies thy heart, thy sinews, and thy bone.

Hark! a retire upon our Grecian part.
MYRMIDON.
The Trojan trumpets sound the like, my lord.
ACHILLES.
The dragon wing of night o’erspreads the earth
And, stickler-like, the armies separates.
My half-supp’d sword, that frankly would have fed,
Pleas’d with this dainty bait, thus goes to bed.
[Sheathes his sword.]
Come, tie his body to my horse’s tail;
Along the field I will the Trojan trail.
[Exeunt.]
Sound retreat. Shout. Enter Agamemnon, Ajax, Menelaus, Nestor, Diomedes and the rest, marching.
AGAMEMNON.
Hark! hark! what shout is this?
NESTOR.
Peace, drums!
SOLDIERS.
[Within.] Achilles! Achilles! Hector’s slain. Achilles!
DIOMEDES.
The bruit is, Hector’s slain, and by Achilles.
AJAX.
If it be so, yet bragless let it be;
Great Hector was as good a man as he.
AGAMEMNON.
March patiently along. Let one be sent
To pray Achilles see us at our tent.
If in his death the gods have us befriended;
Great Troy is ours, and our sharp wars are ended.
[Exeunt.]
Enter Aeneas, Paris, Antenor and Deiphobus.
AENEAS.
Stand, ho! yet are we masters of the field.

Enter Troilus.
TROILUS.
Hector is slain.
ALL.
Hector! The gods forbid!
TROILUS.
He’s dead, and at the murderer’s horse’s tail,
In beastly sort, dragg’d through the shameful field.

Sit, gods, upon your thrones, and smile at Troy.
I say at once let your brief plagues be mercy,
And linger not our sure destructions on.
AENEAS.
My lord, you do discomfort all the host.
TROILUS.
You understand me not that tell me so.
I do not speak of flight, of fear of death,
But dare all imminence that gods and men
Address their dangers in. Hector is gone.
Who shall tell Priam so, or Hecuba?
Let him that will a screech-owl aye be call’d
Go in to Troy, and say there ‘Hector’s dead.’
There is a word will Priam turn to stone;
Make wells and Niobes of the maids and wives,
Cold statues of the youth; and, in a word,
Scare Troy out of itself. But, march away;
Hector is dead; there is no more to say.
Stay yet. You vile abominable tents,
Thus proudly pight upon our Phrygian plains,
Let Titan rise as early as he dare,
I’ll through and through you. And, thou great-siz’d coward,
No space of earth shall sunder our two hates;
I’ll haunt thee like a wicked conscience still,
That mouldeth goblins swift as frenzy’s thoughts.
Strike a free march to Troy. With comfort go;
Hope of revenge shall hide our inward woe.
Enter Pandarus.
PANDARUS.
But hear you, hear you!
TROILUS.
Hence, broker-lackey.
[Exeunt all but Pandarus.]
PANDARUS.
A goodly medicine for my aching bones! O world! world! Thus
is the poor agent despis’d! O traitors and bawds, how earnestly are
you set a-work, and how ill requited! Why should our endeavour be
so lov’d, and the performance so loathed? What verse for it? What
instance for it? Let me see—
Full merrily the humble-bee doth sing
Till he hath lost his honey and his sting;
And being once subdu’d in armed trail,
Sweet honey and sweet notes together fail.
Good traders in the flesh, set this in your painted cloths.
As many as be here of Pandar’s hall,
Your eyes, half out, weep out at Pandar’s fall;
Or, if you cannot weep, yet give some groans,
Though not for me, yet for your aching bones.
Brethren and sisters of the hold-door trade,
Some two months hence my will shall here be made.
It should be now, but that my fear is this,
Some galled goose of Winchester would hiss.
Till then I’ll sweat and seek about for eases,
And at that time bequeath you my diseases.
[Exit.]
ORSINO, Duke of Illyria
SEBASTIAN, brother of Viola
ANTONIO, a sea captain, friend of Sebastian
A SEA CAPTAIN, friend of Viola
VALENTINE, gentleman attending on the Duke
CURIO, gentleman attending on the Duke
SIR TOBY BELCH, uncle of Olivia
SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK
MALVOLIO, steward to Olivia
FABIAN, servant to Olivia
FESTE, a clown, servant to Olivia
OLIVIA, a rich countess
VIOLA, sister of Sebastian
MARIA, Olivia's waiting woman
Lords, Priests, Sailors, Officers, Musicians, and Attendants
Enter ORSINO, Duke of Illyria, CURIO, and other LORDS; MUSICIANS attending
DUKE. If music be the food of love, play on,
Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken and so die.
That strain again! It had a dying fall;
O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing and giving odour! Enough, no more;
'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.
O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou!
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,
That it alone is high fantastical.
CURIO.
DUKE. What, Curio?
CURIO. The hart.
DUKE. Why, so I do, the noblest that I have.
O, when mine eyes did see Olivia first,
Methought she purg'd the air of pestilence!
That instant was I turn'd into a hart,
And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds,
E'er since pursue me.
Enter VALENTINE
How now! what news from her?
VALENTINE. 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
To pay this debt of love but to a brother,
How will she love when the rich golden shaft
Hath kill'd the flock of all affections else
That live in her; when liver, brain, and heart,
These sovereign thrones, are all supplied and fill'd,
Her sweet perfections, with one self king!
Away before me to sweet beds of flow'rs:
Love-thoughts lie rich when canopied with bow'rs.
Exeunt
Enter VIOLA, a CAPTAIN, and SAILORS
VIOLA. What country, friends, is this?
CAPTAIN. This is Illyria, lady.
VIOLA. And what should I do in Illyria?
My brother he is in Elysium.
Perchance he is not drown'd- what think you, sailors?
CAPTAIN. It is perchance that you yourself were saved.
VIOLA. O my poor brother! and so perchance may he be.
CAPTAIN. True, madam, and, to comfort you with chance,
Assure yourself, after our ship did split,
When you, and those poor number saved with you,
Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother,
Most provident in peril, bind himself-
Courage and hope both teaching him the practice-
To a strong mast that liv'd upon the sea;
Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back,
I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves
So long as I could see.
VIOLA. For saying so, there's gold.
Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope,
Whereto thy speech serves for authority,
The like of him. Know'st thou this country?
CAPTAIN. Ay, madam, well; for I was bred and born
Not three hours' travel from this very place.
VIOLA. Who governs here?
CAPTAIN. A noble duke, in nature as in name.
VIOLA. What is his name?
CAPTAIN. Orsino.
VIOLA. Orsino! I have heard my father name him.
He was a bachelor then.
CAPTAIN. And so is now, or was so very late;
For but a month ago I went from hence,
And then 'twas fresh in murmur- as, you know,
What great ones do the less will prattle of-
That he did seek the love of fair Olivia.
VIOLA. What's she?
CAPTAIN. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count
That died some twelvemonth since, then leaving her
In the protection of his son, her brother,
Who shortly also died; for whose dear love,
They say, she hath abjur'd the company
And sight of men.
VIOLA. O that I serv'd that lady,
And might not be delivered to the world,
Till I had made mine own occasion mellow,
What my estate is!
CAPTAIN. That were hard to compass,
Because she will admit no kind of suit-
No, not the Duke's.
VIOLA. There is a fair behaviour in thee, Captain;
And though that nature with a beauteous wall
Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee
I will believe thou hast a mind that suits
With this thy fair and outward character.
I prithee, and I'll pay thee bounteously,
Conceal me what I am, and be my aid
For such disguise as haply shall become
The form of my intent. I'll serve this duke:
Thou shalt present me as an eunuch to him;
It may be worth thy pains, for I can sing
And speak to him in many sorts of music,
That will allow me very worth his service.
What else may hap to time I will commit;
Only shape thou silence to my wit.
CAPTAIN. Be you his eunuch and your mute I'll be;
When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see.
VIOLA. I thank thee. Lead me on. Exeunt
Enter SIR TOBY BELCH and MARIA
SIR TOBY. What a plague means my niece to take the death of her
brother thus? I am sure care's an enemy to life.
MARIA. By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o' nights;
your cousin, my lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours.
SIR TOBY. Why, let her except before excepted.
MARIA. Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modest limits
of order.
SIR TOBY. 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.
MARIA. 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 TOBY. Who? Sir Andrew Aguecheek?
MARIA. Ay, he.
SIR TOBY. He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria.
MARIA. What's that to th' purpose?
SIR TOBY. Why, he has three thousand ducats a year.
MARIA. Ay, but he'll have but a year in all these ducats; he's a
very fool and a prodigal.
SIR TOBY. Fie that you'll say so! He plays o' th' viol-de-gamboys,
and speaks three or four languages word for word without book,
and hath all the good gifts of nature.
MARIA. He hath indeed, almost 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.
SIR TOBY. By this hand, they are scoundrels and subtractors that
say so of him. Who are they?
MARIA. They that add, moreover, he's drunk nightly in your company.
SIR TOBY. With drinking healths to my niece; I'll drink to her as
long as there is a passage in my throat and drink in Illyria.
 What, wench!
Castiliano vulgo! for here comes Sir Andrew Agueface.
Enter SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK
AGUECHEEK. Sir Toby Belch! How now, Sir Toby Belch!
SIR TOBY. Sweet Sir Andrew!
AGUECHEEK. Bless you, fair shrew.
MARIA. And you too, sir.
SIR TOBY. Accost, Sir Andrew, accost.
AGUECHEEK. What's that?
SIR TOBY. My niece's chambermaid.
AGUECHEEK. Good Mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance.
MARIA. My name is Mary, sir.
AGUECHEEK. Good Mistress Mary Accost-
SIR Toby. You mistake, knight. 'Accost' is front her, board her,
woo her, assail her.
AGUECHEEK. By my troth, I would not undertake her in this company.
Is that the meaning of 'accost'?
MARIA. Fare you well, gentlemen.
SIR TOBY. An thou let part so, Sir Andrew, would thou mightst never
draw sword again!
AGUECHEEK. An you part so, mistress, I would I might never draw
sword again. Fair lady, do you think you have fools in hand?
MARIA. Sir, I have not you by th' hand.
AGUECHEEK. Marry, but you shall have; and here's my hand.
MARIA. Now, sir, thought is free. I pray you, bring your hand to
th' buttry-bar and let it drink.
AGUECHEEK. Wherefore, sweetheart? What's your metaphor?
MARIA. It's dry, sir.
AGUECHEEK.  But what's your jest?
MARIA. A dry jest, sir.
AGUECHEEK.
MARIA. Ay, sir, I have them at my fingers' ends; marry, now I let
go your hand, I am barren. Exit MARIA
SIR TOBY. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of canary! When did I see
thee so put down?
AGUECHEEK. 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 great eater of beef, and I
believe that does harm to my wit.
SIR TOBY. No question.
AGUECHEEK. An I thought that, I'd forswear it. I'll ride home
to-morrow, Sir Toby.
SIR TOBY. Pourquoi, my dear knight?
AGUECHEEK. 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. Oh, had I but followed the arts!
SIR TOBY. Then hadst thou had an excellent head of hair.
AGUECHEEK. Why, would that have mended my hair?
SIR TOBY. Past question; for thou seest it will not curl by nature.
AGUECHEEK. But it becomes me well enough, does't not?
SIR TOBY. Excellent; it hangs like flax on a distaff, and I hope to
see a huswife take thee between her legs and spin it off.
AGUECHEEK. Faith, I'll home to-morrow, Sir Toby. Your niece will
not be seen, or if she be, it's four to one she'll none of me;
the Count himself here hard by woos her.
SIR TOBY. She'll none o' th' Count; she'll not match above her
degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit; I have heard her
swear't. Tut, there's life in't, man.
AGUECHEEK. I'll stay a month longer. I am a fellow o' th' strangest
mind i' th' world; I delight in masques and revels sometimes
altogether.
SIR TOBY. Art thou good at these kickshawses, knight?
AGUECHEEK. As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be, under the
degree of my betters; and yet I will not compare with an old man.
SIR TOBY. What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight?
AGUECHEEK. Faith, I can cut a caper.
SIR TOBY. And I can cut the mutton to't.
AGUECHEEK. And I think I have the back-trick simply as strong as
any man in Illyria.
SIR TOBY. Wherefore are these things hid? Wherefore have these
gifts a curtain before 'em? Are they like to take dust, like
Mistress Mall's picture? Why dost thou not go to church in a
galliard and come home in a coranto? My very walk should be a
jig; I would not so much as make water but in a sink-a-pace. What
dost thou mean? Is it a world to hide virtues in? I did think, by
the excellent constitution of thy leg, it was form'd under the
star of a galliard.
AGUECHEEK. Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in
flame-colour'd stock. Shall we set about some revels?
SIR TOBY. What shall we do else? Were we not born under Taurus?
AGUECHEEK. Taurus? That's sides and heart.
SIR TOBY. No, sir; it is legs and thighs. Let me see the caper. Ha,
higher! Ha, ha, excellent! Exeunt
Enter VALENTINE, and VIOLA in man's attire
VALENTINE. If the Duke continue these favours towards you, Cesario,
you are like to be much advanc'd; he hath known you but three
days, and already you are no stranger.
VIOLA. You either fear his humour or my negligence, that you call
in question the continuance of his love. Is he inconstant, sir,
in his favours?
VALENTINE. No, believe me.
Enter DUKE, CURIO, and ATTENDANTS
VIOLA. I thank you. Here comes the Count.
DUKE. Who saw Cesario, ho?
VIOLA. On your attendance, my lord, here.
DUKE. Stand you awhile aloof. Cesario,
Thou know'st no less but all; I have unclasp'd
To thee the book even of my secret soul.
Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her;
Be not denied access, stand at her doors,
And tell them there thy fixed foot shall grow
Till thou have audience.
VIOLA. Sure, my noble lord,
If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow
As it is spoke, she never will admit me.
DUKE. Be clamorous and leap all civil bounds,
Rather than make unprofited return.
VIOLA. Say I do speak with her, my lord, what then?
DUKE. O, then unfold the passion of my love,
Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith!
It shall become thee well to act my woes:
She will attend it better in thy youth
Than in a nuncio's of more grave aspect.
VIOLA. I think not so, my lord.
DUKE. Dear lad, believe it,
For they shall yet belie thy happy years
That say thou art a man: Diana's lip
Is not more smooth and rubious; thy small pipe
Is as the maiden's organ, shrill and sound,
And all is semblative a woman's part.
I know thy constellation is right apt
For this affair. Some four or five attend him-
All, if you will, for I myself am best
When least in company. Prosper well in this,
And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord
To call his fortunes thine.
VIOLA. I'll do my best
To woo your lady. [Aside] Yet, a barful strife!
Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife.
Enter MARIA and CLOWN
MARIA. Nay, either tell me where thou hast been, or I will not open
my lips so wide as a bristle may enter in way of thy excuse; my
lady will hang thee for thy absence.
CLOWN. Let her hang me. He that is well hang'd in this world needs
to fear no colours.
MARIA. Make that good.
CLOWN. He shall see none to fear.
MARIA. A good lenten answer. I can tell thee where that saying was
born, of 'I fear no colours.'
CLOWN. Where, good Mistress Mary?
MARIA. In the wars; and that may you be bold to say in your
foolery.
CLOWN. Well, God give them wisdom that have it; and those that are
fools, let them use their talents.
MARIA. Yet you will be hang'd for being so long absent; or to be
turn'd away- is not that as good as a hanging to you?
CLOWN. Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage; and for turning
away, let summer bear it out.
MARIA. You are resolute, then?
CLOWN. Not so, neither; but I am resolv'd on two points.
MARIA. That if one break, the other will hold; or if both break,
your gaskins fall.
CLOWN. Apt, in good faith, very apt!
MARIA. Peace, you rogue, no more o' that. Here comes my lady. Make
your excuse wisely, you were best. Exit
Enter OLIVIA and MALVOLIO
CLOWN. Wit, an't be thy will, put me into good fooling! Those wits
that think they have thee do very oft prove fools; and I that am
sure I lack thee may pass for a wise man. For what says
Quinapalus?  God bless
thee, lady!
OLIVIA.
CLOWN. Do you not hear, fellows? Take away the lady.
OLIVIA. Go to, y'are a dry fool; I'll no more of you. Besides, you
grow dishonest.
CLOWN. Two faults, madonna, that drink and good counsel will amend;
for give the dry fool drink, then is the fool not dry. Bid the
dishonest man mend himself: if he mend, he is no longer
dishonest; if he cannot, let the botcher mend him. Anything
that's mended is but patch'd; virtue that transgresses is but
patch'd with sin, and sin that amends is but patch'd with virtue.
If that this simple syllogism will serve, so; if it will not,
what remedy? As there is no true cuckold but calamity, so
beauty's a flower. The lady bade take away the fool; therefore, I
say again, take her away.
OLIVIA. Sir, I bade them take away you.
CLOWN. Misprision in the highest degree! Lady, 'Cucullus non facit
monachum'; that's as much to say as I wear not motley in my
brain.
OLIVIA. Can you do it?
CLOWN. Dexteriously, good madonna.
OLIVIA. Make your proof.
CLOWN. I must catechize you for it, madonna.
Good my mouse of virtue, answer me.
OLIVIA. Well, sir, for want of other idleness, I'll bide your
proof.
CLOWN. Good madonna, why mourn'st thou?
OLIVIA. Good fool, for my brother's death.
CLOWN. I think his soul is in hell, madonna.
OLIVIA.
CLOWN. The more fool, madonna, to mourn for your brother's soul
being in heaven. Take away the fool, gentlemen.
OLIVIA. What think you of this fool, Malvolio? Doth he not mend?
MALVOLIO. Yes, and shall do, till the pangs of death shake him.
Infirmity, that decays the wise, doth ever make the better fool.
CLOWN. God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for the better
increasing your folly!
OLIVIA. How say you to that, Malvolio?
MALVOLIO.   I protest I take these wise men that crow so at
these set kind of fools no better than the fools' zanies.
OLIVIA.  To be generous, guiltless, and of free
disposition, is to take those things for bird-bolts that you deem
cannon bullets. There is no slander in an allow'd fool, though he
do nothing but rail; nor no railing in known discreet man, though
he do nothing but reprove.
CLOWN. Now Mercury endue thee with leasing, for thou speak'st well
of fools!
Re-enter MARIA
MARIA. Madam, there is at the gate a young gentleman much desires
to speak with you.
OLIVIA. From the Count Orsino, is it?
MARIA. I know not, madam; 'tis a fair young man, and well attended.
OLIVIA. Who of my people hold him in delay?
MARIA. Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman.
OLIVIA. Fetch him off, I pray you; he speaks nothing but madman.
Fie on him! [Exit MARIA] Go you, Malvolio: if it be a suit from
the Count, I am sick, or not at home- what you will to dismiss
it. [Exit MALVOLIO] Now you see, sir, how your fooling grows old,
and people dislike it.
CLOWN.  For- here he comes-
one of thy kin has a most weak pia mater.
Enter SIR TOBY
OLIVIA. By mine honour, half drunk! What is he at the gate, cousin?
SIR TOBY. A gentleman.
OLIVIA. A gentleman! What gentleman?
SIR TOBY. 'Tis a gentleman here. [Hiccups] A plague o' these
pickle-herring! How now, sot!
CLOWN. Good Sir Toby!
OLIVIA. Cousin, cousin, how have you come so early by this
lethargy?
SIR TOBY. Lechery! I defy lechery. There's one at the gate.
OLIVIA. Ay, marry; what is he?
SIR TOBY.  Well, it's all one. Exit
OLIVIA. What's a drunken man like, fool?
CLOWN. Like a drown'd man, a fool, and a madman: one draught above
heat makes him a fool; the second mads him; and a third drowns
him.
OLIVIA. Go thou and seek the crowner, and let him sit o' my coz;
for he's in the third degree of drink, he's drown'd; go look
after him.
CLOWN. He is but mad yet, madonna, and the fool shall look to the
madman. Exit
Re-enter MALVOLIO
MALVOLIO. Madam, yond young fellow swears he will speak with you. I
told him you were sick; he takes on him to understand so much,
and therefore comes to speak with you. I told him you were
asleep; he seems to have a foreknowledge of that too, and
therefore comes to speak with you. What is to be said to him,
lady? He's fortified against any denial.
OLIVIA. Tell him he shall not speak with me.
MALVOLIO. Has been told so; and he says he'll stand at your door
like a sheriff's post, and be the supporter to a bench, but he'll
speak with you.
OLIVIA. What kind o' man is he?
MALVOLIO. Why, of mankind.
OLIVIA. What manner of man?
MALVOLIO. Of very ill manner; he'll speak with you, will you or no.
OLIVIA. Of what personage and years is he?
MALVOLIO. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy;
as a squash is before 'tis a peascod, or a codling when 'tis
almost an apple; 'tis with him in standing water, between boy and
man. He is very well-favour'd, and he speaks very shrewishly; one
would think his mother's milk were scarce out of him.
OLIVIA. Let him approach. Call in my gentlewoman.
MALVOLIO. Gentlewoman, my lady calls. Exit
Re-enter MARIA
OLIVIA. Give me my veil; come, throw it o'er my face;
We'll once more hear Orsino's embassy.
Enter VIOLA
VIOLA. The honourable lady of the house, which is she?
OLIVIA. Speak to me; I shall answer for her. Your will?
VIOLA. Most radiant, exquisite, and unmatchable beauty- I pray you
tell me if this be the lady of the house, for I never saw her. I
would be loath to cast away my speech; for, besides that it is
excellently well penn'd, I have taken great pains to con it. Good
beauties, let me sustain no scorn; I am very comptible, even to
the least sinister usage.
OLIVIA. Whence came you, sir?
VIOLA. I can say little more than I have studied, and that
question's out of my part. Good gentle one, give me modest
assurance if you be the lady of the house, that I may proceed in
my speech.
OLIVIA. Are you a comedian?
VIOLA. No, my profound heart; and yet, by the very fangs of malice
I swear, I am not that I play. Are you the lady of the house?
OLIVIA. If I do not usurp myself, I am.
VIOLA. Most certain, if you are she, you do usurp yourself; for
what is yours to bestow is not yours to reserve. But this is from
my commission. I will on with my speech in your praise, and then
show you the heart of my message.
OLIVIA. Come to what is important in't. I forgive you the praise.
VIOLA. Alas, I took great pains to study it, and 'tis poetical.
OLIVIA. It is the more like to be feigned; I pray you keep it in. I
heard you were saucy at my gates, and allow'd your approach
rather to wonder at you than to hear you. If you be not mad, be
gone; if you have reason, be brief; 'tis not that time of moon
with me to make one in so skipping dialogue.
MARIA. Will you hoist sail, sir? Here lies your way.
VIOLA. No, good swabber, I am to hull here a little longer.
Some mollification for your giant, sweet lady.
OLIVIA. Tell me your mind.
VIOLA. I am a messenger.
OLIVIA. Sure, you have some hideous matter to deliver, when the
courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak your office.
VIOLA. It alone concerns your ear.
OLIVIA. Yet you began rudely. What are you? What would you?
VIOLA. The rudeness that hath appear'd in me have I learn'd from my
entertainment. What I am and what I would are as secret as
maidenhead- to your cars, divinity; to any other's, profanation.
OLIVIA. Give us the place alone; we will hear this divinity.
[Exeunt MARIA and ATTENDANTS] Now, sir, what is your text?
VIOLA. Most sweet lady-
OLIVIA. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be said of it.
Where lies your text?
VIOLA. In Orsino's bosom.
OLIVIA. In his bosom! In what chapter of his bosom?
VIOLA. To answer by the method: in the first of his heart.
OLIVIA. O, I have read it; it is heresy. Have you no more to say?
VIOLA. Good madam, let me see your face.
OLIVIA. Have you any commission from your lord to negotiate with my
face? You are now out of your text; but we will draw the curtain
and show you the picture.  Is't not well done?
VIOLA. Excellently done, if God did all.
OLIVIA. 'Tis in grain, sir; 'twill endure wind and weather.
VIOLA.
Lady, you are the cruell'st she alive,
If you will lead these graces to the grave,
And leave the world no copy.
OLIVIA. O, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted; I will give out
divers schedules of my beauty. It shall be inventoried, and every
particle and utensil labell'd to my will: as- item, two lips
indifferent red; item, two grey eyes with lids to them; item, one
neck, one chin, and so forth. Were you sent hither to praise me?
VIOLA. I see you what you are: you are too proud;
But, if you were the devil, you are fair.
My lord and master loves you- O, such love
Could be but recompens'd though you were crown'd
The nonpareil of beauty!
OLIVIA. How does he love me?
VIOLA. With adorations, fertile tears,
With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire.
OLIVIA. Your lord does know my mind; I cannot love him.
Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble,
Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth;
In voices well divulg'd, free, learn'd, and valiant,
And in dimension and the shape of nature
A gracious person; but yet I cannot love him.
He might have took his answer long ago.
VIOLA. If I did love you in my master's flame,
With such a suff'ring, such a deadly life,
In your denial I would find no sense;
I would not understand it.
OLIVIA. Why, what would you?
VIOLA. Make me a willow cabin at your gate,
And call upon my soul within the house;
Write loyal cantons of contemned love
And sing them loud even in the dead of night;
Halloo your name to the reverberate hals,
And make the babbling gossip of the air
Cry out 'Olivia!' O, you should not rest
Between the elements of air and earth
But you should pity me!
OLIVIA. You might do much.
What is your parentage?
VIOLA. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well:
I am a gentleman.
OLIVIA. Get you to your lord.
I cannot love him; let him send no more-
Unless perchance you come to me again
To tell me how he takes it. Fare you well.
I thank you for your pains; spend this for me.
VIOLA. I am no fee'd post, lady; keep your purse;
My master, not myself, lacks recompense.
Love make his heart of flint that you shall love;
And let your fervour, like my master's, be
Plac'd in contempt! Farewell, fair cruelty. Exit
OLIVIA. 'What is your parentage?'
'Above my fortunes, yet my state is well:
I am a gentleman.' I'll be sworn thou art;
Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit,
Do give thee five-fold blazon. Not too fast! Soft, soft!
Unless the master were the man. How now!
Even so quickly may one catch the plague?
Methinks I feel this youth's perfections
With an invisible and subtle stealth
To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be.
What ho, Malvolio!
Re-enter MALVOLIO
MALVOLIO. Here, madam, at your service.
OLIVIA. Run after that same peevish messenger,
The County's man. He left this ring behind him,
Would I or not. Tell him I'll none of it.
Desire him not to flatter with his lord,
Nor hold him up with hopes; I am not for him.
If that the youth will come this way to-morrow,
I'll give him reasons for't. Hie thee, Malvolio.
MALVOLIO. Madam, I will. Exit
OLIVIA. I do I know not what, and fear to find
Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind.
Fate, show thy force: ourselves we do not owe;
What is decreed must be; and be this so! Exit
Enter ANTONIO and SEBASTIAN
ANTONIO. Will you stay no longer; nor will you not that I go with
you?
SEBASTIAN. By your patience, no. My stars shine darkly over me; the
malignancy of my fate might perhaps distemper yours; therefore I
shall crave of you your leave that I may bear my evils alone. It
were a bad recompense for your love to lay any of them on you.
ANTONIO. Let me know of you whither you are bound.
SEBASTIAN. No, sooth, sir; my determinate voyage is mere
extravagancy. But I perceive in you so excellent a touch of
modesty that you will not extort from me what I am willing to
keep in; therefore it charges me in manners the rather to express
myself. You must know of me then, Antonio, my name is Sebastian,
which I call'd Roderigo; my father was that Sebastian of
Messaline whom I know you have heard of. He left behind him
myself and a sister, both born in an hour; if the heavens had
been pleas'd, would we had so ended! But you, sir, alter'd that;
for some hour before you took me from the breach of the sea was
my sister drown'd.
ANTONIO. Alas the day!
SEBASTIAN. A lady, sir, though it was said she much resembled me,
was yet of many accounted beautiful; but though I could not with
such estimable wonder overfar believe that, yet thus far I will
boldly publish her: she bore mind that envy could not but call
fair. She is drown'd already, sir, with salt water, though I seem
to drown her remembrance again with more.
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 cnemies 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
Enter VIOLA and MALVOLIO at several doors
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 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 'tis-
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 t' untie! Exit
Enter SIR TOBY and SIR ANDREW
SIR TOBY. Approach, Sir Andrew. Not to be abed after midnight is to
be up betimes; and 'diluculo surgere' thou know'st-
AGUECHEEK. 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 lives
consist of the four elements?
AGUECHEEK. Faith, so they say; but I think it rather consists of
eating and drinking.
SIR TOBY. Th'art a scholar; let us therefore eat and drink.
Marian, I say! a stoup of wine.
Enter CLOWN
AGUECHEEK. Here comes the fool, i' faith.
CLOWN. How now, my hearts! Did you never see the picture of 'we
three'?
SIR TOBY.  Now let's have a catch.
AGUECHEEK. By my troth, the fool has an excellent breast.  In sooth, thou wast in very
gracious fooling last night, when thou spok'st of Pigrogromitus,
of the Vapians passing the equinoctial of Queubus; 'twas 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.
AGUECHEEK. 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.
AGUECHEEK. 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.
AGUECHEEK.
CLOWN sings
O mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O, stay and hear; your true love's coming,
That can sing both high and low.
Trip no further, pretty sweeting;
Journeys end in lovers meeting,
Every wise man's son doth know.
AGUECHEEK. Excellent good, i' faith!
SIR TOBY. Good, good!
CLOWN sings
What is love? 'Tis not hereafter;
Present mirth hath present laughter;
What's to come is still unsure.

AGUECHEEK. A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight.
SIR TOBY. A contagious breath.
AGUECHEEK. Very sweet and contagious, i' faith.
SIR TOBY. To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion. But shall
we make the welkin dance indeed? Shall we rouse the night-owl in
a catch that will draw three souls out of one weaver? Shall we do
that?
AGUECHEEK. An you love me, let's do't. I am dog at a catch.
CLOWN. By'r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well.
AGUECHEEK. Most certain. Let our catch be 'Thou knave.'
CLOWN. 'Hold thy peace, thou knave' knight? I shall be constrain'd
in't to call thee knave, knight.
AGUECHEEK. 'Tis not the first time I have constrained one to call
me knave. Begin, fool: it begins 'Hold thy peace.'
CLOWN. I shall never begin if I hold my peace.
AGUECHEEK. Good, i' faith! Come, begin. [Catch sung]
Enter MARIA
MARIA. What a caterwauling do you keep here! If my lady have not
call'd up her steward Malvolio, and bid him turn you out of
doors, never trust me.
SIR TOBY. My lady's a Cataian, we are politicians, Malvolio's a
Peg-a-Ramsey, and [Sings]
Three merry men be we.
Am not I consanguineous? Am I not of her blood? Tilly-vally,
lady. [Sings]
There dwelt a man in Babylon,
Lady, lady.
CLOWN. Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable fooling.
AGUECHEEK. Ay, he does well enough if he be dispos'd, and so do I
too; he does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural.
SIR TOBY. [Sings] O' the twelfth day of December-
MARIA. For the love o' God, peace!
Enter MALVOLIO
MALVOLIO. My masters, 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 ye make an ale-house of my lady's house, that
ye squeak out your coziers' catches without any mitigation or
remorse of voice? Is there no respect of place, persons, nor
time, in you?
SIR TOBY. We did keep time, sir, in our catches. Sneck up!
MALVOLIO. Sir Toby, I must be round with you.  If you can separate yourself and your
misdemeanours, you are welcome to the house; if not, and it would
please you to take leave of her, she is very willing to bid you
farewell.
SIR TOBY. [Sings] Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs be gone.
MARIA. Nay, good Sir Toby.
CLOWN. [Sings] His eyes do show his days are almost done.
MALVOLIO. Is't even so?
SIR TOBY. [Sings] But I will never die. [Falls down]
CLOWN. [Sings] Sir Toby, there you lie.
MALVOLIO. This is much credit to you.
SIR TOBY. [Sings] Shall I bid him go?
CLOWN. [Sings] What an if you do?
SIR TOBY. [Sings] Shall I bid him go, and spare not?
CLOWN. [Sings] O, no, no, no, no, you dare not.
SIR TOBY. [Rising] Out o' tune, sir! Ye lie. Art any more than a
steward? Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall
be no more cakes and ale?
CLOWN. Yes, by Saint Anne; and ginger shall be hot i' th' mouth
too.
SIR TOBY. Th' art i' th' right. Go, sir, rub your chain with crumbs.
A stoup of wine, Maria!
MALVOLIO. Mistress Mary, if you priz'd my lady's favour at anything
more than contempt, you would not give means for this uncivil
rule; she shall know of it, by this hand.
Exit
MARIA. Go shake your ears.
AGUECHEEK. 'Twere as good a deed as to drink when a man's ahungry,
to challenge him the field, and then to break promise with him
and make a fool of him.
SIR TOBY. Do't, knight. I'll write thee a challenge; or I'll
deliver thy indignation to him by word of mouth.
MARIA. Sweet Sir Toby, be patient for to-night; since the youth of
the Count's was to-day with my lady, she is much out of quiet.
For Monsieur Malvolio, let me alone with him; if I do not gull
him into a nayword, and make him a common recreation, do not
think I have wit enough to lie straight in my bed. I know I can
do it.
SIR TOBY. Possess us, possess us; tell us something of him.
MARIA. Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Puritan.
AGUECHEEK. O, if I thought that, I'd beat him like a dog.
SIR TOBY. What, for being a Puritan? Thy exquisite reason, dear
knight?
AGUECHEEK. I have no exquisite reason for't, but I have reason good
enough.
MARIA. The devil a Puritan that he is, or anything constantly but a
time-pleaser; an affection'd ass that cons state without book and
utters it by great swarths; the best persuaded of himself, so
cramm'd, as he thinks, with excellencies that it is his grounds
of faith that all that look on him love him; and on that vice in
him will my revenge find notable cause to work.
SIR TOBY. What wilt thou do?
MARIA. I will drop in his way some obscure epistles of love;
wherein, by the colour of his beard, the shape of his leg, the
manner of his gait, the expressure of his eye, forehead, and
complexion, he shall find himself most feelingly personated. I
can write very like my lady, your niece; on forgotten matter we
can hardly make distinction of our hands.
SIR TOBY. Excellent! I smell a device.
AGUECHEEK. 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.
AGUECHEEK.
MARIA. Ass, I doubt not.
AGUECHEEK. 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.
AGUECHEEK. Before me, she's a good wench.
SIR TOBY. She's a beagle true-bred, and one that adores me.
What o' that?
AGUECHEEK. I was ador'd once too.
SIR TOBY. Let's to bed, knight. Thou hadst need send for more
money.
AGUECHEEK. If I cannot recover your niece, I am a foul way out.
SIR TOBY. Send for money, knight; if thou hast her not i' th' end,
call me Cut.
AGUECHEEK. 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
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 belov'd. How dost thou like this tune?
VIOLA. 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 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 won,
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 flow'r
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]
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 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 everything, and their intent everywhere: 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.
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 as 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 dost thou know?
VIOLA. Too well what love women to men may owe.
In faith, they are as true of heart as we.
My father had a daughter lov'd a man,
As it might be perhaps, were I a woman,
I should your lordship.
DUKE. And what's her history?
VIOLA. A blank, my lord.  She pin'd in thought;
And with a green and yellow melancholy
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
Much in our vows, but little in our love.
DUKE. But died thy sister of her love, my boy?
VIOLA. I am all the daughters of my father's house,
And all the brothers too- and yet I know not.
Sir, shall I to this lady?
DUKE. Ay, that's the theme.
To her in haste. Give her this jewel; say
My love can give no place, bide no denay. Exeunt
Enter SIR TOBY, SIR ANDREW, and FABIAN
SIR TOBY. Come thy ways, Signior Fabian.
FABIAN. Nay, I'll come; if I lose a scruple of this sport let me be
boil'd to death with melancholy.
SIR TOBY. Wouldst thou not be glad to have the niggardly rascally
sheep-biter come by some notable shame?
FABIAN. I would exult, man; you know he brought me out o' favour
with my lady about a bear-baiting here.
SIR TOBY. To anger him we'll have the bear again; and we will fool
him black and blue- shall we not, Sir Andrew?
AGUECHEEK. And we do not, it is pity of our lives.
Enter MARIA
SIR TOBY. Here comes the little villain.
How now, my metal of India!
MARIA. 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.  Close, in the name of jesting! [As the men hide she drops
a letter] Lie thou there; for here comes the trout that must be
caught with tickling.
Exit
Enter MALVOLIO
MALVOLIO. 'Tis 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 TOBY. Here's an overweening rogue!
FABIAN. O, peace! Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock of him;
how he jets under his advanc'd plumes!
AGUECHEEK. 'Slight, I could so beat the rogue-
SIR TOBY. Peace, I say.
MALVOLIO. To be Count Malvolio!
SIR TOBY. Ah, rogue!
AGUECHEEK. Pistol him, pistol him.
SIR TOBY. Peace, peace!
MALVOLIO. There is example for't: the Lady of the Strachy married
the yeoman of the wardrobe.
AGUECHEEK. Fie on him, Jezebel!
FABIAN. O, peace! Now he's deeply in; look how imagination blows
him.
MALVOLIO. Having been three months married to her, sitting in my
state-
SIR TOBY. O, for a stone-bow to hit him in the eye!
MALVOLIO. Calling my officers about me, in my branch'd velvet gown,
having come from a day-bed- where I have left Olivia sleeping-
SIR TOBY. Fire and brimstone!
FABIAN. O, peace, peace!
MALVOLIO. And then to have the humour of state; and after a demure
travel of regard, telling them I know my place as I would they
should do theirs, to ask for my kinsman Toby-
SIR TOBY. Bolts and shackles!
FABIAN. O, peace, peace, peace! Now, now.
MALVOLIO. 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; curtsies there to me-
SIR TOBY. Shall this fellow live?
FABIAN. Though our silence be drawn from us with cars, yet peace.
MALVOLIO. I extend my hand to him thus, quenching my familiar smile
with an austere regard of control-
SIR TOBY. And does not Toby take you a blow o' the lips then?
MALVOLIO. Saying 'Cousin Toby, my fortunes having cast me on your
niece give me this prerogative of speech'-
SIR TOBY. What, what?
MALVOLIO. 'You must amend your drunkenness'-
SIR TOBY. Out, scab!
FABIAN. Nay, patience, or we break the sinews of our plot.
MALVOLIO.  That's me, I warrant you.
MALVOLIO. 'One Sir Andrew.'
AGUECHEEK.
MALVOLIO. What employment have we here?
[Taking up the letter]
FABIAN. Now is the woodcock near the gin.
SIR TOBY. O, peace! And the spirit of humours intimate reading
aloud to him!
MALVOLIO. By my life, this is my lady's hand: these be her very
C's, her U's, and her T's; and thus makes she her great P's. It
is, in contempt of question, her hand.
AGUECHEEK. Her C's, her U's, and her T's. Why that?
MALVOLIO. [Reads] 'To the unknown belov'd, this, and my good
wishes.' Her very phrases! By your leave, wax. Soft! And the
impressure her Lucrece with which she uses to seal; 'tis my lady.
To whom should this be?
FABIAN. This wins him, liver and all.
MALVOLIO. [Reads]
Jove knows I love,
But who?
Lips, do not move;
No man must know.'
'No man must know.' What follows? The numbers alter'd!
'No man must know.' If this should be thee, Malvolio?
SIR TOBY. Marry, hang thee, brock!
MALVOLIO. [Reads]
'I may command where I adore;
But silence, like a Lucrece knife,
With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore;
M. O. A. I. doth sway my life.'
FABIAN. A fustian riddle!
SIR TOBY. Excellent wench, say I.
MALVOLIO. 'M. O. A. I. doth sway my life.'
Nay, but first let me see, let me see, let me see.
FABIAN. What dish o' poison has she dress'd him!
SIR TOBY. And with what wing the staniel checks at it!
MALVOLIO. 'I may command where I adore.' Why, she may command me: I
serve her; she is my lady. Why, this is evident to any formal
capacity; there is no obstruction in this. And the end- what
should that alphabetical position portend? If I could make that
resemble something in me. Softly! M. O. A. I.-
SIR TOBY. O, ay, make up that! He is now at a cold scent.
FABIAN. Sowter will cry upon't for all this, though it be as rank
as a fox.
MALVOLIO. M- Malvolio; M- why, that begins my name.
FABIAN. Did not I say he would work it out?
The cur is excellent at faults.
MALVOLIO. M- But then there is no consonancy in the sequel; that
suffers under probation: A should follow, but O does.
FABIAN. And O shall end, I hope.
SIR TOBY. Ay, or I'll cudgel him, and make him cry 'O!'
MALVOLIO. And then I comes behind.
FABIAN.
MALVOLIO. M. O. A. I. This simulation is not as the former; and
yet, to crush this a little, it would bow to me, for every one of
these letters are in my name. Soft! here follows prose.
[Reads]
'If this fall into thy hand, revolve. In my stars I am above
thee; but be not afraid of greatness. Some are born great, some
achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon 'em. Thy
Fates open their hands; let thy blood and spirit embrace them;
and, to inure thyself to what thou art like to be, cast thy
humble slough and appear fresh. Be opposite with a kinsman, surly
with servants; let thy tongue tang arguments of state; put
thyself into the trick of singularity. She thus advises thee that
sighs for thee. Remember who commended thy yellow stockings, and
wish'd to see thee ever cross-garter'd. I say, remember, Go to,
thou art made, if thou desir'st to be so; if not, let me see thee
a steward still, the fellow of servants, and not worthy to touch
Fortune's fingers. Farewell. She that would alter services with
thee,
THE FORTUNATE-UNHAPPY.'
Daylight and champain discovers not more. This is open. I will be proud, I will read politic authors, I will baffle Sir Toby, I will wash off gross acquaintance, I will be point-devise the very man. I do not now fool myself to let imagination jade me; for every reason excites to this, that my lady loves me. She did commend my yellow stockings of late, she did praise my leg being cross-garter'd; and in this she manifests herself to my love, and with a kind of injunction drives me to these habits of her liking. I thank my stars I am happy. I will be strange, stout, in yellow stockings, and cross-garter'd, even with the swiftness of putting on. Jove and my stars be praised! Here is yet a postscript.
[Reads] 'Thou canst not choose but know who I am. If thou entertain'st my love, let it appear in thy smiling; thy smiles become thee well. Therefore in my presence still smile, dear my sweet, I prithee.'
Jove, I thank thee. I will smile; I will do everything that thou
wilt have me. Exit
FABIAN. I will not give my part of this sport for a pension of
thousands to be paid from the Sophy.
SIR TOBY. I could marry this wench for this device.
AGUECHEEK. So could I too.
SIR TOBY. And ask no other dowry with her but such another jest.
Enter MARIA
AGUECHEEK. Nor I neither.
FABIAN. Here comes my noble gull-catcher.
SIR TOBY. Wilt thou set thy foot o' my neck?
AGUECHEEK. Or o' mine either?
SIR TOBY. Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip, and become thy
bond-slave?
AGUECHEEK. I' faith, or I either?
SIR TOBY. Why, thou hast put him in such a dream that when the
image of it leaves him he must run mad.
MARIA. Nay, but say true; does it work upon him?
SIR TOBY. Like aqua-vita! with a midwife.
AIARIA. If you will then see the fruits of the sport, mark his
first approach before my lady. He will come to her in yellow
stockings, and 'tis a colour she abhors, and cross-garter'd, a
fashion she detests; and he will smile upon her, which will now
be so unsuitable to her disposition, being addicted to a
melancholy as she is, that it cannot but turn him into a notable
contempt. If you will see it, follow me.
SIR TOBY. To the gates of Tartar, thou most excellent devil of wit!
AGUECHEEK. I'll make one too. Exeunt
Enter VIOLA, and CLOWN with a tabor
VIOLA. Save thee, friend, and thy music!
Dost thou live by thy tabor?
CLOWN. No, sir, I live by the church.
VIOLA. Art thou a churchman?
CLOWN. No such matter, sir: I do live by the church; for I do live
at my house, and my house doth stand by the church.
VIOLA. So thou mayst say the king lies by a beggar, if a beggar
dwell near him; or the church stands by thy tabor, if thy tabor
stand by the church.
CLOWN. You have said, sir. To see this age! A sentence is but a
chev'ril glove to a good wit. How quickly the wrong side may be
turn'd outward!
VIOLA. Nay, that's certain; they that dally nicely with words may
quickly make them wanton.
CLOWN. I would, therefore, my sister had had name, sir.
VIOLA. Why, man?
CLOWN. Why, sir, her name's a word; and to dally with that word
might make my sister wanton. But indeed words are very rascals
since bonds disgrac'd them.
VIOLA. Thy reason, man?
CLOWN. Troth, sir, I can yield you none without words, and words
are grown so false I am loath to prove reason with them.
VIOLA. I warrant thou art a merry fellow and car'st for nothing.
CLOWN. Not so, sir; I do care for something; but in my conscience,
sir, I do not care for you. If that be to care for nothing, sir,
I would it would make you invisible.
VIOLA. Art not thou the Lady Olivia's fool?
CLOWN. No, indeed, sir; the Lady Olivia has no folly; she will keep
no fool, sir, till she be married; and fools are as like husbands
as pilchers are to herrings- the husband's the bigger. I am
indeed not her fool, but her corrupter of words.
VIOLA. I saw thee late at the Count Orsino's.
CLOWN. Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun- it
shines everywhere. I would be sorry, sir, but the fool should be
as oft with your master as with my mistress: think I saw your
wisdom there.
VIOLA. Nay, an thou pass upon me, I'll no more with thee.
Hold, there's expenses for thee. [Giving a coin]
CLOWN. Now Jove, in his next commodity of hair, send the a beard!
VIOLA. By my troth, I'll tell thee, I am almost sick for one;
[Aside] though I would not have it grow on my chin.- Is thy lady
within?
CLOWN. Would not a pair of these have bred, sir?
VIOLA. Yes, being kept together and put to use.
CLOWN. I would play Lord Pandarus of Phrygia, sir, to bring a
Cressida to this Troilus.
VIOLA. I understand you, sir; 'tis well begg'd.
[Giving another coin]
CLOWN. The matter, I hope, is not great, sir, begging but a beggar:
Cressida was a beggar. My lady is within, sir. I will construe to
them whence you come; who you are and what you would are out of
my welkin- I might say 'element' but the word is overworn.
Exit CLOWN
VIOLA. This fellow is wise enough to play the fool;
And to do that well craves a kind of wit.
He must observe their mood on whom he jests,
The quality of persons, and the time;
And, like the haggard, check at every feather
That comes before his eye. This is a practice
As full of labour as a wise man's art;
For folly that he wisely shows is fit;
But wise men, folly-fall'n, quite taint their wit.
Enter SIR TOBY and SIR ANDREW
SIR TOBY. Save you, gentleman!
VIOLA. And you, sir.
AGUECHEEK. Dieu vous garde, monsieur.
VIOLA. Et vous aussi; votre serviteur.
AGUECHEEK. I hope, sir, you are; and I am yours.
SIR TOBY. Will you encounter the house? My niece is desirous you
should enter, if your trade be to her.
VIOLA. I am bound to your niece, sir; I mean, she is the list of my
voyage.
SIR TOBY. Taste your legs, sir; put them to motion.
VIOLA. My legs do better understand me, sir, than I understand what
you mean by bidding me taste my legs.
SIR TOBY. I mean, to go, sir, to enter.
VIOLA. I will answer you with gait and entrance. But we are
prevented.
Enter OLIVIA and MARIA
Most excellent accomplish'd lady, the heavens rain odours on you!
AGUECHEEK. That youth's a rare courtier- 'Rain odours' well!
VIOLA. My matter hath no voice, lady, but to your own most pregnant
and vouchsafed car.
AGUECHEEK. 'Odours,' 'pregnant,' and 'vouchsafed'- I'll get 'em all
three all ready.
OLIVIA. Let the garden door be shut, and leave me to my hearing.
[Exeunt all but OLIVIA and VIOLA] Give me your hand, sir.
VIOLA. My duty, madam, and most humble service.
OLIVIA. What is your name?
VIOLA. Cesario is your servant's name, fair Princess.
OLIVIA. My servant, sir! 'Twas never merry world
Since lowly feigning was call'd compliment.
Y'are servant to the Count Orsino, youth.
VIOLA.
OLIVIA. For him, I think not on him; for his thoughts,
Would they were blanks rather than fill'd with me!
VIOLA. Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts
On his behalf.
OLIVIA. O, by your leave, I pray you:
I bade you never speak again of him;
But, would you undertake another suit,
I had rather hear you to solicit that
Than music from the spheres.
VIOLA. Dear lady-
OLIVIA. Give me leave, beseech you. I did send,
After the last enchantment you did here,
A ring in chase of you; so did I abuse
Myself, my servant, and, I fear me, you.
Under your hard construction must I sit,
To force that on you in a shameful cunning
Which you knew none of yours. What might you think?
Have you not set mine honour at the stake,
And baited it with all th' unmuzzled thoughts
That tyrannous heart can think? To one of your receiving
Enough is shown: a cypress, not a bosom,
Hides my heart. So, let me hear you speak.
VIOLA. I Pity YOU.
OLIVIA. That's a degree to love.
VIOLA. No, not a grize; for 'tis a vulgar proof
That very oft we pity enemies.
OLIVIA. Why, then, methinks 'tis time to smile again.
O world, how apt the poor are to be proud!
If one should be a prey, how much the better
To fall before the lion than the wolf! [Clock strikes]
The clock upbraids me with the waste of time.
Be not afraid, good youth; I will not have you;
And yet, when wit and youth is come to harvest,
Your wife is like to reap a proper man.
There lies your way, due west.
VIOLA. Then westward-ho!
Grace and good disposition attend your ladyship!
You'll nothing, madam, to my lord by me?
OLIVIA. Stay.
I prithee tell me what thou think'st of me.
VIOLA. That you do think you are not what you are.
OLIVIA. If I think so, I think the same of you.
VIOLA. Then think you right: I am not what I am.
OLIVIA. I would you were as I would have you be!
VIOLA. Would it be better, madam, than I am?
I wish it might, for now I am your fool.
OLIVIA. O, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful
In the contempt and anger of his lip!
A murd'rous guilt shows not itself more soon
Than love that would seem hid: love's night is noon.
Cesario, by the roses of the spring,
By maidhood, honour, truth, and every thing,
I love thee so that, maugre all thy pride,
Nor wit nor reason can my passion hide.
Do not extort thy reasons from this clause,
For that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause;
But rather reason thus with reason fetter:
Love sought is good, but given unsought is better.
VIOLA. By innocence I swear, and by my youth,
I have one heart, one bosom, and one truth,
And that no woman has; nor never none
Shall mistress be of it, save I alone.
And so adieu, good madam; never more
Will I my master's tears to you deplore.
OLIVIA. Yet come again; for thou perhaps mayst move
That heart which now abhors to like his love. Exeunt
Enter SIR TOBY, SIR ANDREW and FABIAN
AGUECHEEK. No, faith, I'll not stay a jot longer.
SIR TOBY. Thy reason, dear venom, give thy reason.
FABIAN. You must needs yield your reason, Sir Andrew.
AGUECHEEK. Marry, I saw your niece do more favours to the Count's
servingman than ever she bestow'd upon me; I saw't i' th'
orchard.
SIR TOBY. Did she see thee the while, old boy? Tell me that.
AGUECHEEK. As plain as I see you now.
FABIAN. This was a great argument of love in her toward you.
AGUECHEEK.
FABIAN. I will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the oaths of judgment
and reason.
SIR TOBY. And they have been grand-jurymen since before Noah was a
sailor.
FABIAN.  You should then have
accosted her; and with some excellent jests, fire-new from the
mint, you should have bang'd the youth into dumbness. This was
look'd for at your hand, and this was baulk'd. The double gilt of
this opportunity you let time wash off, and you are now sail'd
into the north of my lady's opinion; where you will hang like an
icicle on Dutchman's beard, unless you do redeem it by some
laudable attempt either of valour or policy.
AGUECHEEK. An't be any way, it must be with valour, for policy I
hate; I had as lief be a Brownist as a politician.
SIR TOBY. Why, then, build me thy fortunes upon the basis of
valour. Challenge me the Count's youth to fight with him; hurt
him in eleven places. My niece shall take note of it; and assure
thyself there is no love-broker in the world can more prevail in
man's commendation with woman than report of valour.
FABIAN. There is no way but this, Sir Andrew.
AGUECHEEK. Will either of you bear me a challenge to him?
SIR TOBY. Go, write it in a martial hand; be curst and brief; it is
no matter how witty, so it be eloquent and full of invention.
Taunt him with the license of ink; if thou thou'st him some
thrice, it shall not be amiss; and as many lies as will lie in
thy sheet of paper, although the sheet were big enough for the
bed of Ware in England, set 'em down; go about it. Let there be
gall enough in thy ink, though thou write with a goose-pen, no
matter. About it.
AGUECHEEK. Where shall I find you?
SIR TOBY. We'll call thee at the cubiculo. Go.
Exit SIR ANDREW
FABIAN. This is a dear manakin to you, Sir Toby.
SIR TOBY. I have been dear to him, lad- some two thousand strong,
or so.
FABIAN. We shall have a rare letter from him; but you'll not
deliver't?
SIR TOBY. Never trust me then; and by all means stir on the youth
to an answer. I think oxen and wainropes cannot hale them
together. For Andrew, if he were open'd and you find so much
blood in his liver as will clog the foot of a flea, I'll eat the
rest of th' anatomy.
FABIAN. And his opposite, the youth, bears in his visage no great
presage of cruelty.
Enter MARIA
SIR TOBY. Look where the youngest wren of nine comes.
MARIA. If you desire the spleen, and will laugh yourselves into
stitches, follow me. Yond gull Malvolio is turned heathen, a very
renegado; for there is no Christian that means to be saved by
believing rightly can ever believe such impossible passages of
grossness. He's in yellow stockings.
SIR TOBY. And cross-garter'd?
MARIA. Most villainously; like a pedant that keeps a school i' th'
church. I have dogg'd him like his murderer. He does obey every
point of the letter that I dropp'd to betray him. He does smile
his face into more lines than is in the new map with the
augmentation of the Indies. You have not seen such a thing as
'tis; I can hardly forbear hurling things at him. I know my lady
will strike him; if she do, he'll smile and take't for a great
favour.
SIR TOBY. Come, bring us, bring us where he is. Exeunt
Enter SEBASTIAN and ANTONIO
SEBASTIAN. I would not by my will have troubled you;
But since you make your pleasure of your pains,
I will no further chide you.
ANTONIO. I could not stay behind you: my desire,
More sharp than filed steel, did spur me forth;
And not all love to see you- though so much
As might have drawn one to a longer voyage-
But jealousy what might befall your travel,
Being skilless in these parts; which to a stranger,
Unguided and unfriended, often prove
Rough and unhospitable. My willing love,
The rather by these arguments of fear,
Set forth in your pursuit.
SEBASTIAN. My kind Antonio,
I can no other answer make but thanks,
And thanks, and ever thanks; and oft good turns
Are shuffl'd off with such uncurrent pay;
But were my worth as is my conscience firm,
You should find better dealing. What's to do?
Shall we go see the reliques of this town?
ANTONIO. To-morrow, sir; best first go see your lodging.
SEBASTIAN. I am not weary, and 'tis long to night;
I pray you, let us satisfy our eyes
With the memorials and the things of fame
That do renown this city.
ANTONIO. Would you'd pardon me.
I do not without danger walk these streets:
Once in a sea-fight 'gainst the Count his galleys
I did some service; of such note, indeed,
That, were I ta'en here, it would scarce be answer'd.
SEBASTIAN. Belike you slew great number of his people.

It might have since been answer'd in repaying
What we took from them; which, for traffic's sake,
Most of our city did. Only myself stood out;
For which, if I be lapsed in this place,
I shall pay dear.
SEBASTIAN. Do not then walk too open.
ANTONIO. It doth not fit me. Hold, sir, here's my purse;
In the south suburbs, at the Elephant,
Is best to lodge. I will bespeak our diet,
Whiles you beguile the time and feed your knowledge
With viewing of the town; there shall you have me.
SEBASTIAN. Why I your purse?
ANTONIO. Haply your eye shall light upon some toy
You have desire to purchase; and your store,
I think, is not for idle markets, sir.
SEBASTIAN. I'll be your purse-bearer, and leave you for
An hour.
ANTONIO. To th' Elephant.
SEBASTIAN. I do remember. Exeunt
Enter OLIVIA and MARIA
OLIVIA. I have sent after him; he says he'll come.
How shall I feast him? What bestow of him?
For youth is bought more oft than begg'd or borrow'd.
I speak too loud.
Where's Malvolio? He is sad and civil,
And suits well for a servant with my fortunes.
Where is Malvolio?
MARIA. He's coming, madam; but in very strange manner.
He is sure possess'd, madam.
OLIVIA. Why, what's the matter? Does he rave?
MARIA. No, madam, he does nothing but smile. Your ladyship were
best to have some guard about you if he come; for sure the man is
tainted in's wits.
OLIVIA.  Exit MARIA
I am as mad as he,
If sad and merry madness equal be.
Re-enter MARIA with MALVOLIO
How now, Malvolio!
MALVOLIO. Sweet lady, ho, ho.
OLIVIA. Smil'st thou?
I sent for thee upon a sad occasion.
MALVOLIO. Sad, lady? I could be sad. This does make some
obstruction in the blood, this cross-gartering; but what of that?
If it please the eye of one, it is with me as the very true
sonnet is: 'Please one and please all.'
OLIVIA. Why, how dost thou, man? What is the matter with thee?
MALVOLIO. Not black in my mind, though yellow in my legs.
It did come to his hands, and commands shall be executed.
I think we do know the sweet Roman hand.
OLIVIA. Wilt thou go to bed, Malvolio?
MALVOLIO. To bed? Ay, sweetheart, and I'll come to thee.
OLIVIA. God comfort thee!
MARIA. How do you, Malvolio?
MALVOLIO. At your request? Yes, nightingales answer daws!
MARIA.
MALVOLIO. 'Be not afraid of greatness.' 'Twas well writ.
OLIVIA. What mean'st thou by that, Malvolio?
AIALVOLIO. 'Some are born great,'-
OLIVIA. Ha?
MALVOLIO. 'Some achieve greatness,'-
OLIVIA. What say'st thou?
MALVOLIO. 'And some have greatness thrust upon them.'
OLIVIA. Heaven restore thee!
MALVOLIO. 'Remember who commended thy yellow stockings,'-
OLIVIA. 'Thy yellow stockings?'
MALVOLIO. 'And wish'd to see thee cross-garterd.'
OLIVIA. 'Cross-garter'd?'
MALVOLIO. 'Go to, thou an made, if thou desir'st to be so';-
OLIVIA. Am I made?
MALVOLIO. 'If not, let me see thee a servant still.'
OLIVIA. Why, this is very midsummer madness.
Enter SERVANT
SERVANT. Madam, the young gentleman of the Count Orsino's is
return'd; I could hardly entreat him back; he attends your
ladyship's pleasure.
OLIVIA. I'll come to him. [Exit SERVANT] Good Maria, let this
fellow be look'd to. Where's my cousin Toby? Let some of my
people have a special care of him; I would not have him miscarry
for the half of my dowry.
Exeunt OLIVIA and MARIA
MALVOLIO. O, ho! do you come near me now? No worse man than Sir
Toby to look to me! This concurs directly with the letter: she
sends him on purpose, that I may appear stubborn to him; for she
incites me to that in the letter. 'Cast thy humble slough,' says
she.  I have lim'd her; but it is
Jove's doing, and Jove make me thankful! And when she went away
now- 'Let this fellow be look'd to.' 'Fellow,' not 'Malvolio' nor
after my degree, but 'fellow.' Why, everything adheres together,
that no dram of a scruple, no scruple of a scruple, no obstacle,
no incredulous or unsafe circumstance- What can be said? Nothing
that can be can come between me and the full prospect of my
hopes. Well, Jove, not I, is the doer of this, and he is to be
thanked.
Re-enter MARIA, with SIR TOBY and FABIAN
SIR TOBY. Which way is he, in the name of sanctity? If all the
devils of hell be drawn in little, and Legion himself possess'd
him, yet I'll speak to him.
FABIAN. Here he is, here he is. How is't with you, sir?
SIR TOBY. How is't with you, man?
MALVOLIO.
MARIA. Lo, how hollow the fiend speaks within him! Did not I tell
you? Sir Toby, my lady prays you to have a care of him.
MALVOLIO. Ah, ha! does she so?
SIR TOBY. Go to, go to; peace, peace; we must deal gently with him.
Let me alone. How do you, Malvolio? How is't with you? What, man,
defy the devil; consider, he's an enemy to mankind.
MALVOLIO. Do you know what you say?
MARIA. La you, an you speak ill of the devil, how he takes it at
heart! Pray God he be not bewitched.
FABIAN. Carry his water to th' wise woman.
MARIA. Marry, and it shall be done to-morrow morning, if I live. My
lady would not lose him for more than I'll say.
MALVOLIO. How now, mistress!
MARIA. O Lord!
SIR TOBY. Prithee hold thy peace; this is not the way. Do you not
see you move him? Let me alone with him.
FABIAN. No way but gentleness- gently, gently. The fiend is rough,
and will not be roughly us'd.
SIR TOBY. Why, how now, my bawcock!
How dost thou, chuck?
MALVOLIO. Sir!
SIR TOBY. Ay, Biddy, come with me. What, man, 'tis not for gravity
to play at cherrypit with Satan. Hang him, foul collier!
MARIA. Get him to say his prayers, good Sir Toby, get him to pray.
MALVOLIO. My prayers, minx!
MARIA. No, I warrant you, he will not hear of godliness.
MALVOLIO. Go, hang yourselves all!
Exit
SIR TOBY. Is't possible?
FABIAN. If this were play'd upon a stage now, I could condemn it as
an improbable fiction.
SIR TOBY. His very genius hath taken the infection of the device,
man.
MARIA. Nay, pursue him now, lest the device take air and taint.
FABIAN. Why, we shall make him mad indeed.
MARIA. The house will be the quieter.
SIR TOBY. Come, we'll have him in a dark room and bound. My niece
is already in the belief that he's mad. We may carry it thus, for
our pleasure and his penance, till our very pastime, tired out of
breath, prompt us to have mercy on him; at which time we will
bring the device to the bar and crown thee for a finder of
madmen. But see, but see.
Enter SIR ANDREW
FABIAN. More matter for a May morning.
AGUECHEEK. Here's the challenge; read it. I warrant there's vinegar
and pepper in't.
FABIAN. Is't so saucy?
AGUECHEEK. Ay, is't, I warrant him; do but read.
SIR TOBY. Give me. [Reads] 'Youth, whatsoever thou art, thou art
but a scurvy fellow.'
FABIAN. Good and valiant.
SIR TOBY. [Reads] 'Wonder not, nor admire not in thy mind, why I do
call thee so, for I will show thee no reason for't.'
FABIAN. A good note; that keeps you from the blow of the law.
SIR TOBY. [Reads] 'Thou com'st to the Lady Olivia, and in my sight
she uses thee kindly; but thou liest in thy throat; that is not
the matter I challenge thee for.'
FABIAN. Very brief, and to exceeding good sense- less.
SIR TOBY. [Reads] 'I will waylay thee going home; where if it be
thy chance to kill me'-
FABIAN. Good.
SIR TOBY. 'Thou kill'st me like a rogue and a villain.'
FABIAN. Still you keep o' th' windy side of the law. Good!
SIR TOBY. [Reads] 'Fare thee well; and God have mercy upon one of
our souls! He may have mercy upon mine; but my hope is better,
and so look to thyself. Thy friend, as thou usest him, and thy
sworn enemy,
ANDREW AGUECHEEK.'
If this letter move him not, his legs cannot. I'll give't him.
MARIA. You may have very fit occasion for't; he is now in some
commerce with my lady, and will by and by depart.
SIR TOBY.  Nay, let me alone for swearing. Exit
SIR TOBY. Now will not I deliver his letter; for the behaviour of
the young gentleman gives him out to be of good capacity and
breeding; his employment between his lord and my niece confirms
no less. Therefore this letter, being so excellently ignorant,
will breed no terror in the youth: he will find it comes from a
clodpole. But, sir, I will deliver his challenge by word of
mouth, set upon Aguecheek notable report of valour, and drive the
gentleman- as know his youth will aptly receive it- into a most
hideous opinion of his rage, skill, fury, and impetuosity. This
will so fright them both that they will kill one another by the
look, like cockatrices.
Re-enter OLIVIA. With VIOLA
FABIAN. Here he comes with your niece; give them way till he take
leave, and presently after him.
SIR TOBY. I will meditate the while upon some horrid message for a
challenge.
Exeunt SIR TOBY, FABIAN, and MARIA
OLIVIA. I have said too much unto a heart of stone,
And laid mine honour too unchary out;
There's something in me that reproves my fault;
But such a headstrong potent fault it is
That it but mocks reproof.
VIOLA. With the same haviour that your passion bears
Goes on my master's griefs.
OLIVIA. Here, wear this jewel for me; 'tis my picture.
Refuse it not; it hath no tongue to vex you.
And I beseech you come again to-morrow.
What shall you ask of me that I'll deny,
That honour sav'd may upon asking give?
VIOLA. Nothing but this- your true love for my master.
OLIVIA. How with mine honour may I give him that
Which I have given to you?
VIOLA. I will acquit you.
OLIVIA. Well, come again to-morrow.  Exit
Re-enter SIR TOBY and SIR FABIAN