12th Nite, Act II

Twelfth Night, Act II

ACT II, SCENE 1.	IF YOU LEAVE ME NOWŠ

[IMusic: Green Day's "When I Come Around." llyria. The sea-
coast. Enter ANTONIO and SEBASTIAN with a duffel bag.]

      ANTONIO.
Will you stay no longer? nor wish 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 yet know of you where you are bound.

      SEBASTIAN.
No: my intended voyage is mere wandering. But I perceive in you 
so excellent a touch of modesty, therefore it charges me to express 
myself. You must know of me, then, Antonio, my name is 
Sebastian, which I called Roderigo. My father was that Sebastian of 
Messaline, whom I know you have heard of. He left behind myself 
and a sister, both born in an hour: if the heavens had been pleased, 
would we had so ended! but you altered that: for some hour before 
you took me from the breach of the sea was my sister drowned. 
      ANTONIO.
Alas the day! 
      SEBASTIAN.
A lady, 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 a mind that envy could not but call fair. She 
is drowned already, with salt water, though I seem to drown her 
remembrance again with more. 
      ANTONIO.
Let me be your servant.
      SEBASTIAN.
Fare you well at once: I am yet so near the manners of my mother, 
that, upon the least occasion more, my 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 you!
I have many enemies in Orsino's court,
Else would I very shortly see you there:
But, come what may, I do respect you so,
That danger shall seem sport, and I will go. [Exit.]


[The action is continuous from II, 1 to II, 2.

ACT II, SCENE 2.	THE TRIANGLE

[A city in Illyria. A street. Enter VIOLA, MALVOLIO following.]

      MALVOLIO.
Were not you even now with the Countess Olivia? 
       VIOLA.
Even now, sir.
      MALVOLIO.
She returns this ring to you, sir: you might have saved me my pains, 
to have taken it away yourself. She adds, moreover, that you should 
put your lord into a desperate assurance she will none of him: and 
one thing more, that you be never so hardy to come again in his 
affairs, unless it be to report your lord's taking of this. Receive it 
so.
       VIOLA.
She took no 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 returned: 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 charmed her!
She made good view of me; indeed, so much,
That, sure, I thought, 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, you are a wickedness.
How will this end? my master loves her dearly;
And I, poor monster, dote as much on him;
And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me.
O Time, you must untangle this, not I;
It is too hard a knot for me t'untie! [Exit.] 


 ACT II, SCENE 3.	NIGHT FEVER

[Music: Bee Gees' "Night Fever." Olivia's house. Enter SIR TOBY 
and SIR ANDREW, each with a can of beer.]

     SIR TOBY BELCH.
Approach, Sir Andrew: not to be a-bed after midnight is to be up 
early, you know,-- 
      SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK.
Nay, by my troth, I know not: but I know, to be up late is to be up 
late. 
     SIR TOBY BELCH.
A false conclusion: I hate it as an unfilled can. [He tries to crush a 
beer can] To be up after midnight, and to go to bed then, is early: so 
that to go to bed after midnight is to go to bed betimes. Does not our 
life consist of the four elements? 
      SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK.
Faith, so they say; but, I think, it rather consists of eating and 
drinking.
      SIR TOBY BELCH.
You are a scholar: let us therefore eat and drink. Maria, I say! a cup 
of wine!
      SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK.
Here comes the fool, i' faith.
 [Enter CLOWN.]
      CLOWN.
How now, my hearts!
     SIR TOBY BELCH.
Welcome, ass. Now let's have a song. 
      SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK.
By my troth, the fool has an excellent voice. I wish I had so sweet a 
breath to sing, as the fool has. [Feste inhales Sir Andrew's breath, 
which reeks.]  Now, a song.
     SIR TOBY BELCH.
Come on; there is sixpence for you: let's have a song.
      SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK.
There's a testril of me too; if one knight give a--
      CLOWN. [Interrupting]
Would you have a love-song, or a song of good life?
     SIR TOBY BELCH.
A love-song, a love-song. 

      SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK.
Ay, ay: I care not for good life.
       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 does know. 
      SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK.
Excellent good, i' faith. 
     SIR TOBY BELCH.
Good, good.
       CLOWN [sings].
	What is love? 'tis not hereafter; 
	Present mirth has present laughter; 
	What's to come is still unsure: 
 	In delay there lies no plenty; 
	Then come kiss me, sweet-and-twenty, 
	Youth's a stuff will not endure.
      SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK.
A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight.
     SIR TOBY BELCH.
A contagious breath.
      SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK.
Very sweet and contagious, i' faith.
     SIR TOBY BELCH.
But shall we make the sky dance indeed? shall we rouse the night-
owl in a song that will draw three souls out of one weaver? Shall we 
do that?
      SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK.
An you love me, let's do't. Let our song be, "Thou knave."
      CLOWN.
"Hold your peace, thou knave," knight? I shall be constrained in't to 
call you knave, knight.
      SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK.
'Tis not the first time I have constrained one to call me knave. 
Begin, fool: it begins, "Hold your peace."
      CLOWN.
I shall never begin, if I hold my peace. 
      SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK.
Good, i' faith. Come, begin. [Catch sung.] 
 [Enter MARIA.]
      MARIA.
What a caterwauling do you keep here! If my lady has not called up 
her steward Malvolio, and bid him turn you out of doors, never trust 
me. 
     SIR TOBY BELCH. [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. 
      SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK.
Ay, he does well enough if he be disposed, and so do I too: he does 
it with a better grace, but I do it more natural.
     SIR TOBY BELCH. [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 sense, 
manners, nor honesty, but to gabble like tinkers at this time of 
night? Do you make an ale-house of my lady's house, that you 
squeak out your cobblers' catches without any mitigation or remorse 
of voice? Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time, in you?
     SIR TOBY BELCH.
We did keep time, sir, in our catches. Sneck-up! [He makes a rude 
gesture]
      MALVOLIO.
Sir Toby, I must be plain with you. My lady bade me tell you, that, 
though she harbors you as her kinsman, she's nothing allied to your 
disorders. If you can separate yourself and your misdemeanors, you 
are welcome to the house; if not, if it would please you to take leave 
of her, she's very willing to bid you farewell.
     SIR TOBY BELCH. [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 BELCH. [sings]
"But I will never die." 
      CLOWN. [sings]
"Sir Toby, there you lie."
     SIR TOBY BELCH. [sings]
"Shall I bid him go?"
      CLOWN. [sings]
"What and if you do?"
     SIR TOBY BELCH. [sings]
"Shall I bid him go, and spare not?"
      CLOWN. [sings]
"O, no, no, no, no, you dare not." 
     SIR TOBY BELCH.
You lie.-- [To Malvolio]  Are you any more than a steward? Do you 
think, because you are virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and 
ale? -- A cup of wine, Maria! [She gets it to defy Malvolio]
      MALVOLIO.
Mistress Mary, if you prized my lady's favor at any thing 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.
      SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK.
'Twere as good a deed as to drink when a man's a-hungry, to 
challenge him the field, and then to break promise with him, and 
make a fool of him.
     SIR TOBY BELCH.
Do't, knight: I'll write you a challenge; or I'll deliver your 
indignation to him by word of mouth.
      MARIA.
Sweet Sir Toby, be patient for tonight; since the youth of the count's 
was today with my lady, she is much out of quiet. For Monsieur 
Malvolio, let me alone with him: if I do not gull him, 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 BELCH.
Tell us something of him.
      MARIA.
Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of puritan.
      SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK.
O, if I thought that, I'd beat him like a dog!
      MARIA.
The devil a puritan that he is, the best persuaded of himself, so 
crammed, 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 BELCH.
What will you do? 
      MARIA.
I will drop in his way some obscure epistles of love; wherein, by the 
color 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 represented: I can write very like my lady, 
your niece; on a forgotten matter we can hardly make distinction of 
our hands. 
     SIR TOBY BELCH.
Excellent! I smell a device.
      SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK.
I have't in my nose too. [Picks his nose]
     SIR TOBY BELCH.
He shall think, by the letters that you will drop, that they come from 
my niece, and that she's in love with him. 
      SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK.
O, 'twill be admirable!
      MARIA.
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 
understanding of it. For this night, to bed, and dream on the event. 
Farewell. 
     SIR TOBY BELCH.
Good night, Penthesilea. [Exit MARIA.] 
      SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK.
Before me, she's a good wench. 
     SIR TOBY BELCH.
She's a beagle, true-bred, and one that adores me.
      SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK.
I was adored once too.
     SIR TOBY BELCH.
Let's to bed, knight.-- You had need send for more money.
      SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK.
If I cannot recover your niece, I am a foul way out.
     SIR TOBY BELCH.
Send for money, knight: if you have her not i' th' end, call me cut.
      SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK.
If I do not, never trust me, take it how you will.
     SIR TOBY BELCH.
Come, come; I'll go heat some wine; 'tis too late to go to bed now: 
come, knight; come, knight. [Exeunt.]



ACT II, SCENE 4.	CONSTANT CRAVING

[Music: "Constant Craving." The Duke's palace. Enter DUKE, 
VIOLA, CURIO, THE CLOWN, and others.]

      ORSINO
Give me some music:--
Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song,
That old and antique song we heard last night:
I thought it did relieve my passion much, 
Come, but one verse. 
[The CLOWN tunes his guitar.] 
      ORSINO
Mark it, Cesario; it is simple truth,
And dallies with the innocence of love.
      CLOWN [to VIOLA].
Are you ready, sir?
      VIOLA
Ay. 
[The CLOWN plays as VIOLA sings.] 

       VIOLA [sings].
	Come away, come away, death,
		And in sad cypress let me be laid; 
	Fly away, fly away, breath; 
		I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
	My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, 
		O, prepare it! 
	My part of death, no one so true
		Did share it.
	Not a flower, not a flower sweet, 
		On my black coffin let there be strown;
	Not a friend, not a friend greet
		My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown:
	A thousand thousand sighs to save,
		Lay me, O, where
	Sad true lover never find my grave,
		To weep there! 
      ORSINO
There's for your pains. 
      CLOWN.
No pains, sir; I take pleasure in playing, sir.
      ORSINO
I'll pay your pleasure, then. 
      CLOWN.
Now, the melancholy god protect you; farewell. [Exit.]
      ORSINO
Let all the rest withdraw. [Exeunt CURIO and ATTENDANTS.]
      ORSINO
How do you like this tune?
       VIOLA.
It gives a very echo to the seat
Where Love is throned. 
      ORSINO
				You do speak masterly:
My life upon't, young though you are, your eye
Has stayed upon some favor that it loves;--
Has it not, boy?

       VIOLA.
			A little, by your favor.
      ORSINO
What kind of woman is't?
       VIOLA.
			Of your complexion.
      ORSINO
She is not worth you, then. What years, i' faith?
       VIOLA.
About your years, my lord.
      ORSINO
Too old, by heaven.
				Once more, Cesario,
Get you to yond same sovereign cruelty: 
Tell her, my love, more noble than the world,
The parts that Fortune has bestowed upon her, 
Tell her, I hold as giddily as Fortune.
       VIOLA.
But if she cannot love you, sir?
      ORSINO
I cannot be so answered.
       VIOLA.
			True, but you must.
Say that some lady-- as, perhaps, there is--
Has for your love as great a pang of heart 
As you have for Olivia.
      ORSINO
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,--
      ORSINO
What do you 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 loved a man,
As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman,
I should your lordship.
      ORSINO
 			And what's her history?
       VIOLA.
A blank, my lord. She never told her love, 
But let concealment, like a worm i' th'bud,
Feed on her rosy cheek: she pined in thought.
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.
      ORSINO
But died your 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?
      ORSINO
 				Ay, that's the theme.
To her in haste; give her this jewel; say, 
My love can give no place, bide no delay. 

[VIOLA exits. ORSINO remains  as romantic music swells. he 
exits.]



ACT II, SCENE 5.	JIVE TALKING.

[Olivia's garden. Enter SIR TOBY, SIR ANDREW, and FABIAN.]
     SIR TOBY BELCH.
Come your ways, Signior Fabian.
      FABIAN.
Nay, I'll come: if I lose a scruple of this sport, let me be boiled to 
death with melancholy. I would exult, man: you know he brought 
me out o' favor recently.
     SIR TOBY BELCH.
We will fool him black and blue:-- shall we not, Sir Andrew?
      SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK.
If we do not, it is pity of our lives.
     SIR TOBY BELCH.
Here comes the little villain.
 [Enter MARIA.]
How now, my golden girl!
      MARIA.
Get you all three there. [She sits them in the front row]  Malvolio's 
coming down this walk: he has been yonder i' the sun practicing 
behavior to his own shadow this half-hour: observe him, for the 
love of mockery; for I know this letter will make a contemplative 
idiot of him. Hide, in the name of jesting! Lie you there [throws 
down a letter];  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 like 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 serves her. What should I 
think of't? 
     SIR TOBY BELCH.
Here's an overweening rogue! 
      FABIAN.
O, peace! Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock of him: how he 
struts under his advanced plumes!
      SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK.
I could so beat the rogue!
     SIR TOBY BELCH.
Peace, I say. 
      MALVOLIO.
To be Count Malvolio,-- 
     SIR TOBY BELCH.
Ah, rogue! 
      FABIAN.
O, peace! now he's deeply in: look how imagination swells him. 
      MALVOLIO.
Having been three months married to her, sitting in my state,-- 
calling my officers about me, in my branched velvet gown; having 
come from a day-bed, where I have left Olivia sleeping,-- 

     SIR TOBY BELCH [stands].
Fire and brimstone! 
      FABIAN [pulls SIR TOBY down].
O, peace, peace! 
      MALVOLIO.
And then to have the humor of state; and after a demure travel of 
regard,-- [royal wave]  telling them I know my place, as I would 
they should do theirs,-- to ask for my kinsman Toby,-- 
     SIR TOBY BELCH.
Bolts and shackles! 
      FABIAN.
O, peace, now!
      MALVOLIO.
Seven of my people, with an obedient start, make out for him: I 
frown the while; and perhaps wind up my watch, or play with some 
rich jewel. Toby approaches; court'sies there to me,-- 
     SIR TOBY BELCH.
Shall this fellow live?
      MALVOLIO.
I extend my hand to him thus, quenching my familiar smile with an 
austere regard of control,--
     SIR TOBY BELCH.
And does not Toby give 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 BELCH.
What, what?
      MALVOLIO.
"You must amend your drunkenness." 
     SIR TOBY BELCH.
Out, scab! 
      FABIAN.
Nay, patience, or we break the sinews of our plot.
      MALVOLIO.
"Besides, you waste the treasure of your time with a foolish 
knight,"--
      SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK.
That's me, I warrant you. 
      MALVOLIO.
"One Sir Andrew,"--
      SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK.
I knew 'twas I; for many do call me fool.
      MALVOLIO.
What employment have we here? [Others freeze; Malvolio picks up 
the letter.]
      FABIAN.
Now is the woodcock near the snare.
      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, beyond 
question, her hand.
      SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK.
Her C's, her U's, and her T's: why that? 
      MALVOLIO. [reads]
"To the unknown beloved, this, and my good wishes:" her very 
phrases!--  'tis my lady. To whom should this be? [Opens it]
      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?-- if this should be you, 
Malvolio? 
[reads]
	"I may command where I adore;
	But silence, like a Lucrece knife, 
	With bloodless stroke my heart does gore:
	M, O, A, I, does sway my life." 
      FABIAN.
A fustian riddle!
     SIR TOBY BELCH.
Excellent wench, say I.
      MALVOLIO.
"M, O, A, I, does sway my life."-- Nay, but first, let me see,-- let 
me see,-- let me see.

      FABIAN.
What dish o' poison has she served him!
      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 BELCH.
O, ay, make up that:-- he is now at a cold scent. 
      MALVOLIO.
M,-- Malvolio;-- M,-- why, that begins my name. But then A 
should follow, but O does.
      FABIAN.
And O shall end, I hope. 
     SIR TOBY BELCH.
Ay, or I'll cudgel him, and make him cry O!
      MALVOLIO [turns his back on them].
And then I comes behind. 
      FABIAN.
Ay, if you had any eye behind you, you might see more detraction at 
your heels than fortunes before you.
      MALVOLIO.
M, O, A, I;-- and yet, to force 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 your hand, reflect. In my stars I am above 
you; but be not afraid of greatness: some are born great, some 
achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon 'em. Your 
Fates open their hands; let your blood and spirit embrace them: and, 
to accustom yourself to what you are like to be, cast your humble 
skin, and appear  fresh. Be opposite with a kinsman, surly with 
servants; put yourself into the trick of eccentricity: she thus advises 
you that sighs for you. Remember who commended your yellow 
stockings, and wished to see you ever cross-suspendered: I say, 
remember. You are made, if you desire to be so; if not, let me see 
you a steward still, and not worthy to touch Fortune's fingers. 
Farewell. The Fortunate-Unhappy." Daylight discovers not more: 
this is open. I will be proud, I will baffle Sir Toby, I will wash off 
gross acquaintance, I will be 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 being cross-suspendered; 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-suspendered, even 
with the swiftness of putting on. Jove and my stars be praised!-Here 
is yet a postscript. [reads]  "You can not choose but know who I 
am. If you entertain my love, let it appear in your  smiling: your 
smiles become you well; therefore in my presence still smile, dear 
my sweet, I pray you." Jove, I thank you.-- I will smile; I will do 
every thing that you will have me. [Exit.]
      FABIAN.
I will not give my part of this sport for a pension of thousands. 
     SIR TOBY BELCH.
I could marry this wench for this device,-- 
      SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK.
So could I too. 
      FABIAN.
Here comes my noble gull-catcher. 
 [Enter MARIA.]
     SIR TOBY BELCH.
Shall I become your bond-slave? 
      SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK.
I' faith, or I either?
     SIR TOBY BELCH.
Why, you have 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 BELCH.
Like aqua-vitae with a midwife. [Salutes her with a hip-flask.]
      MARIA.
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 
color she abhors, and cross-suspendered, 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 BELCH.
To the gates of Hades, you most excellent devil of wit! 
	[Exeunt. Music: Bee Gees' "Jive Talkin'."] 

[INTERMISSION, WITH MUSIC,
FOLLOWED BY THE INTERLUDE.]
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