Twelfth Night

The Project Gutenberg eBook of Twelfth Night The Project Gutenberg eBook of Twelfth Night This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org . If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook. Title : Twelfth Night Author : William Shakespeare Release date : December 1, 1997 [eBook #1123] Most recently updated: September 23, 2025 Language : English Other information and formats : www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1123 *** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TWELFTH NIGHT *** Executive Director's Notes: In addition to the notes below, and so you will *NOT* think all the spelling errors introduced by the printers of the time have been corrected, here are the first few lines of Hamlet, as they are presented herein: Barnardo. Who's there? Fran. Nay answer me: Stand & vnfold your selfe Bar. Long liue the King * * * * * As I understand it, the printers often ran out of certain words or letters they had often packed into a "cliche". . .this is the original meaning of the term cliche. . .and thus, being unwilling to unpack the cliches, and thus you will see some substitutions that look very odd. . .such as the exchanges of u for v, v for u, above. . .and you may wonder why they did it this way, presuming Shakespeare did not actually write the play in this manner. . . . The answer is that they MAY have packed "liue" into a cliche at a time when they were out of "v"'s. . .possibly having used "vv" in place of some "w"'s, etc. This was a common practice of the day, as print was still quite expensive, and they didn't want to spend more on a wider selection of characters than they had to. You will find a lot of these kinds of "errors" in this text, as I have mentioned in other times and places, many "scholars" have an extreme attachment to these errors, and many have accorded them a very high place in the "canon" of Shakespeare. My father read an assortment of these made available to him by Cambridge University in England for several months in a glass room constructed for the purpose. To the best of my knowledge he read ALL those available . . .in great detail. . .and determined from the various changes, that Shakespeare most likely did not write in nearly as many of a variety of errors we credit him for, even though he was in/famous for signing his name with several different spellings. So, please take this into account when reading the comments below made by our volunteer who prepared this file: you may see errors that are "not" errors. . . . So. . .with this caveat. . .we have NOT changed the canon errors, here is the Project Gutenberg Etext of Shakespeare's play. Michael S. Hart Project Gutenberg Executive Director * * * * * Scanner's Notes: What this is and isn't. This was taken from a copy of Shakespeare's first folio and it is as close as I can come in ASCII to the printed text. The elongated S's have been changed to small s's and the conjoined ae have been changed to ae. I have left the spelling, punctuation, capitalization as close as possible to the printed text. I have corrected some spelling mistakes (I have put together a spelling dictionary devised from the spellings of the Geneva Bible and Shakespeare's First Folio and have unified spellings according to this template), typo's and expanded abbreviations as I have come across them. Everything within brackets [] is what I have added. So if you don't like that you can delete everything within the brackets if you want a purer Shakespeare. Another thing that you should be aware of is that there are textual differences between various copies of the first folio. So there may be differences (other than what I have mentioned above) between this and other first folio editions. This is due to the printer's habit of setting the type and running off a number of copies and then proofing the printed copy and correcting the type and then continuing the printing run. The proof run wasn't thrown away but incorporated into the printed copies. This is just the way it is. The text I have used was a composite of more than 30 different First Folio editions' best pages. David Reed ===================================================================== Twelfe Night, Or what you will Actus Primus, Scaena Prima. Enter Orsino Duke of Illyria, Curio, and other Lords. Duke. If Musicke be the food of Loue, play on, Giue me excesse of it: that surfetting, The appetite may sicken, and so dye. That straine agen, it had a dying fall: O, it came ore my eare, like the sweet sound That breathes vpon a banke of Violets; Stealing, and giuing Odour. Enough, no more, 'Tis not so sweet now, as it was before. O spirit of Loue, how quicke and fresh art thou, That notwithstanding thy capacitie, Receiueth as the Sea. Nought enters there, Of what validity, and pitch so ere, But falles into abatement, and low price Euen in a minute; so full of shapes is fancie, That it alone, is high fantasticall Cu. Will you go hunt my Lord? Du. What Curio? Cu. The Hart Du. Why so I do, the Noblest that I haue: O when mine eyes did see Oliuia first, Me thought she purg'd the ayre of pestilence; That instant was I turn'd into a Hart, And my desires like fell and cruell hounds, Ere since pursue me. How now what newes from her? Enter Valentine. Val. So please my Lord, I might not be admitted, But from her handmaid do returne this answer: The Element it selfe, till seuen yeares heate, Shall not behold her face at ample view: But like a Cloystresse she will vailed walke, And water once a day her Chamber round With eye-offending brine: all this to season A brothers dead loue, which she would keepe fresh And lasting, in her sad remembrance Du. O she that hath a heart of that fine frame To pay this debt of loue but to a brother, How will she loue, when the rich golden shaft Hath kill'd the flocke of all affections else That liue in her. When Liuer, Braine, and Heart, These soueraigne thrones, are all supply'd and fill'd Her sweete perfections with one selfe king: Away before me, to sweet beds of Flowres, Loue-thoughts lye rich, when canopy'd with bowres. Exeunt. Scena Secunda. Enter Viola, a Captaine, and Saylors. Vio. What Country (Friends) is this? Cap. This is Illyria Ladie Vio. And what should I do in Illyria? My brother he is in Elizium, Perchance he is not drown'd: What thinke you saylors? Cap. It is perchance that you your selfe were saued Vio. O my poore brother, and so perchance may he be Cap. True Madam, and to comfort you with chance, Assure your selfe, after our ship did split, When you, and those poore number saued with you, Hung on our driuing boate: I saw your brother Most prouident in perill, binde himselfe, (Courage and hope both teaching him the practise) To a strong Maste, that liu'd vpon the sea: Where like Orion on the Dolphines backe, I saw him hold acquaintance with the waues, So long as I could see Vio. For saying so, there's Gold: Mine owne escape vnfoldeth to my hope, Whereto thy speech serues for authoritie The like of him. Know'st thou this Countrey? Cap. I Madam well, for I was bred and borne Not three houres trauaile from this very place Vio. Who gouernes heere? Cap. A noble Duke in nature, as in name Vio. What is his name? Cap. Orsino Vio. Orsino: I haue heard my father name him. He was a Batchellor then Cap. And so is now, or was so very late: For but a month ago I went from hence, And then 'twas fresh in murmure (as you know What great ones do, the lesse will prattle of,) That he did seeke the loue of faire Oliuia Vio. What's shee? Cap. A vertuous maid, the daughter of a Count That dide some tweluemonth since, then leauing her In the protection of his sonne, her brother, Who shortly also dide: for whose deere loue (They say) she hath abiur'd the sight And company of men Vio. O that I seru'd that Lady, And might not be deliuered to the world Till I had made mine owne occasion mellow What my estate is Cap. That were hard to compasse, Because she will admit no kinde of suite, No, not the Dukes Vio. There is a faire behauiour in thee Captaine, And though that nature, with a beauteous wall Doth oft close in pollution: yet of thee I will beleeue thou hast a minde that suites With this thy faire and outward charracter. I prethee (and Ile pay thee bounteously) Conceale me what I am, and be my ayde, For such disguise as haply shall become The forme of my intent. Ile serue this Duke, Thou shalt present me as an Eunuch to him, It may be worth thy paines: for I can sing, And speake to him in many sorts of Musicke, That will allow me very worth his seruice. What else may hap, to time I will commit, Onely shape thou thy silence to my wit Cap. Be you his Eunuch, and your Mute Ile bee, When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see Vio. I thanke thee: Lead me on. Exeunt. Scaena Tertia. Enter Sir Toby, and Maria. Sir To. What a plague meanes my Neece to take the death of her brother thus? I am sure care's an enemie to life Mar. By my troth sir Toby, you must come in earlyer a nights: your Cosin, my Lady, takes great exceptions to your ill houres To. Why let her except, before excepted Ma. I, but you must confine your selfe within the modest limits of order To. Confine? Ile confine my selfe no finer then I am: these cloathes are good enough to drinke in, and so bee these boots too: and they be not, let them hang themselues in their owne straps Ma. That quaffing and drinking will vndoe you: I heard my Lady talke of it yesterday: and of a foolish knight that you brought in one night here, to be hir woer To. Who, Sir Andrew Ague-cheeke? Ma. I he To. He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria Ma. What's that to th' purpose? To. Why he ha's three thousand ducates a yeare Ma. I, but hee'l haue but a yeare in all these ducates: He's a very foole, and a prodigall To. Fie, that you'l say so: he playes o'th Viol-de-gamboys, and speaks three or four languages word for word without booke, & hath all the good gifts of nature Ma. He hath indeed, almost naturall: for besides that he's a foole, he's a great quarreller: and but that hee hath the gift of a Coward, to allay the gust he hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought among the prudent, he would quickely haue the gift of a graue Tob. By this hand they are scoundrels and substractors that say so of him. Who are they? Ma. They that adde moreour, hee's drunke nightly in your company To. With drinking healths to my Neece: Ile drinke to her as long as there is a passage in my throat, & drinke in Illyria: he's a Coward and a Coystrill that will not drinke to my Neece, till his braines turne o'th toe, like a parish top. What wench? Castiliano vulgo: for here coms Sir Andrew Agueface. Enter Sir Andrew. And. Sir Toby Belch. How now sir Toby Belch? To. Sweet sir Andrew And. Blesse you faire Shrew Mar. And you too sir Tob. Accost Sir Andrew, accost And. What's that? To. My Neeces Chamber-maid Ma. Good Mistris accost, I desire better acquaintance Ma. My name is Mary sir And. Good mistris Mary, accost To, You mistake knight: Accost, is front her, boord her, woe her, assayle her And. By my troth I would not vndertake her in this company. Is that the meaning of Accost? Ma. Far you well Gentlemen To. And thou let part so Sir Andrew, would thou mightst neuer draw sword agen And. And you part so mistris, I would I might neuer draw sword agen: Faire Lady, doe you thinke you haue fooles in hand? Ma. Sir, I haue not you by'th hand An. Marry but you shall haue, and heeres my hand Ma. Now sir, thought is free: I pray you bring your hand to'th Buttry barre, and let it drinke An. Wherefore (sweet-heart?) What's your Metaphor? Ma. It's dry sir And. Why I thinke so: I am not such an asse, but I can keepe my hand dry. But what's your iest? Ma. A dry iest Sir And. Are you full of them? Ma. I Sir, I haue them at my fingers ends: marry now I let go your hand, I am barren. Exit Maria To. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of Canarie: when did I see thee so put downe? An. Neuer in your life I thinke, vnlesse you see Canarie put me downe: mee thinkes sometimes I haue no more wit then a Christian, or an ordinary man ha's: but I am a great eater of beefe, and I beleeue that does harme to my wit To. No question An. And I thought that, I'de forsweare it. Ile ride home to morrow sir Toby To. Pur-quoy my deere knight? An. What is purquoy? Do, or not do? I would I had bestowed that time in the tongues, that I haue in fencing dancing, and beare-bayting: O had I but followed the Arts To. Then hadst thou had an excellent head of haire An. Why, would that haue mended my haire? To. Past question, for thou seest it will not coole my nature An. But it becoms me wel enough, dost not? To. Excellent, it hangs like flax on a distaffe: & I hope to see a huswife take thee between her legs, & spin it off An. Faith Ile home to morrow sir Toby, your niece wil not be seene, or if she be it's four to one, she'l none of me: the Count himselfe here hard by, wooes her To. Shee'l none o'th Count, she'l not match aboue hir degree, neither in estate, yeares, nor wit: I haue heard her swear't. Tut there's life in't man And. Ile stay a moneth longer. I am a fellow o'th strangest minde i'th world: I delight in Maskes and Reuels sometimes altogether To. Art thou good at these kicke-chawses Knight? And. As any man in Illyria, whatsoeuer he be, vnder the degree of my betters, & yet I will not compare with an old man To. What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight? And. Faith, I can cut a caper To. And I can cut the Mutton too't And. And I thinke I haue the backe-tricke, simply as strong as any man in Illyria To. Wherefore are these things hid? Wherefore haue these gifts a Curtaine before 'em? Are they like to take dust, like mistris Mals picture? Why dost thou not goe to Church in a Galliard, and come home in a Carranto? My verie walke should be a Iigge: I would not so much as make water but in a Sinke-a-pace: What dooest thou meane? Is it a world to hide vertues in? I did thinke by the excellent constitution of thy legge, it was form'd vnder the starre of a Galliard And. I, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a dam'd colour'd stocke. Shall we sit about some Reuels? To. What shall we do else: were we not borne vnder Taurus? And. Taurus? That sides and heart To. No sir, it is leggs and thighes: let me see thee caper. Ha, higher: ha, ha, excellent. Exeunt. Scena Quarta. Enter Valentine, and Viola in mans attire. Val. If the Duke continue these fauours towards you Cesario, you are like to be much aduanc'd, he hath known you but three dayes, and already you are no stranger Vio. You either feare his humour, or my negligence, that you call in question the continuance of his loue. Is he inconstant sir, in his fauours Val. No beleeue me. Enter Duke, Curio, and Attendants. Vio. I thanke you: heere comes the Count Duke. Who saw Cesario hoa? Vio. On your attendance my Lord heere Du. Stand you a-while aloofe. Cesario, Thou knowst no lesse, but all: I haue vnclasp'd To thee the booke euen of my secret soule. Therefore good youth, addresse thy gate vnto her, Be not deni'de accesse, stand at her doores, And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow Till thou haue audience Vio. Sure my Noble Lord, If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow As it is spoke, she neuer will admit me Du. Be clamorous, and leape all ciuill bounds, Rather then make vnprofited returne, Vio. Say I do speake with her (my Lord) what then? Du. O then, vnfold the passion of my loue, Surprize her with discourse of my deere faith; It shall become thee well to act my woes: She will attend it better in thy youth, Then in a Nuntio's of more graue aspect Vio. I thinke not so, my Lord Du. Deere Lad, beleeue it; For they shall yet belye thy happy yeeres, That say thou art a man: Dianas lip Is not more smooth, and rubious: thy small pipe Is as the maidens organ, shrill, and sound, And all is semblatiue a womans part. I know thy constellation is right apt For this affayre: some foure or fiue attend him, All if you will: for I my selfe am best When least in companie: prosper well in this, And thou shalt liue as freely as thy Lord, To call his fortunes thine Vio. Ile do my best To woe your Lady: yet a barrefull strife, Who ere I woe, my selfe would be his wife. Exeunt. Scena Quinta. Enter Maria, and Clowne. Ma. Nay, either tell me where thou hast bin, or I will not open my lippes so wide as a brissle may enter, in way of thy excuse: my Lady will hang thee for thy absence Clo. Let her hang me: hee that is well hang'de in this world, needs to feare no colours Ma. Make that good Clo. He shall see none to feare Ma. A good lenton answer: I can tell thee where y saying was borne, of I feare no colours Clo. Where good mistris Mary? Ma. In the warrs, & that may you be bolde to say in your foolerie Clo. Well, God giue them wisedome that haue it: & those that are fooles, let them vse their talents Ma. 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? Clo. Many a good hanging, preuents a bad marriage: and for turning away, let summer beare it out Ma. You are resolute then? Clo. Not so neyther, but I am resolu'd on two points Ma. That if one breake, the other will hold: or if both breake, your gaskins fall Clo. Apt in good faith, very apt: well go thy way, if sir Toby would leaue drinking, thou wert as witty a piece of Eues flesh, as any in Illyria Ma. Peace you rogue, no more o'that: here comes my Lady: make your excuse wisely, you were best. Enter Lady Oliuia, with Maluolio. Clo. Wit, and't be thy will, put me into good fooling: those wits that thinke they haue thee, doe very oft proue fooles: and I that am sure I lacke thee, may passe for a wise man. For what saies Quinapalus, Better a witty foole, then a foolish wit. God blesse thee Lady Ol. Take the foole away Clo. Do you not heare fellowes, take away the Ladie Ol. Go too, y'are a dry foole: Ile no more of you: besides you grow dis-honest Clo. Two faults Madona, that drinke & good counsell wil amend: for giue the dry foole drink, then is the foole not dry: bid the dishonest man mend himself, if he mend, he is no longer dishonest; if hee cannot, let the Botcher mend him: any thing that's mended, is but patch'd: vertu that transgresses, is but patcht with sinne, and sin that amends, is but patcht with vertue. If that this simple Sillogisme will serue, so: if it will not, what remedy? As there is no true Cuckold but calamity, so beauties a flower; The Lady bad take away the foole, therefore I say againe, take her away Ol. Sir, I bad them take away you Clo. Misprision in the highest degree. Lady, Cucullus non facit monachum: that's as much to say, as I weare not motley in my braine: good Madona, giue mee leaue to proue you a foole Ol. Can you do it? Clo. Dexteriously, good Madona Ol. Make your proofe Clo. I must catechize you for it Madona, Good my Mouse of vertue answer mee Ol. Well sir, for want of other idlenesse, Ile bide your proofe Clo. Good Madona, why mournst thou? Ol. Good foole, for my brothers death Clo. I thinke his soule is in hell, Madona Ol. I know his soule is in heauen, foole Clo. The more foole (Madona) to mourne for your Brothers soule, being in heauen. Take away the Foole, Gentlemen Ol. What thinke you of this foole Maluolio, doth he not mend? Mal. Yes, and shall do, till the pangs of death shake him: Infirmity that decaies the wise, doth euer make the better foole Clow. God send you sir, a speedie Infirmity, for the better increasing your folly: Sir Toby will be sworn that I am no Fox, but he wil not passe his word for two pence that you are no Foole Ol. How say you to that Maluolio? Mal. I maruell your Ladyship takes delight in such a barren rascall: I saw him put down the other day, with an ordinary foole, that has no more braine then a stone. Looke you now, he's out of his gard already: vnles you laugh and minister occasion to him, he is gag'd. I protest I take these Wisemen, that crow so at these set kinde of fooles, no better then the fooles Zanies Ol. O you are sicke of selfe-loue Maluolio, and taste with a distemper'd appetite. To be generous, guiltlesse, and of free disposition, is to take those things for Bird-bolts, that you deeme Cannon bullets: There is no slander in an allow'd foole, though he do nothing but rayle; nor no rayling, in a knowne discreet man, though hee do nothing but reproue Clo. Now Mercury indue thee with leasing, for thou speak'st well of fooles. Enter Maria. Mar. Madam, there is at the gate, a young Gentleman, much desires to speake with you Ol. From the Count Orsino, is it? Ma I know not (Madam) 'tis a faire young man, and well attended Ol. Who of my people hold him in delay? Ma. Sir Toby Madam, your kinsman Ol. Fetch him off I pray you, he speakes nothing but madman: Fie on him. Go you Maluolio; If it be a suit from the Count, I am sicke, or not at home. What you will, to dismisse it. Exit Maluo. Now you see sir, how your fooling growes old, & people dislike it Clo. Thou hast spoke for vs (Madona) as if thy eldest sonne should be a foole: whose scull, Ioue cramme with braines, for heere he comes. Enter Sir Toby. One of thy kin has a most weake Pia-mater Ol. By mine honor halfe drunke. What is he at the gate Cosin? To. A Gentleman Ol. A Gentleman? What Gentleman? To. 'Tis a Gentleman heere. A plague o'these pickle herring: How now Sot Clo. Good Sir Toby Ol. Cosin, Cosin, how haue you come so earely by this Lethargie? To. Letcherie, I defie Letchery: there's one at the gate Ol. I marry, what is he? To. Let him be the diuell and he will, I care not: giue me faith say I. Well, it's all one. Exit Ol. What's a drunken man like, foole? Clo. Like a drown'd man, a foole, and a madde man: One draught aboue heate, makes him a foole, the second maddes him, and a third drownes him Ol. Go thou and seeke the Crowner, and let him sitte o'my Coz: for he's in the third degree of drinke: hee's drown'd: go looke after him Clo. He is but mad yet Madona, and the foole shall looke to the madman. Enter Maluolio. Mal. Madam, yond young fellow sweares hee will speake with you. I told him you were sicke, he takes on him to vnderstand so much, and therefore comes to speak with you. I told him you were asleepe, he seems to haue a fore knowledge of that too, and therefore comes to speake with you. What is to be said to him Ladie, hee's fortified against any deniall Ol. Tell him, he shall not speake with me Mal. Ha's beene told so: and hee sayes hee'l stand at your doore like a Sheriffes post, and be the supporter to a bench, but hee'l speake with you Ol. What kinde o'man is he? Mal. Why of mankinde Ol. What manner of man? Mal. Of verie ill manner: hee'l speake with you, will you, or no Ol. Of what personage, and yeeres is he? Mal. Not yet old enough for a man, nor yong enough for a boy: as a squash is before tis a pescod, or a Codling when tis almost an Apple: Tis with him in standing water, betweene boy and man. He is verie well-fauour'd, and he speakes verie shrewishly: One would thinke his mothers milke were scarse out of him Ol. Let him approach: Call in my Gentlewoman Mal. Gentlewoman, my Lady calles. Enter. Enter Maria. Ol. Giue me my vaile: come throw it ore my face, Wee'l once more heare Orsinos Embassie. Enter Violenta. Vio. The honorable Ladie of the house, which is she? Ol. Speake to me, I shall answer for her: your will Vio. Most radiant, exquisite, and vnmatchable beautie. I pray you tell me if this bee the Lady of the house, for I neuer saw her. I would bee loath to cast away my speech: for besides that it is excellently well pend, I haue taken great paines to con it. Good Beauties, let mee sustaine no scorne; I am very comptible, euen to the least sinister vsage Ol. Whence came you sir? Vio. I can say little more then I haue studied, & that question's out of my part. Good gentle one, giue mee modest assurance, if you be the Ladie of the house, that | I may proceede in my speech Ol. Are you a Comedian? Vio. No my profound heart: and yet (by the verie phangs of malice, I sweare) I am not that I play. Are you the Ladie of the house? Ol. If I do not vsurpe my selfe, I am Vio. Most certaine, if you are she, you do vsurp your selfe: for what is yours to bestowe, is, not yours to reserue. But this is from my Commission: I will on with my speech in your praise, and then shew you the heart of my message Ol. Come to what is important in't: I forgiue you the praise Vio. Alas, I tooke great paines to studie it, and 'tis Poeticall Ol. It is the more like to be feigned, I pray you keep it in. I heard you were sawcy at my gates, & allowd your approach rather to wonder at you, then to heare you. If you be not mad, be gone: if you haue reason, be breefe: 'tis not that time of Moone with me, to make one in so skipping a dialogue Ma. Will you hoyst sayle sir, here lies your way Vio. No good swabber, I am to hull here a little longer. Some mollification for your Giant, sweete Ladie; tell me your minde, I am a messenger Ol. Sure you haue some hiddeous matter to deliuer, when the curtesie of it is so fearefull. Speake your office Vio. It alone concernes your eare: I bring no ouerture of warre, no taxation of homage; I hold the Olyffe in my hand: my words are as full of peace, as matter Ol. Yet you began rudely. What are you? What would you? Vio. The rudenesse that hath appear'd in mee, haue I learn'd from my entertainment. What I am, and what I would, are as secret as maiden-head: to your eares, Diuinity; to any others, prophanation Ol. Giue vs the place alone, We will heare this diuinitie. Now sir, what is your text? Vio. Most sweet Ladie Ol. A comfortable doctrine, and much may bee saide of it. Where lies your Text? Vio. In Orsinoes bosome Ol. In his bosome? In what chapter of his bosome? Vio. To answer by the method, in the first of his hart Ol. O, I haue read it: it is heresie. Haue you no more to say? Vio. Good Madam, let me see your face Ol. Haue 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 shew you the picture. Looke you sir, such a one I was this present: Ist not well done? Vio. Excellently done, if God did all Ol. 'Tis in graine sir, 'twill endure winde and weather Vio. Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white, Natures owne sweet, and cunning hand laid on: Lady, you are the cruell'st shee aliue, If you will leade these graces to the graue, And leaue the world no copie Ol. O sir, I will not be so hard-hearted: I will giue out diuers scedules of my beautie. It shalbe Inuentoried and euery particle and vtensile labell'd to my will: As, Item two lippes indifferent redde, Item two grey eyes, with lids to them: Item, one necke, one chin, & so forth. Were you sent hither to praise me? Vio. I see you what you are, you are too proud: But if you were the diuell, you are faire: My Lord, and master loues you: O such loue Could be but recompenc'd, though you were crown'd The non-pareil of beautie Ol. How does he loue me? Vio. With adorations, fertill teares, With groanes that thunder loue, with sighes of fire Ol. Your Lord does know my mind, I cannot loue him Yet I suppose him vertuous, know him noble, Of great estate, of fresh and stainlesse youth; In voyces well divulg'd, free, learn'd, and valiant, And in dimension, and the shape of nature, A gracious person; But yet I cannot loue him: He might haue tooke his answer long ago Vio. If I did loue you in my masters flame, With such a suffring, such a deadly life: In your deniall, I would finde no sence, I would not vnderstand it Ol. Why, what would you? Vio. Make me a willow Cabine at your gate, And call vpon my soule within the house, Write loyall Cantons of contemned loue, And sing them lowd euen in the dead of night: Hallow your name to the reuerberate hilles, And make the babling Gossip of the aire, Cry out Oliuia: O you should not rest Betweene the elements of ayre, and earth, But you should pittie me Ol. You might do much: What is your Parentage? Vio. Aboue my fortunes, yet my state is well: I am a Gentleman Ol. Get you to your Lord: I cannot loue him: let him send no more, Vnlesse (perchance) you come to me againe, To tell me how he takes it: Fare you well: I thanke you for your paines: spend this for mee Vio. I am no feede poast, Lady; keepe your purse, My Master, not my selfe, lackes recompence. Loue make his heart of flint, that you shal loue, And let your feruour like my masters be, Plac'd in contempt: Farwell fayre crueltie. Exit Ol. What is your Parentage? Aboue my fortunes, yet my state is well; I am a Gentleman. Ile be sworne thou art, Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbes, actions, and spirit, Do giue thee fiue-fold blazon: not too fast: soft, soft, Vnlesse the Master were the man. How now? Euen so quickly may one catch the plague? Me thinkes I feele this youths perfections With an inuisible, and subtle stealth To creepe in at mine eyes. Well, let it be. What hoa, Maluolio. Enter Maluolio. Mal. Heere Madam, at your seruice Ol. Run after that same peeuish Messenger The Countes man: he left this Ring behinde him Would I, or not: tell him, Ile none of it. Desire him not to flatter with his Lord, Nor hold him vp with hopes, I am not for him: If that the youth will come this way to morrow, Ile giue him reasons for't: hie thee Maluolio Mal. Madam, I will. Enter. Ol. I do I know not what, and feare to finde Mine eye too great a flatterer for my minde: Fate, shew thy force, our selues we do not owe, What is decreed, must be: and be this so. Finis, Actus primus. Actus Secundus, Scaena prima. Enter Antonio & Sebastian. Ant. Will you stay no longer: nor will you not that I go with you Seb. By your patience, no: my starres shine darkely ouer me; the malignancie of my fate, might perhaps distemper yours; therefore I shall craue of you your leaue, that I may beare my euils alone. It were a bad recompence for your loue, to lay any of them on you An. Let me yet know of you, whither you are bound Seb. No sooth sir: my determinate voyage is meere extrauagancie. But I perceiue in you so excellent a touch of modestie, that you will not extort from me, what I am willing to keepe in: therefore it charges me in manners, the rather to expresse my selfe: you must know of mee then Antonio, my name is Sebastian (which I call'd Rodorigo) my father was that Sebastian of Messaline, whom I know you haue heard of. He left behinde him, my selfe, and a sister, both borne in an houre: if the Heauens had beene pleas'd, would we had so ended. But you sir, alter'd that, for some houre before you tooke me from the breach of the sea, was my sister drown'd Ant. Alas the day Seb. A Lady sir, though it was said shee much resembled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful: but thogh I could not with such estimable wonder ouer-farre beleeue that, yet thus farre I will boldly publish her, shee bore a minde that enuy could not but call faire: Shee is drown'd already sir with salt water, though I seeme to drowne her remembrance againe with more Ant. Pardon me sir, your bad entertainment Seb. O good Antonio, forgiue me your trouble Ant. If you will not murther me for my loue, let mee be your seruant Seb. If you will not vndo what you haue done, that is kill him, whom you haue recouer'd, desire it not. Fare ye well at once, my bosome is full of kindnesse, and I am yet so neere the manners of my mother, that vpon the least occasion more, mine eyes will tell tales of me: I am bound to the Count Orsino's Court, farewell. Exit Ant. The gentlenesse of all the gods go with thee: I haue many enemies in Orsino's Court, Else would I very shortly see thee there: But come what may, I do adore thee so, That danger shall seeme sport, and I will go. Enter. Scaena Secunda. Enter Viola and Maluolio, at seuerall doores. Mal. Were not you eu'n now, with the Countesse Oliuia? Vio. Euen now sir, on a moderate pace, I haue since ariu'd but hither Mal. She returnes this Ring to you (sir) you might haue saued mee my paines, to haue taken it away your selfe. She adds moreouer, that you should put your Lord into a desperate assurance, she will none of him. And one thing more, that you be neuer so hardie to come againe in his affaires, vnlesse it bee to report your Lords taking of this: receiue it so Vio. She tooke the Ring of me, Ile none of it Mal. Come sir, you peeuishly threw it to her: and her will is, it should be so return'd: If it bee worth stooping for, there it lies, in your eye: if not, bee it his that findes it. Enter. Vio. I left no Ring with her: what meanes this Lady? Fortune forbid my out-side haue not charm'd her: She made good view of me, indeed so much, That me thought her eyes had lost her tongue, For she did speake in starts distractedly. She loues me sure, the cunning of her passion Inuites me in this churlish messenger: None of my Lords Ring? Why he sent her none; I am the man, if it be so, as tis, Poore Lady, she were better loue a dreame: Disguise, I see thou art a wickednesse, Wherein the pregnant enemie does much. How easie is it, for the proper false In womens waxen hearts to set their formes: Alas, O frailtie is the cause, not wee, For such as we are made, if such we bee: How will this fadge? My master loues her deerely, And I (poore monster) fond asmuch on him: And she (mistaken) seemes to dote on me: What will become of this? As I am man, My state is desperate for my maisters loue: As I am woman (now alas the day) What thriftlesse sighes shall poore Oliuia breath? O time, thou must vntangle this, not I, It is too hard a knot for me t' vnty. Scoena Tertia. Enter Sir Toby, and Sir Andrew. To. Approach Sir Andrew: not to bee a bedde after midnight, is to be vp betimes, and Deliculo surgere, thou know'st And. Nay by my troth I know not: but I know, to be vp late, is to be vp late To. A false conclusion: I hate it as an vnfill'd Canne. To be vp after midnight, and to go to bed then is early: so that to go to bed after midnight, is to goe to bed betimes. Does not our liues consist of the foure Elements? And. Faith so they say, but I thinke it rather consists of eating and drinking To. Th'art a scholler; let vs therefore eate and drinke Marian I say, a stoope of wine. Enter Clowne. And. Heere comes the foole yfaith Clo. How now my harts: Did you neuer see the Picture of we three? To. Welcome asse, now let's haue a catch And. By my troth the foole has an excellent breast. I had rather then forty shillings I had such a legge, and so sweet a breath to sing, as the foole has. Insooth 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 yfaith: I sent thee sixe pence for thy Lemon, hadst it? Clo. I did impeticos thy gratillity: for Maluolios nose is no Whip-stocke. My Lady has a white hand, and the Mermidons are no bottle-ale houses An. Excellent: Why this is the best fooling, when all is done. Now a song To. Come on, there is sixe pence for you. Let's haue a song An. There's a testrill of me too: if one knight giue a Clo. Would you haue a loue-song, or a song of good life? To. A loue song, a loue song An. I, I. I care not for good life Clowne sings . O Mistris mine where are you roming? O stay and heare, your true loues coming, That can sing both high and low. Trip no further prettie sweeting. Iourneys end in louers meeting, Euery wise mans sonne doth know An. Excellent good, ifaith To. Good, good Clo. What is loue, tis not heereafter, Present mirth, hath present laughter: What's to come, is still vnsure. In delay there lies no plentie, Then come kisse me sweet and twentie: Youths a stuffe will not endure An. A mellifluous voyce, as I am true knight To. A contagious breath An. Very sweet, and contagious ifaith To. To heare by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion. But shall we make the Welkin dance indeed? Shall wee rowze the night-Owle in a Catch, that will drawe three soules out of one Weauer? Shall we do that? And. And you loue me, let's doo't: I am dogge at a Catch Clo. Byrlady sir, and some dogs will catch well An. Most certaine: Let our Catch be, Thou Knaue Clo. Hold thy peace, thou Knaue knight. I shall be constrain'd in't, to call thee knaue, Knight An. 'Tis not the first time I haue constrained one to call me knaue. Begin foole: it begins, Hold thy peace Clo. I shall neuer begin if I hold my peace An. Good ifaith: Come begin. Catch sung Enter Maria. Mar. What a catterwalling doe you keepe heere? If my Ladie haue not call'd vp her Steward Maluolio, and bid him turne you out of doores, neuer trust me To. My Lady's a Catayan, we are politicians, Maluolios a Peg-a-ramsie, and Three merry men be wee. Am not I consanguinious? Am I not of her blood: tilly vally. Ladie, There dwelt a man in Babylon, Lady, Lady Clo. Beshrew me, the knights in admirable fooling An. I, he do's well enough if he be dispos'd, and so do I too: he does it with a better grace, but I do it more naturall To. O the twelfe day of December Mar. For the loue o' God peace. Enter Maluolio. Mal. My masters are you mad? Or what are you? Haue you no wit, manners, nor honestie, but to gabble like Tinkers at this time of night? Do yee make an Alehouse of my Ladies 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? To. We did keepe time sir in our Catches. Snecke vp Mal. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My Lady bad me tell you, that though she harbors you as her kinsman, she's nothing ally'd to your disorders. If you can separate your selfe and your misdemeanors, you are welcome to the house: if not, and it would please you to take leaue of her, she is very willing to bid you farewell To. Farewell deere heart, since I must needs be gone Mar. Nay good Sir Toby Clo. His eyes do shew his dayes are almost done Mal. Is't euen so? To. But I will neuer dye Clo. Sir Toby there you lye Mal. This is much credit to you To. Shall I bid him go Clo. What and if you do? To. Shall I bid him go, and spare not? Clo. O no, no, no, no, you dare not To. Out o' tune sir, ye lye: Art any more then a Steward? Dost thou thinke because thou art vertuous, there shall be no more Cakes and Ale? Clo. Yes by S[aint]. Anne, and Ginger shall bee hotte y'th mouth too To. Th'art i'th right. Goe sir, rub your Chaine with crums. A stope of Wine Maria Mal. Mistris Mary, if you priz'd my Ladies fauour at any thing more then contempt, you would not giue meanes for this vnciuill rule; she shall know of it by this hand. Exit Mar. Go shake your eares An. 'Twere as good a deede as to drink when a mans a hungrie, to challenge him the field, and then to breake promise with him, and make a foole of him To. Doo't knight, Ile write thee a Challenge: or Ile deliuer thy indignation to him by word of mouth Mar. Sweet Sir Toby be patient for to night: Since the youth of the Counts was to day with my Lady, she is much out of quiet. For Monsieur Maluolio, let me alone with him: If I do not gull him into a nayword, and make him a common recreation, do not thinke I haue witte enough to lye straight in my bed: I know I can do it To. Possesse vs, possesse vs, tell vs something of him Mar. Marrie sir, sometimes he is a kinde of Puritane An. O, if I thought that, Ide beate him like a dogge To. What for being a Puritan, thy exquisite reason, deere knight An. I haue no exquisite reason for't, but I haue reason good enough Mar. The diu'll a Puritane that hee is, or any thing constantly but a time-pleaser, an affection'd Asse, that cons State without booke, and vtters it by great swarths. The best perswaded of himselfe: so cram'd (as he thinkes) with excellencies, that it is his grounds of faith, that all that looke on him, loue him: and on that vice in him, will my reuenge finde notable cause to worke To. What wilt thou do? Mar. I will drop in his way some obscure Epistles of loue, wherein by the colour of his beard, the shape of his legge, the manner of his gate, the expressure of his eye, forehead, and complection, he shall finde himselfe most feelingly personated. I can write very like my Ladie your Neece, on a forgotten matter wee can hardly make distinction of our hands To. Excellent, I smell a deuice An. I hau't in my nose too To. He shall thinke by the Letters that thou wilt drop that they come from my Neece, and that shee's in loue with him Mar. My purpose is indeed a horse of that colour An. And your horse now would make him an Asse Mar. Asse, I doubt not An. O twill be admirable Mar. Sport royall I warrant you: I know my Physicke will worke with him, I will plant you two, and let the Foole make a third, where he shall finde the Letter: obserue his construction of it: For this night to bed, and dreame on the euent: Farewell. Exit To. Good night Penthisilea An. Before me she's a good wench To. She's a beagle true bred, and one that adores me: what o'that? An. I was ador'd once too To. Let's to bed knight: Thou hadst neede send for more money An. If I cannot recouer your Neece, I am a foule way out To. Send for money knight, if thou hast her not i'th end, call me Cut An. If I do not, neuer trust me, take it how you will To. Come, come, Ile go burne some Sacke, tis too late to go to bed now: Come knight, come knight. Exeunt. Scena Quarta. Enter Duke, Viola, Curio, and others Du. Giue me some Musick; Now good morow frends. Now good Cesario, but that peece of song, That old and Anticke song we heard last night; Me thought it did releeue my passion much, More then light ayres, and recollected termes Of these most briske and giddy-paced times. Come, but one verse Cur. He is not heere (so please your Lordshippe) that should sing it? Du. Who was it? Cur. Feste the Iester my Lord, a foole that the Ladie Oliuiaes Father tooke much delight in. He is about the house Du. Seeke him out, and play the tune the while. Musicke playes. Come hither Boy, if euer thou shalt loue In the sweet pangs of it, remember me: For such as I am, all true Louers are, Vnstaid and skittish in all motions else, Saue in the constant image of the creature That is belou'd. How dost thou like this tune? Vio. It giues a verie eccho to the seate Where loue is thron'd Du. Thou dost speake masterly, My life vpon't, yong though thou art, thine eye Hath staid vpon some fauour that it loues: Hath it not boy? Vio. A little, by your fauour Du. What kinde of woman ist? Vio. Of your complection Du. She is not worth thee then. What yeares ifaith? Vio. About your yeeres my Lord Du. Too old by heauen: Let still the woman take An elder then her selfe, so weares she to him; So swayes she leuell in her husbands heart: For boy, howeuer we do praise our selues, Our fancies are more giddie and vnfirme, More longing, wauering, sooner lost and worne, Then womens are Vio. I thinke it well my Lord Du. Then let thy Loue be yonger then thy selfe, Or thy affection cannot hold the bent: For women are as Roses, whose faire flowre Being once displaid, doth fall that verie howre Vio. And so they are: alas, that they are so: To die, euen when they to perfection grow. Enter Curio & Clowne. Du. O fellow come, the song we had last night: Marke it Cesario, it is old and plaine; The Spinsters and the Knitters in the Sun, And the free maides that weaue their thred with bones, Do vse to chaunt it: it is silly sooth, And dallies with the innocence of loue, Like the old age Clo. Are you ready Sir? Duke. I prethee sing. Musicke. The Song. Come away, come away death, And in sad cypresse let me be laide. Fye away, fie away breath, I am slaine by a faire cruell maide: My shrowd of white, stuck all with Ew, O prepare it. My part of death no one so true did share it. Not a flower, not a flower sweete On my blacke coffin, let there be strewne: Not a friend, not a friend greet My poore corpes, where my bones shall be throwne: A thousand thousand sighes to saue, lay me o where Sad true louer neuer find my graue, to weepe there Du. There's for thy paines Clo. No paines sir, I take pleasure in singing sir Du. Ile pay thy pleasure then Clo. Truely sir, and pleasure will be paide one time, or another Du. Giue me now leaue, to leaue thee Clo. Now the melancholly God protect thee, and the Tailor make thy doublet of changeable Taffata, for thy minde is a very Opall. I would haue men of such constancie put to Sea, that their businesse might be euery thing, and their intent euerie where, for that's it, that alwayes makes a good voyage of nothing. Farewell. Exit Du. Let all the rest giue place: Once more Cesario, Get thee to yond same soueraigne crueltie: Tell her my loue, more noble then the world Prizes not quantitie of dirtie lands, The parts that fortune hath bestow'd vpon her: Tell her I hold as giddily as Fortune: But 'tis that miracle, and Queene of Iems That nature prankes her in, attracts my soule Vio. But if she cannot loue you sir Du. It cannot be so answer'd Vio. Sooth but you must. Say that some Lady, as perhappes there is, Hath for your loue as great a pang of heart As you haue for Oliuia: you cannot loue her: You tel her so: Must she not then be answer'd? Du. There is no womans sides Can bide the beating of so strong a passion, As loue doth giue my heart: no womans heart So bigge, to hold so much, they lacke retention. Alas, their loue may be call'd appetite, No motion of the Liuer, but the Pallat, That suffer surfet, cloyment, and reuolt, But mine is all as hungry as the Sea, And can digest as much, make no compare Betweene that loue a woman can beare me, And that I owe Oliuia Vio. I but I know Du. What dost thou knowe? Vio. Too well what loue women to men may owe: In faith they are as true of heart, as we. My Father had a daughter lou'd a man As it might be perhaps, were I a woman I should your Lordship Du. And what's her history? Vio. A blanke my Lord: she neuer told her loue, But let concealment like a worme i'th budde Feede on her damaske cheeke: she pin'd in thought, And with a greene and yellow melancholly, She sate like Patience on a Monument, Smiling at greefe. Was not this loue indeede? We men may say more, sweare more, but indeed Our shewes are more then will: for still we proue Much in our vowes, but little in our loue Du. But di'de thy sister of her loue my Boy? Vio. I am all the daughters of my Fathers house, And all the brothers too: and yet I know not. Sir, shall I to this Lady? Du. I that's the Theame, To her in haste: giue her this Iewell: say, My loue can giue no place, bide no denay. Exeunt. Scena Quinta. Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian. To. Come thy wayes Signior Fabian Fab. Nay Ile come: if I loose a scruple of this sport, let me be boyl'd to death with Melancholly To. Wouldst thou not be glad to haue the niggardly Rascally sheepe-biter, come by some notable shame? Fa. I would exult man: you know he brought me out o' fauour with my Lady, about a Beare-baiting heere To. To anger him wee'l haue the Beare againe, and we will foole him blacke and blew, shall we not sir Andrew? An. And we do not, it is pittie of our liues. Enter Maria. To. Heere comes the little villaine: How now my Mettle of India? Mar. Get ye all three into the box tree: Maluolio's comming downe this walke, he has beene yonder i'the Sunne practising behauiour to his own shadow this halfe houre: obserue him for the loue of Mockerie: for I know this Letter wil make a contemplatiue Ideot of him. Close in the name of ieasting, lye thou there: for heere comes the Trowt, that must be caught with tickling. Exit Enter Maluolio. Mal. 'Tis but Fortune, all is fortune. Maria once told me she did affect me, and I haue heard her self come thus neere, that should shee fancie, it should bee one of my complection. Besides she vses me with a more exalted respect, then any one else that followes her. What should I thinke on't? To. Heere's an ouer-weening rogue Fa. Oh peace: Contemplation makes a rare Turkey Cocke of him, how he iets vnder his aduanc'd plumes And. Slight I could so beate the Rogue To. Peace I say Mal. To be Count Maluolio To. Ah Rogue An. Pistoll him, pistoll him To. Peace, peace Mal. There is example for't: The Lady of the Strachy, married the yeoman of the wardrobe An. Fie on him Iezabel Fa. O peace, now he's deepely in: looke how imagination blowes him Mal. Hauing beene three moneths married to her, sitting in my state To. O for a stone-bow to hit him in the eye Mal. Calling my Officers about me, in my branch'd Veluet gowne: hauing come from a day bedde, where I haue left Oliuia sleeping To. Fire and Brimstone Fa. O peace, peace Mal. And then to haue the humor of state: and after a demure trauaile of regard: telling them I knowe my place, as I would they should doe theirs: to aske for my kinsman Toby To. Boltes and shackles Fa. Oh peace, peace, peace, now, now Mal. Seauen of my people with an obedient start, make out for him: I frowne the while, and perchance winde vp my watch, or play with my some rich Iewell: Toby approaches; curtsies there to me To. Shall this fellow liue? Fa. Though our silence be drawne from vs with cars, yet peace Mal. I extend my hand to him thus: quenching my familiar smile with an austere regard of controll To. And do's not Toby take you a blow o'the lippes, then? Mal. Saying, Cosine Toby, my Fortunes hauing cast me on your Neece, giue me this prerogatiue of speech To. What, what? Mal. You must amend your drunkennesse To. Out scab Fab. Nay patience, or we breake the sinewes of our plot? Mal. Besides you waste the treasure of your time, with a foolish knight And. That's mee I warrant you Mal. One sir Andrew And. I knew 'twas I, for many do call mee foole Mal. What employment haue we heere? Fa. Now is the Woodcocke neere the gin To. Oh peace, and the spirit of humors intimate reading aloud to him Mal. By my life this is my Ladies hand: these bee her very C's, her V's, and her T's, and thus makes shee her great P's. It is in contempt of question her hand An. Her C's, her V's, and her T's: why that? Mal. To the vnknowne belou'd, this, and my good Wishes: Her very Phrases: By your leaue wax. Soft, and the impressure her Lucrece, with which she vses to seale: tis my Lady: To whom should this be? Fab. This winnes him, Liuer and all Mal. Ioue knowes I loue, but who, Lips do not mooue, no man must know. No man must know. What followes? The numbers alter'd: No man must know, If this should be thee Maluolio? To. Marrie hang thee brocke Mal. I may command where I adore, but silence like a Lucresse knife: With bloodlesse stroke my heart doth gore, M.O.A.I. doth sway my life Fa. A fustian riddle To. Excellent Wench, say I Mal. M.O.A.I. doth sway my life. Nay but first let me see, let me see, let me see Fab. What dish a poyson has she drest him? To. And with what wing the stallion checkes at it? Mal. I may command, where I adore: Why shee may command me: I serue her, she is my Ladie. Why this is euident to any formall capacitie. There is no obstruction in this, and the end: What should that Alphabeticall position portend, if I could make that resemble something in me? Softly, M.O.A.I To. O I, make vp that, he is now at a cold sent Fab. Sowter will cry vpon't for all this, though it bee as ranke as a Fox Mal. M. Maluolio, M. why that begins my name Fab. Did not I say he would worke it out, the Curre is excellent at faults Mal. M. But then there is no consonancy in the sequell that suffers vnder probation: A. should follow, but O. does Fa. And O shall end, I hope To. I, or Ile cudgell him, and make him cry O Mal. And then I. comes behind Fa. I, and you had any eye behinde you, you might see more detraction at your heeles, then Fortunes before you Mal. M,O,A,I. This simulation is not as the former: and yet to crush this a little, it would bow to mee, for euery one of these Letters are in my name. Soft, here followes prose: If this fall into thy hand, reuolue. In my stars I am aboue thee, but be not affraid of greatnesse: Some are become great, some atcheeues greatnesse, and some haue greatnesse thrust vppon em. Thy fates open theyr hands, let thy blood and spirit embrace them, and to invre thy selfe to what thou art like to be: cast thy humble slough, and appeare fresh. Be opposite with a kinsman, surly with seruants: Let thy tongue tang arguments of state; put thy selfe into the tricke of singularitie. Shee thus aduises thee, that sighes for thee. Remember who commended thy yellow stockings, and wish'd to see thee euer crosse garter'd: I say remember, goe too, thou art made if thou desir'st to be so: If not, let me see thee a steward still, the fellow of seruants, and not woorthie to touch Fortunes fingers Farewell, Shee that would alter seruices with thee, the fortunate vnhappy daylight and champian discouers not more: This is open, I will bee proud, I will reade politicke Authours, I will baffle Sir Toby, I will wash off grosse acquaintance, I will be point deuise, the very man. I do not now foole my selfe, to let imagination iade mee; for euery reason excites to this, that my Lady loues me. She did commend my yellow stockings of late, shee did praise my legge being crosse-garter'd, and in this she manifests her selfe to my loue, & with a kinde of iniunction driues mee to these habites of her liking. I thanke my starres, I am happy: I will bee strange, stout, in yellow stockings, and crosse Garter'd, euen with the swiftnesse of putting on. Ioue, and my starres be praised. Heere is yet a postscript. Thou canst not choose but know who I am. If thou entertainst my loue, let it appeare in thy smiling, thy smiles become thee well. Therefore in my presence still smile, deero my sweete, I prethee. Ioue I thanke thee, I will smile, I wil do euery thing that thou wilt haue me.

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