READ STUDY GUIDE: Act I, scene v |
|
Act I, Scene v
| OLIVIA'S house. |
| [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. Well, go thy way; if Sir Toby would |
| leave drinking, thou wert as witty a piece of Eve's flesh as any |
| in Illyria. |
| MARIA: |
| Peace, you rogue, no more o' that. Here comes my lady; make your |
| excuse wisely, you were best. |
| [Exit.] |
| CLOWN: |
| Wit, and '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? 'Better a witty fool than a foolish wit.' |
| [Enter LADY OLIVIA with MALVOLIO.] |
| God bless thee, lady! |
| OLIVIA: |
| Take the fool away. |
| CLOWN: |
| Do you not hear, fellows? Take away the lady. |
| OLIVIA: |
| Go to, you're 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. Any thing |
| 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. |
| Good madonna, give me leave to prove you a fool. |
| 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: |
| I know his soul is in heaven, fool. |
| 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! Sir Toby will be sworn that I am no fox; but he will |
| not pass his word for twopence that you are no fool. |
| OLIVIA: |
| How say you to that, Malvolio? |
| MALVOLIO: |
| I marvel your ladyship takes delight in such a barren rascal; I |
| saw him put down the other day with an ordinary fool that has no |
| more brain than a stone. Look you now, he's out of |
| his guard already; unless you laugh and minister occasion to him, |
| he is gagg'd. I protest, I take these wise men, that crow so at |
| these set kind of fools, no better than the fools' zanies. |
| OLIVIA: |
| O, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and taste with a |
| distemper'd appetite. 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 a 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; 't is 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: |
| Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy eldest son should be a |
| fool; whose skull Jove cram with brains! for—here he comes— |
| [Enter SIR TOBY.] |
| one of thy kin has a most weak pia mater. |
| OLIVIA: |
| By mine honour, half drunk. What is he at the gate, cousin? |
| SIR TOBY: |
| A gentleman. |
| OLIVIA: |
| A gentleman! what gentleman? |
| SIR TOBY: |
| 'T is a gentleman here—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: |
| Let him be the devil, and he will, I care not; give me faith, say |
| I. 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 't is a peascod, or a codling when 't is almost |
| an apple: 't is 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, and ATTENDANTS.] |
| 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 loth 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 't is poetical. |
| OLIVIA: |
| It is the more like to be feign'd; 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; 't is not that time of moon |
| with me to make one in so skipping a 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. Tell me your mind; 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. I bring no overture of war, no |
| taxation of homage: I hold the olive in my hand; my words are as |
| full of peace as matter. |
| 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 ears, 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. Look you, sir, such a one I was this |
| present; is 't not well done? |
| [Unveiling.] |
| VIOLA: |
| Excellently done, if God did all. |
| OLIVIA: |
| 'T is in grain, sir; 't will endure wind and weather. |
| VIOLA: |
| 'T is beauty truly blent whose red and white |
| Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on. |
| 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 suffering, 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 hills, |
| 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.] |
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