Twelfth Night; or, What You Will. Уильям Шекспир

as any man in Illyria.

      Sir To. Wherefore are these things hid? wherefore have these gifts a curtain before them? why dost thou not go to church in a galliard, and come home in a coranto? My very walk should be a jig. What dost thou mean? is it a world to hide virtues in? – I did think, by the excellent constitution of thy leg, it was form'd under the star of a galliard.

      Sir And. Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a flame-colour'd stock. Shall we set about some revels?

      Sir To. What shall we do else? were we not born under Taurus?

      Sir And. Taurus? that's sides and heart.

      Sir To. No, sir; it is legs and thighs. Let me see thee caper: – Ha! higher: – Ha, ha! – excellent!

      [Exeunt.

      SCENE IV

      A Room in Duke Orsino's Palace.

      Enter Valentine, and Viola in Man's Attire.

      Val. If the duke continue these favors towards you, Cesario, you are like to be much advanced.

      Vio. You either fear his humour, or my negligence, that you call in question the continuance of his love: Is he inconstant, sir, in his favours?

      Val. No, believe me.

      Vio. I thank you. – Here comes the duke.

      Enter Duke, Curio, and Gentlemen.

      Duke. Who saw Cesario, ho?

      Vio. On your attendance, my lord; here.

      Duke. Stand you awhile aloof. – Cesario,

      Thou know'st no less but all; I have unclasp'd

      To thee the book even of my secret soul:

      Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her;

      Be not denied access, stand at her doors,

      And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow,

      Till thou have audience.

      Vio. Sure, my noble lord,

      If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow

      As it is spoke, she never will admit me.

      Duke. Be clamorous, and leap all civil bounds,

      Rather than make unprofited return.

      Vio. Say, I do speak with her, my lord. What then?

      Duke. O, then unfold the passion of my love.

      Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith:

      It shall become thee well to act my woes;

      She will attend it better in thy youth,

      Than in a nuncio of more grave aspéct.

      Vio. I think not so, my lord.

      Duke. Dear lad, believe it;

      For they shall yet belie thy happy years,

      That say, thou art a man: Diana's lip

      Is not more smooth and rubious; thy small pipe

      Is as the maiden's organ, shrill and sound:

      I know, thy constellation is right apt

      For this affair: – Go: – prosper well in this,

      And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord,

      To call his fortunes thine.

      [Exeunt Duke, Curio, Valentine, and Gentlemen.

      Vio. I'll do my best,

      To woo his lady: yet, – a barful strife! —

      Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife.

      [Exit.

      SCENE V

      A Room in Olivia's House.

      Enter Clown and Maria.

      Mar. 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.

      Clo. Let her hang me: he, that is well hang'd in this world, needs to fear no colours.

      Mar. Make that good.

      Clo. He shall see none to fear.

      Mar. A good lenten answer: 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 prevents a bad marriage; and, for turning away, let summer bear it out.

      Mar. Here comes my lady; make your excuse wisely, you were best.

      [Exit Maria.

      Clo. 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 Olivia, Malvolio, and two Servants.

      Bless thee, lady!

      Oli. Take the fool away.

      Clo. Do you not hear, fellows? Take away the lady.

      Oli. Go to, you're a dry fool: I'll no more of you; besides, you grow dishonest.

      Clo. 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. – The lady bade take away the fool; therefore, I say again, take her away.

      Oli. Sir, I bade them take away you.

      Clo. Misprision in the highest degree! – Lady, Cucullus non facit monachum; that's as much as to say, I wear not motley in my brain. Good madonna, give me leave to prove you a fool.

      Oli. Can you do it?

      Clo. Dexterously, good madonna.

      Oli. Make your proof.

      Clo. I must catechize you for it, madonna: Good my mouse of virtue, answer me.

      Oli. Well, sir, for want of other idleness, I'll 'bide your proof.

      Clo. Good madonna, why mourn'st thou?

      Oli. Good fool, for my brother's death.

      Clo. I think, his soul is in hell, madonna.

      Oli. I know, his soul is in heaven, fool.

      Clo. The more fool you, madonna, to mourn for your brother's soul being in heaven. – Take away the fool, gentlemen.

      Oli. What think you of this fool, Malvolio? doth he not mend?

      Mal. Yes; and shall do, till the pangs of death shake him: Infirmity, that decays the wise, doth ever make the better fool.

      Clo. Heaven 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 two-pence that you are no fool.

      Oli. How say you to that, Malvolio?

      Mal. 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.

      Oli.