CLOWN
Why, sir, her name's a word; and to dally with that word
might make my sister wanton. But indeed words are very rascals,
since bonds disgraced them.
CLOWN
Troth, sir, I can yield you none without words; and words
are grown so false I am loath to prove reason with them.
VIOLA
I warrant, thou art a merry fellow, and carest for nothing.
CLOWN
Not so, sir, I do care for something: but in my conscience,
sir, I do not care for you; if that be to care for nothing, sir,
I would it would make you invisible.
CLOWN
No, indeed, sir; the Lady Olivia has no folly: she will keep
no fool, sir, till she be married; and fools are as like husbands
as pilchards are to herrings, the husband's the bigger; I am,
indeed, not her fool, but her corrupter of words.
CLOWN
Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun; it
shines everywhere. I would be sorry, sir, but the fool should be
as oft with your master as with my mistress: I think I saw your
wisdom there.
VIOLA
Nay, an thou pass upon me, I'll no more with thee.
Hold, there's expenses for thee.
CLOWN
Now Jove, in his next commodity of hair, send thee a beard!
VIOLA
By my troth, I'll tell thee, I am almost sick for one; though I
would not have it grow on my chin. Is thy lady within?
CLOWN
The matter, I hope, is not great, sir, begging but a beggar:
Cressida was a beggar. My lady is within, sir. I will construe to
them whence you come; who you are and what you would are out of
my welkin: I might say element; but the word is overworn.
VIOLA
This fellow's wise enough to play the fool;
And, to do that well, craves a kind of wit:
He must observe their mood on whom he jests,
The quality of persons, and the time;
And, like the haggard, check at every feather
That comes before his eye. This is a practice
As full of labour as a wise man's art:
For folly, that he wisely shows, is fit;
But wise men, folly-fallen, quite taint their wit.
VIOLA
Cesario is your servant's name, fair princess.
OLIVIA
My servant, sir! 'Twas never merry world,
Since lowly feigning was call'd compliment:
You are servant to the Count Orsino, youth.
VIOLA
And he is yours, and his must needs be yours;
Your servant's servant is your servant, madam.
OLIVIA
For him, I think not on him: for his thoughts,
Would they were blanks rather than fill'd with me!
VIOLA
Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts
On his behalf:--
OLIVIA
O, by your leave, I pray you:
I bade you never speak again of him:
But, would you undertake another suit,
I had rather hear you to solicit that
Than music from the spheres.
OLIVIA
Give me leave, beseech you: I did send,
After the last enchantment you did here,
A ring in chase of you; so did I abuse
Myself, my servant, and, I fear me, you:
Under your hard construction must I sit;
To force that on you, in a shameful cunning,
Which you knew none of yours. What might you think?
Have you not set mine honour at the stake,
And baited it with all the unmuzzl'd thoughts
That tyrannous heart can think? To one of your receiving
Enough is shown: a cypress, not a bosom,
Hides my heart: so let me hear you speak.
VIOLA
No, not a grise; for 'tis a vulgar proof
That very oft we pity enemies.
OLIVIA
Why, then, methinks 'tis time to smile again:
O world, how apt the poor are to be proud!
If one should be a prey, how much the better
To fall before the lion than the wolf! [Clock strikes.]
The clock upbraids me with the waste of time.--
Be not afraid, good youth, I will not have you:
And yet, when wit and youth is come to harvest,
Your wife is like to reap a proper man.
There lies your way, due-west.
VIOLA
Then westward-ho:
Grace and good disposition 'tend your ladyship!
You'll nothing, madam, to my lord by me?
OLIVIA
Stay:
I pr'ythee tell me what thou think'st of me.
VIOLA
Would it be better, madam, than I am,
I wish it might; for now I am your fool.
OLIVIA
O what a deal of scorn looks beautiful
In the contempt and anger of his lip!
A murd'rous guilt shows not itself more soon
Than love that would seem hid: love's night is noon.
Cesario, by the roses of the spring,
By maidhood, honour, truth, and everything,
I love thee so that, maugre all thy pride,
Nor wit, nor reason, can my passion hide.
Do not extort thy reasons from this clause,
For, that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause:
But rather reason thus with reason fetter:
Love sought is good, but given unsought is better.
VIOLA
By innocence I swear, and by my youth,
I have one heart, one bosom, and one truth,
And that no woman has; nor never none
Shall mistress be of it, save I alone.
And so adieu, good madam; never more
Will I my master's tears to you deplore.
OLIVIA
Yet come again: for thou, perhaps, mayst move
That heart, which now abhors, to like his love.
