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bear your body more seeming, Audrey :-as thus, sir. I did dislike the cut of a certain courtier's beard : he seit ie word, if I said his beard was not cut well, he was in the mind it was : this is called the Retort Courteous. If I sent him word again it was not well cut,' he would send me word, he cut it to please himself : this is called the Quip Modest. If again it was not well cut,' he disabled my judgment : this is called the Reply Churlish. İf again it was not well cut,' he would answer, I spake not true : this is called the Reproof Valiant. If again it was not well cut,' he would say, I lied : this is called the Countercheck Quarrelsome, and so to the Lie Circumstantial and the Lie Direct.
Juq. And how oft did you say his beard was not well cut ?
Touch I durst go no further than the Lie Cireumstantial, nor he durst not give me the Lie Direct; and so we measured swords and parted.
Jan. Can you nominate in order now the degrees of the lie ?
Touch. ( sir, we quarrel in print, by the book ; as you have books for good manners : I will name you the degrees. The first, the Retort Courteons; the second, the Quip Modest ; the third, the Reply Churlish ; the fourth, the Reproof Valiant; the tisth, the Countercheck Quarrelsome; the sixth, the Lie with Circumstance; the seventh, the Lie Direct. All these you may avoid but the Lie Direct ; and you may avoid that too, with an II. I knew when seven justices could not take up a quarrel, but when the parties were met themselves, one of them thought but of an If, as, 'If you said so, then I said so;' and they shook hands and swore brothers. Your If is the only peace-inaker ; much virtue in lf,
Jan. Is not this a rare fellow, my lord ? he's as good at any thing and yet a fool.
110 Duke S. He uses his folly like a stalkinghorse and under the presentation of that he shoots his wit, Enter HYMEN, ROSALIND, and CELIA.
When earthly things made even
Yea, brought her hither,
his Whose heart within his bosom is. 121 Ros. [To duke] To you I give myself, for I
am yours. (To Orl] To you I give myself, for I am
I yours. Duke s. If there be truth in sight, you are
my daughter. Orl. If there be truth in sight, you are my
Phe. If sight and shape be true, Why then, my love adieu !
Ros. I'll have no father, if you be not he:
Of these most strange events :
If truth holds true contents.
Or have a woman to your lord : 140
O blessed bond of board and bed !
High wedlock then be honored : 150 Honor, high honor and renown,
To Hymen, god of every town! Duke S. O my dear niece, welcome thou
art to me! Even daughter, welcome, in no less degree. Phe. I will not eat my word, now thou art
mine; Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine.
Enter JAQUES DE Boys. Jaq. de B. Let me have audience for a
word or two : I am the second son of old Sir Rowland, That bring these tidings to this fair assembly Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day Men of great worth resorted to this forest, Address'd a mighty power ; which were on
foot, In his own conduct, purposely to take His brother here and put him to the sword : And to the skirts of this wild wood he came; Where meeting with an old religious man, After some question with him, was converted Both from his enterprise and from the world, His crown bequeathing to his banish'd brother, And all their lands restored to them again 170 That were with him exiled. This to be true, I do engage my life. Duke S.
Welcome, young man ; Thou offer'st fairly to thy brothers' wedding : To one his lands withheld, and to the other A land itself at large, a potent dukedom. First, in this forest let us do those ends That here were well begun and well begot: And after, every of this happy number That have endured shrewd days and nights
with us Sball share the good of our returned fortune,
According to the measure of their states. 181
grooms all, With measure heap'd in joy, to the measures
fall. Jaq. Sir, by your patience. If I heard you
rightly, The duke hath put on a religious life And thrown into neglect the pompous court ? Jaq. de B. He hath. Jaq. To him will I : out of these convertites
190 There is much matter to be heard and learn'd. [To duke] You to your former honor I be
queath ; Your patience and your virtue well deserves [To Orl.] You to a love that your true faith
doth merit : [To Oli.) You to your land and love and
great allies : [To Sil.). You to a long and well-deserved
bed : [To Touch.) And you to wrangling; for thy
loving voyage Is but for two months victuall'd. So, to your
pleasures : I am for other than for dancing measures. Duke S. Stay, Jaques, stay.
200 Jaq. To see no pastime l: what you would
I'll stay to know at your abandon'd cave. (Exit. Duke S. Proceed, proceed : we will begin
these rites, As we do trust they'll end, in true delights,
[A dance. EPILOGOE. Ros. It is not the fashion to see the lady the epilogue ; but it is no more unhandsome than to see the lord the prologue. If it be true that good wine needs no bush, 'tis true that a good play needs no epilogue ; yet to good wine they do use good bushes, and good plays prove the better by the help of good epilogues. What a case am I in then, that am neither a good epilogue nor cannot insinuate with you in the behalf of a good play ! I am not furnished like a beggar, therefore to beg will not become me : my way is to conjure you ; and I'll begin with the women. I charge you, O women, for the love you bear to men, to like as much of this play as please you : and I charge you, O men, for the love you bear to wonien-as I perceive by your simpering, none of you hates them-that between you and the women the play may please. If I were a woman I would kiss as many of you as had beards that pleased me, complexions that liked me and breaths that I defied not : and, I am sure, as many as have good beards or good faces or sweet breaths will, for my kind offer, when I make curtsy, bid me farewell. [Exeunt.
(WRITTEN ABOUT 1600–1601.)
We learn from Manningham's Diary that Twelfth Night was acted at the Middle Temple, Febru. ary 2, 1601-1602. Its date is probably 1600-1601. Nanningham writes of the play:..“Much like The Comedy of Errors or Menechmi in Plautus, but most like and neere to that in Italian called Inganmi." There are two Italian plays of an earlier date than Twelfth Night, entitled G!” inganni (The Cheats), containing incidents in some degree resembling those of Shakespeare's comedy, and in that by Gonzaga, the sister who assumes male attire, provlucing thereby confusion of identity with her brother, is named Cesare (shakespeare's Cesario).
But a third Italian play, Gl Ingannati, presents a still closer resemblance to Tureifth Vight, and in its poetical induction, il Sacrificio, occurs the name Malevolti (Malvolio). The story is told in Bandello's novel (ii. 36), and was translated by Belleforest into French, in Histoires Tragiques. Whether Shakespeare consulted any Italian source or not, he had doubtless before him the version of the story (from Cinthio's Hecatomithi) by Barnabe Rich-the Historie of Apolonius anal Sulla in Riche His Farewell to Militarie Profession (1581)-and this, in the nuain, he followed. The characters of Malvolio, Sir Toby Belch, Sir Andrew Aguecheek, Fabian, the clown Feste, and Maria, with the part they play in the comedy, are creations of Shakespeare No comerly of Shakespeare's mites such abounding mirth and fine satire, with the charm of a poetical romance, It is the sumining up of the several admirable qualities which appear in the joyous comedies, of which it forms the last. An edge is put on the roystering humor of Sir Toby by the sharp waiting-maid wit of Maria, which saves it from becoming an aimless rollicking. Sir Andrew is a Slender grown adult in brainlessness, and who has forgotten that he is not as richly endowed by nature as by fortune. Feste, the clown, is less quaint than Touchstone, but more versatile, less a contemplative fool, and more actively a lover of jest and waggery. Among this abandoned crew of topers and iTrolls stalks the solemn "yellow-legge stork" Malvolio. His sense of self-importance has diffused itself over all the details of his life, so that the whole of human existence, as he would have it, must become as pompous and as exemplary as the manners of my lady's steward. The cruelty of his deception and lisillusion is in proportion to the greatness of his distempered self
The Duke Orsino is infected with the lover's melancholy, which is fantastical and nice. He nurses his love and dallies with it, and tries to yield up all his consciousness to it, as to a delicious sensation, and therefore his love is not quite earnest or deep. Olivia has not the love-languor of the Duke, but her resolved sorrow for her lost brother, so soon forgotten in a stronger feeling, shows a little of the same unreality of self-conscious emotion which we perceive in the Duke's love, she is of a nature harmonious and refined, but is too much a child of wealth and ease to win away our chief interest from the heroine of the play Viola is like a heightened portrait of the Julia of To Tico fientlemen op Verona, enriched with lovely color and placed among more poetical sur
ings. S has not the pretty sauciness of Rosalind in her disguise, but owns a heart as tender s Wei-natured, and sound-natured as even Rosalind's.
FESTAN Å Clown,}
ORSINO, Duke of Illyria.
servants to Olivia.
SCENE I. The DUKE's palace. Enter DUKE, CURIO, and other Lords ; MA
sicians attending. Drike. If music be the food of love, play
on ; Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die. That strain again ! it had a dying fall : O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound, That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odor ! Enough ; no more : 'Tis not so sweet now as it was before. O spirit of lovel how quick and fresh art thou, That, notwithstanding thy capacity
Cur. Will you go hunt, my lord ?
What, Curio ?
have : 0, when mine eyes did see Olivia first, Methought she purged the air of pestilence ! That instant was I turn'd into a hart; 21 And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds, E'er since pursue me.
How now ! what news from her ? Val. So please my lord, I might not be ad
mitted ; but from her handmaid do return this an
swer: The element itself, till seven years' heat, Shall not belold her face at ample view ; But, like a cloistress, she will veiled walk And water once a day her chamber round With eye-offending brine : all this to season a brother's dead love, which she would keep fresh
31 And lasting in her sad remembrance. Duke. O, she that hath a heart of that fine
frame To pay this debt of love but to a brother, How will she love, when the rich golden shaft Hath kill'd the flock of all affections else That live in her ; when liver, brain and heart, These sovereign throries, are all supplied, and
fill'd Her sweet perfections with one self king! Away before me to sweet beds of flowers : 40 Love-thoughts lie rich when canopied with bowers.
My brother he is in Elysium.
saved. Vio. O my poor brother I and so perchance
may he be. 'Cap. True, madam : and, to comfort you
with chance, Assure yourself, after our ship did split, When you and those poor number saved with you
10 Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother, Most provident in peril, bind himself, Courage and hope both teaching him the prac
tice, To a strong mast that lived upon the sea ; Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back, I saw hiin hold acquaintance with the waves So long as I could see.
Vio. For saying so, there's gold : Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope, Whereto thy speech serves for authority, 20 The like of him. Know'st thou this country ? Cup. Ay, madam, well ; for I was bred and
born Not three hours' travel from this very place.
Vio. Who governs here?
Cup. And so is now, or was so very late ; For but a month ago I went from hence, 31 And then 'twas fresh in murmur,-as, you
V1o. What's she ?
count That died some twelvemonth since, then leav.
O that I served that lady
That were hard to compass ;
Vro. There is a fair behavior in thee, capAnd though that nature with a beauteous wall Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee I will believe thou hast a mind that suits 50 With this thy fair and outward character. I prithee, and I'll pay thee bounteously, Conceal me what I am, and be my aid For such disguise as haply shall become The form of my intent. I'll serve this duke :
Sir To. What a plague means my niece, to take the death of her brother thus ? I am sure care's an enemy to life.
Mar. By my trotlı, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o' nights : your cousin, my lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours.
Sir To. Why, let her except, before excepted.
Mar. Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modest limits of order.
9 Sir To. Contine! I'll contine myself no finer than I am : these clothes are good enough to drink in ; and so be these boots too : an they be not, let them hang themselves in their own straps.
Mar, That quaffing and drinking will undo you : I heard iny lady talk of it yesterday ; and of a foolish knight that you brought in one night here to be her wooer.
Sir To. Who, Sir Andrew Aguecheek ?
Sir To. He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria.
20 Mar. What's that to the purpose ?
Sir To. Why, he has three thousand ducats a year.
Mar. Ay, but he'll have but a year in all these ducats : he's a very fool and a prodigal.
Sir To. Fie, that you'll say so ! he plays o' the viol-de-gamboys, and speaks three or four languages word for word without book, and hath all the good gists of nature.
29 Mar. He hath indeed almost natural : for besides that he's a fool, he's a great quarreller: and but that he hath the gift of a coward to allay the gust lie hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought among the prudent he would quickly have the gift of a grave.
Sir To. By this hand, they are scoundrels and subtractors that say so of him. Who are they ?
Mar. They that add, moreover, he's drunk nightly in your company.
39 Sir To. With drinking healtlıs to my niece: I'll drink to her as long as there is a passage in my throat and drink in Illyria : he's a coward and a coystrill that will not drink to my niece till his brains tur o'the toe like a parish-top. What, wench ! Castiliano vulgo ! for here comes Sir Andrew Agueface
Enter SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK.
Sir To. Sweet sir Andrew !
Sir And. Good Mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance.
Mar. My name is Mary, sir.
Sir To. You mistake, knight ; 'accost' is front her, board her, woo her, assail her. 60
Sir And. By my troth, I would not undertake her in this company. Is that the meaning of 'accost' ?
Mar. Fare you well, gentlemen.
Sir To. Anthou let part so, Sir Andrew, would thou mightst never draw sword again.
Sir And. An you part so, mistress, I would I might never draw sword again. Fair lady, do you think you have fools in hand ?
Mar. Sir, I have not you by the hand. 70
Sir And. Marry, but you shall have ; and here's my hand.
Mar. Now, sir, 'thought is free :' I pray you, bring your hand to the buttery-bar and let it drink.
Sir And. Wherefore, sweet-heart? what's your metaphor ?
Mar. It's dry, sir.
Sir And. Why, I think so : I am not such an ass but I can ketp my hand dry. But what's your jest?
80 Mar. A dry jest, sir. Sir And. Are you full of them ?
Mar. Ay, sir, I have them at my fingers' ends : marry, now I let go your hand, I am barren.
[Exit. Sir To. O knight thou lackest a cup of canary: when did I see thee so put down?
Sir And. Never in your life, I think ; unless you see canary put me down. Methiuks sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian or an ordinary man has : but I am a great eater of beef and I believe that does harm to my wit.
91 Sir To. No question.
Sir And. An I thought that, I'ld forswear it. I'll ride home to-morrow, Sir Toby.
Sir To. Pourquoi, my dear knight ? do? I would I had bestowed that time in the tongues that I have in fencing, dancing and bear-baiting : 0, had I but followed the arts !
Sir To. Then hadst thou had an excellent head of hair.
Sir And. Why, would that have mended
Sir To. Past question ; for thou seest it will not curl by nature.
Sir And. But it becomes me well enough, does't pot ?
Sir F Excellent it hangs like fai on