TWELFTH NIGHT, (WRITTEN ABOUT 1600-1601.) INTRODUCTION. We learn from Manningham's Diary that Threlfth Night was acted at the Middle Temple, Febru ary 2, 1601-1602, Its date is probably 1600-1601. Manningham writes of the play: "Much like The Comedy of Errors or Menechmi in Plautus, but most like and neere to that in Italian called InganThere are two Italian plays of an earlier date than Twelfth Night, entitled G7 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, producing 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 Twelfth Night, 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 and Silla in Riche His Farewell to Militarie Profession (1581)—and this, in the main, 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 comedy of Shakespeare's unites such abounding mirth and fine satire, with the charm of a poetical romance. It is the summing up of the several admirable qualities which appear in the joyous comedies, of which it forms the last. by the sharp waiting-maid wit of Maria, which saves it from becoming an aimless rollicking. Sir An edge is put on the roystering humor of Sir Toby 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 drolls stalks the solemn "yellow-legged 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 disillusion is in proportion to the greatness of his distempered selfesteem. 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 The Tiro Gentlemen of Verona, enriched with lovely color and placed among more poetical surroundings. She has not the pretty sauciness of Rosalind in her disguise, but owns a heart as tender sweet-natured, and sound-natured as even Rosalind's. The element itself, till seven years' heat, And lasting in her sad remembrance. 31 Duke. Ö, she that hath a heart of that fine frame To pay this debt of love but to a brother, Her sweet perfections with one self king! SCENE II. The sea-coast. Enter VIOLA, a Captain, and Sailor Vio. What country, friends, is this? Cap. This is Illyria, lady. Vio. And what should I do in Illyria ? 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 troth, 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. Sir To. Confine! I'll confine 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. Mar. What's that to the purpose? 20 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 gifts 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 he 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 healths 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 turn o' the toe like a parish-top. What, wench! Castiliano vulgo! for here comes Sir Andrew Agueface Sir And. Good Mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance. Mar. My name is Mary, sir. Sir And. Good Mistress Mary Accost,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. An thou 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? 70 Mar. Sir, I have not you by the hand. 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. Wherefore, sweet-heart? what's your metaphor ? Mar. It's dry, sir. Sir And. 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. Methinks 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. Sir To. No question. 91 Sir And. An I thought that, I'ld forswear it. I'll ride home to-morrow, Sir Toby. Sir To. Pourquoi, my dear knight? Sir And. What is pourquoi? do or not do? I would I had bestowed that time in the tongues that I have in fencing, dancing and bear-baiting: O, had I but followed the arts! Sir To. Then hadst thou had an excellent head of hair. 101 Sir And. Why, would that have mended my hair? Sir To. Past question; for thou seest it will not curl by nature. Sir And. But it becomes me well enough, does't not? Sir T . Excellent it hangs like flax on a distaff; and I 1 ope to see a housewife take thee between her legs and spin it off. 110 Sir And. Faith, I'll home to-morrow, Sir Toby your niece will not be seen; or if she be, it's four to one she'll none of me: the count himself here hard by woos her. Sir To. She'll none o' the count: she'll not match above her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit; I have heard her swear't. Tut, there's life in't, man. Sur And. I'll stay a month longer. I am a fellow o' the strangest mind i' the world; I delight in masques and revels sometimes altogether. 121 Sir To. Art thou good at these kickshawses, knight? Sir And. As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be, under the degree of my betters; and yet I will not compare with an old man. Sir To. What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight? Sir And. Faith, I can cut a caper. Sir To. And I can cut the mutton to't. 130 Sir And. And I think I have the back-trick simply as strong as any man in Illyria. Sir To. Wherefore are these things hid ? wherefore have these gifts a curtain before 'em? are they like to take dust, like Mistress Mall's picture? why dost thou not go to church in a galliard and come home in a coranto? My very walk should be a jig; I would not so much as make water but in a sink-a-pace. What dost thou mean? Is it a world to hide virtues in? I did think, by the excellent constitution of thy leg, it was formed under the star of a galliard. Sir And. Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a flame-colored stock. Shall we set about some revels? Sir Tc. 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 the caper; ha! higher ha, ha ! excellent! [Exeunt. 151 SCENE IV. The DUKE'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 he hath known you but three days, and already you are no stranger. Vio. You either fear his humor or my negligence, that you call in question the continu ance of his love is he inconstant, sir, in his favors? pipe Is as the maiden's organ, shrill and sound, I know thy constellation is right apt I'll do my best 40 To woo your lady: [Aside] yet, a barful strife: Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife. [Exeunt SCENE V. OLIVIA's house. Enter MARIA and CLOWN. 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 hanged in this world needs to fear no colors. Mar. Make that good. Clo. He shall see none to fear. Mar. A good lenten answer: I can tell thee where that saying was born, of 'I fear no colors.' 10 Clo. Where, good Mistress Mary? Mar. In the wars; and that may you be bold to say in your foolery. Clo. Well, God give them wisdom that have it; and those that are fools, let them use their talents. Mar. Yet you will be hanged for being so long absent; or, to be turned away, is not that as good as a hanging to you? 19 Clo. Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage; and, for turning away, let summer bear it out. Mar You are resolute, then? Enter Lady OLIVIA with MALVOLIO. God bless thee, lady! Oli. Take the fool away. 40 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. Any thing that's mended is but patched: virtue that transgresses is but patched with sin; and sin that amends is but patched 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. 60 Oli. Sir, I bade them take away you. Clo. 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. Oli. Can you do it? 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. 71 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 gagged. I protest, I take these wise men, that crow so at these set kind of fools, no better than the fools' zanies. Oli. Oh, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and taste with a distempered 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 allowed fool, though he do nothing but rail; nor no railing in a known discreet man, though he do nothing but reprove. Clo. Now Mercury endue thee with leasing, for thou speakest well of fools! Re-enter MARIA. Mar. Madam, there is at the gate a young gentleman much desires to speak with you. Oli. From the Count Orsino, is it? Mor. I know not, madam: 'tis a fair young man, and well attended. Oli. 111 Who of my people hold him in delay ? Mar. Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman. Oli. 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. Clo. 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, -one of thy kin has a most weak pia mater. Oli. Cousin, cousin, how have you come so early by this lethargy? Sir To. Lechery! I defy lechery. There's one at the gate. Oli. Ay, marry, what is he ? Sir To. Let him be the devil, an he will, I care not give me faith, say I. Well, it's al [Exit. one. Oli. What's a drunken man like, fool? Co. Like a drowned man; a fool and a nad man one draught above heat makes him a fool; the second mads him ; and a third drowns him. Oli. Go thou and seek the crowner, and let |