Chapter: ACT THE SECOND. SCENE I.

                                

                             _A Sea-port._

                    _Enter_ SEBASTIAN _and_ ANTONIO.

    _Ant._ Will you stay no longer? Nor will you not, that I go with
you?

    _Seb._ By your patience, no: my stars shine darkly over me; the
malignancy of my fate might, perhaps, distemper yours; therefore I shall
crave of you your leave, that I may bear my evils alone: It were a bad
recompense for your love, to lay any of them on you.

    _Ant._ Pardon me, sir, your bad entertainment.

    _Seb._ O, good Antonio, pardon me your trouble.

    _Ant._ Let me yet know of you, whither you are bound.

    _Seb._ No, 'sooth, sir; my determinate voyage is mere
extravagancy.--But I perceive in you so excellent a touch of modesty,
that you will not extort from me what I am willing to keep in; therefore
it charges me in manners the rather to express myself.--You must know of
me then, Antonio, my name is Sebastian, which I called Rodorigo; my
father was that Sebastian of Messaline, whom I know you have heard of:
He left behind him, myself, and a sister, both born in an hour. If the
heavens had been pleased, 'would we had so ended! But you, sir, altered
that; for, some hour before you took me from the breach of the sea, was
my sister drowned.

    _Ant._ Alas, the day!

    _Seb._ A lady, sir, though it was said she much resembled me, was
yet of many accounted beautiful: but, though I could not overfar believe
that, yet thus far I will boldly publish her, she bore a mind that envy
could not but call fair. [_He weeps._]

    _Ant._ If you will not murder me for my love, let me be your
servant.

    _Seb._ If you will not undo what you have done, that is, kill him
whom you have recovered, desire it not. Fare ye well at once: my bosom
is full of kindness; and I am yet so near the manners of my mother,
that, upon the least occasion more, mine eyes will tell tales of me. I
am bound to the Duke Orsino's court, farewell.

    _Ant._ The gentleness of all the gods go with thee!

    _Seb._ Fare ye well.                                      [_Exeunt._



SCENE II.


            _A Dining-room in_ OLIVIA'S _House_.

     SIR TOBY _and_ SIR ANDREW _discovered, drinking and smoking_.

    _Sir To._ Come, Sir Andrew: not to be a-bed after midnight, is to be
up betimes; and _diluculo surgere_, thou know'st,----

    _Sir And._ Nay, by my troth, I know not: but I know, to be up late,
is to be up late.

    _Sir To._ A false conclusion; I hate it as an unfill'd can: To be up
after midnight, and to go to bed then, is early; so that, to go to
bed after midnight, is to go to bed betimes. Do not our lives
consist of the four elements?

    _Sir And._ 'Faith, so they say; but, I think, it rather consists of
eating and drinking.

    _Sir To._ Thou art a scholar; let us therefore eat and
drink.--Maria, I say!----a stoop of wine!

                                           [_The_ CLOWN _sings without_.

                                      [SIR ANDREW _and_ SIR TOBY _rise_.

    _Sir And._ Here comes the fool, i'faith.

                           _Enter_ CLOWN.

    _Clo._ How now, my hearts? Did you never see the picture of we
three?

    _Sir To._ Welcome, ass.

    _Sir And._ I had rather than forty shillings I had such a leg; and
so sweet a voice to sing, as the fool has.--In sooth, thou wast in very
gracious fooling last night, when thou spokest of Pigrogromitus, of the
Vapians passing the equinoctial of Queubus; 'twas very good, i'faith. I
sent thee sixpence for thy leman: Hadst it?

    _Clo._ I did impeticos thy gratillity; for Malvolio's nose is no
whipstock: My lady has a white hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottle
ale-houses.

    _Sir And._ Excellent! Why, this is the best fooling, when all is
done. Now, a song.

    _Sir To._ Come on: Shall we rouse the night-owl in a catch, that
will draw three souls out of one weaver? Shall we do that?

    _Sir And._ An you love me, let's do 't: I am dog at a catch.

    _Clo._ By'r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well.

    _Sir And._ Begin, fool: it begins,--[_Sings._] _Hold thy peace._

    _Clo._ Hold my peace!--I shall never begin, if I hold my peace.

    _Sir And._ Good, i'faith!--Come, begin:--that, or something
else,--or what you will.

                                                 [_They all three sing._

        _Christmas comes but once a year,
        And therefore we'll be merry._

                             _Enter_ MARIA.

    _Mar._ What a catterwauling do you keep here! If my lady have not
called up her steward, Malvolio, and bid him turn you out of doors,
never trust me.

    _Sir To._ My lady's a Cataian; we are politicians. Malvolio's a
Peg-a-Ramsay:--[_Sings._]--_And three merry men be we._

    _Sir And._ [_Sings._] _And three merry men be we._

    _Sir To._ Am I not consanguineous? Am I not of her blood?
Tilly-valley, lady!--[_Sings._]--_There dwelt a man in Babylon, lady,
lady!_

    _Sir And._ [_Sings_] _Lady_,----

    _Clo._ Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable fooling.

    _Sir And._ Ay, he does well enough, if he be disposed, and so do I
too; he does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural.
[_Sings_.] _Lady_,--

    _Sir To._ Let us have another.

                                       [_They all three sing and dance._

        _Which is the properest day to drink?
        Saturday,--Sunday,--Monday_,--

    _Mar._ For the love of heaven, peace.

          _Enter_ MALVOLIO, _in a Gown and Cap, with a Light_.

    _Mal._ My masters, are you mad? or what are you?

    _Sir And._ [_Sings._] _Monday_,--

    _Mal._ Have you no wit, manners, nor honesty, but to gabble like
tinkers at this time of night?

    _Sir To._ [_Sings._] _Saturday_,--

    _Mal._ Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time, in you?

    _Sir To._ We did keep time, sir, in our catches. Sneck up!

    _Mal._ Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My lady bade me tell you,
that, though she harbours you as her kinsman, she's nothing allied to
your disorders. If you can separate yourself and your misdemeanors, you
are welcome to the house; if not, an it would please you to take leave
of her, she is very willing to bid you farewell.

    _Sir To._ [_Sings._] _Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs be
gone._

    _Mar._ Nay, good Sir Toby.

    _Clo._ [_Sings._] _His eyes do show his days are almost done._

    _Mal._ Is't even so?

    _Sir To._ [_Sings._] _But I will never die._  [_Falls on the floor._

    _Clo._ [_Sings._] _Sir Toby,--O, Sir Toby,--there you lie._

    _Mal._ This is much credit to you.         [CLOWN _raises_ SIR TOBY.

    _Sir To._ [_Sings._] _You lie._--Art any more than a steward? Dost
thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes
and ale?

    _Clo._ Yes, by Saint Anne; and ginger shall be hot i' the mouth too.

    _Sir To._ Thou'rt i' the right.--Go, sir, rub your chain with
crums:--A stoop of wine, Maria!

    _Mal._ Mistress Mary, if you prized my lady's favour at any thing
more than contempt, you would not give means for this uncivil rule:
She shall know of it, by this hand.

               [_Exit_ MALVOLIO, _followed by the_ CLOWN, _mocking him_.

    _Mar._ Go shake your ears.

    _Sir And._ 'Twere as good a deed as to drink when a man's a hungry,
to challenge him to the field; and then to break promise with him, and
make a fool of him.

    _Sir To._ Do't, knight; I'll write thee a challenge: or I'll deliver
thy indignation to him by word of mouth.

    _Mar._ Sweet Sir Toby, be patient for to-night; since the youth of
the Duke's was to-day with my lady, she is much out of quiet. For
Monsieur Malvolio, let me alone with him: if I do not gull him into a
nayword, and make him a common recreation, do not think I have wit
enough to lie straight in my bed: I know, I can do it.

    _Sir To._ Possess us, possess us; tell us something of him.

    _Mar._ Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Puritan.

    _Sir And._ O, if I thought that, I'd beat him like a dog.

    _Sir To._ What, for being a Puritan? Thy exquisite reason, dear
knight?

    _Sir And._ I have no exquisite reason for't, but I have reason good
enough.

    _Mar._ The devil a Puritan that he is, or any thing constantly but a
time-pleaser; an affectioned ass; so crammed, as he thinks, with
excellencies, that it is his ground of faith, that all, that look on
him, love him; and on that vice in him will my revenge find notable
cause to work.

    _Sir To._ What wilt thou do?

    _Mar._ I will drop in his way some obscure epistles of love;
wherein, by the colour of his beard, the shape of his leg, the manner of
his gait, the expressure of his eye, he shall find himself most
feelingly personated: I can write very like my lady, your niece; on a
forgotten matter we can hardly make distinction of our hands.

    _Sir To._ Excellent! I smell a device.

    _Sir And._ I have't in my nose too.

    _Sir To._ He shall think, by the letters that thou wilt drop, that
they come from my niece, and that she is in love with him?

    _Sir And._ O, 'twill be admirable.

    _Mar._ Sport royal, I warrant you. I will plant you two, and let
Fabian make a third, where he shall find the letter; observe his
construction of it. For this night, to bed, and dream on the event.
Farewell.                                                 [_Exit_ MARIA.

    _Sir To._ Good night, Penthesilea.

    _Sir And._ Before me, she's a good wench.

    _Sir To._ She's a beagle, true bred, and one that adores me; What o'
that?

    _Sir And._ I was adored once too.

    _Sir To._ Let's to bed, knight.--Thou hadst need send for more
money.

    _Sir And._ If I cannot recover your niece, I am a foul way out.

    _Sir To._ Send for money, knight; if thou hast her not i' the end,
call me Cut.

    _Sir And._ If I do not, never trust me, take it how you will.

    _Sir To._ Come, come; I'll go burn some sack, 'tis too late to go to
bed now.

    _Sir And._ I'll call you Cut.

    _Sir To._ Come, knight,--come, knight.

    _Sir And._ I'll call you Cut.                             [_Exeunt._



SCENE III.


                  _A Hall in_ DUKE ORSINO'S _Palace_.

                       _Enter_ DUKE, _and_ VIOLA.

    _Duke._ Come hither, boy:--If ever thou shalt love,
  In the sweet pangs of it, remember me:
  For, such as I am, all true lovers are.--
  My life upon't, young though thou art, thine eye
  Hath stay'd upon some favour that it loves;
  Hath it not, boy?

    _Vio._ A little, by your favour.

    _Duke._ What kind of woman is't?

    _Vio._ Of your complexion.

    _Duke._ She is not worth thee then. What years, i' faith?

    _Vio._ About your years, my lord.

    _Duke._ Too old, by heaven.--Once more, Cesario,
  Get thee to yon same sovereign cruelty:
  Tell her, my love, more noble than the world,
  Prizes not quantity of dirty lands;
  The parts that fortune hath bestowed upon her,
  Tell her, I hold as giddily as fortune;
  But 'tis that miracle, and queen of gems,
  That nature pranks her in, attracts my soul.

    _Vio._ But, if she cannot love you, sir?

    _Duke._ I cannot be so answered.

    _Vio._ Sooth, but you must.
  Say, that some lady, as, perhaps, there is,
  Hath for your love as great a pang of heart
  As you have for Olivia: you cannot love her;
  You tell her so: Must she not then be answered?

    _Duke._ There is no woman's sides,
  Can bide the beating of so strong a passion
  As love doth give my heart:--make no compare
  Between that love a woman can bear me,
  And that I owe Olivia.

    _Vio._ Ay, but I know,--

    _Duke._ What dost thou know?

    _Vio._ Too well what love women to men may owe:
  In faith, they are as true of heart as we.
  My father had a daughter loved a man,
  As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman,
  I should your lordship.

    _Duke._ And what's her history?

    _Vio._ A blank, my lord: She never told her love,
  But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud,
  Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought;
  And, with a green and yellow melancholy,
  She sat like patience on a monument,
  Smiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed?
  We men may say more, swear more: but, indeed,
  Our shows are more than will, for still we prove
  Much in our vows, but little in our love.

    _Duke._ But died thy sister of her love, my boy?

    _Vio._ I am all the daughters of my father's house,
  And all the brothers too.--
  Sir, shall I to this lady?

    _Duke._ Ay, that's the theme.
  To her in haste; give her this jewel; say,
  My love can give no place, bide no denay.                   [_Exeunt._

 Sebastian, Viola's brother, is shown alive, and in the company of Antonio, a somewhat shady sea-captain who is wanted by Count Orsino for questionable doings on the seas. Sebastian tells Antonio of his sister, Viola, who he fears has been drowned; he thanks Antonio for his kindness in saving him from being drowned, and resolves that he must be off alone. Antonio asks if he may go with Sebastian, but Sebastian refuses this kind request, and is gone. Scene 2: Malvolio catches up to Viola, with the ring he was instructed to give Viola by Olivia. Viola is surprised, since she left no ring with Olivia; Malvolio grows impatient with Viola's claim to know nothing of the ring, and he throws it down onto the ground, and storms off. Viola realizes that the ring is proof that Olivia has some affection for her as Cesario; she regrets that Olivia is in love with her disguise, as that will come to nothing, and also that she is in love with her master, but that she can do nothing in her present disguise. Scene 3: Sir Toby and Sir Andrew are up late, drinking; Feste joins them, and they request that he sing a song about love. They proceed to make a great deal of noise, by singing, drinking, and talking nonsense; Maria tries to get them to be quiet, but Malvolio is awakened by the noise, and comes down to berate them for disturbing the household. Once Malvolio leaves, Maria concocts a plan to make Malvolio look like a complete fool: since Maria's handwriting is similar to Olivia's, she will write love letters to Malvolio and make it look like the letters have come from Olivia. The party decides to try this out and see if it will work; Maria leaves to go to bed, and Sir Toby and Sir Andrew decide to drink the rest of the night away. Scene 4: Orsino calls upon Feste to sing an old song, that pleases him very well; Orsino then begins to talk to Viola/ Cesario of love, and its imperfections. Orsino compares women to roses "whose fair flower/ being once displayed, doth fall that very hour"; Viola does not completely approve of Orsino's slightly cynical view of women, and will seek to correct it later in the scene. Feste begins to sing his song, a sad one about love and death, and when he is done, he is dismissed, and makes a remark about Orsino's extreme changeability of mood. Viola attempts to soothe Orsino's melancholy by getting him to accept that Olivia might not love him, but that perhaps another woman does; Orsino counters this with the argument that women are very inconstant in their love, and could not have a feeling as deep as the love he has for Olivia. Viola knows that this is not true, in light of the great amount of feeling she has for Orsino; she attempts to persuade him that women are "as true of heart" as men, by telling him a story she makes up about a sister that loved only too constantly and too well. Orsino asks Viola to go again to Olivia, and make his suit; Viola obeys, and sets off to see Olivia again. Scene 5: Maria appears, with the love-letter she has written for the purposes of baiting Malvolio. Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and their friend Fabian are present; they hide behind a tree as Malvolio approaches, and Maria places the letter somewhere where he is certain to find it. Malvolio approaches, already muttering nonsense about thinking that Olivia fancies him, and about how things would be if they were married; this angers Sir Toby and Sir Andrew, who want to beat Malvolio for his pretension. Malvolio finally spots the letter, and recognizes the handwriting as Olivia's; he takes the bait completely, believing it to be proof that Olivia really does love him. Sir Toby and Sir Andrew marvel at Maria's plan, and how it has worked, and cannot wait to see Malvolio make an even bigger fool of himself.

