Document:  All > Shakespeare > Comedies > Twelfth Night > Act III, scene I

	[Enter VIOLA, and Clown with a tabour]

VIOLA: Save thee, friend, and thy music: dost thou live by
	thy tabour?

Clown: No, sir, I live by the church.

VIOLA: Art thou a churchman?

Clown: No such matter, sir: I do live by the church; for
	I do live at my house, and my house doth stand by
	the church.

VIOLA: So thou mayst say, the king lies by a beggar, if a
	beggar dwell near him; or, the church stands by thy
	tabour, if thy tabour stand by the church.

Clown: You have said, sir. To see this age! A sentence is
	but a cheveril glove to a good wit: how quickly the
	wrong side may be turned outward!

VIOLA: Nay, that's certain; they that dally nicely with
	words may quickly make them wanton.

Clown: I would, therefore, my sister had had no name, sir.

VIOLA: Why, man?

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.

VIOLA: Thy reason, man?

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.

VIOLA: Art not thou the Lady Olivia's fool?

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.

VIOLA: I saw thee late at the Count Orsino's.

Clown: Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun,
	it shines every where. 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


	though I would not have it grow on my chin. Is thy
	lady within?

Clown: Would not a pair of these have bred, sir?

VIOLA: Yes, being kept together and put to use.

Clown: I would play Lord Pandarus of Phrygia, sir, to bring
	a Cressida to this Troilus.

VIOLA: I understand you, sir; 'tis well begged.

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 over-worn.


VIOLA: This fellow is 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, cheque at every feather
	That comes before his eye. This is a practise
	As full of labour as a wise man's art
	For folly that he wisely shows is fit;
	But wise men, folly-fall'n, quite taint their wit.


SIR TOBY BELCH: Save you, gentleman.

VIOLA: And you, sir.

SIR ANDREW: Dieu vous garde, monsieur.

VIOLA: Et vous aussi; votre serviteur.

SIR ANDREW: I hope, sir, you are; and I am yours.

SIR TOBY BELCH: Will you encounter the house? my niece is desirous
	you should enter, if your trade be to her.

VIOLA: I am bound to your niece, sir; I mean, she is the
	list of my voyage.

SIR TOBY BELCH: Taste your legs, sir; put them to motion.

VIOLA: My legs do better understand me, sir, than I
	understand what you mean by bidding me taste my legs.

SIR TOBY BELCH: I mean, to go, sir, to enter.

VIOLA: I will answer you with gait and entrance. But we
	are prevented.

	[Enter OLIVIA and MARIA]

	Most excellent accomplished lady, the heavens rain
	odours on you!

SIR ANDREW: That youth's a rare courtier: 'Rain odours;' well.

VIOLA: My matter hath no voice, to your own most pregnant
	and vouchsafed ear.

SIR ANDREW: 'Odours,' 'pregnant' and 'vouchsafed:' I'll get 'em
	all three all ready.

OLIVIA: Let the garden door be shut, and leave me to my hearing.


	Give me your hand, sir.

VIOLA: My duty, madam, and most humble service.

OLIVIA: What is your name?

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're 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.

VIOLA: Dear lady,--

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 unmuzzled thoughts
	That tyrannous heart can think? To one of your receiving
	Enough is shown: a cypress, not a bosom,
	Hideth my heart. So, let me hear you speak.

VIOLA: I pity you.

OLIVIA:           That's a degree to love.

VIOLA: No, not a grize; 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 were is alike to reap a proper man:
	There lies your way, due west.

VIOLA: Then westward-ho! Grace and good disposition
	Attend your ladyship!
	You'll nothing, madam, to my lord by me?

	I prithee, tell me what thou thinkest of me.

VIOLA: That you do think you are not what you are.

OLIVIA: If I think so, I think the same of you.

VIOLA: Then think you right: I am not what I am.

OLIVIA: I would you were as I would have you be!

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 murderous 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 every thing,
	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 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.



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