Twelfth Night (Modern)

¶Antonio Will you stay no longer? Nor will you not that ¶I go with you?

¶Sebastian By your patience, no. My stars shine darkly 615over 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.

¶Antonio Let me yet know of you whither you are bound.

620Sebastian 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 625then, Antonio, my name is Sebastian (which I called ¶Roderigo). 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, 630altered that, for some hour before you took me from the ¶breach of the sea was my sister drowned.

¶Antonio Alas the day!

¶Sebastian A lady, sir, though it was said she much ¶resembled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful. But though 635I could not with such estimable wonder overfar ¶believe that, yet thus far I will boldly publish her: she ¶bore a mind that envy could not but call fair.[Weeping] She is ¶drowned already, sir, with salt water, though I seem to ¶drown her remembrance again with more.

640Antonio Pardon me, sir, your bad entertainment.

¶Sebastian O good Antonio, forgive me your trouble.

¶Antonio If you will not murder me for my love, let me ¶be your servant.

¶Sebastian If you will not undo what you have done--that is, 645kill 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 Count Orsino's court; farewell.