Twelfth Night (Folio 1, 1623)
Peer Reviewed
¶
Scœna Tertia.
¶
Enter Sir Toby, and Sir Andrew.
700To. Approach Sir Andrew: not to bee a bedde after
¶midnight, is to be vp betimes, and Deliculo surgere, thou
¶know'st.
¶And. Nay by my troth I know not: but I know, to
¶be vp late, is to be vp late.
¶To be vp after midnight, and to go to bed then is early:
¶so that to go to bed after midnight, is to goe to bed be-
¶ments?
¶of eating and drinking.
¶
Enter Clowne.
715And. Heere comes the foole yfaith.
¶ture of we three?
¶Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians passing the Equinoctial of
725for thy Lemon, hadst it?
¶is no Whip-stocke. My Lady has a white hand, and the
¶Mermidons are no bottle-ale houses.
730all is done. Now a song.
¶a song.
735life?
¶An. I, I. I care not for good life.
¶
Clowne sings.
¶
O Mistris mine where are you roming:
740O stay and heare, your true loues coming,¶That can sing both high and low.¶Trip no further prettie sweeting.¶Iourneys end in louers meeting,
745An. Excellent good, ifaith.
¶To. Good, good.
750In delay there lies no plentie,¶Youths a stuffe will not endure.
¶An. A mellifluous voyce, as I am true knight.
¶To. A contagious breath.
¶But shall we make the Welkin dance indeed? Shall wee
¶rowze the night-Owle in a Catch, that will drawe three
¶soules out of one Weauer? Shall we do that?
760And. And you loue me, let's doo't: I am dogge at a
¶Catch.
765strain'd in't, to call thee knaue, Knight.
¶call me knaue. Begin foole: it begins, Hold thy peace.
770
Enter Maria.
¶Mar. What a catterwalling doe you keepe heere? If
¶my Ladie haue not call'd vp her Steward Maluolio, and
¶bid him turne you out of doores, neuer trust me.
¶To, My Lady's a Catayan, we are politicians, Maluolios
775a Peg-a-ramsie, and Three merry men be wee. Am not I
¶consanguinious? Am I not of her blood: tilly vally. La-
¶die, There dwelt a man in Babylon, Lady, Lady.
780do I too: he does it with a better grace, but I do it more
¶naturall.
¶To. O the twelfe day of December.
¶Mar. For the loue o'God peace.
¶
Enter Maluolio.
¶Haue you no wit, manners, nor honestie, but to gabble
¶like Tinkers at this time of night? Do yee make an Ale-
¶ers Catches without any mitigation or remorse of voice?
¶bad me tell you, that though she harbors you as her kin{
s}-
¶leaue of her, she is very willing to bid you farewell.
¶Mar. Nay good Sir Toby.
¶To. But I will neuer dye.
¶Clo. Sir Toby there you lye.
¶Mal. This is much credit to you.
805To. Shall I bid him go.
¶Clo. What and if you do?
¶Clo. O no, no, no, no, you dare not.
¶shall be no more Cakes and Ale?
¶mouth too.
815crums. A stope of Wine Maria.
¶at any thing more then contempt, you would not giue
¶hand.
Exit
¶An. 'Twere as good a deede as to drink when a mans
¶a hungrie, to challenge him the field, and then to breake
¶promise with him, and make a foole of him.
¶To. Doo't knight, Ile write thee a Challenge: or Ile
825deliuer thy indignation to him by word of mouth.
¶Mar. Sweet Sir Toby be patient for to night: Since
¶the youth of the Counts was to day with my Lady, she is
¶much out of quiet. For Monsieur Maluolio, let me alone
¶with him: If I do not gull him into an ayword, and make
830him a common recreation, do not thinke I haue witte e-
¶nough to lye straight in my bed: I know I can do it.
¶An. O, if I thought that, Ide beate him like a dogge.
¶deere knight.
¶good enough.
¶Mar. The diu'll a Puritane that hee is, or any thing
¶cons State without booke, and vtters it by great swarths.
¶with excellencies, that it is his grounds of faith, that all
¶that looke on him, loue him: and on that vice in him, will
845my reuenge finde notable cause to worke.
¶To. What wilt thou do?
¶loue, wherein by the colour of his beard, the shape of his
¶feelingly personated. I can write very like my Ladie
¶your Neece, on a forgotten matter wee can hardly make
¶distinction of our hands.
¶that they come from my Neece, and that shee's in loue
¶with him.
¶An. O twill be admirable.
¶Mar. Sport royall I warrant you: I know my Phy-
¶sicke will worke with him, I will plant you two, and let
865the Foole make a third, where he shall finde the Letter:
¶dreame on the euent: Farewell.
Exit
870To. She's a beagle true bred, and one that adores me:
¶what o'that?
¶An. I was ador'd once too.
¶more money.
875An. If I cannot recouer your Neece, I am a foule way
¶out.
¶end, call me Cut.
¶to go to bed now: Come knight, come knight.
Exeunt
