Internet Shakespeare Editions

About this text

  • Title: Twelfth Night (Folio 1, 1623)
  • Editors: David Carnegie, Mark Houlahan
  • ISBN: 978-1-55058-372-4

    Copyright Internet Shakespeare Editions. This text may be freely used for educational, non-proift purposes; for all other uses contact the Coordinating Editor.
    Author: William Shakespeare
    Editors: David Carnegie, Mark Houlahan
    Peer Reviewed

    Twelfth Night (Folio 1, 1623)

    Scena Quarta.
    Enter Valentine, and Viola in mans attire.
    Val. If the Duke continue these fauours towards you
    Cesario, you are like to be much aduanc'd, he hath known
    you but three dayes, and already you are no stranger.
    Vio. You either feare his humour, or my negligence,
    255that you call in question the continuance of his loue. Is
    he inconstant sir, in his fauours.
    Val. No beleeue me.
    Enter Duke, Curio, and Attendants.
    Vio. I thanke you: heere comes the Count.
    Duke. Who saw Cesario hoa?
    260Vio. On your attendance my Lord heere.
    Du. Stand you a-while aloofe. Cesario,
    Thou knowst no lesse, but all: I haue vnclasp'd
    To thee the booke euen of my secret soule.
    Therefore good youth, addresse thy gate vnto her,
    265Be not deni'de accesse, stand at her doores,
    And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow
    Till thou haue audience.
    Vio. Sure my Noble Lord,
    If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow
    270As it is spoke, she neuer will admit me.
    Du, Be clamorous, and leape all ciuill bounds,
    Rather then make vnprofited returne,
    Vio. Say I do speake with her (my Lord) what then?
    Du. O then, vnfold the passi}on of my loue,
    275Surprize her with discourse of my deere faith;
    It shall become thee well to act my woes:
    She will attend it better in thy youth,
    Then in a Nuntio's of more graue aspect.
    Vio. I thinke not so, my Lord.
    280Du. Deere Lad, beleeue it;
    For they shall yet belye thy happy yeeres,
    That say thou art a man: Dianas lip
    Is not more smooth, and rubious: thy small pipe
    Is as the maidens organ, shrill, and sound,
    285And all is semblatiue a womans part.
    I know thy constellation is right apt
    For this affayre: some foure or fiue attend him,
    All if you will: for I my selfe am best
    When least in companie: prosper well in this,
    290And thou shalt liue as freely as thy Lord,
    To call his fortunes thine.
    Vio. Ile do my best
    To woe your Lady: yet a barrefull strife,
    Who ere I woe, my selfe would be his wife.