Уильям Шекспир - Twelfth Night; Or, What You Will стр 2.

VALENTINE. If the Duke continue these favours towards you, Cesario, you are like to be much advanc'd; he hath known you but three days, and already you are no stranger.

  VIOLA. You either fear his humour or my negligence, that you call  in question the continuance of his love. Is he inconstant, sir, in his favours?

 VALENTINE. No, believe me.

VIOLA. I thank you. Here comes the Count.

  DUKE. Who saw Cesario, ho?

  VIOLA. On your attendance, my lord, here.

  DUKE. Stand you awhile aloof. Cesario,
    Thou know'st no less but all; I have unclasp'd
    To thee the book even of my secret soul.
    Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her;
    Be not denied access, stand at her doors,
    And tell them there thy fixed foot shall grow
    Till thou have audience.

  VIOLA. Sure, my noble lord,
    If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow
    As it is spoke, she never will admit me.

  DUKE. Be clamorous and leap all civil bounds,
    Rather than make unprofited return.

  VIOLA. Say I do speak with her, my lord, what then?

  DUKE. O, then unfold the passion of my love,
    Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith!
    It shall become thee well to act my woes:
    She will attend it better in thy youth
    Than in a nuncio's of more grave aspect.

  VIOLA. I think not so, my lord.

  DUKE. Dear lad, believe it,
    For they shall yet belie thy happy years
    That say thou art a man: Diana's lip
    Is not more smooth and rubious; thy small pipe
    Is as the maiden's organ, shrill and sound,
    And all is semblative a woman's part.
    I know thy constellation is right apt
    For this affair. Some four or five attend him-
    All, if you will, for I myself am best
    When least in company. Prosper well in this,
    And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord
    To call his fortunes thine.

  VIOLA. I'll do my best
    To woo your lady. [Aside] Yet, a barful strife!
    Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife.

MARIA. Nay, either tell me where thou hast been, or I will not open my lips so wide as a bristle may enter in way of thy excuse; my lady will hang thee for thy absence.

  CLOWN. Let her hang me. He that is well hang'd in this world needs to fear no colours.

  MARIA. Make that good.

  CLOWN. He shall see none to fear.

  MARIA. A good lenten answer. I can tell thee where that saying was born, of 'I fear no colours.'

  CLOWN. Where, good Mistress Mary?

  MARIA. In the wars; and that may you be bold to say in your foolery.

  CLOWN. Well, God give them wisdom that have it; and those that are fools, let them use their talents.

  MARIA. Yet you will be hang'd for being so long absent; or to be turn'd away- is not that as good as a hanging to you?

  CLOWN. Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage; and for turning away, let summer bear it out.

  MARIA. You are resolute, then?

  CLOWN. Not so, neither; but I am resolv'd on two points.

  MARIA. That if one break, the other will hold; or if both break, your gaskins fall.

  CLOWN. Apt, in good faith, very apt! Well, go thy way; if Sir Toby  would leave drinking, thou wert as witty a piece of Eve's flesh as any in Illyria.

  MARIA. Peace, you rogue, no more o' that. Here comes my lady. Make your excuse wisely, you were best. Exit

CLOWN. Wit, an't be thy will, put me into good fooling! Those wits
that think they have thee do very oft prove fools; and I that am
sure I lack thee may pass for a wise man. For what says
Quinapalus? 'Better a witty fool than a foolish wit.' God bless thee, lady!

  OLIVIA. Take the fool away.

  CLOWN. Do you not hear, fellows? Take away the lady.

  OLIVIA. Go to, y'are a dry fool; I'll no more of you. Besides, you grow dishonest.

  CLOWN. Two faults, madonna, that drink and good counsel will amend;
 for give the dry fool drink, then is the fool not dry. Bid the
dishonest man mend himself: if he mend, he is no longer
dishonest; if he cannot, let the botcher mend him. Anything
that's mended is but patch'd; virtue that transgresses is but
patch'd with sin, and sin that amends is but patch'd with virtue.
    If that this simple syllogism will serve, so; if it will not,
    what remedy? As there is no true cuckold but calamity, so
    beauty's a flower. The lady bade take away the fool;
therefore, I say again, take her away.

  OLIVIA. Sir, I bade them take away you.

  CLOWN. Misprision in the highest degree! Lady, 'Cucullus non facit
    monachum'; that's as much to say as I wear not motley in my
    brain. Good madonna, give me leave to prove you a fool.

  OLIVIA. Can you do it?

  CLOWN. Dexteriously, good madonna.

  OLIVIA. Make your proof.

  CLOWN. I must catechize you for it, madonna.
    Good my mouse of virtue, answer me.

  OLIVIA. Well, sir, for want of other idleness, I'll bide your proof.

  CLOWN. Good madonna, why mourn'st thou?

  OLIVIA. Good fool, for my brother's death.

  CLOWN. I think his soul is in hell, madonna.

  OLIVIA. I know his soul is in heaven, fool.

  CLOWN. The more fool, madonna, to mourn for your brother's soul
    being in heaven. Take away the fool, gentlemen.

  OLIVIA. What think you of this fool, Malvolio? Doth he not mend?

  MALVOLIO. Yes, and shall do, till the pangs of death shake him.
    Infirmity, that decays the wise, doth ever make the better
fool.

  CLOWN. God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for the better
    increasing your folly! Sir Toby will be sworn that I am no fox;
    but he will not pass his word for twopence that you are no fool.

  OLIVIA. How say you to that, Malvolio?

  MALVOLIO. I marvel your ladyship takes delight in such a barren
    rascal; I saw him put down the other day with an ordinary fool
    that has no more brain than a stone. Look you now, he's out of
    his guard already; unless you laugh and minister occasion to him,
    he is gagg'd. I protest I take these wise men that crow so at
    these set kind of fools no better than the fools' zanies.

  OLIVIA. O, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and taste with a
    distemper'd appetite. To be generous, guiltless, and of free
    disposition, is to take those things for bird-bolts that you deem
    cannon bullets. There is no slander in an allow'd fool, though he
    do nothing but rail; nor no railing in known discreet man, though
    he do nothing but reprove.

  CLOWN. Now Mercury endue thee with leasing, for thou speak'st well
    of fools!

MARIA. Madam, there is at the gate a young gentleman much desires
  to speak with you.

  OLIVIA. From the Count Orsino, is it?

  MARIA. I know not, madam; 'tis a fair young man, and well attended.

  OLIVIA. Who of my people hold him in delay?

  MARIA. Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman.

  OLIVIA. Fetch him off, I pray you; he speaks nothing but madman.
    Fie on him! [Exit MARIA] Go you, Malvolio: if it be a suit from
    the Count, I am sick, or not at home- what you will to dismiss
    it. [Exit MALVOLIO] Now you see, sir, how your fooling grows old,
    and people dislike it.

  CLOWN. Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy eldest son should
    be a fool; whose skull Jove cram with brains! For- here he comes one of thy kin has a most weak pia mater.

OLIVIA. By mine honour, half drunk! What is he at the gate, cousin?

  SIR TOBY. A gentleman.

  OLIVIA. A gentleman! What gentleman?

  SIR TOBY. 'Tis a gentleman here. [Hiccups] A plague o' these
    pickle-herring! How now, sot!

  CLOWN. Good Sir Toby!

  OLIVIA. Cousin, cousin, how have you come so early by this  lethargy?

  SIR TOBY. Lechery! I defy lechery. There's one at the gate.

  OLIVIA. Ay, marry; what is he?

  SIR TOBY. Let him be the devil an he will, I care not; give me
    faith, say I. Well, it's all one. Exit

  OLIVIA. What's a drunken man like, fool?

  CLOWN. Like a drown'd man, a fool, and a madman: one draught above
    heat makes him a fool; the second mads him; and a third drowns him.

  OLIVIA. Go thou and seek the crowner, and let him sit o' my coz;
    for he's in the third degree of drink, he's drown'd; go look  after him.

  CLOWN. He is but mad yet, madonna, and the fool shall look to the
    madman. Exit

MALVOLIO. Madam, yond young fellow swears he will speak with
you. I told him you were sick; he takes on him to understand so
much,
     and therefore comes to speak with you. I told him you were
    asleep; he seems to have a foreknowledge of that too, and
    therefore comes to speak with you. What is to be said to him,
    lady? He's fortified against any denial.

  OLIVIA. Tell him he shall not speak with me.

  MALVOLIO. Has been told so; and he says he'll stand at your door
    like a sheriff's post, and be the supporter to a bench, but he'll
    speak with you.

  OLIVIA. What kind o' man is he?

  MALVOLIO. Why, of mankind.

  OLIVIA. What manner of man?

  MALVOLIO. Of very ill manner; he'll speak with you, will you or no.
  OLIVIA. Of what personage and years is he?

  MALVOLIO. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy;
boy;
    as a squash is before 'tis a peascod, or a codling when 'tis
    almost an apple; 'tis with him in standing water, between boy and
and
    man. He is very well-favour'd, and he speaks very shrewishly; one
one
    would think his mother's milk were scarce out of him.
  OLIVIA. Let him approach. Call in my gentlewoman.
  MALVOLIO. Gentlewoman, my lady calls. Exit

  OLIVIA. Of what personage and years is he?
  MALVOLIO. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy;
    as a squash is before 'tis a peascod, or a codling when 'tis
    almost an apple; 'tis with him in standing water, between boy and
    man. He is very well-favour'd, and he speaks very shrewishly; one
    would think his mother's milk were scarce out of him.

  OLIVIA. Let him approach. Call in my gentlewoman.

  MALVOLIO. Gentlewoman, my lady calls.

OLIVIA. Give me my veil; come, throw it o'er my face;
    We'll once more hear Orsino's embassy.

VIOLA. The honourable lady of the house, which is she?

  OLIVIA. Speak to me; I shall answer for her. Your will?

  VIOLA. Most radiant, exquisite, and unmatchable beauty- I pray you
    tell me if this be the lady of the house, for I never saw her.
I would be loath to cast away my speech; for, besides that it
is
    excellently well penn'd, I have taken great pains to con it.
Good
    beauties, let me sustain no scorn; I am very comptible, even to
    the least sinister usage.

  OLIVIA. Whence came you, sir?

  VIOLA. I can say little more than I have studied, and that
    question's out of my part. Good gentle one, give me modest
    assurance if you be the lady of the house, that I may proceed in my speech.

  OLIVIA. Are you a comedian?

  VIOLA. No, my profound heart; and yet, by the very fangs of malice
    I swear, I am not that I play. Are you the lady of the house?

OLIVIA. If I do not usurp myself, I am.

  VIOLA. Most certain, if you are she, you do usurp yourself; for
    what is yours to bestow is not yours to reserve. But this is from
    my commission. I will on with my speech in your praise, and then
    show you the heart of my message.

  OLIVIA. Come to what is important in't. I forgive you the praise.

  VIOLA. Alas, I took great pains to study it, and 'tis poetical.

  OLIVIA. It is the more like to be feigned; I pray you keep it in. I
    heard you were saucy at my gates, and allow'd your approach
    rather to wonder at you than to hear you. If you be not mad, be
    gone; if you have reason, be brief; 'tis not that time of moon
    with me to make one in so skipping dialogue.

  MARIA. Will you hoist sail, sir? Here lies your way.

  VIOLA. No, good swabber, I am to hull here a little longer.
    Some mollification for your giant, sweet lady.

  OLIVIA. Tell me your mind.

  VIOLA. I am a messenger.

  OLIVIA. Sure, you have some hideous matter to deliver, when the
    courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak your office.

  VIOLA. It alone concerns your ear. I bring no overture of war, no
    taxation of homage: I hold the olive in my hand; my words are as
    full of peace as matter.

  OLIVIA. Yet you began rudely. What are you? What would you?

  VIOLA. The rudeness that hath appear'd in me have I learn'd from my
    entertainment. What I am and what I would are as secret as
    maidenhead- to your cars, divinity; to any other's, profanation.

  OLIVIA. Give us the place alone; we will hear this divinity.
    [Exeunt MARIA and ATTENDANTS] Now, sir, what is your text?

  VIOLA. Most sweet lady-

  OLIVIA. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be said of it.
    Where lies your text?

  VIOLA. In Orsino's bosom.

  OLIVIA. In his bosom! In what chapter of his bosom?

  VIOLA. To answer by the method: in the first of his heart.

  OLIVIA. O, I have read it; it is heresy. Have you no more to say?

  VIOLA. Good madam, let me see your face.

  OLIVIA. Have you any commission from your lord to negotiate
with my face? You are now out of your text; but we will draw the
curtain
    and show you the picture. [Unveiling] Look you, sir, such a
one I
    was this present. Is't not well done?

  VIOLA. Excellently done, if God did all.

  OLIVIA. 'Tis in grain, sir; 'twill endure wind and weather.

  VIOLA. 'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white
    Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on.
    Lady, you are the cruell'st she alive,
    If you will lead these graces to the grave,
    And leave the world no copy.

  OLIVIA. O, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted; I will give out
    divers schedules of my beauty. It shall be inventoried, and every
    particle and utensil labell'd to my will: as- item, two lips
    indifferent red; item, two grey eyes with lids to them; item, one
    neck, one chin, and so forth. Were you sent hither to praise me?

  VIOLA. I see you what you are: you are too proud;
    But, if you were the devil, you are fair.
    My lord and master loves you- O, such love
    Could be but recompens'd though you were crown'd
    The nonpareil of beauty!

  OLIVIA. How does he love me?

  VIOLA. With adorations, fertile tears,
    With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire.

  OLIVIA. Your lord does know my mind; I cannot love him.
    Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble,
    Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth;
    In voices well divulg'd, free, learn'd, and valiant,
    And in dimension and the shape of nature
    A gracious person; but yet I cannot love him.
    He might have took his answer long ago.

  VIOLA. If I did love you in my master's flame,
    With such a suff'ring, such a deadly life,
    In your denial I would find no sense;
    I would not understand it.

  OLIVIA. Why, what would you?

  VIOLA. Make me a willow cabin at your gate,
    And call upon my soul within the house;
    Write loyal cantons of contemned love
    And sing them loud even in the dead of night;
    Halloo your name to the reverberate hals,
    And make the babbling gossip of the air
    Cry out 'Olivia!' O, you should not rest
    Between the elements of air and earth
    But you should pity me!

  OLIVIA. You might do much.
    What is your parentage?

  VIOLA. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well:
    I am a gentleman.

  OLIVIA. Get you to your lord.
    I cannot love him; let him send no more-
    Unless perchance you come to me again
    To tell me how he takes it. Fare you well.
    I thank you for your pains; spend this for me.

  VIOLA. I am no fee'd post, lady; keep your purse;
    My master, not myself, lacks recompense.
    Love make his heart of flint that you shall love;
    And let your fervour, like my master's, be
    Plac'd in contempt! Farewell, fair cruelty. Exit

  OLIVIA. 'What is your parentage?'
    'Above my fortunes, yet my state is well:
    I am a gentleman.' I'll be sworn thou art;
    Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit,
    Do give thee five-fold blazon. Not too fast! Soft, soft!
    Unless the master were the man. How now!
    Even so quickly may one catch the plague?
    Methinks I feel this youth's perfections
    With an invisible and subtle stealth
    To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be.
    What ho, Malvolio!

MALVOLIO. Here, madam, at your service.

  OLIVIA. Run after that same peevish messenger,
    The County's man. He left this ring behind him,
    Would I or not. Tell him I'll none of it.
    Desire him not to flatter with his lord,
    Nor hold him up with hopes; I am not for him.
    If that the youth will come this way to-morrow,
    I'll give him reasons for't. Hie thee, Malvolio.

  MALVOLIO. Madam, I will. Exit

  OLIVIA. I do I know not what, and fear to find
    Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind.
    Fate, show thy force: ourselves we do not owe;
    What is decreed must be; and be this so!