And grew a twentie yeeres remoued thing
While one would winke: denide me mine owne purse,
Which I had recommended to his vse,
Not halfe an houre before.
How can this be?
When came he to this Towne?
To day my Lord: and for three months before,
No intrim, not a minutes vacancie,
Both day and night did we keepe companie.
Enter Oliuia and attendants.
Heere comes the Countesse, now heauen walkes
But for thee fellow, fellow thy words are madnesse,
Three monthes this youth hath tended vpon mee,
But more of that anon. Take him aside.
What would my Lord, but that he may not haue,
Wherein Oliuia may seeme seruiceable?
Cesario, you do not keepe promise with me.
What do you say Cesario? Good my Lord.
My Lord would speake, my dutie hushes me.
If it be ought to the old tune my Lord,
It is as fat and fulsome to mine eare
As howling after Musicke.
Still so cruell?
Still so constant Lord.
What to peruersenesse? you vnciuill Ladie
To whose ingrate, and vnauspicious Altars
My soule the faithfull'st offrings haue breath'd out
That ere deuotion tender'd. What shall I do?
Euen what it please my Lord, that shal becom him
Why should I not, (had I the heart to do it)
Like to th' Egyptian theefe, at point of death
Kill what I loue: (a sauage iealousie,
That sometime sauours nobly) but heare me this:
Since you to non-regardance cast my faith,
And that I partly know the instrument
That screwes me from my true place in your fauour:
Liue you the Marble-brested Tirant still.
But this your Minion, whom I know you loue,
And whom, by heauen I sweare, I tender deerely,
Him will I teare out of that cruell eye,
Where he sits crowned in his masters spight.
Come boy with me, my thoughts are ripe in mischiefe:
Ile sacrifice the Lambe that I do loue,
To spight a Rauens heart within a Doue.
And I most iocund, apt, and willinglie,
To do you rest, a thousand deaths would dye.
Where goes Cesario?
After him I loue,
More then I loue these eyes, more then my life,
More by all mores, then ere I shall loue wife.
If I do feigne, you witnesses aboue
Punish my life, for tainting of my loue.
Aye me detested, how am I beguil'd?
Who does beguile you? who does do you wrong?
Hast thou forgot thy selfe? Is it so long?
Call forth the holy Father.
Whether my Lord? Cesario, Husband, stay.
I Husband. Can he that deny?
Her husband, sirrah?
No my Lord, not I.
Alas, it is the basenesse of thy feare,
That makes thee strangle thy propriety:
Feare not Cesario, take thy fortunes vp,
Be that thou know'st thou art, and then thou art
As great as that thou fear'st.
O welcome Father:
Father, I charge thee by thy reuerence
Heere to vnfold, though lately we intended
To keepe in darkenesse, what occasion now
Reueales before 'tis ripe: what thou dost know
Hath newly past, betweene this youth, and me.
A Contract of eternall bond of loue,
Confirm'd by mutuall ioynder of your hands,
Attested by the holy close of lippes,
Strengthned by enterchangement of your rings,
And all the Ceremonie of this compact
Seal'd in my function, by my testimony:
Since when, my watch hath told me, toward my graue
I haue trauail'd but two houres.
O thou dissembling Cub: what wilt thou be
When time hath sow'd a grizzle on thy case?
Or will not else thy craft so quickely grow,
That thine owne trip shall be thine ouerthrow:
Farewell, and take her, but direct thy feete,
Where thou, and I (henceforth) may neuer meet.
My Lord, I do protest.
O do not sweare,
Hold little faith, though thou hast too much feare.
Enter Sir Andrew.
For the loue of God a Surgeon, send one presently
to sir Toby
What's the matter?
H'as broke my head acrosse, and has giuen Sir
Toby a bloody Coxcombe too: for the loue of God your
helpe, I had rather then forty pound I were at home.
Who has done this sir Andrew?
The Counts Gentleman, one Cesario: we tooke
him for a Coward, but hee's the verie diuell, incardinate.
My Gentleman Cesario?
Odd's lifelings heere he is: you broke my head
for nothing, and that that I did, I was set on to do't by sir
Why do you speake to me, I neuer hurt you:
You drew your sword vpon me without cause,
But I bespake you faire, and hurt you not.
Enter Toby and Clowne.
If a bloody coxcombe be a hurt, you haue hurt
me: I thinke you set nothing by a bloody Coxecombe.
Heere comes sir Toby halting, you shall heare more: but if
he had not beene in drinke, hee would haue tickel'd you
other gates then he did.
How now Gentleman? how ist with you?
That's all one, has hurt me, and there's th' end on't:
Sot, didst see Dicke Surgeon, sot?
O he's drunke sir Toby an houre agone: his eyes
were set at eight i'th morning.
Then he's a Rogue, and a passy measures pauyn: I
hate a drunken rogue.
Away with him? Who hath made this hauocke
Ile helpe you sir Toby, because we'll be drest together.
Will you helpe an Asse-head, and a coxcombe, &
a knaue: a thin fac'd knaue, a gull?