Twelfth Night

If music be the food of love, play on.

Give me excess of it that, surfeiting,

the appetite may sicken and so die.

That strain again... it had a dying fall.

Oh, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound that

breathes upon a bank of violence stealing and giving the order.

Enough, no more.

It is not so sweet now as it was before.

Oh, spirit of love!

How quick and fresh art thou that not withstanding thy

capacity receiveth as the sea not enters there

of what validity and pitch soe'er but falls into abatement

and low price even in a minute...

so full of shapes is fancy that it alone is high fantastical.

Will you go hunt, my lord?

What Curio?

The hart.

Why, so I do... the noblest that I have.

Oh, when mine eyes did see Olivia first,

me thought she purged the air of pestilence.

That instant was I turned into a hart.

And my desires like fell into cruel hounds

ere since pursue me.

How now, what news from her?

So please, my Lord, I might not be admitted...

...But from her handmaid do return this answer.

The element itself till seven years

heat shall not behold her face at ample view.

But like a cloisteress, she will veiled

walk and water once a day her chamber round

with eye offending brine...

all this to season a brother's dead

love which she would keep fresh and lasting

in her sad remembrance.

Oh, she that hath the heart of that fine frame,

to pay this debt of love but to a brother?

How will she love when the rich golden shaft have killed

the flock of all affections else that live in her... when

liver, brain, and heart, the sovereign thrones

are all supplied and filled, her sweet perfections

with oneself king?

Away before me to sweet beds of flowers.

Love-thoughts lie rich when canopied with bowers.

What country, friends, is this?

This is Illyria, lady.

And what should I do in Illyria?

My brother, he is in Elysium.

Perchance he is not drowned.

What think you, sailors?

It is perchance that you yourself was saved.

Oh, my poor brother!

And so perchance may he be.

True, madam.

And to comfort you a chance, assure yourself.

After our ship did split, when you and those poor numbers

saved with you hung on our driving boat,

I saw your brother most provident in peril bind

himself...

courage and hope both teaching him the practise...

to a strong mast that lived upon the sea.

Where, like Arion on a dolphin's back, I saw

him hold acquaintance with the waves so long as I could see.

For saying so, there's gold.

My own escape unfoldeth to my hope or to thy speech

serves for authority the like of him.

Knowest thou this country?

Ay, madam, well.

For I was bred and born not three hours

travel from this very place.

Who governs here?

A noble duke in nature as in name.

What is his name?

Orsino.

Orsino?

I have heard my father name him.

He was a bachelor then?

And so is now, or was so very late.

About a month ago, I went from hence.

And then 'twas fresh in murmur... as you know,

what great ones do the less will prattle of...

that he did seek the love of fair Olivia.

What's she?

A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count

that died some 12 months since, then leaving her

in the protection of his son, her brother,

who shortly also died for whose dear love they say she hath

abjured the company and sight of men.

Oh, that I serve that lady and might not

be delivered to the world till I had made mine own occasion

mellow what my estate is.

That were hard to compass.

Because she will admit no kind of suit.

No, not the Duke's.

There is a fair behaviour in the, captain.

And though that nature with the beauteous wall

doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee

I will believe thou hast a mind that

suits with this, thy fair and outward character.

I prithee and I'll pay the bounteously...

conceal me what I am and be my aid for such disguise

as haply shall become the form of my intent.

I'll serve this Duke.

Thou shalt present me as an eunuch to him.

It may be worth my pains, for I can sing and speak

to him in many sorts of music that will allow me very worth

his service.

What else may hap to time I will commit only shape thou thy

silence to my wit.

Be you his eunuch, and your mute I'll be.

When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see.

I thank thee.

Lead me on.

What a plague means my niece to take

the death of her brother thus?

I am sure care is an enemy to life.

By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o'night.

Your cousin, my lady, takes great exception

to your ill hours.

Why. let her except before excepted.

Ay, but you must confine yourself

within the modest limits of order.

Confine?

I'll confine myself no finer than I am.

These clothes are good enough to drink in.

And so be these boots, too.

And they be not let them hang themselves in their own straps.

That quaffing and drinking will undo you.

I heard my lady talk of it yesterday

and of a foolish knight that you brought in one night

here to be her wooer.

Who, Sir Andrew Aguecheek?

Ay, he.

He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria.

What's that to the purpose?

Why, he has 3,000 ducats a year!

Ay, but he'll have but a year in all these ducats.

He's a very fool and a prodigal.

Fie that you say so!

He plays in the viol-de-gamboys.

He speaks three or four languages word for word

without book and hath all the good gifts of nature.

He hath indeed all most natural.

For besides that he's a fool, he's a great quarreler.

And but that he hath the gift of a coward

to allay the gust he hath in quarrelling,

'tis thought among the prudent he would quickly

have the gift of a grave.

By this hand, they are scoundrels and subtractors

that say so of him.

Who are they?

They that add more over he's drunk nightly in your company.

With drinking health to my niece.

Oh, I'll drink to her as long as there's a passage in my throat

and drink in Illyria.

Oh, Toby.

He's got a coward and a coystrill that will not drink

to my niece till his brains turn of the toe like a parish-top?

What wench!

Oh, Castiliano vulgo!

Will For here comes Sir Andrew Agueface!

Sir Toby Belch!

How now, Sir Toby Belch!

Sweet Sir Andrew.

Oh, bless you, fair shrew.

And you, too, sir.

Accost, Sir Andrew, accost!

What's that?

My niece's chambermaid.

Good mistress, Accost.

I desire better acquaintance.

My name is Mary, sir.

Good mistress Mary Accost.

You mistake, knight.

Accost is front her, board her, woo her, assail her.

By my troth, I would not undertake her in this company.

Is that the meaning of accost?

Fare you well, gentlemen.

And thou let part so, Sir Andrew,

would thou might never draw sword again.

And you part so mistress, I would

I might never draw sword again.

Fair lady, do you think you have fools in hand?

Sir, I have not you by the hand.

Mary, but you shall have.

And here's my hand.

Now, sir, thought is free.

I pray you, bring your hand to the buttery-bar

and let it drink.

Wherefore, sweetheart?

What's your metaphor?

It's dry, sir.

Why, I think so.

I'm not such a fool, but I can keep my hand dry.

But what's your jest?

A dry jest, sir.

Are you full of them?

Ay, sir.

I have at my finger's ends.

Marry, now I let go your hand, I am barren.

Ah!