Act 3

Scene I

Olivia’s garden.

	Enter Viola, and Clown* with a tabor.*
Viola	Save thee, friend, and thy music: dost thou live by thy tabor?
Clown	No, sir, I live by the church.
Viola	Art thou a churchman?
Clown	No such matter, sir: I do live by the church; for I do live at my house, and my house doth stand by the church.
Viola	So thou mayst say, the king lies by a beggar, if a beggar dwell near him; or, the church stands by thy tabor, if thy tabor stand by the church.
Clown	You have said, sir. To see this age! A sentence is but a cheveril glove to a good wit: how quickly the wrong side may be turned outward!
Viola	Nay, that’s certain; they that dally nicely with words may quickly make them wanton.
Clown	I would, therefore, my sister had had no name, sir.
Viola	Why, man?
Clown	Why, sir, her name’s a word; and to dally with that word might make my sister wanton. But indeed words are very rascals since bonds disgraced them.
Viola	Thy reason, man?
Clown	Troth, sir, I can yield you none without words; and words are grown so false, I am loath to prove reason with them.
Viola	I warrant thou art a merry fellow and carest for nothing.
Clown	Not so, sir, I do care for something; but in my conscience, sir, I do not care for you: if that be to care for nothing, sir, I would it would make you invisible.
Viola	Art not thou the Lady Olivia’s fool?
Clown	No, indeed, sir; the Lady Olivia has no folly: she will keep no fool, sir, till she be married; and fools are as like husbands as pilchards are to herrings; the husband’s the bigger: I am indeed not her fool, but her corrupter of words.
Viola	I saw thee late at the Count Orsino’s.
Clown	Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun, it shines everywhere. I would be sorry, sir, but the fool should be as oft with your master as with my mistress: I think I saw your wisdom there.
Viola	Nay, an thou pass upon me, I’ll no more with thee. Hold, there’s expenses for thee.
Clown	Now Jove, in his next commodity of hair, send thee a beard!
Viola	By my troth, I’ll tell thee, I am almost sick for one; aside though I would not have it grow on my chin. Is thy lady within?
Clown	Would not a pair of these have bred, sir?
Viola	Yes, being kept together and put to use.
Clown	I would play Lord Pandarus of Phrygia, sir, to bring a Cressida to this Troilus.
Viola	I understand you, sir; ’tis well begged.
Clown	The matter, I hope, is not great, sir, begging but a beggar: Cressida was a beggar. My lady is within, sir. I will construe to them whence you come; who you are and what you would are out of my welkin, I might say “element,” but the word is over-worn. Exit.
Viola	This fellow is wise enough to play the fool; And to do that well craves a kind of wit: He must observe their mood on whom he jests, The quality of persons, and the time, And, like the haggard, check at every feather That comes before his eye. This is a practice As full of labour as a wise man’s art: For folly that he wisely shows is fit; But wise men, folly-fall’n, quite taint their wit.
	Enter Sir Toby, and Sir Andrew.
Sir Toby	Save you, gentleman.
Viola	And you, sir.
Sir Andrew	Dieu vous garde, monsieur.
Viola	Et vous aussi; votre serviteur.
Sir Andrew	I hope, sir, you are; and I am yours.
Sir Toby	Will you encounter the house? my niece is desirous you should enter, if your trade be to her.
Viola	I am bound to your niece, sir; I mean, she is the list of my voyage.
Sir Toby	Taste your legs, sir; put them to motion.
Viola	My legs do better understand me, sir, than I understand what you mean by bidding me taste my legs.
Sir Toby	I mean, to go, sir, to enter.
Viola	I will answer you with gait and entrance. But we are prevented.
	Enter Olivia* and Maria.*
	Most excellent accomplished lady, the heavens rain odours on you!
Sir Andrew	That youth’s a rare courtier: “Rain odours;” well.
Viola	My matter hath no voice, lady, but to your own most pregnant and vouchsafed ear.
Sir Andrew	“Odours,” “pregnant” and “vouchsafed:” I’ll get ’em all three all ready.
Olivia	Let the garden door be shut, and leave me to my hearing. Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Maria. Give me your hand, sir.
Viola	My duty, madam, and most humble service.
Olivia	What is your name?
Viola	Cesario is your servant’s name, fair princess.
Olivia	My servant, sir! ’Twas never merry world Since lowly feigning was call’d compliment: You’re servant to the Count Orsino, youth.
Viola	And he is yours, and his must needs be yours: Your servant’s servant is your servant, madam.
Olivia	For him, I think not on him: for his thoughts, Would they were blanks, rather than fill’d with me!
Viola	Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts On his behalf.
Olivia	O, by your leave, I pray you, I bade you never speak again of him: But, would you undertake another suit, I had rather hear you to solicit that Than music from the spheres.
Viola	Dear lady⁠—
Olivia	Give me leave, beseech you. I did send, After the last enchantment you did here, A ring in chase of you: so did I abuse Myself, my servant and, I fear me, you: Under your hard construction must I sit, To force that on you, in a shameful cunning, Which you knew none of yours: what might you think? Have you not set mine honour at the stake And baited it with all the unmuzzled thoughts That tyrannous heart can think? To one of your receiving Enough is shown: a cypress, not a bosom, Hideth my heart. So, let me hear you speak.
Viola	I pity you.
Olivia	That’s a degree to love.
Viola	No, not a grize; for ’tis a vulgar proof, That very oft we pity enemies.
Olivia	Why, then, methinks ’tis time to smile again. O world, how apt the poor are to be proud! If one should be a prey, how much the better To fall before the lion than the wolf! Clock strikes. The clock upbraids me with the waste of time. Be not afraid, good youth, I will not have you: And yet, when wit and youth is come to harvest, Your were is alike to reap a proper man: There lies your way, due west.
Viola	Then westward-ho! Grace and good disposition Attend your ladyship! You’ll nothing, madam, to my lord by me?
Olivia	Stay: I prithee, tell me what thou thinkest of me.
Viola	That you do think you are not what you are.
Olivia	If I think so, I think the same of you.
Viola	Then think you right: I am not what I am.
Olivia	I would you were as I would have you be!
Viola	Would it be better, madam, than I am? I wish it might, for now I am your fool.
Olivia	O, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful In the contempt and anger of his lip! A murderous guilt shows not itself more soon Than love that would seem hid: love’s night is noon. Cesario, by the roses of the spring, By maidhood, honour, truth and every thing, I love thee so, that, maugre all thy pride, Nor wit nor reason can my passion hide. Do not extort thy reasons from this clause, For that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause; But rather reason thus with reason fetter, Love sought is good, but given unsought better.
Viola	By innocence I swear, and by my youth, I have one heart, one bosom and one truth, And that no woman has; nor never none Shall mistress be of it, save I alone. And so adieu, good madam: never more Will I my master’s tears to you deplore.
Olivia	Yet come again; for thou perhaps mayst move That heart, which now abhors, to like his love. Exeunt.