William Shakespeare - Ultimate Collection: Complete Plays & Poetry in One Volume. William ShakespeareЧитать онлайн книгу.
FABIAN. Ay, an you had any eye behind you, you might see more detraction at your heels than fortunes before you.
MALVOLIO. M, O, A, I; this simulation is not as the former; and yet, to crush this a little, it would bow to me, for every one of these letters are in my name. Soft! here follows prose. — [Reads] ‘If this fall into thy hand, revolve. In my stars I am above thee; but be not afraid of greatness: some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon ‘em. Thy Fates open their hands; let thy blood and spirit embrace them; and, to inure thyself to what thou art like to be, cast thy humble slough and appear fresh. Be opposite with a kinsman, surly with servants; let thy tongue tang arguments of state; put thyself into the trick of singularity: she thus advises thee that sighs for thee. Remember who commended thy yellow stockings, and wish’d to see thee ever cross-garter’d. I say, remember. Go to, thou art made, if thou desir’st to be so; if not, let me see thee a steward still, the fellow of servants, and not worthy to touch Fortune’s fingers. Farewell. She that would alter services with thee, THE FORTUNATE-UNHAPPY.
Daylight and champain discovers not more; this is open. I will be proud, I will read politic authors, I will baffle Sir Toby, I will wash off gross acquaintance, I will be point-devise the very man. I do not now fool myself, to let imagination jade me; for every reason excites to this, that my lady loves me. She did commend my yellow stockings of late, she did praise my leg being cross-garter’d; and in this she manifests herself to my love, and with a kind of injunction drives me to these habits of her liking. I thank my stars, I am happy. I will be strange, stout, in yellow stockings, and cross-garter’d, even with the swiftness of putting on. Jove and my stars be praised! Here is yet a postscript.
[Reads] Thou canst not choose but know who I am. If thou entertain’st my love, let it appear in thy smiling; thy smiles become thee well; therefore in my presence still smile, dear my sweet, I prithee.
Jove, I thank thee. I will smile; I will do everything that thou
wilt have me.
[Exit.]
FABIAN. I will not give my part of this sport for a pension of thousands to be paid from the Sophy.
SIR TOBY.
I could marry this wench for this device.
SIR ANDREW.
So could I too.
SIR TOBY.
And ask no other dowry with her but such another jest.
SIR ANDREW.
Nor I neither.
FABIAN.
Here comes my noble gull-catcher.
[Re-enter MARIA.]
SIR TOBY.
Wilt thou set thy foot o’ my neck?
SIR ANDREW.
Or o’ mine either?
SIR TOBY.
Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip, and become thy bondslave?
SIR ANDREW.
I’ faith, or I either?
SIR TOBY. Why, thou hast put him in such a dream, that when the image of it leaves him he must run mad.
MARIA.
Nay, but say true; does it work upon him?
SIR TOBY.
Like aqua-vitae with a midwife.
MARIA. If you will then see the fruits of the sport, mark his first approach before my lady. He will come to her in yellow stockings, and ‘t is a colour she abhors; and cross-garter’d, a fashion she detests; and he will smile upon her, which will now be so unsuitable to her disposition, being addicted to a melancholy as she is, that it cannot but turn him into a notable contempt. If you will see it, follow me.
SIR TOBY.
To the gates of Tartar, thou most excellent devil of wit!
SIR ANDREW.
I’ll make one too.
[Exeunt.]
ACT III.
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 turn’d 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 disgrac’d them.
VIOLA.
Thy reason, man?
CLOWN. Troth, sir, I can yield you none without words; and words are grown so false, I am loth to prove reason with them.
VIOLA.
I warrant thou art a merry fellow, and car’st 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, and 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; ‘t is well begg’d.
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.