Twelfth Night | Page 6

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 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.

SCENE V. A Room in OLIVIA'S House.
[Enter MARIA and CLOWN.]
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 hanged 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 hanged for being so long absent: or to be turned 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 resolved 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.]
[Enter OLIVIA and MALVOLIO.]
CLOWN. Wit, and'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, you're 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 patched; virtue that transgresses is but patched with sin, and sin that amends is but patched 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, 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 you, 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