William Shakespeare's Twelfth Night, the famous gender-bending comedy, tells the story of Viola, a young woman who loses her brother at sea.
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Twelfth Night

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Act III. Scene I.

Act III. Scene I.—OLIVIA'S Garden.

Enter VIOLA, and Clown with a tabor.

Vio. Save thee, friend, and thy music. Dost
thou live by thy tabor?
Clo. No, sir, I live by the church.
Vio. Art thou a churchman?
Clo. 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.
Vio. 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,
Clo. 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 out-
Vio. Nay, that's certain: they that dally
nicely with words may quickly make them
Clo. I would therefore my sister had had no
name, sir.
Vio. Why, man?
Clo. 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.
Vio. Thy reason, man?
Clo. Troth, sir, I can yield you none without
words; and words are grown so false, I am loath
to prove reason with them.
Vio. I warrant thou art a merry fellow, and
carest for nothing.
Clo. 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.
Vio. Art not thou the Lady Olivia's fool?
Clo. 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.
Vio. I saw thee late at the Count Orsino's.
Clo. Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb
like the sun; it shines every where. 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.
Vio. Nay, an thou pass upon me, I'll no more
with thee. Hold, there's sixpence for thee.
[Gives a piece of money.
Clo. Now Jove, in his next commodity of
hair, send thee a beard!
Vio. By my troth, I'll tell thee, I am almost
sick for one, though I would not have it grow on
my chin. Is thy lady within?
Clo. [Pointing to the coin.] Would not a pair
of these have bred, sir?
Vio. Yes, being kept together and put to use.
Clo. I would play Lord Pandarus of Phrygia,
sir, to bring a Cressida to this Troilus.
Vio. I understand you, sir; 'tis well begg'd.
Clo. The matter, I hope, is not great, sir,
begging but a beggar: Cressida was a beggar.
My lady is within, sir. I will conster to them
whence you come; who you are and what you
would are out of my welkin; I might say 'ele-
ment,' but the word is overworn. [Exit.
Vio. This fellow's wise enough to play the
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,
Not, 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

Sir To. Save you, gentleman.
Vio. And you, sir.
Sir And. Dieu vous garde, monsieur,
Vio. Et vous aussi; votre serviteur.
Sir And. I hope, sir, you are; and I am
Sir To. Will you encounter the house? my
niece is desirous you should enter, if your trade
be to her.
Vio. I am bound to your niece, sir: I mean,
she is the list of my voyage.
Sir To. Taste your legs, sir: put them to
Vio. My legs do better understand me, sir,
than I understand what you mean by bidding
me taste my legs.
Sir To. I mean, to go, sir, to enter.
Vio. I will answer you with gait and entrance.
But we are prevented.

Most excellent accomplished lady, the heavens
rain odours on you!
Sir And. That youth's a rare courtier, 'Rain
odours!' well.
Vio. My matter hath no voice, lady, but to
your own most pregnant and vouchsafed ear.
Sir And. 'Odours,' 'pregnant,' and 'vouch-
safed.' I'll get 'em all three all ready.
Oli. Let the garden door be shut, and leave
me to my hearing.
Give me your hand, sir.
Vio. My duty, madam, and most humble
Oli. What is your name?
Vio. Cesario is your servant's name, fair
Oli. My servant, sir! 'Twas never merry
Since lowly feigning was call'd compliment.
You're servant to the Count Orsino, youth.
Vio. And he is yours, and his must needs be
Your servant's servant is your servant, madam.
Oli. For him, I think not on him: for his
Would they were blanks rather than fill'd with
Vio. Madam, I come to whet your gentle
On his behalf.
Oli. 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.
Vio. Dear lady,—
Oli. 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
Have you not set mine honour at the stake,
And baited it with all th' unmuzzled thoughts
That tyrannous heart can think? To one of your
Enough is shown; a cypress, not a bosom,
Hideth my heart. So, let me hear you speak.
Vio. I pity you.
Oli. That's a degree to love.
Vio. No, not a grize; for 'tis a vulgar proof
That very oft we pity enemies.
Oli. Why, then methinks 'tis time to smile
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 har-
Your wife is like to reap a proper man:
There lies your way, due west.
Vio. Then westward-ho!
Grace and good disposition attend your lady-
You'll nothing, madam, to my lord by me?
Oli. Stay:
I prithee, tell me what thou think'st of me.
Vio. That you do think you are not what you
Oli. If I think so, I think the same of you.
Vio. Then think you right: I am not what
I am.
Oli. I would you were as I would have you
Vio. Would it be better, madam, than I am?
I wish it might, for now I am your fool.
Oli. O! what a deal of scorn looks beautiful
In the contempt and anger of his lip. 160
A murderous guilt shows not itself more soon
Than love that would seem hid; love's night is
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 is
Vio. 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 my master's tears to you deplore.
Oli. Yet come again, for thou perhaps mayst
That heart, which now abhors, to like his love.
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