And watch' d the time to shoot.

Laf. This I must say,

But first I beg my pardon, the young lord
Did to his majesty, his mother and his lady,
Offence of mighty note ; but to himself
The greatest wrong of all. He lost a wife,
Whose beauty did astonish the survey
Of richest eyes, whose words all ears took captive,
Whose dear perfection hearts that scorned to serve
Humbly call'd mistress.

King. Praising what is lost

Makes the remembrance dear. Well, call him

hither ;

We are reconciled, and the first view shall kill
All repetition : let him not ask our pardon ;



The nature of his great offence is dead,
And deeper than oblivion we do bury
The incensing relics of it : let him approach,
A stranger, no offender : and inform him,
So 'tis our will he should.

Gen. I shall, my liege. Exit.

King. What says he to your daughter? have

you spoke ?
Laf. All that he is hath reference to your

highness.
King. Then shall we have a match. I have

letters sent me,
That set him high in fame.

Enter Bertram.

Laf. He looks well on 't:

King. I am not a day of season,
For thou mayst see a sunshine and a hail
In me at once : but to the brightest beams
Distracted clouds give way ; so stand thou forth,
The time is fair again.

Ber. My high-repented blames,

Dear sovereign, pardon to me.

King. All is whole ;

Not one word more of the consumed time.
Let 's take the instant by the forward top ;
For we are old, and on our quick' st decrees
Th' inaudible and noiseless foot of Time
Steals ere we can effect them. You remember
The daughter of this lord ?

Ber. Admiringly, my liege : at first
I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart
Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue :
Where the impression of mine eye infixing,
Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me,
Which warp'd the line of every other favour ;
Scorn'd a fair colour, or express'U it stolen ;
Extended or contracted all proportions
To a most hideous object : thence it came,
That she whom all men praised, and whom myself,
Since I have lost, have loved, was in mine eye
The dust that did offend it.

King. Well excused :

That thou didst love her, strikes some scores away
From the great compt : but love that comes too

late,

Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried,
To the great sender turns a sour offence,
Crying, That 's good that 's gone. Our rash faults
Make trivial price of serious things we have,
Not knowing them until we know their grave :
Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust,
Destroy our friends and after weep their dust :
Our own love waking cries to see what 's done,
While shameful hate sleeps out the afternoon.
Be this sweet Helen's knell, and now forget her.
Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin :
The main consents are had, and here we '11 stay
To see our widower's second marriage-day.

Cou. Which better than the first, O dear heaven,

bless !
Or, ere they meet, in me, nature, cesse !

Laf. Come on, my son, in whom my house's

name

Must be digested, give a favour from you
To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter,
That she may quickly come. By my old beard,

Bertram gives a ring.
And every hair that 's on 't, Helen, that 's dead,



282



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.



ACT V., So. 3.



Was a sweet creature ; such a ring as this,
The last that e'er I took her leave at court,
I saw upon her finger.

Ber. . Hers it was not.

King. Now, pray you, let me see it; for mine

eye,

While I was speaking, oft was fastened to 't.
This ring was mine, and, when I gave it Helen,
I bade her, if her fortunes ever stood
Necessitied to help, that by this token
I would relieve her. Had you that craft to reave

her
Of what should stead her most ?

Ber. My gracious sovereign,

Howe'er it pleases you to take it so,
The ring was never hers.

Cou. Son, on my life,

I have seen her wear it, and she reckon' d it
At her life's rate.

Laf. I am sure I saw her wear it.

Ber. You are deceived, my lord; she never

saw it :

In Florence was it from a casement thrown me,
Wrapp'd in a paper, which contain'd the name
Of her that threw it : noble she was, and thought
I stood engaged : but when I had subscribed
To mine own fortune, and inform 'd her fully
I could not answer in that course of honour
As she had made the overture, she ceased,
In heavy satisfaction, and would never
Eeceive the ring again.

King. Plutus himself,

That knows the tinct and multiplying medicine,
Hath not in nature's mystery more science,
Than I have in this ring : 'twas mine, 'twas

Helen's,

Whoever gave it you. Then, if you know
That you are well acquainted with yourself,
Confess 'twas hers, and by what rough enforcement
You got it from her : she call'd the saints to surety,
That she would never put it from her finger,
Unless she gave it to yourself in bed,
Where you have never come, or sent it us
Upon her great disaster.

Ber. She never saw it.

King. Thou speak' st falsely, as I love mine

honour ;

And makest conjectural fears to come into me,
Which I would fain shut out. If it should prove
That thou art so inhuman, 'twill not prove so ;
And yet I know not : thou didst hate her deadly,
And she is dead ; which nothing, but to close
Her eyes myself, could win me to believe,
More than to see this ring. Take him away.

Guards seize Bertram.

My fore-past proofs, hpwe'er the matter fall,
Shall tax my fears of little vanity,
Having vainly fear'd too little. Away with him !
We '11 sift this matter further.

Ber. If you shall prove

This ring was ever hers, you shall as easy
Prove that I husbanded her bed in Florence,
Where yet she never was. Exit guarded.

King. I am wrapp'd in dismal thinkings.

Enter a Gentleman.

Gen. Gracious sovereign,

Whether I have been to blame, or no, I know not :
Here 's a petition from a Florentine,



Who hath for four or five removes come short
To tender it herself. I undertook it,
Vanquish 'd thereto by the fair grace and speech
Of the poor suppliant, who by this I know
Is here attending : her business looks in her
With an importing visage, and she told me,
In a sweet verbal brief, it did concern
Your highness with herself.

King. [Reads.] Upon his many protestations
to marry me when his wife was dead, I blush to
say it, he won me. Now is the Count Rousillon
a widower : his vows are forfeited to me, and my
honour 's paid to him. He stole from Florence,
taking no leave, and I follow him to his coumry
for justice : grant it me, king ! in you it best
lies; otherwise a seducer flourishes, and a poor
maid is undone.

DIANA CAPILET.

Laf. I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, and
toll for this : I '11 none of him.

King. The heavens have thought well on thee,

Lafeu,

To bring forth this discovery. Seek these suitors :
Go speedily, and bring again the count.
I am afeard the life of Helen, lady,
Was foully snatch' d.

Cou. Now, justice on the doers !

Re-enter Bertram, guarded.

King. I wonder, sir, since wives are monsters
to you,

And that you fly them as you swear them lord-
ship,

Yet you desire to marry.

Enter Widow and Diana.

What woman 's that ?

Dia. I am, my lord, a wretched Florentine,
Derived from the ancient Capilet :
My suit, as I do understand, you know,
And therefore know how far I may be pitied.
Wid. I am her mother, sir, whose age and

honour

Both suffer under this complaint we bring,
And both shall cease, without your remedy.
King. Come hither, count : do you know these

women ?

Ber. My lord, I neither can nor will deny
But that I know them : do they charge me

further?
Dia. Why do you look so strange upon your

wife?

Ber. She 's none of mine, my lord.
Dia. If you shall marry,

You give away this, hand, and that is mine ;
You give away heaven's vows, and those are mine ;
You give away myself, which is known mine ;
For I by vow am so embodied yours,
That she which marries you must marry me,
Either both or none.

Laf. Your reputation comes too short for my
daughter ; you are no husband for her.

Ber. My lord, this is a fond and desperate

creature,
Whom sometime I have laugh' d with : let your

highness

Lay a more noble thought upon mine honour
Than for to think that I would sink it here.



ACT V., Sc. 3.



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.



283



King. Sir, for my thoughts, you have them ill

to friend,
Till your deeds gain them : fairer prove your

honour,
Than in my thought it lies.

Dia. Good my lord,

Ask him upon his oath, if he does think
He had not my virginity.

King. What say'st thou to her ?

Ber. She 's impudent, my lord ;

And was a common gamester to the camp.

Dia. He does me wrong, my lord ; if I were so,
He might have bought me at a common price :
Do not believe him : O, behold this ring,
Whose high respect and rich validity
Did lack a parallel ; yet, for all that,
He gave it to a commoner o' the camp,
If I be one.

Cou. He blushes, and 'tis it :
Of six preceding ancestors, that gem
Conferr'd by testament to the sequent issue,
Hath it been ow'd and worn. This is his wife ;
That ring 's a thousand proofs.

King. Methought you said

You saw one here in court could witness it.

Dia. I did, my lord, but loth am to produce
So bad an instrument : his name 's Parolles.

Laf. I saw the man to-day, if man he be.

King. Find him, and bring him hither.

Exit an Attendant.

Ber. What of him ?

He 's quoted for a most perfidious slave,
With all the spots of the wo rid tax' d and debosh' d ;
Whose nature sickens but to speak a truth.
Am I or that or this for what he '11 utter,
That will speak anything ?

King. She hath that ring of yours.

Ber. I think she has : certain it is, I liked her,
And boarded her i' the wanton way of youth :
She knew her distance, and did angle for me,
Madding my eagerness with her restraint,
As all impediments in fancy 's course
Are motives of more fancy, and, in tine,
Her infinite cunning, with her modern grace,
Subdued me to her rate : she got the ring ;
And I had that which any inferior might
At market-price have bought.

Dia. I must be patient ;

You, that have turned off a first so noble wife,
May justly diet me. I pray you yet,
Since you lack virtue, I will lose a husband,
Send for your ring, I will return it home,
And give me mine again.

Ber. I have it not.

King. What ring was yours, I pray you ?

Dia. Sir, much like

The same upon your finger.

King. Know you this ring ? this ring was his
of late.

Dia. And this was it I gave him, being a-bed.

King. The story then goes false, you threw it him
Out of a casement.

Dia. I have spoke the truth.

Enter Parolles.

Ber. My lord, I do confess, the ring was hers.
King. You boggle shrewdly, every feather starts

you.
Is this the man you speak of ?



Dia. Ay, my lord.

King. Tell me, sirrah, but tell me true, I

charge you,

Not fearing the displeasure of your master,
Which, on your just proceeding, I '11 keep off,
By him, and by this woman here what know you ?

Par. So please your majesty, my master hath
been an honourable gentleman : tricks he hath
had in him, which gentlemen have.

King. Come, come, to the purpose : did he love
this woman ?

Par. 'Faith, sir, he did love her ; but how ?

King. How, I pray you ?

Par. He did love her, sir, as a gentleman loves
a woman.

King. How is that ?

Par. He loved her, sir, and loved her not.

King. As thou art a knave, and no knave.
What an equivocal companion is this !

Par. I am a poor man, and at your majesty's
command.

Laf. He is a good drum, my lord, but a naughty
orator.

Dia. Do you know he promised me marriage ?

Par. 'Faith, I know more than I '11 speak.

King. But wilt thou not speak all thou knowest ?

Par. Yes, so please your majesty. I did go
between them, as I said, but more than that, he
loved her, for indeed he was mad for her, and
talked of Satan, and of Limbo, and of Furies, and
I know not what : yet I was in that credit with
them at that time, that I knew of their going to
bed, and of other motions, as promising her mar-
riage, and things which would derive me ill-will to
speak of ; therefore I will not speak what I know.

King. Thou hast spoken all already, unless thou
canst say they are married : but thou art too fine
in thy evidence; therefore stand aside. This
ring, you say, was yours ?

Dia. Ay, my good lord.

King. Where did you buy it ? or who gave it
you?

Dia. It was not given me, nor I did not buy it.

King. Who lent it you ?

Dia. It was not lent me neither.

King. Where did you find it, then ?

Dia. I found it not.

King. If it were yours by none of all these ways,
How could you give it him ?

Dia. I never gave it him.

Laf. This woman's an easy glove, my lord ; she
goes off and on at pleasure.

King. This ring was mine ; I gave it his first
wife.

Dia. It might be yours, or hers, for aught I
know.

King. Take her away ; I do not like her now ;
To prison with her, and away with him.
Unless thou tell'st me where thou hadstthis ring,
Thou diest within this hour.

Dia. I '11 never tell you.

King. Take her away.

Dia. I '11 put in bail, my liege.

King. I think thee now some common customer.

Dia. By Jove, if ever I knew man, 'twas you.

King. Wherefore hast thou accus'd him all this
while ?

Dm. Because he 's guilty, and he is not guilty :
He f nows I am no maid, and he '11 swear to 't ;



284



ALL 9 s WELL THAT ENDS WELL.



ACT V., Sc. 3,



I '11 swear I am a maid, and he knows not.
Great king, I am no strumpet, by my life !
I am either maid, or else this old man's wife.

King. She does abuse our ears : to prison with
her.

Dia. Good mother, fetch my bail. Stay,
royal sir ; Exit Widow.

The jeweller that owes the ring is sent for,
And he shall surety me. But for this lord,
Who hath abused me, as he knows himself,
Though yet he never harm'd me, here I quit him :
He knows himself my bed he hath defiled ;
And at that time he got his wife with child :
Dead though she be, she feels her young one kick :
So there 's my riddle. One that 's dead is quick :
And now behold the meaning.

Re-enter Widow, with Helena.

King. Is there no exorcist

Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes ?
Is 't real that I see ?

Hel. No, my good lord;

'Tis but the shadow of a wife you see,
The name, and not the thing.

Ber. Both, both : O, pardon !

Hel. O my good lord, when I was like this maid,
I found you wondrous kind. There is your ring ;
And, look you, here 's your letter ; this it says :
When from my finger you can get this ring,
And are by me with child, $'c. This is done :
Will you be mine, now you are doubly won ?



Ber. If she, my liege, can make me know this

clearly,
I '11 love her dearly x ever, ever dearly.

Hel. If it appear not plain and prove untrue,
Deadly divorce step between me and you !
O my dear mother, do I see you living ?

Laf. Mine eyes smell onions ; I shall weep
anon. [To Parolles.'] Good Tom Drum, lend me
a handkerchief : so, I thank thee : wait on me
home, I '11 make sport with thee : let thy courte-
sies alone, they are scurvy ones.

King. Let us from point to point this story

know,

To make the even truth in pleasure flow.
[To Diana.'] If thou be'st yet a fresh uncropped

flower,

Choose thou thy husband, and I '11 pay thy dower;
For I can guess that by thy honest aid
Thou kept'st a wife herself, thyself a maid.
Of that, and all the progress, more or less,
Resolvedly more leisure shall express :
All yet seems well ; and if it end so meet,
The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet.

" Flourish.

The king 's a beggar, now the play is done :
All is well ended, if this suit be won,
That you express content : which we will pay,
With strife to please you, day exceeding day :
Ours be your patience then, and yours our parts :
Tour gentle hands lend us, and take our hearts.

Exeunt.



TWELFTH NIGHT;

OE,

WHAT YOU WILL,



NAMES OF THE ACTORS.

ORSINO, Duke of Illyria.

SEBASTIAN, brother to Viola.

ANTONIO, a sea captain, friend to Sebastian.

A Sea Captain, friend to Viola.

CURIO*"* 12 ' } S entlemen attending on the Duke.
SIR TOBY BELCH, uncle to Olivia.
SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK.
MALVOLIO, steward to Olivia.

?% clown, }-vant 8 to Olivia.

OLIVIA.
VIOLA.
MARIA, Olivia's woman.

Lords, Priests, Sailors, Officers, Musicians, and
other Attendants.



This play was acted at Candlemas, February 1602, in the Middle Temple Hall, at the Eeader's
Feast. It was probably written in the previous year. It does not seem to have been printed
before 1623, when it appeared in the first folio. The second title, " What You
Will," may have been Shakespeare's answer when asked to name this child
of his fertile brain. There is reason to suppose the plot to have
been derived from an Italian source, but Malvolio, and
most of the other characters, are entirely original.
The scene is laid in an imaginary Illyria,
and the costume may be that of
the beginning of the six-
teenth century.



TWELFTH NIGHT;

OR,

WHAT YOU WILL,



Act I.



Scene I. The Duke's Palace.
Enter Duke, Curio, Lords and Musicians.

Duke. 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 :
0, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing and giving odour ! Enough ; no more :
'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.
O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou !
That, notwithstanding thy capacity
Receiveth as the sea, nought 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.

Cur. Will you go hunt, my lord ?

Duke. What, Curio?

Cur. The hart.

Duke. Why, so I do, the noblest that I hare :
O, when mine eyes did see Olivia first,
Methought she purged the air of pestilence !
That instant was I turn'd into a hart,
And my desires, like fell and cruel .hounds,
E'er since pursue me.

Enter Valentine.

How now ! what news from her ?

Vol. So please my lord, I might not be ad-
mitted,

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 cloistress, 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.

Duke. O, she that hath a heart of that fine frame
To pay this debt of love but to a brother,
How will she love, when the rich golden shaft
Hath kill'd the flock of all affections else
That live in her ; when liver, brain and heart,
These sovereign thrones, are all supplied, and fill'd
Her sweet perfections with one self king !
Away before me to sweet beds of flowers :
Love-thoughts lie rich when canopied with
bowers. Exeunt.



Scene ILThe Sea-coast.
Enter Viola, a Captain and Sailors.

Vio. What country, friends, is this?

Cap. This is Illyria, lady.

Vio. And what should I do in Hlyria ?
My brother he is in Elysium.
Perchance he is not drown' d : what think you,
sailors ?

Cap. It is perchance that you yourself were
saved.

Vio. O my poor brother ! and so perchance
may he be.

Cap. True, madam : and to comfort you with

chance,

Assure yourself, after our ship did split,
When you and those poor number saved with you,
Hung OB our driving boat, I saw your brother,
Most provident in peril, bind himself,
(Courage and hope both teaching him th# prac-
tice,)

To a strong mast that lived upon the sea ;
Where like Arion on the dolphin's back,
I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves
So long as I could see.

Vio. For saying so, there 's gold :
Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope,
Whereto thy speech serves for authority,
The like of him. Know'st thou this country ?

Cap. Ay, madam, well, for I was bred and born
Not three hours' travel from this very place.

Vio. Who governs here?

Cap. A noble duke in nature, as in name.

Vio. What is his name ?

Cap. Orsino.

Vio. Orsino ! I have heard my father name him.
He was a bachelor then.

Cap. And so is now, or was so very late ;
For but 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.

Vio. What 's she ?

Cap. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count
That died some twelvemonth 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.

Vio. that I served that lady,

And might not be delivered to the world,
Till I had made mine own occasion mellow,
What my estate is !



238



TWELFTH NIGHT; OE, WHAT You WILL. ACT L, sc. 3.



Cap. That were hard to compass,

Because she will admit no kind of suit,
No, not the duke's.

Vio. There is a fair behaviour in thee, captain ;
And though that nature with a 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 '11 pay thee bounteously,
Conceal me what I am, and be my aid
For such disguise as haply shall become
The form of my intent. I '11 serve this duke :
Thou shalt present me as an eunuch to him :
It may be worth thy 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.

Cap. Be you his eunuch, and your mute I '11

be,
When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not



Vio. I thank thee : lead me on.

Scene III. Olivia's House.



Exeunt.



Enter Sir Toby Belch and Maria.

Sir To. What a plague means my niece, to take
the death of her brother thus? I am sure care 's
an enemy to life.

Mar. By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come
in earlier o' nights : your cousin, my lady, takes
great exceptions to your ill hours.

Sir To. Why, let her except, before excepted.

Mar. Ay, but you must confine yourself within
the modest limits of order.

Sir To. Confine ! I '11 confine myself no finer
than I am : these clothes are good enough to drink
in, and so be these boots too : an they be not, let
them hang themselves in their own straps.

Mar. 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.

Sir To. Who, Sir Andrew Aguecheek ?

Mar. Ay, he.

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

Mar. What ' s that to the purpose ?

Sir To. Why, he has three thousand ducats a
year.

Mar. Ay, but he '11 have but a year in all these
ducats : he 's a very fool and a prodigal.

Sir To. Fie, that you '11 say so ! he plays o' the
viol-de-gamboys, and speaks three or four lan-
guages word for word without book, and hath all
the good gifts of nature.

Mar. He hath indeed, almost natural : for be-
sides that he's a fool, he 's a great quarreller,
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.

Sir To. By this hand, they are scoundrels and
subtractors that say so of him. Who are they ?

Mar. They that add, moreover, he's drunk
nightly in your company.

Sir To. With drinking healths to my niece :
I '11 drink to her as long as there is a passage in
my throat and drink in Illyria : he 's a coward



and a coystrill that will not drink to my niece
till his brains turn o' the toe like a parish-top.
What, wench ! Castiliano vulgo, for here comes
Sir Andrew Agueface.

Enter Sir Andrew Aguecheek.

Sir And. Sir Toby Belch ! how now, Sir Toby
Belch !

Sir To. Sweet Sir Andrew !

Sir And. Bless you, fair shrew.

Mar. And you too, sir.

Sir To. Accost, Sir Andrew, accost.

Sir And. What's that?

Sir To. My niece's chambermaid.

Sir And. Good Mistress Accost, I desire better
acquaintance.

Mar. My name is Mary, sir.

Sir And. Good Mistress Mary Accost,

Sir To. You mistake, knight : accost is front
her, board her, woo her, assail her.

Sir And. By my troth, I would not undertake
her in this company. Is that the meaning of
accost ?

Mar. Fare you well, gentlemen.

Sir To. An thou let part so, Sir Andrew, would
thou mightst never draw sword again.

Sir And. An you part so, mistress, I would I
might never draw sword again. Fair lady, do you
think you have fools in hand ?

Mar. Sir, I have not you by the hand.

Sir And. Marry, but you shall have, and here 's
my hand.

Mar. Now, sir, thought is free : I pray you,
bring your hand to the buttery-bar, and let it