Twelfth Night By William Shakespeare Act III: Scene 1

I mean, to go, sir, to enter.

I will answer you with gait and entrance. But we are prevented.

[Enter OLIVIA and MARIA.]

Most excellent accomplish'd lady, the heavens rain odours on you!

That youth's a rare courtier. 'Rain odours'; well.

My matter hath no voice, lady, but to your own most pregnant and
vouchsafed ear.

'Odours,' 'pregnant,' and 'vouchsafed': I'll get 'em all three
all ready.

Let the garden door be shut, and leave me to my hearing.
[Exeunt SIR TOBY, SIR ANDREW, and MARIA.] Give me your hand, sir.

My duty, madam, and most humble service.

What is your name?

Cesario is your servant's name, fair princess.

My servant, sir! 'T was never merry world
Since lowly feigning was call'd compliment;
You're servant to the Count Orsino, youth.

And he is yours, and his must needs be yours;
Your servant's servant is your servant, madam.

For him, I think not on him; for his thoughts,
Would they were blanks, rather than fill'd with me!

Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts
On his behalf.

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.

Dear lady, —

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 th' unmuzzled thoughts
That tyrannous heart can think? To one of your receiving
Enough is shown. A cypress, not a bosom,
Hides my heart. So, let me hear you speak.

I pity you.

That's a degree to love.

No, not a grize; for 't is a vulgar proof,
That very oft we pity enemies.

Why, then methinks 't is 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 wife is like to reap a proper man.
There lies your way, due west.

Then westward-ho! Grace and good disposition
Attend your ladyship!
You'll nothing, madam, to my lord by me?

I prithee, tell me what thou think'st of me.

That you do think you are not what you are.

If I think so, I think the same of you.

Then think you right; I am not what I am.

I would you were as I would have you be!

Would it be better, madam, than I am?
I wish it might, for now I am your fool.

O, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful
In the contempt and anger of his lip!
A murd'rous 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 is better.

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.

Yet come again; for thou perhaps mayst move
That heart, which now abhors, to like his love.


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