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  • William Shakespeare: Twelfth Night, Act II, Scene IV

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Scene IVDuke Orsino’s palaceEnter Duke Orsino, Viola, Curio, and othersDuke OrsinoGive me some music. Now, good morrow, friends. Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song, That old and antique song we heard last night: Methought it did relieve my passion much, More than light airs and recollected terms Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times: Come, but one verse.CurioHe is not here, so please your lordship that should sing it.Duke OrsinoWho was it?CurioFeste, the jester, my lord; a fool that the lady Olivia’s father took much delight in. He is about the house.Duke OrsinoSeek him out, and play the tune the while.Exit Curio. Music playsCome hither, boy: if ever thou shalt love, In the sweet pangs of it remember me; For such as I am all true lovers are, Unstaid and skittish in all motions else, Save in the constant image of the creature That is beloved. How dost thou like this tune?ViolaIt gives a very echo to the seat Where Love is throned.Duke OrsinoThou dost speak masterly: My life upon’t, young though thou art, thine eye Hath stay’d upon some favour that it loves: Hath it not, boy?ViolaA little, by your favour.Duke OrsinoWhat kind of woman is’t?ViolaOf your complexion.Duke OrsinoShe is not worth thee, then. What years, i’ faith?ViolaAbout your years, my lord.Duke OrsinoToo old by heaven: let still the woman take An elder than herself: so wears she to him, So sways she level in her husband’s heart: For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn, Than women’s are.ViolaI think it well, my lord.Duke OrsinoThen let thy love be younger than thyself, Or thy affection cannot hold the bent; For women are as roses, whose fair flower Being once display’d, doth fall that very hour.ViolaAnd so they are: alas, that they are so; To die, even when they to perfection grow!Re-enter Curio and ClownDuke OrsinoO, fellow, come, the song we had last night. Mark it, Cesario, it is old and plain; The spinsters and the knitters in the sun And the free maids that weave their thread with bones Do use to chant it: it is silly sooth, And dallies with the innocence of love, Like the old age.ClownAre you ready, sir?Duke OrsinoAy; prithee, sing.MusicSong.ClownCome away, come away, death, And in sad cypress let me be laid; Fly away, fly away breath; I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, O, prepare it! My part of death, no one so true Did share it. Not a flower, not a flower sweet On my black coffin let there be strown; Not a friend, not a friend greet My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown: A thousand thousand sighs to save, Lay me, O, where Sad true lover never find my grave, To weep there!Duke OrsinoThere’s for thy pains.ClownNo pains, sir: I take pleasure in singing, sir.Duke OrsinoI’ll pay thy pleasure then.ClownTruly, sir, and pleasure will be paid, one time or another.Duke OrsinoGive me now leave to leave thee.ClownNow, the melancholy god protect thee; and the tailor make thy doublet of changeable taffeta, for thy mind is a very opal. I would have men of such constancy put to sea, that their business might be every thing and their intent every where; for that’s it that always makes a good voyage of nothing. Farewell.ExitDuke OrsinoLet all the rest give place.Curio and Attendants retireOnce more, Cesario, Get thee to yond same sovereign cruelty: Tell her, my love, more noble than the world, Prizes not quantity of dirty lands; The parts that fortune hath bestow’d upon her, Tell her, I hold as giddily as fortune; But ’tis that miracle and queen of gems That nature pranks her in attracts my soul.ViolaBut if she cannot love you, sir?Duke OrsinoI cannot be so answer’d.ViolaSooth, but you must. Say that some lady, as perhaps there is, Hath for your love a great a pang of heart As you have for Olivia: you cannot love her; You tell her so; must she not then be answer’d?Duke OrsinoThere is no woman’s sides Can bide the beating of so strong a passion As love doth give my heart; no woman’s heart So big, to hold so much; they lack retention Alas, their love may be call’d appetite, No motion of the liver, but the palate, That suffer surfeit, cloyment and revolt; But mine is all as hungry as the sea, And can digest as much: make no compare Between that love a woman can bear me And that I owe Olivia.ViolaAy, but I know—Duke OrsinoWhat dost thou know?ViolaToo well what love women to men may owe: In faith, they are as true of heart as we. My father had a daughter loved a man, As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman, I should your lordship.Duke OrsinoAnd what’s her history?ViolaA blank, my lord. She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i’ the bud, Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought, And with a green and yellow melancholy She sat like patience on a monument, Smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed? We men may say more, swear more: but indeed Our shows are more than will; for still we prove Much in our vows, but little in our love.Duke OrsinoBut died thy sister of her love, my boy?ViolaI am all the daughters of my father’s house, And all the brothers too: and yet I know not. Sir, shall I to this lady?Duke OrsinoAy, that’s the theme. To her in haste; give her this jewel; say, My love can give no place, bide no denay.Exeunt

William Shakespeare: Twelfth Night, Act II

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William Shakespeare: Twelfth Night, Act V

  • William Shakespeare: Twelfth Night, Act V

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  • Did Birds Evolve from Dinosaurs?
  • The Twelve Dancing Princesses
  • Current Events This Week: January 2023
  • African Americans by the Numbers
  • Andersen’s Fairy Tales: Contents
  • The Celtic Twilight: A Teller of Tales