Orsino

Give 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.

Curio

He is not here, so please your lordship, that should sing it.

Orsino

Who was it?

Curio

Feste, the jester, my lord; a fool that the lady Olivia's father took much delight in. He is about the house.

Orsino

Seek him out, and play the tune the while. Exit Curio. Music plays.

Come 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?

Viola

It gives a very echo to the seat

Where Love is throned.

Orsino

Thou dost speak masterly:

My life upon't, young though thou art, thine eye

Hath stayed upon some favour that it loves:

Hath it not, boy?

Viola

A little, by your favour.

Orsino

What kind of woman is't?

Viola

Of your complexion.

Orsino

She is not worth thee, then. What years, i' faith?

Viola

About your years, my lord.

Orsino

Too 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.

Viola

I think it well, my lord.

Orsino

Then let thy love be younger than thyself,

Or thy affection cannot hold the bent;

For women are as roses, whose fair flower

Being once displayed, doth fall that very hour.

Viola

And so they are: alas, that they are so;

To die, even when they to perfection grow! Re-enter CURIO and CLOWN.

Orsino

O, 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.

Feste

Are you ready, sir?

Orsino

Ay; prithee, sing.

Feste

Orsino

There's for thy pains.

Feste

No pains, sir; I take pleasure in singing, sir.

Orsino

I'll pay thy pleasure then.

Feste

Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid, one time or another.

Orsino

Give me now leave to leave thee.

Feste

Now, 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.

Orsino

Let all the rest give place. Curio and Attendants retire. Once 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 bestowed 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.

Viola

But if she cannot love you, sir?

Orsino

I cannot be so answered.

Viola

Sooth, but you must.

Say that some lady, as perhaps there is,

Hath for your love as great a pang of heart

As you have for Olivia: you cannot love her;

You tell her so; must she not then be answered?

Orsino

There 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 called 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.

Viola

Ay, but I know

Orsino

What dost thou know?

Viola

Too 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.

Orsino

And what's her history?

Viola

A 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.

Orsino

But died thy sister of her love, my boy?

Viola

I 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?

Orsino

Ay, that's the theme.

To her in haste; give her this jewel; say,

My love can give no place, bide no denay. Exeunt.