At least we'll find out whether I can still keep a blog when it isn't required and I'm carrying full loads of classes.
Meanwhile, here's the exchange between Olivia and Viola (who is dressed as a man) from Shakespeare's Twelfth Night (or, What You Will):
______________________________________
From Twelfth Night
or, What You Will, Act 1, Scene 5
By
William Shakespeare
OLIVIA.
Give me
my veil; come, throw it o'er my face;
We'll
once more hear Orsino's embassy.
[Enter VIOLA, and ATTENDANTS.]
VIOLA.
The
honourable lady of the house, which is she?
OLIVIA.
Speak to
me; I shall answer for her. Your will?
VIOLA.
Most
radiant, exquisite, and unmatchable beauty,— I pray you, tell me if this be the
lady of the house, for I never saw her: I
would be loth to cast away my speech; for, besides that it is excellently well
penn'd, I have taken great pains to con it. Good beauties, let me sustain no
scorn; I am very comptible, even to the least sinister usage.
OLIVIA.
Whence
came you, sir?
VIOLA.
I can
say little more than I have studied, and that question's out of my part. Good
gentle one, give me modest assurance if you be the lady of the house, that I
may proceed in my speech.
OLIVIA.
Are you
a comedian?
VIOLA.
No, my
profound heart; and yet, by the very fangs of malice I swear, I am not that I
play. Are you the lady of the house?
OLIVIA.
If I do
not usurp myself, I am.
VIOLA.
Most
certain, if you are she, you do usurp yourself; for what is yours to bestow is
not yours to reserve. But this is from my commission. I will on with my speech
in your praise, and then show you the heart of my message.
OLIVIA.
Come to
what is important in't; I forgive you the praise.
VIOLA.
Alas, I
took great pains to study it, and 't is poetical.
OLIVIA.
It is
the more like to be feign'd; I pray you, keep it in. I heard you were saucy at
my gates, and allow'd your approach rather to wonder at you than to hear you.
If you be not mad, be gone; if you have reason, be brief; 't is not that time
of moon with me to make one in so skipping a dialogue.
MARIA.
Will you
hoist sail, sir? here lies your way.
VIOLA.
No, good
swabber; I am to hull here a little longer. Some mollification for your giant,
sweet lady. Tell me your mind; I am a messenger.
OLIVIA.
Sure,
you have some hideous matter to deliver, when the courtesy of it is so fearful.
Speak your office.
VIOLA.
It alone
concerns your ear. I bring no overture of war, no taxation of homage: I hold
the olive in my hand; my words are as full of peace as matter.
OLIVIA.
Yet you
began rudely. What are you? what would you?
VIOLA.
The rudeness
that hath appear'd in me have I learn'd from my entertainment. What I am, and
what I would, are as secret as maidenhead; to your ears, divinity; to any
other's, profanation.
OLIVIA.
Give us
the place alone; we will hear this divinity.
[Exeunt MARIA and ATTENDANTS.]
Now, sir,
what is your text?
VIOLA.
Most
sweet lady,—
OLIVIA.
A
comfortable doctrine, and much may be said of it. Where lies your text?
VIOLA.
In
Orsino's bosom.
OLIVIA.
In his
bosom! In what chapter of his bosom?
VIOLA.
To answer
by the method, in the first of his heart.
OLIVIA.
O, I
have read it; it is heresy. Have you no more to say?
VIOLA.
Good
madam, let me see your face.
OLIVIA.
Have you
any commission from your lord to negotiate with my face? You are now out of
your text; but we will draw the curtain, and show you the picture. Look you,
sir, such a one I was this present; is 't not well done?
[Unveiling.]
VIOLA.
Excellently
done, if God did all.
OLIVIA.
'T is in
grain, sir; 't will endure wind and weather.
VIOLA.
'T is
beauty truly blent whose red and white
Nature's
own sweet and cunning hand laid on.
Lady,
you are the cruell'st she alive,
If you
will lead these graces to the grave,
And
leave the world no copy.
OLIVIA.
O, sir,
I will not be so hard-hearted; I will give out divers schedules of my beauty.
It shall be inventoried, and every particle and utensil labell'd to my will:
as, item, two lips, indifferent red; item, two grey eyes, with lids to them;
item, one neck, one chin, and so forth. Were you sent hither to praise me?
VIOLA.
I see
you what you are, you are too proud;
But, if
you were the devil, you are fair.
My lord
and master loves you; O, such love
Could be
but recompens'd, though you were crown'd
The
nonpareil of beauty!
OLIVIA.
How does
he love me?
VIOLA.
With
adorations, fertile tears,
With
groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire.
OLIVIA.
Your
lord does know my mind; I cannot love him:
Yet I
suppose him virtuous, know him noble,
Of great
estate, of fresh and stainless youth;
In
voices well divulg'd, free, learn'd, and valiant;
And, in
dimension and the shape of nature,
A
gracious person: but yet I cannot love him;
He might
have took his answer long ago.
VIOLA.
If I did
love you in my master's flame,
With
such a suffering, such a deadly life,
In your
denial I would find no sense;
I would
not understand it.
OLIVIA.
Why,
what would you?
VIOLA.
Make me
a willow cabin at your gate,
And call
upon my soul within the house;
Write
loyal cantons of contemned love,
And sing
them loud even in the dead of night;
Halloo
your name to the reverberate hills,
And make
the babbling gossip of the air
Cry out,
'Olivia!' O, you should not rest
Between
the elements of air and earth,
But you
should pity me!
OLIVIA.
You
might do much. What is your parentage?
VIOLA.
Above my
fortunes, yet my state is well;
I am a
gentleman.
OLIVIA.
Get you
to your lord;
I cannot
love him: let him send no more;
Unless,
perchance, you come to me again,
To tell
me how he takes it. Fare you well;
I thank
you for your pains. Spend this for me.
VIOLA.
I am no
fee'd post, lady; keep your purse:
My
master, not myself, lacks recompense.
Love
make his heart of flint that you shall love;
And let
your fervour, like my master's, be
Plac'd
in contempt! Farewell, fair cruelty.
[Exit.]
OLIVIA.
'What is
your parentage?'
'Above
my fortunes, yet my state is well;
I am a
gentleman.' I'll be sworn thou art;
Thy
tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit,
Do give
thee five-fold blazon. Not too fast! Soft, soft!
Unless
the master were the man. How now!
Even so
quickly may one catch the plague?
Methinks
I feel this youth's perfections
With an
invisible and subtle stealth
To creep
in at mine eyes. Well, let it be.
What ho,
Malvolio!
[Re-enter MALVOLIO.]
MALVOLIO.
Here,
madam, at your service.
OLIVIA.
Run after
that same peevish messenger,
The
county's man: he left this ring behind him,
Would I
or not; tell him I'll none of it.
Desire
him not to flatter with his lord,
Nor hold
him up with hopes; I am not for him.
If that
the youth will come this way to-morrow,
I'll
give him reasons for't. Hie thee, Malvolio.
MALVOLIO.
Madam, I
will.
[Exit.]
OLIVIA.
I do I
know not what; and fear to find
Mine eye
too great a flatterer for my mind.
Fate,
show thy force: ourselves we do not owe;
What is
decreed must be, and be this so!
No comments:
Post a Comment