Act II, Scene 4

DUKE ORSINO’s palace.

[Enter DUKE ORSINO, VIOLA, CURIO, and others]

• 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 895
  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 900
  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; 905
  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 910
  Where Love is throned.

• Orsino. Thou 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? 915

• 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. 920

• 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, 925
  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; 930
  For women are as roses, whose fair flower
  Being once display'd, 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, 940
  And dallies with the innocence of love,
  Like the old age.

• Feste. Are you ready, sir?

• Orsino. Ay; prithee, sing.
  [Music] 945
  SONG.

• Feste. Come 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. 950
  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 955
  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 960
  Sad true lover never find my grave,
  To weep there!

• Orsino. There's for thy pains.

• Feste. No pains, sir: I take pleasure in singing, sir.

• Orsino. I'll pay thy pleasure then. 965

• 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 970
  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.

[Exit]

• Orsino. Let all the rest give place. 975
  [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; 980
  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.

• Viola. But if she cannot love you, sir? 985

• Orsino. I cannot be so answer'd.

• Viola. Sooth, 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; 990
  You tell her so; must she not then be answer'd?

• 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 995
  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 1000
  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: 1005
  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? 1010

• 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, 1015
  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? 1020

• 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, 1025
  My love can give no place, bide no denay.

[Exeunt]