twelfth night 1.5 olivia 1

Feste: God bless thee, lady

Olivia: Take the fool away.

Feste: Do you not hear, fellows? Take away the lady.

Olivia: Go to, you're a dry fool; I'll no more of you: besides, you grow dishonest.

Feste: Two faults, madonna......The lady bade take away the fool; therefore, I say again, take her away.

Olivia: Sir, I bade them take away you.

Feste: Misprision in the highest degree! Lady, cucullus non facit monachum; that's as much to say as I wear not motley in my brain. Good madonna, give me leave to prove you a fool.

Olivia: Can you do it?

FESTE: Dexterously, good madonna.

Olivia: Make your proof.

FESTE:

I must catechize you for it, Madonna.

Olivia: Well, Sir, for want of other idleness, I'll bide your proof.

Feste: Good madonna, why mourn'st thou?

Olivia: Good fool, for my brother's death.

Feste: I think his soul is in hell, madonna.

Olivia: I know his soul is in heaven, fool.

Feste: The more fool, madonna, to mourn for your brother's soul being in heaven. Take away the fool, gentlemen.

Olivia: What think you of this fool, Malvolio? Doth he not mend?

FESTE

God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for the better increasing your folly! Sir Toby will be sworn that I am no fox; but he will not pass his word for two pence that you are no fool.

Olivia: How say you to that, Malvolio?

Malvolio: I marvel your ladyship takes delight in such a barren rascal...unless you laugh and minister occasion to him, he is gagged.

Olivia: Oh, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, there is no slander in an allowed fool.

Maria: Madam, there is at the gate a young gentleman much desires to speak with you.

Olivia: From the Count Orsino, is it?

Maria: I know not, madam: 'tis a fair young man, and well attended.

Olivia: Who of my people hold him in delay?

Maria: Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman.

Olivia: Fetch him off, I pray you; he speaks nothing but madman: fie on him! Go you Malvolio: if it be a suit from the count, I am sick, or not at home; What you will to dismiss it. Now you see, sir, how your fooling grows old, and people dislike it.

Feste: Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy eldest son should be a fool. For - here he comes - one of thy kin has a most weak pia mater.

Olivia: By mine honour, half drunk. What is he at the gate, cousin?

Sir Toby Belch: A gentleman.

Olivia: A gentleman? What gentleman?

Sir Toby Belch: 'Tis a gentle man here-

Olivia: Cousin, cousin, how have you come so early by this lethargy?

Sir Toby Belch: Lechery! I defy lechery. There's one at the gate.

Olivia: Ay, marry, what is he?

Sir Toby Belch: Let him be the devil, and he will, I care not.

Olivia: What's a drunken man like, fool?

Feste: Like a drowned man, a fool and a mad man: one draught above heat makes him a fool; the second mads him; and a third drowns him.

Olivia: Go, for he's in the third degree of drink, he's drowned: go, look after him.

Malvolio: Madam, yond young fellow swears he will speak with you. I told him you were sick; he takes on him to understand so much, and therefore comes to speak with you. What is to be said to him, lady? He's fortified against any denial.

Olivia: Tell him he shall not speak with me.

Malvolio: Has been told so; and he says, he'll stand at your door like a sheriff's post, and be the supporter to a bench, but he'll speak with you.

Olivia: What kind o' man is he?

Malvolio: Why, of mankind.

Olivia: What manner of man?

Malvolio: Of very ill manner.

Olivia: Of what personage and years is he?

Malvolio: Not yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy. He is very well-favoured and he speaks very shrewishly; one would think his mother's milk were scarce out of him.

Olivia: Let him approach: call in my gentlewoman.

Malvolio: Gentlewoman, my lady calls.

Olivia: Give me my veil: come, throw it o'er my face.

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 loath to cast away my speech, for besides that it is excellently well penned, I have taken great pains to con it.

Olivia: Whence came you, sir?

Viola: I can say little more than I have studied, and that question's out of my part.

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 -

Olivia: Come to what is important in't. I forgive you the praise.

Viola: Alas, I took great pains to study it, and 'tis poetical.

Olivia: It is the more like to be feigned: I pray you, keep it in. If you be not mad, be gone; if you have reason, be brief: 'tis not that time of moon with me to make one in so skipping a dialogue.

Viola: No, good swabber; I am to hull here a little longer.

Olivia: 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 fun of peace as matter.

Olivia: Yet you began rudely. What are you? What would you?

Viola: The rudeness that hath appeared in me have I learned 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.