The Complete Works of William Shakespeare. Уильям Шекспир

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       O thou dissembling cub! what wilt thou be

       When time hath sow’d a grizzle on thy case?

       Or will not else thy craft so quickly grow

       That thine own trip shall be thine overthrow?

       Farewell, and take her; but direct thy feet

       Where thou and I henceforth may never meet.

       VIOLA.

       My lord, I do protest,—

       OLIVIA.

       O, do not swear!

       Hold little faith, though thou has too much fear.

       [Enter SIR ANDREW.]

       SIR ANDREW.

       For the love of God, a surgeon! Send one presently to Sir Toby.

       OLIVIA.

       What ‘s the matter?

       SIR ANDREW. Has broke my head across and has given Sir Toby a bloody coxcomb too; for the love of God, your help! I had rather than forty pound I were at home.

       OLIVIA.

       Who has done this, Sir Andrew?

       SIR ANDREW. The count’s gentleman, one Cesario; we took him for a coward, but he ‘s the very devil incardinate.

       DUKE.

       My gentleman Cesario?

       SIR ANDREW. ‘Od’s lifelings, here he is! You broke my head for nothing; and that that I did, I was set on to do ‘t by Sir Toby.

       VIOLA.

       Why do you speak to me? I never hurt you.

       You drew your sword upon me without cause;

       But I bespake you fair, and hurt you not.

       SIR ANDREW. If a bloody coxcomb be a hurt, you have hurt me; I think you set nothing by a bloody coxcomb.

       [Enter SIR TOBY and CLOWN.]

       Here comes Sir Toby halting; you shall hear more: but if he had not been in drink, he would have tickl’d you othergates than he did.

       DUKE.

       How now, gentleman! how is ‘t with you?

       SIR TOBY. That ‘s all one. Has hurt me, and there ‘s th’ end on ‘t. Sot, didst see Dick Surgeon, sot?

       CLOWN. O, he ‘s drunk, Sir Toby, an hour agone; his eyes were set at eight i’ th’ morning.

       SIR TOBY. Then he ‘s a rogue, and a passy measures pavin. I hate a drunken rogue.

       OLIVIA.

       Away with him! Who hath made this havoc with them?

       SIR ANDREW.

       I ‘ll help you, Sir Toby, because we ‘ll be dress’d together.

       SIR TOBY. Will you help? an ass-head and a coxcomb and a knave! a thin-fac’d knave, a gull!

       OLIVIA.

       Get him to bed, and let his hurt be look’d to.

       [Exeunt CLOWN, FABIAN, SIR TOBY, and SIR ANDREW.]

       [Enter SEBASTIAN.]

       SEBASTIAN.

       I am sorry, madam, I have hurt your kinsman

       But, had it been the brother of my blood,

       I must have done no less with wit and safety.

       You throw a strange regard upon me, and by that

       I do perceive it hath offended you;

       Pardon me, sweet one, even for the vows

       We made each other but so late ago.

       DUKE.

       One face, one voice, one habit, and two persons,

       A natural perspective, that is and is not!

       SEBASTIAN.

       Antonio, O my dear Antonio!

       How have the hours rack’d and tortur’d me,

       Since I have lost thee!

       ANTONIO.

       Sebastian are you?

       SEBASTIAN.

       Fear’st thou that, Antonio?

       ANTONIO.

       How have you made division of yourself?

       An apple cleft in two is not more twin

       Than these two creatures. Which is Sebastian?

       OLIVIA.

       Most wonderful!

       SEBASTIAN.

       Do I stand there? I never had a brother;

       Nor can there be that deity in my nature,

       Of here and everywhere. I had a sister,

       Whom the blind waves and surges have devour’d.

       Of charity, what kin are you to me?

       What countryman? what name? what parentage?

       VIOLA.

       Of Messaline: Sebastian was my father;

       Such a Sebastian was my brother too,

       So went he suited to his watery tomb.

       If spirits can assume both form and suit,

       You come to fright us.

       SEBASTIAN.

       A spirit I am indeed;

       But am in that dimension grossly clad

       Which from the womb I did participate.

       Were you a woman, as the rest goes even,

       I should my tears let fall upon your cheek,

       And say, ‘Thrice-welcome, drowned Viola!’

       VIOLA.

       My father had a mole upon his brow.

       SEBASTIAN.

       And so had mine.

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