Twelfth Night, Act 3, Scene 1

Save thee, friend, and thy music. Dost thou live by thy tabor?

God save you, friend, and your music too. Do you make your living by your drum?

No, sir, I live by the church.

No, sir, I live by the church.

Art thou a churchman?

Are you a churchman?

No such matter, sir. I do live by the church, for I do live at my house, and my house doth stand by the church.

Nothing of the kind, sir. I do live by the church, because I live at my house, and my house stands beside the church.

So thou mayst say the king lies by a beggar, if a beggar dwell near him; or the church stands by thy tabor, if thy tabor stand by the church.

By that logic you could say the king lies beside a beggar, if a beggar lives near him; or that the church stands by your drum, if your drum stands by the church.

You have said, sir. To see this age! A sentence is but a chev’ril glove to a good wit. How quickly the wrong side may be turned outward!

You've said it, sir. What an age this is! A sentence is nothing but a soft kid-leather glove to a clever mind. How quickly the wrong side can be turned out!

Nay, that’s certain; they that dally nicely with words may quickly make them wanton.

Yes, that's certainly true; people who play too fastidiously with words can soon make them shameless.

I would, therefore, my sister had had no name, sir.

Then I wish my sister had had no name, sir.

Why, man?

Why, man?

Why, sir, her name’s a word; and to dally with that word might make my sister wanton. But indeed, words are very rascals, since bonds disgraced them.

Why, sir, her name is a word; and playing with that word might make my sister shameless. But really, words are complete villains, ever since written contracts brought them into disgrace.

Thy reason, man?

Your reason, man?

Troth, sir, I can yield you none without words, and words are grown so false, I am loath to prove reason with them.

Honestly, sir, I can't give you one without using words, and words have grown so untrustworthy that I hate to prove anything with them.

I warrant thou art a merry fellow, and car’st for nothing.

I'm sure you're a cheerful fellow who cares about nothing.

Not so, sir, I do care for something. But in my conscience, sir, I do not care for you. If that be to care for nothing, sir, I would it would make you invisible.

Not so, sir, I do care about something. But in all honesty, sir, I don't care about you. If that counts as caring about nothing, sir, I wish it would make you invisible.

Art not thou the Lady Olivia’s fool?

Aren't you the Lady Olivia's fool?

No, indeed, sir; the Lady Olivia has no folly. She will keep no fool, sir, till she be married, and fools are as like husbands as pilchards are to herrings, the husband’s the bigger. I am indeed not her fool, but her corrupter of words.

No, truly, sir; the Lady Olivia has no foolishness about her. She'll keep no fool, sir, until she's married, and fools are as much like husbands as small sardines are like herrings — the husband is the bigger one. I'm not her fool, in fact, but the man who corrupts her words.

I saw thee late at the Count Orsino’s.

I saw you recently at Count Orsino's.

Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun; it shines everywhere. I would be sorry, sir, but the fool should be as oft with your master as with my mistress. I think I saw your wisdom there.

Foolishness, sir, walks around the globe like the sun; it shines everywhere. I'd be sorry, sir, if the fool weren't as often with your master as with my mistress. I think I saw your wisdom there.

Nay, and thou pass upon me, I’ll no more with thee. Hold, there’s expenses for thee.

No, if you start making jokes at my expense, I'll have nothing more to do with you. Here, take this for your expenses.

Now Jove, in his next commodity of hair, send thee a beard!

Now may Jove, in his next delivery of hair, send you a beard!

By my troth, I’ll tell thee, I am almost sick for one, though I would not have it grow on my chin. Is thy lady within?

Honestly, I'll tell you, I'm almost sick with longing for one, though I wouldn't want it growing on my own chin. Is your lady at home?

Would not a pair of these have bred, sir?

Wouldn't a pair of these coins breed more, sir?

Yes, being kept together, and put to use.

Yes, if they were kept together and lent out at interest.

I would play Lord Pandarus of Phrygia, sir, to bring a Cressida to this Troilus.

I'd be willing to play Lord Pandarus of Phrygia, sir, and bring a Cressida to this Troilus.

I understand you, sir; ’tis well begged.

I follow you, sir; that's begging done well.

The matter, I hope, is not great, sir, begging but a beggar: Cressida was a beggar. My lady is within, sir. I will conster to them whence you come; who you are and what you would are out of my welkin. I might say “element”, but the word is overworn.

It's no great matter, I hope, sir, since I'm only begging a beggar: Cressida ended up a beggar. My lady is at home, sir. I'll explain to them where you come from; who you are and what you want are outside my sky. I might have said "sphere", but the word is worn out.

This fellow is wise enough to play the fool, And to do that well, craves a kind of wit: He must observe their mood on whom he jests, The quality of persons, and the time, And like the haggard, check at every feather That comes before his eye. This is a practice As full of labour as a wise man’s art: For folly, that he wisely shows, is fit; But wise men, folly-fall’n, quite taint their wit.

This fellow is clever enough to play the fool, and doing that well demands a kind of intelligence. He has to watch the mood of the people he jokes about, their rank, and the occasion, and, like the untrained hawk, swoop at every bird that crosses his eye. It's a craft that takes as much work as a wise man's art: for foolishness shown wisely is suitable; but wise men who fall into foolishness completely ruin their reputation for sense.

Save you, gentleman.

God save you, sir.

And you, sir.

And you, sir.

Dieu vous garde, monsieur.

Dieu vous garde, monsieur.

Et vous aussi; votre serviteur.

Et vous aussi; votre serviteur.

I hope, sir, you are, and I am yours.

I hope you are, sir, and I am yours.

Will you encounter the house? My niece is desirous you should enter, if your trade be to her.

Will you take on the house? My niece would like you to come in, if your business is with her.

I am bound to your niece, sir, I mean, she is the list of my voyage.

I'm headed for your niece, sir; I mean, she is the destination of my voyage.

Taste your legs, sir, put them to motion.

Try out your legs, sir, set them moving.

My legs do better understand me, sir, than I understand what you mean by bidding me taste my legs.

My legs hold me up better, sir, than I can grasp what you mean by telling me to try out my legs.

I mean, to go, sir, to enter.

I mean, walk, sir, go in.

I will answer you with gait and entrance: but we are prevented.

I'll answer you by walking and going in — but we've been forestalled.

Most excellent accomplished lady, the heavens rain odours on you!

Most excellent and accomplished lady, may the heavens rain perfumes on you!

That youth’s a rare courtier. ‘Rain odours,’ well.

That young man is an unusually fine courtier. "Rain perfumes" — good.

My matter hath no voice, lady, but to your own most pregnant and vouchsafed ear.

My business has no voice, lady, except for your own most receptive and graciously granted ear.

‘Odours,’ ‘pregnant,’ and ‘vouchsafed.’—I’ll get ’em all three ready.

"Perfumes," "receptive," and "graciously granted." — I'll have all three of them ready to use.

Let the garden door be shut, and leave me to my hearing.

Have the garden gate shut, and leave me to listen to him.

Give me your hand, sir.

Give me your hand, sir.

My duty, madam, and most humble service.

My duty, madam, and my most humble service.

What is your name?

What is your name?

Cesario is your servant’s name, fair princess.

Cesario is your servant's name, fair princess.

My servant, sir! ’Twas never merry world, Since lowly feigning was call’d compliment: Y’are servant to the Count Orsino, youth.

My servant, sir! The world has never been a happy place since humble pretending was called good manners. You are Count Orsino's servant, young man.

And he is yours, and his must needs be yours. Your servant’s servant is your servant, madam.

And he is yours, and what is his must necessarily be yours. Your servant's servant is your servant, madam.

For him, I think not on him: for his thoughts, Would they were blanks rather than fill’d with me!

As for him, I don't think about him; and as for his thoughts, I wish they were blank pages rather than filled with me!

Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts On his behalf.

Madam, I've come to sharpen your gentle thoughts on his behalf.

O, by your leave, I pray you. I bade you never speak again of him. But would you undertake another suit, I had rather hear you to solicit that Than music from the spheres.

Oh, with your permission, please stop. I told you never to speak of him again. But if you would take up another courtship, I'd rather hear you plead for that than listen to the music of the spheres.

Dear lady—

Dear lady—

Give me leave, beseech you. I did send, After the last enchantment you did here, A ring in chase of you. So did I abuse Myself, my servant, and, I fear me, you. Under your hard construction must I sit; To force that on you in a shameful cunning, Which you knew none of yours. What might you think? Have you not set mine honour at the stake, And baited it with all th’ unmuzzled thoughts That tyrannous heart can think? To one of your receiving Enough is shown. A cypress, not a bosom, Hides my heart: so let me hear you speak.

Let me speak, I beg you. After the spell you cast here last time, I sent a ring after you. In doing that I wronged myself, my servant, and, I'm afraid, you. I must submit to your harsh judgement for forcing on you, by a shameful trick, something you knew was not yours. What must you have thought? Haven't you tied my honour to the stake and set on it all the unmuzzled thoughts a cruel heart can think? To someone as quick to understand as you, enough has been shown. A thin veil, not solid flesh, hides my heart. So now let me hear you speak.

I pity you.

I pity you.

That’s a degree to love.

That's one step towards love.

No, not a grize; for ’tis a vulgar proof That very oft we pity enemies.

No, not a step at all; for it's a common fact that we very often pity our enemies.

Why then methinks ’tis time to smile again. O world, how apt the poor are to be proud! If one should be a prey, how much the better To fall before the lion than the wolf! [Clock strikes.] The clock upbraids me with the waste of time. Be not afraid, good youth, I will not have you. And yet, when wit and youth is come to harvest, Your wife is like to reap a proper man. There lies your way, due west.

Then I think it's time to smile again. Oh world, how ready poor people are to be proud! If you have to be someone's prey, how much better to fall to the lion than to the wolf! [The clock strikes.] The clock reproaches me for wasting time. Don't be afraid, good young man, I won't have you. And yet, when your cleverness and youth are fully ripe, your wife is likely to harvest a fine man. There's your way out, straight west.

Then westward ho! Grace and good disposition attend your ladyship! You’ll nothing, madam, to my lord by me?

Then westward ho! May grace and a cheerful spirit go with your ladyship! You have no message, madam, for my lord by me?

Stay: I prithee tell me what thou think’st of me.

Wait: please tell me what you think of me.

That you do think you are not what you are.

That you think you are not what you are.

If I think so, I think the same of you.

If I think that, I think the same about you.

Then think you right; I am not what I am.

Then you think correctly: I am not what I am.

I would you were as I would have you be.

I wish you were what I would like you to be.

Would it be better, madam, than I am? I wish it might, for now I am your fool.

Would that be better, madam, than what I am? I wish it might be, since as things stand I am your plaything.

O what a deal of scorn looks beautiful In the contempt and anger of his lip! A murd’rous guilt shows not itself more soon Than love that would seem hid. Love’s night is noon. Cesario, by the roses of the spring, By maidhood, honour, truth, and everything, I love thee so, that maugre all thy pride, Nor wit nor reason can my passion hide. Do not extort thy reasons from this clause, For that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause; But rather reason thus with reason fetter: Love sought is good, but given unsought is better.

Oh, how much scorn looks beautiful in the contempt and anger of his lip! A murderer's guilt does not reveal itself faster than love that tries to stay hidden. Love's night is broad daylight. Cesario, by the roses of spring, by virginity, honour, truth, and everything, I love you so much that, in spite of all your pride, neither cleverness nor reason can hide my passion. Do not squeeze out an argument from this admission, reasoning that because I am the one wooing, you therefore have no obligation; but rather chain up reason with this reason: love that is sought is good, but love given unasked is better.

By innocence I swear, and by my youth, I have one heart, one bosom, and one truth, And that no woman has; nor never none Shall mistress be of it, save I alone. And so adieu, good madam; never more Will I my master’s tears to you deplore.

I swear by my innocence and by my youth, I have one heart, one breast, and one truth, and no woman possesses them; nor shall any woman ever be mistress of them, except me alone. And so goodbye, good madam. Never again will I come to you to lament my master's tears.

Yet come again: for thou perhaps mayst move That heart, which now abhors, to like his love.

Still, come again: perhaps you may persuade this heart, which now loathes his love, to welcome it.