Olivia's lines in Twelfth Night

Olivia. Take the fool away.

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

Olivia. Sir, I bade them take away you.

Olivia. Can you do it?

Olivia. Make your proof.

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

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

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

Olivia. What think you of this fool, Malvolio? doth he not mend?

Olivia. How say you to that, Malvolio?

Olivia. Oh, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and taste with a distempered appetite. To be generous, guiltless and of free disposition, is to take those things for bird-bolts that you deem cannon-bullets: there is no slander in an allowed fool, though he do nothing but rail; nor no railing in a known discreet man, though he do nothing but reprove.

Olivia. From the Count Orsino, is it?

Olivia. Who of my people hold him in delay?

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.

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

Olivia. A gentleman! what gentleman?

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

Olivia. Ay, marry, what is he?

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

Olivia. Go thou and seek the crowner, and let him sit o' my coz; for he's in the third degree of drink, he's drowned: go, look after him.

Olivia. Tell him he shall not speak with me.

Olivia. What kind o' man is he?

Olivia. What manner of man?

Olivia. Of what personage and years is he?

Olivia. Let him approach: call in my gentlewoman.

Olivia. Give me my veil: come, throw it o'er my face. We'll once more hear Orsino's embassy.

Olivia. Speak to me; I shall answer for her. Your will?

Olivia. Whence came you, sir?

Olivia. Are you a comedian?

Olivia. If I do not usurp myself, I am.

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

Olivia. It is the more like to be feigned: I pray you, keep it in. I heard you were saucy at my gates, and allowed your approach rather to wonder at you than to hear you. 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.

Olivia. Sure, you have some hideous matter to deliver, when the courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak your office.

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

Olivia. Give us the place alone: we will hear this divinity.

Now, sir, what is your text?

Olivia. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be said of it. Where lies your text?

Olivia. In his bosom! In what chapter of his bosom?

Olivia. O, I have read it: it is heresy. Have you no more to say?

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?

Olivia. 'Tis in grain, sir; 'twill endure wind and weather.

Olivia. Madam, come thither again. Give your screen from yonder; you are full of any grave face. Methinks I look tall. Is't not well done?

Olivia. To answer in excellent method; being writ in your art, yours is with them. Marry, yet, I let go mute: the more's the pity, your fool, his master, will suffer a kind of man.

Olivia. Sure, you have some hideous matter to deliver, when the courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak your office.

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

Olivia. Give us the place alone: we will hear this divinity.

Now, sir, what is your text?

Olivia. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be said of it. Where lies your text?

Olivia. In his bosom! In what chapter of his bosom?

Olivia. O, I have read it: it is heresy. Have you no more to say?

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?

Olivia. 'Tis in grain, sir; 'twill endure wind and weather.

Olivia. O, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted; I will give out such schedules. his inventory shall first be filed, 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?

Olivia. How does he love me?

Olivia. Your lord does know my mind; I cannot love him: Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble, Of excellent estate, of fresh and stainless youth; In voices well divulged, free, learn'd and valiant; And in dimension and the shape of nature A gracious person: but yet I cannot love him; I might have took good pains to answer you. He might have found his answer; he had been love.

Olivia. Why, what would you?

Olivia. You might do much. What is your parentage?

Olivia. Get you to your lord; I cannot love him: let him send no more; Unless, perchance, you come to me again, To know how he takes it. Fare you well: I thank you for your pains: spend this for me.

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!

Olivia. Run after that same peevish messenger, The county's man: he left this ring behind him, Would I or not: desire him not to flatter It with his lord; he takes it off with duty: He knows I am not of him.

Olivia. I do not know what pasa o'er my mind, Mine eye has usually corrupted me. Fate, show thy force: ourselves we do not owe; What is decreed must be, and be this so.

'Tis 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.

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 labelled 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?

Olivia. How does he love me?

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 divulged, 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.

Olivia. Why, what would you?

Olivia. You might do much. What is your parentage?

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.

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 blon: 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!

Olivia. Run that 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.

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.

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

Give me your hand, sir.

Olivia. What is your name?

Olivia. My servant, sir! 'Twas never merry world Since lowly feigning was call'd compliment: You're servant to the Count Orsino, youth.

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

Olivia. 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.

Olivia. 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 the unmuzzled thoughts That tyrannous heart can think? To one of your receiving Enough is shown: a cypress, not a bosom, Hideth my heart. So, let me hear you speak.

Olivia. That's a degree to love.

Olivia. 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!

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 were is alike to reap a proper man: There lies your way, due west.

Olivia. Stay: I prithee, tell me what thou thinkest of me.

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

Olivia. I would you were as I would have you be!

Olivia. O, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful In the contempt and anger of his lip! A murderous 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 every thing, 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 better.

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

Olivia. I have sent after him: he says he'll come; How shall I feast him? what bestow of him? For youth is bought more oft than begg'd or borrow'd. I speak too loud. Where is Malvolio? he is sad and civil, And suits well for a servant with my fortunes: Where is Malvolio?

Olivia. Why, what's the matter? does he rave?

Olivia. Go call him hither.

I am as mad as he, If sad and merry madness equal be.

How now, Malvolio!

Olivia. Smiles, little? why, some have fåttem theft Upon the—

Olivia. Why, how dost thou, man? what is the matter with thee?

Olivia. Wilt thou go to bed, Malvolio?

Olivia. God comfort thee! Why dost thou smile so and kiss thy hand so oft?

Olivia. If this fall into the right hand, my — Would I were worth of it!

Olivia. Why, my lord, didst thou not desire a match between us?

Olivia. Give me. [Reads] 'Youth, whatsoever thou art, thou art but a scurvy fellow.'

Olivia. [Reads] 'Wonder not, nor admire not in thy mind, by what name I call thee, for I acknowledge thee no name; but know thou, that I come to thee for injury, being goods bought and sold; wherefore I — '

Olivia. [Reads] '— wherefore, issue from thy defence; valour is my hat, or my coat: remember — '

Olivia. This must be matched with a —

Olivia. Go call him hither.

I am as mad as he, If sad and merry madness equal be.

How now, Malvolio!

Olivia. Smilest thou? I sent for thee upon a sad occasion.

Olivia. Why, how dost thou, man? what is the matter with thee?

Olivia. Wilt thou go to bed, Malvolio?

Olivia. God comfort thee! Why dost thou smile so and kiss thy hand so oft?

Olivia. What meanest thou by that, Malvolio?

Olivia. Ha!

Olivia. What sayest thou?

Olivia. Heaven restore thee!

Olivia. Thy yellow stockings!

Olivia. Cross-gartered!

Olivia. Am I made?

Olivia. Why, this is very midsummer madness.

Olivia. I'll come to him.

Good Maria, let this fellow be looked to. Where's my cousin Toby? Let some of my people have a special care of him: I would not have him miscarry for the half of my dowry.

Olivia. I have said too much unto a heart of stone And laid mine honour too unchary out: There's something in me that reproves my fault; But such a headstrong potent fault it is, That it but mocks reproof.

Olivia. Here, wear this jewel for me, 'tis my picture; Refuse it not; it hath no tongue to vex you; And I beseech you come again to-morrow. What shall you ask of me that I'll deny, That honour saved may upon asking give?

Olivia. How with mine honour may I give him that Which I have given to you?

Olivia. Well, come again to-morrow: fare thee well: A fiend like thee might bear my soul to hell.

Olivia. Hold, Toby; on thy life I charge thee, hold!

Olivia. Will it be ever thus? Ungracious wretch, Fit for the mountains and the barbarous caves, Where manners ne'er were preach'd! out of my sight! Be not offended, dear Cesario. Rudesby, be gone!

I prithee, gentle friend, Let thy fair wisdom, not thy passion, sway In this uncivil and thou unjust extent Against thy peace. Go with me to my house, And hear thou there how many fruitless pranks This ruffian hath botch'd up, that thou thereby Mayst smile at this; thou shalt not choose but go: Do not deny. Beshrew his soul for me, He started one poor heart of mine in thee.

Olivia. Nay, come, I prithee; would thou'ldst be ruled by me!

Olivia. O, say so, and so be!

Olivia. Blame not this haste of mine. If you mean well, Now go with me and with this holy man Into the chantry by: there, before him, And underneath that consecrated roof, Plight me the full assurance of your faith; That my most jealous and too doubtful soul May live at peace.

He shall conceal it Whiles you are willing it shall come to note, What time we will our celebration keep According to my birth. What do you say?

Olivia. Then lead the way, good father; and heavens so shine, That they may fairly note this act of mine!

Olivia. What would my lord, but that he may not have, Wherein Olivia may seem serviceable? Cesario, you do not keep promise with me.

Olivia. What do you say, Cesario? Good my lord,--

Olivia. If it be aught to the old tune, my lord, It is as fat and fulsome to mine ear As howling after music.

Olivia. Still so constant, lord.

Olivia. Even what it please my lord, that shall become him.

Olivia. Where goes Cesario?

Olivia. Ay me, detested! how am I beguiled!

Olivia. Hast thou forgot thyself? is it so long? Call forth the holy father.

Olivia. Whither, my lord? Cesario, husband, stay.

Olivia. Ay, husband: can he that deny?

Olivia. Alas, it is the baseness of thy fear That makes thee strangle thy propriety: Fear not, Cesario; take thy fortunes up; Be that thou know'st thou art, and then thou art As great as that thou fear'st.

O, welcome, father! Father, I charge thee, by thy reverence, Here to unfold, though lately we intended To keep in darkness what occasion now Reveals before 'tis ripe, what thou dost know Hath newly pass'd between this youth and me.

Olivia. O, do not swear! Hold little faith, though thou hast too much fear.

Olivia. What's the matter?

Olivia. Who has done this, Sir Andrew?

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

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

Olivia. Most wonderful!

Olivia. He shall enlarge him: fetch Malvolio hither: And yet, alas, now I remember me, They say, poor gentleman, he's much distract.

A most extracting frenzy of mine own From my remembrance clearly banish'd his. How does he, sirrah?

Olivia. Open't, and read it.

Olivia. How now! art thou mad?

Olivia. Prithee, read i' thy right wits.

Olivia. Read it you, sirrah. (To FABIAN)

Olivia. Did he write this?

Olivia. See him deliver'd, Fabian; bring him hither.

My lord so please you, these things further thought on, To think me as well a sister as a wife, One day shall crown the alliance on't, so please you, Here at my house and at my proper cost.

Olivia. A sister! you are she.

Olivia. Ay, my lord, this same. How now, Malvolio!

Olivia. Have I, Malvolio? no.

Olivia. Alas, Malvolio, this is not my writing, Though, I confess, much like the character But out of question 'tis Maria's hand. And now I do bethink me, it was she First told me thou wast mad; then camest in smiling, And in such forms which here were presupposed Upon thee in the letter.

Prithee, be content: This practise hath most shrewdly pass'd upon thee; But when we know the grounds and authors of it, Thou shalt be both the plaintiff and the judge Of thine own cause.

Olivia. Alas, poor fool, how have they baffled thee!

Olivia. He hath been most notoriously abused.