Читать книгу Twelfth Night; or, What You Will - Уильям Шекспир, William Szekspir, the Simon Studio - Страница 2

Vio. What country, friends, is this?

Rob. This is Illyria, lady.

Vio. And what should I do in Illyria?

My brother he is in Elysium.

Perchance, he is not drown'd: – What think you, sailors?

Rob. It is perchance, that you yourself were saved.

Vio. O my poor brother! and so, perchance may he be.

Rob. True, madam; and, to comfort you with chance,

Assure yourself, after our ship did split,

When you, and that poor number saved with you,

Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother,

Most provident in peril, bind himself

(Courage and hope both teaching him the practice)

To a strong mast, that lived upon the sea;

Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back,

I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves,

So long as I could see.

Vio. Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope,

Whereto thy speech serves for authority,

The like of him. Know'st thou this country?

Rob. Ay, madam, well; for I was bred and born,

Not three hours travel from this very place.

Vio. Who governs here?

Rob. A noble duke, in nature, As in his name.

Vio. What is his name?

Rob. Orsino.

Vio. Orsino! – I have heard my father name him:

He was a bachelor then.

Rob. And so is now,

Or was so very late: for but a month

Ago I went from hence; and then 'twas fresh

In murmur, (as, you know, what great ones do,

The less will prattle of,) that he did seek

The love of fair Olivia.

Vio. What is she?

Rob. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count

That died some twelvemonth since; then leaving her

In the protection of his son, her brother,

Who shortly also died: for whose dear love,

They say, she hath abjured the company

And sight of men.

Vio. Oh, that I served that lady!

And might not be deliver'd to the world,

Till I had made mine own occasion mellow,

What my estate is!

Rob. That were hard to compass;

Because she will admit no kind of suit,

No, not the duke's.

Vio. There is a fair behaviour in thee, captain;

And, I believe, thou hast a mind that suits

With this thy fair and outward character.

I pray thee, and I'll pay thee bounteously,

Conceal me what I am; and be my aid

For such disguise as, haply, shall become

The form of my intent. I'll serve this duke;

Thou shalt present me as a page unto him,

Of gentle breeding, and my name, Cesario: —

That trunk, the reliques of my sea-drown'd brother,

Will furnish man's apparel to my need: —

It may be worth thy pains: for I can sing,

And speak to him in many sorts of music,

That will allow me very worth his service.

What else may hap, to time I will commit;

Only shape thou thy silence to my wit.

Rob. Be you his page, and I your mute will be;

When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see!

Vio. I thank thee: – Lead me on.