Twelfth Night

William Shakespeare

• Éditeur: Open Road Media
• Année: 2020
• ISBN:
  9781504063012
• Sujet: Letteratura
• Sous-sujet: Teatro shakespeariano

Shakespeare's delightful romantic comedy about separated siblings, a woman in disguise, and a confounding love triangle. After Viola is shipwrecked in an exotic land on the coast of the Adriatic, she is convinced her twin brother, Sebastian, has been lost at sea. In a quest for survival, she dons men's clothing, assumes the name Cesario, and takes a position in service of a duke.
The duke recruits the help of "Cesario" to woo his beloved Olivia, who has steadfastly refused his advances, resisting romantic attachments as she mourns the loss of her father and brother. But soon, Olivia does succumb to a passionate love—for the person she thinks is a man named Cesario—in this rollicking play by the brilliant Bard.

ACT III.

SCENE I. Olivia’s garden.

Enter Viola and Clown with a tabor.

VIOLA.

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

CLOWN.

No, sir, I live by the church.

VIOLA.

Art thou a churchman?

CLOWN.

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.

VIOLA.

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.

CLOWN.

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!

VIOLA.

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

CLOWN.

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

VIOLA.

Why, man?

CLOWN.

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.

VIOLA.

Thy reason, man?

CLOWN.

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

VIOLA.

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

CLOWN.

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.

VIOLA.

Art not thou the Lady Olivia’s fool?

CLOWN.

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.

VIOLA.

I saw thee late at the Count Orsino’s.

CLOWN.

Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb...