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Oli. 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?

Fio. I see you what you are you are too proud;
But, if you were the devil, you are fair.
My lord and master loves you; O, such love
Could be but recompens'd, though you were crown'd
The nonpareil of beauty!

Oli.

How does he love me?

Vio. With adorations, with fertile tears,
With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire.
Ji. 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 divulg'd, 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.

Vie. If I did love you in my master's flame,
With such a suffering, such a deadly life,
In your denial I would find no sense,
I would not understand it.

Oli.
Why, what would you?
Fie. Make me a willow cabin at your gate,
And call upon my soul within the house:
Write loyal cantons of contemned love,
And sing them loud even in the dead of night;
Holla your name to the reverberate hills,
And make the babbling gossip of the air
Cry out, Olivia! O, you should not rest
Between the elements of air and earth,
But you should pity me.

Oli. You might do much : What is your
age?

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Enter ANTONIO and SEBASTIAN.

Ant. Will you stay no longer? nor will you not, that I go with you?

Seh. By your patience, no: my stars shine darkly over me; the malignancy of my fate might, per. haps, distemper yours; therefore I shall crave of you your leave, that I may bear my evils alone: It were a bad recompense for your love, to lay any of them on you.

Ant. Let me yet know of you, whither you are bound.

Seb. No, 'sooth, sir; my determinate voyage is mere extravagancy. But I perceive in you so excellent a touch of modesty, that you will not extort from me what I am willing to keep in; therefore it charges me in manners the rather to express my. self. You must know of me then, Antonio, my name is Sebastian, which I called Rodorigo; my father was that Sebastian of Messaline, whom, I know, you have heard of: he left behind him, myself, and a sister, both born in an hour. If the parent-heavens had been pleased, 'would we had so ended! but, you, sir, altered that; for, some hour before you took me from the breach of the sea, was my sister drowned.

Fio. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well :
I am a gentleman.

Oli.
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.
Vie. I am no fee'd post, lady; keep your purse;
My master, not myself, lacks recompense.
Love make his heart of flint, that you shall love;
And let your fervour, like my master's, be
Plac'd in contempt! Farewell, fair cruelty. [Exit.
Oli. 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!

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Ant. Alas, the day!

Seb. A lady, sir, though it was said she much resembled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful: but, though I could not, with such estimable wonder, overfar believe that, yet thus far I will boldly publish her, she bore a mind that envy could not but call fair: she is drowned already, sir, with salt water, though I seem to drown her remembrance again with more.

Ant. Pardon me, sir, your bad entertainment. Seb. O, good Antonio, forgive me your trouble. Ant. If you will not murder me for my love, let me be your servant.

Seb. If you will not undo what you have done, that is, kill him whom you have recovered, desire it not. Fare ye well at once: my bosom is full of kindness; and I am yet so near the manners of my mother, that upon the least occasion more, mine eyes will tell tales of me. I am bound to the Count Orsino's court: farewell.

[Exit.

Aut. The gentleness of all the gods go with thee!
I have many enemies in Orsino's court,
Else would I very shortly see thee there:
But, come what may, I do adore thee so,
That danger shall seem sport, and I will go. [Exit.

SCENE II-A Street.

Enter VIOLA; MALVOLIO following.
Mal. Were not you even now with the Countess
Olivia ?

Vio. Even now, sir; on a moderate pace I have since arrived but hither.

very good, i'faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy leman: Hadst it?

Mal. She returns this ring to you, sir; you might have saved me my pains, to have taken it away yourself. She adds moreover, that you should put your lord into a desperate assurance she will none of him: And one thing more; that you being, when all is done. Now, a song. never so hardy to come again in his affairs, unless it be to report your lord's taking of tais. Receive it so.

Clo. I did impeticos thy gratillity; for Malvolio's nose is no whipstock: My lady has a white hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottle ale-houses. Sir And. Excellent! Why, this is the best fool

Vio. She took the ring of me; I'll none of it. Mal. Come, sir, you peevishly threw it to her; and her will is, it should be so returned: if it be worth stooping for, there it lies in your eye; if not, be it his that finds it.

[Exit.

Vio. I left no ring with her: What means this
lady?

Fortune forbid, my outside have not charm'd her!
She made good view of me; indeed, so much,
That, sure, methought, her eyes had lost her tongue,
For she did speak in starts distractedly.
She loves me, sure; the cunning of her passion
Invites me in this churlish messenger.

None of my lord's ring! why, he sent her none.
I am the man;-If it be so, (as 'tis,)
Poor lady, she were better love a dream.
Disguise, I see, thou art a wickedness,
Wherein the pregnant enemy does much.
How easy is it, for the proper-false

In women's waxen hearts to set their forms!
Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we;
For, such as we are made of, such we be.

How will this fadge? My master loves her dearly;
And I, poor monster, fond as much on him;
And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me :
What will become of this! As I am man,
My state is desperate for my master's love;
As I am woman, now alas the day!
What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe ?
O time, thou must entangle this, not I;
It is too hard a knot for me to untie.

SCENE III.-A Room in Olivia's House.

[Exit.

Enter Sir TOBY BELCH and Sir ANDREW AGUE

CHEEK.

Sir To. Approach, Sir Andrew: not to be a-bed after midnight, is to be up betimes; and diluculo surgere, thou know'st,

Sir And. Nay, by my troth, I know not: but I know, to be up late, is to be up late.

Sir To. Come on; there is sixpence for you; let's have a song.

Sir And. There's a testril of me, too: if one knight give a

Clo. Would you have a love-song, or a song of good life?

Sir To. A love song, a love-song.

Sir And. Ay, ay; I care not for good life.
SONG.

Clo. O mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O, stay and hear; your true love's coming,
That can sing both high and low:
Trip no further pretty sweeting;
Journeys end in lovers' meeting,

Every wise man's son doth know.

Sir And. Excellent good, i'faith!
Sir To. Good, good.

Clo. What is love? 'tis not hereafter;
Present mirth hath present laughter;
What's to come, is still unsure:
In delay there lies no plenty ;

Then come kiss me, sweet-and-twenty,
Youth's a stuff will not endure.

Sir And. A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight.

Sir To. A contagious breath.

Sir And. Very sweet and contagious, i'faith.

Sir To. To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion. But shall we make the welkin dance, indeed? Shall we rouse the night-owl in a catch, that will draw three souls out of one weaver? shall we do that?

Sir And. An you love me, let's do't: I am dog

at a catch.

Clo. By'r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well.

Sir And. Most certain let our catch be, Thou knave.

Clo. Hold thy peace, thou knave, knight? I shall be constrain'd in't to call thee knave, knight.

Sir And. 'Tis not the first time I have constrain'd

Sir To. A false conclusion; I hate it as an un-one to call me knave. Begin, fool; it begins, Hold filled can: To be up after midnight, and to go to thy peace. bed then is early; so that, to go to bed after midnight, is to go to bed betimes. consist of the four elements?

Do not our lives

Sir And. 'Faith, so they say; but, I think, it rather consists of eating and drinking.

Sir To. Thou art a scholar; let us therefore eat and drink.-Marian, I say!- -a stoop of wine!

Enter Clown.

Sir And. Here comes the fool, i'faith.

Clo. How now, my hearts? Did you never see the picture of we three?

Sir To. Welcome, ass. Now, let's have a catch. Sir And. By my troth, the fool has an excellent breast. I had rather than forty shillings I had such a leg; and so sweet a breath to sing, as the fool has. In sooth, thou wast in very gracious fooling last night, when thou spokest of Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians passing the equinoctial of Queubus; 'twas

Clo. I shall never begin, if I hold my peace.
Sir And. Good, i'faith! Come, begin.

Enter MARIA.

[They sing a catch

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great swarths; the best persuaded of nimself, so crammed, as he thinks, with excellences, that it is bis ground of faith, that all, that look on him, love him; and on that vice in him will my revenge find notable cause to work.

Sir To. What wilt thou do?

Mar. I will drop in his way some obscure epistles

Mal. My masters, are you mad? or what are you! Have you no wit, manners, nor honesty, but to gabble like tinkers at this time of night? Do ye of love; wherein, by the colour of his beard, the make an alehouse of my lady's house, that ye shape of his leg, the manner of his gait, the exsqueak out your coziers' catches without any miti-pressure of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he gation or remorse of voice? Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time, in you?

Sir To. We did keep time, sir, in our catches. Sneck up!

Mal. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My lady bade me tell you, that, though she harbours you as her kinsman, she's nothing allied to your disorders. If you can separate yourself and your misdemeanors, you are welcome to the house; if not, an it would please you to take leave of her, she is very willing to bid you farewell.

shall find himself most feelingly personated: I can write very like my lady, your niece; on a forgotten matter we can hardly make distinction of our bands. Sir To. Excellent! I smell a device. Sir And. I have't in my nose too.

Sir To. He shall think, by the letters that thou wilt drop, that they come from my niece, and that she is in love with him.

Mar. My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour.

Sir And. And your horse now would make him

Sir To. Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs be an ass. gone.

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Sir To. Shall I bid him go, and spare not? Clo. O no, no, no, no, you dare not.

[Singing.

Sir To. Out o'time? sir, ye lie.-Art any more than a steward? Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale? Clo. Yes, by Saint Anne; and ginger shall be hot i'the mouth, too.

Sir To. Thou'rt i the right.-Go, sir, rub your chain with crums:-A stoop of wine, Maria!

Mal. Mistress Mary, if you priz'd my lady's faYour at anything more than contempt, you would Dot give means for this uncivil rule; she shall know of it, by this hand.

[Exit.

Mar. Go shake your ears. Si- And. 'Twere as good a deed as to drink when a man's a hungry, to challenge him to the field; and then to break promise with him, and make a fool of him.

Sir Te. Do't, knight; I'll write thee a challenge; or I'll deliver thy indignation to him by word of mouth.

Mar. Sweet Sir Toby, be patient for to-night; since the youth of the count's was to-day with my lady, she is much out of quiet. For monsieur Malvolo, let me alone with him: if I do not gull him into a nayword, and make him a common recreation, do not think 1 bave wit enough to lie straight in my bed: I know, I can do it.

Sir To. Possess us, possess us; tell us something of him.

Mar. Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Puritan.

Sir And. O, if I thought that, I'd beat him like a dog.

Sir To. What, for being a Puritan? thy exquisite reason, dear knight?

Sir And. I have no exquisite reason for't, but I have reason good enough.

Mar. The devil a Puritan that he is, or any thing constantly but a time-pleaser; an affection'd ss, that cons state without book, and utters it by

Mar. Ass, I doubt not.

Sir And. O, 'twill be admirable.

Mar. Sport royal, I warrant you: I know, my physic will work with him. I will plant you two, and let the fool make a third, where he shall find the letter; observe his construction of it. For this night, to bed, and dream on the event. Farewell. [Exit. Sir To. Good night, Penthesilea. Sir And. Before me, she's a good wench. Sir To. She's a beagle, true bred, and one that adores me; What o'that?

Sir And. I was adored once, too.

Sir To. Let's to bed, knight.-Thou hadst need send for more money.

Sir And. If I cannot recover your niece, I am a foul way out.

Sir To. Send for money, knight; if thou hast her not i'the end, call me Cut.

Sir And. If I do not, never trust me, take it how you will.

Sir To. Come, come; I'll go burn some sack, 'tis too late to go to bed now: come, kni ht; come, knight. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.--A Room in the Duke's Palace."
Enter DUKE, VIOLA, CURIO, and others.
Duke. Give me some music :-Now, good mor-
row, friends:

Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song,
That old and antique song we beard last night;
Methought, it did relieve my passion much;
More than light airs and recollected terms,
Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times :-
Come, but one verse.

Cur. He is not here, so please your lordship, that should sing it.

Duke. Who was it?

Cur. Feste, the jester, my lord; a fool, that the lady Olivia's father took much delight in: he is about the house.

Duke. Seek him out, and play the tune the while. [Exit CURIO.-Music.

Come hither, boy; If ever thou shalt love
In the sweet pangs of it, remember me :
For, such as I am, all true lovers are ;
Unstaid and skittish in all motions else,
Save, in the constant image of the creature
That is belov'd.-How dost thou like this tune?

Vio. It gives a very echo to the seat

Where Love is thron'd.

Duke. Thou dost speak masterly:

My life upon't, young though thou art, thine eye
Hath stay'd upon some favour that it loves;

Hath it not, boy?
Vio.
A little, by your favour.
Duke. What kind of woman is't?
Vio.
Of your complexion.
Duke. She is not worth thee then. What years,
i'faith?

Vio. About your years, my lord.

Duke. Too old, by Heaven; Let still the woman take

An elder than herself; so wears she to him,
So sways she level in her husband's heart.
For, boy, however we do praise ourselves,
Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm,
More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn,
Than women's are.

Vio.

I think it well, my lord.

Duke. Then let thy love be younger than thyself, Or thy affection cannot hold the bent: For women are as roses; whose fair flower, Being once display'd, doth fall that very hour. Vio. And so they are: alas, that they are so ; To die, even when they to perfection grow!

Re-enter CURIO and Clown.

for that's it, that always makes a good voyage of nothing.-Farewell. [Exit Clown. Duke. Let all the rest give place.

[Exeunt CURIO and Attendants
Once more, Cesario

Get thee to yon' same sovereign cruelty:
Tell her, my love, more noble than the world,
Prizes not quantity of dirty lands;
The parts that fortune hath bestow'd upon her,
Tell her, I hold as giddily as fortune;
But 'tis that miracle, and queen of gems,
That nature pranks her in, attracts my soul.
Vio. But if she cannot love you, sir?
Duke. I cannot be so answer'd.
Vio.
'Sooth, but you must.
Say, that some lady, as, perhaps, there is,
Hath for your love as great a pang of heart
As you have for Olivia: you cannot love her;
You tell her so; Must she not then be answer'd?
Duke. There is no woman's sides,

Can bide the beating of so strong a passion
As love doth give my heart: no woman's heart
So big, to hold so much; they lack retention.
Alas, their love may be called appetite,-
No motion of the liver, but the palate,-
That suffer surfeit, cloyment, and revolt;
But mine is all as hungry as the sea,
And can digest as much: make no compare
Between that love a woman can bear me,

Duke. O fellow, come, the song we had last And that I owe Olivia.

night :

Mark it, Cesario; it is old and plain :

The spinsters and the knitters in the sun,

Vio.
Ay, but I know,-
Duke. What dost thou know?
Vio. Too well what love women to men may owe

And the free maids, that weave their thread with | In faith, they are as true of heart as we.

bones,

Do use to chaunt it; it is silly sooth, And dallies with the innocence of love, Like the old age.

sir.

Clo. Are you ready, sir? Duke. Ay; pr'ythee, sing.

SONG.

Clo. Come away, come away, death,
And in sad cypress let me be laid;
Fly away, fly away, breath;
I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
My shroud of white, stuck all with yew,
O, prepare it ;

My part of death no one so true

Did share it.

Not a flower, not a flower sweet,

On my black coffin let there be strown;

Not a friend, not a friend greet

My father had a daughter lov'd a man,
As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman,
I should your lordship.

Duke.
And what's ber history?
Vio. A blank, my lord: She never told her love,
[Music. But let concealment, like a worm i'the bud,
Feed on her damask cheek: she pin'd in thought;
And, with a green and yellow melancholy,
She sat like patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed?
We men may say more, swear more. but, indeed,
Our shows are more than will; for still we prove
Much in our vows,
but little in our love.

My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown:

A thousand thousand sighs to save,
Lay me, O where

Sad true lover never find my g1 we.

To weep there.

Duke. There's for thy pains.

Duke. But died thy sister of her love, my boy? Vio. I am all the daughters of my father's house, And all the brothers too ;-and yet I know not.Sir, shall I to this lady?

Duke.

Ay, that's the theme. To her in haste; give her this jewel; say, My love can give no place, bide no denay. [Exeunt.

SCENE V.-Olivia's Garden.

Enter Sir TOBY BELCH, Sir ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK. and FABIAN.

Sir To. Come thy ways, Signior Fabian.
Fab. Nay, I'll come; if I lose a scruple of this

Clo. No pains, sir; I take pleasure in singing, sport, let me be boiled to death with melancholy.

Duke. I'll pay thy pleasure then.

Sir To. Would'st thou not be glad to have the niggardly rascally sheep-biter come by some not

Clo. Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid, one able shame? time or another.

Duke. Give me now leave to leave thee.

Clo. Now, the melancholy god protect thee; and the tailor make thy doublet of changeable taffata, for thy mind is a very opal !-I would have men of such constancy put to sea, that their business might be everything, and their intent everywhere;

Fab. I would exult, man: you know, he brought me out of favour with my lady, about a bear-baiting here.

Sir To. To anger him, we'll have the bear again, and we will fool him black and blue-Shall we not, Sir Andrew?

Si And. An we do not, it is pity of our lives.

Enter MARIA.

Sir To. Here comes the little villain :- How Bow, my nettle of India?

Sir And. That's me, I warrant you. Mal. One Sir Andrew:

Sir And. I knew, 'twas I; for many do call me fool.

Mal. What employment have we here?
[Taking up the letter

Fab. Now is the woodcock near the gin.
Sir To. O, peace! and the spirit of humours in-

Mar. Get ye all three into the box-tree: MalFolio's coming down this walk; he has been yonder i'the sun, practising behaviour to his own shadow, this half hour: observe him, for the love of mock. ery; for, I know, this letter will make a contem-timate reading aloud to him! plative idiot of him. Close, in the name of jesting! [The men hide themselves.] Lie thou there [throws be her very C's, her U's, and her T's; and thus down a letter]; for here comes the trout that must makes she her great P's. It is, in contempt of be caught with tickling. [Exit MARIA. question, her hand.

Enter MALVOLIO.

Mal. 'Tis but fortune; all is fortune. Maria once told me, she did affect me: and I have heard berself come thus near, that, should she fancy, it should be one of my complexion. Besides, she uses me with a more exalted respect, than any one else that follows her. What should I think on't? Sir To. Here's an over-weening rogue!

Fab. O, peace! Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock of him; how he jets under his advanced plumes!

Sir And. 'Slight, I could so beat the rogue !Sir To. Peace, I say.

Mat. To be Count Malvolio;

Sir To. Ah, rogue!

Sir And. Pistol him, pistol him.

Sir To. Peace, peace!

Mal. There is example for't; the lady of the strachy married the yeoman of the wardrobe. Sir And. Fie on him, Jezebel!

Fab. O, peace! now he's deeply in; look, how imagination blows him.

Mal. Having been three months married to her, sitting in my state,

Sir To. O, for a stone-bow, to hit him in the eye! Mal. Calling my officers about me, in my branched velvet gown; having come from a daybed, where I left Olivia sleeping.

Sir To. Fire and brimstone !
Fab. O, peace, peace!

Mal. And then to have the humour of state and after a demure travel of regard,-telling them, I know my place, as I would they should do theirs, -to ask for my kinsman Toby:

Sir To. Bolts and shackles!

Fab. O, peace, peace, peace! now, now. Mal. Seven of my people, with an obedient start, make out for him I frown the while; and, perchance, wind up my watch, or play with some rieb jewel. Toby approaches; court'sies there to

me:

Sir To. Shall this fellow live?

Fab. Though our silence be drawn from us with ears, yet peace.

Mal. I extend my hand to him thus, quenching my familiar smile with an austere regard of control: Sir To. And does not Toby take you a blow o'the lips then?

Mat. Saying, Cousin Toby, my fortunes having cast me your niece, give me this prerogative of speech:

Sir To. What, what?

Mal. You must amend your drunkenness.

Sir To. Out, scab !

Fab. Nay, patience, or we break the sinews of our plot.

Mal. Besides, you waste the treasure of your time with a foolish knight;

Mal. By my life, this is my lady's hand: these

Sir And. Her C's, her U's, and her T's: Why that?

Mal. [Reads.] To the unknown beloved, this, and my good wishes: her very phrases!-By your leave, wax,-Soft! - and the impressure her Lucrece, with which she uses to seal: 'tis my lady: To whom should this be?

Fab. This wins him, liver and all.
Mal. [Reads.] Jove knows, I love:
But who?
Lips do not move,

No man must know.

No man must know.-What follows? the numbers altered!-No man must know:-If this should be thee, Malvolio?

Sir To. Marry, hang thee, brock!

Mal. I may command, where I adore:

But silence, like a Lucrece knife,
With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore;
M, O, A, I, doth sway my life.

Fab. A fustian riddle!

Sir To. Excellent wench, say I. Mal. M, O, A, I, doth sway my life.-Nay, but first, let me see,let me see,--let me see. Fab. What a dish of poison hath she dressed him! Sir To. And with what wing the stannyel checks at it!

Mal. I may command where I adore. Why, she may command me: I serve her, she is my lady. Why, this is evident to any formal capacity. There is no obstruction in this:-And the end,- What should that alphabetical position portend? if I could make that resemble something in me, Softly!-M, O, A, I.—

Sir To. O, ay! make up that:-he is now at a cold scent.

Fab. Sowter will cry upon't, for all this, though it be as rank as a fox. M,-why, that begins

Mal. M, Malvolio; my name.

Fab. Did not I say, he would work it out? the cur is excellent at faults.

Mal. M,-But then there is no consonancy in the sequel; that suffers under probation: A should follow, but O does.

Fab. And O shall end, I hope.

Sir To. Ay, or I'll cudgel him, and make him

cry, O.

Mal. And then I comes behind.

Fab. Ay, an you had any eye behind you, you might see more detraction at your heels, than fortunes before you.

Mal. M, Ŏ, A, I ;This simulation is not as the former-and yet, to crush this a little, it would bow to me, for every one of these letters are in my name. Soft; here follows prose.-If this fall into thy hand, revolve. In-my stars I am above thee; but be not afraid of greatness: Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness

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