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.
Vio. 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;

Oli. In his bosom? In what chapter of his bosom? And let your fervour, like my master's, be

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

Seb. By your patience, no: my stars shine darkly over me; the malignancy of my fate might, perhaps, 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 myself. 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 heavens had been pleas'd, would we had so ended! but you, sir, alter'd that; for, some hour before you took me from the breach of the sea, was my sister drowned. 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.

Ant. 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.

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.

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 be
never so hardy to come again in his affairs, unless it
be to report your lord's taking of this. Receive it so.
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 6 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? 7 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 untangle this, not I;
It is too hard a knot for me to untie.

[Exit.

SCENE III. A Room in Olivia's House. Enter Sir TOBY BELCH, and Sir ANDREW AGUE-cheek. Sir To. Approach, sir Andrew: not to be a-bed

5 Own, possess.

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. A false conclusion: I hate it as an unfilled can: To be up after midnight, and to go to bed then, is early; so that, to go to bed after midnight, is to go to bed betimes. Do not our lives consist of the four elements?

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.

Clo. How now, my hearts? Did you never see the picture of we three? 8

Sir To. Welcome ass. Now let's have a catch. Sir And. By my troth, the fool has an excellent breast. 9 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 very good, i'faith.

Clo. My lady has a white hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses.

Sir And. Excellent! Why, this is the best fooling, when all is done. Now, a song.

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

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

if one

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.

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 one to call me knave. Begin, fool; it begins, Hold thy peace.

Clo. I shall never begin, if I hold my peace.
Sir And. Good, i'faith! Come, begin.
[They sing a catch.

Enter MARIA.

Mar. What a catterwauling do you keep here! If my lady have not called up her steward, Malvolio, and bid him turn you out of doors, never

trust me.

Sir To. My lady's a Cataian ', we are politicians : Malvolio's a Peg-a-Ramsey 2, and Three merry men we be. Am not I consanguineous? am I not of her blood? Tilly-valley 3, lady! There dwelt a man in Babylon, lady, lady! [Singing.

Clo. Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable fooling. Sir And. Ay, he does well enough, if he be disposed, and so do I too; he does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural.

Sir To. O the twelfth day of December,— [Singing.
Mar. Peace.

Enter MALVOLIO.

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 make an alehouse of my lady's house, that ye squeak out your coziers' catches without any mitigation 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! 5

My

Mal. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. 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.

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

Mar. Nay, good sir Toby.

Clo. His eyes do show his days are almost done.
Mal. Is't even so?

Sir And. A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight. than a steward? Dost thou think, because thou art 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.

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 prized my lady's favour at any thing more than contempt, you would not give means for this uncivil rule; she shall know of it, by this hand.

Mar. Go shake your ears.

1 Romancer.

2 Name of an old song.

3 Equivalent to filly-fally, shilly-shally.
4 Cobblers.

5 Hang yourself.

[Exit.

SCENE II..

OR, WHAT YOU WILL.

Sir 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 To. 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 For monsieur lady, she is much out of quiet. Malvolio, let me alone with him: if I do not gull him into a nay-word, and make him a common recreation, do not I think I have 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 an affectioned ass, constantly but a time-pleaser; that cons state without book, and utters it by great swarths 8 : the best persuaded of himself, so crammed, as he thinks, with excellencies, that it is his 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 of love; wherein, by the colour of his beard, the shape of his leg, the manner of his gait, the expressure of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he 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 hands.

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 And. O, 'twill be admirable.
I will plant
Mar. Sport royal, I warrant you.
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. 9
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. 1

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

7 Inform us.

1 Fool.

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

SCENE IV.

A Room in the Duke's Palace.

Enter DUKE, VIOLA, CURIO, and others.
Now, good
Duke. Give me some musick:

morrow, friends:
Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song,
That old and antique song we heard last night;
Methought, it did relieve my passion much;
Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times:
More than light airs, and recollected terms
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
about the house.
lady Olivia's father took much delight in: he is

Duke. Seek him out, and play the tune the while.
Musick.
[Erit CURIO.
Come hither, boy: If ever thou shalt love,
In the sweet pangs of it, remember me;
am, all true lovers are;
Unstaid and skittish in all motions else,
For, such as
How dost thou like this tune?
Save, in that constant image of the creature
Vio. It gives a very echo to the seat
That is belov'd.
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;
A little, by your favour.
Vio.
Hath it not, boy?
Duke. What kind of woman is't?
Of your complexion.
Vio.
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.
Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm,
For, boy, however we do praise ourselves,
More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn,
Than women's are.

I think it well, my lord.
Vio.
Duke. Then let thy love be younger than thy self,
For women are as roses; whose fair flower,
Or thy affection cannot hold the bent:
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.

Duke. O fellow, come, the song we had last night:

Mark it, Cesario; it is old, and plain :
The spinsters and the knitters in the sun,
And the free maids that weave their thread with
bones,

And dallies with the innocence of love,
Do use to chaunt it; it is silly sooth 2,
Like the old age.

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

2 Simple truth.

F 4

[Musick.