TWELFTH-NIGHT;

OR,

WHAT YOU WILL.

VOL. III.

B

Lords, Priests, Sailors, Officers, Musicians, and other Attendants.

SCENE-A city in Illyria, and the sea-coast near it.

TWELFTH-NIGHT;

OR,

WHAT YOU WILL.

ACT I.

SCENE I. An apartment in the Duke's palace.

Enter Duke, CURIO, Lords; Musicians attending.

Duke. If music be the food of love, play on;
Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,

The appetite may sicken, and so die.-
That strain again!—it had a dying fall:

O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south, (') .
That breathes upon a bank of violets,

Stealing and giving odour!-Enough; no more:
'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.

O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou!
That, notwithstanding thy capacity

Receiveth as the sea, naught enters there,
Of what validity and pitch soe'er,

But falls into abatement and low price,

Even in a minute! so full of shapes is fancy,

That it alone is high-fantastical.

Cur. Will you go hunt, my lord?

Duke.

Cur.

What, Curio?

The hart.

Duke. Why, so I do, the noblest that I have:

O, when mine eyes did see Olivia first,
Methought she purg'd the air of pestilence!
That instant was I turn'd into a hart;
And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds,
E'er since pursue me.

Enter VALENTINE.

How now! what news from her?

Val. So please my lord, I might not be admitted;
But from her handmaid do return this answer :

The element itself, till seven years' heat,
Shall not behold her face at ample view;
But, like a cloistress, she will veiled walk,
And water once a day her chamber round
With eye-offending brine: all this to season
A brother's dead love, which she would keep fresh
And lasting in her sad remembrance.

Duke. O, she that hath a heart of that fine frame
To pay this debt of love but to a brother,
How will she love, when the rich golden shaft
Hath kill'd the flock of all affections else

That live in her,—when liver, brain, and heart,
These sovereign thrones, are all supplied and fill'd

(Her sweet perfections) with one self king!—

Away before me to sweet beds of flowers:

Love-thoughts lie rich when canopied with bowers. [Exeunt.

SCENE II. The sea-coast.

Enter VIOLA, Captain, and Sailors.

Vio. What country, friends, is this?

Cap.

Vio. And what should I do in Illyria?

My brother he is in Elysium.

This is Illyria, lady.

Perchance he is not drown'd:-what think you, sailors?

Cap. It is perchance that you yourself were sav'd.

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