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Mar. That quaffing and drinking will undo bring your hand to the buttery-bar, and let it you: I heard my lady talk of it yesterday; and drink. of a foolish knight that you brought in one night Sir And. Wherefore, sweet heart? what's here to be her wooer.

your metaphor? Sir To. Who? Sir Andrew Ague-cheek? Mar. It's dry, sir. Mar. Ay, he.

Sir And. Why, I think so; I am not such an Sir To. He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria. ass, but I can keep my hand dry. But what's Mar. What's that to the purpose ?

your jest? Sir To. Why, he has three thousand ducats Mar.. A dry jest, sir. a-year.

Sir And. Are you full of them? Mar. Ay; but he'll have but a year in all Mar. Ay, sir ; I have them at my fingers these ducats; he's a very fool, and a prodigal. ends: marry, now I let go your hand, I am barSir To. Fye, that you'll say so! he plays o' ren.

[Erit Maria. the viol-de-gambo, and speaks three or four lan Sir To. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of caguages, word for word, without book, and hath nary: When did I see thee so put down? all the good gifts of nature.

Sir And. Never in your life, I think ; unless Mar. He hath, indeed, -almost natural: for, you see canary put me down: Methinks, somebesides that he's a fool, he's a great quarreller ; | times I have no more wit than a Christian, or and, but that he hath the gift of a coward to al- an ordinary man has : but I am a great eater lay the gust he hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought of beef, and, I believe, that does harm to my among the prudent, he would quickly have the wit. gift of a grave.

Sir To. No question. Sir To. By this hand, they are scoundrels, Sir And. An' I thought that, I'd forswear it. and substractors, that say so of him. Who are I'll ride home to-morrow, sir Toby. they?

Sir To. Pourquoy, my dear knight! Mar. They that add, moreover, he's drunk Sir And. What is pourquoy? do or not do? nightly in your company.

I would I had bestowed that time in the tongues, Sir To. With drinking healths to my niece ; that I have in fencing, dancing, and bear-baitI'll drink to her, as long as there is a passage in ing: 0, had I but followed the arts ! my throat, and drink in Illyria : He's a coward, Sir To. Then hadst thou had an excellent and a coystril, that will not drink to my niece, head of hair. till his brains turn o' the toe like a parish top. Sir And. Why, would that have mended my What, wench? Castiliano vulgo; for here comes hair? Sir Andrew Ague-face.

Sir To. Past question ; for thou seest, it will

not curl by nature. Enter Sir ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK.

Sir And. But it becomes me well enough, Sir And. Sir Toby Belch ! how now, sir Toby does't not? Belch ?

Sir To. Excellent; it hangs like flax on a Sir To. Sweet sir Andrew !

distaff; and I hope to see a housewife take thee Sir And. Bless you, fair shrew.

between her legs, and spin it off. Mar. And you too, sir.

Sir And. 'Faith, I'll home to-morrow, sir Sir To. Accost, sir Andrew, accost.

Toby: your niece will not be seen ; or, if she Sir And. What's that?

be, it's four to one she'll none of me: the count Sir To. My niece's chamber-maid.

himself, here hard by, wooes her. Sir And. Good mistress Accost, I desire better Sir To. She'll none o' the count; she'll not acquaintance.

match above her degree, neither in estate, years, Mar. My name is Mary, sir.

nor wit; I have heard her swear it. Tut, there's Sir And. Good mistress Mary Accost,

life in't, man. Sir To. You mistake, knight: accost is, front Sir And. I'll stay a month longer. I am a her, board her, woo her, assail her.

fellow o' the strangest mind i' the world; I deSir And. By my troth, I would not undertake light in masques and revels sometimes altogether. her in this company. Is that the meaning of Sir To. Art thou good at these kickshaws, accost?

knight? Mar. Fare you well, ger emen.

Sir And. As any man in Illyria, whatsoever Sir To. An' thou let part so, sir Andrew, he be, under the degree of my betters; and yet ’would thou might'st never draw sword again. I will not compare with an old man.

Sir And. An' you part so, mistress, I would I Sir To. What is thy excellence in a galliard, might never draw sword again. Fair lady, do knight?

have fools in hand ?

Sir And. 'Faith, I can cut a caper.
Mar. Sir, I have not you by the hand.

Sir To. And I can cut the mutton to't. Sir And. Marry, but you shall have: and Sir And. And, I think, I have the back-trick, here's my hand.

simply as strong as any man in Illyria. Mar. Now, sir, thought is free: I pray you, Sir To. Wherefore are these things hid ?

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wherefore have these gifts a curtain before | And all is semblative a woman's part. them? are they like to take dust, like mistress I know, thy constellation is right apt Mall's picture? why dost thou not go to church For this affair :-Some four, or five, attend him; in a galliard, and come home in a coranto? My All, if you will ; for I myself am best, very walk should be a jig! I would not so When least in company :-Prosper well in this, much as make water, but in a sink-a-pace. And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord, What dost thou mean? is it a world to hide To call his fortunes thine. virtues in? I did think, by the excellent consti Vio. I'll do my best, tution of thy leg, it was formed under the star To woo your lady: yet, [Aside. J a barful strife! of a galliard.

Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife. Sir And. Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indiffe

[Exeunt. rent well in a flame-coloured stock. Shall we set about some revels?

SCENE V.-A room in Olivia's house. Sir To. What shall we do else? were we not born under Taurus ?

Enter Maria, and Clown. Sir And. Taurus ? that's sides and heart. Mar. Nay, either tell me where thou hast

Sir To. No, sir; it is legs and thighs. Let been, or I will not open my lips, so wide as a me see thee caper : ha! higher : ha, ha!—ex- bristle may enter, in way of thy excuse : my cellent!

[Ereunt. lady will hang thee for thy absence.

Člo. Let her hang me! he, that is well hanga SCENE IV.-A room in the Duke's palace. ed in this world, needs to fear no colours.

Mar. Make that good. Enter Valentine, dnd V10la in man's attire.

Clo. He shall see none to fear. l'al. If the duke continue these favours to Mar. A good lenten answer. I can tell thee wards you, Cesario, you are like to be much ad- where that saying was born, of I fear no colours. vanced : he hath known you but three days, Clo. Where, good mistress Mary? and already you are no stranger.

Mar. In the wars; and that may you be Vio. You either fear his humour, or my ne bold to say in your foolery. gligence, that you call in question the continu Clo. Well, God give them wisdom, that have ance of his love: Is he inconstant, sir, in his it; and those that are fools, let them use their favours ?

talents. Val. No, believe me.

Mar. Yet you will be hanged, for being so

long absent: or, to be turned away, is not that Enter Duke, Curio, and Attendants.

as good as a hanging to you? Vio. I thank you. Here comes the count. Clo. Many a good hanging prevents a bad marDuke. Who saw Cesario, ho?

riage; and for turning away, let summer bear Vio. On your attendance, my lord ; here. it out. Duke. Stand you awhile aloof.–Cesario, Mar. You are resolute then? Thou know'st no less but all; I have unclasp'd Clo. Not so neither ; but I am resolved on To thee the book even of my secret soul : two points. Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto Mar. That, if one break, the other will hold; her ;

or, if both break, your gaskins fall. Be not deny’d access, stand at her doors, Clo. Apt, in good faith ; very apt! Well, go And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow, thy way; if sir Toby would leave drinking, thou Till thou have audience.

wert as witty a piece of Eve's flesh as any in Vio. Sure, my noble lord,

Illyria. If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow

Mar. Peace, you rogue, no more o' that; here As it is spoke, she never will admit me. comes my lady: make your excuse wisely, you Duke. Be clamorous, and leap all civil bounds, were best.

[Erit. Rather than make unprofited return. Vio. Say, I do speak with her, my lord;

Enter Olivia and Malvolio.
What then?

Clo. Wit, and't be thy will, put me into good Duke. O, then unfold the passion of my love, fooling ! Those wits, that think they have thee, Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith : do


fools; and I, that am sure I It shall become thee well to act my woes; lack thee, may pass for a wise man: For what She will attend it better in thy youth,

says Quinapulus ? Better a witty fool, than a Than in a nuncio of more grave aspéct.

foolish wit. — God bless thee, lady! Viv. I think not so, my lord.

Oli. Take the fool away. Duke. Dear lad, believe it ;

Clo. Do you not hear, fellows ? Take away For they shall yet belie thy happy years, That say, thou art a man: Diana's lip

Oli. Go to, you're a dry fool; I'll no more of Is not more smooth, and rubious ; thy small pipe you: besides, you grow dishonest. Is as the maiden's organ, shrill, and sound, Clo. Two faults, madonna, that drink and


oft prove

the lady:

good counsel will amend; for give the dry fool Oli. From the count Orsino, is it? drink, then is the fool not dry; bid the disho Mar. I know not, madam; 'tis a fair young nest man mend himself; if he mend, he is no man, and well attended. longer dishonest ; if he cannot, let the botcher Oli

. Who of my people hold him in delay? mend him ; Any thing, that's mended, is but Mar. Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman. patched : virtue, that transgresses, is but patch Oli. Fetch him off, I pray you; he speaks ed with sin ; and sin, that amends, is but patched nothing but madman: Fye on him! (Exit Mawith virtue : If that this simple syllogism will ria.] Go you, Malvolio : if it be a suit from the serve, so; if it will not, What remedy? As count, I am sick, or not at home; what you will, there is no true cuckold but calamity, so beau- to dismiss it. Erit Malvolio. Now you see, ty's a flower :—the lady bade take away the fool; sir, how your fooling grows old, and people distherefore, 1 say again, take her away.

like it. Oli. Sir, I bade them take away you.

Clo. Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if Clo. Misprision in the highest degree !-Lady, thy eldest son should be a fool: whose skull Cucullus non facit monachum ; that's as much as Jove cram with brains, for here he comes, one to say, I wear not motley in my brain. Good of thy kin, has a most weak pia mater. madonna, give me leave to prove you a fool. Oli. Can you do it?

Enter Sir Toby Belch. Clo. Dexterously, good madonna.

Oli. By mine honour, half drunk.—What is Oli. Make your proof.

he at the gate, cousin ? Clo. I must catechize you for it, madonna ; Sir To. A gentleman. good my mouse of virtue, answer me.

Oli. A gentleman? What gentleman Oli. Well, sir, for want of other idleness, I'll Sir To. 'Tis a gentleman here-A plague o bide your proof.

these pickle-herrings !-How now, sot? Clo. Good madonna, why mourn'st thou ? Clo. Good sir Toby, Oli. Good fool, for my brother's death.

Oli. Cousin, cousin, how have you come so Clo. I think, his soul is in hell, madonna. early by this lethargy? Oli. I know his soul is in heaven, fool.

Sir To. Lechery! I defy lechery: There's Clo. The more fool you, madonna, to mourn one at the gate. for

your brother's soul being in heaven.—Take Oli. Ay, marry; what is he? away the fool, gentlemen.

Sir To. Let him be the devil, an he will, I Oli. What think you of this fool, Malvolio ? care not: give me faith, say I. Well, it's all doth he not mend ?

[Erit. Mal. Yes; and shall do, till the pangs of Oli. What's a drunken man like, fool? death shake him: Infirmity, that decays the Clo. Like a drown'd man, a fool, and a madwise, doth ever make the better fool.

man : one draught above heat makes him a fool ; Clo. God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for the second mads him; and a third drowns him. the better encreasing your folly ! Sir Toby will Oli. Go thou and seek the coroner, and let be sworn, that I am no fox; but he will not pass him sit o' my coz; for he's in the third degree his word for two-pence, that you are no fool. of drink, he's drown'd: go, look after him. Oli. How say you to that, Malvolio ?

Clo. He is but mad yet, madonna ; and the Mal. I marvel your ladyship takes delight in fool shall look to the madman. [Exit Cloun. such a barren rascal ; I saw him put down the other day with an ordinary fool, that has no

Re-enter Malvolio. more brain than stone. Look you now, he's Mal. Madam, yond young fellow swears he will out of his guard already ; unless you laugh and speak with you. I told him you were sick ; he minister occasion to him, he is gagged. I pro- takes on him to understand so much, and theretest, I take these wise men, that crow so at these fore comes to speak with you : I told him you set kind of fools, no better than the fools' zanies. were asleep ; he seems to have a fore-knowledge

Oli. O, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and of that too, and therefore comes to speak with taste with a distempered appetite. To be gene- you. What is to be said to him, lady? he's forrous, guiltless, and of free disposition, is to take tified against any deninl. those things for bird-bolts, that you deem can Oli. Tell him, he shall not speak with me. non-bullets : There is no slander in an allowed Mal. He has becn told so; and he says, he'll fool, though he do nothing but rail; nor no rail- stand at your door like a sheriff's post, and be ing in a known discreet man, though he do no the supporter of a bench, but he'll speak with thing but reprove.

you. Clo. Now Mercury endue thee with leasing, Oli. What kind of man is he? for thou speakest well of fools.

Mal. Why, of man kind.

Oli. What manner of man?
Re-enter MARIA.

Mal. Of very ill manner; he'll speak with Mar. Madam, there is at the gate a young you, will you, or no. gentleman, much desires to speak with you. Oli. Of what personage, and years, is he?


young enough for a boy you sha squash is before vid Sure

, you have some hideous matter to


. Not yet old enough for a man, Vio. I am a messenger. 'tis a peas-cod, or a codling when 'tis almost an deliver, when the courtesy of it is so fearful. apple : 'tis with him e'en standing water, be- Speak your office. tween boy and man. He is very well-favoured, Vio. It alone concerns your ear. I bring no and he speaks very shrewishly; one would think, overture of war, no taxation of homage ; I hold his mother's milk were scarce out of him. the olive in my hand; my words are as full of Oli. Let him approach : Call in my gentle- peace as matter.

Oli. Yet you began rudely. What are you? Mal. Gentlewoman, my lady calls. [Exit. what would you ?

Vio. The rudeness, that hath appear'd in me, Re-enter MARIA.

have I learn'd from my entertainment. What I Oli. Give me my veil: come, throw it o'er am, and what I would, are as secret as maidenmy face ;

head: to your ears, divinity; to any others, We'll once more hear Orsino's embassy. prophanation.


. Give us the place alone: we will hear Enter Viola.

this divinity. [Exit Maria. ]-Now, sir, what is Vio. The honourable lady of the house, which your text ? is she?

Vio. Most sweet lady, Oli. Speak to me, I shall answer for her: Oli. A comfortable doctrine, and much may Your will ?

be said of it. Where lies your text? Pio. Most radiant, exquisite, and unmatch Vio. In Orsino's bosom. able beauty,- I pray you, tell me, if this be the Oli. In his bosom ? in what chapter of his lady of the house, for I never saw her : I would bosom? be loath to cast away my speech; for, besides Vio. To answer by the method, in the first of that it is excellently well penn'd, I have taken his heart. great pains to con it. Good beauties, let me Oli. O, I have read it; it is heresy. Have sustain no scorn ; I am very comptible, even to you no more to say ? the least sinister usage.

Vio. Good madam, let me see your face. Oli. Whence came you, sir ?

Oli. Have you any commission from your lord Tio. I can say little more than I have studied, to negociate with my face? you are now out of and that question's out of my part. Good gentle your text: but we will draw the curtain, and ane, give me modest assurance, if you be the shew you the picture. Look you, sir, such a luly of the house, that I may proceed in my one as I was this present: Is't not well done? speech.

[Unveiling. Oli. Are you a comedian ?

Vio. Excellently done, if God did all. Vio. No, my profound heart: and yet, by the Oli. 'Tis in grain, sir; 'twill endure wind and very fangs of malice, I swear, I am not that I weather. play. Are you the lady of the house?

Vio, "Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and Oli. If I do not usurp myself, I am.

white Vio. Most certain, if you are she, you do Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on: usurp yourself ; for what is yours to bestow, is Lady, you are the cruel'st she alive, not yours to reserve. But this is from my com If


will lead these graces to the grave, mission: I will on with my speech in your And leave the world no copy. praise, and then show you the heart of my mes Oli. O, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted; I sage.

will give out divers schedules of my beauty : it Oli

. Come to what is important in't: I forgive shall be inventoried ; and every particle, and you the praise.

utensil, labelled to my will: as, item, two lips Vio. Alas, I took great pains to study it, and indifferent red; item, two grey eyes, with lids ’tis poetical.

to them ; item, one neck, one chin, and so forth. Oli . It is the more like to be feigned ; I pray Were you sent hither to 'praise me

ne ? you, keep it in. I heard you were saucy at my Vio. I see you what you are : you are too gates, and allowed your approach rather to won proud ; der at than to hear

you. If you be not mad, But, if you were the devil, you are fair. be

gone; if you have reason, bé brief : 'tis not My lord and master loves you ; 0, such love that time of moon with me, to make one in so could be but recompens'd, though you were skipping a dialogue.

crown'd Mar. Will you hoist sail, sir? here lies your The nonpareil of beauty !

Oli. How does he love me? Vio

. No, good swabber ; I am to hull here a Vio. With adorations, with fertile tears, little longer.—Some mollification for your giant, with groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire, sweet lady.

Oli. Your lord does know my mind, I cannot Oli. Tell me your mind.

love him :



Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble, Love make his heart of Aint, that you shall love;
Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth; And let your fervour, like my master's, be
In voices well divulg’d, free, learn'd, and va- Plac'd in contempt! Fareweli, fair cruelty.

[Erit. And, in dimension, and the shape of nature,

Oli. What is your parentage ? A gracious person : but yet I cannot love him ;| Above my fortunes, yet my state is well ; He might have took his answer long ago. I am a gentleman. -I'll be sworn thou art;

Vio. If I did love you in my master's flame, Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and With such a suffering, such a deadly life,

spirit, In your denial I would find no sense,

Do give thee five-fold blazon :-Not too fast:I would not understand it.

soft! soft ! Oli. Why, what would you ?

Unless the master were the man.—How now? Vio. Make me a willow cabin at your gate, Even so quickly may one catch the plague? And call upon my soul within the house; Miethinks, I feel this youth's perfections, Write loyal cantons of contemned love,

With an invisible and subtle stealth, And sing them loud even in the dead of night, To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be.Holla

your name to the reverberate hills, What, ho, Malvolio! And make the babbling gossip of the air Cry out, Olivia ! 0, you should not rest

Re-enter Malvolio. Between the elements of air and earth,

Mal. Here, madam, at your service. But you should pity me.

Oli. Run after that same peevish messenger, oli. You might do much: What is your pa- The county's man: he left this ring behind him, rentage?

Would I, or not; tell him, I'll none of it. Vio. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well : Desire him not to flatter with his lord, I am a gentleman.

Nor hold him up with hopes ; I am not for him: Oli. Get you to your lord ;

If that the youth will come this way to-morrow, I cannot love him: let him send no more ; I'll give him reasons for’t. Hie thee, Malvolio. Unless, perchance, you come to me again, Mal. Madam, I will.

[Erit. To tell me how he takes it. Fare you well: Oli. I do I know not what; and fear to find I thank you for your pains; spend this for me. Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind. Vio. I am no fee'd post, lady; keep your Fate, shew thy force: Ourselves we do not owe; purse;

What is decreed, must be ; and be this so! My master, not myself, lacks recompense.



SCENE I. The Sea-coast.

'would we had so ended! but you, sir, altered

that; for, some hour before you took me from Enter Antonio and SEBASTIAN.

the breach of the sea, was my sister drowned. Ant. Will you stay no longer? nor will you Ant. Alas, the day! not that I go with you?

Seb. A lady, sir, though it was said she much Seb. By your patience, no: my stars shine resembled me, was yet of many accounted beaudarkly over me; the malignancy of iny fate might, tiful ; but though I could not, with such estiperhaps, distemper yours; therefore I shall crave mable wonder, overfar believe that, yet thus far of you your leave that I may bear my evils alone: I will boldly publish her, she bore a mind that It were a bad recompense for your love, to lay envy could not but call fáir: she is drowned alany of them on you.

ready, sir, with salt water, though I seem to Ant. Let me yet know of you, whither you drown her remembrance again with more. are bound.

Ant. Pardon me, sir, your bad entertainment. Seb. No, 'sooth, sir; my determinate voyage Seb. O, good Antonio, forgive me your trouble. is mere extravagancy. But I perceive in you so Ant. If you will not murder me for my love, excellent a touch of modesty, that you will not let me be your servant. extort from me what I am willing to keep in ; Seb. If you will not undo what you have done, therefore it charges me in manners the rather to that is, kill him whom you have recovered, deexpress myself. You must know of me, then, sire it not. Fare ye well at once: my bosom is Antonio, my name is Sebastian, which I called full of kindness; and I am yet so near the manRoderigo ; my father was that Sebastian of Mes- ners of my mother, that upon the least occasion saline, whom, I know, you have heard of: he more, mine eyes will tell tales of me. I am left behind him, myself, and a sister, both born bound to the count Orsino's court: farewell. in an hour. If the heavens had been pleased,


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