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Mar. Sir, I have not you by the nand.

well in a flame-coloured stock. Shall we set abou'. Sir And. Marry, but you shall have; and here's some revels? my hand.

Sir To. What shall we do else ? were we not born Mar. Now, sir, thought is free: I pray you, bring under Taurus? your hand to the buttery-bar, and let it drink.

Sir And. Taurus ? that's sides and heart. Sir And. Wherefore. sweet heart? what's your Sir To. No, sir; it is legs and thighs. Let me metaphor ?

see thee caper : ha! higher: ha, ha! - excellent! Jar. It's dry, sir.

Sir And. Why, I think so; I am not such an ass,
but I can keep my hand dry. But what's your jest? SCENE IV - A Room in the Duke's Palace.

Mar. A dry jest, sir.
Sir And. Are you full of them?

Enter VALENTINE, and Viola in man's attire.
Mar. Ay, sir; I have them at my fingers' ends :

Val. If the duke continue these favours toward's marry, now I let go your hand, I am barren. you, Cesario, you are like to be much advanced; he

(Erit Maria. hath known you but three days, and already you are Sir To. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of canary : no stranger. When did I see thee so put down?

Vio. You either fear his humour, or my negliSir And. Never in your life, I think; unless you gence, that you call in question the continuance a' see canary put me down : Methinks sometimes I his love : Is he inconstant, sir, in his favours? have no more wit than a Christian, or an ordinary Val. No, believe me. man has : but I am a great eater of beef, and, I believe, that does harm to my wit.

Enter Duke, Curio, and Attendants. Sir To. No question.

Vio. I thank you.

Here comes the count. Sir And. An I thought that, I'd forswear it. I'll Duke. Who saw Cesario, ho? ride home to-morrow, sir Toby.

Vio. On your attendance, my lord ; here. Sir To. Pourquoy, my dear knight?

Duke. Stand you awhile aloof. Cesario, Sir And. What is pourquoy? do or not do? I Thou know'st no less but all; I have unclasp'd would I had bestowed that time in the tongues, that

To thee the book even of my secret soul: I have in fencing, dancing, and bear-baiting: 0, Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her ; had I but followed the arts !

Be not deny'd access, stand at her doors, Sir To. Then hadst thou had an excellent head of And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow, hair.

Till thou have audience. Sir And. Why, would that have mended my hair? Vio

Sure, my noble lord, Sir To. Past question; for thou seest, it will not If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow curl by nature.

As it is spoke, she never will admit me. Sir And. But it becomes me well enough, does't Duke. Be clamorous, and leap all civil bounds, not ?

Rather than make unprofited return. Sir To. Excellent; it hangs like flax on a distaff; Vio. Say, I do speak with her, my lord: What thou? and I hope to see a housewife take thee between her Duke. O, then unfold the passion of my love, legs, and spin it off.

Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith: Sir And. 'Faith, I'll home to-morrow, Sir Toby: It shall become thee well to act my woes; your niece will not be seen; or, if she be, it's four She will attend it better in thy youth, to one she'll none of me: the count himself, here Than in a nuncio of more grave aspéct. hard by, wooes her.

Vio. I think not so, my lord. Sir To. She'll none o' the count; she'll not match Duke.

Dear lad, believe it ; above her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit; I For they shall yet belie thy happy years, have heard her swear it. Tut, there's life in't, man. That say, thou art a man : Diana's lip

Sir And. I'll stay a month longer. I am a fellow Is not more smooth, and rubious ; thy small pipe o'the strangest mind i' the world; I delight in Is as the maiden's organ, shrill, and sound, masques and revels sometimes altogether.

And all is semblative a woman's part. Sir To. Art thou good at these kick-shaws, knight? I know, thy constellation is right apt

Sir And. As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be, For this affair: - Some four, or five, attend him ; under the degree of my betters; and yet I will not All, if you will; for I myself am best, compare with an old man.

When least in company :

Prosper well in this, Sir To. What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight?

I'll do my best, Sir And. 'Faith, I can cut a caper.

To call his fortunes thine. Sir To. And I can cut the mutton to't

And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord, Sir And. And, I think, I have the back-trick, To woo your lady: yet, (Aside. ) a barful strife ! simply as strong as any man in Illyria.

Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife. Sir To. Wherefore are these things hid? where

[E.xound. fore have these gifts a curtain before them? are they like to take dust, like mistress Mall's picture? why SCENE V. - A Room in Olivia's House. dost thou not go to church in a galliard, and come

Enter Maria and Clown. home in a coranto? My very walk should be a jig ; I would not so much as make water, but in a sink- Mar. Nay, either tell me where thou hast been. 3-pace. What dost thou mean? is it a world to hide or I will not open my lips, so wide as a bristle may virtues in? I did think, by the excellent constitution enter, in way of thy excuse : my lady will hang thee of thy leg, it was formed under the star of a gal- for thy absence. liard.

Clo. Let her hang me: he, that is wall hanged in Sit vind. Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent this world, needs to fear no colours.




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War. Make that good.

1 Mal. Yes; and shall do, till the pangs of death Cl. He shall see none to fear.

shake him: Infirmity, that decays the wise, doth ever Var. A good lenten answer: I can tell thee where make the better fool. that saying was born, of, I fear no colours.

Clo. God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for the Clo. Where, good mistress Mary?

better encreasing your folly! Sir Toby will be sworn, Mar. In the wars; and that may you be bold to that I am no fox; but he will not pass his word for say in your foolery.

two-pence that you are no fool. Clo. Well, God give them wisdom, that have it; Oli. How say you to that, Malvolio ? and those that are fools, let them use their talents. Mal. I marvel your ladyship takes delight in such

Mar. Yet you will be hanged, for being so long a barren cal; I saw him put down the other day absent: or, to be turned away; is not that as good with an ordinary fool, that has no more brain than as a hanging to you?

Look you now, he's out of his guard alClo. Many a good hanging prevents a bad mar- ready; unless you laugh and minister occasion to riage; and, for turning away, let summer bear it out. him, he is gagged. I protest, I take these wise Mar. You are resolute then ?

men, that crow so at these set kind of fools, no better Clo. Not so neither; but I am resolved on two than the fools' zanies. points.

Oli. O, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and Mar. That, if one break, the other will hold; or, taste with a distempered appetite. To be generous, it both break, your gaskins fall.

guiltless, and of free disposition, is to take those Clo. Apt, in good faith ; very apt ! Well, go thy things for bird-bolts, that you deem cannon-bullets: way; if sir Toby would leave drinking, thou wert There is no slander in an allowed fool, though he do as witty a piece of Eve's flesh as any in Illyria. nothing but rail; nor no railing in a known discreet

Mar. Peace, you rogue, no more o' that; here man, though he do nothing but reprove. comes my lady: make your excuse wisely, you were Clo. Now Mercury endue thee with leasing, for best

(Erit. thou speakest well of fools ! Enter Olivia and Malvolio.

Re-enter Maria. Clo. Wit; and 't be thy will, put me into good

Mar. Madam, there is at the gate a young genfooling! Those wits, that think they have thee, do very oft prove fools; and I, that am sure I lack thee, tleman, much desires to speak with you. may pass for a wise man : For what says Quinapa

01. From the count Orsino, is it? lus? Better a witty fool, than a foolish wit. — God

Mar. I know not, madam; 'tis a fair young man,

and well attended. bless thee, lady! Oli. Take the fool away.

Oli. Who of my people hold him in delay? Clo. Do you not hear, fellows? Take away the lady.

Mar. Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman. Oli . Go to, you're a dry fool; I'll no more of thing but madman: Fye on him! [Erit Maria.]

Oli. Fetch him off, I pray you ; he speaks no you : besides, you grow dishonest. Clo. Two faults, madonna, that drink and good I am sick, or not at home; what you will, to dis

Go you, Malvolio : if it be a suit from the count, counsel will amend: for give the dry fool drink, then is the fool not dry ; bid the dishonest man mend

miss it. (Erit Malvolio.] Now you see, sir, how himself; if he mend, he is no longer dishonest; if your fooling grows old, and people dislike it. he cannot, let the botcher mend him: Any thing eldest son should be a fool : whose skull Jove cram

Cyo. Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy that's mended, is but patched : virtue, that transgresses, is but patched with sin; and sin, that amends, with brains, for here he comes, one of thy kin, has is but patched with virtue: If that this simple syllo

a most weak pria mater. gism will serve, so; if it will not, What remedy?

Enter Sir Toby Belch. As there is no true cuckold but calamity, so beauty's a flower:— the lady bade take away the fool; there- Oli. By mine honour, half drunk. What is he fore, I say again, take her away.

at the gate, cousin ? Oli. Sir, I bade them take away you.

Sir To. A gentleman. Clo. Misprision in the highest degree ! - Lady, Oli. A gentleinan? What gentleman ? Cucullus non facit monachum; that's as much as to Sir To. 'Tis a gentlemen here — A plague o'these say, I wear not motley in my brain. Good madon- pickle-herrings ! na, give me leave to prove you a fool.

Clo. Good Sir Toby, Oli. Can you do it?

Oli. Cousin, cousin, how have you come so early Clo. Dexteriously, good madonna.

by this lethargy? Oli. Make your proof.

Sir To. Lechery! I defy lechery: There's one Clo. I must catechize you for it, madonna; Good at the gate. my mouse of virtue, answer me.

Oli. Ay, marry ; what is he? Oli. Well, sir, for want of other idleness, I'll Sir To. Let him be the devil, an he will, I caru 'bide your proof.

not: give me faith, say I. Well, it's all one. (Eri. Clo. Good madonna, why mourn'st thou .

Oli. What's a drunken man like, fool ? Oli. Good fool, for my brother's death.

Clo. Like a drown'd man, a fool, and a madman: Clo. I think, his soul is in hell, madonna.

one draught above heat makes him a fool; the sea Oli. I know his soul is in heaven, fool.

cond mads him; and a third drowns him. Clo. The more fool you, madonna, to mourn for Oli. Go thou and seek the coroner, and let hin. your brother's soul being in heaven. – Take away sit o' my coz ; for he's in the third degree of drink, the fool, gentlemen.

he's drown’d: go, look after him. Oli. What think you of this fool, Malvolio ? doth Clo. He is but mad yet, madonna ; and the fool han not mend:

(Erit Cluun.

shall look to the madman.

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gone; if you have reason, be brief: 'tis not that hoenler Malvolio.

time of moon with me, to make one in so skipping, Ml. Madam, yond young fellow swears he will a dialogue. spak with you. I told him you were sick; he Mar. Will you hoist sail, sir ? here lies your way. takes on him to understand so much, and therefore Vio. No, good swabber ; I am to full here a comes to speak with you; I told him you were little longer.

Some mollification for your giant, asleep; he seems to have a fore-knowledge of that sweet lady, too, and therefore comes to speak with you. What Oli. Tell me your mind. 15 to be said to him, lady? he's fortified against any

Vio. I am a messenger. denial.

Oli. Sure, you have some hideous matter to deOli. Tell him, he shall not speak with me. liver, when the courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak

Mal. He has been told so; and he says, he'll | your office. stand at your door like a sheriff's post, and be the Vio. It alone concerns your ear. I bring no supporter of a bench, but he'll speak with you. overture of war, no taxation of homage ; I hold the Oli. What kind of man is he?

olive in my hand : my words are as full of peace as Mal. Why, of mankind.

matter. Oli. What manner of man?

Oli. Yet you began rudely. What are you? what Mal. Of very ill manner; he'll speak with you, would you? will you, or no.

Vio. The rudeness that hath appeared in mc, Oli. Of what


is he?

have I learn'd from my entertainment. What I Mal. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young am, and what I would, are as secret as maidenenough for a boy; as a squash is before 'tis a peas- head: to your ears, divinity ; to any other's, procod, or a codling when 'tis almost an apple: 'tis fanation. with him e'en standing water, between boy and man. Oli. Give us the place alone : we will hear this He is very well-favoured, and he speaks very shrew- divinity. (Erit MAKIA.] Now, sir, what is your ishly ; one would think, his mother's milk were text? scarce out of him.

Vio. Most sweet lady, Oli. Let him approach: Call in my gent.e

Oli. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be

said of it. Where lies your text ? Mal. Gentlewoman, my lady calls. [Erit. Vio. In Orsino's bosom.

Oli. In his bosom? In what chapter of his bosom? Re-enter Maria.

Vio. To answer by the method, in the first of his Oli. Give me my veil : come, throw it oʻer my face; heart. We'll once more hear Orsino's embassy.

Oli. O, I have read it; it is heresy. Have you

no more to say ? Enter VIOLA.

Vio. Good madam, let me see your face. Vio. The honourable lady of the house, which Oli. Have you any commission from your lord to is she?

negociate with my face? you are now out of your Oli. Speak to me, I shall answer for her : Your text: but we will draw the curtain, and shew you will ?

the picture. Look you, sir, such a one as I was Vio. Most radiant, exquisite, and unmatchable this present: Is': not well done ? (Unveiling. beauty, - I pray you, tell me, if this be the lady of Vio. Excellently done, if God did all." the house, for I never saw her: I would be loath to Oli. 'Tis in grain, sir ; 'twill endure wind and cast away my speech; for, besides that it is excel- weather. lently well penn'd, I have taken great pains to con Vio. 'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white it. Good beauties, let me sustain no scorn; I am Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on : very comptible, even to the least sinister usage. Lady, you are the cruel'st she alive, Oli. Whence came you, sir?

If you will lead these graces to the grave, Vio. I can say little more than I have studied, And leave the world no copy. and that question's out of my part.

Good gentle

Oli. O, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted; I will one, give me modest assurance, if you be the lady give out divers schedules of my beauty: It shall be of the house, that I may proceed in my speech. inventoried; and every particle, and utensil, labelOli. Are you a comedian ?

led to my will : as, item, two lips indifferent red ; Vio. No, my profound heart: and yet, by the item, two grey eyes, with lids to them ; item, one very fangs of malice I swear I am not that I play. neck, one chin, and so forth. Were you sent hither Are you the lady of the house?

to 'praise me? Oli. If I do not usurp myself, I am.

Vio. I see you what you are: you are too proud; Vio. Most certain, if you are she, you do usurp But, if you were the devil, you are fair. yourself ; for what is yours to bestow, is not yours My lord and master loves you; 0, such love to reserve. But this is from my commission : I will could be but recompens’d, though you were crown's on with my speech in your praise, and then shew The nonpareil of beauty! you the heart of my message.


How does he love me? Oli. Come to what is important in't: forgive Vio. With adorations, with fertile tears, you the praise.

With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire. Vio. Alas, I took great pains to study it, and 'tis Oli. Your lord does know my mind, I cannot pox tical.

love him : Oli. It is the more like to be feigned ; I pray | Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble, you, keep it in. I heard you were saucy at my Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth; gatis; and allowed your approach, rather to wonder | In voices well divulg'd, free, learn’d, and valiant, ut you than to hear you. If you be not mad, be An, in dimension, and the shape of nature,

A gracious person · but yet I cannot love him; And let your fervour, like my master's, be
He might have took his answer long ago.

Plac'd in contempt! Farewell, fair cruelty. Erit.
Vio If I did love you in my master's flame, Oli. What is your parentage ?
With such a suffering, such a deadly life,

Above my fortunes, yet my state is well : In your denial I would find no sense,

I am a gentleman. - I'll be sworn thou art ; I would not understand it.

Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit, Oli.

Why, what would you? Do give thee five-fold blazon: - Not too fast: Vio. Make me a willow cabin at your gate,

soft! soft! And call upon my soul within the house ;

Unless the master were the man. - - How now? Write loyal cantons of contemned love,

Even so quickly may one catch the plague?
Ind sing them loud even in the dead of night; Methinks, I feel this youth's perfections,
I olla your name to the reverberate hills,

With an invisible and subtle stealth,
And make the babbling gossip of the air

To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be. Cry out, Olivia ! O, you should not rest

What, ho, Malvolio!-
Between the elements of air and earth,

Re-enter MALVOLIO.
But you should pity me.
Oli. You might do much: What is your parent-


Here, madam, at your service. age?

Oli. Run after that same peevish messenger, Vio. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well : The county's man: he left this ring behind him, I am a gentleman.

Would I, or not; tell him, I'll none of it.
Get you to your lord;

Desire him not to flatter with his lord,
I cannot love him : let him send no more ;

Nor hold him up with hopes; I am not for him : Unless, perchance, you come to me again,

If that the youth will come this way to-morrow, To tell me how he takes it. Fare you well : I'll give him reasons for't. Hie thee, Malvolio, I thank your pains: spend this for me.

Mal. Madam, I will.

Erit. Vio. I am no fee'd post, lady; keep your Oli. I do I know not what: and fear to find purse;

Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind. My master, not myself, lacks recompense.

Fate, shew thy force : Ourselves we do not owe; Love make his heart of flint, that you shall love ; What is decreed, must be; and be this so! (Erit

you for



water, though I seem to drown her remembrance SCENE I. - The Sea-coast.

again with more. Enter Antonio and Sebastian.

Ant. Pardon me, sir, your bad entertainment.

Seb. O, good Antonio, forgive me your trouble. Ant. Will you stay no longer ? nor will you not, Ant. If you will not murder me for my love, let that I go with you?

me be your servant. Seb. By your patience, no : my stars shine darkly Scb. If you will not undo what you have done, over me; the malignancy of my fate might, per- that is, kill him whom you have recovered, desire it haps, distemper yours; therefore I shall crave of you not. Fare ye well at once: my bosom is full of your leave, that I may bear my evils alone : It kindness ; and I am yet so near the manners of my were a bad recompense for your love, to lay any of i mother, that upon the least occasion more, mine them on you.

eyes will tell tales of me. I am bound to the count Ant. Let me yet know of you, whither you are Orsino's court : farewell.

(Erit. bound.

Ant. The gentleness of all the gods go with thee! Seb. No, 'sooth, sir ; my determinate voyage is I have many enemies in Orsino's court, mere extravagancy. But I perceive in you so ex- Else would I very shortly see thee there : cellent a touch of modesty, that you will not extort But, come what may, I do adore thee so, from me what I am willing to keep in ; therefore it That danger shall seem sport, and I will go. (Erii. charges me in manners the rather to express myself. You must know of me then, Antonio, my

SCENE II. A Street. name is Sebastian, which I called Rodorigo; my father was that Sebastian of Messaline, whom I

Enter Viola; Malvolio following. know, you have heard of: he left behind him, my- Mal. Were not you even now with the countess self, and a sister, both born in an hour. If the Olivia ? heavens had been pleased, 'would we had so ended ! Vio. Even now, sir; on a moderate pace I have but, you, sir, altered that ; for, some hour before since arrived but hither. you took me from the breach of the sea, was my Mal. She returns this ring to you, sir ; you sister drowned.

might have saved me my pains, to have taken it Ant. Alas, the day!

away yourself. She adds moreover, that you should Seb. A lady, sir, though it was said she much re- put your lord into a desperate assurance she will ceinbled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful: none of him: And one thing more ; that you be mut, though I could not, with such estimable won- never so hardy to come again in his affairs, unless Jer, overfar believe that, yet thus far I will boldly it be to report your lord's taking of this. Receive publish her, she bore a mind that envy could not but call fair . she is drowned already, sir, with salt Vio. Sve took the ring of me: I'll none of it

it so.



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Hal. Come, sir, you peevishly threw it to her ; Sir And. There's a testril of me too : if one and her will is, it should be so returned : if it be knight give a worth stooping for, there it lies in your eye; if not, Clo. Would you have a love-song, or a song be it his that finds it.


good life? Vio. I left no ring with her : What means this Sir To. A love-song, a love song. lady?

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

Clo. O mistress mine, where are you roaming ?? For she did speak in starts distractedly.

0, stay and hear; your true love's coming, She loves me, sure; the cunning of her passion

That can sing both high and low : Invites me in this churlish messenger.

Trip no further pretty sweeting ; None of my lord's ring! why, he sent her none.

Journeys end in lovers' meeting,
I am the man ;- If it be so, (as ’tis,)

Every wise man's son doth know.
Poor lady, she were better love a dream.
Disguise, I see, thou art a wickedness,

Sir And. Excellent good, i'faith.

Sir To. Good, good.
Wherein the pregnant enemy does much.
How easy is it, for the proper-false

Clo. What is love? 'tis not hereafler ;
In women's waxen hearts to set their forms !

Present mirth hath present laughter ; Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we;

What's to come, is still unsure :
For, such as we are made of, such we be.

In delay there lies no plenty ;
How will this fadge? My master loves her dearly ; Then come kiss me, sweet-and-twenty,
And I, poor monster, fond as much on him;

Youth's a stuff will not endure.
And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me:

Sir And. A mellifluous voice, as I am true What will become of this! As I am man,

knight. My state is desperate for my master's love ; As I am woman, now alas the day!

Sir To. A contagious breath. What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe ?

Sir And. Very sweet and contagious, i'faith. O time, thou must entangle this, not l;

Sir To. To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in conIt is too hard a knot for me to untie. [Erit.

tagion. But shall we make the welkin dance in. deed ? Shall we rouse the night-owl in a catch, that

will draw three souls out of one weaver ? shall we SCENE III. - A Room in Olivia's Horse.

do that? Enter Sir Toby Belch and Sir ANDREW AGUE- 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 To. Approach, sir Andrew : not to be a-bed

Sir And. Most certain : let our catch be, Thou after midnight, is to be up betimes; and diluculo

knave. wergere, thou know'st,

Clo. Hold thy peace, thou knave, knight? I shall Sir And. Nay, by my troth, I know not : but I be constrain’a in't to call thee knave, knight. know, to be up late, is to be up late.

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 mid- Clo. I shall never begin, if I hold my peace. right, is to go to bed betimes. Do not our lives

Sir And. Good, i'faith! Come, begin. consist of the four elements ?

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

Enter Maria. Sir To. Thou art a scholar; let us therefore eat Mar. What a catterwauling do you keep here ! and drink. - Marian, I say ! - a stoop of wine! If my lady have not called up her steward, Mal

volio, and bid him turn you out of doors, never Enter Clown.

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

Sir To. My lady's a Cataian, we are politicians ; Clo. How now, my hearts? Did you never see Malvolio's a Peg-a-Ramsay, and Three merry men the picture of we three ?

be we. Am not I consanguineous ? am I not of her Sir To. Welcome ass. Now let's have a catch. blood ? Tilly-valley, lady!

There dwelt a man in Sir And. By my troth, the fool has an excellent Babylon, lady, lady!

(Singing. breast. I had rather than forty shillings I had such Clo. Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable foola leg; and so sweet a breath to sing, as the fool has. ing. In sooth, thou wast in very gracious fooling last Sir And. Ay, he does vell enough, if he be disnight, when thou spokest of Pigr romitus, of the posed, and so too ; he does it with a better Vapians passing the equinoctial of Queubus; 'twas grace, but I do it more natural. very good, i'faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy le- Sir To. O, the twelfth day of December, man : Hadst it?

(Singing. Clo. I did impeticos thy gratillity ; for Malvolio's


Mar. For the love o'God, peace. nose is no whipstock : My lady has a white hand,

Enter MalvoLIO. and the Myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses.

Sir And. Excellent! Why, this is the best fool- Mal. My masters, are you mad ? or what are ing, when all is done. Now, a song.

you? Have you no wit, manners, nor honesty, but Sir To. Come on ; there is sixpence for you: let's to gabble like tinkers at this time of night? Do

ye make an alehouse of my lady's house, that ye squeak


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