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!

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.

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

Mar. Nay, good sir Toby.

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

Sir To. But I will never die.

Clo. Sir Toby, there you lie.

Mal. This is much credit to you.

Clo. O no, no, no, no, you dare not. 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.

Str 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 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.

[Exit.

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 lady, she is much out of quiet. For monsieur Malvolio, let me alone with him: if I do not gull him into a nayword, and make him a common recreation, do not 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.

of love; wherein, by the colour of his beard, the
shape of his leg, the manner of his gait, the ex-
pressure 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 Te. 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

an ass.

Mar. Ass, I doubt not.

Sir And. O, 'twill be adinirable.

Mar. Sport royal, I warrant you: I know my physick 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 What o' that? Sir And. I was adored once too.

me;

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

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

Sir To. Send for money, knight; if thou hast her not 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, 'us too late to go to bed now: come, knight; come knight. [Exeunt.

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

Sir And. O, if I thought that, I'd beat him like about the house. 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 ass, that cons state without book, and utters it by great swarths: 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.

Duke. Seek him out, and play the tune the whi e.
[Exit CURIO. Musick,

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 thon like this tune?
Fio. It gives a very echo to the seat
Where Love is thron'd.

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,

Do use to chaunt it; it is silly sooth,

And dallies with the innocence of love,
Like the old age.

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

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.
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,

'Sooth, but you must.

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,
And that I owe Olivia.

Vio.

Ay, but I know, ⋅
Duke. What dost thou know?

Vio. Too well what love women to men may owe:
In faith, they are as true of heart as we.
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 her history?
Vio. A blank, my lord: She never told her love,
[Musick. 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,

Duke. There's for thy pains.

Clo. No pains, sir; I take pleasure in singing, sir.
Duke. I'll pay thy pleasure then.

Clo. Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid, one 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 every thing, and their intent every where; for that's it, that always makes a good voyage of nothing. Farewell. [Erit Clown.

Duke. Let all the rest give place. ·

[Exeunt CURIO and Attendants. Once more, Cesario, Get thee to yon' same sovereign cruelty:

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 sport, let me be boiled to death with melancholy.

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

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

Sin To. To anger him, we'll have the bear again; and we will fool him black and blue: Shall we not, sir Andrew?

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

Enter MARIA.

Sir To. Here comes the little villain: Flow now, my nettle of India?

Mal. Besides, you waste the treasure of your time | thy hand, revolve. In my stars I am above thee; but with a foolish knight;

ACT III.

:

"It of my welkin : I might say, element; but the | Which you knew none of yours : What might you word is over-worn.

[Erit.

think? l'io. This fellow's wise enough to play the fool ; Have you not set mine honour at the stake, snd, to do that well, craves a kind of wit :

And baited it with all the unmuzzled thoughts He must observe their mood on whom he jests, That tyrannous heart can think? To one of your The quality of persons, and the time ;

receiving And, like tho haggard, check at every feather Enough is shown ; a cyprus, not a bosom, That comes before his eye. This is a practice, Hides my poor heart : So let me hear you speak As full of labour as a wise man's art :

Viv. I pity you.
For folly, that he wisely shows, is fit;

Oli. That's a degree to love.
But wise men, folly-fallen, quite taint their wit. Vio. No, not a grise ; for 'tis a vulgar proof,

That very oft we pity enemies.
Enter Sir Toby Belch and Sir ANDREW

Oli. Why, then, methinks, 'tis time to smile again : AGUE-CHEEK.

O world, how apt the poor are to be proud ! Sir To. Save you, gentleman.

If one should be a prey, how much the better Vio. And you, sir.

To fall before the lion, than the wolf? (Clock strikes Sir And. Dieu vous garde, monsieur.

The clock upbraids me with the waste of time. Vio. Et vous aussi ; votre serviteur.

Be not afraid, good youth, I will not have you : Sir And. I hope, sir, you are; and I am yours. And yet, when wit and youth is come to harvest,

Sir To. Will you encounter the house ? my niece Your wife is like to reap a proper man: is desirous you should enter, if your trade be to her. There lies your way, due west. Vio. I am bound to your niece, sir : I mean, she Vio.

Then westward-hoe : is the list of my voyage.

Grace, and good disposition 'tend your ladyship! Sir To. Taste your legs, sir, put them to motion. You'll nothing, madam, to my lord by me?

Vio. My legs do better understand me, sir, than Oli. Stay : I understand what you mean by bidding me taste I pr’ythee, tell me, what thou think'st of me. iny legs.

Vio. That you do think, you are not what you are. Sir To. I mean to go, sir, to enter.

Oli. If I think so, I think the same of you. Vio. I will answer you with gait and entrance : Vio. Then think you right; I am not what I am. But we are prevented.

Oli. I would, you were as I would have you be!

Vio. Would it be better, madam, than I am, Enter OLIVIA and Maria.

I wish it might; for now I am your fool. Most excellent accomplished lady, the heavens rain Oli. O, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful odours on you!

In the contempt and anger of his lip! Sir And. That youth's a rare courtier ! Rain A murd'rous guilt shows not itself more soon dours ! well.

Than love that would seem hid : love's night is noon. Vio. My matter hath no voice, lady, but to your Cesario, by the roses of the spring, own most pregnant and vouchsafed ear.

By maidhood, honour, truth, and every thing,
Sir And. Odours, pregnant, and vouchsafed : I love thee so, that, maugre all thy pride,
I'll get 'em all three ready.

Nor wit, nor reason, can my passion hide. Oli. Let the garden door be shut, and leave me Do not extort thy reasons from this clause, to my hearing.

For, that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause : [Ereunt Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Maria. But, rather, reason thus with reason fetter : Give me your hand, sir.

Love sought is good, but given unsought, is better. Vio. My duty, madam, and most humble service. Vio. By innocence I swear, and by my youth, Oli. What is

your
name?

I have one heart, one bosom, and one truth,
Vio. Cesario is

your
servant's name,

fair princess. And that no woman has ; nor never none
Oli. My servant, sir! 'Twas never merry world, Shall mistress be of it, save I alone.
Since lowly feigning was call’d compliment : And so adieu, good madam ; never more
You are servant to the count Orsino, youth. Will I my master's tears to you deplore.
Vio. And he is yours, and his must needs be Oli. Yet come again : for thou, perhaps, may'st

yours; Your servant's servant is your servant, madam. That heart, which now abhors, to like his love. Oli. For him, I think not on him : for his

(Ereni u thoughts,

SCENE II.-d Room in Olivia's House. Would they were blanks, rather than fill’d with me!

Vio. Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts Enter Sir Toby Belch, Sir Andrew AGUE-CHEEK On his behalf :

and Fabian. Oli. 0, by your leave, I pray you;

Sir And. No, faith, I'll not stay a jot longer. I bade you never speak again of him :

Sir To. Thy reason, dear enom, give thy reas:1). But, would you undertake another suit,

Fab. You must needs yield your reason, sir AnI had rather hear you to solicit that,

drew. Than musick from the spheres.

Sir And. Marry, I saw your niece do more favours Vio.

Dear lady,

to the count's serving iran, than ever she bestowed Oli. Give me leave, I beseech you : I did send upon me; I saw't i the orchard. After the last enchantment you did here,

Sir To. Did she see thee the while, old boy ? teli A ring in chase of you ; so did I alsuse

me that. Myself, my servant, and, I fear me, you :

Sir And. As plain as I see you now. Under your hard construction must í sit,

Fab. This was a great argument of love in her To forc cat on you, in a shameful cunning,

move

toward you.