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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 nay-word, 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. 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 constantly but a time-pleaser; an affectioned 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.

Sir To. What wilt thou do?

Mar. I will drop in his way some obscure epistles of love; wherein by the color 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 color.
Sir And. And your horse now would make him

an ass.

Mar. Ass, I doubt not.

Sir And. O, 'twill be admirable.

Mar. Sport royal, I warrant you: I know, my physic 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 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.

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

SCENE IV.A Room in the Duke's Palace.
Enter DUKE, VIOLA, CURIO, and others.
Duke. Give me some music:-Now, good
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
More than light airs and recollected terms
Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times:--
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 lady Olivia's father took much delight in: he is about the house.

Duke. Seek him out, and play the tune the while. [Exit CURIO.-Music. 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 that constant image of the creature That is belov'd.-How dost thou like this tune? Vio. It gives a very echo to the seat Where Love is thron'd.

Duke. Thou dost speak masterly:
My life upon't, young thou thou art, thine eye
Hath stay'd upon some fave that it loves;
Hath it not, boy?

Vio.
A little, by your favor.
Duke. What kind of woman is't?
Vio.
Of your complexior.
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.
For, boy, however we do praise ourselves,
Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm,
More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn,
Than women's are.
Vio.
I think it well, my lord.
Duke. Then let thy love be younger than thyself,
Or thy affection cannot hold the bent:
For women are as roses; whose fair flower,
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,

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.

་་

[Music

Simple truth.

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Not a flower, not a flower sweet,
On my black coffin let there be strown;
Not a friend, not a friend greet

My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown:
A thousand thousand sighs to save,
Lay me, O, where

Sad true lover ne'er find my grave,
Το weep there.

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

ume 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 taffeta, 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. [Exit Clown. Duke. Let all the rest give place.-[Exeunt Cunio and Attendants. Once more, Cesario, Get thee to yon' same sovereign cruelty: 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. 'Sooth, but you must. 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

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 call'd appetite,No motion of the liver, but the palate,That suffer forfeit, 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.

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But let concealment, like a worm 1' 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.

Duke. But died thy sister of her love, my boy? Vio. I am all the daughters of my father's house, And all the brothers too;-and yet I know not :→→→ Sir, shall I to this lady?

Duke.

Ay, that's the theme.
To her in haste; give her this jewel; say,
My love can give no place, bide no deħay.* [Exeunt.
SCENE V.-Olivia's Garden.
Enter Sir TOBY BELCH, Sir ANDREW AGUECHEEK,
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 shaine?

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

Sir 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:-How now, my nettle of India?

Mar. Get ye all three into the box-tree: Mal volio's coming down this walk; he has been yonder i' the sun, practising behavior to his own shadow, this half hour: observe him, for the love of mockery; for, I know, this letter will make a contemplative idiot of him. Close, in the name of jesting! [The men hide themselves.] Lie thou there; [Throws down a letter,] for here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling. [Exit MARIA.

Enter MALVOLJO.

Mal. "Tis but fortune; all is fortune. Maria once told me, she did affect me: and I have heard herself come thus near, that, should she fancy, it should be one of my complexion. Besides, she uses me with a more exalted respect than any one else that follows her. What should I think on't?

Sir To. Here's an overweening rogue! Fab. O, peace! Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock of him; how he jets under his advanced plumes!

Sir And. 'Slight, I could so beat the rogue:Sir To. Peace, I say..

Mal. To be count Malvolio;-

Sir To. Ah, rogue!

Sir And. Pistol him, pistol him.

Sir To. Peace, peace!

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Sir To. O, for a stone-how, to hit him in the eye!
Mal. Calling my officers about me, in my branch-
ed velvet gown; having come from a day-bed, where
I left Olivia sleeping.

Sir To. Fire and brimstone!
Fab. O, peace, peace!

Mal. And then to have the humor of state: and
after a demure travel of regard,-telling them, I
know my place, as I would they should do theirs,
to ask for my kinsman Toby:

Sir To. Bolts and shackles !

Fab. O, peace, peace, peace! now, now.

Mal. Seven of my people, with an obedient start, make out for him: I frown the while; and, perchance, wind up my watch, or play with some rich jewel. Toby approaches; court'sies there to me: Sir To. Shall this fellow live?

Fab. Though our silence be drawn from us with cars, yet peace.

Mal. I extend my hand to him thus, quenching my familiar smile with an austere regard of control: Sir To. And does not Toby take you a blow o' the lips then?

Mal. Saying, Cousin Toby, my fortunes having cast me on your niece, give me this prerogative of speech:

Sir To. What, what?

Mal. You must amend your
Sir To. Out, scab!

drunkenness.

Fab. Nay, patience, or we break the sinews of our plot.

Mal. Besides, you waste the treasure of your time with a foolish knight :

Sir And. That's me, I warrant you.
Mal. One Sir Andrew:

Sir And. I knew, 'twas I; for many do call me fool.
Mul. What employment have we here?

[Taking up the letter.
Fab. Now is the woodcock near the gin.
Sir To. O, peace! and the spirit of humors in-
timate reading aloud to him!

Fab. What a dish of poison hath she dressed him' Sir To. And with what wing the stannyel checks at it!"

Mal. I may command where I adore. Why, she may command me; I serve her, she is my lady. Why, this is evident to any formal capacity. There is no obstruction in this;-And the end,-What should that alphabetical position portend? If I could make that resemble something in me, Softly!-M, O, A, I.—

Sir To. O, ay! make up that;-he is now at a cold scent.

Fab. Sowter' will cry upon't for all this, though it be as rank as a fox.

Mal. M,-Malvolio;-M,-why, that legins my

name.

Fab. Did not I say, he would work it out? the cur is excellent at faults.

Mal. M-But then there is no consonancy in the sequel: that suffers under probation: A should follow, but O does.

Fab. And O shall end, I hope.

Sir To. Ay, or I'll cudgel him, and make him cry, O.

Mal. And then I comes behind;

Fab. Ay, an you had an eye behind you, you might see more detraction at your heels, than fortunes before you.

Mal. M, O, A, I;-This simulation is not as the former :--and yet, to crush this a little, it would bow to me, for every one of these letters are in my name. Soft, here follows prose :-If this fall into thy hand, revolve. In my stars I am above thee; but be not afraid of greatness: Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them. Thy fates open their hands; let thy blood and spirit embrace them. And, to inure thyself to what thou art like to be, cast thy humble slough, and appear fresh. Be opposite with a kinsman, surly with servants: let thy tongue tang arguments of state; put thyself into the trick of singularity: she thus advises thee, that sighs for thee. Remember who commended thy yellow stock

Mal. By my life, this is my lady's hand: these be her very C's, her U's, and her T''s, and thus makes she her great P's. It is, in contempt of questionings, and wished to see thee ever cross-gartered: 1 her hand.

Sir And. Her C's, her U's, and her T''s: Why

that?

Mal. [Reads.] To the unknown beloved, this and my good wishes: her very phrases!-By your leave, wax.-Soft!-and the impressure her Lucrece, with which she uses to seal : 'tis my lady: To whom should this be?

Fab. This wins him, liver and all.
Mal. [Reads.] Jove knows, I love:
But who?

Lips do not move,

No man must know.

man.

say, remember. Go to, thou art made, if thou desirest to be so; if not, let me see thee a steward still, the fellow of servants, and not worthy to touch fortune's fingers. Farewell. She that would alter services with thee, The fortunate-unhappy. Day-light and champian' discovers not more: this is open. I will be proud, I will read politic authors, I will baffle Sir Toby, I will wash off gross acquaintance, I will be point-de-vice, the very I do not now fool myself, to let imagination jade me; for every reason excites to this, that my lady loves me. She did commend my yellow stockings of late, she did praise my leg being crossgartered; and in this she manifests herself to my love, and, with a kind of injunction, drives me to these habits of her liking. I thank my stars, I am happy. I will be strange, stout, in yellow stockings, and cross-gartered, even with the swiftness of putting on. Jove, and my stars, be praised!— Here is yet a postscript. Thou canst not choose but know who I am. If thou entertainest my love, let it appear in thy smiling; thy smiles become thee well: therefore in my presence still smile, dear Mal. M, O, A, I, doth sway my life.-Nay, but my sweet, I pr'ythee." Jove, I thank thee.—I will first let me see, let me see,-let me see.

No man must know. What follows? the numbers
altered!-No man must know :-If this should be
thee, Malvolio?

Sir To. Marry, hang thee, brock !
Mal. I may command, where I adore:

But silence, like a Lucrece knife,
With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore;
M, O, A, I, doth sway my life.

Fab. A fustian riddle!

Sir To. Excellent wench, say I.

• Badger.

Hawk.
1 Skin of a snake.

• Flies at it.

2 Open country.

Name of a hound.
Utmost exactness

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Sir To. Why, thou hast put him in such a dream that, when the image of it leaves him, he must run

mad.

Mar. Nay, but say true; does it work upon him? Sir To. Like aqua-vitæ with a midwife.

Mar. If you will then see the fruits of the sport, mark his first approach before my lady: he will come to her in yellow stockings, and 'tis a color she abhors; and cross-gartered, a fashion she detests; and he will smile upon her, which will now be so unsuitable to her disposition, being addicted to a melancholy as she is, that it cannot but turn him into a notable contempt: if you will see it, follow me.

Sir To. To the gates of Tartar, thou most excellent devil of wit!

Sir And. I'll make one too.

[Exeunt.

ACT III.

SCENE I.-Olivia's Garden.

Enter VIOLA, and CLOWN with a Tabor.

Vio. I understand you, sir; 'tis well begg'd. Clo. The matter, I hope, is not great, sir, begging but a beggar;_ Cressida was a beggar. My

Vio. Save thee, friend, and thy music: Dost thou lady is within, sir. I will construe to her whence

live by thy tabor?

Clo. No, sir, I live by the church.
Vio. Art thou a churchman?

Clo. No such matter, sir; I do live by the church: for I do live at my house, and my house doth stand by the church.

Vio. So thou mayst say, the king lies5 by a beggar, if a beggar dwell near him: or, the church stands by thy tabor, if thy tabor stands by the church.

Clo. You have said, sir.-To see this age!-A sentence is but a cheveril glove to a good wit: How quickly the wrong side may be turned outward!

Vio. Nay, that's certain; they, that dally nicely with words, may quickly make them wanton. Clo. I would, therefore, my sister had had no name, sir.

Vio. Why, man?

Clo. Why, sir, her name's a word; and to dally with that word, might make my sister wanton : But, indeed, words are very rascals, since bonds disgraced them.

Vio. Thy reason, man?

Clo. Troth, sir, I can yield you none without words; and words are grown so false, I am loath to prove reason with them.

Vio. I warrant thou art a merry fellow, and carest for nothing.

Clo. Not so, sir, I do care for something: but in my conscience, sir, I do not care for you; if that be to care for nothing, sir, I would it would make you invisible.

Vio. Art not thou the lady Olivia's fool? Clo. No, indeed, sir; the lady Olivia has no folly: she will keep no fool, sir, till she be married; and fools are as like husbands as pilchards are to herrings, the husband's the bigger; I am, indeed, not her fool, but her corrupter of words.

Vio. I saw thee late at the count Orsino's. Clo. Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb, like the sun; it shines every where. I would be sorry, sir, but the fool should be as oft with your master, as with my mistress: I think I saw your wisdom there. Vio. Nay, an thou pass upon me, I'll no more with thee. Hold, there's expences for thee. Clo. Now Jove, in his next commodity of hair, send thee a beard!

Vio. By my troth, I'll tell thee; I am almost sick for one; though I would not have it grow on my chin. Is thy lady within?

Clo. Would not a pair of these have bred, sir? Vio. Yes, being kept together, and put to use. Clo. I would play lord Pandarus" of Phrygia, sir, to bring a Cressida to this Troilus.

A boy's diversion, three and trip.

• Kid.

Dwells.

See the play of Troilus and Cressida.

you come who you are, and what you would, are
out of my welkin: I might say, element; but the
word is over-worn.
[Exit.
Vio. This fellow's wise enough to play the fool;
And to do that well, craves a kind of wit.
He must observe their mood on whom he jests,
The quality of persons, and the time;
And, like the haggards check at every feather
That comes before his eye. This is a practice,
As full of labor as a wise man's art:
For folly, that he wisely shows, is fit;
But wise men, folly-fallen, quite taint their wit.
Enter Sir TOBY BELCH and Sir ANDREW AGUE-
CHEEK.

Sir To. Save you, gentleman.
Vio. And you, sir.

Sir And. Dieu vous garde, monsieur.
Vio. Et vous aussi; votre serviteur.

Sir And. I hope, sir, you are; and I am yours. Sir To. Will you encounter the house? my niece is desirous you should enter, if your trade be to her, Vio. I am bound to your niece, sir; I mean, she is the list of my voyage.

Sir To. Taste your legs, sir, put them to motion. Vio. My legs do better understand me, sir, than I understand what you mean by bidding me taste my legs.

Sir To. I mean, to go, sir, to enter.

Vio. I will answer you with gait and entrance: but we are prevented.

Enter OLIVIA and MARIA. Most excellent accomplished lady, the heavens rain odors on you!

Sir And. That youth's a rare courtier! Rain odors! well.

Vio. My matter hath no voice, lady, but to your own most pregnant' and vouchsafed ear.

Sir And. Odors, pregnant, and vouchsafed:I'll get 'em all three ready.

Oli. Let the garden door be shut, and leave me to my hearing.

[Exeunt Sir TOBY, Sir ANDREW, and MARIA. Give me your hand, sir.

Vio. My duty, madam, and most humble service.
Oli. What is your name?

Vio. Cesario is your servant's name, fair princess.
Oli. My servant, sir! 'Twas never merry world
Since lowly feigning was call'd compliment:
You are servant to the count Orsino, youth.

Vio. And he is yours, and his must needs be yours: Your servant's servant is your servant, madam. A hawk not well trained. ⚫Bound, limit.

1 Ready.

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Have you not set mine honor at the stake,
And baited it with all the unmuzzled thoughts
That tyrannous heart can think? To one of your
receiving'

Enough is shown; a cyprus, not a bosom,
Hides my poor heart: So let me hear you speak.
Vio. I pity you.

Oli. That's a degree to love.

Vio. No, not a grise for 'tis a vulgar proof, That very oft we pity enemies.

Oli. Why, then, methinks, 'tis time to smile again; O world, how apt the poor are to be proud! If one should be a prey, how much the better To fall before the lion than the wolf! [Clock strikes. The clock upraids me with the waste of time,Be not afraid, good youth, I will not have you: And yet, when wit and youth is come to harvest, Your wife is like to reap a proper man: There lies your way, due west.

Vio. Then westward-hoe: Grace and good disposition 'tend your ladyship! You'll nothing, madam, to my lord by me?

Oli. Stay:

I pr'ythee, tell me, what thou think'st of me.
Vio. That you do think, you are not what you are.
Oli. If I think so, I think the same of you.
Vio. Then think you right; I am not what I am.
Oli. I would you were as I would have you be !
Vio. Would it be better, madam, than I am,
I wish it might; for now I am your fool.

Oli. O what a deal of scorn looks beautiful.

In the contempt and anger of his lip!

A murd'rous guilt shows not itself more soon
Than love that would seem hid: love's night is noon.
Cesario, by the roses of the spring,

By maidhood, honour, truth, and every thing,
I love thee so, that, maugre all thy pride,
Nor wit, nor reason, can my passion hide.
Do not extort thy reasons from this clause,
For that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause :
But, rather, reason thus with reason fetter:
Love sought is good, but given unsought is better.
Vio. By innocence I swear, and by my youth,
I have one heart, one bosom, and one truth,
And that no woman has; nor never none

Shall mistress be of it, save I alone.
And so adieu, good madam; never more
Will I my master's tears to you deplore.
Oli. Yet come again: for thou, perhaps, mayst move
That heart, which now abhors, to like his love.

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[Exeunt.

SCENE II-A Room in Olivia s House. Enter Sir TOBY BELCH, Sir ANDREW AGUE CHEEK, and FABIAN.

Sir And. No, faith, I'll not stay a jot longer. Sir To. Thy reason, dear venom, give thy reason Fab. You must needs yield your reason, sir Andrew.

Sir And. Marry, I saw your niece do more favors to the count's serving man, than ever she bestowed upon me: I saw't i' the orchard.

Sir To. Did she see thee the while, old boy? tell me that.

Sir And. As plain as I see you now. Fab. This was a great argument of love in her towards you.

Sir And. 'Slight! will you make an ass o' me? Fab. I will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the oaths of judgment and reason.

Sir To. And they have been grand jury-men, since before Noah was a sailor.

sight, only to exasperate you, to awake your dorFab. She did show favor to the youth in your mouse valor, to put fire in your heart, and brimstone in your liver: You should then have accosted her; and with some excellent jests, fire-new from dumbness. This was looked for at your hand, and the mint, you should have banged the youth into

this was baulked: the double gilt of this opporsailed into the north of my lady's opinion; where tunity you let time wash off, and you are now you will hang like an icicle on a Dutchman's beard unless you do redeem it by some laudable attemp either of valor, or policy.

Sir And. And't be any way, it must be with valor; for policy I hate: I had as lief be a Brownist, as a politician.

3

Sir To. Why then, build me thy fortunes upon the basis of valor. Challenge me the count's youth to fight with him; hurt him in eleven places; my niece shall take note of it: and assure thyself, there is no love-broker in the world can more prevail in man's commendation with woman, than report of valor.

Fab. There is no way but this, Sir Andrew. Sir And. Will either of you bear me a challenge to him?

Sir To. Go, write it in a martial hand; be curst and brief; it is no matter how witty, so it be eloquent, and full of invention: taunt him with the licence of ink: if thou thou'st him some thrice, it shall not be amiss; and as many lies as will lie in thy sheet of paper, although the sheet were big enough for the bed of Ware' in England, set 'em down; go, about it. Let there be gall enough in thy ink: though thou write with a goose-pen, no matter: About it.

Sir And. Where shall I find you? Sir To. We'll call thee at the cubiculo: Go. [Exit Sir ANDREW. Fab. This is a dear manikin to you, sir Toby. Sir To. I have been dear to him, lad; some two thousand strong, or so.

Fab. We shall have a rare letter from him: but you'll not deliver it?

Sir To. Never trust me then; and by all means

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