WELFTH NIGHT.

ACT I.

SCENE I-The Sea-coast.

IOLA, ROBERTO, and two Suilors, L. U. E., carrying a
Trunk.

What country, friends, is this?
This is Illyria, lady.

And what should I do in Illyria ? ther he is in Elysium.

ice, he is not drowned :—what think you, sailors? It is perchance that you yourself were saved.

O my poor brother! and so, perchance, may he be. True, madam and, to comfort you with chance, yourself, after our ship did split,

you, and that poor number saved with you,
on our driving boat, I saw your brother,
provident in peril, bind himself,

ge and hope both teaching him the practice,
Strong mast that lived upon the sea;
-e, like Arion on the dolphin's back,
him hold acquaintance with the waves,
ng as I could see

7. Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope,
reto thy speech serves for authority,

like of him. Know'st thou this conntry?

ob. Ay, madam, well; for I was bred and born three hours' travel from this very place.

io. Who governs here?

Rob. A noble duke, in nature,

in his name.

io. What is his name?

Rob. Orsino.

Vio. Orsino!-I have heard my father name him : He was a bachelor then.

Rob. And so is now,

Or was so very late for but a month

Ago I went from hence; and then 'twas fresh
In murmur, as, you know, what great ones do
The less will prattle of, that he did seek
The love of fair Olivia.

Vio. Rob.

What is she?

A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count
That died some twelvemonth since; then leaving her
In the protection of his son, her brother,

Who shortly also died for whose dear love,
They say, she hath abjured the company
And sight of men.

Vio. Oh, that I served that lady ?
And might not be delivered to the world,
Till I had made mine own occasion mellow

What my estate is !

Rob. That were hard to compass;
Because she will admit no kind of suit,
No, not the duke's.

Vio. There is a fair behavior in thee, captain,
And, I believe, thou hast a mind that suits
With this thy fair and outward character.
I pray thee, and I'll pay thee bounteously,
Conceal me what I am; and be my aid
For such disguise as, haply, shall become
The form of my intent. I'll serve this duke ;
Thou shalt present me as a page unto him,
Of gentle breeding, and my name Cesario
That trunk, the reliques of my sea-drowned brother,
Will furnish man's apparel to my need :-
It may be worth thy pains; for I can sing,
And speak to him in many sorts of music,
That will allow me very worth his service.
What else may hap, to time I will commit;
Only shape thou thy silence to my wit.

Rob. Be yon his page, and I your mute will be ;
When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see!
Vio. I thank thee :-Lead me on.
[Exeunt, R.

E И. A Room in the Duke Orsino's Palace.

c seated, attended by CURIO and Gentlemen, disa rered.-Music.

If music be the food of love, play on,

excess of it; that, surfeiting,

e. Why, so I do, the noblest that I have: en mine eyes did see Olivia first,

ught she purged the air of pestilence; ustant was I turned into a hart;

y desires, like fell and cruel hounds, ince pursue me.

Enter VALENTINE, L.

now? what news from my Olivia?-speak
1. So please my lord, I might not be admitted
from her handmaid do return this answer:
element itself, till seven years' heat,

I not behold her face at ample view;
like a cloistress, she will veiled walk,
water once a day her chamber round
ch eye-offending briue: all this, to season
brother's dead love, which she would keep fresh,
d lasting, in her sad remembrance.

Duke. Oh, she that hath a heart of that fine frame,
pay this debt of love but to a brother,

ow will she love, when the rich golden shaft

ath killed the flock of all affections else

at live in her!

way before me to sweet beds of flowers;

ove-thoughts lie rich, when canopied with bowers.

[Exeunt, R.

SCENE III-A Room in Olivia's House.

Enter MARIA and SIR TOBEY BELCH, R.

Sir To. What a plague means my niece, to take the death of her brother thus? I am sure, care's an enemy to life.

Mar. By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o'nights; your niece, my lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours.

Sir To. Why, let her except before excepted.

Mar. Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modest limits of order.

Sir To. Confine? I'll confine myself no finer than I am these clothes are good enough to drink in, and so be these boots too: an they be not, let them hang themselves in their own straps.

Mar. That quaffing and drinking will undo you: I heard my lady talk of it yesterday; and of a foolish knight, that you have brought in here to be her wooer.

Sir To. Who? Sir Andrew Ague-cheek?

Mar. Ay, he,

Sir To. He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria
Mar. What's that to the purpose?

Sir To. Why, he has three thousand ducats a year. Mar. Ay, but he'll have but a year in all these ducats; he's a very fool, and a prodigal.

Sir To. Fie, that you'll say so he plays o'the viol-degambo, and hath all the good gifts of nature.

Mar. He hath, indeed, all most natural: for, besides that he's a fool, he's a great quarreller; and, but that he hath the gift of a coward to allay the gust he hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought among the prudent, he would quickly have the gift of a grave

Sir To. By this hand, they are scoundrels and substractors that say so of him. Who are they?

Mar. They add, moreover, that he's drunk nightly in your company.

Sir To. With drinking healths to my niece! I'll drink to her, as long as there is a passage in my throat, and drink in Illyria he's a coward and a coystril, that will not drink

till his brains turn o'the toe like a parish top!omes Sir Andrew Ague-face.

Crosses to c

(Without.) Sir Toby Belch! how now! Sir

!

Sweet Sir Andrew !

Enter SIR ANDREW, L.

Bless you, fair shrew.

And you, too, sir.

Accost, Sir, Andrew, accost!
What's that?

My niece's chambermaid.

(Crosses to c.) Good Mistress Accost, I desire quaintance.

0.

My name is Mary, sir.

Good Mistress Mary Accost

You mistake, knight; accost is, front her, board her, assail her.

n. By my troth, I would not undertake her in this -. Is that the meaning of accost?

Fare you well, gentlemen.

{Crosses to L. To. An thou let part so, Sir Andrew, 'twould thou never draw sword again.

An. An you part so, mistress, I would I might new sword again. Fair lady, do you think you have hand!

Sir I have not you by the hand.

An. Marry, but you shall have; and here's my

(Takes his hand.) Now, sir, thought is free: I you bring your hand to the buttery-bar, and let it

. An. Wherefore, sweetheart? what's your meta

r. It's dry, sir.

An. Why, I think so; I am not such an ass, but I eep my hand dry. But what's your jest?

ar. A dry jest, sir.

An. Are you full of them?

ar. Ay, sir; I have them at my fingers' ends; marLets go his hand,) now I let go your hand, I am bar[Exit, L.