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If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow
As it is spoke, she never will admit me.
Duke. Be clamorous, and leap all civil bounds,
Rather than make unprofited return.

Vio. Say, I do speak with her, my lord; what

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Clo. Do you not hear, fellows? Take away the lady.

Oli. Go to, you're a dry fool; I'll no more of you: besides you grow dishonest.


Clo. Two faults, madonna, that drink and good counsel will amend: for give the dry fool drink, then is the fool not dry; bid the dishonest man mend himself; if he mend, he is no longer dishonest; if he cannot, let the botcher mend him: Any thing that's mended, is but patched: virtue, that transgresses, is but patched with sin: and sin, that amends, is but patched with virtue: If that this simple syllogism will serve, so; if it will not, what Dear lad, believe it; remedy? As there is no true cuckold but calamity, so beauty's a flower :-the lady bade take away the fool; therefore, I say again, take her away.

Duke. O, then unfold the passion of my love,
Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith:
It shall become thee well to act my woes;
She will a tend it better in thy youth,
Than in a nuncio of more grave aspect.
Vio. I think not so, my lord.

For they shall yet belie thy happy years
That say, thou art a man: Diana's lip

Is not more smooth and rubious; thy small pipe
Is as the maiden's organ, shrill and sound,
And all is semblative a woman's part.
I know thy constellation is right apt

For this affair:-Some four or five attend him;
All, if you will; for I myself am best,
When least in company:-Prosper well in this,
And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord,
To call his fortunes thine.

I'll do my best

To woo your lady: yet [Aside,] a barful strife!
Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife. [Exeunt.
SCENE V. A Room in Olivia's house. Enter
MARIA and Clown.3

Mar. Nay, either tell me where thou hast been, or I will not open my lips so wide as a bristle may enter, in way of thy excuse: my lady will hang thee for thy absence.

Clo. Let her hang me: he that is well hanged in this world needs to fear no colours.

Mar. Make that good.

Clo. He shall see none to fear.

Mar. A good lenten answer: I can tell thee where that saying was born, of, I fear no colours. Clo. Where, good mistress Mary!

Mar. In the wars; and that may you be bold to say in your foolery.

Clo. Well, God give them wisdom, that have it; and those that are fools, let them use their talents. Mar. Yet you will be hanged for being so long absent: or, to be turned away, is not that as good as a hanging to you?

Oli. Sir, I bade them take away you.

Clo. Misprision in the highest degree !-Lady, Cucullus non facit monachum; that's as much as to say, I wear not motley in my brain. Good madonna, give me leave to prove you a fool.

Oli. Can you do it?

Clo. Dexterously, good madam.
Oli. Make your proof.

Clo. I must catechize you for it, madonna:
Good my mouse of virtue, answer me.

Oli. Well, sir, for want of other idleness, I'll 'bide your proof.

Clo. Good madonna, why mourn'st thou?
Oli. Good fool, for my brother's death.
Clo. I think his soul is in hell, madonna.
Oli. I know his soul is in heaven, fool

Clo. The more fool you, madonna, to mourn for your brother's soul being in heaven.-Take away the fool, gentlemen.

Oli. What think you of this fool, Malvolio? doth he not mend?

Mal. Yes; and shall do, till the pangs of death shake him: Infirmity, that decays the wise, doth ever make the better fool.

Clo. God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for the better encreasing your folly! Sir Toby will be sworn that I am no fox; but he will not pass his word for twopence that you are no fool.

Oli. How say you to that, Malvolio?

Mal. I marvel your ladyship takes delight in such a barren rascal; I saw him put down the other day with an ordinary fool that has no more brain than a stone. Look you now, he's out of his guard alreaClo. Many a good hanging prevents a bad mar-dy; unless you laugh and minister occasion to him, riage; and, for turning away, let summer bear it out. he is gagged. I protest I take these wise men, that Mar. You are resolute then? crow so at these set of kind fools, no better than the fools' zanies."

Clo. Not so neither; but I am resolved on two points. Mar. That, if one break, the other will hold; or, if both break, your gaskins fall.


Clo. Apt, in good faith; very apt! Well, go thy way; if Sir Toby would leave drinking, thou wert as witty a piece of Eve's flesh as any in Illyria.

Mar. Peace, you rogue, no more o' that; here comes my lady: make your excuse wisely, you were best.


Enter OLIVIA and MALVOLIO. Clo. Wit, and't be thy will, put me into good fooling! Those wits, that think they have thee, do very oft prove fools; and I, that am sure I lack

1 Go thy way.

2 A contest full of impediments.

3 The clown in this play is a domestic fool in the service of Olivia. He is specifically termed an allowed fool, and Feste, the jester that the lady Olivia's father took much delight in. Malvolio speaks of him as 'a set fool. The dress of the domestic fool was of two sorts, described by Mr. Douce in his Essay on the Clowns and Fools of Shakspeare, to which we must refer the reader for full information. The dress sometimes appropriated to the character is thus described in Tarleton's Newes out of Purgatory: I saw one attired in russet, with a button'd cap upon his head, a bag by his side, and a strong bat in his hand; so artificially at

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Mar. Madam, there is at the gate a young gentleman, much desires to speak with you.

tired for a clowne as I began to call Tarleton's wonted shope to remembrance.'

4 Short and spare. 'Sparing, niggardly, insufficient, like the fare of old times in Lent. Metaphori cally, short, laconic.' Says Steevens. I rather incline Steeto Johnson's explanation, a good dry answer.' vens does not seem to have been aware that a dry fig was called a lenten fig. In fact, lenten fare was dry fare. 5 Points were laces which fastened the hose or breeches.

6 Italian, mistress, dame.

7 Fools' baubles.

S Bird-bolts were short thick arrows with obtuse ends, used for shooting young rooks and other birds. 9 Lying.

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Re-enter MARIA.

Oli. From the count Orsino, is it?
Mar. I know not, madam; 'tis a fair young man,
and well attended,

Oli. Who of my people hold him in delay?
Mar. Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman.

Oli. Fetch him off, I pray you; he speaks nothing but madman: Fie on him! [Exit MARIA.] Go you, Malvolio; if it be a suit from the count, am sick, or not at home; what you will to dismiss it. [Exit MALVOLIO.] Now you see, sir, how your fooling grows old, and people dislike it."

Clo. Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy eldest son should be a fool: whose skull Jove cram with brains, for here he comes, one of thy kin, has a most weak pia mater.1


Oli. Give me my veil; come, throw it o'er my face; We'll once more hear Orsino's embassy.

Enter VIOLA.

Vio. The honourable lady of the house, which is she?

Oli. Speak to me, I shall answer for her: Your will?

Vio. Most radiant, exquisite, and unmatchable beauty,-I pray you, tell me, if this be the lady of the house, for I never saw her: I would be loath to cast away my speech; for, besides that it is excellently well pend, I have taken great pains to con it. Good beauties, let me sustain no scorn; I am very comptible, even to the least sinister Oli. Whence come you, sir?

Oli. By mine honour, half drunk.-What is he usage.

at the gate, cousin?

Sir To. A gentleman.

Oli. A gentleman! what gentleman?

Vio. I can say little more than I have studied, and that question's out of my part. Good gentle

Sir To. "Tis a gentleman here-A plague o'these one, give me modest assurance, if you be the lady pickle-herrings!-How now, sot?

Clo. Good Sir Toby,

Oli. Cousin, cousin, how have you come so early by this lethargy?

Sir To. Lechery! I defy lechery: There's one at the gate.

Oli. Av, marry; what is he?

Sir To. Let him be the devil, an he will, I care not give me faith, say I. Well, it's all one. [Exit. Oli. What's a drunken man like, fool?

Clo. Like a drown'd man, a fool, and a madman: one draught above heat makes him a fool; the second mads him; and a third drowns him.

Oli. Go thou and seek the coroner, and let him sit o' my coz; for he's in the third degree of drink; he's drown'd; go, look after him.

Clo. He is but mad yet, madonna; and the fool shall look to the madinan. [Exit Clown.

Re-enter MALVOLIO.

Mal. Madam, yond' young fellow swears he will speak to you. I told him you were sick; he takes on him to understand so much, and therefore comes to speak with you: I told him you were asleep; he seems to have a foreknowledge of that too, and therefore comes to speak with you. What is to be said to him, lady? he's fortified against any denial. Oli. Tell him, he shall not speak with me.

Mal. He has been told so: and he says, he'll stand at your door like a sheriff's post, and be the supporter of a bench, but he'll speak with you. Óli. What kind of man is he? Mal. Why, of man kind.

Oli. What manner of man?

Mal. Of very ill manner; he'll speak with you, will you or no.

Oli. Of what personage and years is he? Mal. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy; as a squash is before 'tis a peascod, or a codling when 'tis almost an apple: 'tis with him e'en standing water, between boy and man. He is very well favoured, and he speaks very shrewishly; one would think, his mother's mill. were scarce out of him.

Oli. Let him approach: Call in my gentle

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1 The membrane that covers the brain. 2 The sheriffs formerly had painted posts set up at their doors, on which proclamations, &c. were affixed. 3 A codling (according to Mr. Gifford,) means an involucrum or kell, and was used by our old writers for that early state of vegetation, when the fruit, after shaking off the blossom, began to assume a globular and determinate shape. Mr. Nares says, a codling was a young raw apple, fit for nothing without dressing, and that it is so named because it was chiefly eaten when coddled or scalded; codlings being particularly so used when unripe. Florio interprets Mele cotte, quodlings boiled apples.'

4 Accountable.

of the house, that I may proceed in my speech. Oli. Are you a comedian?

Vio. No, my profound heart: and yet, by the very fangs of malice, I swear, I am not that I play. Are you the lady of the house?

Oli. If I do not usurp myself, I am.

Vio. Most certain, if you are she, you do usurp yourself; for what is yours to bestow, is not yours to reserve. But this is from my conmission: 1 will on with my speech in your praise, and then shew you the heart of my message.

Oli. Come to what is important in't: I forgive you the praise.

Vio. Alas, I took great pains to study it, and'tis poetical.

Oli. It is the more like to be feigned; I pray you, keep it in. I heard you were saucy at my gates; and allowed your approach, rather to wonder at you than to hear you. If you be not mad, he gone; if you have reason, be brief: 'tis not that time of moon with me, to make one in so skippings a dialogue.

Mar. Will you hoist sail, sir? here lies your way. Vio. No, good swabber: I am to hull' here a little longer.-Some mollification for your giant," sweet lady.

Oli. Tell me your mind.

Vio. I am a messenger.

Oli. Sure, you have some hideous matter to deliver, when the courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak your office.

Vio. It alone concerns your ear. I bring no overture of war, no taxation of homage; I hold the olive in my hand: my words are as full of peace as matter.

Oli. Yet you began rudely. What are you? what would you?

Vio. The rudeness, that hath appear'd in me, have I learn'd from my entertainment. What I am, and what I would, are as secret as maidenhead: to your ears, divinity; to any other's, profanation.

Oli. Give us the place alone; we will hear this divinity. [Exit MARIA.] Now, sir, what is your text?

Vio. Most sweet lady,

Oli. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be said of it. Where lies your text?

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Vio. In Orsino s bosom?

Oli, In his bosom? In what chapter of his bosom? Vio. To answer by the method, in the first of his heart.

Oli. O, I have read it; it is heresy. Have you no more to say?

Vio. Good madam, let me see your face. Oh. Have you any commission from your lord to negotiate with my face? you are now out of your text: but we will draw the curtain, and shew you the picture. Look you, sir, such a one as I was, this presents:-Is't not well done? [Unveiling. Vio. Excellently done, if God did all."

Oh. 'Tis in grain, sir'; 'twill endure wind and weather.

Vio. Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white
Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on :
Lady, you are the cruel'st she alive,
If you will lead these graces to the grave,
And leave the world no copy.3

Oli. O, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted; I will
give out divers schedules of my beauty: It shall be
Inventoried; and every particle and utensil label-
ed to my will: as, item, two lips indifferent red;
item, two gray eyes, with lids to them; item, one
neck, one chin, and so forth. Were you sent hi-
ther to 'praise me?
Vio. I
you are: you are too proud;
But, if you were the devil, you are fair.
My lord and master loves you; O, such love
Could be but recompens'd, though you were crown'd
The nonpareil of beauty!



How does he love me?
Vio. With adorations, with fertile tears,
With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire.
Oli. Your lord does know my mind, I cannot love

Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble,
Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth;
In voices well divulg'd, free, learn'd, and valiant,
And, in dimension, and the shape of nature,
A gracious person: but yet I cannot love him;
He might have took his answer long ago.
Vio. If I did love you in my master's itame,
With such a suffering, such a deadly life,
In your denial I would find no sense,
I would not understand it.

Why, what would you?
Vio. Make me a willow cabin at your gate,
And call upon my soul within the house;
Write loyal cantons" of contemned love,
And sing them loud even in the dead of night;
Holla your name to the reverberate hills,
And make the babbling gossip of the air*
Cry out, Olivia! O, you should not rest
Between the elements of air and earth,
But you should pity me.

Love make his heart of flint, that you shall love;
And let your fervour, like my master's, be
Plac'd in contempt! Farewell, fair cruelty. [Exit.
Oli. What is your parentage?
Above my fortunes, yet my state is well :
I am a gentleman.-I'll be sworn thou art,
Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit,
Do give thee five-fold blazon;-Not too fast:-
soft! soft!
Unless the master were the man.-How now?
Even so quickly may one catch the plague?
Methinks, I feel this youth's perfections,
With an invisible and subtle stealth,
To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be.-
What, ho, Malvolio!-
Re-enter MALVOLIO.

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Oli. I do I know not what: and fear to find Mine eye too great a flatterer for Fate, show thy force: ourselves we do not owe; 12 mind.11 my What is decreed, must be; and be this so! [Exit.


SCENE I. The Sea Coast. Enter ANTONIO and

Ant. Will you stay no longer? nor will you not, that I go with you?

Seb. By your patience, no: my stars shine darkhaps, distemper yours; therefore I shall crave of ly over me; the malignancy of my fate might, peryou your leave, that I may bear my evils alone: It were a bad recompense for your love, to lay any of them on you.

Ant. Let me yet know of you, whither you are


Seb. No, 'sooth, sir; my determinate voyage is mere extravagancy. But I perceive in you so excellent a touch of modesty, that you will not extort from me what I am willing to keep in; therefore it charges me in manners the rather to express13 myself. You must know of me, then, Antonio, my name is Sebastian, which I called Rodorigo: my father was that Sebastian of Messaline, 14 whom, I know, you have heard of: he left behind him myself, and a sister, both born in an hour. If the heavens had been pleased, 'would we had so ended!

Oli. You might do much: What is your parent-but, you, sir, altered that; for, some hour before

age ?

Vio. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well: I am a gentleman.

Get you to your lord;

I cannot love him: let him send no more;
Unless, perchance, you come to me again,
To tell me how he takes it. Fare you well:
I thank you for your pains: spend this for me.
Vo. I am no fee'd post, lady; keep your purse;
My master, not myself, lacks recompense.

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you took me from the breach of the sea, was my sister drowned.

Ant. Alas, the day!

Seb. A lady, sir, though it was said she much resembled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful: but, though I could not, with such estimable wonder,15 overfar believe that, yet thus far I will boldly publish her, she bore a mind that envy could salt water, though I seem to drown her rememnot but call fair: she is drowned already, sir, with brance again with more.' 16

9 Proclamation of gentility.
10 Count.

an idea of the supposed youth Cesario, that she should 11 i. e. she fears that her eyes had formed so flattering not have strength of mind sufficient to resist the impres sion.

12 i. e. we are not our own masters, we cannot govern ourselves; owe for own, possess. 13 Reveal.

14 Probably intended for Metelin, an island in the Archipelago.

15 i. c. esteeming wonder, or wonder and esteem.
16 There is a similar false thought in Hamlet:
Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelie,
And therefore 1 forbid my tears.'

Ant. Pardon me, sir, your bad entertainment. Seb. O, good Antonio, forgive me your trouble. Ant. If you will not murder me for my love, let me be your servant.

Seb. If you will not undo what you have done, that is, kill him whom you have recovered, desire it not. Fare ye well at once; my bosom is full of kindness; and I am yet so near the manners of my mother, that upon the least occasion more, mine eyes will tell tales of me. I am bound to the count Orsino's court: farewell, [Exit. Ant. The gentleness of all the gods go with thee! I have many enemies in Orsino's court, Else would I very shortly see thee there: But, come what may, I do adore thee so, That danger shall seem sport, and I will go. [Exit. SCENE II. A Street. Enter VIOLA; MALVOLIO following.

Mal. Were not you even now with the countess Olivia?

Vio. Even now, sir; on a moderate pace I have

since arrived but hither.


Mal. She returns this ring to you, sir; you might have saved me my pains, to have taken it away yourself. She adds moreover, that should put your lord into a desperate assurance she will none of him: And one thing more; that you be never so hardy to come again in his affairs, unless it be to report your lord's taking of this. Receive it so.

Vio. She took the ring of me!-I'll none of it. Mal. Come, sir, you peevishly threw it to her; and her will is, it should be so returned: if it be worth stooping for, there it lies in your eye; if not,

be it his that finds it.
Vio. I left no ring with her: What means this lady?
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,
For she did speak in starts distractedly.
She loves me, sure; the cunning of her passion
Invites me in this churlish messenger.
None of my lord's ring! why, he sent her none.
I am the man ;-If it be so, (as 'tis,)
Poor lady, she were better love a dream.
Disguise, I see, thou art a wickedness,
Wherein the pregnant enemy does much.
How easy is it for the proper-false"

In woman's waxen hearts to set their forms!
Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we;
For, such as we are made of, such we be.

How will this fadge ? My master loves her dearly:
And I, poor monster, fond as much on him;
And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me :
What will become of this! As I am man,
My state is desperate for my master's love;
As I am woman, now alas the day!
What thriftless sighs shall
O time, thou must untangle this, not I;
It is too hard a knot for me to untie.

Olivia breathe?

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Sir And. Nay, by my troth, I know not: but I know to be uplate, is to be up late.

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1 So, in Henry V. Act v. Sc. 6.

And all my mother came into my eyes.

3 Dexterous, ready fiend.

Sir To. A false conclusion; I hate it as an unfilled can: To be up after midnight, and to go to bed then, is early; so that to go to bed after midnight, is to go to bed betimes. Do not our lives consist of the four elements?

Sir. And. 'Faith, so they say; but, I think, it rather consists of eating and drinking." Sir To. Thou art a scholar; let us therefore cat and drink.-Marian, I say!-a stoop of wine! Enter Clown.

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

Clo. How now, my hearts? Did you never see the picture of we three ?

Sir. To. Welcome, ass, now let's have a catch. Sir And. By my troth, the fool has an excellent breast. I had rather than forty shillings I had such a leg and so sweet a breath to sing, as the fool has. In sooth, thou wast in very gracious fooling last night, when thou spokest of Pigrogro mitus, of the Vapians passing the equinoctial of Queubus; 'twas very good, faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy leman: Hadst it?

Clo. I did impeticos thy gratillity;11 for Malvolio's nose is no whipstock: My lady has a white hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses.

Sir And. Excellent! Why, this is the best fooling, when all is done. Now a song.

Sir To. Come on; there is sixpence for you; let's have a song.

Sir And. There's a testril of me too: if one knight give a

Clo. Would you have a love-song, or a song of good life?

Sir To. A love-song, a love-song.

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


Clo. O mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O, stay and hear; your true love's coming,

That can sing both high and low:
Trip no further, pretty sweeting;
Journeys end in lovers' meeting,
Every wise man's son doth know.
Sir And. Excellent good, i'faith!
Sir To. Good, good.

Clo. What is love? 'tis not hereafter;
Present mirth hath present laughter;
What's to come is still unsure:

In delay there lies no plenty;
Then come kiss me, sweet-and-twenty, 19

Youth's a stuff will not endure.


Sir And. A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight.
Sir To. A contagious breath.

Sir And. Very sweet and contagious, i'faith.

Sir To. To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion. But shall we make the welkin dance1 indeed? Shall we rouse the night-owl in a catch, that will draw three souls out of one weaver ?14 shall we do that?

8 Alluding to an old common sign representing tira fools or loggerheads, under which was inscribed, 'We three loggerheads be.'

9 i. e. Voice. In Fiddes's Life of Wolsey, Append. p. 128, Singing men well breasted. The phrase is com mon to all writers of the poet's age.

10 i e. mistress.

11 The greater part of this scene, which the commen. 2 i. e. the fixed and eager view she took of me per-tators have endeavoured to explain, is mere gracious verted the use of her tongue, and made her talk dis-fooling, and was hardly meant to be seriously undertractedly. stood. The Clown uses the same fantastic language 4 How easy is it for the proper (i. e. fair in their ap- before. By some the phrase has been thought to mean pearance,) and false (i. e. deceitful,) to make an im- 1 did impetticoat or impocket thy gratuity. pression on the easy hearts of women! 12 Sweet-and-twenty, appears to have been an ancient term of endearment.

5 Suit, or fit.

6 Diluculo surgere, saluberrimum est. This adage ls in Lilly's Grammar.

7 A ridicule of the medical theory of that time, which supposed health to consist in the just temperament of the four elements in the human frame. Homer agrees with Sir Andrew:

strength consists in spirits and in blood, And those are ow'd to gencrous wine and food.' Iliad ix.

13 Drink till the sky seems to turn round.

harmony in his time. The peripatetic philosophy then 14 Shakspeare represents weavers as much given to in vogue liberally gave every man three souls, the regetative or plastic, the animal, and the rational. Thus, In Hutton's Dictionary, 1583, Plato feigned the soul to be threefold, whereof he placed reason in the head, anger in the breast, desire or lust under the heart, liver, lites, &c.' But it may be doubted whether any allusion

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 And. Most certain: let our catch be, Thou knave.

Clo. Hold thy peace, thou knave, knight? I shall be constrain'd in't, to call thee knave, knight.

Sir And. "Tis not the first time I have constrain'd one to call me knave. Begin, fool; it begins, Hold thy peace.'

Clo. I shall never begin, if I hold my peace.
Sir And. Good, i'faith! Come, begin.
[They sing a catch.

Enter MARIA.

Mal. Mistress Mary, if you prized 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. [Exit,

Mar. Go shake your ears.

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 MalMar. What a caterwauling do you keep here! volio, let me alone with him: if I do not gull him If my lady have not called up her steward, Malvo-into a nay-word,1° and make him a common recrelio, and bid him turn you out of doors, never trust me.ation, do not think I have wit enough to lie straight Sir To. My lady's a Cataian, we are politi-in my bed: I know I can do it. cians; Malvolio's a Peg-a-Ramsey, and Three Sir To. Possess us,11 possess us; tell us somemerry men we be. Am not I consanguineous? am thing of him. I not of her blood? Tilley-valley, lady! There delt a man in Babylon, lady, lady! [Singing. Clo. Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable fooling. Sir And. Ay, he does well enough, if he be disposed, and so do I too; he does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural.

Sir To. O, the twelfth day of December,-
Mar. For the love o' God, peace.



Mar. Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Pu


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 12 ass, that cons state without book, and utters it by great Mal. My masters, are you mad? or what are you! swarths:13 the best persuaded of himself, so cramHave you no wit, manners, nor honesty, but to gab-med, as he thinks, with excellencies, that it is his ble like tinkers at this time of night? Do you make ground of faith, that all, that look on him, love him; an alehouse of my lady's house, that ye squeak out and on that vice in him will my revenge find notayour coziers' catches without any mitigation or ble cause to work. remorse of voice? Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time, in you?

Sir To. What wilt thou do?

Mar. I will drop in his way some obscure episSir To. We did keep time, sir, in our catches.tles of love; wherein, by the colour of his beard, the Sneck up!

shape of his leg, the manner of his gait, the exMal. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My pressure of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he lady bade me tell you, that though she harbours you shall find himself most feelingly personated: I can as her kinsman, she's nothing allied to your disor-write very like my lady, your niece; on a forgotten ders. If you can separate yourself from your mis- matter we can hardly make distinction of our hands. demeanors, you are welcome to the house; if not, Sir To. Excellent! I smell a device. an it would please you to take leave of her, she is Sir And. I have't in my nose ton. very willing to bid you farewell.

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

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Clo. What an if you do?

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 colour.
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 [Singing. 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. Shall Ì bid him go, and spare 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.

Sir To. Thou'rt i'the right.-Go, sir, rub your chain with crums:-A stoop of wine, Maria!

to this division of souls was intended. Sir Toby rather meant that the catch should be so harmonious that it would hale the soul out of a weaver thrice over, a rhodomontade way of expressing, that it would give this warm lover of song thrice more delight than it would give another man.

1 This catch is to be found in 'Pammelia, Musicke's Miscellanie, 1618. The words and music are in the Variorum Shakspeare.

2 This word generally signified a sharper. Sir Toby is too drunk for precision, and uses it merely as a term of reproach.

3 Name of an obscene old song.

4 An interjection of contempt equivalent to fiddlefaddle, possibly from the Latin Titivillitium.

5 Sir Toby, in his cups, is full of the fragments of old ballads: such as, 'There dwelt a man in Babylon.')

Sir To. Good night, Penthesilea.14
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?

Three merry men are we,' &c. The latter was com
posed by W. Lawes, and may be found in Playford's
Musical Companion, 1673.
Dr. Johnson interprets It

6 Cobblers, or botchers. tailors, but erroneously.

7 An interjection of contempt, signifying, go hang yourself, or go and be hanged.

8 Stewards anciently wore a chain of silver or gold, as a mark of superiority, as did other principal servants. Wolsey's chief cook is described by Cavendish as wearingvelvet or sattin with a chain of gold. One of the methods used to clean gilt plate was rubbing it with

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