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Sir To. Then hadst thou had an excellent head To thee the book even of my secret soul: of hair.

Sir And. Why, would that have mended my hair? Sir To. Past question; for thou seest, it will not curl by nature.

Sir And. But it becomes me well enough, does't not?

Sir To. Excellent; it hangs like Max on a distaff; and I hope to see a housewife take thee between her legs, and spin it off.

Sir And. Faith, I'll home to-morrow, sir Toby: your niece will not be seen; or, if she be, it's four to one she'll none of me: the count himself, here hard by, woos her.

Sir To. She'll none o' the count: she'll not match above her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit; I have heard her swear it. Tut, there's life in't,

nan.

Sir And. I'll stay a month longer. I am a fellow o' the strangest mind i' the world; I delight in masques and revels sometimes altogether.

Sir To. Art thou good at these kick-shaws, knight?

Sir And. As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be, under the degree of my betters; and yet I will not compare with an old man.

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

Sir And. 'Faith, I can cut a caper.
Sir To. And I can cut the mutton to't.

Sir And. And, I think, I have the back-trick, simply as strong as any man in Illyria.

Therefore, good youth, address thy gaits unto her;
Be not deny'd access, stand at her doors,
And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow,
Till thou have audience.
Vio.
Sure, my noble lord,

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
then?

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 attend it better in thy youth,
Than in a nuncio of more grave aspect.
Vio. I think not so, my lord.
Duke.

Dear lad, believe it,
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.
Vio.

I'll do my best,

To woo your lady: yet [Aside.] a barful strife! Sir To. Wherefore are these things hid? where-Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife.

Maria and Clown.

[Exeunt.

fore have these gifts a curtain before them? are they like to take dust, like mistress Mall's picture? Why dost thou not go to church in a galliard, SCENE V.—A room in Olivia's house. Enter and come home in a coranto? My very walk should be a jig; I would not so much as make water, but in a sink-a-pace. What dost thou Mar. Nay, either tell me where thou hast been, mean? is it a world to hide virtues in? I did think, or I will not open my lips so wide as a bristle may by the excellent constitution of thy leg, it was enter, in way of thy excuse: my lady will hang formed under the star of a galliard. thee for thy absence.

Sir And. Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a flame-coloured stock. Shall we set about some revels?

Sir To. What shall we do else? were we not born under Taurus?

Sir And. Taurus? that's sides and heart. Sir To. No, sir; it is legs and thighs. Let me see thee caper: ha! higher: ha, ha!-excellent!

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you are no stranger.

Vio. You either fear his humour, or my negligence, that you call in question the continuance of his love: is he inconstant, sir, in his favours? Val. No, believe me.

Enter Duke, Curio, and attendants. Vio. I thank you. Here comes the count. Duke. Who saw Cesario, ho?

Vio. On your attendance, my lord; here.
Duke. Stand you awhile aloof.-Cesario,
Thou know'st no less but all; I have unclasp'd

(1) Cinque-pace, the name of a dance.
(2) Stocking. (3) Go thy way.
(4) Full of impediments.

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 as a hanging to you? absent: or, to be turned away, is not that as good

Clo. Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage; and, for turning away, let summer bear it

out.

Mar. You are resolute then?

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. [Exit.

(5) Short and spare.

(6) Points were hooks which fastened the hose Jor breeches.

Enter Olivia and Malvolio.

Clo. Wit, an'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 thee, may pass for a wise man: for what says Quinapalus? Better a witty fool, than a foolish wit.-God bless thee, lady!

Oli. Take the fool away.

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

Re-enter Maria.

Mar. Madam, there is at the gate a young gentleman, much desires to speak with you. 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, sick, or not at home; what you will, to dismiss it. Clo. Two faults, madonna,' that drink and good [Exit Malvolio.] Now you see, sir, how your foolcounsel will amend: for give the dry fool drink, ing grows old, and people dislike it.

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

am

then is the fool not dry; bid the dishonest ment Clo. Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy himself; if he mend, he is no longer dishonest; if eldest son should be a fool: whose skull Jove cram he cannot, let the botcher mend him: any thing, with brains, for here he comes, one of thy kin, has that's mended, is but patched: virtue, that trans-a most weak pia mater. gresses, 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 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.

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 madonna.

Oli. Make your proof.

Clo. I must catechise you for it, madonna; good| my mouse of virtue, answer me.

at

Enter Sir Toby Belch.

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

the gate, cousin?

Sir To. A gentleman.

Oli. A gentleman? What gentleman?

these pickle-herrings !-How now, sot?

Sir To. 'Tis a gentleman here-A plague o'

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. Well, sir, for want of other idleness, I'll not '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 increasing your folly! Sir Toby will be sworn, that I am no fox; but he will not pass his word for two-pence 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 already unless you laugh and minister occasion to him, he is gagged. I protest, I take these wise men, that crow so at these set kind of fools, no better than the fools' zanies.2

Oli. Ay, marry; what is he?

[Exit.

Sir To. Let him be the devil, an he will, I care give me faith, say I. Well, it's all one. 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
he's drown'd: go, look after him.
sit o' my coz; for he's in the third degree of drink,

shall look to the madman.
Clo. He is but mad yet, madonna; and the fool
(Exil Clown.

Re-enter Malvolio.

Mal. Madam, yond young fellow swears he will speak with 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 fore-knowledge 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. Oli. What kind of man is he? Mal. Why, of man kind. Oli. What manner of man?

Oli. O, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and taste with a distempered appetite. To be generous, guiltless, and of free disposition, is to take those Oli. Of what personage, and years, is he? things for bird-bolts, that you deem cannon-bul- Mal. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young lets: there is no slander in an allowed fool, though enough for a boy; as a squash is before 'tis a peashe do nothing but rail; nor no railing in a known cod, or a codling when 'tis almost an apple: 'tis discreet man, though he do nothing but reprove. with him e'en standing water, between boy and Clo. Now Mercury endue thee with leasing, man. He is very well-favoured, and he speaks for thou speakest well of fools! very shrewishly; one would think, his mother's milk were scarce out of him.

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

(3)

Italian, mistress, dame. (2) Fools' baubles. (4) Lying.

Short arrows.

(5) The cover of the brain.

Oli. Let him approach: call in my gentlewoman.
Mal. Gentlewoman, my lady calls."

Re-enter Maria.

[Exit.

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

Oli. Give me my veil: come, throw it o'er my his heart. face;

We'll once more hear Orsino's embassy.

Enter Viola.

Vio. The honourable lady of the house,

is she?

Oli. Speak to me, I shall answer for her.

will?

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

Vio. Good madam, let me see your face.

Oli. Have you any commission from your lord to negociate with my face? you are now out of your which text: but we will draw the curtain, and show you the picture. Look you, sir, such a one as I was this present: is't not well done? [Unveiling. Vio. Excellently done, if God did all. Oli. 'Tis in grain, sir; 'twill endure wind and weather.

Your 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 penn'd, I have taken great pains to con it. Good beauties, let me sustain no scorn; I am very comptible,' even to the least sinister usage. Oli. Whence came you, sir?

Vio. I can say little more than I have studied, and that question's out of my part. Good gentle one, give me modest assurance, if you be the lady 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 commission: I will! on with my speech in your praise, and then show 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.

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

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, labelled to my will: as, item, two lips indifferent red; item, two grey eyes, with lids to them; item, one neck, one chin, and so forth. Were you sent hither to 'praise me?

Vio. I see you what 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 but be recompens'd, though you were

crown'd

The nonpareil of beauty!

Oli.
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 him:

Oli. It is the more like to be feigned; I pray you Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble, keep it in. I heard, you were saucy at my gates: Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth; and allowed your approach, rather to wonder at In voices well divulg'd, free, learn'd, and valiant, you than to hear you. If you be not mad, be And, in dimension, and the shape of nature, gone; if you have reason, be brief: 'tis not that A gracious person but yet I cannot love him ; time of moon with me, to make one in so skipping He might have took his answer long ago. a dialogue.

a

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

Oli. Tell me your mind.

Vio. I am a messenger.

Vio. If I did love you in my master's flame,
With such a suffering, such a deadly life,
In your denial I would find no sense,
I would not understand it.
Oli.

Why, what would you Vio. Make me a willow cabin at your gate, And call upon my soul within the house; Oli. Sure, you have some hideous matter to de- Write loyal cantons of contemned love, liver, when the courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak And sing them loud even in the dead of night; your office. Holla your name to the reverberate' hills, Vio. It alone concerns your ear. I bring no And make the babbling gossip of the air overture of war, no taxation of homage; I hold Cry out, Olivia! O, you should not rest the olive in my hand: my words are as full of peace Between the elements of air and earth, But you should pity me.

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,

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I

Oli. You might do much: What is your parentage?

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

Oli.
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:

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I thank you for your pains: spend this for me.
Vio. I am no fee'd post, lady; keep your purse;
My master, not myself, lacks recompense.
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:2-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!-

Mal.

Re-enter Malvolio.

Here, madam, at your service.
Oli. Run after that same peevish messenger,
The county's man: he left this ring behind him,
Would I, or not: tell him, I'll none of it.
Desire him not to flatter with his lord,

Nor hold him up with hopes; I am not for him:
If that the youth will come this way to-morrow,
I'll give him reasons for't. Hie thee, Malvolio.
Mal. Madam, I will.

[Exit.

Oli. I do I know not what: and fear to find
Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind.
Fate, show thy force: ourselves we do not owe ;4
What is decreed, must be; and be this so! [Exit.

ACT II.

SCENE I.-The sea-coast.

Sebastian.

Enter Antonio and

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

not but call fair: she is drowned already, sir, with salt water, though I seem to drown her remem brance again with more.

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 you 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. [Exit.

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,

Seb. By your patience, no: my stars shine darkly over me: the malignancy of my fate might, For she did speak in starts distractedly. perhaps, distemper yours; therefore I shall crave She loves me, sure; the cunning of her passion of you your leave, that I may bear my evils alone: Invites me in this churlish messenger.

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

bound.

I

None of my lord's ring! why, he sent her none. am the man;-if it be so (as 'tis,) Poor lady, she were better love a dream. Disguise, I see, thou art a wickedness, Seb. No, 'sooth, sir; my determinate voyage is Wherein the pregnant enemy does much. mere extravagancy. But I perceive in you so ex-How easy is it, for the proper-false" cellent a touch of modesty, that you will not extort In women's waxen hearts to set their forms! from me what I am willing to keep in; therefore Alas! our frailty is the cause, not we; it charges me in manners the rather to express For, such as we are made of, such we be. myself. You must know of me then, Antonio, my How will this fadge? My master loves her dearly; name is Sebastian, which I called Rodrigo; my And I, poor monster, fond as much on him; father was that Sebastian of Messaline, whom I And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me: know, you have heard of: he left behind him, What will become of this! As I am man, myself, and a sister, both born in an hour. If the My state is desperate for my master's love; heavens had been pleased, 'would we had so As I am woman, now alas the day! ended! but you, sir, altered that; for, some hour What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe? before you took me from the breach of the sea, was O time, thou must untangle this, not I; my sister drowned.

Ant. Alas, the day!

It is too hard a knot for me to untie.

[Exit.

SCENE III.-A room in Olivia's house. Enter Seb. A lady, sir, though it was said she much resembled me, was yet of many accounted beautiSir Toby Belch, and Sir Andrew Ague-cheek. ful: but, though I could not, with such estimable Sir To. Approach, sir Andrew: not to be a-bed wonder, overfar believe that, yet thus far I will after midnight, is to be up betimes; and diluculo boldly publish her, she bore a mind that envy could surgere, thou know'st,

(1) Messenger. (3) Count.

(2) Proclamation of gentility. (4) Own, possess. (5) Reveal.

(6) Dexterous, ready fiend.

Fair deceiver.

(8) Suit.

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

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

Sir To. A false conclusion; I hate it as an un- Clo. Hold thy peace, thou knave, knight? I shall filled can: to be up after midnight, and to go to be constrain'd in't to call thee knave, knight. bed then, is early; so that, to go to bed after mid- Sir And. 'Tis not the first time I have constrain'd night, is to go to bed betimes. Do not our lives one to call me knave. Begin, fool; it begins, consist of the four elements? Hold thy peace.

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 eat and drink.-Maria, I say!--a stoop of wine!

Enter Clown.

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

Enter Maria.

Mar. What a catterwauling do you keep here! Sir And. Here comes the fool, i'faith. If my lady have not called up her steward, MalvoClo. How now, my hearts? Did you never see lio, and bid him turn you out of doors, never trust the picture of we three?1

me.

Sir To. Welcome, ass. Now let's have a catch. Sir To. My lady's a Cataian, we are politicians; Sir And. By my troth, the lool has an excellent Malvolio's a Peg-a-Ramsey, and Three merry men breast. I had rather than forty shillings I had such we be. Am not I consanguineous ? am I not of her a leg; and so sweet a breath to sing, as the fool blood? Tilly-valley, lady! There dwelt a man in has. In sooth, thou wast in very gracious fooling Babylon, lady, lady! last night, when thou spokest of Pigrogromitus, of Clo. Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable the Vapians passing the equinoctial of Queubus; fooling. 'twas very good, i'faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy leman hadst it?

Clo. I did impeticos thy gratillity;4 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's 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

[Singing.

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.

[Singing.

Sir To. O, the twelfth day of December,—
Mar. For the love of God, peace.

Enter Malvolio.

Mal. My masters, are you mad? or what are you? Have you no wit, manners, nor honesty, but

Clo. Would you have a love-song, or a song of to gabble like tinkers at this time of night? Do good life?

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

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

SONG.

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,
Youth's a stuff will not endure.

Sir And. A mellifluous voice, as I am a 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 dance' in

ye make an ale-house of my lady's house, that ye squeak out your coziers' catches without any miti gation 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!10

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 misdemeanours, 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 show 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.
Sir To. Shall I bid him go?

Clo. What an if you do?

[Singing.

Sir To. Shall I bid him go, and spare not?
Clo. O no, no, no, no, you dare not.

Sir To. Out o' time? sir, ye lie.-Art any more

deed? Shall we rouse the night-owl in a catch, than a steward? Dost thou think, because thou art that will draw three souls out of one weaver? shall virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale? we do that?

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.

(1) Loggerheads be. (2) Voice. (3) Mistress.
(4) I did impetticoat thy gratuity.
(5) Drink till the sky turns round.

6) Romancer. (7) Name of an old song.

Clo. Yes, by Saint Anne; and ginger shall be hot ' the mouth too.

Sir To. Thou'rt i' the right.-Go, sir, rub your chain with crums:-a stoop of wine, Maria! Mal. Mistress Mary, if you prized my lady's favour at any thing more than contempt, you would

(8) Equivalent to filly fally, shilly shally.
(9) Cobblers. (10) Hang yourself.
(11) Stewards anciently wore a chain.

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