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Oli. Coufin,, coufin, how have you come fo early by this lethargy?

Sir To. Lechery! I defy lechery: There's one at the gate. Oli. Ay, marry; what is he?

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Sir To. Let him be the devil, an he will, I care not: 'give me faith, fay I. Well, it's all one.

Oli. What's a drunken man like, fool?

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[Exit.

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

Oli. Go thou and feek the coroner, and let him fit 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 fhall look to the madman.

Re-enter Malvolio.

[Exit Clown.

Mal. Madam, yond young fellow fwears he will speak with you. I told him you were fick; he takes on him to understand so much, and therefore comes to speak with you: I told him you were asleep; he feems to have a foreknowledge of that too, and therefore comes to speak with you. What is to be faid to him, lady? he's fortified against any denial.

Oli. Tell him, he shall not speak with me.

Mal. He has been told fo; and he says, he'll ftand at

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your door like a sheriff's post, and be the fupporter to 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?

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give me faith, fay 1.]-but faith, and I fear not the devil.
above heat-the proper degree of.

fheriff's poft,]-fet up there formerly as an indication of his office, and for the purpofe of fixing thereon proclamations, &c.

Mal.

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

Oli. Of what perfonage, and years is he?

you, will

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-favour'd, and he speaks very fhrewifhly; one would think his mother's milk were scarce out of him.

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

Re-enter Maria.

[Exit.

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

Enter Viola.

Vio. The honourable lady of the house, which is fhe? Oli. Speak to me, I fhall answer for her; Your will? Vio. Most radiant, exquifite, and unmatchable beauty, I pray you, tell me, if this be the lady of the house, for I never faw her: I would be loth to caft away my fpeech; for, befides 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 finifter usage.

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Oli. Whence came you, fir?

Vio. I can fay little more than I have studied, and that question's out of my part. Good gentle one, give me modeft affurance, if you be the lady of the house, that I may proceed in my speech.

Oli. Are you a comedian?

comptible,]-fufceptible of, foon abafh'd by the slightest marks of

reprehenfion.

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

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

Vio. Most certain, if you are fhe, you do ufurp yourfelf; for what is yours to beftow, is not yours to reserve. But this is from my commiffion : I will on with my fpeech in your praise, and then fhew you the heart of my meffage. Oli. Come to what is important in't: I forgive you the praise.

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

Oli. It is the more like to be feign'd; I pray you, keep it in. I heard, you were faucy at my gates; and allow'd your approach, rather to wonder at you than to hear you. If you be mad, be gone; if you have reason, be brief:

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'tis not that time of the moon with me, to make one in fo skipping a dialogue.

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Mar. Will you hoift fail, fir? here lies your way.

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Vio. No, good fwabber; I am to hull here a little longer. Some mollification for your giant, fweet lady. Oli. Tell me your mind.

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Oli. Sure, you have fome hideous matter to deliver, when the courtesy of it is fo 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 hand: my my words are as full of peace as matter.

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"The wild fea of my confcience."

HENRY VIII, A& II, Sc. 4. King.

Z giant,]-ironically applied to the diminutive Maria.

a I am a meffenger.]-And as fuch am to communicate the mind of

my employer.

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 fecret as maiden-head: to your ears, divinity; to any other's, prophanation.

Oli. Give us the place alone: [Exit Maria.] we will hear this divinity. Now, fir, what is your text? Vio. Most sweet lady,

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

Vio. In Orfino's bofom.

Oli. In his bofom? in what chapter of his bofom? Vio. To answer by the method, in the first of his heart. Oli. O, I have read it; it is herefy. Have you no more to say?

Vio. Good madam, let me fee your face.

Oli. Have you any commiffion from your lord to negotiate with my face? you are now out of your text: but we will draw the curtain, and fhew you the picture. Look you, fir, fuch as once I was, this prefents: Is't not well done? [Unveiling.

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Vio. Excellently done, if God did all.

Oli. 'Tis in grain, fir; 'twill endure wind and weather.
Vio. 'Tis beauty truly 'blent, whofe red and white

Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on:
Lady, you are the cruell'ft fhe alive,

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graces to the grave,

And leave the world no copy.

b

Oli. O, fir, I will not be fo hard hearted; I will give

from my entertainment.]—the manner of my reception; in the fervice of a great man.

* fuch a one I was this prefent :-you may fay fuch was my face, when you faw me.

blent,]-blended, mixed together.

out

out diverse schedules of my beauty: It fhall be inventoried; and every particle, and utenfil, labell'd to my will: as, item, two lips indifferent red; item, two grey eyes, with lids to them; item, one neck, one chin, and fo forth. Were you fent hither to praise me?

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Vio. I fee you what you are: you are too proud;
But if you were the devil, you are fair.

My lord and mafter loves you; O, fuch love
Could be but recompens'd, though you were crown'd
The non-pareil of beauty!

Oli. How does he love me?

Vio. With adoration's fertile tears,

With groans that thunder love, with fighs of fire.
Oli. Your lord does know my mind, I cannot love him;
Yet I fuppofe 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 dimenfion, and the fhape of nature,

A gracious perfon: but yet I cannot love him;
He might have took his anfwer long ago.
Vio. If I did love you in my master's flame,
With fuch a fuffering, fuch a deadly life,
your denial I would find no fenfe,

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I would not understand it.

Oli. Why, what would you?

Vio. Make me a willow cabin at your gate,
And call upon my foul within the house ;
Write loyal cantos of contemned love,

And fing them loud even in the dead of night;
Haloo your name to the " reverberate hills,

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• praise me ?]—with no other purpose but to lavish your encomiums upon me.-'praife-appraise, fet a value on me.

With adoration's fertile tears,]-With a copious flow of tears, that adoring love pours forth.-With adorations, with fertile tears. 8 well divulg'd,]-fairly reported.

reverberate]-re-echoing, re-founding. Shakspeare frequently ufes

the paffive adjective actively.

And

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