So big, to hold fo much: they lack retention.
Alas, their love may be call'd appetite,-
No motion of the liver, but the palate,
That fuffers furfeit, cloyment, and revolt;
But mine is all as hungry as the fea,
And can digest as much: make no compare
Between that love a woman can bear me,
And that I owe Olivia.

Vio. Too well what love women to men may owe :
In faith, they are as true of heart as we.

My father had a daughter lov'd a man,
As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman,
I should your lordship.

Duke. And what's her history?

Vio. A blank, my lord: She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i'the bud,

Feed on her damask cheek: fhe pin'd in thought;

e

And, with a green and yellow melancholy,

She fat like patience on a monument,

Smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed?

We men may say more, swear more: but, indeed,

f

' Our shows are more than will; for ftill we prove Much in our vows, but little in our love.

Duke. But dy'd 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, fhall I to this lady?

Duke. Ay, that's the theme.

To her in hafte; give her this jewel; say,

g

My love can give no place, bide no denay.

[Exeunt.

e with a green and yellow melancholy,]-though expiring under the preffure of an inveterate melancholy.

f Our Shows are more than will;-We pretend more than we feel. denay.J-denial.

SCENE

Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian.

Sir To. Come thy ways, fignior Fabian.

Fab. Nay, I'll come; if I lose a scruple of this sport, let me be boil'd to death with melancholy.

Sir To. Would'st thou not be glad to have the niggardly rafcally sheep-biter come by fome notable fhame ?

h

Fab. I would exult, man: you know, he brought me out of favour 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, fir, 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: Malvolio's coming down this walk; he has been yonder i'the fun, practifing behaviour to his own fhadow, this half hour: observe him, for the love of mockery; for, I know, this letter will make a contemplative ideot of him. Close, in the name of jefting! Lie thou there; for here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling.

[They hide themselves. Maria throws down a letter, and Exit.

Enter Malvolio.

Mal. 'Tis but fortune; all is fortune. Maria once told

Sheep-biter]-thief.

i nettle of India?]—urtica marina-genius of mifchief. mettle of India-girl of gold.

me

k

me, she did affect me; and I have heard herself come thus near, that, fhould fhe fancy, it fhould be one of my complexion. Befides, fhe ufes me with a more exalted refpect, than any one' elfe that follows her. What should I think on't?

Sir To. Here's an over-weening rogue!

Fab. O, peace! Contemplation makes a rare turkeycock of him; how he 'jets under his advanc'd plumes! Sir And. 'Slight, I could fo beat the rogue :

Sir To. Peace, I say.

Mal. To be count Malvolio ;

Sir To. Ah, rougue!

Sir And. Piftol him, piftol him.

Sir To. Peace, peace!

Mal. There is example for't; the lady of the trachy married the yeoman of the wardrobe.

Sir And. Fie on him, Jezebel!

Fab. O, peace! now he's deeply in; look, how imagination" blows him.

Mal. Having been three months married to her, fitting in my ftate,

0

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

Sir To. Fire and brimftone !

Fab. O, peace, peace!

Mal. And then to have the humour of state: and af.

m

k fancy,]-fall in love, it would be with, &c.

1

under his advanc'd plumes !]-ftruts under his bristling feathers. ftarchery-of Trachyna, a city in Theffaly, married the yeoman of her wardrobe.

jets

n blows him.]-fwells, puffs him up.

O

ftone-bow,]-a crofs-bow, that shoots ftones.

Pafter a demure travel of regard,]-after paffing my eye over them demurely-calling up a confequential look.

ter

ter a demure travel of regard,-telling them, I know my place, as I would they should do theirs,-to ask for my kinfman Toby:

Sir To. Bolts and fhackles !

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 fome rich jewel. Toby approaches; curtfies there to me:

Sir To. Shall this fellow live?

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

Mal. I extend my hand to him thus, quenching my familiar fmile with an auftere regard of controul:

Sir To. And does not Toby take you a blow o'the lips then?

Mal. Saying, Coufin Toby, my fortunes having caft me on your neice, give me this prerogative of Speech ;

Sir To. What, What?

Mal. You must amend your drunkenness.

Sir To. Out, fcab!

Fab. Nay, patience, or we break the finews of our plot. Mal. Befides, 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.
Mal. What employment have we here?

[Taking up the letter.

Fab. Now is the woodcock near the gin. Sir To. Oh peace! and the fpirit of humours intimate reading aloud to him!

with cars,]-though it be painful for us to keep filence. by the ears, carts, cables.

Mal.

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 question, her hand.

Sir And. Her C's, her U's, and her 7's: Why that? Mal. To the unknown belov'd, this, and my good wishes: her very phrases!-By your leave, wax.-Soft! and the impreffure her Lucrece, with which fhe uses to feal: 'tis my lady: To whom should this be?

Fab. This wins him, liver and all.
Mal. Jove knows, I love:

But who?

Lips do not move,
No man must know.

No man must know.-What follows? the numbers alter'd! No man must know:-if this fhould be thee, Malvolio?

r

Sir To. Marry, hang thee, brock!

Mal. I may command, where I adore:

But filence, like a Lucrece knife,
With bloodless ftroke my heart doth gore;
M. O. A. I. doth fway my life.
Fab. A fuftian riddle!

Sir To. Excellent wench, fay I.

Mal. M. O. A. I. doth fway my life.-Nay, but first, let me fee,-let me fee,-let me fee.

Fab. What a dish of poison has she dressed him!

t

Sir To. And with what wing the 'ftannyel checks at it! Mal. I may command where I adore. Why, fhe 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 pofition portend? if I could make that resemble fomething in me,-Softly;————M. O. A. I.

Marry, hang thee, brock !]-Out badger! ftannyel checks at it!]-the hawk flies at it. t formal]-reafonable.

Sir To.