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i Off What's that to us ?-the time goes by ;-away.

Ant. But, oh, how vile an idol proves this god!
Thou bait, Sebastian, done good feature shame.-
In nature there's no blemish, but the mind :
None can be call'd deform'd, but the unkind :
Virtue is beauty ; but the beauteous evil
Are empty trunks, "o’erflourish'd by the devil.

i Off The man grows mad; away with him.
Come, come, fir.
Ant. Lead me on.

(Exit Antonio with Officers. Vio. Methinks, his words do from such paflion fly, That he believes himself; "so do not I, Prove true, imagination, oh, prove true, That I, dear brother, be now ta'en for you!

Sir To. Come hither, knight; come hither, Fabian; We'll whisper o'er a couplet or two of most sage faws.

Vio. He nam'd Sebastian: I my brother know Yet living * in my glass; even such and so, In favour was my brother; and he went Still in this fashion, colour, ornament, For him I imitate: Oh, if it prove, Tempests are kind, and salt waves fresh in love! [Exit.

Sir To. A very dishonest paltry boy, and more a coward than a hare: his dishonesty appears, in leaving his friend here in necessity, and denying him; and for his cowardship, ask Fabian.

Fab. A coward, a most devout coward, religious in it.
Sir And. 'Slid, I'll after him again, and beat him.
Sir To. Do, cuff him soundly, but never draw thy sword.
Sir And. An I do not,

[Exit Sir Andrew.

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o'erflourish'd ]-ornamented, as was then the fashion.

so do not I.]-I dare not too confidently credit the inference I draw from it.

* in my glass ;]-likeness in me, as in a glass.

Fab. Come, let's see the event.
Sir To. I dare lay any money, 'cwill be nothing yet.

Exeunt.

A CT IV.

SCENE I.

The Street.

Enter Sebastian and Clown.

Clo. Will you make me believe, that I am not sent for

you?

Seb. Go to, go to, thou art a foolish fellow; Let me be clear of thee.

Clo. Well held out, i'faith! No, I do not know you ; nor I am not sent to you by my lady, to bid you come speak with her; nor your name is not master Cesario; ror this is not my nose neither.-nothing, that is so, is so.

Seb. I pr’ythee, 'yent thy folly somewhere else ; Thou know'st not me.

Clo. Vent my folly! He has heard that word of fome great man, and now applies it to a fool. Vent my folly! I am afraid this great lubber the world will prove a 'cockney.--I pr’ythee now, ungird thy strangeness, and tell me what I shall vent to my lady ; Shall I yent to her, that thou art coming ?

Seb. I pr’ythee, foolish Greek, depart from me ;
There's money for thee; if you tarry longer,
I shall give worse payment.

Clo. By my troth, thou hast an open hand:—These wise

y vent]-utter, give a loose to.

a cockney.)-a coxcomb, be overrun with affectation. · Greek,]-Pimp.

men,

men, that give fools money, get themselves a good report after fourteen years' purchase.

Enter Sir Andrew, Sir Toby, and Fabian. Sir And. Now, fir, have I met you again? there's for you.

[Striking Sebastian. Seb. Why, there's for thee, and there and there : Are all the people mad?

[Beating Sir Andrew, Sir To. Hold, sir, or I'll throw your dagger o'er the house.

Clo. This will I tell my lady straight: I would not be in some of your coats for two pence. [Exit Clown. Sir To. Come, sir, hold.

[Holding Sebastian. Sir And. Nay, let him alone, I'll go another way to work with him; I'll have an action of battery against him, if there be any law in Illyria: though I ftruck him first, yet it's no matter for that. .

Seb. Let go thy hand.

Sir To. Come, sir, I will not let you go. Come, my young soldier, put up your iron : you are well felh'd; come on,

Seb. I will be free from thee. What wouldst thou now? If thou dar'lt tempt me further, draw thy sword,

Sir To. What, what? Nay, then I must have an ounce or two of this malapert blood from you.

[They draw and fight.

Enter Olivia.
Oli. Hold, Toby; on thy life, I charge thee, hold.
Sir To. Madam?
Oli. Will it be ever thus? Ungracious wretch,

b

after fourteen years' purchase. )--at a very high rate. c Come on, for. d

you are well flesb’d;]-have beaten him fufficiently, are fairly entered.

Fit for the mountains, and the barbarous caves,
Where manners ne'er were preach'd ! out of my fight!
Be not offended, dear Cesario :
Rudesby, be gone !-I pr’ythee, gentle friend,

[Exeunt Sir Toby and Sir Andrew.
Let thy fair wisdom, not thy passion, sway
In this uncivil and unjust extent
Against thy peace. Go with me to my house ;
And hear thou there how many fruitless pranks
This ruffian hath 'botch'd up, that thou thereby
May'st smile at this : thou shalt not chuse but go;
Do not deny: Befhrew his soul for me,
He started one poor & heart of mine in thee.

Seb. What relish is in this ? how runs the stream ?
Or I am mad, or else this is a dream:
Let fancy still my sense in Lethe steep;
If it be thus to dream, still let me Neep!

Oli. Nay, come, I prythee : 'Would, thou’dst be rul'd

by me!

Seb. Madam, I will.
Oli. O, say so, and so be!

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Mar. Nay, I pr’ythee, put on this gown, and this beard ; make him believe thou art fir Topas the curate; do it quickly: I'll call fir Toby the whilst. [Exit Maria.

e extent)--act of violence--an extent is a writ of execution in aid of the king.

f botcb'd up, ]-patch'd up, made up disgracefully. & heart)-half my heart was involved in this attack upon thee--hart. * What relish is in this?)--What opinion am I to form of this ?

Clo.

Clo. Well, I'll put it on, and I will dissemble myself in't; and I would I were the first that ever diffembled in such a gown. I am not tall enough to become the function well; nor lean enough to be thought a good student: but to be said, an honest man, and a good housekeeper, goes as fairly, as to say, a * careful man, and a great scholar. The competitors enter.

Enter Sir Toby and Maria. Sir To. Jove bless thee, master parson.

Clo. Bonos dies, fir Toby: for as the old hermit of Prague, that never saw pen and ink, very wittily said to a niece of king Gorboduc, Tbat, that is, is: fo I, being master parson, am master parson; For what is that, but that; and is, but is ?

Sir To. To him, fir Topas.
Clo. What, hoa, I say, --Peace in this prison !
Sir To. The knave counterfeits well; a good knave.
Mal. [Within.] Who calls there?

Clo. Sir Topas, the curate, who comes to visit Malvolio the lunatick.

Mal. Sir Topas, sir Topas, good fir Topas, go to my lady.

Clo. Out, hyperbolical fiend! how vexest thou this man? talkest thou nothing but of ladies?

Sir To. Well said, master parson.

Mal. Sir Topas, never was man thus wrong'd; good fir Topas, do not think I am mad; they have laid me here in hideous darkness.

Clo. Fye, thou dishoneft Sathan! I call thee. by the most modest terms; for I am one of those gentle ones, that will use the devil himself with courtesy; Say'st thou, this house is dark ?

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