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ever the devil could have made you our delight?

Ford. What, a hodge-pudding? a bag of flax?
Mrs. Page. A puffed man?

Page. Old, cold, withered, and of intolerable entrails?

Ford. And one that is as slanderous as Satan?
Page. And as poor as Job?

Ford. And as wicked as his wife?

Eva. And given to fornications, and to taverns, and sack, and wine, and metheglins, and to drinkings, and swearings, and starings, pribbles and prabbles?

Fal. Well, I am your theme: you have the start of me; I am dejected; I am not able to answer the Welsh flannel; ignorance itself is a pluminet o'er me: use me as you will.

Ford. Marry, Sir, we'll bring you to Windsor, to one master Brook, that you have cozened of money, to whom you should have been a pander: over and above that you have suffered, I think, to repay that money will be a biting affliction.

Mrs. Ford. Nay, husband, let that go to make amends:

Forgive that sum, and so we'll all be friends. Ford. Well, here's my hand; all's forgiven at last.

Page. Yet be cheerful, knight: thou shalt eat a posset to-night at my house; where I will desire thee to laugh at my wife, that now laughs at thee: Tell her, master Slender hath married her daughter.

Mrs. Page. Doctors doubt that: If Anne Page be my daughter, she is, by this, doctor Caius' wife. [Aside.

Enter SLENDer.

Slen. Whoo, ho! no! father Page.

Page. Son! how now? how now, son? have you despatched?

Slen. Despatched-I'll make the best in Gloucestershire know on't; would I were hanged, la, else.

Page. Of what, son?

Slen. I came yonder at Eton to marry mistress Anne Page, and she's a great lubberly boy: If it had not been i' the church, I would have swinged him, or he should have swinged me. If I did not think it had been Anne Page, would I might never stir, and 'tis a post-master's boy.

Page. Upon my life then you took the wrong. Slen. What need you tell me that? I think so, when I took a boy for a girl: If I had been married to him, for all he was in woman's apparel, I would not have had him.

Page. Why, this is your own folly: Did not I tell you, how you should know my daughter by her garments?

Slen. I went to her in white, and cried mum, and she cried budget, as Anne and I had appointed; and yet it was not Anne, but a postmaster's boy.

Era. Jeshu! Master Slender, cannot you see but marry boys?

Page. O, I'am vexed at heart: What shall I

do?

Mrs. Page. Good George, be not angry: I knew of your purpose; turned my daughter into green; and, indeed, she is now with the doctor at the deanery, and there married.

Enter CAIUS.

Caius. Vere is mistress Page? By gar, I am cozened; I ha' married un garcon, a boy; un paisan, by gar, a boy; it is not Anne Page: by gar, I am cozened.

Mrs. Page. Why, did you take her in green?

I'll raise all 'Windsor. Caius. Ay, be gar, and 'tis a boy be gar, [Exit CAIUS. Ford. This is strange: Who hath got the right Anne?

Page. My heart misgives me: Here comes master Fenton.

Enter FENTON and ANNE PAGE. How now, master Fenton ?

Anne. Pardon, good father! good my mother, pardon!

Page. Now, mistress? how chance you went not with master Slender?

Mrs. Page. Why went you not with master

doctor, maid?

Fent. You do amaze her: Hear the truth

of it.

You would have married her most shamefully,
Where there was no proportion held in love.
The truth is, She and I, long since contracted,
Are now so sure, that nothing can dissolve us.
The offence is holy, that she hath committed:
And this deceit loses the name of craft,
Of disobedience, or unduteous title;
Since therein she doth evitatet and shun
Which forced marriage would have brought
A thousand irreligious cursed hours,
upon her.

Ford. Stand not amaz'd: here is no reme

dy:

In love, the heavens themselves do guide the state;

Money buys lands, and wives are sold by fate. special stand to strike at me, that your arrow Fal. I am glad, though you have ta'en a hath glanced.

Page. Well, what remedy? Fenton, heaven

give thee joy!

What cannot be eschew'd, must be embrac'd. Fal. When night-dogs run, all sorts of deer are chas'd.

Eva. I will dance and eat plums at your

wedding.

Mrs. Page. Well, I will muse no further :Heaven give you many, many merry days! Master Fenton, And laugh this sport o'er by a country fire; Good husband, let us every one go home, Sir John and all.

Ford. Let it be so:-Sir John, For he, to-night, shall lie with Mrs. Ford. To master Brook you yet shall hold your word :

[Exeunt.

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ACT I.

SCENE I.-An Apartment in the DUKE'S
Palace.

Enter DUKE, CURIO, LORDS; Musicians

attending.

But, like a cloistress, she will veiled walk,
And water once a day her chamber round
With eye-offending brine: all this, to season
A brother's dead love, which she would keep
And lasting, in her sad remembrance. [fresh,
Duke. O, she, that hath a heart of that fine
frame,

Duke. If music be the food of love, play on, To pay this debt of love but to a brother,

Give me excess of it; that, surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.
That strain again;-it had a dying fall:

O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south,
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing, and giving odour.-Enough; no

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How will she love, when the rich golden shaft,
Hath kill'd the flock of all affections else
That live in her! when liver, brain, and heart,
These sovereign thrones, are all supplied, and
fill'd,

(Her sweet perfections,) with one self king!-
Away before me to sweet beds of flowers;
Love-thoughts lie rich, when canopied with
bowers.
[Exeunt.

SCENE II.-The Sea Coast.
Enter VIOLA, CAPTAIN, and Sailors.
Vio. What country, friends, is this?
Cap. Illyria, lady.

Vio. And what should I do in Illyria?
My brother he is in Elysium.

Perchance, he is not drown'd:-What think you, sailors?

Cap. It is perchance, that you yourself were

saved.

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I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves,
So long as I could see.

Vio. For saying so, there's gold:
Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope,
Whereto thy speech serves for authority,
The like of him. Know'st thou this country?
Cap. Ay, Madam, well; for I was bred and
born,

Not three hours' travel from this very place.
Vio. Who governs here?

Cap. A noble duke, in nature,

As in his name.

Vio. What is his name?

Cap. Orsino.

Vio. Orsino! I have heard my father name He was a bachelor then.

Cap. And so is now,

[him:

Or was so very late: for but a month
Ago I went from hence; and then 'twas fresh
In murmur;(as, you know, what great ones do,
The less will prattle of,) that he did seek
The love of fair Olivia.

Vio. What's she?

Cap. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a

count

you: I heard my lady talk of it yesterday; and
of a foolish knight, that you brought in one
night here, to be her wooer.

Sir To. Who? Sir Andrew Ague-cheek?
Mar. Ay, he.

Sir To. He's as tall* a man as any's in Illyria.
Mar. What's that to the purpose?

Sir To. Why, he has three thousand ducats

a year.

Mar. Aye, but he'll have but a year in all these ducats; he's a very fool, and a prodigal.

Sir To. Fye, that you'll say so! he plays o' the viol-de-gambo, and speaks three or four languages word for word without book, and hath all the good gifts of nature.

Mar. He hath, indeed,-almost natural: for, besides that he's a fool, he's a great quarreller; allay the gust he hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought and, but that he hath the gift of a coward to among the prudent, he would quickly have the gift of a grave.

Sir To. By this hand, they are scoundrels, and substractors, that say so of him. Who are they?

That died some twelvemonth since; then leav-nightly in your company.
[ing her
In the protection of his son, her brother,
Who shortly also died: for whose dear love,
They say, she hath abjur'd the company
And sight of men.

Mar. They that add moreover, he's drunk

Vio. O, that I served that lady:
And might not be delivered to the world,
Till I had made mine own occasion mellow,
What my estate is.

Cap. That were hard to compass;
Because she will admit no kind of suit,
No, not the duke's.

Vio. There is a fair behaviour in thee, cap-
tain;

And though that nature with a beauteous wall
Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee
I will believe, thou hast a mind that suits
With this thy fair and outward character.
I pray thee, and I'll pay thee bounteously,
Conceal me what I am; and be my aid
For such disguise as, haply, shall become
The form of my intent. I'll serve this duke;
Thou shalt present me as an eunuch to him,
It may be worth thy pains; for I can sing,
And speak to him in many sorts of music,
That will allow me very worth his service.
What else may hap, to time I will commit;
Only shape thou thy silence to my wit.
Cap. Be you his eunuch, and your mute I'll
be:
When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not
[see!
Vio. I thank thee: Lead me on. [Exeunt.
SCENE III.-A Room in OLIVIA'S House.

Enter Sir TOBY BELCH, and MARIA.
Sir To. What a plague means my niece, to
take the death of her brother thus? I am sure,
care's an enemy to life.

Mar. By troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o'nights; your cousin, my lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours.

Sir To. Why, let her except before excepted. Mar. Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modest limits of order.

Sir To. Confine? I'll confine myself no finer than I am: these clothes are good enough to drink in, and so be these boots too; an they be not, let them hang themselves in their own straps.

Mar. That quaffing and drinking will undo * Approve.

Sir To. With drinking healths to my niece; I'll drink to her, as long as there is a passage in my throat, and drink in Illyria: He's a coward and a coystril, that will not drink to my niece, till his brains turn o' the toe like a parish-top. What, wench? Castiliano vulgo; for here comes Sir Andrew Ague-face.

Enter Sir ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK.

Sir And. Sir Toby Belch! how now, Sir Toby Belch?

Sir To. Sweet Sir Andrew!

Sir And. Bless you, fair shrew.
Mar. And you too, Sir.

Sir To. Accost, Sir Andrew, accost.
Sir And. What's that?

Sir To. My niece's chamber-maid.

Sir And. Good mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance.

Mar. My name is Mary, Sir.

Sir And. Good mistress Mary Accost,

Sir To. You mistake, knight: accost, is, front her, board her, woo her, assail her.

Sir And. By my troth, I would not undertake her in this company. Is that the meaning of accost?

Mar. Fare you well, gentlemen.

Sir To. An thou let part so, Sir Andrew, 'would you might'st never draw sword again. Sir And. An you part so, mistress, I would I might never draw sword again. Fair lady, do you think you have fools in hand?

Mar. Sir, I have not you by the hand. here's my hand. Sir And. Marry, but you shall have; and

Mar. Now, Sir, thought is free: I pray you, drink. bring your hand to the buttery-bar, and let it

Sir And. Wherefore sweet heart? what's your metaphor?

Mar. It's dry, Sir.

Sir And. Why, I think so; I am not such a. ass, but I can keep my hand dry. But what's

your jest?

Mar. A dry jest, Sir.

Sir And. Are you full of them?

Mar. Ay, Sir; I have them at my fingers' barren. ends: marry, now I let go your hand, I am [Exit MARIA.

* Stout.

+ Keystril, a bastard hawk.

Sir To. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of ca- | wards you, Cesario, you are like to be much nary: When did I see thee so put down? advanced; he hath known you but three days, and already you are no stranger.

Sir And. Never in your life, I think; unless you see canary put me down: Methinks, sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian, or an ordinary man has: but I am a great eater of beef, and, I believe, that does harm to my wit.

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does't not?

Sir To. Excellent; it hang's like flax 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, wooes 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, man.

Sir And. I'll stay a month longer. I am a fellow of 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.

Sir To. Wherefore are these things hid? wherefore 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, 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 mean? is it a world to hide virtues in? I did think, by the excellent constitution of thy leg, it was formed under the star of a galliard.

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!

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV-A Room in the DUKE'S Palace.
Enter VALENTINE, and VIOLA in man's attire.
Val. If the duke continue these favours to-
+ Stocking.

Cinque pace, the nanie of a dance.

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
To thee the book even of my secret soul:
Therefore, good youth, address thy gait* unto
her;
And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow,
Be not denied access, stand at her doors,
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
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.

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SCENE V.-A Room in OLIVIA'S House.

Enter MARIA, and CLOWN.

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 lentent answer: I can tell thee where that saying was born, of, I fear no co

lours.

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?

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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.

Enter OLIVIA, und 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 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.

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

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, 1 protest, I take these wise men, that crow so at these set kind of fools, no better than the fools' zanies.*

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 things for bird-bolts, that you deem cannon-bullets: There is no slander in an allowed fool, though he do nothing but rail; nor no railing in a known discreet man, though he do nothing but reprove.

Clo. Now Mercury endue thee with leasing,+ for thou speakest well of fools!

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: Fye on him! [Exit MARIA.] Go you, Malvolio; if it be a suit from the count, I am sick, or not at home; what you will, to dismiss it. [Exit MALVOLIO.] Now see, Sir, how your fooling grows old, and people dislike it.

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 dishon-you est man mend himself; if he mend, he is no longer dishonest; if he cannot, let the botcher Clo. Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if mend him: Any thing, that's mended, is but thy eldest son should be a fool: whose skull patched virtue, that transgresses, is but pat-Jove cram with brains, for here he comes, one ched with sin; and sin, that amends, is but of thy kin, has a most weak pia mater.§ 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 motely 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 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 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

Points were hooks which fastened the hose or breeches. + Italian, mistress, dame,

Enter Sir TOBY BELCH.

Oli. By mine honour, half drunk.—What is he at the gate, cousin?

Sir To. A gentleman.

Oli. A gentleman? What gentleman?
Sir To. Tis a gentleman here-A plague o'
these 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. Ay, marry; what is he? Sir To. Let him be the devil, care not: give me faith, say I.

one.

an he will, I Well, it's all [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 madman. [Exit CLOWN. Re-enter MALVOLIO.

Mul. 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 scems 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. ↑ Lying,

Fools' baubles.

+ Short arrows. The cover of the brain.

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