ACT 1.

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

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
[Exeunt.

bowers.

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; and, but that he hath the gift of a coward to allay the gust he hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought 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?

[ing her
That died some twelvemonth since; then leav-nightly in your company.
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:
[see!
When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not
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 1 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. Sir And. Marry, but you shall have; and here's my hand.

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

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' ends: marry, now I let go your hand, I am barren. [Exit MARIA

Sir To. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of ca- | wards you, Cesario, you are like to be muc nary: When did I see thee so put down?

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.

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 bristle may enter, in way of thy excuse: m lady will hang thee for thy absence.

Clo. Let her hang me: he, that is well hange 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 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 absent: or, to be turned away; is not tha as good as a hanging to you?

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

Mur. 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, and 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,t 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 Clo. Two faults, madonna,t that drink and the count, I am sick, or not at home; what you good counsel will amend: for give the dry fool will, to dismiss it. [Exit MALVOLIO.] NOW drink, then is the fool not dry; bid the dishon-you see, Sir, how your fooling grows old, and est man mend himself; if he mend, he is no people dislike it. longer dishonest; if he cannot, let the botcher mend him: Any thing, that's mended, is but patched: virtue, that transgresses, 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 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

Clo. Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy eldest son should be a fool: whose skull Jove cram with brains, for here he comes, one of thy kin, has a most weak pia mater.

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, an he will, I care not give me faith, say I. Well, it's all [Exit.

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 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 madinan. [Exit CLOWN.

Mai. 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?

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

Vio. I am a messenger.

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

Oli. Of what personage, and years, is he? Mul. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy; as a squash is before 'tis a pease-cod, or a codling when 'tis almost an apple: 'tis with him e'en standing water, between boy and man. He is very well-favour-other's, profanation. ed, and he speaks very shrewishly; one would think, his mother's milk were scarce out of him. Oli. Let him approach: Call in my gentle

Vio. The honourable lady of the house, which is she?

Oli. Speak to me, 1 shall answer for her. Your will?

Oli. Give us the place alone: we will hear this divinity. [Exit MARIA.] Now, Sir, what is your text?

Vio. Most sweet lady,

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 his heart.

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 Vio. Most radiant, exquisite, and unmatch-out of your text: but we will draw the curtain, able beauty, I pray you, tell me, if this be the and show you the picture. Look you, Sir, such lady of the house, for I never saw her: I would a one as I was this present:* Is't not well done? be loath to cast away my speech; for, besides [Unveiling. 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 at 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.

10. Alas, I took great pains to study it, and 'tis etical.

Ol.. It is the more likely to be feigned; I pray you, keep it in. I heard, you were saucy at my gates; and allowed your approach, rather to wonder at you than to hear you. If you be not mad, be gone; if you have reason, be brief: 'tis not that time of moon with me, to make one in so skipping a dialogue.

Mar. Will you hoist sail, Sir? here lies your

Vio. Excellently done, if God did all. Oli. 'Tis in grain, Sir; 'twill endure wind and weather.

Vio. 'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and

white

Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on:
Lady, you are the cruel'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 yill: 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 be but recompens'd, though you were
The nonpareil of beauty!
[crown'd

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: