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Enter Sir Andrew. 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. Accoft, Sir Andrew, accost. Sir And. What's that? Sir To. My neice's chamber-maid.

Sir And. Good mistress Accoft, I defire better ac. quaintance.

Mar. My name is Mary, Sir.
Sir And. Good mistress Mary Accoft,

Sir To. You mistake, Knight : accoft, is, front her, board her, wooe 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 her part fo, Sir Andrew, would thou might'st never draw sword again.

Sir And. An you part so, mistress, I would I might never draw fword again. Fair lady, do

you have fools in hand ?

Mar. Sir, I have not you by th' 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 th' buttery-bar, and let it drink.

Sir And. Wherefore, Sweet heart? what's your metaphor? Mar. It's dry, Şir.

Sir And. Why, I think so : I am not such an 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 finger's ends : marry, now I let your hand go, I am barren.

[Exit Maria. Sir To. O Knight, thou lack'it a cup of canary: when did I see thee so put down?

think, you

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 cater of beef, and, I believe, that does harm to my wit.

Sir. To. No question. Sir And. An I thought that, I'd forswear it. I'll ride home to-morrow, Sir Toby.

Sir To. Pourquoy, my dear Knight?

Sir And. What is pourquoy ? do, or not do? I would, I had bestowed that time in the tongues that I have in fencing, dancing, and bear-baiting. (2) O, had I but follow'd the arts !

Sir To. Then hadit thou had an excellent head of hair.

Sir And. Why, would that have mended my hair?

Sir To. Past question ; for thou seest, it will not curl by nature.

Sir And. But it becomes me well enough, does't not?

Sir To. Excellent ! it hangs like flax on a distaff; and I hope to see a house wife take thee between her legs, and spin it off.

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(2) Sir And.

-0, bad I but follow'd the Arts ! Sir To. Tben badj tbou bad an excellent Head of Hair. Sir And. Wby, would that bave mended my Hair?

Sir To. Pas Question ; for thou feeft it will not cool my Nature.] Prodigious Sagacity! and yet thus it has pass'd down thro all the printed Copies. We cannot enough admire that happy Indolence of Mr. Pope, which can acquiesce in transmitting to us such Stuff for genuine Sense and Argument. The Dialogue is of a very light Strain, 'tis certain, betwixt two foolish Knights : but yet I would be glad to know, methinks, what Sir Andrew's following the Arts, or his Hair being mended, could have to do with the cooling, or not cooling, Sir Toby's Na.

But my Emendation clears up all this Absurdity: And the context is an unexceptionable Confirmation.

Sir And. But it becomes me well enough, does't not ?
Sir To. Excellent! it bangs like Flax on a Dijtaf, cio

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Sir And. Faith, I'll home to morrow, Sir Toby ; your neice will not be seen, or, if she be, it's four to one the'll none of me: the Duke himself here, hard by, wooes her.

Sir To. She'll none o'th' Duke, she'll not match above her degree, neither in eitate, 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 o' th' ftrangest mind i'th' world: I delight in masks and revels sometimes altogether.

Sir 1o. 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 10. And I can cut the mutton to't.

Sir And. And, I think, I have the back trick, fimply as tirong 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 duft, 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 fink-a a-pace : what doft thou mean? is it a world to hide virtues in? I did think, by the excellent conftitution of thy leg, it was formd under the ftar of a galliard.

Sir And. Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a flame-colour'd stocking. 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.



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SCENE changes to the Palace.

Enter Valentine, and Viola in man's attire. Val. F the Duke continue these favours towards you, hath known you but three days, and already you are no stranger.

Vio. You either fear his humour, or my negligence, that

you call in question the continuance of his love. Is
he inconftant, Sir, in his favours ?
Val. No, believe me.

Enter Duke, Curio, and Attendants.
Vio. I thank you : here comes the Duke.
Duke. Who saw Cesario, hoa?
Vio. On your attendance, my Lord, here.

Duke. Stand you a while aloof. Cesario,
Thou know 'ft no less, but all : I have unclasp'd
To thee the book even of my secret soul.
Therefore, good youth, address thy gate unto her ;
Be not deny'd access, ftand at her doors,
And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall

'Till thou have audience.

Vio. Sure, my noble Lord,
If she be so abandon’d to her forrow
As it is spoke, me 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,
Surprize 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 pipe


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Mar. N I will not open my lips ro wide as a bristle

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. Profper well in this,
And thou shalt live as freely as thy Lord,
To call his fortunes thine.

Vio. I'll do my best
To woo your Lady; yet, a barrful ftrife!
Who-e'er I woo, myself would be his wife. [Exeunt.
SCEN E changes to Olivia's House.

Enter Maria and Clown.
AY, either tell me where thou hast been, or

may enter, in way of thy excuse ; my Lady will hang thee for thy absence.

Cle. Let her hang me; he that is well hang'd in this world, needs fear no colours.

Mar. Make That good.
Clo. He shall see none to fear.

Mar. A good lenten 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 you may be bold to say in your foolery.

Clo. Well, God give them wisdom that have it ; and those that are fools, le use their talents.

Mar. Yet you will be hang'd for being so long absent, or be turn'd away; is not that as good as a hanging to you?

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

Mar. You are resolute then ?
Clo. Not fo neither, but I am refoly'd

on two points.

Mar. That if one break, the other will hold; or if Both break, your gaskins fall.


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