Enter Sir Andrew.

Sir And. Sir Toby Belch! how now, Sir Toby Belch?
Sir To. Sweet Sir Andrew!

Sir And. Bless you, fair fhrew.

Mar. And you too, Sir.

Sir To. Accoft, Sir Andrew, accoft.
Sir And. What's that?

Sir To. My neice's chamber-maid.

Sir And. Good miftrefs 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, affail her.

Sir And. By my troth, I would not undertake her in this company. Is that the meaning of accoft? Mar. Fare you well, gentlemen.

Sir To. An thou let her part fo, Sir Andrew, would thou might'ft never draw fword again.

Sir And. An you part fo, miftrefs, I would I might never draw fword again. Fair lady, do you think, 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, fweet heart? what's your metaphor ?

Mar. It's dry, Sir.

Sir And. Why, I think fo: I am not fuch an ass, but
I can keep my hand dry. But what's your jest?
Mar. A dry jeft, 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'st a cup of canary: when did I fee thee fo put down?

:

Sir And. Never in your life, I think, unless you fee canary put me down methinks, fometimes I have no more wit than a chriftian, 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 forfwear 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 hadft thou had an excellent head of hair.

Sir And. Why, would that have mended my hair? Sir To. Paft queftion; for thou seeft, 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.

(2) Sir And.

-0, bad I but follow'd the Arts! Sir To. Then badft thou had an excellent Head of Hair. Sir And. Why, would that have mended my Hair?

Sir To. Paft Queftion; for thou feeft it will not cool my Nature.] Prodigious Sagacity! and yet thus it has pafs'd down thro' all the printed Copies. We cannot enough admire that happy Indolence of Mr. Pope, which can acquiefce in tranfmitting to us fuch 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 NaBut my Emendation clears up all this Abfurdity: And

ture.

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 Distaff, &c.

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 she'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 eftate, years, nor wit. I have heard her fwear 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 fometimes 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, fimply as ftrong 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 doft thou not go to church in a galliard, and come home in a coranto? my very walk fhould be a jig! I would not fo much as make water but in a fink-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 form'd under the ftar of a galliard.

Sir And. Ay, 'tis ftrong, and it does indifferent well in a flame-colour'd ftocking. Shall we fet about fome revels?

Sir To. What shall we do elfe? were we not born under Taurus?

Sir And. Taurus? that's fides and heart. Sir To. No, Sir, it is legs and thighs. Let me fee thee caper; ha! higher: ha, ha!-excellent.

[Exeunt.

Val.

I

SCENE changes to the Palace.

Enter Valentine, and Viola in man's attire.

F the Duke continue these favours towards you, Cefario, you are like to be much advanc'd; he hath known you but three days, and already you are no flranger.

Vio. You either fear his humour, or my negligence, that you call in queftion 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 faw Cefario, hoa?

Vio. On your attendance, my Lord, here.
Duke. Stand you a while aloof. Cefario,
Thou know'ft no lefs, but all: I have unclafp'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 grow,
'Till thou have audience.

Vio. Sure, my noble Lord,

If the be so abandon'd to her forrow

As it is fpoke, fhe never will admit me.

Duke. Be clamorous, and leap all civil bounds,

Rather than make unprofited return.

Vio. Say, I do fpeak with her, my Lord; what then? Duke. O, then, unfold the paffion of my love,

Surprize her with discourse of my dear faith;

It fhall become thee well to act my woes;
She will attend it better in thy youth,
Than in a Nuncio of more grave afpect.
Vio. I think not fo, my Lord.

Duke. Dear lad, believe it:

For they fhall yet belie thy happy years,
That fay, thou art a man: Diana's lip

Is not more smooth and rubious; thy small pipe

Is

;

Is as the maiden's organ, fhrill, and found,
And all is femblative a woman's part.
I know, thy Conftellation is right apt
For this affair: fome 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 beft

To woo your Lady; yet, a barrful strife!
Who-e'er I woo, myself would be his wife.

[Exeunt.

SCENE changes to Olivia's House.

Enter Maria and Clown.

Mar. NAY, either tell me where thou haft been, or

I will not open my lips fo wide as a briftle may enter, in way of thy excufe; my Lady will hang thee for thy abfence.

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

Mar. Make That good.

Clo. He fhall fee none to fear.

Mar. A good lenten answer: I can tell thee where that faying was born, of, I fear no colours. Clo. Where, good miftrefs Mary?

Mar. In the wars, and that you may be bold to fay in your foolery.

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

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

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

Mar. You are refolute then?

Clo. Not fo neither, but I am refolv'd on two points.

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

Clo.