She loves me, fure; the cunning of her paffion
Invites me in this churlish meffenger.

None of my Lord's ring? why, he fent her none.
I am the man- -If it be fo, (as, 'tis ;)
Poor Lady, fhe were better love a dream.
Difguife, I fee, thou art a wickedness,
Wherein the pregnant enemy does much.
How eafie is it, for the proper falfe

In women's waxen hearts to fet their forms!
Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we,
For fuch as we are made, if fuch we be.
How will this fadge? my mafter loves her dearly,
And I, poor monfter, fond as much on him,
And fhe, miftaken, feems to dote on me.
What will become of this? as I am man,
My state is defperate for my mafter's love;
As I am woman, (now, alas the day!)
What thriftless fighs fhall poor Olivia breathe?
O time, thou muft untangle this, not I;
It is too hard a knot for me t'unty.

[Exit.

SCENE changes to Olivia's Houfe.

Enter Sir Toby, and Sir Andrew.

Sir To. A Pproach, Sir Andrew : not to be a bed after

midnight, is to be up betimes; and Dilucule

Jurgere, thou know'ft,-
Sir And. Nay, by my troth, I know not
know, to be up late, is to be up late.

but I

Sir To. A falfe conclufion: I hate it, as an unfill'd can; to be up after midnight, and to go to bed then, is early; fo that to go to bed after midnight, is to go to bed betimes. Does not our life confift of the four elements?

Sir And. 'Faith, fo they fay; but, I think, it rather confifts of eating and drinking.

Sir To. Th'art a fcholar, let us therefore eat and drink. Maria! I fay! a ftoop of wine.

VOL. III.

-a

Enter Clown.

Sir And. Here comes the fool, i'faith.

Clo. How now, my hearts? did you never fee the picture of we three?

Sir To. Welcome, afs, now let's have a catch.

Sir And. By my troth, the fool has an excellent breast, I had rather than forty fhillings I had fuch a leg, and fo fweet a breath to fing, as the fool has. In footh, thou waft in very gracious fooling laft night, when thou spok'ft of Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians paffing the Equinoctial of Queubus 'twas very good, i'faith: (5) I fent thee. fix-pence for thy Leman, hadft it?

Clo. I did impeticos thy gratillity; for Malvolio's nofe is no whip-stock. My Lady has a white hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses.

Sir And. Excellent: why, this is the best fooling, when all is done. Now, a Song.

Sir To. Come on, there's Six-pence for you. Let's have a Song.

Sir And. There's a teftril of me too; if one Knight give a

Clo. Would you have a Love-song, or a Song of good life?

Sir To. A Love-fong, a Love-fong.

Sir And. Ay, ay, I care not for good life.

Clown fings.

O mistress mine, where are you roaming
Oftay and hear, your true love's coming,
That can fing both high and low.
Trip no further, pretty sweeting;
Journeys end in lovers' meeting,
Every wife man's fon doth know.

(5) I fent thee fix pence for tby Lemon, bad it ?] But the Clown was neither Pantler, nor Butler. The Poet's Word was certainly mistaken by the Ignorance of the Printers. I have reftor'd, leman, i, e. I fent thee Sixpence to spend on thy Mistress.

Sir And. Excellent good, i'faith!
Sir To. Good, good.

Clo. What is love? 'tis not hereafter:
Prefent mirth bath prefent laughter:
What's to come, is still unsure ;
In delay there lyes no plenty:

Then come kiss me, fweet, and twenty:
Youth's
's a ftuff will not endure.

Sir And. A mellifluous voice, as I am a true Knight,
Sir To. A contagious breath.

Sir And. Very fweet and contagious, i'faith.

Sir To. To hear by the nofe, it is. dulcet in contagion. But shall we make the welkin dance, indeed? Shall we rouze the night owl in a catch, that will draw three fouls out of one weaver? fhall we do that?

Sir And. An you love me, let's do't: I am a dog at a catch.

Clo. By'r Lady, Sir, and fome dogs will catch well. Sir And. Moft certain; let our catch be, Thou knave. Clo. Hold thy peace, thou knave, Knight. I fhall be conftrain'd in't, to call thee knave, Knight.

Sir And. 'Tis not the first time I have conftrain'd one to call me knave. Begin, fool; it begins, Hold thy

peace.

Clo. I fhall never begin, if I hold my peace.

Sir And. Good, i'faith; come, begin.

Enter Maria.

[They fing a catch.

Mar. What a catterwauling do you keep here? if my Lady have not call'd up her fteward, Malvolis, and bid him turn you out of doors, never trust me.

Sir To My Lady's a Catayan, we are politicians, Malvolio's a Peg-a-Ramfey, and Three merry men be we Am not I confanguinious? am not I of her blood? Tilly. valley, Lady! there dwelt a man in Babylon, Lady, Lady. [Singing Clo. Befhrew me, the Knight's in admirable fooling. Sir And. Ay, he does well enough if he be dispos'd,

F 2

and

and fo do I too: he does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural.

Sir To. O, the twelfth day of December,
Mar. For the love o'God, peace.

Enter Malvolio.

[Singing.

Mal. My mafters, are you mad? or what are you? have you no wit, manners, nor honefty, but to gabble like tinkers at this time of night? do ye make an alehoufe of my Lady's houfe, that ye squeak out your coziers' catches without any mitigation or remorse of voice? is there no respect of place, perfons, nor time in you? Sir To. We did keep time, Sir, in our catches. Sneck [Hiccoughs.

up!.

Mal. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My Lady bade me tell you, that tho' fhe harbours you as her Uncle, the's nothing ally'd to your disorders. If you can feparate yourself and your misdemeanors, you are welcome to the Houfe: if not, an it would please you to take leave of her, fhe is very willing to bid you farewel.

Sir To. Farewel, dear heart, fince I muft needs be
Mal. Nay, good Sir Toby.

Clo. His eyes do fhew, his days are almost done.
Mal. Is't even so?

Sir To. But I will never die.

Clo. Sir Toby, there you lie.

Mal. This is much credit to you.

Sir To. Shall I bid him go ?

Clo. What an if you do?

Sir To. Shall I bid him go, and spare not?

Clo. O no, no, no, you dare not.

[Singing.

Sir To. Out o' time, Sir? ye lie: art thou any more than a steward? doft thou think, because thou art virtuous, there fhall be no more cakes and ale?

Clo. Yes, by Saint Anne; and ginger shall be hot

i' th' mouth too.

Sir To. Thou'rt i' th' right. Go, Sir, rub your chain with crums. A floop of wine, Maria.

Mal. Mistress Mary, if you priz'd my Lady's favour at any thing more than contempt, you would not give

means

means for this uncivil rule; she shall know of it, by this hand.

Mar. Go fhake your ears.

[Exit.

Sir And. 'Twere as good a deed as to drink when a man's a hungry, to challenge him to the field, and then to break promife with him, and make a fool of him.

Sir To. Do't, Knight, I'll write thee a challenge: or I'll deliver thy indignation to him by word of mouth.

Mar. Sweet Sir Toby, be patient for to night; fince the youth of the Duke's was to day with my Lady, fhe is much out of quiet. For Monfieur Malvolio, let me alone with him: if I do not gull him into a nay-word, and make him a common recreation, do not think, I have wit enough to lie ftraight in my bed: I know, I can do it.

Sir To. Poffefs us, poffefs us, tell us fomething of him. Mar. Marry, Sir, fometimes he is a kind of a Puritan.

Sir And: O, if I thought that, I'd beat him like a dog.

Sir To. What, for being a Puritan? thy exquifite reafon, dear Knight.

Sir And. I have no exquifite reafon for't, but I have reafon good enough.

Mar. The devil a Puritan that he is, or any thing conftantly but a time pleaser; an affection'd afs, that cons state without book, and utters it by great fwarths: the best perfuaded of himfelf: fo cram'd, as he thinks, with excellencies, that it is his ground of faith, that all that look on him, love him; and on that vice in him will my revenge find notable cause to work.

Sir To. What wilt thou do?

Mar. I will drop in his way fome obfcure epiftles of love, wherein, by the colour of his beard, the shape of his leg, the manner of his gate, the expreffure of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he fhall find himself moft feelingly perfonated. I can write very like my Lady your Neice; on a forgotten matter we can hardly make diftinction of our hands.

Sir To. Excellent, I fmell a device.