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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?

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.


Duke. Stand you awhile aloof.--Cesario,
Thou know'st no less but all; I have unclasped
To thee the book even of my secret soul :
Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her;
Be not denied access, stand at her doors,
And tell them, there thy fixéd foot shall grow
Till thou have audience.

Vio. Sure, my noble lord,
If she be so abandoned 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 aspéct.

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 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.

Vio. I'll do my best To woo your lady: yet, a barful strife! [Aside. Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife.


Enter Olivia and Malvolio. Clo. Wit, an't be thy will, put me into good fooling! Those wits that think they have thee, do very often prove fools; and I, that am sure I lack thee, may pass for a wise man : For what says Quinapulus? 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.

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 dishonest man mend himself; if he mend, he is no 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 motley 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 catechise 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?

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 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 may you be bold


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

to say

Oli. Good fool, for my brother's death.

Oli. A gentleman? What gentleman? Clo. I think his soul is in hell, madonna. Sir Toby, 'Tis a gentleman here—A plague o' Oli. I know his soul is in heaven, fool. these pickle-herrings !-How now, sot?

Clo. The more fool you, madonna, to mourn Clo. Good Sir Toby, for your brother's soul being in heaven. Take Oli. Cousin, cousin, how have you come so away the fool, gentlemen.

early by this lethargy? Oli. What think you of this fool, Malvolio? Sir Toby. Lechery! I defy lechery: There's doth he not mend ?

one at the gate. Mal. Yes; and shall do, till the pangs of death Oli. Ay, marry; what is he ? shake him: Infirmity, that decays the wise, doth Sir Toby. Let him be the devil, an' he will, I ever make the better fool.

care not; give me faith, say I. Well, it's all one. Clo. God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for

[Exit, the better increasing your folly! Sir Toby will be Oli. What's a drunken man like, fool? sworn that I am no fox; but he will not pass his Clo. Like a drowned man, a fool, and a word for two-pence that you are no fool.

madman: one draught above heat makes him a Oli. How say you to that, Malvolio?

fool; the second mads him; and a third drowns Mal. I marvel your ladyship takes delight in him. such a barren rascal; I saw him put down the other Oli. Go thou and seek the coroner, and let him day with an ordinary fool, that has no more brain sit o' my coz; for he's in the third degree of drink, than a stone. Look you now, he's out of his guard he's drowned: go, look after him. already; unless you laugh and minister occasion Clo. He is but mad yet, madonna; and the fool to him, he is gagged. I protest, I take these wise shall look to the madman,

[Exit Clown. men that crow so at these set kind of fools, no better than the fools' zanies.

Re-enter Malvolio. Oli. O, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and Mal. Madam, yond' young fellow swears he taste with a distempered appetite. To be generous, will speak with you. I told him you were sick; guiltless, and of free disposition, is to take those he takes on him to understand so much, and therethings for bird-bolts, that you deem cannon-bul- fore comes to speak with you. I told him you were lets. There is no slander in an allowed fool, though asleep; he seems to have a foreknowledge of that he do nothing but rail; nor no railing in a known too, and therefore comes to speak with you. discreet man, though he do nothing but reprove. What is to be said to him, lady? he's fortified

Clo. Now Mercury endue thee with leasing, for against any denial. thou speakest well of fools,

Oli. Tell him, he shall not speak with me.

Mal. He has been told so; and he says, he 'll Re-enter Maria.

stand at your door like a sheriff's post, and be the Mar. Madam, there is at the gate a young supporter of a bench, but he'll speak with you. gentleman, much desires to speak with you.

Oli. What kind of man is he? Oli. From the Count Orsino, is it?

Mal. Why, of man kind. Mar. I know not, madam; 'tis a fair young

Oli. What manner of man ? man, and well attended.

Mal. Of very ill manner; he 'll speak with you, Oli. Who of my people hold him in delay? will you or no. Mar. Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman.

Oli. Of what personage and years is he? Oli. Fetch him off, I pray you; he speaks no- Mal. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young thing but madman: Fye on him! (Exit Maria.] enough for a boy; as a squash is before 'tis a Go you, Malvolio : if it be a suit from the count, peascod, or a codling when 't is almost an apple: I am sick, or not at home; what you will to dismiss 't is with him e'en standing water, between boy it. [Exit Malvolio.] Now you see, sir, how and man. He is very well-favoured, and he speaks your fooling grows old, and people dislike it.

very shrewishly; one would think his mother's Clo. Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy milk were scarce out of him. eldest son should be a fool; whose skull Jove cram Oli. Let him approach: Call in my gentlewith brains, for here he comes, one of thy kin, woman. has a most weak pia mater.

Mal. Gentlewoman, my lady calls. [Exit. Enter Sir Toby Belch.

Re-enter Maria. Oli. By mine honour, half drunk.-What is he Oli. Give me my veil : come, throw it o'er my at the gate, cousin ?

face; Sir Toby. A gentleman.

We 'll once more hear Orsino's embassy.

this divinity. [Exit Maria.] Now, sir, what is

your text?

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

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

Vio. Most radiant, exquisite, and unmatchable beauty,- I pray you, tell me if this be the lady of the house, for I never saw her: I would be loath to cast away my speech; for, besides that it is excellently well penned, 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 that 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 shew you the heart of my message.

Oli. Come to what is important in 't: I forgive you the praise.

Vio. Alas, I took great pains to study it, and 't is poetical.

Oli. It is the more like 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: 't is not that time of moon with me, to make one in so skipping a dialogue.

Mar. Will you hoist sail, sir? here lies your way.

Vio. No, good swabber; I am to hull here a little longer.--Some mollification for your giant, sweet lady.

Oli. Tell me your mind.
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 of matter.

Oli. Yet you began rudely. What are you? what would you?

Vio. The rudeness that hath appeared in me have I learned from my entertainment. What I am, and what I would, are as secret as maidenhead: to your ears, divinity; to any other's, profanation.

Oli. Give us the place alone: we will hear

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 out of your text: but we will draw the curtain, and shew you the picture. Look you, sir, such a one as I was this present: Is 't not well done?

[Unveiling. Vio. Excellently done, if God did all.

Oli. "T is in grain, sir ; 't will 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 cruellest 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 my will: 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 ; 0, such love Could be but recompensed, though you were

crowned The nonpareil of beauty !

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 : Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble, Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth; In voices well divulged, free, learned, and valiant, And, in dimension and the shape of nature, A gracious person : but yet I cannot love him; He might have took his answer long ago.

Vio. If I did love you in my master's flame, With such a suffering, such a deadly life, In your denial I would find no sense, I would not understand it.

I am a gentleman.”—I'll be sworn thou art; Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and

spirit, Do give thee five-fold blazon :—Not too fast :

soft! soft ! Unless the master were the man.—How now? Even so quickly may one catch the plague? Methinks I feel this youth's perfections, With an invisible and subtle stealth, To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be. What, ho, Malvolio!

But you

Oli. Why, what would you?

Vio. Make me a willow cabin at your gate, And call upon my soul within the house; Write loyal cantons of contemnéd love, And sing them loud even in the dead of night ; Holla your name to the reverberate hills, And make the babbling gossip of the air Cry out, Olivia ! O, you should not rest Between the elements of air and earth,

should pity me. Oli. You might do much : What is your

parentage ? Vio. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well. I am a gentleman.

Oli. Get you to your lord; I cannot love him : let him send no more; Unless, perchance, you come to me again, To tell me how he takes it. Fare you well: I thank you for your pains : spend this for me.

Vio. I am no fee'd post, lady; keep your purse; My master, not myself, lacks recompense. Love make his heart of flint, that you shall love; And let your fervour, like my master's, be Placed in contempt! Farewell, fair cruelty. (Exit.

Oli. What is your parentage? "Above my fortunes, yet my state is well :

Re-enter MALVOLIO. Mal. Here, madam, at your

service. Oli. Run after that same peevish messenger, The county's man: he left this ring behind him, Would I, or not; tell him, I'll none of it. Desire him not to flatter with his lord, Nor hold him up with hopes; I am not for him: If that the youth will come this way to-morrow, I'll give him reasons for’t. Hie thee, Malvolio. Mal. Madam, I will.

[Erit. Oli. I do I know not what; and fear to find Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind. Fate, shew thy force: Ourselves we do not owe; What is decreed, must be; and be this so! [Exit.

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express myself. You must know of me, then, Antonio, my name is Sebastian, which I called Rodorigo; my father was that Sebastian of Messaline, whom I know you have heard of: he left behind him, myself, and a sister, both born in an hour. If the heavens had been pleased, 'would we had so ended! but you, sir, altered that; for, some hour before you took me from the breach of the sea, was my sister drowned.

Ant. Alas, the day!

Seb. A lady, sir, though it was said she much resembled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful; but though I could not, with such estimable wonder, overfar believe that, yet thus far I will boldly publish her, she bore a mind that envy could not but call fair : she is drowned already, sir, with salt water, though I seem to drown her remembrance again with more.

Ant. Pardon me, sir, your bad entertainment. Seb. O, good Antonio, forgive me your trouble.

Ant. If you will not murder me for my love, let me be your servant.

Seb. If you will not undo what you have done, that is, kill him whom you have recovered, desire it not. Fare ye well at once : my bosom is full of kindness; and I am yet so near the manners of my mother, that upon the least occasion more, mine eyes will tell tales of me. I am bound to the Count Orsino's court: farewell. [Exit.

Ant. The gentleness of all the gods go with thee. I have many enemies in Orsino's court, Else would I very shortly see thee there: But, come what may, I do adore thee so, That danger shall seem sport, and I will go. (Exit.

Vio. I left no ring with her : What means this

lady? Fortune forbid my outside have not charmed her! She made good view of me; indeed so much, That sure, methought, her eyes had lost hertongue, For she did speak in starts distractedly. She loves me, sure ; the cunning of her passion Invites me in this churlish messenger. None of my lord's ring! why, he sent her none. I am the man ;-If it be so, (as 't is,) Poor lady, she were better love a dream. Disguise, I see thou art a wickedness, Wherein the pregnant enemy does much. How easy it is for the proper-false In women's waxen hearts to set their forms! Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we; For, such as we are made of, such we be. How will this fadge? My master loves her dearly; And I, poor monster, fond as much on him ; And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me : What will become of this! As I am man, My state is desperate for my master's love ; As I am woman, now alas the day! What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe! O Time, thou must untangle this, not I; It is too hard a knot for me to untie.


Scene III.-A Room in Olivia's house.

Enter Sir Toby Belch and Sir ANDREW AGUE


SCENE II.-A Street.

Enter Viola; Malvolio following. Mal. Were not you even now with the Countess Olivia?

Vio. Even now, sir; on a moderate pace I have since arrived but hither.

Mal. She returns this ring to you, sir; you might have saved me my pains, to have taken it away yourself. She adds moreover, that you should put your lord into a desperate assurance she will none of him : and one thing more; that you be never so hardy to come again in his affairs, unless it be to report your lord's taking of this. Receive it so.

Vio. She took the ring of me: I'll none of it.

Mal. Come, sir, you peevishly threw it to her; and her will is, it should be so returned: if it be worth stooping for, there it lies in your eye; if not, be it his that finds it.


Sir Toby. Approach, Sir Andrew: not to be abed after midnight, is to be up betimes; and diluculo surgere, thou know'st

Sir And. Nay, by my troth, I know not: but I know, to be up late, is to be up late.

Sir Toby. A false conclusion; I hate it as an unfilled can: To be up after midnight, and to go to bed then, is early: so that, to go to bed after midnight, is to go to bed betimes. Do not our lives consist of the four elements ?

Sir And. 'Faith, so they say; but I think it rather consists of eating and drinking.

Sir Toby. Thou art a scholar; let us therefore eat and drink.-Marian, I say !

-a stoop of wine!

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

Clo. How now, my hearts? Did you never see the picture of we three.

Sir Toby. Welcome, ass. Now let's have a catch.

Sir And. By my troth, the fool has an excellent breast. I had rather than forty shillings I had such a leg, and so sweet a breath to sing, as the fool has. In sooth, thou wast in very

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