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of my message.

away my speech ; for, besides that it is excellently well penn'd, I have taken great pains to con it. Good Beauties, let me fustain no scorn; I am very comptible, even to the least finifter usage. Oli. Whence came you, Sir ?

Vic. I can fay little more than I have ftudied, 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 my self, I am.
Vio

. Most certain, if you are she, you do ufurp your felf; for what is yours to bestow, is not yours to reserve ; but this is from my Commisfion. I will on with my speech in your praise, and then shew you the heart

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

Vio. Alas, I took great pains to study it, and 'tis poetical.

Oli. It is the more like to be feign'd. I pray you, keep it in. I heard, you were fawcy at my gates ; and I allow'd your approach, rather to wonder at you than

If
f you
be not mad, be

gone ; if you have reason, be brief: 'tis not that time of the moon with me, to make one in so skipping a dialogue.

Mar. Will you hoist fail, Sir? here lyes your way. Via. No, good fwabber, I am to húll here a little longer. Some mollification for your Giant, sweet Lady: tell me your mind, I am a Messenger.

Oli. Sure, you have some hideous matter to deliver, when the courtefie of it is so fearful. Speak your

ofVio. It alone concerns your ear. I bring no overture of war, no taxation of homage ; I hold the olive in : my words are as full of peace, as matter.

the praise.

to hear you.

fice.

my hand:

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 maiden-head ; to your ears, divinity ; to any other's, prophanation.

Oli. Give us the place alone. (Exit Maria.] We will hear this divinity. Now, Sir, what is your text?

Vio. Most sweet Lady,Oli. A comfortable Doctrine, and much may be said of it. Where lyes your text ?

Vio. In Orsino's bofom.
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 heresie. Have you no more to say ? Vio. Good Madam, let me fee

your

face. Oli. Have you any commission from your Lord to negotiate with my face? you are now out of your text; but we will draw the curtain, and thew

you

the picture. (3) Look you, Sir, such a one I wear this present : is't not well done?

[Unveiling 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 cruell'It She alive, If you will lead these graces to the Grave, And leave the world no copy.

(3) Look you, Sir, such a one I was this present : is't not well done:] This is Nonsense: My Corre&ion, I think, clears all up, and gives the Expresion an Air of Gallantry. Viola presses to fee Olivia's Face : The other at length pulls off her Veil, and says; We will draw the curtain, and shew you the Pi&ture. I wear this Complexion to day, I may wear another to morrow; jocularly intimating, that she painted. The O. ther, vext at the Jest, says, “ Excellently done, if God did al.”. Perhaps, it may be true, what you say in Jeft; other: wise'ris an excellent Face. 'Tis in Grain, &c. replies Olivia..

Mr. Warburton.

Oli. O, Sir, I will not be so hard-hearted : I will give out diverse schedules of my beauty. It shall be inventoried, and every particle and utensil labell'd 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: O, such love
Could be but recompens’d, tho' you were crown'd
The Non-pareil of Beauty !

Oli. How does he love me?

Vie. With adorations, with fertile tears, With groans

that thunder love, with fighs 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 divulg'd; free, learn'd, 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 suff'ring, such a deadly life,
In
your

denial I would find no sense : I would not understand it.

Oli. Why, what would you do?

Vio. Make me a willow cabin at your gate,
And call upon my soul within the house;
Write loyal canto's of contemned love,
And fing them loud even in the dead of night:
(4) Hollow your name to the reverberant hills,
And make the babling goslip of the air
Cry out, Olivia! O, you thould not rest
Between the elements of air and earth,
But you should pity me.

(1) Hollow your Name to the reverberate Hills). I have, againg the Authority of the printed Copics, corre&ed, reverberanto The Adjc&ive. Pallive makes Nonsense,

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 my self, lacks recompence.
Love make his heart of Aint, that you shall love,
And let your fervour, like my master's, be
Plac'd in contempt! farewel, fair cruelty. [Exit.

Oli. What is your parentage ?
Above my fortunes, yet my fate is well :-
I am a gentleman I'll be sworn thou art.
Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit,
Do give thee five-fold blazonnot too fast-foft!"foft!
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 subtile stealth,
To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be
What ho, Malvolio,-

Enter Malvolio.
Mal. Here, Madam, at your service.

Oli. Run after that fame peevish messenger,
The Duke's man; he left this ring behind him,
Would I, or not: tell him, I'll none of it.
Defire 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. Hye thee, Malvolio.
Mal. Madam, I will.

(Exit.
Oli. I do, I know not what; and fear to find
Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind :
Fate, shew thy force; our felvés we do not owe;
What is decreed, muft bez and be this fo! [Exit.

ACT

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IL L you stay no longer ? nor will you not, that

with

Seb. By your patience, no: my stars shine darkly over me; the malignancy of my fate might, perhaps, distemper yours; therefore I shall crave of you your leave, thạt I may bear my evils alone. It were a bad

recompence for your love, to lay any of them on you.

Aut. Let me yet know of you, whither you are bound.

Seb. No, footh, Sir; my determinate voyage is meer extravagancy: but I perceive in you so excellent a touch of modesty, that you will not extort from me what I am willing to keep in ; therefore it charges me in manners the rather to express myself: you must know of me then, Antonio, my name is Sebastian, which I call'a Rodorigo; my father was that Sebastian of Mefaline, whom, I know, you have heard of. He left behind him, myself, and a fifter, both born in one hour; if the heav'ns had been pleas’d, would we had so ended ! but you, Sir, alter'd that; for, some hour before you took me from the breach of the sea, was my sister drown'd.

Ant. Alas, the day!

Seb. A Lady, Sir, tho? it was said the much resemo bled

me, was yet of many accounted beautiful, but tho' I could not with such estimable wonder over-far believe that; yet thus far I will boldly publish her, le bore a mind that envy could not but call fair : she is drown'd

already,

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