at your door like a fheriff's poft *, and be the supporter to a bench, but he'll speak with you.

Oli. What kind o' man is he?
Mal. Why, of mankind.

Oli. What manner of man?

Mal. Of very ill manners; he'll fpeak with you, will you or no.

Oli. Of what perfonage and years is he?

Mal. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy; as a fquash is before 'tis a peascod, or a codling when 'tis almost an apple: 'tis with him in ftanding water, between boy and man. He is very well favoured, and he fpeaks very fhrewifhly; one would think his mother's milk were fcarce out of him. Oli. Let him approach: call in my gentlewoman. Mal. Gentlewoman, my Lady calls.

SCENE IX. Enter Maria.

[Exit.

Oli. Give me my veil: come, throw it o'er my face; We'll once more hear Orfino's embaffy.

Enter Viola.

Vio. The honourable lady of the house, which is she? Oli. Speak to me, I shall answer for her: your will? Vio. Moft radiant, exquifite, and unmatchable beauty

I pray you, tell me, if this be the lady of the houfe, for I never faw her. I would be loth to caft away my fpeech; for, befides that it is excellently well penn'd, I have taken great pains to con it. Good beauties, let me fuftain no fcorn; I am very comptible †, even to the leaft finifter ufage.

Oli. Whence came you, Sir?

Vio. I can fay little more than I have ftudied, and that queftion's out of my part. Good gentle one, give

*Heretofore all proclamations by the King, all appointments of the rates of wages by the juftices of peace, and other things of the like nature, were fent to the sheriff of each county, who was obliged to promulgate them, not only by caufing them to be read in every market-town, but by affixing them to fome convenient place within it; for which purpofe great pofts or pillars were erected' in each fuch town, and there were called fheriff's posts.

† Comptible, for ready to call to account, ·

me modeft affurance, 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 fwear I am not that I play. Are you the lady of the house ?

Oli. If I do not ufurp myself, I am.

Vio. Moft certain, if you are fhe, you do ufurp yourfelf; for what is your's to bestow, is not your's to referve but this is from my commiffion. I will on with my speech in your praise, and then fhew you the heart of my meffage.

:

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

Vio. Alas, I took great pains to `ftudy 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 to hear you. If 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 fo fkipping a dialogue.

Mar. Will you hoift fail, Sir, here lies your way. Vio. No, good fwabber, I am to hull here a little longer. Some mollification for your giant, fweet Lady. Oli. Tell me your mind.

Vio. I am a meffenger.

Oli. Sure you have fome hideous matter to deliver, when the courtesy of it is so fearful. fice.

Speak your of

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

Vio. The rudenefs that hath appear'd in me, have I learn'd from my entertainment. What I am, and what I would, are as fecret as maiden-head; to your ears, divinity; to any other's, profanation.

Oli. Give us the place alone. [Exit Maria.] We will hear this divinity. Now, Sir, what is your text? Vio. Moft fweet Lady,

VOL. III.

I

Oli. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be faid of it. Where lies your text?

1

Vio. In Orfino's bofom.

Oli. In his bofom! in what chapter of his bofom? Vio. To answer by the method, in the first of his heart.

Oli. O, I have read it; it is herefy. Have you no more to say?

Vio. Good Madam, let me fee your face.

Oli. Have you any commiffion from your Lord to negotiate with my face? you are now out of your text; but we will draw the curtain, and fhew you the picture. Look you, Sir, fuch a one I wear this prefent; 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, whofe red and white
Nature's own fweet and cunning hand laid on.
Lady, you are the cruell'ft she alive,

If you will lead these graces to the grave,
And leave the world no copy.

Oli. O, Sir, I will not be fo hard-hearted: I will give out divers schedules of my beauty. It fhall be inventoried, and every particle and utenfil labell'd to my will. As, Item, Two lips indifferent red. Item, Two gray eyes, with lids to them. Item, One neck, one chin, and fo forth. Were you fent hither to praise me? Vio. I fee you what you are; you are too proud; But if you were the devil, you are fair.

My lord and mafter loves you: O, fuch love
Could be but recompens'd, tho' you were crown'd
The nonpareil of beauty!

Oli. How does he love me?

Vio. 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 fuppofe him virtuous, know him noble,

Of great eftate, of fresh and stainless youth;
In voices well divulg'd; free, learn'd, and valiant;
And in dimenfion, and the fhape of nature,

A gracious perfon; 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 fuch a fuff'ring, fuch a deadly life,
In your denial I would find no fenfe:
I would not underftand it.

Oli. Why, what would you do?

Vio. Make me a willow cabbin at your gate,
And call upon my foul within the house;
Write royal canto's of contemned love,
And fing them loud even in the dead of night:
Hollow your name to the reverberate hills,
And make the babling gossip of the air
Cry out, Olivia! O, you fhould not rest
Between the elements of air and earth,
But you 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;
Unlefs, 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 poft, Lady; keep your purfe :
My mafter, not myself, lacks recompence.
Love make his heart of flint that you fhall love,
And let your fervour, like my mafter's, be
Plac'd in contempt! farewel, fair cruelty.
Oli. What is your parentage?

Above my fortunes, yet my state is well :

I am a gentleman.

I'll be fworn thou art.

[Exit.

Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit,

Do give thee fivefold blazon

foft!

Unless the mafter were the man.

-Not too faft

-foft!

How now?

Even fo quickly may one catch the plague ?
Methinks I feel this youth's perfections,

With an invifible and fubtile ftealth,

To creep in at mine eyes.

What ho, Malvolio,

Well, let it be

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 reafons for 't. Hie thee, Malvolio.
Mal. Madam, I will.

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

[Exit.

[Exit.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

The Street.

Enter Antonio, and Sebaftian.

· Antonio. W'

Ill you ftay no longer? nor will
not that I go with you ?

you

Seb. By your patience, no: my ftars fhine darkly over me; the malignancy of my fate might, perhaps, diftemper your's; therefore I fhall crave of you your leave, that I may bear my evils alone. It were a bad recompence for your love, to lay any of them on

you.

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

Seb. No, footh, Sir; my determinate voyage is mere extravagancy: but I perceive in you fo 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 exprefs myfelf. You must know of me then, Antonio, my name is Sebaftian; which I call'd Rodorigo; my father was that Sebaftian of Meffaline, 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 fo ended!