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--put thyself into the trick of fingularity;-and confequently fet down the manner how; as a fad face, a reverend carriage, a flow tongue, in the habit of fome Sir of note, and fo forth. I have lim'd her7, but it is Jove's doing, and Jove make me thankful ! and when she went away now, let this fellow be look'd to: Fellow! not Malvolio, nor after my degree, but fellow. Why, every thing adheres together, that no dram of a scruple, no fcruple of a fcruple, no obftacle, no incredulous or unfafe circumftance-what can be faid? Nothing, that can be, can come between me and the full profpect of my hopes. Well, Jove, not I, is the doer of this, and he is to be thanked.

SCEN E IX.

Enter Sir Toby, Fabian, and Maria.

Sir To. Which way is he, in the name of fanctity? if all the devils in hell be drawn in little, and Legion himself poffeft him, yet I'll speak to him.

Fab. Here he is, here he is; how is't with you, Sir? how is't with you, man?

Mal. Go off; I difcard you; let me enjoy my privacy: go off.

Mar. Lo, how hollow the fiend speaks within him! did not I tell you? Sir Toby, my Lady prays you to have a care of him.

Mal. Ah, ha! does the fo?

Sir To. Go to, go to; peace, peace, we must deal gently with him, let me alone. How do you, Mal volio? how is't with you? what! man, defy the devil; confider, he's an enemy to mankind. Mal. Do you know what you fay?

7 I have lim'd her,] I have entangled or caught her, as a bird is caught with birdlime. fellow!] This word which

8

originally fignified companion, was not yet totally degraded to its prefent meaning; and Malvolio takes it in the favourable fenfe.

Mar:

Mar. La, you! if you speak ill of the devil, how -Pray God, he be not be

he takes it at heart.

witch'd.

Fab. Carry his water to th' wife woman.

Mar. Marry, and it shall be done to-morrow morning if I live. My Lady would not lofe him for moré than I'll fay.

Mal. How now, mistress?

Mar. O Lord!

Sir To. Pr'ythee, hold thy peace; that is not the way do you not fee, you move him? let me alone with him.

Fab. No way but gentlenefs, gently, gently; the fiend is rough, and will not be roughly us'd.

Sir To. Why, how now, my bawcock ? how doft thou, chuck?

Mal. Sir?

Sir To. Ay, biddy, come with me. What! man, 'tis not for gravity to play at cherry-pit with Satan. Hang him, foul collier.

Mar. Get him to fay his prayers, good Sir Toby get him to pray.

Mal. My prayers, minx!

Mar. No, I warrant you, he will not hear of godlinefs.

Mal. Go hang yourselves all: you are idle fhallow things; I am not of your element, you shall know more hereafter. [Exit.

Sir To. Is't poffible?

Fab. If this were play'd upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an improbable fiction.

Sir To. His very genius hath taken the infection of the device, man.

Mar. Nay, purfue him now, left the device take air, and taint.

Fab. Why, we fhall make him mad, indeed.

Mar. The houfe will be the quieter.

Sir To. Come, we'll have him in a dark room and bound. My niece is already in the belief that he is mad; we may carry it thus for our pleasure and his penance, 'till our very paftime, tired out of breath, prompt us to have mercy on him; at which time we will bring the device to the bar, and crown thee for a finder of madmen; but fee, but fee.

S CEN E X.

Enter Sir Andrew.

Fab. More matter for a May morning.

Sir And. Here's the challenge, read it: I warrant; there's vinegar and pepper in't.

Fab. Is't fo fawcy?

Sir And. Ay is't? I warrant him: do but read.
Sir To. Give me.

[Sir Toby reads. Youth, whatsoever thou art, thou art but a Scurvy fellow.

Fab. Good and valiant.

Sir To. Wonder not, nor admire not in thy mind why I do call thee fo; for I will fhew thee no reason for't. Fab. A good note: that keeps you from the blow of the law.

Sir To. Thou com'ft to the Lady Olivia, and in my fight he uses thee kindly; but thou lieft in thy throat, that is not the matter I challenge thee for.

Fab. Very brief, and exceeding good fenfe-less. Sir To. I will way-lay thee going home, where if it be thy chance to kill me

Fab. Good.

Sir To. Thou kill'ft me like a rogue and a villain. Fab. Still you keep o'th' windy fide of the law: good.

9 This is, I think, an allufion to the witch-finders, who were very bufy.

Sir To. Fare thee well, and God have mercy upon one of our fouls: be may have mercy upon mine 1, but my hope is better, and fo look to thyfelf. Thy friend as thou usest bim, and thy fworn enemy, Andrew Ague-cheek.

Sir To. If this letter move him not, his legs cannot: I'll give❜t him.

Mar. You may have very fit occafion for't: he is now in fome commerce with my Lady, and will by and by depart.

Sir To. Go, Sir Andrew, fcout me for him at the corner of the orchard like a bum-bailiff; so soon as ever thou seeft him, draw; and, as thou drawft, fwear horribly; for it comes to pafs oft, that a terrible oath, with a fwaggering accent fharply twang'd off, gives manhood more approbation than ever proof itself would have earn'd him. Away.

Sir And. Nay, let me alone for fwearing.

[Exit.

Sir To. Now will not I deliver his letter; for the behaviour of the young gentleman gives him out to be of good capacity and breeding; his employment between his Lord and my niece confirms no lefs; therefore this letter, being fo excellently ignorant, will breed no terror in the youth; he will find, that it comes from a clodpole. But, Sir, I will deliver his challenge by word of mouth; fet upon Ague-cheek a notable report of valour; and drive the gentleman, (as, I know, his youth will aptly receive it) into a moft hideous opinion of his rage, skill, fury, and impetuofity. This will fo fright them both, that they will kill one another by the look, like cockatrices.

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SCENE, XI.

Enter Olivia and Viola.

Fab. Here he comes with your niece; give them way, 'till he take leave, and presently after him.

Sir To. I will meditate the while upon fome horrid meffage for a challenge.

[Exeunt. Oli. I've faid too much unto a heart of stone, And laid mine honour too unchary out. There's fomething in me, that reproves my fault: But fuch a head-ftrong potent fault it is,

That it but mocks reproof.

Vio. With the fame 'haviour that your paffion bears, Goes on my master's grief.

Oli. Here, wear this jewel for me, 'tis my picture; Refuse it not, it hath no tongue to vex you: And, I beseech you, come again to-morrow. What fhall you afk of me that I'll deny, That, honour fav'd, may upon afking give?

Vio. Nothing but this, your true love for my mafter. Oli. How with mine honour may I give him that, Which I have given to you?

Vio. I will acquit you.

Oli Well, come again to-morrow: fare thee well. A fiend, like thee, might bear my foul to hell. [Exit.

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Enter Sir Toby and Fabian.

Sir To. Gentleman, God fave thee.

Vio. And you, Sir.

Sir To. That defence thou haft, betake thee to❜t; of what nature the wrongs are thou haft done him, I know not; but thy interpreter, full of defpight, bloody as the hunter, attends thee at the orchard-end; dif

*Fervel does not properly fignify a fingle gem, but any precious ornament or fuperfluity.

mount

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