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;
Aad let your fervour, like my master's, be
Plac'd in contempt! Farewell, fair cruelty. [Exit.
Oli. What is your parentage?
Above my fortunes, yet my state 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 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 !—

Mal.

Re-enter Malvolio.

not but call fair: she is drowned already, sir, with salt water, though I seem to drown her remem. brance 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 Fam 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.

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.

[Exit.

Oli. I do I know not what: and fear to find
Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind.
Fate, show thy force: ourselves we do not owe;4
What is decreed, must be; and be this so! [Exit.

ACT II.

SCENE I.-The sea-coast. Enter Antonio and
Sebastian.

Ant. Will you stay no longer? nor will you not, that I go with you?

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, that I may bear my evils alone: it were a bad recompense for your love, to lay any of them on you.

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

bound.

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.
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. [Exit.

Vio. I left no ring with her: what means this lady? Fortune forbid, my outside have not charm'd her! She made good view of me; indeed, so much, That, sure, methought, her eyes had lost her tongue,

I

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. am the man ;-if it be so (as 'tis,) Poor lady, she were better love a dream. Disguise, I see, thou art a wickedness, Seb. No, 'sooth, sir; my determinate voyage is Wherein the pregnant enemy does much. mere extravagancy. But I perceive in you so ex- How easy is it, for the proper-false" cellent a touch of modesty, that you will not extort In women's waxen hearts to set their forms from me what I am willing to keep in; therefore Alas! our frailty is the cause, not we; it charges me in manners the rather to express For, such as we are made of, such we be. myself. You must know of me then, Antonio, my How will this fadge? My master loves her dearly, name is Sebastian, which I called Rodrigo; my And I, poor monster, fond as much on him; father was that Sebastian of Messaline, whom I And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me : know, you have heard of: he left behind him, What will become of this! As I am man, myself, and a sister, both born in an hour. If the My state is desperate for my master's love; heavens had been pleased, 'would we had so As I am woman, now alas the day! poor Olivia breathe? ended! but you, sir, altered that; for, some hour What thriftless sighs shall before you took me from the breach of the sea, was O time, thou must untangle this, not I; It is too hard a knot for me to untie. my sister drowned. SCENE III-A room in Olivia's house. Enter Seb. A lady, sir, though it was said she much Sir Toby Belch, and Sir Andrew Ague-cheek. resembled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful: but, though I could not, with such estimable Sir To. Approach, sir Andrew: not to be a-bed wonder, overfar believe that, yet thus far I will after midnight, is to be up betimes; and diluculo boldly publish her, she bore a mind that envy could surgere, thou know'st, (1) Messenger. (2) Proclamation of gentility. Count. (4) Own, possess. (5) Reveal.

Ant. Alas, the day!

--

(6) Dexterous, ready fiend.
Fair deceiver,

(8) Suit,

[Exit.

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

Sir To. A false conclusion; I hate it as an un- Clo. Hold thy peace, thou knave, knight? I shall filled can: to be up after midnight, and to go to be constrain'd in't to call thee knave, knight. 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 To. Welcome, ass. Now let's have a catch. Sir To. My lady's a Cataian, we are politicians; Sir And. By my troth, the fool has an excellent Malvolio's a Peg-a-Ramsey,' and Three merry men breast. I had rather than forty shillings I had such we be. Am not I consanguineous ? am I not of her a leg; and so sweet a breath to sing, as the fool blood? Tilly-valley, lady! There dwelt a man in has. In sooth, thou wast in very gracious fooling Babylon, lady, lady! [Singing. last night, when thou spokest of Pigrogromitus, of Clo. Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable the Vapians passing the equinoctial of Queubus; fooling. 'twas very good, i'faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy leman: hadst it?

Clo. Would you have a love-song, or a song of to gabble like tinkers at this time of night? Do good life?

Sir To. Send for money, knight; if thou hast [Exit. her not i' the end, call me Cut."

not give means for this uncivil rule; she shall know of it, by this hand.

Mar. Go shake your ears.

Sir And. If I do not, never trust me, take it how

Sir And. Twere as good a deed as to drink you will. Sir To. Come, come; I'll go burn some sack, when a man's a hungry, to challenge him to the field; and then to break promise with him, and 'tis too late to go to bed now: come, knight; come, knight.

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.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.-A room in the Duke's palace. Enter Duke, Viola, Curio, and others.

row, friends:

Mar. Sweet sir Toby, be patient for to-night; Duke. Give me some music: Now, good morsince the youth of the count's was to-day with my lady, she is much out of quiet. For monsieur Mal-Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song, volio, let me alone with him: if I do not gull him That old and antique song we heard last night; into a nay-word, and make him a common recrea- More than light airs and recollected terms, Methought, it did relieve my passion much; tion, do not think I have wit enough to lie straight of these most brisk and giddy-paced times:in my bed: I know I can do it. Come, but one verse.

2

Sir To. Possess us,' possess us; tell us something of him.

Mar. Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Pu

ritan.

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

Sir To. What, for being a Puritan? thy exquisite reason, dear knight?

Sir And. I have no exquisite reason for't, but have reason good enough.

I

Cur. He is not here, so please your lordship, that should sing it.

Duke. Who was it?

Cur. Feste, the jester, my lord; a fool, that the lady Olivia's father took much delight in: he is about the house.

Duke. Seek him out, and play the tune the while. [Exit Curio.-Music.

Come hither, boy; If ever thou shalt love, Mar. The devil a Puritan that he is, or any thing For, such as I am, all true lovers are; In the sweet pangs of it remember me: constantly but, a time-pleaser; an affectioned ass, Unstaid and skittish in all motions else, that cons state without book, and utters it by great Save, in the constant image of the creature swarths: the best persuaded of himself, so cram- That is belov'd.-How dost thou like this tune? med, 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.

Where love is thron'd.
Vio. It gives a very echo to the seat

Duke. Thou dost speak masterly:
My life upon't, young though thou art, thine eye
Hath stay'd upon some favour that it loves;

Vio.
A little, by your favour.
Duke. What kind of woman is't?
Vio.
Of your complexion.
Duke. She is not worth thee then. What years,

Sir To. What wilt thou do? Mar. I will drop in his way some obscure epis-Hath it not, boy? tles of love; wherein, by the colour of his beard, the shape of his leg, the manner of his gait, the expressure of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he shall find himself most feelingly personated: I can write very like my lady, your niece; on a forgotten matter we can hardly make distinction of our hands. Sir To. Excellent! I smell a device.

Sir And. I hav't in my nose too.

Sir To. He shall think, by the letters that thou

i'faith?

Vio. About your years, my lord.

Duke. Too old, by heaven; Let still the womar

take

An elder than herself; so wears she to him,

wilt drop, that they come from my niece, and that So sways she level in her husband's heart; she is in love with him.

Mar. My purpose is, indéed, a horse of that

our fancies are more giddy and unfirm,
For, boy, however we do praise ourselves,
Than women's are.
More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn,
Vio.
I think it well, my lord.
Duke. Then let thy love be younger than thyself,
For women are as roses; whose fair flower,
Or thy affection cannot hold the bent:
Being once display'd, doth fall that very hour.

To die, even when they to perfection grow!
Vio. And so they are: alas, that they are so ;

Re-enter Curio, and Clown.

Duke. O fellow, come, the song we had last
night :-

Mark it, Cesario; it is old and plain :
The spinsters and the knitters in the sun
And the free maids, that weave their thread with

My shroud of white, stuck all with yew,
O, prepare it;

My part of death no one so true
Did share it.

Not a flower, not a flower sweet,

On my black coffin let there be strown;

Not a friend, not a friend greet

Duke.
And what's her history?
Vio. A blank, my lord: She never told her love,
But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud,
Feed on her damask cheek: she pin'd in thought;
And, with a green and yellow melancholy,
She sat like patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed?
We men may say more, swear more: but, indeed,
Our shows are more than will; for still we prove
Much in our vows, but little in our love.

Duke. But died thy sister of her love, my boy?
Vio. I am all the daughters of my father's house,
And all the brothers too;-and yet I know not :-
Sir, shall I to this lady?"
Duke.

Ay, that's the theme.

My poor corpse, where my bones shall be To her in haste; give her this jewel; say,
My love can give no place, bide no denay.

thrown;

A thousand thousand sighs to save,

Lay me, 0, where

Sad true lover ne'er find my grave,
To weep there.

Duke. There's for thy pains.

Clo. No pains, sir; I take pleasure in singing, sir.
Duke. I'll pay thy pleasure then.

Clo. Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid, one time or another.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.-Olivia's Garden. Enter Sir Toby
Belch, Sir Andrew Ague-cheek, and Fabian.
Sir To. Come thy ways, signior Fabian.
Fab. Nay, I'll come; if I lose a scruple of this
sport, let me be boiled to death with melancholy.
Sir To. Would'st thou not be glad to have the
niggardly rascally sheep-biter come by some nota-
ble shame?

Fab. I would exult, man: you know, he brought

Duke. Give me now leave to leave thec. Clo. Now, the melancholy god protect thee; and the tailor make thy doublet of changeable tafe out of favour with my lady, about a bear-baitfeta, for thy mind is a very opal'-I would have ing here.

Enter Maria.

men of such constancy put to sea, that their busi- Sir To. To anger him, we'll have the bear again;
ness might be every thing, and their intent every and we will fool him black and blue:-Shall we
where; for that's it, that always makes a good not, sir Andrew?
voyage of nothing.-Farewell.
[Exit Clown.
Sir And. An we do not, it is pity of our lives.
Duke. Let all the rest give place.-
[Exeunt Curio and attendants.
Once more, Cesario,
Get thee to yon' same sovereign cruelty:
Tell her, my love, more noble than the world,
Prizes not quantity of dirty lands;
The parts that fortune hath bestow'd upon her,
Tell her, I hold as giddily as fortune;
But 'tis that miracle, and queen of gems,
That nature pranks her in, attracts my soul.
Vio. But, if she cannot love you, sir?
Duke. I cannot be so answer'd.
Vio.
'Sooth, but you must.
Say, that some lady, as, perhaps, there is,
Hath for your love as great a pang of heart
As you have for Olivia: you cannot love her:
You tell her so; Must she not then be answer'd?
Duke. There's is no woman's sides,
Can 'bide the beating of so strong a passion
As love doth give my heart: no woman's heart
So big, to hold so much; they lack retention.
Alas, their love may be call'd appetite,-
No motion of the liver, but the palate,-
That suffer surfeit, cloyment, and revolt;
But mine is all as hungry as the sea,
And can digest as much: make no compare
Between that love a woman can bear me,
And that I owe Olivia.

Sir To. Here comes the little villain :-How now, my nettle of India.

Mar. Get ye all three into the box-tree: Malvolio's coming down this walk; he has been yonder i' the sun, practising behaviour to his own shadow, this half hour: observe him, for the love of mockery; for, I know, this letter will make a contemplative idiot of him. Close, in the name of jesting! [The men hide themselves.] Lie thou there; [throws down a letter] for here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling.

Vio.

Ay, but I know,

Duke. What dost thou know?

Vio. Too well what love women to men may

owe:

In faith, they are as true of heart as we.
My father had a daughter lov'd a man,
As it might be, perhaps, were I woman,
I should your lordship.

(1) A precious stone of all colours
(s) Denial,

Enter Malvolio.

[Exit Maria.

Mal. 'Tis but fortune; all is fortune. Maria
once told me, she did affect me: and I have heard
herself come thus near, that, should she fancy, it
should be one of my complexion. Besides, she uses
me with a more exalted respect, than any one else
that follows her. What should I think on't?
Sir To. Here's an over-weening rogue!
Fab. O, peace! Contemplation makes a rare
turkey-cock of him; how he jets under his ad-
vanced plumes!

Sir And. 'Slight,I could so beat the rogue :-
Sir To. Peace, say.

Mal. To be count Malvolio!

Sir To. Ah, rogue!

Sir And. Pistol him, pistol him.

Sir To. Peace, peace!

Mal. There is example for't; the lady of the strachy married the yeoman of the wardrobe. Sir And. Fie on him, Jezebel !

Fab. O, peace! now he's deeply in; look how imagination blows him!

(0) Decks.

Mal. Having been three months married to her, sitting in my state,'

Sir To. O, for a stone-bow, to hit him in the eye! Mal. Calling my officers about me, in my branched velvet gown; having come from a day-bed, where I left Olivia sleeping.

Sir To. Fire and brimstone !
Fab. O, peace, peace!

Mal. M, O, A, I, doth sway my life.-Nay, but first, let me see,-let me see,-let me see.

Fab. What a dish of poison has she dressed him! Sir To. And with what wing the stannyel checks at it!

Mal. I may command where I adore. Why, she may command me; I serve her, she is my lady. Why, this is evident to any formal capacity. There is no obstruction in this;-And the end,-What should that alphabetical position portend? if 1

Mal. And then to have the humour of state: and after a demure travel of regard,-telling them, I know my place, as I would they should do their's could make that resemble something in me,-to ask for my kinsman Toby:

Sir To. Bolts and shackles!

Fab. O, peace, peace, peace! now, now. Mul. Seven of my people, with an obedient start, make out for him: I frown the while; and, perchance, wind up my watch, or play with some rich jewel. Toby approaches; court'sies there to me: Sir To. Shall this fellow live?

Fab. Though our silence be drawn from us with cars, yet peace.

Mal. I extend my hand to him thus, quenching my familiar smile with an austere regard of control: Sir To. And does not Toby take you a blow o' the lips then?

Mal. Saying, Cousin Toby, my fortunes having cast me on your niece, give me this prerogative of speech :

Sir To. What, what?

Mal. You must amend your drunkenness.
Sir To. Out, scab!

Fab. Nay, patience, or we break the sinews of our plot.

Mal. Besides, you waste the treasure of your time with a foolish knight;

Sir And. That's me, I warrant you.

Mal. One sir Andrew:

Softly! M, O, A, I.-

Sir To. O, ay! make up that:-he is now at a cold scent.

Fab. Sowter will cry upon't, for all this, though it be as rank as a fox.

Mal. M,—Malvolio ;—M,—why, that begins my name.

Fab. Did not I say, he would work it out? the cur is excellent at faults.

Mal. M,-But then there is no consonancy in the sequel; that suffers under probation: A should follow, but O does.

Fab. And O shall end, I hope.

Sir To. Ay, or I'll cudgel him, and make him cry, 0.

Mal. And then I comes behind;

Fab. Ay, an you had an eye behind you, you might see more detraction at your heels, than fortunes before you.

Mal. M, O, A, I;-This simulation is not as the former :-and yet, to crush this a little, it would bow to me, for every one of these letters are in my name. Soft! here follows prose. If this fall into thy hand, revolve. In my stars I am above thee; but be not afraid of greatness: Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have great

Sir And. I knew, 'twas I; for many do call me ness thrust upon them. Thy fates open their fool.

Mal. What employment have we here? [Taking up the letter. Fab. Now is the woodcock near the gin. Sir To. O, peace! and the spirit of humours intimate reading aloud to him!

hands ; let thy blood and spirit embrace them. And, to inure thyself to what thou art like to be, cast thy humble slough, and appear fresh. Be opposite with a kinsman, surly with servants: let thy tongue tang arguments of state; put thyself into the trick of singularity: She thus advises thee, Mal. By my life, that is my lady's hand: these that sighs for thee. Remember who commended be her very C's, her U's, and her T's; and thus thy yellow stockings; and wished to see thee ever makes she her great P's. It is, in contempt of cross-gartered: I say remember. Go to; thou art question, her hand. made if thou desirest to be so; if not, let me see Sir And. Her C's, her U's, and her T's: Why thee a steward still, the fellow of servants, and not that? worthy to touch fortune's fingers. Farewell. She Mal. [reads] To the unknown beloved, this, and that would alter services with thee, my good wishes: her very phrases! By your leave, The fortunate-unhappy; wax.-Soft!-and the impressure her Lucrece, Day light and champain discovers not more: this with which she uses to seal: 'tis my lady: To is open. I will be proud, I will read politic authors, whom should this be?

Fab. This wins him, liver and all.

Mal. [reads] Jove knows, I love:

But who?

Lips do not move,

No man must know.
No man must know. What follows!-the numbers
altered!-No man must know :-if this should be
thee, Malvolio?

Sir To. Marry, hang thee, brock !3
Mal. I may command, where I adore:

But silence, like a Lucrece knife,
With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore;
M, O, A, I, doth sway my life.

Fab. A fustian riddle!

Sir To. Excellent wench, say I.

I will baffle sir Toby, I will wash off gross acquaintance, I will be point-de-vice," the very man. I do not now fool myself, to let imagination jade me; for every reason excites to this, that my lady loves me. She did commend my yellow stockings of late, she did praise my leg being cross-gartered; and in this she manifests herself to my love, and, with a kind of injunction, drives me to these habits of her liking. I thank my stars, I am happy. I will be strange, stout, in yellow stockings, and crossgartered, even with the swiftness of putting on. Jove, and my stars be praised!-Here is yet a postscript. Thou canst not choose but know who I am. If thou entertainest my love, let it appear in thy smiling; thy smiles become thee well: therefore in my presence still smile, dear my sweet, I pr3ythee,