SCENE II.

The seu-coast.

Enter Viola, Captain, and Sailors.
Vio. What country, friends, is this ?
Сар.

Illyria, lady.
Vio. And what should I do in Illyria?
My brother he is in Elysium.
Perchance, he is not drown'd:-What think you,

sailors? Cap. It is perchance, that you yourself were

saved. Vio. O my poor brother! and so, perchance, may

he be. Cap. True, madam: and, to comfort you with

chance, Assure yourself, after our ship did split, When you, and that poor number saved with you, Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother, Most provident in peril, bind himself (Courage and hope both teaching him the practice) To a strong mast, that lived upon the sea; Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back, I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves, So long as I could see. Vio.

For saying so, there's gold: Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope, Whereto thy speech serves for authority, The like of him. Know'st thou this country?

Cap. Ay, madam, well; for I was bred and born, Not tliree hours' travel from this very place,

Vio. Who governs here?
Cap.

A noble duke, in nature,
As in his name.
Vio.

What is his name?
Cap.

Orsino.
M2

Vio. Orsino! I have heard my father name him :
He was a bachelor then.
Cap.

And so is now,
Or was so very late ; for but a month
Ago I wept from lience; and then 'twas fresh
In murmur (as, you know, what great ones do,
The less will prattle of), that he did seek
The love of fair Olivia.
Vio.

What's she?
Cap. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count
That died some twelvemonth since; then leaving

her
In the protection of his son, her brother,
Who shortly also died: for whose dear love,
They say, she hath abjur'd the company
And sight of men.
Vio

O, that I served that lady;
And might not be delivered to the world,
Till I had made mine own occasion mellow
What my estate is.
Cap.

That were hard to compass;
Because she will admit no kind of suit.
No, not the duke's.

Vio. There is a fair behaviour in thee, captain;
And though that nature with a beauteous wall
Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee
I will believe, thou hast a mind that suits
With this thy fair and outward character.
I pray thee, and I'll pay thee bounteo usly,
Conceal me what I am; and be my aid
T'or such disguise as, haply, shall become
The form of my intent. I'll serve this duke;
Thou shalt present me as an eunuch to him,
It may be worth thy pains; for I can sing,
And speak to him in many sorts of music,
That will allow* me very worth his service.
What else may hap, to time I will commit;
Only shape thou thy silence to my wit.

* Approve.

Cap. Be you bis eunuch, and your mute I'll be: When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see! Vio. I thank thee: lead me on.

[Ereunt.

SCENE III.

A room in Olivia's house.

Enter Sir Toby Belch, and Maria.

Sir To. What a plague means my niece, to take the death of her brother thus? I am sure, care's an enemy to life.

Mur. By troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o'nights; your cousin, my lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours.

Sir To. Why, let her except before excepted.

Mar. Ay, but you must copfine yourself within the modest limits of order.

Sir To. Confine? I'll confine myself no finer than I am: these clothes are good enough to drink in, and so be these boots too ; an they be not, let them hang themselves in their own straps.

Mar. That quaffing and drinking will undo you: I heard my lady talk of it yesterday; and of a foolish knight, that you brought in one night here, to be her wooer.

Sir To. Who? Sir Andrew Ague-cheek?
Mar. Ay, he.
Sir To. He's as talle a man as any's in Illyria.
Mar. What's that to the purpose?
Sir To. Why, he has three thousand ducats a year.

Mar. Ay, but he'll have but a year in all these ducats; he's a very fool, and a prodigal.

Sir To. Fie, that you'll say so! he plays o'the viol-de-gambo, and speaks three or four languages

word for word without book, and hath all the good gifts of nature.

Mar. He hath, indeed, -almost natural: for, besides that he's a fool, he's a great quarreller; and, but that he hath the gift of a coward to allay the gust he bath in quarrelling, 'tis thought among the prudent, he would quickly have the gift of a grave.

substractors, that say so of him. Who are they?

Mar. They that add moreover, he's drunk nightly in your company.

Sir To. With dripking healths to my niece; I'll drink to her, as long as there is a passage in diy throat, and drink in Illyria: be's a coward, and a coystril*, that will not driuk to my niece, till his brains tnrn of the toe, like a parish-top. What, wench? Castiliano vulgo; for here comes Sir Andrew Ague-face.

Enter Sir Andrew Ague-cheek.
Sir And. Sir Toby Belch! how now, Sir Toby
Belch?

Sir To. Sweet Sir Andrew!
Sir And. Bless you, fair shrew.
Mar. And you too, sir.
Sir To. Accost, Sir Andrew, accost.

Sir To. My neice's chamber-maid.

Sir And. Good mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance,

Mar. My name is Mary, sir.
Sir And. Good mistress Mary Accost,

Sir To. You mistake, knight: accost, is, front her, board her, woo her, assail her.

Sir And. By my troth, I would not undertake her in this company. Is that the meaning of accost?

Mar. Fare you well, gentlemeu.

• Keystril, a bastard hawk.

Sir To. An thou let part so, Sir Andrew, 'would thou might'st never draw sword again.

Sir And. An you part so, mistress, I would I might never draw sword again. Fair lady, do you think you have fools in hand?

Mar. Sir, I have not you by the hand.

Sir And. Marry, but you shall have; and here's my hand.

Mar. Now, sir, thought is free: I pray you, bring your hand to the buttery-bar, and let it drink.

Sir And. Wherefore, sweet? heart what's your metaphor?

Mar. It's dry, sir.

Sir And. Why, I think so; I am not such an ass, but I can keep my hand dry. But what's your jest?

Mar. A dry jest, sir.
Sir And. Are you full of them?

Mur. Ay, sir; I have them at my fingers' ends: marry, now I let go your hand, I am barren.

[Exit Maria. Sir To. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of canary: when did I see thee so put down?

Sir And. Never in your life, I think; unless you see canary put me down: metlinks, sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian, or an ordinary man has: but I am a great eater of beef, and, I believe, that does harm to my wit.

Sir To. No question.

Sir And. An I thought that, I'd forswear it. I'll ride home to-morrow, Sir Toby.

Sir To. Pourquoy, my dear knight?

Sir And. What is pourquoy? do or not do? I would I had bestowed that time in the tongues, that I have in fencing, dancing, and bear-baiting: 0, had 1 but followed the arts !

Sir To. Then hadst thou had an excellent head of hair.

Sir And. Why, would that have mended my hair?

Sir To. Past question; for thou seest, it will not curl by nature.