TWELFTH-NIGHT:

OR,

WHAT YOU WILL.

ACTI.

SCENE, the PALACE.

Enter the Duke, Curio, and Lords.

DUKE.

F Mufick be the food of Love, play on; Give me excess of it; that, furfeiting, The appetite may ficken, and fo die. That Strain again; it had a dying Fall: O, it came o'er my ear, like the fweet That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing, and giving odour. Enough! 'Tis not fo sweet now, as it was before. O fpirit of Love, how quick and fresh art thou! That, notwithstanding thy capacity Receiveth as the fea, nought enters there, Of what validity and pitch foe'er, But falls into abatement and low price, Even in a minute; (1) fo full of shapes in fancy, That it alone is high fantastical.

Cur.

(1)

fo full of Shapes is Fancy,

That it alone is high fantaftical.] Shakespeare has made his Polonius (a Character, which he defign'd fhould be receiv'd with Laughter) fày;

for

[fouth, no more;

Cur. Will you go hunt, my Lord?
Duke. What, Curio?

Cur. The hart.

Duke. Why, fo I do, the nobleft that I have: O, when my eyes did fee Olivia first, Methought, the purg'd the air of peftilence; That inftant was I turn'd into a hart, And my defires, like fell and cruel hounds, E'er fince pursue me. How now, what news from her?

Enter Valentine.

Val. So please my Lord, I might not be admitted, But from her hand-maid do return this answer: The element it felf, 'till seven years hence, Shall not behold her face at ample view; But, like a Cloyftrefs, she will veiled walk, And water once a day her chamber round With eye-offending brine: all this to season A brother's dead love, which he would keep fresh And lasting in her fad remembrance.

Duke. O, She, that hath a heart of that fine frame, To pay this debt of love but to a Brother, How will the love, when the rich golden fhaft Hath kill'd the flock of all affections elfe That live in her? when liver, brain, and heart, These fov'raign Thrones, are all fupply'd, and fill'd,

for to define true Madnefs,

What is't, but to be Nothing else but mad,

But there is no Parity of Reason why his Duke here, who is altogether ferious, and moralizing on the Qualities of Love, fhould tell us, that Fancy is alone the most fantastical Thing imaginable. I am perfuaded, the Alteration of is into in has given us the Poet's genuine Meaning; that Love is most fantastical, in being fo variable in its Fancies. And Shakespeare every. where fuppofes this to be the diftinguishing Characteriftic of this Paffion. In his As You like it, where What it is to be in Love is defin'd, amongst other Marks we have This ;

It is to be all made of Fantafie.

And in the fame Play, Rofalind, fpeaking of her Lover, fays;

If I could meet that Fancy-monger, I would give him some good Counsel, for he feems to have the Quotidian of Love upon him. And a hundred other Paffages might be quoted, did the Matter require any Proof. Mr. Warburton. Her

Her fweet perfections, with one felf-fame King!
Away before me to sweet beds of flowers;
Love-thoughts lye rich, when canopy'd with bowers.

[Exeunt.

SCENE, the Street.

Enter Viola, a Captain and Sailors.

HAT Country, friends, is this?
Cap. Illyria, Lady.

Vio.

WH

Vio. And what fhould I do in Illyria?
My Brother he is in Elyfium.-

Perchance, he is not drown'd; what think you, failors?
Cap. It is perchance, that you your felf were fav'd.
Vio. O my poor Brother! fö, perchance, may he be.
Cap. True, Madam and to comfort you with
chance,

Affure your felf, after our Ship did split,
When you, and that poor number fav'd with you,
Hung on our driving Boat: I faw your Brother,

Moft provident in peril, bind himself

(Courage and Hope both teaching him the practice)
To a ftrong maft, that liv'd upon the fea;
Where, like Arion on the Dolphin's back,
I faw him hold acquaintance with the waves,
So long as I could fee.

Vio. For faying fo, there's gold.

Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope,
Whereto thy fpeech ferves for authority,
The like of him. Know'ft thou this Country?

Cap. Ay, Madam, well; for I was bred and born,
Not three hours travel from this very place.

Vio. Who governs here?

Gap. A noble Duke in nature, as in name.
Vio. What is his name?

Cap. Orfino.

Vio. Orfino! I have heard my Father name him:
He was a Batchelor then.

Cap. And fo is now, or was fo very late;
For but a month ago I went from hence,

And

And then 'twas fresh in murmur (as you know,
What Great ones do, the lefs will prattle of)
That he did feek the love of fair Olivia.

Vio. What's fhe?

Cap. A virtuous Maid, the Daughter of a Count,
That dy'd fome twelve months fince, then leaving her
In the protection of his Son, her Brother,
Who fhortly also dy'd; for whofe dear love,
They fay, the hath abjur'd the fight
And company of men.

Vio. O, that I ferv'd that Lady,
And might not be deliver'd to the world,
"Till I had made mine own occafion mellow
What my estate is!

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

Vio. There is a fair behaviour in thee, Captain;
And tho' 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 pr'ythee, and I'll pay thee bounteously,
Conceal me what I am, and be my aid
For fuch difguife as, haply, fhall become
The form of my intent. I'll ferve this Duke;
Thou shalt prefent me as an eunuch to him,
It may be worth thy pains; for I can fing,
And fpeak to him in many forts of mufick,
That will allow me very worth his service.
What else may hap, to time I will commit;
Only shape thou thy filence to my wit.

Cap. Be you his Eunuch, and your Mute I'll be:
When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not fee.
Vio. I thank thee; lead me on.

[Exeunt.

SCENE

SCENE, an Apartment in Olivia's Houfe.

Enter Sir Toby, and Maria.

Sir To. the death of her Brother thus? I am

WHAT

HAT a plague means my Neice, to take

fure, Care's an enemy to life.

Mar. By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier a-nights; your Neice, my Lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours.

Sir To. Why, let her except, before excepted.

Mar. Ay, but you must confine your self within the modeft limits of order.

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

you;

Mar. That quaffing and drinking will undo 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 tall a man as any's in Illyria.
Mar. What's that to th' purpose ?

Sir To. Why, he has three thousand ducats a year. Mar. Ay, but he'll have but a year in all thefe ducats: he's a very fool, and a prodigal.

Sir To. Fie, that you'll fay fo! he plays o'th' viol-degambo, and speaks three or four languages word for word without book, and hath all the good gifts of Na

ture.

Mar. He hath, indeed,

almost natural; for befides that he's a fool, he's a great quarreller; and but that he hath the gift of a coward to allay the guft he hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought among the prudent, he would quickly have the gift of a Grave.

Sir To. By this hand, they are fcoundrels and fubftractors that fay fo of him. Who are they?

Mar.