« ZurückWeiter »
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 skipping a dialogue.
Mar. Will you hoift fail, Sir? here lyes your way. Vio. No, good fwabber, I am to hull here a little longer. Some mollification for your Giant, fweet Lady: tell me your mind, I am a Messenger.
Oli. Sure, you have some hideous matter to deliver, when the curtefie of it is fo fearful. Speak your office.
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 rudeness, 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, prophanation.
Oli. Give us the place alone. [Exit Maria.] We will hear this divinity. Now, Sir, what is your text?
Vio. Moft fweet Lady,
Oli. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be said of it. Where lyes your text?
Vio. In Orfino's bosom.
Oli. In his bofom? in what chapter of his bofom? Vio. To answer by the method, in the firft of his heart.
Oli. O, I have read it; it is herefie. 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. (3) Look you, Sir, fuch a one I wear this present: is't not well done? [Unveiling. Via.
(3) Look you, Sir, fuch a one I was this prefent: ist not well done?] This is Nonfenfe. My Correction, I think, clears all up, and gives the Expreffion an Air of Gallantry. Viola preffes to fee Olivia's Face: The
Vio. Excellently done, if God did all.
Oli. 'Tis in grain, Sir; 'twill endure wind and wea
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 diverse 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 grey 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 recompenc'd, tho' you were crown'd The Non-pareil 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,
Vio. If I did love you in my Mafter's flame,
other at length pulls off her Veil, and fays; We will draw the Curtain, and fhew you the Picture. I wear this Complection to day, I may wear another to morrow; jocularly intimating, that She painted. The Other, vext at the Jeaft, fays, "Excellently done, if God did all." Perhaps, it may be true, what you fay in jeaft: otherwife 'tis an excellent Face. Tis in Grain, &c. replies Olivia. Mr. Warburton.
Oli. Why, what would you do?
Oli. You might do much : What is your parentage ?
Vio. Above my fortunes, yet my ftate is well: I am a Gentleman.
Oli. Get you to your Lord;
I cannot love him: let him fend no more;
Vio. I am no fee'd poft, lady; keep your purse:
Above my fortunes, yet my ftate is well:
not too faft.
Unless the mafter were the man. How now?
To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be
(4) Hollow your Name to the reverberate Hills,] I have, against the Authority of the printed Copies, corrected, reverberant. The Adjective Paffive makes Nonfenfe.
Mal. Here, Madam, at your fervice.
Nor hold him up with hopes, I am not for him:
Mal. Madam, I will.
Oli. I do, I know not what; and fear to find
SCENE, the STREET.
Enter Antonio and Sebaftian.
ILL you ftay no longer? nor will you not, that I go with you?
Seb. By your patience, no my ftars fhine darkly over me; the malignancy of my Fate might, perhaps, diftemper yours; 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 meer extravagancy but I perceive in you fo excellent a
touch of modefty, that you will not extort from me what I am willing to keep in; therefore it charges me in manners the rather to express my felf: 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, my felf, and a Sifter, both born in one hour; if the heav'ns had been pleas'd, would we had fo ended! but you, Sir, alter'd That; for, fome hour before you took me from the breach of the sea, was my Sifter drown'd.
Ant. Alas, the day!
Seb. A Lady, Sir, tho' it was faid fhe much resembled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful; but tho' I could not with fuch eftimable wonder over-far believe That, yet thus far I will boldly publish her, she bore a mind that envy could not but call fair: the is drown'd already, Sir, with falt water, tho' I feem to drown her remembrance again with more.
Ant. Pardon me, Sir, your bad entertainment. Seb. O good Antonio, forgive me your trouble. Ant. If you will not murther me for my love, let me be your fervant.
Seb. If you will not undo what you have done, that is, kill him whom you have recover'd, defire it not. Fare ye well at once; my bofom is full of kindness, and I am yet so near the manners of my mother, that upon the leaft occafion more, mine eyes will tell tales of me: I am bound to the Duke Orfino's Court; farewel. [Exit.
Ant. The gentleness of all the Gods go with thee! I have made enemies in Orfino's Court, Elfe would I very fhortly fee thee there : But come what may, I do adore thee so, That danger fhall feem fport, and I will go.
Enter Viola and Malvolio, at several doors.
Mal. Were not you e'en now with the Countess Olivia ?