Sir To. Farewel, dear heart, fince I must needs be gone. Mal. Nay, good Sir Toby.

Clo. His eyes do fhew, his days are almost done.

Mal. Is't even fo?

Sir To. But I will never die.

Clo. Sir Toby, there you lie.
Mal. This is much credit to you.
Sir To. Shall I bid him go?

Clo. What, an if you do?

Sir To. Shall I bid him go, and spare not?
Clo. O no, no, no, you dare not.

[Singing.

Sir To. Out o'time, Sir? ye lie: art thou any more than a steward? doft thou think, because thou art virtuous, there fhall be no more cakes and ale?

Clo. Yes, by Saint Anne; and ginger fhall be hot i'th' mouth too.

ir To. Thou'rt i'th' right. Go, Sir, rub your chain with crums. A ftoop of wine, Maria.

Mal. Mistress Mary, if you priz'd my Lady's favour at any thing more than contempt, you would not give means for this uncivil Rule; the fhall know of it, by this hand. [Exit.

Mar. Go, fhake your ears.

Sir And. 'Twere as good a deed as to drink when a man's a hungry, to challenge him to the field, and then to break promife with him, and 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.

Mar. Sweet Sir Toby, be patient for to night; fince the youth of the Duke's was to day with my Lady, fhe is much out of quiet. For Monfieur Malvolio, let me alone with him: if I do not gull him into a nayword, and make him a common recreation, do not think, I have wit enough to lye ftraight in my bed: I know, I can do it.

Sir To. Poffefs us, poffefs us, tell us fomething of

him.

Mar. Marry, Sir, fometimes he is a kind of a Pu

ritan.

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

dog.

Sir To. What, for being a Puritan? thy exquifite. reafon, dear Knight.

Sir And. I have no exquifite reafon for't, but I have reafon good enough.

Mar. The Devil a Puritan that he is, or any thing conftantly but a time-pleafer; an affection'd afs, that cons ftate without book, and utters it by great fwarths. The best perfuaded of himself: So cram'd, 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.

Sir To. What wilt thou do?

Mar. I will drop in his way some obfcure epiftles of love, wherein, by the colour of his beard, the shape of his leg, the manner of his gate, the expreffure of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he fhall find himfelf moft feelingly perfonated. I can write very like my Lady your Neice; on a forgotten matter we can hardly make diftinction of our hands.

Sir To. Excellent, I fmell a device.
Sir And. I have't in my nofe too.

Sir To. He fhall think by the letters, that thou wilt drop, that they come from my Neice, and that he is in love with him.

Mar. My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour. Sir And. And your horfe now would make him an als,

Mar. Afs, I doubt not.

Sir And. O, 'twill be admirable.

Mar. Sport royal, I warrant you: I know, my Phy fick will work with him. I will plant you two, and let the Fool make a third, where he fhall find the letter: obferve his conftruction of it: for this night to bed, and dream on the event. Farewel. [Exit.

Sir To. Good night, Penthifilea.

Sir And. Before me, fhe's a good wench,

Sir To. She's a beagle, true-bred, and one that adores me; what o'that?

Ii 3

Sir

Sir And. I was ador'd once too.

Sir To. Let's to bed, Knight: thou hadst need fend for more mony.

Sir And. If I cannot recover your Neice, I am a foul way out.

Sir To. Send for mony, Knight; if thou haft her not i'th'end, call me Cut.

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

Sir To. Come, come, I'll go burn fome Sack, 'tis too late to go to bed now: come, Knight; come, Knight. [Exeunt.

Duke.

SCENE changes to the Palace.

Enter Duke, Viola, Curio, and others.

IVE me fome mufick; now, good morrow, friends:

Now, good Cefario, but that piece of Song,
That old and antique Song, we heard laft night;
Methought, it did relieve my Paffion much;
More than light Airs, and recollected terms
Of these most brisk and giddy-paced Times.
Come, but one Verse.

Cur. He is not here, fo please your Lordship, that fhould fing it.

Duke. Who was it?

Cur. Fefte the Jefter, 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.

[Ex. Curio.
Come hither, boy; if ever thou shalt love,
In the fweet pangs of it, remember me;
For fuch as I am, all true Lovers are;
Unftaid and skittish in all motions elfe,
Save in the conftant image of the Creature

[Mufick.

That is belov'd. How doft thou like this Tune ?
Vio. It gives a very Echo to the Seat

Where Love is thron'd.

Duke.

· Duke. Thou doft fpeak masterly.

My life upon't, young tho' thou art, thine eye
Hath ftaid upon fome favour that it loves:

Hath it not, Boy?

Vio. A little, by your favour.

Duke. What kind of Woman is't?'

Vio. Of your complexion.

Duke. She is not worth thee then.

i'faith?

Vio. About your years, my Lord.

What years,

Duke. Too old, by heav'n; let ftill the Woman take An elder than her felf, fo wears the to him;

So fways fhe level in her husband's heart.
For, Boy, however we do praise our felves,
Our Fancies are more giddy and unfirm,
More longing, wavering, fooner loft and worn,
Than Women's are.

Vio. I think it well, my Lord.

Duke. Then let thy love be younger than thy felf, Or thy affection cannot hold the Bent:

For Women are as roses, whofe fair flower,,
Being once difplay'd, doth fall that very hour,
Vio. And fo they are: alas, that they are fo,
To die, even when they to perfection grow!

Enter Curio and Clown.

Duke. O fellow, come; the Song we had last night.Mark it, Cefario, it is old and plain;

The fpinfters and the knitters in the Sun,

And the free maids that weave their thread with bones,

Do ufe to chant it: it is filly Sooth,

And dallies with the innocence of love,

Like the old Age.

Clo. Are you ready, Sir?

Duke. I pr'ythee, fing,

[Mufick,

SONG.

SONG,

Come away, come away, Death,
And in fad cypress let me be laid;
Fly away, fly away, breath,

I am flain by a fair cruel Maid.
My fbrowd of white, ftuck all with yew,
O, prepare it.

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

Not a Flower, not a Flower Sweet,

On my black Coffin let there be frown:

Not a Friend, not a Friend greet

My poor corps, where my bones shall be thrown.
A thousand thoufand fighs to fave,

Lay me, O! where

True Lover never find my Grave,

To weep there.

Duke. There's for thy pains.

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

Clo. Truly, Sir, and pleasure will be paid one time or other.

Duke. Give me now leave to leave thee.

Clo. Now the melancholy God protect thee, and the Taylor make thy doublet of changeable taffata, for thy mind is a very Opal! (8) I would have Men of fuch conftancy put to fea, that their business might be every thing, and their intent every where; for that's it, that

(8) I would have Men of fuch Conftancy put to Sea, that their Buf nefs might be every where, and their Intent every where, &c.] Mr. Warburton fufpects this Place to have fuffer'd under the Indolence of Editors: and therefore, tho' I have not difturb'd the Text, I think it very proper to fubjoin his Emendation, and Reasons for it.

"Not only the Antithefts (which is no mean Confideration, when the "Queftion is on Shakespeare's Writings ;) but the Senfe requires, we "fhould read;

that their Bufinefs might be every where, and their Intent no where, &c. "Because,