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at it?

Mal. M. O. A. I. doth sway my life

nay, but first, let me fee let me see

Fab. What a dish of poison has she dress'd him?
Sir To. And with what wing the ftallion checks

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 als phabetical position portend ? if I could make that resemble something in me? 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, tho' 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, O.
Mal. And then I comes behind.

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

Mal. M. 0. A. 1.-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 is 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 atchieve Greatness, and some have Greatness thrust upon them. Thy fates open their hands, let thy blood and spirit embrace them; and to inure thy self to what thou art like to beg cast thy humble sough, and appear fresh. Be opposite with a Kinsman, Jurly with Servants : let thy tongue tang arguments of State; put thy self into the trick of fingularity. She thus


before you.

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advises thee, that fighs for thee.

Remember who commended thy yellow Stockings, and wish'd to see thee ever cross-garter’d. I say, remember; go to, thou art made, if thou desirest to‘be so: if not, let me see thee a Steward ftill, the fellow of servants, and not worthy to touch Foro tune's fingers. Farewel. She, that would alter services with thee. The fortunate and happy day-light and champian discovers no more: this is open. I will be proud, I will read politick Authors, I will baffle Sir Toby, I will wash off gross acquaintance, I will be point devise, the very man. I do not now fool my self, 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-garter'd, and in this she manifests her self to my love, and with a kind of injunction driveş me to these habits of her liking. I thank my Stars, I am happy : I will be strange, Itout, in yellow Stockings, and cross-garter'd, even with the Swiftness of putting on. Jove, and my Stars be praised !- Here is yet a Postscript. Thou canst not chufe but know who I am; if thou entertainest my love, let it appear in thy (miling; thy Smiles become thee well. Therefore in my presence still smile, dear my sweet, I pr’ythee. - Jove, I thank thee! I will smile, I will do every thing that thou wilt have me.

[Exit. Fab. I will not give my part of this sport for a pension of thousands to be paid from the Sophy.

Sir To. I could marry this Wench for this device.
Sir And. So could I too.

Sir To. And ask no other dowry with her, but such another jest.

Enter Maria.
Sir And. Nor I neither.
Fab. Here comes my noble Gull-catcher.
Sir To. Wilt thou set thy foot o' my neck?
Sir And. Or o mine either?

Sir To. Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip, and become thy Bond-flave?

Sir And. I'faith; or Í either

Sir To. Why, thou hast put him in such a dream, that when the image of it leaves him, he must run mad.

Mar. Nay, but say trié, does it work upon him? Sir To. Like Aqua vitæ with a Midwife.

Mar. If you will then see the fruits of the sport, mark his first approach before my Lady: he will come to her in yellow Stockings, and 'tis à colour the abhors; and cross-garter'd, a fashion she detests; and he will smile upon her, which will now be so unsuitable to her disposition, being addicted to a melancholy, as The is, that it cannot but turn him into a notable con


will see it, follow me. Sir To. To the gates of Tartar; thou moft excellent devil of wit! Sir And. I'll make one too.


tempt : if



SCENE, Olivia's Garden.

Enter Viola, and Clown.

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VIOLA. AVE thee, Friend, and thy musick : dost thou live by thy Tabor?

Clo. No, Sir, I live by the Church. Vio. Art thou a Churchman?

Clo. No such matter, Sir ; I do live by the Church: for I do live at my House, and my House doth stand by the Church.

Vio. So thou may'st say, the King lyes by a Beggar, if a Beggar dwell near him : or the Church stands by thy Tabor, if thy Tabor stand by the Church.


Clo. You have said, Sir : to see this age ! (10) A sentence is but a chev'ril glove to a good wit; how quickly the wrong side may be turned outward?

Vio. Nay, that's certain ; they, that dally nicely with words, may quickly make them wanton.

Clo. I would, therefore, my Sister had had no Name, Sir.

Vio. Why, Man?

Clo. Why, Sir, her Name's a word ; and to dally with that word, might make my Sister wanton; but, indeed, words are very rascals, fince bonds disgrac'd them.

Vio. Thy reason, Man ?

Clo. Troth, Sir, I can yield you none without words; and words are grown so false, I am loth to prove reason with them.

Vio. I warrant, thou art a merry Fellow, and carest for nothing.

Clo. Not fo, Sir, I do care for something; but, in my conscience, Sir, I do not care for you: if that be to care for nothing, Sir, I would, it would make you invisible.

Vio. Art not thou the Lady Olivia's Fool?

Clo. No, indeed, Sir; the Lady Olivia has no folly; she will keep no Fool, Sir, 'till the be married ; and Fools are as like Husbands, as Pilchers are to Herrings, the Husband's the bigger: I am, indeed, not her Fool, but her Corrupter of Words.

Vio. I saw thee late at the Duke Orsino's.


(10) A Sentence is but a Cheveril glove to a good Wit;] Mr. Pope, in his first Edition of Shakespeare, to Thew the World the Depth of his Learning, inform'd us in a Gloss that Cheveril meant tender from Cheverillus, a young Cock, a Chick. But I never heard yet any

Glove or Leather made of a Cockrel's Skin; and believe, it will hardly come into Experiment in Mr. Pope's or my Time. The Etymology is therefore to be disputed. I few'd in my SHAKESPEARE Reftor'd, that Cheveril Leather is made of the Skin of a Kid, or Goat : which was callid by the Latines, Caprillus; by the Italians, Ciaverello; and by the PRENCH, Chevereul: from which last, our Word Cheveril is immediately deduced. Mr. Pope in his last Edition has suffer'd himself to be inform'd ; and embraced these Derivations. Vol. II.



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Clo. Foolery, Sir, does walk about the Orb-like the Sun; it shines every where. I would be sorry, Sir, but the fool should be as oft with your Master, as with my mistress: I think, I saw your wisdom there.

Vio. Nay, an thou pass upon me, I'll no more with thee. Hold, there's expences for thee.

Clo. Now Jove, in his next commodity of hair, send thee a beard!

Vio. By my troth, I'H tell thee, I am almoft fick for one, though I would not have it grow on my chin. Is thy lady within ?

Clo. Would not a pair of these have bred, Sir ?
Vio. Yes, being kept together, and

Clo: I would play lord Pandarus of Phrygia, Sir, to bring a Cressida to this Troylus.

Vio. I understand you, Sir, 'tis well begg’d.

Clo. The matter, I hope, is not great, Sir; begging but a beggar: Cressida was a beggar. (11) My lady is within, Sir, I will conster to them whence you come; who you are, and what you would, is out of my welkin; I might say, element; but the word is overworn.

[Exit. Vio. This fellow is wise enough to play the fool, And, to do that well, craves a kind of wit : He must observe their mood on whom he jests, The quality of the persons, and the time; And, like the haggard, check at every feather That comes before his eye. This is a practice, As full of labour as a wise-man's art : For folly, that he wisely shews, is fit; But wife men's, folly fall’n, quite taints their wit.

(11) Cressida was a Beggar.) The Poet in this circumstance undoubtedly had his Eye-on CHAU CER's Teftament of Crefeide. Cupid, to revenge her Prophanation against his Deity, scalls in the planetary Gods to affift him in his Vengeance. They inhiantly turn her Mirth into Melancholy, her Health into Sickness, her Beauty into Deformity, and in the End pronounce this Şentence upon heri;

Tbus fmalt thou go-begging fro hous to hous,
Witb Cuppe and Clappir like a Lazareus.

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