I

Sir To. 'Tis a Gentleman-heir, these pickle herring! how now, fot? Clo. Good Sir Toby,

A plague o'

Oli. Uncle, Uncle, how have you come fo early by this lethargy?

Sir To. Letchery! I defie letchery: there's one at the gate.

Oli. Ay, marry, what is he?

Sir To. Let him be the devil and he will, I care not give me faith, fay I. Well, it's all one. [Exit. Oli. What's a drunken man like, fool?

Clo. Like a drown'd man, a fool, and a madman: one draught above heat makes him a fool; the second mads him; and a third drowns him.

Oli. Go thou and feek the Coroner, and let him fit o' my Uncle; for he's in the third degree of drink; he's drown'd; go, look after him.

Clo. He is but mad yet, Madona, and the fool fhall look to the madman. [Exit Clown.

Enter Malvolio:

Mal. Madam, yond young Fellow fwears he will speak with you. I told him, you were fick; he takes on him to understand fo much, and therefore comes to speak with you. I told him you were afleep; he seems to have a fore-knowledge of that too, and therefore comes to speak with you. What is to be faid to him, Lady? he's fortified against any denial.

Oli. Tell him, he fhall not speak with me.

Tis a gentleman. HERE,] He had before faid it was a gentleman. He was asked what gentleman? and he makes this reply; which, it is plain, is corrupt, and fhould be read thus,

'Tis a Gentleman-HEIR,

i. e. fome lady's eldeft fon juft come out of the nursery; for this was the appearance Viola made in mens clothes. See the character Malvolic draws of him prefently after.

Mal.

2

Mal. He has been told fo; and he fays, he'll ftand at your door like a Sheriff's poft, and be the fupporter to a bench, but he'll fpeak with you.

Oli. What kind o'man is he?
Mal. Why, of mankind.

Oli. What manner of man?

Mal. Of very ill manners; he'll speak with you, will you or no.

Oli. Of what perfonage and years is he?

Mal. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy; as a fquafh is before 'tis a peafcod, or a codling when 'tis almost an apple: 'tis with him in ftanding water, between boy and man. He is very well-favour'd, and he speaks very fhrewifhly; one would think, his mother's milk were fcarce out of kim.

Oli. Let him approach: call in my Gentlewoman. Mal. Gentlewoman, my Lady calls,

[Exit.

Oli. Give me my veil: come, throw it o'er my We'll once more hear Orfino's embassy.

Enter Viola.

face;

Vio. The honourable Lady of the house, which is fhe?

2 fland at your door like a Sheriff's poft,] It was the cuftom for that officer to have large posts fet up at his door, as an indication of his office. The original of which was, that the King's procla mations, and other publick acts, might be affixed thereon, by way of publication. So Johnson's Every man out of bis humour,

put off

To the Lord Chancellor's tomb, or the Shrives pofts, So again in the old play called Lingua,

Knows he bow to become a fcarlet gowa, kath he a pair of fresh pofts at his door?

K 3

Oli,

Oli. Speak to me, I fhall anfwer for her: your will?

Vio. Moft radiant, exquifite, and unmatchable Beauty I pray you, tell me, if this be the Lady of the house, for I never faw her. I would be loth to caft away my fpeech; for, befides that it is excellently well penn'd, I have taken great pains to con it. Good Beauties, let me fuftain no fcorn; 3 I am very comptible, even to the leaft finifter ufage.

Oli. Whence came you, Sir?

Vio. I can fay little more than I have ftudied, and that Queftion's out of my Part. Good gentle One, give me modeft affurance, if you be the Lady of the houfe, that I may proceed in my speech.

Oli. Are you a Comedian?

Vio. No, my profound heart; and yet, by the very fangs of malice, I fwear, I am not that I play. Are you the Lady of the house?

Oli. If I do not ufurp myself, I am.

Vio. Moft certain, if you are fhe, you do ufurp yourself; for what is yours to beftow, is not yours to referve; but this is from my Commiffion. I will on with my fpeech in your praife, and then fhew you the heart of my meffage.

Oli. Come to what is important in't: I forgive you the praife.

Vio. Alas, I took great pains to study it, and 'tis poetical.

Oli. It is the more like to be feign'd. I pray you, keep it in. I heard you were fawcy at my gates; and I allow'd your approach, rather to wonder at you than to hear you. If you be not mad, be gone; if you have reafon, 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 lies your way,

I am very comptible,] Comptible for ready to call to account.

Vio. No, good fwabber, I am to hull here a little longer. Some mollification for your Giant, fweet Lady.

Oli. Tell me your mind.

Vio. I am a meffenger.

Oli. Sure, you have fome hideous matter to deliver, when the courtefie 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 sweet Lady,

Oli. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be faid of it. Where lies Where lies your text?

Vio. In Orfino's bofom.

Oli. In his bofom? in what chapter of his bofom? Vio. To answer by the method, in the first of his heart.

Oli. O, I have read it; it is herefie. Have you no more to say?

4 Vio. tell me your mind, I am a messenger.] These words must be divided between the two speakers thus,

Oli. Tell me your mind.

Vio. I am a messenger.

Viola growing troublefome, Olivia would difmifs her, and therefore cuts her fhort with this command, Tell me your mind. The other taking advantage of the ambiguity of the word mind, which fignifies either bufinefs or inclinations, replies as if fhe had used it in the latter fenfe, I am a messenger.

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Vio.

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. Look you, Sir, fuch a one I wear this prefent is't not well done? [Unveiling.

Vio. Excellently done, if God did all.

Oli. 'Tis in grain, Sir; 'twill endure wind and weather.

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 gray 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 recompens'd, tho' you were crown'd The Non-pareil of Beauty!

Oli. How does he love me?

Vio. With adorations, with fertile tears,

5 Lock you, Sir, fuch a one I was this prefent; is't not well done?] This is nonfenfe; we fhould read I wear: The correction, I think, cicars all up, and gives the expreffion an Air of Gallantry. Viola preffes to fee Olivia's face; the other at length pulls off her veil, and lays, we will draw the curtain and fhew you the picture. I wear this complexion to day, I may wear another to-morrow; jocularly intimating, that the painted. The other, vext at the jeft, fays, Excellently done, if God did all. Perhaps it may be true what you fay in jet, otherwife 'tis an excellent face. 'Tis in grain, &c. reples Olivia.