Clo. You have faid, Sir: to fee this age!-A fentence is but achev'ril glove to a good wit; how quickly the wrong fide 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 Sifter 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 Sifter wanton; but, indeed, words are very rafcals, fince bonds difgrac'd them.

Vio. Thy reason, Man?

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

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

Clo. Not fo, Sir, I do care for fomething; 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 invifible.

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 faw thee late at the Duke Orfino's.

Clo. Foolery, Sir, does walk about the Orb like the Sun; it fhines every where. I would be forry, Sir, but the fool fhould be as oft with your Mafter, as with my Mistress: I think, I faw your wisdom there.

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

1 a chev'ril glove] A glove made of a kid's skin, from Chevereul, French. Chiaverello, Ital. Caprillus, Lat.

Mr. Pope.
Clo.

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

Vio. By my troth, I'll tell thee, I am almost 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 put to use. Clo. I would play lord Pandarus of Phrygia, Sir, o bring a Creffida 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: Creffida was a beggar. My lady is within, Sir, I will confter to them whence you come; who you are, and what you would, is out of my welkin; I might fay, element; but the word is over-worn. [Exit.

Vio. This fellow is wife enough to play the fool,
And, to do that well, craves a kind of wit:
He muft obferve their mood on whom he jests,
The quality of the perfons, 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 wife-man's art:
For folly, that he wifely fhews, is fit;
But wife men's folly-fall'n, quite taints their wit.

Enter Sir Toby, and Sir Andrew.

2 Sir And. Save you, gentleman.

Vio. And you, Sir.

Sir To. Dieu vous guarde, Monfiear.

Vio. Et vous auffi; vostre ferviteur.

Sir To. I hope, Sir, you are; and I am yours.→→

2 Here the speeches rectified by Mr. Theobald.

Will you encounter the Houfe? my Niece is defirous you should enter, if your trade be to her.

Vio. I am bound to your Niece, Sir; I mean, he is the lift of my voyage.

Sir To. Tafte your legs, Sir, put them to motion, Vio. My legs do better underftand me, Sir, than I understand what you mean by bidding me tafte my legs.

Sir To. I mean, to go, Sir, to enter.",

Vio. I will answer you with gate and entrance; but we are prevented.

Enter Olivia and Maria.

Moft excellent accomplish'd lady, the heav'ns rain odours on you!

Sir And, That youth's a rare Courtier! rain odours? well.

Vio. My matter hath no voice, lady, but to your own 3 most pregnant and vouchfafed car.

Sir And, Odours, pregnant, and youchfafed :-I'll get 'em all three ready.

Oli, Let the garden door be fhut, and leave me to my hearing. [Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Maria.

SCENE

Give me your hand, Sir..

III.

Vio. My duty, Madam, and moft humble fervice. Oli. What is your name?

Vio. Cefario is your fervant's name, fair Princess. Oli. My fervant, Sir? Twas never merry world, Since lowly feigning was call'd compliment: Y'are fervant to the Duke Orfing, youth.

Vio. And he is yours, and he must needs be yours: Your fervant's fervant is your fervant, Madam.

3 most pregnant and vouchsafed ear.] Pregnant, for ready.

Oli. For him, I think not on him: for his thoughts, 'Would they were blanks, rather than fill'd with me! Vio. Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts On his behalf.

Oli. O, by your leave, I pray you ;-
I bade you never speak again of him.
But would you undertake another fuit,
I'd rather hear you to follicit That,
Than mufick from the spheres.
Vio. Dear lady,

Oli. Give me leave, I befeech you: I did fend,
4 After the laft enchantment you did here,
A ring in chase of you. So did I abufe
Myfelf, my fervant, and, I fear me, you;
Under your hard conftruction muft I fit,
To force that on you in a fhameful cunning,
Which you knew none of yours. What might you
think?

Have you not fet mine honour at the ftake,

And baited it with all th' unmuzzled thoughts
That tyrannous heart can think? to one of your re
ceiving

Enough is fhewn, a cyprus, not a bofóm,
Hides my poor heart. So let us hear you speak.
Vio. I pity you.

Oli. That's a degree to love.

Vio. No, not a grice: for 'tis a vulgar proof,
That very oft we pity enemies.

Oli. Why then, methinks, 'tis time to fmile again;
O world, how apt the poor are to be proud!

If one should be a prey, how much the better

4 After the laft enchantment, you did hear,] Nonfenfe. Read and point it thus,

After the last enchantment you did here,

i. e. after the enchantment, your presence worked in my affections. 5 to one of your receiving] i. e. to one of your ready apprehenfion. She confiders him as an arch page.

M 3

Το

To fall before the lion, than the wolf! [Clock ftrikes:
The clock upbraids me with the waste of time.

Be not afraid, good youth, I will not have you;
And yet when wit and youth are come to harvest,
Your wife is like to reap a proper man:
There lies your way, due weft.

Vio. Then weftward hoe:

Grace and good difpofition attend your ladyship!
You'll nothing, Madam, to my Lord by me?
Oli. Stay; pr'ythee tell me, what thou think'ft of
me?

Vio. That you do think, you are not what you are.
Oli. If I think fo, I think the fame of you.
Vio. Then think you right, I am not what I am.
Oli. I would you were, as I would have you be!
Vio. Would it be better, Madam, than I am?
I wifh it might, for now I am your fool.

Oli. O, what a deal of fcorn looks beautiful
In the contempt and anger of his lip!

A murd'rous guilt fhews not itself more foon,
Than love that would feem hid: love's night is noon.
Cefario, by the roses of the spring,

By maid-hood, honour, truth, and every thing,
I love thee fo, that, maugre all thy pride,
Nor wit, nor reafon, can my paffion hide.
Do not extort thy reafons from this clause,
For that I woo, thou therefore haft no cause:
But rather reason thus with reafon fetter;
Love fought is good; but given, unfought, is better.
Vio. By innocence I fwear, and by my youth,

I have one heart, one bofom, and one truth,
And that no woman has; nor never none
Shall mistress be of it, fave I alone.
And fo adieu, good Madam; never more
Will I my master's tears to you deplore.