Maria. My name is Mary, sir.

Sir Andrew. Good mistress Mary Accost,

Sir Toby. You mistake, knight: accost, is, front her, board her, woo her, assail her.

Sir Andrew. Is that the meaning of accost?
Maria. Fare you well, gentlemen.

Sir Toby. An thou let part so, sir Andrew, 'would thou might'st never draw sword again.

Sir Andrew. And you part so, mistress, I would I might never draw sword again. Fair lady, do you think you have fools in hand?

Maria. Sir, I have not you by the hand.

Sir Andrew. Marry, but you shall have; and here's my hand.

Maria. Now, sir, thought is free: I pray you, bring your hand to the buttery-bar, and let it drink.

Sir Andrew. Wherefore, sweet heart? what's your metaphor?

Maria. Its dry, sir.

Sir Andrew. Why, I think so; I am not such an ass, but I can keep my hand dry. But what's your jest?

Maria. A dry jest, sir.

Sir Andrew. Are you full of them?

Maria. Ay, sir; I have them at my fingers' ends.

[Exit MARIA. Sir Toby. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of canary: When did I see thee so put down?

Sir Andrew. Never in your life, I think; unless you see canary put me down: Methinks, sometimes I have no more wit than an ordinary man has: but I am a great eater of beef, and, I believe, that does harm to my wit.

Sir Toby. No question.

Sir Andrew. An I thought that, I'd forswear it. I'll ride home to-morrow, sir Toby.

Sir Toby. Pourquoy, my dear knight?

Sir Andrew. What is pourquoy? do or not do? I would I had bestowed that time in the tongues, that I

have in fencing, dancing, and bear-baiting: O, had I but followed the arts!

Sir Toby. Then hadst thou had an excellent head of hair.

Sir Andrew. Why, would that have mended my hair? Sir Toby. Past question; for thou seest, it will not curl by nature.

Sir Andrew. But it becomes me well enough, does't not?

Sir Toby. Excellent; it hangs like flax on a distaff.

Sir Andrew. I'll home to-morrow, sir Toby: your niece will not be seen; or, if she be, it's four to one she'll none of me: the count himself, here hard by, wooes her.

Sir Toby. She'll none o' the count; she'll not match above her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit; I have heard her swear it. Tut, there's life in't, man.

Sir Andrew. I'll stay a month longer. I am a fellow o' the strangest mind i' the world; I delight in masques and revels sometimes altogether.

Sir Toby. Art thou good at these kick-shaws, knight? Sir Andrew. As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be, under the degree of my betters; and yet I will not compare with an old man.

Sir Toby. What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight? Sir Andrew. I can cut a caper.

Sir Toby. And I can cut the mutton to't.

Sir Andrew. Shall we set about some revels?

Sir Toby. What shall we do else?-Let me see thee caper: ha! higher: ha, ha!-excellent!

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.-A Room in the DUKE's Palace.

Enter VALENTINE, and VIOLA in man's attire.

Valentine. If the duke continue these favours towards you, Cesario, you are like to be much advanced; he hath known you but three days, and already you are no stranger.

Viola. You either fear his humour, or my negligence,

that you call in question the continuance of his love: Is he inconstant, sir, in his favours?

Valentine. No, believe me.

Enter DUKE, CURIO, and ATTENDANTS.

Viola. I thank you.

Here comes the count.

Duke. Who saw Cesario, ho?

Viola. On your attendance, my lord; here.
Duke. Stand you awhile aloof.-—Cesario,
Thou know'st no less but all; I have unclasp'd
To thee the book even of my secret soul:
Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her;
Be not deny'd access, stand at her doors,

And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow,
Till thou have audience.

Viola.

Sure, my noble lord,

If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow

As it is spoke, she never will admit me.

Duke. Be clamorous, and leap all civil bounds, Rather than make unprofited return.

Viola. Say, I do speak with her, my lord: What then? Duke. O, then unfold the passion of my love, Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith: It shall become thee well to act my woes;

She will attend it better in thy youth,

Than in a nuncio of grave aspéct.

Viola. I think not so, my lord.
Duke.

Dear lad, believe it ;

For they shall yet belie thy happy years
That say, thou art a man: Diana's lip

Is not more smooth and rubious; thy small pipe
Is as the maiden's organ, shrill, and sound,

And all its semblative a woman's part.

I know, thy constellation is right apt

For this affair :-Some four, or five, attend him;
All, if you will; for I myself am best,

When least in company:-Prosper well in this,
And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord,
To call his fortunes thine.

Viola.

I'll do my best,

To woo your lady: yet [Aside] a barful strife!
Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife.

SCENE V.-A Room in OLIVIA'S House.

Enter MARIA, and CLOWN.

[Exeunt.

Maria. Nay, either tell me where thou hast been, or I will not open my lips, so wide as a bristle may enter, in way of thy excuse: my lady will hang thee for thy absence.

Clown. Let her hang me: he, that is well hanged in this world, needs to fear no colours.

Maria. Make that good.

Clown. He shall see none to fear.

Maria. A good lenten3 answer; I can tell thee where that saying was born, of, I fear no colours.

Clown. Where, good mistress Mary?

Maria. In the wars; and that may you be bold to say in your foolery.

Clown. Well, Heaven give them wisdom, that have it; and those that are fools, let them use their talents.

Maria. Yet you will be hanged, for being so long absent: or, to be turned away; is not that as good as a hanging to you?

Clown. Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage; and, for turning away, let summer bear it out. Maria. You are resolute then?

Clown. Not so neither; but I am resolved on two points. Maria. That, if one break, the other will hold.

Clown. Apt, in good faith; very apt! Well, go thy way; if sir Toby would leave drinking, thou wert as witty a piece of Eve's flesh as any in Illyria.

Maria. Peace, you rogue, no more o' that; here comes my lady: make your excuse wisely, you were best. [Exit. Enter OLIVIA, and MALVOLIO.

Clown. Wit, and't be thy will, put me into good fool

2 Full of impediments.

VOL. I.

3 Short and spare.
I

ing! Those wits, that think they have thee, do very oft prove fools; and I, that am sure I lack thee, may pass for a wise man: For what says Quinapalus? Better a witty fool, than a foolish wit.- -God bless thee, lady! Olivia. Take the fool away.

Clown. Do you not hear, fellows? Take away the lady.

Olivia. Go to, you're a dry fool: I'll no more of besides, you grow dishonest.

you:

Clown. Two faults, madonna,* that drink and good counsel will amend: for give the dry fool drink, then is the fool not dry; bid the dishonest man mend himself; if he mend, he is no longer dishonest; if he cannot, let the botcher mend him. The lady bade take away the fool; therefore, I say again, take her away. Olivia. Sir, I bade them take away you.

Clown. Misprision in the highest degree!-Lady, Cucullus non facit monachum; that's as much as to say, I wear not motley in my brain.

Olivia. What think you of this fool, Malvolio: doth he not mend?

Malvolio. Yes: and shall do, till the pangs of death shake him: Infirmity, that decays the wise, doth ever make the better fool.

Clown. Heaven send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for the better increasing your folly! sir Toby will be sworn, that I am no fox; but he will not pass his word for twopence that you are no fool.

Olivia. How say you to that, Malvolio?

Malvolio. I marvel your ladyship takes delight in such a barren rascal; I saw him put down the other day with an ordinary fool, that has no more brain than a stone. Look you now, he's out of his guard already; unless you laugh and minister occasion to him, he is gagged. I protest, I take these wise men that crow so at these set kind of fools, no better than the fools' zanies.5 Olivia. O, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and taste with a distempered appetite. To be generous, guiltless,

4 Italian, mistress, dame.

5 Fools' baubles.