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her away.


Re-enter MARIA. Clo. Wit, an 't be thy will, put me into good fooling! Mar. Madam, there is at the gate a young gentleThose wits, that think they have thee, do very oft prove man much desires to speak with you. fools; and I, that am sure I lack thee, may pass for a Oli. From the count Orsino, is it ? wise man: for what says Quinapalus ? Better a witty Mar. I know not, madam : 't is a fair young man, fool, than a foolish wit.—God bless thee, lady !

and well attended. Oli. Take the fool away.

Oli. Who of my people hold him in delay ? Clo. Do you not hear, fellows? Take away the Mar. Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman. lady.

Oli. Fetch him off, I pray you : he speaks nothing Oli Go to, you ’re a dry fool; I'll no more of you: but madman. Fie on him! [Exit Maria.] Go you, besides, you grow dishonest.

Malvolio: if it be a suit from the count, I am sick, or Clo. Two faults, madonna, that drink and good coun- not at home; what you will, to dismiss it. [Exit Malsel will amend : for give the dry fool drink, then is the volio.] Now you see, sir, how your fooling grows old, fool not dry; bid the dishonest man mend himself, and people dislike it. if he mend, he is no longer dishonest: if he cannot, Clo. Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy let the botcher mend him. Any thing that's mended eldest son should be a fool, whose skull Jove cram with is but patched : virtue that transgresses is but patched brains; for here comes one of thy kin, that has a most with sin; and sin that amends is but patched with weak pia mater. virtue. If that this simple syllogism will serve, so;

Enter Sir TOBY BELCH. if it will not, what remedy? As there is no true Oli. By mine honour, half drunk.—What is he at cuckold but calamity, so beauty's a flower.-The lady the gate, cousin ? bade take away the fool; therefore, I say again, take Sir To. A gentleman.

Oli. A gentleman! What gentleman ? Oli. Sir, I bade them take away you.

Sir To. ’T is a gentleman here.—A plague o' these Clo. Misprision in the highest degree !--Lady, cu- pickle-herrings !-How now, sot ? cullus non facit monachum: that's as much as to say, Clo. Good sir Toby,I wear not motley in my brain. Good madonna, give Oli. Cousin, cousin, how have you come so early by me leave to prove you a fool.

this lethargy? Oli. Can you do it ?

Sir To. Lechery! I defy lechery. There's one at Clo. Dexteriously, good madonna.

the gate. Oli. Make your proof.

Oli. Ay, marry; what is he ? Clo. I must catechize you for it, madonna. Good Sir To. Let him be the devil, an he will, I care not: my mouse of virtue, answer me.

give me faith, say I. Well, it's all one. E.cit. Oli. Well, sir, for want of other idleness I'll 'bide Oli. What's a drunken man like, fool ? your proof.

Clo. Like a drown'd man, a fool, and a madman: Clo. Good madonna, why mourn'st thou ?

one draught above heat makes him a fool, the second Oli. Good fool, for my brother's death.

mads him, and a third drowns him. Clo. I think, his soul is in hell, madonna.

Oli. Gó thou and seek the coroner, and let him sit Oli. I know his soul is in heaven, fool.

o' my coz, for he's in the third degree of drink; he's Clo. The more fool, madonna, to mourn for your drown'd: go, look after him. brother's soul being in heaven.-Take away the fool, Clo. He is but mad yet, madonna; and the fool shall gentlemen

look to the madman.

[E.cit Clown. Oli. What think you of this fool, Malvolio? doth he

Re-enter MALVOLIO. not mend ?

Mal. Madam, yond young fellow swears he will Mal. Yes; and shall do, till the pangs of death shake speak with you. I told him you were sick: he takes him: infirmity, that decays the wise, doth ever make on him to understand so much, and therefore comes to the better fool.

speak with you. I told him you were asleep: he seems Clo. God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for the to have a fore-knowledge of that too, and therefore better increasing your folly! Sir Toby will be sworn comes to speak with you. What is to be said to him, that I am no fox, but he will not pass his word for two- lady? he's fortified against any denial. pence that you are no fool.

Oli. Tell him, he shall not speak with me. Oli. How say you to that, Malvolio ?

Mal. He has been told so; and he says, he'll stand Mal. I marvel your ladyship takes delight in such at your door like a sheriff's post,? oro be the supporter a barren rascal : I saw him put down the other day to a bench, but he'll speak with you. with an ordinary fool, that has no more brain than a Oli. What kind of man is he? stone. Look you now, he's out of his guard already: Mal. Why, of man kind. unless you laugh and minister occasion to him, he is Oli. What manner of man? gagged. I protest, I take these wise men, that crow Mal. Of very ill manner : he'll speak with you, will so at these set kind of fools, to be no better than the you, or no. fools' zanies.

Oli. Of what personage, and years is he? Oli. O, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and taste Mal. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young with a distempered appetite. To be generous, guiltless, enough for a boy; as a squash' is before 't is a peascod, and of free disposition, is to take those things for bird- or a codling when 't is almost an apple : 't is with him bolts, that you deem cannon-bullets. There is no e’en standing water, between boy and man. He is slander in an allowed fool, though he do nothing but very well-favoured, and he speaks very shrewishly: rail; nor no railing in a known discreet man, though one would think, his mother's milk were scarce out of he do nothing but reprove.

him. Clo. Now, Mercury endue thee with leasing, for thou Oli. Let him approach. Call in my gentlewoman. speakest well of fools.

Mal. Gentlewoman, my lady calls.

[Exit. 1 A post at the door of a sheriff, to which proclamations and placards were affixed.

3 An unripe pod.

2 and : in f. e.


him :

Re-enter MARIA.

i negotiate with my face ? you are now out of your text: Oli. Give me my veil: come, throw it o'er my face. but we will draw the curtain, and show you the picWe'll once more hear Orsino's embassy.

ture. Look you, sir; such a one I am at this preEnter VIOLA. sent4: is 't not well done ?

[Unveiling Vio. The honourable lady of the house, which is she? Vio. Excellently done, if God did all. Oli. Speak to me; I shall answer for her. Your will ? Oli. 'Tis in grain, sir : 't will endure wind and

Vio. Most radiant, exquisite, and unmatchable weather. beauty,--I pray you, tell me, if this be the lady of the Vio. 'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white house, for I never saw her: 'I would be loath to cast Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on. away my speech; for, besides that it is excellently well Lady, you are the cruell'st she alive, penned, I have taken great pains to con it. Good If you will lead these graces to the grave, beauties, let me sustain no scorn; I am very comptible? And leave the world no copy. even to the least sinister usage.

Oli. O! sir, I will not be so hard-hearted. I will Oli. Whence came you, sir ?

give out divers schedules of my beauty: it shall be Vio. I can say little more than I have studied, and inventoried, and every particle, and utensil, labelled that question 's out of my part. Good gentle one, give to my will; as, item, two lips indifferent red; item, me modest assurance if you be the lady of the house, two grey eyes with lids to them ; item, one neck, one that I may proceed in my speech.

chin, and so forth. Were you sent hither to praise me? Oli. Are you a comedian ?

Vio. I see what you are : you are too proud; Vio. No, my profound heart; and yet, by the very But, if you were the devil, you are fair. fangs of malice I swear, I am not that 'I play. Are My lord and master loves you : 0! such love you the lady of the house ?

Should be but recompens'd, though you were crown'd Oli. If I do not usurp myself, I am.

The nonpareil of beauty ! Vio. Most certain, if you are she, you do usurp


How does he love me? yourself; for what is yours to bestow, is not yours to Vio. With adorations, fertile tears,

But this is from my commission. I will on With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire. with my speech in your praise, and then show you the Oli. Your lord does know my mind; I cannot love heart of my message.

Oli. Come to what is important in’t: I forgive you Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble, the praise.

Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth; Vio. Alas ! I took great pains to study it, and 't is In voices well divulg’d, free, learn'd, and valiant, poetical.

And in dimension, and the shape of nature, Oli. It is the more like to be feigned : I pray you, A gracious person ; but yet I cannot love him. keep it in. I heard, you were saucy at my gates, and He might have took his answer long ago. allowed your approach, rather to wonder at you than Vio. If I did love you in my master's flame, to hear you. If you be not mad, be gone; if you have With such a suffering, such a deadly life, reason, be brief: 't is not that time of moon with me In your denial I would find no sense : to make one in so skipping a dialogue.

I would not understand it. Mar. Will you hoist sail, sir ? here lies your way.


Why, what would you ? Vio. No, good swabber; 'I am to hullo here a little Vio. Make me a willow cabin at your gate, longer. Some mollification for your giant”, sweet lady. And call upon my soul within the house; Tell me your mind : I am a messenger.

Write loyal cantons of contemned love, Oli. Sure, you have some hideous matter to deliver, And sing them loud even in the dead of night; when the courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak your Halloo your name to the reverberate hills, office.

And make the babbling gossip of the air Vio. It alone concerns your ear. I bring no over- Cry out, Olivia!: 0 ! you should not rest ture of war, no taxation of homage. I hold the olive Between the elements of air and earth, in my hand : my words are as full of peace as matter. But you should pity me.

Oli. Yet you began rudely. · What are you? what Oli. You might do much. What is your parentage ? would you?

Vio. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well · Vio. The rudeness that hath appear'd in me, have I I am a gentleman. learn'd from my entertainment. What I am, and Oli.

Get you to your lord : what I would, are as secret as maidenhead: to your I cannot love him. Let him send no more, ears, divinity; to any other's, profanation.

Unless, perchance, you come to me again, Oli

. Give us the place alone. We will hear this To tell me how he takes it. Fare you well : divinity. [Exit Maria. Now, sir; what is your I thank you for your pains. Spend this for me. text ?

[Offering her purse. Vio. Most sweet lady,

Vio. I am no fee'd post, lady; keep your purse: Oli. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be said My master, not myself, lacks recompense, of it. Where lies your text ?

Love make his heart of flint that you shall love, Vio. In Orsino's bosom.

And let your fervour, like my master's, be Oli. In his bosom! In what chapter of his bosom? Plac'd in contempt! Farewell, fair cruelty. [Exit.

Vio. To answer by the method, in the first of his Oli. What is your parentage ? heart.

Above my fortunes, yet my state is well : Oli. O! I have read it: it is heresy. Have you no I am a gent

Have you no I am a gentleman,”-I'll be sworn thou art: more to say ?

Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit, Vio. Good madam, let me see your face.

Do give thee five-fold blazon.-Not too fast :-soft! Oli. Have you any commission from your lord to soft!

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1 Sensitive. 2 Lie, or remain. for cantos, 6 Not in f. e.

3 An allusion to the wardens of ladies in old romances.

4 I was this present : in f. e.

5 An old word 4 the: in f. e.

Unless the master were the man.--How now?

Would I, or not: tell him, I'll none of it. Even so quickly may one catch the plague.

Desire him not to flatter with his lord, Methinks, I feel this youth's perfections,

Nor hold him up with hopes : I am not for him. With an invisible and subtle stealth,

If that the youth will come this way to-morrow, To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be.-

I'll give him reasons for ’t. Hie thee, Malvolio. What, ho! Malvolio.

Mal. Madam, I will.

(Exit. Re-enter MALVOLIO.

Oli. I do I know not what, and fear to find

Here, madam, at your service. Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind.
Oli. Run after that same peevish' messenger, Fate, show thy force : ourselves we do not owe”;
The county's man: he left this ring behind him, What is decreed must be, and be this so !


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Vio. Even now, sir : on a moderate pace I have SCENE 1.-The Sea-coast.

since arrived but hither. Enter ANTONIO and SEBASTIAN.

Mal. She returns this ring to you, sir: you might Ant. Will you stay no longer ? nor will you not, have saved me my pains, to have taken it away yourthat I go with you ?

self. She adds, moreover, that you should put your Seb. By your patience, no. My stars shine darkly lord into a desperate assurance she will none of him. over me : the malignancy of my fate might, perhaps, And one thing more ; that you be never so hardy to distemper yours; therefore, I shall crave of you your come again in his affairs, unless it be to report your leave; that I may bear my evils alone. It were a bad lord's taking of this: receive it so. recompense for your love, to lay any of them on you. Vio. She took no* ring of me! I'll none of it.

Ant. Let me yet know of you, whither you are bound. Mal. Come, sir; you peevishly threw it to her, and

Seb. No, 'sooth, sir. My determinate voyage is mere her will is, it should be so returned : if it be worth extravagancy; but I perceive in you so excellent a stooping for, there it lies in your eye; if not, be it his touch of modesty, that you will not extort from me that finds it.

(Erit. what I am willing to keep in: therefore, it charges me Vio. I left no ring with her: what means this lady? in manners the rather to express myself. You must Fortune forbid my outside have not charm'd her! know of me then, Antonio, my name is Sebastian, She made good view of me; indeed, so much, which I called Roderigo. My father was that Sebastian That, methought, her eyes had lost her tongue, of Messaline, whom, I know, you have heard of: he For she did speak in starts distractedly. left behind him, myself, and a sister, both born in an She loves me, sure: the cunning of her passion hour. If the heavens had been pleased, would we had Invites me in this churlish messenger. so ended ! but, you, sir, altered that; for some hour None of my lord's ring ? why he sent her none. before you took me from the breach of the sea was my I am the man :>if it be so, as 't is, sister drowned.

Poor lady, she were better love a dream. Ant. Alas, the day !

Disguise, I see, thou art a wickedness, Seb. A lady, sir, though it was said she much resem- Wherein the pregnant enemy does much. bled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful : but, How easy is it, for the proper false though I could not with self-estimation wander so far to In women's waxen hearts to set their forms ! believe that; yet thus far I will boldly publish her- Alas! our frailty is the cause, not we, she bore a mind that envy could not but call fair. She For such as we are made, if such we be. is drowned already, sir, with salt water, though I seem How will this fadges. My master loves her dearly; to drown her remembrance again with more.

And I, poor monster, fond as much on him;
Ant. Pardon me, sir, your bad entertainment. And sho, mistaken, seems to dote on me.
Seb. O, good Antonio! forgive me your trouble. What will become of this? As I am man,

Ant. If you will not murder me for my love, let me My state is desperate for my master's love; be your servant.

As I am woman, now, alas the day!
Seb. If you will not undo what you have done, that What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe!
is, kill him whom you have recovered, desire it not. O time! thou must untangle this, not I;
Fare ye well at once: my bosom is full of kindness; It is too hard a knot for me tuntie.

[Exit. and I am yet so near the manners of my mother,

that upon the least occasion more, mine eyes will tell tales

SCENE III.-A Room in OLIVIA's House. I am bound to the count Orsino's court: fare- Enter Sir Toby Belch, and Sir ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK. well,


Sir To. Approach, sir Andrew : not to be a-bed after Ant. The gentleness of all the gods go with thee!

midnight is to be up betimes; and diluculo surgere, 8 I have many enemies in Orsino's court,

thou know'st, Else would I very shortly see thee there;

Sir And. Nay, by my troth, I know not; but I But, come what may, I do adore thee so,

know, to be up late, is to be up late. That danger shall seem sport, and I will go. [Exit. Sir To. A false conclusion: I hate it as an unfilled

To be up after midnight, and to go to bed then, SCENE II.-A Street.

is early; so that, to go to bed after midnight, is to go Enter VIOLA; MALVOLIO following.

to bed betimes. Does not our life consist of the four Mal. Were not you even now with the countess Olivia ?lelements ?

of me.


5 Suit.

6 diluculo surgere saluberri

1 Foolish. 2 Own. 3 with such estimable wonder overfar believe that: in f. e. mum est. An adage quoted in Lily's Latin Grammar.

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Twelfth Night, Act II. Scene 3

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