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Tell her, my love, more noble than the world,
Prizes not quantity of dirty lands ;
The parts, that fortune hath bestow'd upon her,
Tell her, I hold as giddily as fortune :
5 But 'cis that miracle, and Queen of Gems,
That nature pranks, her Mind, attracts my soul.

Vio. But if the cannot love you, Sir
Duke. 6 I cannot be so answer'd.

Vio. Sooth, but you must.
Say, that some Lady, as, perhaps, there is,
Hath for your love as great a pang of heart
As you have for Olivia : you cannot love her ;
You tell her so; muft she not then be answer'd?

Duke. There is no woman's sides
Can bide the beating of so strong a pasion,
As love doth give my heart: no woman's heart
So big to hold so much ; they lack retention,
Alas, their love may be call'd appetite:
No motion of the liver, but the palate,
That suffers surfeit, cloyment, and revolt;
But mine is all as hungry as the sea,
And can digest as much ; make no compare
Between that love a woman can bear me,
And that I owe Olivia.

Vio. Ay, but I know-
Duke. What dost thou know?

5

But 'tis that miracle, and Queen of Gems,

That nature pranks ber IN, -] What is that miracle, and Qireen of Gerns ? we are not told in this reading. Besides, what is meant by nature pranking her in a miracle? We should read,

But'tis that miracle, and Queen of Gems,

That nature pranks, HER MIND, i e. what attraits any foul, is not her Forture, but her Mind, tbat miracle, and Queen of Gems ther nature prarks, 1. e. sets out, and adorns. . 6 IT cannot be so anfaat'd'] We should read l; the reply

Thews it.

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Vie. Too well what love women to men may owe; In faith, they are as true of heart, as we. My father had a daughter lov'd a man, As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman,

, I should your Lordship.

Duke. And what's her history?

Vio. ' A blank, my Lord: she never told her love, · But let concealment, like a worm i'ch' bud,

Feed on her damask cheek : fhe pin'd in thought ;

And, with a green and yellow melancholy, 67 She fat like Patience on a monument, • Smiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed ?.

,

We 7 Sbe fat like patience on a monument,

Smiling at grief.] Mr. Theobald supposes this might possibly be borrowed from Chaucer.

And ber befidis sonder discretlie,
Dame Pacience fittinge there I fonde
With

facé pale, upon an bill of sonde. And adds, if he was indebted, bowever, for the firft rude draught, how amph has be repaid that debt, in heightning the pillure! Her much does the green and yellow melancholy transcend the old bard's pale face; the monument his hill of land. I hope this Critick does not imagine Shakespear meant to give us a picture of the face of Patience, by his green and yellow melancholy; because, he says, it transcends the pale face of Patience given us by Chaucer. To throw Patience into a fit of melancholy, would be indeed very extraordinary. The green and yellow then belonged not to Patience, but to her who sat like Patience. To give Patience a pale face, was proper: and had Shakespear described her, he had done it as Chaucer did. But Shakespear is speaking of a marble statue of Patience; Chaucer, of Patience herself. And the two representa. tions of her, are in quite different views. Our Poet, Speaking of a despairing lover, judiciously compares her to Patience exercised on the death of friends and relations ; which affords him the beauti. ful picture of Patience on a monument. The old Bard speaking of Patience herself, directly, and not by comparison, as judicioully draws her in that circumstance where the is most exercised, and has occasion for all her virtue ; that is to say, under the losses of lipwruk. And now we see why she is represented as fitting on an hill of land, to design the scene to be the sea-shore. It is finely imagined ; and one of the noble fimplicities of that admirable Poet. But the Critick thought, in good earneit, that Chaucer's invention

was

We men may say more, swear more, but, indeed,
Our shews are more than will ; for ftill we prove
Much in our vows, but little in our love.

Duke. But dy'd thy sister of her love, my boy?

Vio. $ I'm all the daughters of my fathers' house, And all the brothers too-and yet I know not Sir, shall I to this Lady?

Duke. Ay, that's the theam. To her in haste ; give her this jewel : say, My love can give no place, bide no denay. (Exeunt.

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Changes to Olivia's Garden.
Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian.
Sir To.

Со
OME thy ways, Signior Fabian.

Fab. Nay, I'll come ; if I lose a scruple of this sport, let me be boil'd to death with melancholy.

Sir To. Would'st thou not be glad to have the niggardly rascally sheep-biter come by fome notable Thame? was so barren, and his imagination so beggarly, that he was not able to be at the charge of a monament for his Goddess, but left her, like a stroller, funning herself upon a heap of fand. 8 I'm all the daughters of my fathers' house,

And all the brothers too- -) This was the most arcful answer that could be given. The question was of fuch a nature, that to have declined the appearance of a direct answer, must have raised suspicion. This has the appearance of a dire&t answer, that she fler died of ber love; the (who pafled for a man) saying, she was all the daughters of her father's house. But the Oxford Editor, a great enemy, as should seem, to all equivocation, obliges her to answer thus,

She's all the daughters of my father's house,

And I am all the fonso But if it should be asked now, how the Duke came to take this for an answer to his question, co be sure the Editor can tell us.

Fab.

Fab. I would exult, man ; you know, he brought me out of favour with my Ladys about a bear-baiting here.

Sir To. To anger him, we'll have the bear again ; and we will fool him black and blue, shall we not, Sir Andrew ? Sir And. An we do not, it's pity of our lives.

Enter Maria. Sir To. Here comes the little villain : how now, my nettle of India ?

Mar. Get ye all three into the box-tree ; Malvolio's coming down this walk, he has been yonder i'th' sun practising behaviour to his own shadow this half hour. Observe him, for the love of mockery ; for, I know, this Letter will make a contemplative idiot of him. Close, in the name of jesting ! lye thou there ; for here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling.

[Throws down a letter, and Exit.

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Enter Malvolio. Mal. 'Tis but fortune, all is fortune. Maria once told me, she did affect me ; and I have heard her self come thus near, that should she fancy, it should be one of my complexion. Besides, she uses me with a more exalted respect, than any one else that follows her. What should I think on't ?

Sir To. Here's an over-weaning rogue.

Fab. O, peace : contemplation makes a rare Turkey-cock of him; how he jets under his advanc'd plumes !

Sir And. 'Slife, I could fo beat the rogue,
Sir To. Peace, I say.
Mal. To be Count Malvolio,

a

Sir To. Ah, rogue!
Sir And. Pistol him, pistol him.
Sir To. Peace, peace.

Mal. There is example fort : ' the Lady of the Trachy married the yeoman of the wardrobe.

Sir And. Fie on him, Jezebel!

Fab. O, peace, now he's deeply in; look, how imagination blows him.

Mal. Having been three months married to her, sitting in my state Sir To. O for a stone-bow, to hit him in the eye!

a Mal. Calling my officers about me, in my branch'd velvet gown; having come down from a day-bed, where I have left Olivia sleeping.

Sir To. Fire and brimstone!
Fab. O, peace, peace.

Mal. And then to have the humour of state ; and after a demure travel of regard, telling them, I know my place, as I would they should do theirs to ask for my uncle Toby

Sir To. Bolcs and shackles !
Fab. Oh, peace, peace, peace; now, now.

Mal. Seven of my people with an obedient start make out for him: I frown the while, and, perchance, wind up my watch, or play with some rich jewel. Toby approaches, curtsies there to me.

Sir To. Shall this Fellow live?

Fab. 'Tho'our filence be drawn from us with cares, yet, peace.

Mal. 9 the Lady of the Strachy) We flould read Trachy, i.e. Thrace; for fo the old English writers called it. Mandeville says, As Trachye and Macedoigne of the swhich Alitandre was Kyng. It was common to use the article she before names of places: And this was no improper instance, where the scene was in Illyria.

i Tho' our silence be drawn from us with cares,) i. e. Tho* it is the greatest pain to us to keep silence. Yet the Oxford Editor has altered it to, Tho' our filence he drawn from us by tl' eari.

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