Clo. This will I tell my Lady strait : I would not be in fome of your coats for two pence. [Exit Clown. Sir To. Come on, Sir; hold. [Holding Sebaftian. Sir And. Nay, let him alone, I'll go another way to work with him; I'll have an action of battery against him, if there be any law in Illyria; tho' I ftruck him firft, yet it's no matter for that.

Seb. Let go thy hand.

Sir To. Come, Sir, I will not let you go. Come, my young Soldier, put up your iron; you are well flesh'd come on.

Seb. I will be free from thee. What wouldst thou now? if thou dar'ft tempt me further, draw thy fword. Sir To. What, what? nay, then, I must have an ounce or two of this malapert blood from you.

[They draw and fight.

Enter Olivia.

Oli. Hold, Toby; on thy life, I charge thee, hold.
Sir To. Madam.

Oli. Will it be ever thus? ungracious Wretch,
Fit for the Mountains and the barbarous Caves,
Where Manners ne'er were preach'd: out of my fight!
Be not offended, dear Cefario :-
Rudesby, be gone! I pr'ythee, gentle Friend,
[Exeunt Sir Toby, and Sir Andrew.
Let thy fair wisdom, not thy paffion, fway
In this uncivil and unjust extent
Against thy peace. Go with me to my house,
And hear thou there, how many fruitlefs pranks
This ruffian hath botch'd up, that thou thereby
May'st smile at this: thou shalt not chufe but go:
Do not deny; befhrew his foul for me,
He started one poor heart of mine in thee.

Seb. What relish is in this? how runs the ftream?
Or I am mad, or else this is a dream,

Let fancy ftill my fenfe in Lethe fteep,
If it be thus to dream, ftill let me fleep.

[by me.

Oli. Nay, come, I pray: 'would, thou'dst be rul'd
Seb. Madam, I will.
Oli, O, fay fo, and fo be!

L14

[Exeunt SCENE

SCENE, an Apartment in Olivia's Houfe.
Enter Maria, and Clown.

Mar. NAY, I pr'ythee, put on this Gown and
this Beard; make him believe, thou art Sir
Topas the Curate; do it quickly. I'll call Sir Toby the
whilft.
[Exit Maria.
Clo. Well, I'll put it on, and I will diffemble my
felf in't; and I would I were the firft that ever dis,
fembled in fuch a Gown. I am not tall enough to be-
come the function well, nor lean enough to be thought
a good Student; but to be faid an honeft Man, and a
good Housekeeper, goes as fairly, as to fay, a careful
Man and a great Scholar. The Competitors enter.

Enter Sir Toby, and Maria.

Sir To. Jove bless thee, Mr. Parfon.

Clo. Bonos dies, Sir Toby; for as the old Hermit of Prague, that never faw pen and ink, very wittily faid to a Neice of King Gorboduck, that that is, is: fo I being Mr. Parfon, am Mr. Parfon; for what is that, bục that? and is, but is?

Sir To. To him, Sir Topas.

Clo. What, hoa, I fay, peace in this prison! Sir To. The knave counterfeits well; a good knave. [Malvolio within.

Mal. Who calls there?

Clo. Sir Topas the curate, who comes to vifit Malvolio the lunatick.

Mal. Sir Topas, Sir Topas, good Sir Topas, go to my lady.

Clo. Out, hyperbolical fiend, how vexeft thou this man?

Talkeft thou of nothing but of ladies?

Sir To. Well faid, mafter Parfon.

Mal. Sir Topas, never was man thus wrong'd; good Sir Topas, do not think, I am mad; they have laid me here in hideous darknefs.

Clo. Fie, thou dishonest Sathan; I call thee by the moft modeft terms; for I am one of thofe gentle ones,

that'

that will use the Devil himself with curtefie: fay'st thou, that house is dark?

Mal. As hell, Sir Topas.

Clo. Why, it hath bay-windows transparent as baricadoes, and the clear ftones towards the South-North, are as luftrous as ebony; and yet complaineft thou of obftruction?

Mal. I am not mad, Sir Topas; I fay to you, this house is dark.

Clo. Madman, thou erreft; I fay, there is no darknefs but ignorance; in which thou art more puzzled than the Egyptians in their fog.

Mal. I fay, this houfe is as dark as ignorance, though ignorance were as dark as hell; and I fay, there was never man thus abus'd; I am no more mad than you are, make the tryal of it in any constant queftion.

Clo. What is the opinion of Pythagoras, concerning wild-fowl?

Mal. That the foul of our grandam might happily inhabit a bird.

་

Clo. What think'ft thou of his opinion:

. Mal. I think nobly of the foul, and no way approve his opinion.

Clo. Fare thee well: remain thou ftill in darkness; thou fhalt hold th' opinion of Pythagoras, ere I will allow of thy wits; and fear to kill a woodcock, left thou difpoffefs the Soul of thy grandam. Fare thee well. Mal. Sir Topas, Sir Topas,

Sir To. My moft exquifite Sir Topas !
Clo. Nay, I am for all waters.

Mar. Thou might'ft have done this without thy beard and Gown; he fees thee not.

Sir To. To him in thine own voice, and bring me word how thou find'st him: I would, we were all rid of this knavery. If he may be conveniently deliver'd, I would, he were; for I am now fo far in offence with my Neice, that I cannot purfue with any fafety this fport to the upshot. Come by and by to my chamber. [Exit with Maria.

Clo.

Clo. Hey Robin, jolly Robin, tell me how my lady

does.

[Singing.

Mal. Fool,

- Clo. My lady is unkind, perdie.

Mal. Fool,

-

Clo. Alas, why is she fo?
Mal. Fool, I fay;

Clo. She loves another - who calls, ha?

Mal. Good fool, as ever thou wilt deserve well at my hand, help me to a candle, and pen, ink, and paper; as I am a gentleman, I will live to be thankful to thee for't.

Clo. Mr. Malvolio!

Mal. Ay, good fool.

Clo. Alas, Sir, how fell you befides your five wits? Mal. Fool, there was never man fo notoriously abus'd; I am as well in my wits, fool, as thou art.

Clo. But as well! then thou art mad, indeed, if you be no better in your wits than a fool.

Mal. They have here propertied me; keep me in darkness, fend minifters to me, affes, and do all they can to face me out of my wits.

Clo. Advise you what you fay: the minifter is here, Malvolio, Malvolio, thy wits the heav'ns reftore: endeavour thy felf to fleep, and leave thy vain bibble babble.

Mal. Sir Topas,

Clo. Maintain no words with him, good fellow, Who I, Sir? not I, Sir. God b'w'you, good Sir Topas.Marry, amen.I will, Sir, I will.

Mal. Fool, fool, fool, I fay.

Clo. Alas, Sir, be patient. What fay you, Sir? I am fhent for speaking to you.

Mal. Good fool, help me to fome light, and fome paper; I tell thee, I am as well in my wits, as any man in Illyria.

Clo. Well-a-day, that you were, Sir!

Mal. By this hand, I am: good fool, fome ink, paper and light; and convey what I fet down to my lady: It fhall advantage thee more than ever the bearing of letter did.

Clo. I will help you to't. But tell me true, are you not mad, indeed, or do you but counterfeit ?

Mal. Believe me, I am not: I tell thee true.

Clo. Nay, I'll ne'er believe a mad-man, 'till I fee
his brains. I will fetch you light, and paper, and ink.
Mal. Fool, I'll requite it in the highest degree;
I pr'ythee, be gone.

Clo. I am gone, Sir, and anon, Sir,
I'll be with you again

[Singing.

In a trice, like to the old Vice, (19)
Your need to fuftain:

Who with dagger of lath, in his rage, and his wrath,
Cries, ab, ba! to the Devil:

Like a mad lad, pare thy nails, dad,
Adieu, good man drivel.

[Exit. SCENE changes to another Apartment in OLIVIA'S House.

Enter Sebaftian.

Seb. This is the Air, that is the glorious Sun; This Pearl fhe gave me, I do feel't and fee't. And though 'tis wonder that enwraps me thus, Yet 'tis not madness. Where's Anthonio then? I could not find him at the Elephant; Yet there he was, and there I found this credit, (18)

That

(17) In a trice, like to the old Vice.] So in Ben Jonson's The Devil is an Afs.

What is he calls upon me, and would feem to lack a Vice? Ere his Words be half spoken, I am with him in a trice. In Both thefe Places, by Vice, is meant that buffoon, droll, Character fo general in the old Plays, who was dreft up in a long Coat, a Fool's Cap with Affes Ears, and furnish'd with a wooden Sword, with which he was as active and wanton as Arlequin. But I have explain'd the Word and Character more particularly in a Note upon this Line of King Richard IIId.

Thus, like the formal Vice, Iniquity, &c.

(18) Yet there he was, and there I found this Credit,

That he did range, &c.] i. e. I found it juftified, credibly youch'd. Whether the Word Credit will eafily carry this Meaning, I am doubtful: The Expreffion feems obfcure; and tho' I have not disturb'd the Text, I very much fufpect that the Poet wrote;

and there I found this credent,

He