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Enter Malvolio.

Mal. Madam, yond young Fellow swears he will fpeak with you. I told him, you were sick; he takes on him to understand so much, and therefore comes to speak with you. I told him, you were asleep; he feems to have fore-knowledge of that too, and therefore comes to speak with you. What is to be faid to him, Lady? he's fortified against any denial. Oli. Tell him, he shall not speak with me.

a

Mal He has been told so; and he says, he'll stand at your door like a Sheriff's poft, and be the supporter to a bench, but he'll speak with you. Oli. What kind o'man is he?

Mal. Why, of mankind.

Oli. What manner of man?

Mal. Of very ill manners; he'll speak with you, will you or no.

Oli. Of what personage and years is he?

Mal. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy; as a squash is before 'tis a peafcod, or a codling when 'tis almost an apple: 'tis with him in standing water, between boy and man. He is very well-favour'd, and he speaks very shrewishly; one would think, his mother's milk were scarce out of him.

Oli. Let him approach: call in my Gentlewoman. Mal. Gentlewoman, my Lady calls.

Enter Maria.

[Exit.

Oli. Give me my veil: come, throw it o'er my face; We'll once more hear Orfino's embassy.

Enter Viola.

Vio. The honourable Lady of the house, which is

she ?

Oli. Speak to me, I shall answer for her: your will? Vio. Most radiant, exquifite, and unmatchable Beauty-I pray you, tell me, if this be the Lady of the house, for I never saw her. I would be loth to cast away my speech; for, besides that it is excellently well penn'd, I have taken great pains to con it. Good Beauties, let me sustain no fcorn; I am very comptible, even to the leaft finister usage.

away

Oli. Whence came you, Sir?

Vio. I can say little more than I have studied, and that Question's out of my Part. Good gentle One, give me modest affurance, if you be the Lady of the house, that I may proceed in my speech.

Oli. Are you a Comedian ?

Vio. No, my profound heart; and yet, by the very fangs of malice, I swear, I am not that I play. Are you the Lady of the house?

Oli. If I do not usurp my self, I am.

Vio. Most certain, if you are she, you do ufurp your self; for what is yours to bestow, is not yours to reserve; but this is from my Commission. I will on with my speech in your praise, and then shew you the heart of my message.

Oli. Come to what is important in't: I forgive you the praife. Vio. Alas, I took great pains to study it, and 'tis poetical.

Oli. It is the more like to be feign'd. I pray you, keep it in. I heard, you were sawcy at my gates; and I allow'd your approach, rather to wonder at you than to hear you. If you be not mad, be gone; if you have reason, be brief: 'tis not that time of the moon with me, to make one in so skipping a dialogue.

Mar. Will you hoist fail, Sir? here lyes your way. Vio. No, good swabber, I am to hull here a little longer. Some mollification for your Giant, sweet Lady: tell me your mind, I am a Messenger.

Oli. Sure, you have fome hideous matter to deliver, when the courtesie of it is so fearful. Speak your office.

Vio. It alone concerns your ear. I bring no overture of war, no taxation of homage; I hold the olive in my hand: my words are as full of peace, as matter. Oli. Yet you began rudely. What are you? what would you ?

Vio. The rudeness, that hath appear'd in me, have I learn'd from my entertainment. What I am, and what I would, are as fecret as maiden-head; to your ears, divinity; to any other's, prophanation.

Oli. Give us the place alone. (Exit Maria.) We will hear this divinity. Now, Sir, what is your text? Vio. Most sweet Lady,

Oli. A comfortable Doctrine, and much may be faid of it. Where lyes your text? Vio. In Orfino's bosom.

Oli. In his bofom? in what chapter of his bosom? Vio. To answer by the method, in the first of his heart. Oli. O, I have read it; it is herefie. Have you no

more to fay?

Vio. Good Madam, let me see your face.

Oli. Have you any commission from your Lord to negotiate with my face? you are now out of your text; but we will draw the curtain, and shew you the picture. (3) Look you, Sir, such a one I wear this present: is't not well done? [Unveiling.

Vio. Excellently done, if God did all.
Oli. 'Tis in grain, Sir; 'twill endure wind and weather.
Vio. 'Tis Beauty truly blent, whose red and white

Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on:
Lady, you are the cruell'st She alive,
If you will lead these graces to the Grave,
And leave the world no copy.

(3) Look you, Sir, such a one I was this present: is't not well done?] This is Nonfenfe. My Correction, I think, clears all up, and gives the Expression an Air of Gallantry. Viola presses to fee Olivia's Face: The other at length pulls off her Veil, and says; We will draw the Curtain, and show you the Picture. I wear this Complexion to day, I may wear another to morrow; jocularly intimating, that She painted. The Other, vext at the Jest, says, "Excellently done, if God did al." Perhaps, it may be true, what you say in Jest; otherwife 'tis an excellent Face. 'Tis in Grain, &c. replies Olivia.

Mr. Warburton.

Oli. O, Sir, I will not be so hard-hearted: I will give out diverse schedules of my beauty. It shall be inventoried, and every particle and utenfil labell'd to my will. As, Item, two lips indifferent red. Item, two grey eyes, with lids to them. Item, one neck, one chin, and fo forth. Were you fent hither to praise me ?

Vio. I see you, what you are; you are too proud;
But if you were the Devil, you are fair.
My Lord and Master loves you: O, fuch love
Could be but recompens'd, tho' you were crown'd
The Non-pareil of Beauty !

Oli. How does he love me?

Vio. With adorations, with fertile tears,

With groans that thunder love, with fighs of fire.

Oli. Your Lord does know my mind, I cannot love

him;

Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble,
Of great eftate, of fresh and stainless youth;
In voices well divulg'd; free, learn'd, and valiant;
And in dimension, and the shape of nature,
A gracious person; n; but yet I cannot love him :
He might have took his answer long ago.

Vio. If I did love you in my maiter's flame,
With such a suff'ring, such a deadly life,
In your denial I would find no sense :
I would not understand it.

Oli. Why, what would you do?

Vio. Make me a willow cabin at your gate,
And call upon my soul within the house;
Write loyal canto's of contemned love,
And fing them loud even in the dead of night:
(4) Hollow your name to the reverberant hills,
And make the babling gofssip of the air
Cry out, Olivia! O, you should not rest
Between the elements of air and earth,
But you should pity me.

(4) Hollow your Name to the reverberate Hills,] I have, against the Authority of the printed Copies, corrected, reverberant. The Adjective Passive makes Nonfenfe.

Oli. You might do much :

What is your parentage?

Vio. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well:

I am a gentleman.

Oli. Get you to your Lord;
I cannot love him: let him send no more;
Unless, perchance, you come to me again,
To tell me how he takes it; fare you well:
I thank you for your pains; spend this for me.

Vio. I am no fee'd poft, lady; keep your purse :
My master, not my self, lacks recompence.
Love make his heart of flint, that you shall love,
And let your fervour, like my master's, be
Plac'd in contempt! farewel, fair cruelty.

[Exit.

Oli. What is your parentage ?
Above my fortunes, yet my state is well:
I am a gentleman I'll be sworn thou art.
Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit,
Do give thee five-fold blazon-not too faft-foft! foft
Unless the mafter were the man.-How now?
Even so quickly may one catch the plague?
Methinks, I feel this youth's perfections,
With an invisible and subtile stealth,

To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be-
What ho, Malvolio, -

Enter Malvolio.

Mal. Here, Madam, at your service.

Oli. Run after that same peevish messenger,
The Duke's man; he left this ring behind him,
Would I, or not: tell him, I'll none of it.
Desire him not to flatter with his Lord,
Nor hold him up with hopes; I am not for him:
If that the youth will come this way to-morrow,
I'll give him reasons for't. Hye thee, Malvolio.
Mal. Madam, I will.

Oli. I do, I know not what; and fear to find
Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind:
Fate, shew thy force; our selves we do not owe;
What is decreed, must be; and be this so!

[Exit.

[Exit ACT

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