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Mal. He has been told so; and he says, he'll stand at your door like a sheriff's post, and be the supporter of a bench, but he'll speak with you.

Oli. What kind of man is he?
Mal. Why, of man kind.

Oh. What manner of man?

Mal. Of very ill manner; he'll speak with

you, will you, or no.

Vio. I am a messenger.

Oli. Sure, you have some hideous matter to deliver, when the courtesy 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?

Oli. Of what personage, and years, is he? Mal. Not yet old enough for a man, nor Vio. The rudeness, that hath appear'd in me, young enough for a boy; as a squash is before have I learn'd from my entertainment. What 'tis a pease-cod, or a codling when 'tis almost I am, and what I would, are as secret as an apple: 'tis with him e'en standing water, maidenhead: to your ears, divinity; to any between boy and man. He is very well-favour-other's, profanation. ed, and he speaks very shrewishly; one would think, his mother's milk were scarce out of him. Oli. Let him approach: Call in my gentle

woman.

Mal. Gentlewoman, my lady calls. [Exit. Re-enter MARIA.

Oli. Give me my veil: come, throw it o'er my face;

We'll once more hear Orsino'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, exquisite, and unmatchable beauty, I pray you, tell me, if this be the lady of the house, for I never saw her: I would be loath 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 scorn; I am very comptible,* even to the least sinister usage.

Oli. Whence came your, 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 assurance, 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 play. Are you the lady of the house?

I

Oli. If I do not usurp myself, I am. Vio. Most certain, if you are she, you do usurp yourself; 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 show you the heart of my

message.

Oli. Come to what is important in't: I forgive you the praise.

Vio. Alas, I took great pains to study it, and 'tis poetical.

Oli. It is the more likely to be feigned; I pray you, keep it in. I heard, you were saucy at my gates; and allowed 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 moon with me, to make one in so skipping a dialogue.

Mar. Will you hoist sail, Sir? here lies your

way.

Vio. No, good swabber: I am to hull here a little longer.-Some molification for your giant,t sweet lady.

Oli. Tell me your mind.

Accountable.

It appears from several parts of this play that the original actress of Maria was very short.

Oli. Give us the place alone: we will hear this divinity. [Exit MARIA.] Now, Sir, what is your text?

Vio. Most sweet lady,

Oli. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be said of it. Where lies your text? Vio. In Orsino's bosom.

Oli. In his bosom? 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 heresy. Have you no more to say?

Vio. Good madam, let me see your face.

Oli. Have you any commissson from your lord to negociate with my face? you are now out of your text: but we will draw the curtain, and show you the picture. Look you, Sir, such one as I was this present:* I'st not well done? [Unveiling. Vio. Excellently done, if God did all. and weather. Oli. 'Tis in grain, Sir; 'twill endure wind

a

Vio. "Tis beauty truly blent,† whose red and Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on : white Lady, you are the cruel'st she alive, If you will lead these graces to the grave, And leave the world no copy.

Oli. O, Sir, I will not be so hard-hearted; I It shall be inventoried; and every particle, and will give out divers schedules of my beauty: utensil, labelled to my will: as, item, two lips indifferent red; item, two grey eyes, with lids to them; item, one neck, one chin, and so forth. Were you sent hither to 'praise me?

Vio. I see you what you are: you are too But, if you were the devil, you are fair. proud; My lord and master loves you; O, such love Could be but recompens'd, though you were The nonpareil of beauty! [crown'd

Oli. How does he love me?

Vio. With adorations, with fertile tears, groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire.

With

Oli. Your lord does know my mind, I cannot love him:

Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth;
Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble,
In voices well divulg'd, free, learn'd, and va-
liant,

And, in dimension, and the shape of nature,
A gracious person: but yet I cannot love him;
He might have took his answer long ago.

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

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so excellent a touch of modesty, that you will not extort from me what I am willing to keep in; therefore it charges me in manners the rather to express* myself. You must know of me then, Antonio, my name is Sebastian, which I called Rodorigo; my father was that Sebastian of Messaline, whom, I know, you have heard of: he left behind him, myself, and a sister, both born in an hour. If the heavens had been pleased, 'would we had so ended! but, you, Sir, altered that; for, some hour before you took me from the breach of the sea, was my sister drowned.

Ant. Alas, the day?

Seb. A lady, Sir, though it was said she much resembled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful: but, though I could not, with such estimable wonder, overfar believe that, yet thus far I will boldly publish her, she bore a mind that envy could not but call fair: she is drowned already, Sir, with salt water, though I seem to drown her remembrance again with more.

Ant. Pardon me, Sir, your bad entertainment.

Seb. O, good Antonio, forgive me your trouble.

Ant. If you will not murder me for my love, let me be your servant.

Seb. If you will not undo what you have done, that is, kill him whom you have recovered, desire it not. Fare ye well at once: my bosom is full of kindness; and I am yet so near the manners of my mother, that upon the least oc

Unless the master were the man.-How now?casion more, mine eyes will tell tales of me. I
Even so quickly may one catch the plague? am bound to the count Orsino's court: fare-
Methinks, I feel this youth's perfections,
well.
[Exit.
With an invisible and subtle stealth,
Ant. The gentleness of all the gods go with
To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be.-
What, ho, Malvolio!—

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SCENE I.-The Sea-coast. Enter ANTONIO and SEBASTIAN. Ant. Will you stay no longer? nor will you not, that I go with you?

Seb. By your patience, no: my stars shine darkly over me; the malignancy of my fate might, perhaps, distemper yours; therefore I shall crave of you your leave, that I may bear my evils alone: It were a bad recompense for your love to lay any of them on you.

Ant. Let me yet know of you, whither you are bound.

Seb. No, 'sooth, Sir; my determinate voyage is mere extravagancy. But I perceive in you

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thee!

I have many enemies in Orsino's courts.
Else would I very shortly see thee there;
But come what may, I do adore thee so,
That danger shall seem sport, and I will go.

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Enter VIOLA; MALVOLIO following. Mal. Were not you even now with the countess Olivia?

Vio. Even now, Sir; on a moderate pace I have since arrived but hither.

Mal. She returns this ring to you, Sir; you might have saved me my pains, to have taken it away yourself. She adds moreover, that you should put your lord into a desperate assurance she will none of him: And one thing more; that you be never so hardy to come again in his affairs: unless it be to report your lord's taking of this. Receive it so.

Vio. She took the ring of me; I'll none of it. Mal. Come, Sir, you peevishly threw it to her; and her will is, it should be so returned: if it be worth stooping for, there it lies in your eye; if not, be it his that finds it. [Exit. Vio. I left no ring with her: What means

this lady? [her! Fortune forbid, my outside have not charm'd She made good view of me; indeed, so much, That, sure, methought, her eyes had lost her tongue,

For she did speak in starts distractedly.
She loves me, sure; the cunning of her passion
Invites me in this churlish messenger.
None of my lord's ring! why, he sent her none.
I am the man ;-If it be so, (as 'tis,)

* Reveal.

Poor lady, she were better love a dream.
Disguise, I see thou art a wickedness,
Wherein the pregnant* enemy does much.
How easy is it, for the proper-falset

In women's waxen hearts to set their forms!
Alas, our frailty is the cause not we;
For, such as we are made of, such we be.
How will this fadge? My master loves her

dearly;

And I, poor monster, fond as much on him;
And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me:
What will become of this! As I am man,
My state is desperate for my master's love;
As I am woman, now alas the day!
What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe?
O time, thou must untangle this, not I;
It is too hard a knot for me to untie.
SCENE III-A Room in OLIVIA's House.
Enter Sir TOBY BELCH, and Sir ANDREW
AGUE-CHEEK.
Sir To. Approach, Sir Andrew: not to be
a-bed after midnight, is to be up betimes; and
diluculo surgere, thou know'st,-

[Exit.

Sir And. Nay, by my troth, I know not: but I know, to be up late, is to be up late.

Do

Sir To. A false conclusion; I hate it as an unfilled can: To be up after midnight, and to go to bed then, is early; so that, to go to bed after midnight, is to go to bed betimes. not our lives consist of the four elements? Sir And. 'Faith, so they say; but, I think, it rather consists of eating and drinking.

Sir To. Thou art a scholar; let us therefore eat and drink.-Marian, I say!- -a stoop of wine!

Enter CLOWN.

Sir To. Good, good.

Clo. What is love? 'tis not hereafter;
Present mirth hath present laughter;
What's to come, is still unsure:
In delay there lies no plenty ;
Then come kiss me sweet-and-twenty,
Youth's a stuff will not endure.

Sir And. A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight.

Sir To. A contageous breath.

Sir And. Very sweet and contageous, i' faith. Sir To. To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion. But shall we make the welkin

dance* indeed? Shall we rouse the night-owl

in a catch, that will draw three souls out of one weaver? shall we do that?

Sir And. An you love me, let's do't: I am dog at a catch.

Clo. By'r lady, Sir, and some dogs will catch well.

Sir And. Most certain : let our catch be, Thou knave.

Clo. Hold thy peace, thou knave, knight? I shall be constrain'd in't to call thee knave, knight.

Sir And. Tis not the first time I have constrain'd one to call me knave. Begin, fool; it begins, Hold thy peace.

Clo. I shall never begin, if I hold my peace.
Sir And. Good, i' faith! Come, begin.
[They sing a catch.
Enter MARIA.

Mar. What a catterwauling do you keep here! If my lady have not called up her steward, Malvolio, and bid him turn you out of doors, never trust me.

Sir To. My lady's a Cataian,† we are politicians; Malvolio's a Peg-a-Ramsey, and Three merry men we be. Am not I consangui

[Singing. Clo. Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable fooling.

Sir And. Here comes the fool, i' faith. Clo. How now, my hearts? Did you never see the picture of we three? Sir To. Welcome,ass. Now let's have a catch.neous? am I not of her blood? Tilly-valley, Sir And. By my troth, the fool has an excel- lady! There dwelt a man in Babylon, lady, lady! lent breast. I had rather than forty shillings had such a leg; and so sweet a breath to sing, as the fool has. In sooth, thou wast in very gracious fooling last night, when thou Sir And. Ay, he does well enough, if he be spokest of Pigrogromitus of the Vapians pass-disposed, and so do I too; he does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural. Sir To. O, the twelfth day of December,[Singing.

ing the equinoctial of Queubus; 'twas very good, i' faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy leman:

Hadst it?

Clo. I did impeticos thy gratillity ;** for Malvolio's nose is no whipstock: My lady has a white hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottleale houses.

Sir And. Excellent; Why, this is the best fooling, when all is done. Now, a song.

Sir To. Come on; there is sixpence for you: let's have a song.

Sir And. There's a testril of me too: if one knight give a

Clo. Would you have a love-song, or a song of good life?

Sir To. A love-song, a love-song.

Sir And. Ay, ay; I care not for good life.
SONG.

Clo. O mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O, stay and hear; your true love's coming,
That can sing both high and low :
Trip no further, pretty sweeting;
Journeys end in lovers' meeting,

Every wise man's son doth know.
Sir And. Excellent good, i' faith!

*Dexterous, ready fiend. Fair deceiver.
Loggerheads be.
|| Voice.
*I did impetticoat thy gratuity.

Suit.

Mistress.

Mar. For the love of God, peace.

Enter MALVOLIO.

Mal. My masters, are you mad? or what are you? Have you no wit, manners, nor honesty, but to gabble like tinkers at this time of night? Do ye make an alehouse of my lady's house, that ye squeak out your coziers' catches withno respect of place, persons, nor time, in you? out any mitigation or remorse of voice? Is there

Sir To. We did keep time, Sir, in our catches. Sneck up!T

Mal. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My lady bade me tell you, that, though she harbours you as her kinsman, she's nothing allied to your disorders. If you can separate yourself and your misdemeanors, you are welcome to the house; if not, an it would please you to take leave of her, she is very willing to bid you farewell.

Sir To. Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs be gone.

Mar. Nay, good Sir Toby.

* Drink till the sky turns round.
Name of an old song.

† Romancer.

Equivalent to filly fally, shilly skally.
Coblers.

Hang yourself.

Clo. His eyes do show his days are almost done.

Mal. Is't even so?

Sir To. But I will never die.

Clo. Sir Toby, there you lie.
Mal. This is much credit to you.
Sir To. Shall I bid him go?
Clo. What an If you do?

[Singing.

Sir To. Shall I bid him go, and spare not?
Clo. O no, no, no, no, you dare not.

Sir To. Out o'time? Sir, ye lie.-Art any more than a steward? Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?

Clo. Yes, by Saint Anne; and ginger shall be hot i'the mouth too.

Sir To. Thou'rt i'the right.-Go, Sir, rub your chain with crums:-A stoop of wine, Maria!

Mal. Mistress Mary, if you prized my lady's favour at any thing more than contempt, you would not give means for this uncivil rule;† she shall know of it, by this hand. [Exit.

Mar. Go shake your ears.

Sir And. "Twere as good a deed as to drink when a man's a hungry, to challenge him to the field; and then to break promise with him, and make a fool of him.

Sir To. Do't knight; I'll write thee a challenge; or I'll deliver thy indignation to him by word of mouth.

Mar. Sweet Sir Toby, be patient for to-night; since the youth of the count's was to-day with my lady, she is much out of quiet. For monsieur Malvolio, let me alone with him: if I do not gull him into a nay-word, and make him a common recreation, do not think I have wit enough to lie straight in my bed: I know, I can do it.

Sir To. Possess us, possess us; tell us something of him.

Mar. Marry, Sir, sometimes he is a kind of

Puritan.

Sir And. O, if I thought that, I'd beat him like a dog.

Sir To. What, for being a Puritan? thy exquisite reason, dear knight?

Sir And. I have no exquisite reason for't but I have reason good enough.

Mar. The devil a Puritan that he is, or any thing constantly but a time pleaser; an affectioned ass, that cons state without book, and utters it by great swarths: the best persuaded of himself, so crammed, as he thinks, with excellences, that it is his ground of faith, that all, that look on him, love him; and on that vice in him will my revenge find notable cause to work.

Sir To. What wilt thou do?

Mar. I will drop in his way some obscure epistles of love; wherein, by the colour of his beard, the shape of his leg, the manner of his gait, the expressure of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he shall find himself most feelingly personated: I can write very like my lady your niece; on a forgotten matter we can hardly make distinction of our hands.

Sir To. Excellent! I smell a device. Sir And. I have't in my nose too. Sir To. He shall think, by the letters that thou wilt drop, that they come from my niece, and that she is in love with him.

Mar. My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour.

Sir And. And your horse now would make him an ass.

Mar. Ass I doubt not.

Sir And. O, 'twill be admirable.

Mar. Sport royal, I warrant you: I know, my physic will work with him. I will plant you two, and let the fool make a third, where he shall find the letter; observe his construction of it. For this night, to bed, and dream on the event. Farewell.

[Exit.

Sir To. Good night, Penthesilea.*
Sir And. Before me, she's a good wench.
Sir To. She's a beagle, true-bred, and one
that adores me; What o' that?

Sir And. I was adored once too.
Sir To. Let's to bed, knight.-Thou hadst
need send for more money.

Sir And. IfI cannot recover your niece, I am a foul way out.

Sir To. Send for money, knight; if thou hast her not i' the end, call me Cut.t

Sir And. If I do not, never trust me, take it how you will.

Sir To. Come, come; I'll go burn some sack
'tis too late to go to bed now: come knight;
come, knight.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV-A Room in the DUKE's Palace.

Enter DUKE, VIOLA, CURIO, and others.
Duke. Give me some music :-Now, good

morrow, friends :

Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song,
That old and antique song we heard last night;
Methought it did relieve my passion much;
More than light airs and recollected terms,
of these most brisk and giddy-paced times :-
Come but one verse.

Cur. He is not here, so please your lordship, that should sing it.

Duke. Who was it?

the lady Olivia's father took much delight in :
Cur. Festo, the jester, my lord; a fool, that
he is about the house.

Duke. Seek him out, and play the tune the
Come hither, boy; Ifever thou shalt love,
while.
[Exit CURIO.-Music.
For, such as I am, all true lovers are ;
In the sweet pangs of it, remember me :
Save in the constant image of the creature
Unstaid and skittish in all motions else,
That is belov'd.-How dost thou like this tune?
Where love is thron'd.
Vio. It gives a very echo to the seat

Duke. Thou dost speak masterly: [eye
My life upon't, young though thou art, thine
Hath stay'd upon some favour‡ that it loves;
Hath it not, boy?

Vio. A little, by your favour.
Duke. What kind of woman is't?
Vio. Of your complexion.
Duke. She is not worth thee then.
years, i' faith?

What

Vio. About your years, my lord;
Duke. Too old, by heaven; Let still the

woman take

An elder than herself; so wears she to him,
So sways she level in her husband's heart.
For, boy, however we do praise ourselves,
our fancies are more giddy and unfirm,
More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn,
Than woman's are.

Vio, I think it well, my lord.

Duke. Then let thy love be younger than thyself,

Method of life. Or thy affection cannot hold the bent:

* Stewards anciently wore a chain.
Bye-word.
Inform us. || Affected.
The row of grass left by a mower.

Amazon.

† Horse.

+ Countenance.

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Not a flower, not a flower sweet,
On my black coffin let there be strown;

Not a friend not a friend greet

My poor corpse,where my bones shall be thrown:
A thousand thousand sighs to save,
Lay me, O, where

Sad true lover ne'er find my grave,
To weep there.

Duke. There's for thy pains.

Clo. No pains, Sir; I take pleasure in singing, Sir.

Duke. I'll pay thy pleasure then.

Clo. Truly, Sir, and pleasure will be paid, one time or another.

Duke. Give me now leave to leave thee. Clo. Now, the melancholy god protect thee; and the tailor make thy doublet of changeable taffata, for thy mind is a very opal.-I would have men of such constancy put to sea, that their business might be every thing, and their intent every where; for that's it, that always makes a good voyage of nothing.-Farewell. [Exit CLOWN. Duke. Let all the rest give place. Exeunt CURIO and Attendants.

Once more, Cesario,
Get thee to yon' same sovereign cruelty :
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;
But 'tis that miracle, and queen of gems,
That nature pranks|| her in, attracts my soul.
Vio. But, if she cannot love you, Sir?
Duke. I cannot be so answered.

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; Must she not then be answer'd?
Duke. There is no woman's sides,
Can bide the beating' of so strong a passion
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,-
† Simple truth.

* Lace makers.

Times of simplicity.

A precious stone of all colours | Decks.

thought;

And, with a green and yellow melancholy,
She sat like Patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed?
We men may say more, swear more: but, in-

deed,

[prove

Our shows are more than will; for still we Much in our vows, but little in our love.

Duke. But died thy sister of her love, my boy? Vio. I am all the daughters of my father's [not:

house,

And all the brothers too;-and yet I know Sir, shall I to this lady?

Duke. Ay, that's the theme.

To her in haste; give her this jewel; say, My love can give no place, bide no denay.* [Exeunt.

SCENE V-OLIVIA'S Garden. Enter Sir TOBY BELCH, Sir ANDREW AGUE CHEEK, and FABIAN.

Sir To. Come thy ways, Signior Fabian.

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

Sir To. Would'st thou not be glad to have the niggardly rascally sheep-biter come by some notable shame?

Fab. I would exult, man: you know, he brought me out of favour with my lady, 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 is 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' the 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 ideot of him. Close, in the name of jesting! [The men hide themselves.] Lie thou there; [throws down a letter,] for here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling. [Exit MARIA.

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VOL. I.

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