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Enter Sir Hugh Evans, like a Satyr ; Mrs. Quickly and Pistol; Anne Page, as the Fairy Queen, attended by her Brother and others, dressed like Fairies, with waxen Tapers on their Heads.

Quick. Fairies, black, grey, green, and white, You moonshine revellers, and shades of night, You orphan-heirs of fixed destiny, Attend your office, and your *— Crier Hobgoblin, make the fairy olyes. Pist. Elves, list your names; silence, you airy toys. Cricket, to Windsor chimneys shalt thou leap: Where fires thou find’st unrak'd, and hearths unThere pinch the maids as blue as bilberry : [swept, Our radiant queen hates sluts and sluttery. taie. Fal. They are fairies; he, that speaks to them, shall I’ll wink and couch : No man their works must eye. [Lies down upon his Face: Eva. Where’s Peder–Go you, and where you find a maid, That, ere she sleep, has thrice her prayers said, Raise up the organs of her fantasy, Sleep she as sound as careless infancy; But those as sleep, and think not on their sins, Pinch them arms, legs, backs, shoulders, sides, and Quick. About, about; [shins. Search Windsor Castle, elves, within and out : Strew good luck, ouphes, on every sacred room; That it may stand till the perpetual doom, In state as wholesome, as in state ’tis fit; Worthy the owner, and the owner it. The several chairs of order look you seour With juice of balm, and every precious rower: Each fair instalment, coat, and several crest, With loyal blazon, evermore be blest And nightly, meadow-fairies, look, you sing, Like to the Garter’s compass, in a ring: The expressure that it bears, green let it be, More fertile-fresh than all the field to see; And, Hony soit qui mal y pense, write,

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Fairies use flowers for their charactery.
Away; disperse : But, till 'tis one o'clock,
Our dance of custom, round about the oak
of Herne the hunter, let us not forget. Corder set:
Eva. Pray you, lock hand in hand ; yourselves in
And twenty glowworms shall our lanterns be,
To guide our measure round about the tree.
But, stay ; I smell a man of middle earth.
Fal. Heavens defend me from that Welsh fairy,
lest he transform me to a piece of cheese ! thirth.
Pist. Vile worm thou wast o'erlook’d even in thy
Quick. With trial-fire touch me his finger end :
If he be chaste, the flame will back descend,
And turn him to no pain ; but if he start,
It is the flesh of a corrupted heart.
Pist. A trial, come. -
Eva. Come, will this wood take fire 2
[They burn him with their Tapers.
Fal. Oh, oh, oh! - - -
Quick, Čorrupt, corrupt, and tainted in desire :
About him, fairies; sing a scornful rhyme :
And, as you trip, still pinch him to your time.
Eva. it is right; indeed he is full of lecheries and
iniquity.
- son G.
Fie on sinful fantasy
Fie on lust and luxury t
Lust is but a bloody fire, .
Rindled with unchaste desire,
Fed in heart, whose flames aspire, -
As thoughts do blow them, higher and higher.
Pinch him, fairies, mutually;
Pinch him for his villany;
Pinck him, and burn him, and turn him about,
Till candles, and starlight, and moonshine, be out.
During this song, the Fairies pinch Falstaff. Doctor
caims comes one Way, and steals away a Fairy in
reen ; Slender another Way, and takes off a Fairy
in white; and Fenton comes, and steals away Mrs.
Anne Page. . A noise of Hunting is made within.
All the Fairies run away. Falstaff pulls off his
Buck's Head, and rises.

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his cudgel, and twenty pounds of money; which, must be paid to master Brook; his horses are ar- ||

rested for it, master Brook. Mrs. Ford. Sir John, we have had ill luck; we could never meet. I will never take you for my love again, but I will always count you my deer. Fal. I do begin to perceive that I am made an ass. Ford. Ay, and an ox too; both the proofs are extant. * *. Fal. And these are not fairiest I was three or four times in the thought they were not fairies: and yet the guiltiness of my mind, the sudden surprise of my powers, drove the grossness of the foppery into a re

ceived belief, in despite of the teeth of all rhyme and ||

reason, that they were fairies. See now, how wit may be made a jack-a-lent, when 'tis upon ill employment? Eva, Sir John Falstaff, serve Got, and leave your desires, and fairies will not pinse you. Ford. Well said, fairy Hugh. Eva. And leave you your jealousies too, I pray you. Ford. I will never mistrust my wife again, tis, thou art able to woo her in good English. Fal. Have I laid my brain in the sun, and dried it, that it wants matter to prevent so gross o'erreachin as this Am I ridden with a Welsh goat too? of have a coxcomb of frize? 'Tis time I were choked with a piece of toasted cheese. Eva. Seese is not good to give putter; all putter. Fal. Seese and putter | Have I lived to stand at the taunt of one that makes fritters of English This is enough to be the decay of lust and late-walking, through the realm. Mrs. Page. Why, sir John, do you think, though we would have thrust virtue out of our hearts by the head and shoulders, and have given ourselves without scruple to hell, that ever the devil con!d have made you our delight. Ford. What, a hodge-pudding t a bag of flax f Mrs. Page. A puffed man? o: Oid, cold, withered, and of intolerable entrails t Ford. And one that is as slanderous as Satan? Page. And as poor as Job Ford. And as wicked as his wife Eva. And given to fornications, and to taverns, and

your pelly is

sack, and wine, and metheglins, and to drinkings, I and swearings, and starings, pribbles and prabbles?

Fal. Well, I am your theme: you have the start of me; I am dejected ; I am not able to answer the Welsh flannes; ignorance itself is a plummet o'er me: use me as you will. Ford. Marry, sir, we’ll bring you to Windsor, to one Master Brook, that you have cozened of money, to whom you should have been a pander: over and above that you have suffered, I think, to repay that money will be a biting affliction. Mrs. Ford. Nay, husband, let that go to make amends : Forgive that sum, and so we'll all be friends. Ford. Well, here's my hand; all's forgiven at last. Page. Yet be cheerful, knight : thou shalt eat a posset to-night at my house; where I will desire thee to laugh at my wife, that now laughs at thee: Tell her, master Slender hath married her daughter. Mrs. Page. Doctors doubt that: If Anne Page be my danghter, she is, by this, doctor Caius' wife, [Aside.

Enter Slender.

Slen. Whoo, ho ho father Page'

Page, son 1 how now? how now, son have you despatched

sien. Despatched—I’ll make the best in Gloucestershire know on't; would I were hang'd, la, else.

Page. Of what, son f

slen. I came yonder at Eton, to marry mistress Anne Page, and she's a great lubberly boy: If it had not been 'i'the church, I would have swinged him, or he should have swinged me. If I did not think it had been Anne Page, would I might never stir, and 'tis a postmaster's boy.

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Page. Now, mistress! how chance you went not with master Slender t Mrs. Page. Why went you not with master doctor, maid? Fent. You do amaze her: Hear the truth of it. You would have married her most shamefully, Where there was no proportion held in love. The truth is, she and I, long since contracted, Are now so sure, that nothing can dissolve us. The offence is holy, that she hath committed: And this deceit loses the name of craft, Of disobedience, or unduteous title; Since therein she doth evitate and shun A thousand irreligious cursed hours, Which forced marriage would have brought upon her. Ford. Stand not amaz'd : here is no remedy:— In love, the heavens themselves do guide the state; Mo; buys lands, and wives are sold by fate. Fal. I am glad, though you have ta'en a special stand to strike at me, that your arrow hath glanced. Page. Well, what remedy to Fenton, heaven give thee joy! What cannot be eschew’d, must be embrac'd. Fal. When night-dogs run, all sorts of deer are chas’d. Eva. I will dance and eat plums at your wedding. Mrs. Page. Well, I will muse no further:—Master. Fenton, Heaven give you many, many o days : Good husband, let us .. one go home, And laugh this sport o'er by a country fire; Sir John and all. Ford. Let it be so :-sir John, To master Brook you yet shall hold your word; For he, to-night, shall lie with Mrs. Ford. [Exeunt.

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ACT I. SCENE I. An Apartment in the Duke's Palace. Enter Duke, Curio, Lords; Musicians attending.

pute. If music be the food of love, play on, Give me excess of it; that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die.— That strain again;–it had a dying fall : 0, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south, That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing, and giving odour.—Enough; no more; *Tis not so sweet now, as it was before. 0 spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou? That notwithstanding thy capacity Receiveth as the sea, nought enters thcre, Of what validity and pitch soever, But falls into abatement and low price, Even in a minute 1 so full of shapes is fancy, That it alone is high-fantastical.

Cur. Will you go hunt, my lord?

Iduke. What, Curio?

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lenter Walentine.

Val. So please my lord, I might not be admitted, but from her handmaid do return this answer: The element itself, till seven years heat, Shall not behold her face at ample view; But, like a cloistress, she will veiled walk, And water once a day her chamber round, With eye-offending brine; all this, to season A brother’s dead love, which she would keep fresh, And lasting, in her sad requenbrance.

Duke. O, she that hath a heart of that fine frame, To pay this debt of love but to a brother, How will she love, when the rich golden shaft Hath kill'd the flock of all affections else That live in her when liver, brain, and heart, These sovereign thrones, are all supplied, and fill’d (Her sweet perfections), with one self king 1– Away before me to sweet beds of flowers; Love-thoughts lie rich, when canopied with bowers.

[Exeont.

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Vio, O my poor brother and so perchance may he be. [chance,

Cap. True, madam : and to comfort you with Assure yourself, after our ship did split, When you, and that poor number saved with you, Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother, Most provident in peril, bind himself (Courage and hope both teaching him the practice) To a strong mast, that lived upon the sea; Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back, I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves, So long as I could see. # joio. For saying so, there’s gold : | Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope, Whereto thy speech serves for authority, The like of him. Know'st thou this country?

Cap. Ay, madam, well; for I was bred and born, Not inree hours’ travel from this very place.

Kio. Who governs here?

Cap.
As in his name.

Vio. What is his name?

Cap. Orsino.

Vio. Orsino I have heard my father name him: He was a bachelor then.

Cap. And so is now,
Or was so very late; for but a month
Ago I went from hence; and then 'twas fresh
In murmur (as, you know, what great ones do,
The less will prattle of, that he did seek
The love of fair Olivia.

Vio. What’s she?

Cap. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count
| That died some twelvemonth since; then leaving her
In the protection of his son, her brother,
Who shortly also died: for whose dear love,
They say, she hath abjur'd the company
Aud ...it of men.

Vio. O that I served that lady;
And might not be delivered to the world,
Till I had made mine own occasian mellow,
What my estate is.

Cap. That were hard to compass;
Because she will admit no kind of suit,
No, not the duke's.

Vio. There is a fair behaviour in thee, captain; And though that nature with a beauteous wall Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee I will believe, thou hast a mind that suits With this thy fair and outward character. I pray thee, and I’ll pay thee bounteously, Conceal me what I am; and be my aid For such disguise as, haply, shall become The form of my intent. I’ll serve this duke; Thou shalt present me as an eunuch to him, It may be worth thy paius; for I can sing, And speak to him in many sorts of music, That will allow me very worth his service, What else may hap, to time I will commit; Only shape thou thy silence to my wit.

Cap. Be you his eunuch, and your mute I’ll be: When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see!

yio. I thank thee: lead me on. [Exetent.

scene III. A Room in olivia's House.

Enter Sir Toby Belch and Maria.

Sir To. What a plague means my niece, to take the death of her brother thus r I am sure, care's an enemy to life. Mar. By troth, sir Toby, you must come in earlier o'nights; your cousin, my lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours. Sir To. Why, let her except before excepted. . Mar. Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modest limits of order. -- - - Sir To: Confine ! I'll confine myself no finer than I am : these clothes are good enough to drink in, , and so be these boots too; an they be not, let them; hang themselves in their own straps. . #. That quafing and drinking will undo you': I heard my lady talk of it yesterday and of a foolish knight, that you brought in one night here, to be her wooer. Sir To. Who? Sir Andrew Ague-cheek? Mar. Ay, he. sir To. He's as tall a man as any’s in Illyria. Mar. What's that to the purpose? Sir To. Why, he has three thousand ducats a year. Mar. Ay, but he'll have but a year in all these

A noble duke, in nature,

ducats; he's a very fool, and a prodigal.

Sir To. Fie, that you'll say so he plays o'the viol-de-gambo, and speaks three or four languages word for word without book, and hath all the good gifts of nature. Mar: He hath, indeed,—almost natural ; for, besides that he’s a fool, he's a great quarrelier; and, but that, he hath the gift of a coward to allay the gust he hath in quarreiling, 'tis thought among the prudent, he would quickly have the gift of a grave. Sir To. By , this hand, they are scoundress, and substractors, that say so of him. Who are they? Mar. They that add moreover, he's drunk nightly our company. or To... With drinking healths to my niece; I’ll drink to her, as long as there is a passage in my throat, and drink in Illyria: he's a coward, and a coystril, that will not drink to my niece, till his brains turn o'the toe, like a K.". What, ere comes sir An

wench Castiliano vulgo; for drew Ague-face. Enter Sir Andrew Agne-cheek. Sir And, Sir Toby Belch how now, sir Toby Belch? Sir To. Sweet sir Andrew 1 Sir And, Bless you, fair shrew. Mar. And you too, sir. Sir To. Accost, sir Andrew, accost. “ Sir And. What's that Sir To. My niece’s chamber-maid. Sir. And. Good mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance. ar. My name is Mary, sir. Sir And. Good mistress Mary Accost,-Sir To... You mistake, knight: accost, is, front her, board her, woo her, assail her. Sir And. By my troth, I would not undertake her in this company. Is that the meaning of accost? Mar. Fare you well, gentlemen. Sir To. An thou let part so, sir Andrew, 'would thou might'st never draw sword again. Sir And. An you part so, mistress, I would I might never draw sword again. Fair lady, do you think you have fools in hand * Mar. Sir, I have not you by the hand. Sir And. Marry, but you shall have ; and here's my hand. Mar. Now, sir, thought is free : I pray you, bring your hand to the buttery-bar, and let it #. Sir And. Wherefore, sweetheart? what's your metaphor? Mar. It's dry, sir. Sir And. Why, I think so; I am not such an ass, but I can keep my hard dry. But what’s your jest? Mar. A dry jest, sir. Sir Ana. Are you full of them? Mar. Ay, sir; I have them at my fingers' ends: marry, now I let go your hand, I am barren. - [Erit. Sir To; 9 knight, thou lack'st a cup of canary: when did I see thee so put down? Sir And. Never in your life, I think; unless you see canary put me down : methinks, sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian, or an ordinary man has : but I am a great eater of beef, and, I believe, that does harm to my wit. Sir To. No question. Sir And. An I thought that, I'd forswear it. ride home to-morrow, sir Toby. Sir To. Pourquoy, my dear knight? sir. And...What is pourquoyo do or not do? I would I had bestowed that time in the tongues, that I have in fencing, dancing, and bear-baiting: O, had I but followed the arts : Sir To... then hadst thou had an excellent head of hair. Sir And, Why, would that have mended my hair? Sir To. Past question; for thou seest, it will not curl by nature. Sir And. But it becomes me well enough does’t not f Sir To. Excellent; it hangs like flax on a distaff, and I hope to see a housewife take thee between her legs, and spin it off. Sir And. 'Faith, I’ll home to-morrow, sir Toby: your niece will not be seen ; or, if she be, it's four to one she'll none of me: the count himself, here hard by, wooes her. Sir To. She’ll none o'the count: she'll not match above her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit; I have heard her swear it. Tut, there's life in’t, man. Sir And. I’ll stay a month longer. I am a fellow

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o'the strangest mind i'the world; I delight in masques and revels sometimes altogether. Sir To. Art thou good at these kickshaws, knight? Sir And. As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be, under the degree of my betters; and yet I will not compare with an old man. Sir To. What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight? Sir And. ‘Faith, I can cut a caper. Sir To. And I can cut the mutton toot. Sir And. And, I think, I have the back-trick, simply as strong as any man in Illyria. Sir To. Wherefore are these things hid wherefore have these gifts a curtain before them are they like to take dust, like mistress Mall's picture t Why dost thou not go to church in a galliard, and come home in a coranto ? My very walk should be a jig; I would not so much as make water, but in a sinka-pace. What dost thou mean? is it a world to hide virtues in t I did think, by the excellent constitution of thy leg, it was formed under the star of a galliard. Sir And, Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a flame-colonred stock. Shall we set about some revels? Sir To. What shall we do else? were we not born under Taurus? Sir And. Taurus? that’s sides and heart. Sir To. No, sir; it is legs and thighs. Let me see thee caper: has higher: ha, ha!—excellent. [Brewitt.

SCENE IV. A Room in the Duke's Palace.

Enter Valentine, and Viola in Man's Attire.

Wal. If the duke continue these favours towards ou, Cesario, you are like to be much advanc'd; he ath known you hut three days, and already you are no stranger. Vio. You either fear his humour, or my negligence, that you call in question the continuance of his love : is he inconstant, sir, in his favours? Val. No, believe me.

Enter Duke, Curio, and Attendants.

Vio. I thank you. Here comes the count.

Duke. Who saw Cesario, ho?

Vio. On your attendance, my lord: here.

Duke. Stand you awhile aloof.--Cesario, Thou know'st no less but all; I have unclasp'd to thee the book even of my secret soul: Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her; Be not deny'd access, stand at her doors, and tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow, Till thou have audience.

Vio. - Sure, my noble lord,
If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow
As it is spoke, she never will admit me.

Duke. Be clamorous, and leap all civil bounds, Rather than make unprofited returu.

Vio, Say, I do speak with her, my lord; what then? Duke. 0, then unfold the passion of my love, Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith: It shall become thee well to act my woes: She will attend it better in thy youth, than in a nuncio of more i." aspect.

Vio. I think not so, my lord.

Duke. For they shall yet belie thy happy years, That say, thou art a man: Diana’s lip Is not more smooth and rubious; thy small pipe Is as the maiden's organ, shrill and sound, t And all is semblative a woman's part. I know, thy constellation is right apt For this affair:-Some four, or five, attend him; All if you will; for I myself am best, When least in company –Prosper well in this, And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord, To call his fortunes thine.

Vio. I'll do my best, To woo your lady: yet [Aside] a barful strife whoe'er 1 woo, myself would be his wife. [Exeunt.

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Mar. Make that good. Clo. He shall see none to fear. Mar. A good lenten answer: I can tell thee where that saying was born, of, I fear no colours. Clo. Where, good mistress Mary Mar. In the wars; and that may you be bold to say in your foolery. Clo. Well, God give them wisdom, that have it; and those that are fools, let them use their talents. Mar. Yet you will be hanged, for being so long absent: or, to be turned away, is not that as good as a hanging to you? Clo. Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage ; and, for turning away, let summer bear it out. Mar. You are resolute then Clo. Not so neither; but I am resolved on two points. Mar. That, if one break, the other will hold; or, if both break, your gaskins fall. clo. Apt, in good faith; very apt t Well, gothy way; if sir Toby would leave drinking, thou weri as witty a piece of Eve's flesh as any in Illyria. Mar. Peace, you rogue, no more o'that ; here comes my lady: make your excuse wisely, you were best. [Exit.

Enter Olivia and Malvolio.

Clo. Wit, an’t be thy will, put me into good footing ! Those wits, that think they have thee, do very oft prove fools; and I, that am sure I lack thee, may pass for a wise man : for what says Quinapalus? Better a witty foul, than a foolish wit.—God bless thee, lady | Oli. Take the fool away. Clo. Do you not hear, fellows? take away the lady. Qli. Goto, you are a dry fool; I'll no more of you : *::::::::: grow dishonest. Clo. Two faults, madonna, that drink and good counsel will amend: for give the dry fool drink, then is the fool not dry; bid the disbonest merd himself; if he mend, he is no longer dishonest; if he cannot, let the botcher mend him any thing, that's mended, is but, patched; virtue, that transgresses, is but patched with sin; and sin, that amends, is but patched with virtue: if that this simple syllogism will serve, so ; if it will not, what remedy ? As there is no true cuckold but calamity, so beauty’s a flower: —the lady bade take away the fool; therefore, I say again, take her away. oli. Sir, I bade them take away you. olo. Misprision in the highest degree –Lady, Cucullus non facit monachum.; that's as much as to say, I. wear not motley in my brain. Good madonna, give me leave to prove you a fool. 0ii. Can you do it? Cla. Dexterously, good madonna. Oli. Make your proof. Clo. I must catechise you for it, madonna; good my mouse of virtue, answer me. Oli. Well, sir, for want of other idleness, I’ll 'bide your proof. Clo. Good madonna, why mourn'st thout Oli. Good fool, for my brother's death. Clo. I think, his sous is in hell, madonna. Oli. I know his soul is in heaven, fool. Clo. The more fool you, madonna, to mourn for our brother's soul being in heaven. Take away the ool, gentlemen. Oli. What think you of this fool, Malvoliot doth he not mend ? Mal. Yes; and shall do, till the pangs of death shake him : infirmity, that decays the wise, doth ever make the better fooi. Clo. God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for the better increasing your fully Sir Toby will be sworn, that I am no fox ; but he will not pass his word for two-pence that you are no fool. oli, how say you to that, Malvoliot t Mal. I marvel your ladyship takes delight in such a barren rascal: I saw him put down the other day with an ordinary fool, that has no more brain than a stone. Look you now, he is out of his guard already; unless you laugh and minister occasion to him, he is gagged. I protest, I take these wise men, that crow so at these set kind of fools, no better than the fools' zanies. Oli. 0, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and taste with a distempered appetite. To be generous, guiltless, and of free disposition, is to take those things for bird-bolts, that you deem cannou-bullets : there is no slander in an allowed fool, though he do

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nothing but rail; nor no railing in a known discreet
man, though he do nothing but reprove. -
Clo. Now Mercury endue thee with leasing, for
thou speakest well of fools : -
Re-enter Maria.
Mar. Madam, there is at the gate a young gentle-
man, much desires to speak with you.
Oli. From the count Orsino, is it?
Mar. I know not, madam; 'tis a fair young man,
and well attended.
Oli. Who of my people hold him in delay t
Mar. Sir Toby, Madam, your kinsman.
Oli. Fetch him off, I pray you ; he speaks nothing
but madman: fie on him t t Exit Maria.] Go you,
Malvolio: if it be a suit from the count, I am sick,
or not at home; what you will to dismiss it. [Exit
Malvolio.] Now you see, sir, how your fooling grows
old, and people dislike it.
Clo. Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy
eldest son should be a fool: whose skull Jove cram
with brains, for here he comes, one of thy kin, has
a most weak pia mater.
Enter Sir Toby Belch. .
Oli. By mine honour, half drunk.-What is he at
the gate, cousin r
Sir To. A gentleman.
Oli. A gentleman? What gentleman?
Sir To... 'Tis a gentleman here–A plague othese
pickle-herrings – How now, sot?
Clo. Good sir Toby, -
Ol. Cousin, cousin, how have you come so early
by this lethargyr
Sir To. Lechery 1 I defy lechery: there's one at
the gate.
Oli. Ay, marry? what is he?
Sir To. Let him be the devil, an he will, I care
not :, give me faith, say I. Well, it’s all one. [Exit.
Oli. What’s a drunken man like, fool
Clo. Like a drown'd man, a fool, and a madman :
one draught above heat makes him a fool ; the se-
cond mads him ; and a third drowns him.
oli. Go thou and seek the coroner, and let him sit
o’my coz : for he's in the third degree of drink, he's
drown'd : go, look after him.
Clo. He is but mad yet, madonna; and the fool
shall look to the madman. C Exit.
re-enter Malvolio.
Mal. Madam, yond young fellow swears he will
speak 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
seems to have a fore-knowledge of that too, and
therefore comes to speak with you. What is to be
said to him, lady ? he's fortified against any denial.
Oli. Tell him, he shall not speak with me.
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.
off. What kind of man is her
Mal. Why, of man kind.
Oli. What manner of man?
Mal. Of very ill manner: he'll speak with you,
will you, or no.
Oli. Of what personage, and years, is he t
AMal. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young
enough for a §, as a squash is before 'tis a peas-
cod, or a codling when 'tis almost an apple: 'tis
with him e'en standing water, between boy and man.
He is very well-favoured, and he speaks very shrew-
ishly : 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. [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 r
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 excel-
lently 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.
Gli. 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,
ive me modest assurance, if you be the lady of the
ouse, that I may proceed in my speech.
Oli. Are you a comedian f
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 myself, I am.
Vio. Most certain, if you are she, you do usurp
yourself; for what is yours to bestov, 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 importantin't: I forgive you
the praise.
Vio. Alas, I took great pains to study it, and ’tis
poetical. -
Oli. It is the more like 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. Wii: you hoist sail, sir? here lies your way.
Vio. No, good swabber: I am to hull here a little
longer:Some mollification for your giant,sweet lady.
Oli. Tell me your mind.
Vio. I am a messenger.
Oli. Sure, you have some hideous matter to deli-
ver, when the courtesy of it is so fearful. speak
your office.
Vio. It alone concerns your ear. I bring no over-
ture of war, no taxation of homage; I hold the olive
in my land: my words are as full of peace as matter.
Oli. Yet you began rudely. What are you? what
would you f
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 secret as maidenhead: to your
ears, divinity; to any other's, profanation.
Oli. Give us the place alone: we will hear this
divinity. [Exit Maria.] Now, sir, what is your textt
Joio. Most sweet lady,
Qi. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be said
of it. Where lies your text?
Vio, In Orsino's bosom.
Oli. In his bosom t in what chapter of his bosom *

Vio. To answer by the method, in the first of his H.

heart.
oti. O, I have read it; it is heresy.
more to say?
Vio. Good madam, let me see your face.
oli, Have you any commission from your lord to
negociate with m i." you are now out of your
text: but we will draw the curtain, and show you
the picture. Look you, sir, such a one as I was this
present: is’t not well done? [Unveiling.
Vio. Excellently done, if God did all.
no. 'Tis in grain, sir; 'twill endure wind and wea-
ther.
Vio. "Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white
Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on :
Lady, you are the cruel'st she alive,
If you will lead these graces to the grave,
And leave the world no copy.
Oli. 0, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted; I will
ive out divers schedules of my beauty. it shall be
inventoried; and every particle, and 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 proud:
But, if you were the devil, you are fair.
My lord and master loves you; 0, such love
Could be but recompens’d, though you were crown'd
The nonpareil of beauty
oli. How does he love me?
vio. With adorations, with fertile tears,
With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire.
Oli. Your lord does know my mind, I cannot love
Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble, [him:
of great estate, 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: 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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