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THE lighter seenes of this entertaining comedy are entirely the production of Shakspeare; and for is mere serious portions he was probably indebted to the Histories Tragiques of Belleforest, who had them from Bandello. Malone quotes the "Fifth Egtog of Barnaby Googe," published with other poems of his in 1563, and now an exceedingly rare book, to show that Shakspeare might have borrowed from it the circumstances of the Duke sending his page to plead his cause with the lady, and of the lady's falling in love with the page. "This play (says Dr. Johnson,) is in the graver part elegant and easy, and in some of the lighter scenes er quisitely humourous." Its progress is full of spirit, and the entanglement of characters and circumstances is pleasingly unravelled in the final catastrophe. The self-sufficiency of Malvolio is charmingly čepicted, and very laughably punished; whilst the excesses of Sir Toby Belch are almost excused by his smattering of wiki, and his unqualified good-humour. The sudden attachment of Viola is much more improbable than the obstinate repugnance of Olivia: but the romantic nature of her love," feeding in concealment on her damask cheek," gives an interest to her situation, whilst a victim to the tender passion, which the undisguised decla rations of the other, though placed in the same predicament, must generally fail in producing.

ORSINO, Duke of Illyria.

DRAMATIS PERSONE.

MALVOLIO, Steward to Olivia.

SEBASTIAN, a Young Gentleman, Brother to FABIAN, Servants to Olivia.

Viola.

ANTONIO, a Sea-captain, Friend to Sebas

tian.

A Sea-captain, Friend to Viola.

CLOWN,

OLIVIA, a rich Countess.
VIOLA, in love with the Duke.

VALENTINE, Gentlemen attending on the | MARIA, Olivia's Woman.
CURIO,

Duke.

Sir TOBY BELCH, Uncle of Olivia.
Sir ANDREW AGUE CHEEK.

Lords, Priests, Sailors, Officers, Musicians, and other Attendants.

SCENE-A City in Illyria; and the Sea-coast near it.

ACT I.

SCENE 1.-An Apartment in the DUKE'S

Palace.

Enter DUKE, CURIO, LORDS; Musicians

attending.

Even in a minute! So full of shapes is fancy,
That it alone is high-fantastical.

Cur. Will you go hunt, my lord?
Duke. What, Curio?

Cur. The hart.

Duke. Why, so I do, the noblest that I have: Oh! when mine eyes did see Olivia first,

Duke. If music be the food of love, play on; Methought she purg'd the air of pestilence;

Give me excess of it; that, sufeiting,

no more;

The appetite may sicken, and so die.
That strain again;-it bad a dying fall:
Oh! it came o'er my ear like the sweet south,
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing, and giving odour.-Enough;
'Tis not so sweet now, as it was before.
O spirit of love, bow quick and fresh art thou!
That notwithstanding thy capacity
Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there,
Of what validity and pitch soever,

But falls into abatement and low price,

• Value.

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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 remembrance.

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;

Duke. O sbe, that bath a heart of that fine Thou shalt present me as an eunuch to him,

frame,

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SCENE II.-The Sea Coast.
Enter VIOLA, CAPTAIN, and Sailors.
Vio. What country, friends, is this?
fap. Illyria, lady.

Vio. And what should I do in Illyria?
My brother he is in Elysium.

Perchance, he is not drown'd :-What think you, sailors?

Cap. It is perchance, that you yourself were saved.

Vio. O my poor brother! and so, perchance, may be be.

Cap. True, madam: and, to comfort you with
chance,

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 prac-
tice)

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.

Vio. For saying so, there's gold:
Mine owu escape unfoldeth to my hope,
Whereto thy speech serves for authority,

The like of him. Know'st thou this country?
Cup. Ay, Madam, well; for I was bred and
born,

Not three hours' travel from this very place.
Vio. Who governs here ?

Cap. A noble duke, in nature,

As in bis name.

Vio. What is his name?

Cap. Orsino.

It may be worth thy pains; for I can sing,
And speak to him in many sorts of music,
That will allow me very worth his service.
What else inay 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!

Vio. I thank thee: Lead me on.

[Exeunt.

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? 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 contine 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.

Mar. That quaffing 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 1
Mar. Ay, be.

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. Aye, but he'll have but a year in all these ducats; he's a very fool, and a prodigal.

Sir To. Fye, 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 natura!: for, besides that he's a fool, he's a great quarreller; and, but that he hath the gift of a coward to allay the gust he hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought

Vio. Orsino! I have heard my father name among the prudent, he would quickly have the

him:

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gift of a grave.

Sir To. By this hand, they are scoundrels and substractors that say so of him. Who are they ?

Mar. They that add moreover, he's drunk nightly in your company.

Sir 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 parish-top. What, wench? Castiliano vulgo; for here comes Sir Andrew Ague-face.

Enter Sir ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK.
Sir And. Sir Toby Belch! how now, Sir Toby
Belch ?

Sir To. Sweet Sir Andrew!

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.

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Sir And. Good mistress Accost, I desire bet- picture? why dost thou not go to church in a ter acquaintance.

Mar. My name is Mary, Sir.

galliard, and come home in a coranto My very walk should be a jig; I would not so much Sir And. Good mistress Mary Accost,as make water, but in a sink-a-pace. + What Sir To. You mistake, knight: accost, is, frout dost thou mean? is it a world to hide virtues her, board her, woo her, assail her. in? I did think by the excellent constitution of Sir And. By my troth, I would not under-thy leg, it was forined under the star of a galtake her in this company. Is that the meaning | liard.. of accost?

Mar. Fare you well, gentlemen.

Sir To. An thou let part so, Sir Andrew, 'would you 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 band?

Mar. Sir, I have not you by the hand.

Sir And. Marry, but you shall have; and here's my haud.

Mar. Now, Sir, thought is free: I pray you, bring your hand to the buttery-bar, and let it drink.

Sir And. Wherefore

your metaphor ?

Mar. It's dry, Sir?

sweet heart?

what's

Sir And. Why, I think so; I am not such an ass, but I can keep my hand dry. But what's your jest?

Mar. A dry jest, Sir.

Sir And. Are you full of them?

Mar. Ay, Sir; I have them at my fingers' ends: marry, now I let go your hand, I am [Exit MARIA. Sir To. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of canary: When did I see thee so put down?

barren.

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.

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Sir And. Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indiffe rent well in a flame-coloured 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: ha! higher: ha, ha !—es-
cellent!
[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.-A Room in the DOKE'S
Palace.

Enter VALENTINE and VIOLA, in man's
attire.

Val. If the duke continue these favours towards you, Cesario, you are like to be much advanced; he bath known you but three days, and already you are no stranger.

Vio. You either fear his humour, or my neg. ligence, that you call in question the conÚRTance of his love: Is he inconstant, Sir, in his favours?

Val. No, believe me.

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Sir To. Pourquoy, my dear knight? Sir And. What is pourquoy? do or not do? I would I had bestowed that time in the tongues, that I have in fencing, dancing, and bear-bait-If ing: Oh! had 1 but followed the arts!

Vio. Sure, my noble lord,
she be so abandon'd to her sorrow

Sir To. Then had'st thou had an excellent head As it is spoke, she never will admit me.

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?

Sir To. Excellent; it bangs 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 oue she'll none of me: the count himself, bere 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 o' the strangest mind i' the world; I delight in masques and revels sometimes altogether.

Sir To. Art thou good at these kick-shaws,

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 to't.

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

Duke. Be clamorous, and leap all civil bounds,
Rather than make auprofited return.

Vio. Say, I do speak with her, my lord;
What then?

Duke. Oh! then 'unfold the passion of my love,
it shall become thee well to act iny woes;
Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith:
She will attend it better in thy youth,
Than in a nuncio of more grave aspect.
Fio. I think not so, my lord.
Duke. Dear lad, believe it;
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,
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, [4 side, a harful & strife!
Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V-A Room in OLIVIA'S House

Enter MARIA and CLOWN. Mar. Nay, either tell me where thou hast been, or 1 will not open my lips, so wide as a

Alluding to the infamous Mary Frith, commonly called Mall Cut-Parse. See Grainger's Bing. Het. + Cingue-pace, the name of a dance. 1 Go thy way. Full of impediment.

bristle may enter, in way of thy excuse my lady will hang thee for thy absence.

Clo. Let her hang me: he that is well hanged in this world, needs to fear no colours. 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 hanging to you?

Clo. Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage; and, for turuing 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! Well, go thy way; if Sir Toby would leave drinking, thou wert as witty a piece of Eve's flesh, as any in Illyria. Mar. Peace, you rogne, no more of that; here comes my lady: make your excuse wisely, you were best. [Exit.

Enter OLIVIA and MALVOLIO.

Clo. Wit, and't be thy will, put me into good fooling! 1 bose wits that think they bave 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 fool, thau a foolish wit.--God bless thee, lady !

Oli. Take the fool away.

Clo. Do you not hear, fellows? Take away the lady.

Oli. Go to, you're a dry fool; I'll no more of you besides, 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 dishonest man mend 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 thee take away the fool; therefore, I say again, take her away.

Oli. Sir, I bade them take away you.

Clo. Misprison in the highest degree!-Lady, Cucullus non facit monachum; that's as much as to say, I wear not motly in my brain. Good madonna, give me leave to prove you a fool. Oli. Can you do it?

Clo. Dexterously, good madonna.
Oli. Make your proof.

Clo. I must catechize you for it, madonna ; Good my monse of virtue, answer me.

Oli. Well, Sir, for want of other idleness, I'll abide your proof.

Clo. Good madonna, why mourn'st thou ? Oli. Good fool, for my brother's death. Clo. I think, his soul is in hell, madonna. Oli. I know his soul is in beaven, fool. Clo. The more fool you, madonna, to mourn for your brother's soul being in heaven.-Take away the fool, gentlemen.

Oli. What think you of this fool, Malvolio?

doth he not mend?

Mal. Yes: and shall do, till the pangs of

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death shake him: Infirmity, that decays the wise, doth ever make the better fool.

Clo. God send you, Sir, a speedy infirmity, for the better increasing your folly! 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, Malvolio?

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's 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. O 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 cannon-bullets: There is no slander in an allowed fool, though he do nothing but rail; nor no railing in a known discreet man, though he do nothing but reprove.

Clo. Now Mercury endue thee with leasing, i for thou speakest well of fools.

Re-enter MARIA.

Mar. Madam, there is at the gate a young gentleman, much desires to speak with you. Oli. From the count Orsino, is it? Mar. I know not, inadam; 'tis a fair young man, and well attended.

ou. Who of my people hold him in delay ? Mar. Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman.

Oli. Fetch him off, I pray you; he speaks nothing but madman: Fye on him! [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 ?

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an he will, I Well, it's all [Exit.

Oli. What's a drunken man like, fool? Clo. Like a drown'd man, a fool, and a madm: one draught above beat makes him a fool; the second 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. [Exit CLOWN. Re-enter MALVOLIO.

Mal. Madam, yond' young fellow swears he he takes on him to understand so much, and I told him you were sick; will speak with you. therefore comes to speak with you: I told him

+ Short arrows.

Fools' baubles. i Ling. The cover of the brain.

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.

Oli. What kind of man is be?
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? Mal. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy; as a squash is before 'tis a pease-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 shrewishly; one would think, his mother's milk were scarce out of him. Oli. Let him approach: Call in my gentle

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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; 1 bold 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 Í 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 bear 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. Oh! I have read it; it is heresy. Have you no more to say?

Vio. Good madain, let me see your face.
Oli. Have you any commission from yout

Odi. Give me my veil: come, throw it o'er lord to negociate with my face? yon are now

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 beanty, 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 penu'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. Wheuce 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 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 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 your's to bestow, is not your's 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 mollification for your giant,+ sweet lady.

Oli. Tell me your mind.

Vio. I am a messenger.

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 doee! [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 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 will give 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; Oh! such love
Could be but recompens'd though you west
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 him:

Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble,
Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth;
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 sim;
He might have took his answer long ago.

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

Oli. Why, what would you?

Vio. Make me a willow cabin at your gate,
And call upon my soul within the house;
Write loyal cantons of contemned love,
And sing them loud even in the dead of night;
Holla your name to the reverberate || hills,
And make the babbling gossip of the air

Oli. Sure, you have some hideous matter to Cry out, Olivia! Oh! you should not rest

• Accountable.

It appears from several parts of this play that the

original actress of Maria was very short.

• Presents.

+ Blended, mixed together. : Well spoken of by the world. 5 Cantor, verses. 1 Lehoing.

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