[Exit.

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

Enter Maria.

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

Enter Viola.

Vio. The honourable Lady of the house, which is the?

Oli. Speak to me, I fhrall answer for her: your will? Vio. Moft radiant, exquifite, and unmatchable beauty-I pray you, tell me, if this be the Lady of the houfe, for I never faw her. I would be loth to caft away my fpeech; for, befides that it is excellently well penn'd, I have taken great pains to con it. Good beauties, let me fuftain no fcorn; I am very comptible, even to the least finister ufage.

Oli. Whence came you, Sir?

Vio. I can fay little more than I have ftudied, and that question's out of my part. Good gentle one, give me modeft affurance, if you be the Lady of the houfe, 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 fwear, I am not that I play. Are you the Lady of the house?

Oli. If I do not ufurp myself, I am.

Vio. Moft certain, if you are fhe, you do ufurp your felf; for what is yours to bestow, is not yours to referve; but this is from my commiffion. I will on with my fpeech in your praise, and then fhew you the heart of my meffage.

Ol. Come to what is important in't: I forgive you the praife.

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

Oli. It is the more like to be feign'd. I pray you, keep it in. I heard, you were fawcy at my gates; and I allow'd your approach, rather to wonder at you than

to

to hear you. If you be not mad, be gone; if you have reafon, be brief: 'tis not that time of the moon with me, to make one in fo skipping a dialogue.

Mar. Will you hoift fail, Sir? here lies your way. Vio. No, good fwabber, I am to hull here a little longer. Some mollification for your giant, fweet Lady: tell me your mind, I am a messenger.

O. Sure, you have fome hideous matter to deliver, when the curtesy of it is fo fearful. Speak your of

fice.

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. Moft fweet Lady,

Oli. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be faid of it. Where lies your text?

Vio. In Orfino's bofom.

Oli. In his bofom? in what chapter of his bofom? Vio. To answer by the method, in the first of his

heart.

Oli. O, I have read it; it is herefy. Have you no more to say?

Vio. Good madam, let me fee your face.

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

Vio.

(3) Look you, Sir, fuch a one I was this prefent: is't not well done?] This is nonfenfe. My correction, I think, clears all up, and gives the expreffion an air of gallantry. Viola preffes to fee Olivia's face: the

other

1

Vio. Excellently done, if God did all.

Oli. 'Tis in grain, Sir; 'twill endure wind and weather.

Vio. 'Tis beauty truly blent, whofe red and white
Nature's own fweet and cunning hand laid on :
Lady, you are the cruell'ft fhe alive,

If you will lead these graces to the grave,
And leave the world no copy.

Oli. O, Sir, I will not be fo hard-hearted: I will
give out diverse schedules of my beauty. It fhall 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 fee 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 recompenc'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 fuppofe 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 dimenfion, and the shape of Nature,
A gracious perfon; but yet I cannot love him:
He might have took his anfwer long ago.
Vio. If I did love you in my Master's flame,
With fuch a fuff'ring, fuch a deadly life,

other at length pulls off her veil, and fays; We will draw the curtain,
and fhew you the Picture. I wear this complexion to-day, I may wear
another to-morrow; jocularly intimating, that the painted. The other,
vext at the jest, fays, "Excellently done, if God did all." Perhaps,
it may be true, what you fay in jeft: otherwife 'tis an excellent face.
'Tis in grain, &c. replies Olivia.
Mr. Warburton.

In

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 foul 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 goffip of the air
Cry out, Olivia! O you fhould not rest
Between the elements of air and earth,
Thould pity me.

But you

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 fend 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; fpend this for me.
Vio. I am no feed poft, Ladys keep your purse:
My mafter, not myfelf, 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.
Oli. What is your parentage?

Above my fortunes, yet my ftate is well :

I am a gentleman

I'll be fworn thou art.

[Exit.

Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit,
Do give thee five-fold blazon-not too fast-soft! soft!
Unless the mafter were the man.-How now ?
Even fo quickly may one catch the plague?
Methinks, I feel this youth's perfections,
With an invifible and fubtile ftealth,

(4) Hollow your name to the reverberate bills.] I have, against the authority of the printed copies, corrected, reverberant. The adjective paffive makes nonsense.

To

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

Enter Malvolio.

Mal. Here, Madam, at your fervice.
Oli. Run after that fame peevifh meffenger,
The Duke's man; he left this ring behind him,
Would I, or not: tell him, I'll none of it.
Defire 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 reafons 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, fhew thy force; ourselves we do not owe;
What is decreed, must be; and be this fo!

[Exit.

[Exit.

ACT II.

SCENE, the STREET.

Enter Antonio and Sebaftian.

ANTONIO.

WILL you lay no longer ? nor will you not,

that

Seb. By your patience, no: my ftars fhine dark. ly over me: the malignancy of my fate might, perhaps, diftemper yours; therefore I fhall crave of you your leave, that 1 may bear my evils alone. It were a bad recompence for your love, to lay any of them on you.

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

bound.

Seb. No, footh, Sir; my determinate voyage is mere
VOL. III.

F

extra