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Oli. What think you of this fool, Malvolio? doth he not mend?
Mal. Yes; and shall do, till the pangs of death shake him : infirinity, 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 vo 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 bis 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 boltst, that you deem cannon-bullets : there is no slander in an allowed fool, though he do nothing but rail ; nor no railing in a kpown discreet man, though he do nothing but reprove.
Clo. Now Mercury endue thee with leasingt, for thou speakest well of fools!
Mar. Madam, there is at the gate a young gen. tleman, 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 iny people hold him in delay? · Mar. Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman.
Oli. Fetch him off, I pray you; he speaks nothing
# Fools' baubles.
+ Short arrows.
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. (Ezit 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 ?
Sir To. A gentleman.
Sir To. 'Tis a gentleman here-A plague o'these pickle-herrings !-How now, sot?
Clo. Good sir Toby,
Oli. Cousin, cousin, how have you come so early by this lethargy?
Sir To. Lechery! I defy lechery: there's one at
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 druuken man like, fool?
Clo. Like a drown'd man, a fool, and a madman : one draught above heat makes him a fool; the second mads him; and a third drowns bim.
Oti. 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.
• The cover of the brain.
Re-enter Malvolio. Mal. Madam, yond young fellow swears he will speak with you. I told bin you were sick ; he takes on him to understand so much, and therefore comes to speak with you: I told him you were asleep; be seenis 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.
Mul. 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. 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 peas. cod, or a codling when 'tis almost an apple : 'tis with himn e'er standing water, between boy and man. He is very well-favoured, and he speaks very shrew. ishly; one would thivk, his mother's milk were scarce out of him.
Oli. Let him approach: call in my gentlewoman, Mul. Gentlewoman, my lady calls. (Exit.
Re-enter Maria. Oli. Give me my veil: coine, throw it o'er my
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 excel. lently weli penn'd, I have taken great paios to con it. Good beauties, let me sustain no scorn ; I am very comptible*, even to the least sinister usage.
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 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 inalice, 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 bestow, is not yours to reserve. But this is from my conmission: 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 paius to study it, and 'tis poetical.
Oli. It is tlie 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. 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 giantt, sweet lady.
Oli. Tell me your mind.
+ It appears from several parts of this play, that the original actress of Maria was very short.
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 overture of war, uo 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 eutertainment. What I am, and what I would, are as secret as maidenhead: to your ears, divinity; to any other's, prophanation.
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.
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 commission 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 a one as I was this present*: is't vot well done? (Unveiling.
Vio. Excellently done, if God did all.
Oli. 'Tis in grain, sir; 'twill endure wind and weather.
Vio. 'Tis beauty truly blentt, whose red and white Nature's own sweet
aud cunning hand laid ou:
+ Blended, mixed together,