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Duke. And what's her history?

Viola. A blank, my lord: she never told her love,
But let concealment, like a worm i'the bud,
Feed on her damask cheek: she pin'd in 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, indeed,
Our shows are more than will; for still we prove
Much in our vows, but little in our love.

Duke. But died thy sister of her love, my boy? Viola. I am all the daughters of my father's house, And all the brothers too :

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.

ACT THE THIRD,

SCENE I.

OLIVIA'S Garden.

Enter SIR TOBY BELCH, SIR AN DREW AGUE-CHEEK, and FABIAN.

Sir T. Come thy ways, Signior Fabian.

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

Sir T. Wouldst 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 T. To anger him, we'll have the bear again; and we will fool him black and blue: shall we not, Sir Andrew ?

Sir A. An we do not, it is pity of our lives.

Enter MARIA.

Sir T. Here comes the little villain: How now, my nettle of India?

Maria. 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 idiot of him. Close, in the name of jesting! lie thou there; for here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling.

[Throws down a Letter, and exit.

Enter MALVOlio,

Mal. 'Tis but fortune; all is fortune. Maria once told me, she did affect me; and I have heard herself come thus near, that, should she fancy, it should be one of my complexion. Besides, she uses me with a more exalted respect, than any one else that follows her. What should I think on't?

Sir T. Here's an over-weening rogue!

Fab. O, peace! Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock of him; how he jets under his advanced plumes!

Sir A. 'Slight, I could so beat the rogue!
Sir T. Peace, I say!

Mal. To be Count Malvolio,-

Sir T. Ah, rogue!

Sir A. Pistol him, pistol him!

Sir T. Peace, peace!

Mal. There is an example for't: the lady of the Strachy married the yeoman of the wardrobe. Sir A. Fie on him, Jezebel!

Fab. O, peace! now he's deeply in; look, how imagination blows him!

Mal. Having been three months married to her, sitting in my state,

Sir T. O for a stone-bow, to hit him in the eye! Mal. Calling my officers about me, in my branched velvet gown; having come down from a day-bed, where I have left Olivia sleeping!

Sir T. Fire and brimstone!

Fab. O, peace, peace!

Mal. And then to have the humour of state: and, after a demure travel of regard, telling them, I know my place, as I would they should do theirs-to ask for my kinsman Toby-

Sir T. Bolts and shackles !

Fab. O, peace, peace, peace! now, now!

Mal. Seven of my people, with an obedient start, make out for him: frown the while; and, perchance, wind up my watch, or play with some rich jewel. Toby approaches; courtesies there to me! Sir T. Shall this fellow live?

Mal. I extend my hand to him, thus; quenching my familiar smile with an austere regard of controul. Sir T. And does not Toby take you a blow o' the lips then?

Mal. Saying, "Cousin Toby, my fortunes having cast me on your niece, give me this prerogative of speech"

Sir T. What, what?

Mal. "You must amend your drunkenness."
Sir T. Out, scab!

Sir T. Do't, knight, I'll write thee a challenge: or I'll deliver thy indignation to him by word of mouth. Fab. Nay, patience, or break the sinews of our plot.

Mal. "Besides, you waste the treasure of your time with a foolish knight"

Sir A. That's me, I warrant you.

Mal." One Sir Andrew"

Sir A. I knew 'twas I; for many do call me fool! Mal. What employment have we here?

[Taking up the Letter. Fab. Now is the woodcock near the gin.

Sir T. Oh, peace! and the spirit of humours intimate reading aloud to him!

Mal. By my life, this is my lady's hand: these be her very C's, her U's, and her T's; and thus makes she her great P's. It is, in contempt of question, her hand.

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Sir A. Her C's, her U's, and her T's! Why that? Mal. To the unknown beloved, this, and my good wishes her very phrases! By your leave, wax. Soft! and the impressure her Lucrece, with which she uses to seal: 'tis my lady: To whom should this be?

Fab. This wins him, liver and all!

Mal. Jove knows, I love, alas! but who,

Lips do not move, no man must know.

No man must know

No man must know!—If this should be thee, Malvolio!
Sir T. Marry, hang thee, brock!

Mal. I may command, where I adore:
But silence, like a Lucrece knife,
With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore,
M. O. A. I. doth sway my life.

Fab. A fustian riddle!

Sir T. Excellent wench, say I!

Mal. M. O. A. I. doth sway my life.-Nay, but first, let me see—

e-let me see――

Fab. What a dish of poison has she dressed him! Sir T. And with what wing the haggard checks at it!

Mal. I may command, where I adore. Why, she may command me: I serve her, she is my lady. Why, this is evident to any formal capacity. There is no obstruction in this;—and the end;——what should that alphabetical position portend? if I could make that resemble something in me? Softly :M. O. A. I.

Sir T. O, ay! make up that: he is now at a cold

scent.

Mal. M.-Malvolio--M.-why, that begins my

name.

Fab. Did not I say he would work it out? the cur is excellent at faults.

Mal. M.-But then there is no consonancy in the sequel: That suffers under probation: A should fol low, but O does.

Fab. And O shall end, I hope.

Sir T. Ay, or I'll cudgel him, and make him cry, O!

Mal. And then I comes behind.

Fab. Ay, and you had any eye behind you, you might see more detraction at your heels, than fortunes before you.

Mal. M. O. A. I.-This simulation is not as the former :-and yet, to crush this a little, it would bow to me, for every one of these letters is in my name.. Soft! here follows prose-If this fall into thy hand, revolve. In my stars I am above thee, but be not afraid of greatness: Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.. Thy fates open their hands, let thy blood and spirit embrace them. And, to inure thyself to what thou

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