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 Cry out, Olivia! O, you should not rest Between the elements of air and earth, But you should pity me.

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;

[Exit.

I cannot love him: let him send no mere:
Unless, perchance, you come to me again,
To tell me how he takes it. Fare you well:
I thank you for your pains: spend this for me.
Vio. I am no fee'd post, lady; keep your purse;
My master, not myself, lacks recompense.
Love make his heart of flint, that you shall love;
And let your fervour, like my master's, be
Plac'd in contempt! Farewell, fair cruelty.
Oli. What is your parentage!
Above my fortunes, yet my state is well:
I am a gentleman. I'll be sworn thou art;
Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit,
Do give thee five-fold blazon:-Not too' iast:-soft!
Unless the master were the man.-How now? [soft!
Even so quickly may one catch the plague?
Methinks, I feel this youth's perfections,
With an invisible and subtle stealth,

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

SCENE I. The Sea-Coast.
Enter Antonio and Sebastian.

Ant. Will you stay no longer? nor will you not, that I go with you!

Seb. By your patience, no: my stars shine darkly over me; the malignancy of my fate might, perhaps, distemper yours; therefore I shall crave of you your leave, that I may bear my evils alone; it were a bad recompense for your love, to lay any of them on you. Ant. Let me yet know of you, whither you are

bound.

Seb. No, sooth, sir; my determinate voyage is mere extravagancy. But I perceive in you so excellent a touch of modesty, that you will not extort from me what I am willing to keep in; therefore it charges me in manners the rather to express myself. You must know of me then, Antonio, my name is Sebastian, which I called Roderigo; my father was that Sebastian of Messaline, whom I know you have heard of he left behind him, myself, and a sister, both born in an hour. If the heavens had been pleased, 'would we had so ended! but you, sir, altered that; for, some hour before you took me from the breach of the sea, was my sister drowned. Ant. Alas, the day!

Seh. A lady, sir, though it was said she much resembled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful: but, thongh I could not, with such estimable wonder, over-far believe that, yet thus far I will boldly publish her, she bore a mind that envy could not but call fair she is drowned already, sir, with salt water, though I seem to drown her remembrance again with more.

Ant. Pardon me, sir, your bad entertainment. Seb. O, good Antonio, forgive me your trouble. Ant. If you will not murder me for my love, let me be your servant.

Seb. If you will not undo what you have done, that is, kill him whom you have recovered, desire it not. Fare ye well at once: my bosom is full of kindness; and I am yet so near the manners of my mother, that upon the least occasion more, mine eyes will tell tales of me. I am bound to the count Örsino's court farewell. [Exit. Ant. The gentleness of all the gods go with thee! I have many enemies in Orsino's court, Else would I very shortly see thee there: But, come what may, I do adore thee so,

That danger shall seem sport, and I will go. [Exit. SCENE II. A Street.

Enter Viola; Malvolio following.

Mal. Were not you even now with the countess Olivia?

Vio. Even now, sir; on a moderate pace I have since arrived but hither.

Mal. She returns this ring to you, sir; you might have saved me my pains, to have taken it away yourlord into a desperate assurance she will none of him: self. She adds moreover, that you should put your and one thing more; that you be never so hardy to come again in his affairs, unless it be to report your lord's taking of this. Receive it so.

Vio. She took the ring of me I'll none of it. Mal. Come, sir, you peevishly threw it to her; and her will is, it should he so returned if it be worth stooping for, there it lies in your eye; if not, be it his that finds it.

[Exit.

Vio. I left no ring with her what means this lady?
Fortune forbid, my outside have not charm'd her!
She made good view of me; indeed, so much,
That, sure, methought, her eyes had lost her tongue,
For she did speak in starts distractedly.

She loves me, sure; the cunning of her passion
Invites me in this churlish messenger.

None of my lord's ring! why, he sent her none.
I am the man; if it be so (as 'tis),
Poor lady she were better love a dream.
Disguise, I see, thou art a wickedness,
Wherein the pregnant enemy does much.
How easy is it, for the proper-false

In women's waxen hearts to set their forms!
Alas! our frailty is the cause, not we;
For, such as we are made of, such we be.
How will this fadge? My master loves her dearly;
And I, poor monster, fond as much on him;
And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me
What will become of this? As I am man,
My state is desperate for my master's love;
As I am woman, now alas the day!
What thriftless sighs shall poor Ólivia breathe?
O time, thou must untangle this, not I;
It is too hard a knot for me to untie.

[Exit.

SCENE III. A Room in Olivia's House. Enter Sir Toby Belch and Sir Andrew Ague-cheek. after midnight, is to be up betimes; and diluculo Sir To. Approach, sir Andrew: not to be a-bed surgere, thou know'st,

Sir And. Nay, by my troth, I know not: but I

know, to be up late, is to be up late.

Sir To. A false conclusion; I hate it as an unfilled can: to be up after midnight, and to go to bed then, is early; so that, to go to bed after midnight is to go to bed betimes. Do not our lives consist of the four elements?

ther consists of eating and drinking. Sir And. 'Faith, so they say; but, I think it ra

Sir To. Thou art a scholar; let us therefore eat and drink.-Marian, I say!a stoop of wine! Enter Clown.

Sir And. Here comes the fool, i'faith.

Clo. How now, my hearts? Did you never see the picture of we three!

Sir To. Welcome, ass. Now let's have a catch. Sir And. By my troth, the fool has an excellent breast. I had rather than forty shillings I had such a leg; and so sweet a breath to sing, as the fool has. In sooth, thou wast in very gracious fooling last night, when thou spokest of Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians passing the equinoctial of Queubus; 'twas very good, i'faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy leman hadst it?

Clo. I did impeticos thy gratillity; for Malvolio's nose is no whipstock: my lady has a white hand, and the myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses.

Sir And. Excellent! ing, when all is done. Sir To. Come on; there is sixpence for you: let's have a song.

Why, this is the best fool-
Now, a song.

Sir And. There's a testril of me too: if one knight give a

Clo. Would you have a love-song, or a song of good life?

Sir To. A love-song, a love-song.

Sir And. Ay, ay; I care not for good life.

SONG.

Clo. O mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O, stay and hear; your true love's coming,
That can sing both high and low:
Trip no further, pretty sweeting,
Journeys end in lovers' meeting;

Every wise man's son doth know.
Sir And. Excellent good, i'faith.
Sir To. Good, good.

Clo. What is love! 'tis not hereafter;
Present mirth hath present laughter;
What's to come is still unsure:

In delay there lies no plenty;
Then come kiss me, sweet-and-twenty,
Youth's a stuff will not endure.

Sir And. A mellifluous voice, as I am a true knight.
Sir To. A contagious breath.

Sir And. Very sweet and contagions, i'faith. Sir To. To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion. But shall we make the weikin dance indeed? Shall we rouse the night-owl in a catch, that will draw three souls out of one weaver? shall we do that? Sir And. An you love me, let's do't: I am a dog at a catch.

Clo. By'r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well. Sir And. Most certain: let our catch be, Thou knave. Clo. Hold thy peace, thou knave, knight! I shall be constrain'd in't to call thee knave, knight.

Sir And. "Eis not the first time I have constrain'd one to call me knave. Begin, fool; it begins, Hold thy peace.

Clo. I shall never begin, if I hold my peace. Sir And. Good, i'faith! Come, begin. [They sing a Catch.

Enter Maria.

Mar. What a caterwauling do you keep here! If my lady have not called up her steward, Malvolio,

and bid him turn you out of doors, never trust me. Sir To. My lady's a Cataian, we are politicians; Malvolio's a Peg-a-Ramsey, and Three merry men we be. Am not I consanguineous? am not I of her blood? Tilley-valley, lady! There dwelt a man in Babylon, lady, lady! [Singing. Clo. Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable fooling. Sir And. Ay, he does well enough if he be disposed, and so do I too; he does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural.

[Singing.

Sir To. O, the twelfth day of December,-
Mar. For the love of God, peace.
Enter Malvolio.

Sir To. Out o'time? sir, ye lie.-Art any more than a steward? Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?

Clo. Yes, by saint Anne; and ginger shall be hot i'the mouth too.

Sir To. Thou'rt i'the right.-Go, sir, rub your chain with crumbs-a stoop of wine, Maria!

Mal. Mistress Mary, if you prized my lady's favour at any thing more than contempt, you would not give means for this uncivil rule; she shall know of it, by this band. [Exit.

Mar. Go shake your ears.

Mar. Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Puritan. Sir And. O, if I thought that, I'd beat him like a dog.

Sir To. What, for being a Puritan? thy exquisite reason, dear knight?

Sir And, I have no exquisite reason for't, butI have reason good enough.

Mar. The devil a Puritan that he is, or any thing constantly but a time-pleaser; an affectioned ass, that cons state without book, and utters it by great swarths: the best persuaded of himself, so crammed, as he thinks, with excellencies, that it is his ground of faith, that all that look on him, love him; and on that vice in him will my revenge find notable cause to work.

Sir To. What wilt thou do?

Mar. I will drop in his way some obscure epistles of love; wherein, by the colour of his beard, the shape of his leg, the manner of his gait, the expresfind himself most feelingly personated: I can write sure of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he sha!! very like my lady, your niece; on a forgotten matter we can hardly make distinction of our hands. Sir To. Excellent! I smell a device. Sir And. I have't in my nose too.

Sir To. He shall think, by the letters that thou wilt drop, that they come from my niece, and that she is in love with him.

Mar. My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour. Sir And. And your horse now would make him an

ass.

Mar. Ass, I doubt not.

Sir And. O, 'twill be admirable.

Mar. Sport royal, I warrant you I know, my physic will work with him. I will plant yon two, and let the fool make a third, where he shall find the

to bed, and dream on the event. Farewell. [Exit. Sir To. Good night, Penthesilea.

Sir And. Before me, she's a good wench.

Sir To. She's a beagle, true-bred, and one that adores me; What o'that?

Sir And. I was adored once too.

Sir To. Let's to bed, knight.-Thou hadst need send for more money.

Sir And. If I cannot recover your niece, I am a foul way out.

Sir To. Send for money, knight; if thou hast her not i'the end, call me Cut.

Sir And, If I do not, never trust me, take it how

you will.

Sir To. Come, come; I'll go burn some sack, 'tis too late to go to bed now: come, knight; come, knight. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. A Room in the Duke's Palace.

Enter Duke, Viola, Curio, and others. Duke. Give me some music: Now, good-morrow, friends:-

Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song,
That old and antique song we heard last night;
Methought, it did relieve my passion much;
More than light airs and recollected terms,

Clo. No, Sir, I live by the church.
Vio. Art thou a churchman?

Clo. No such matter, sir; I do live by the church: for I do live at my house, and my house doth stand by the church.

Vio. So thou may'st say, the king lies by a beggar, if a beggar dwell near him: or, the church stands by thy tabor, if thy tabor stands by the church.

Clo. You have said, sir.-To see this age!-A sentence is but a cheveril glove to a good wit; How quickly the wrong side may be turned outward!

Vio. Nay, that's certain; they that dally nicely with words, may quickly make them wanton. Clo. I would therefore, my sister had had no name,

sir.

Vio. Why, man?

Clo. Why, si, her name's a word; and to dally with that word, might make my sister wanton: Bat, indeed, words are very rascals, since bonds disgraced them.

Vio. Thy reason, man?

Clo. Troth, sir, I can yield you none without words; and words are grown so false, I am loath to prove reason with them.

Vio. I warrant, thou art a merry fellow, and carest for nothing.

Clo. Not so, sir, I do care for something but in my conscience, sir, I do not care for you; if that be to care for nothing, sir, I would it would make you invisible.

Vio. Art not thou the lady Olivia's fool? Clo. No, indeed, sir; the lady Olivia has no folly: she will keep no fool, sir, till she be married; and fools are as like husbands as pilchards are to herrings, the husband's the bigger: I am, indeed, not her fool, bat her corrupter of words.

Vio. I saw thee late at the count Orsino's. Clo. Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb, like the sun; it shines every where. I would be sorry, sir, but the fool should be as oft with your master, as with my mistress I think, I saw your wisdom there.

Vio. Nay, an thou pass upon me, I'll no more with thee. Hold, there's expenses for thee.

Clo. Now Jove, in his next commodity of hair, send thee a beard!

Vio. By my troth, I'll tell thee; I am almost sick for one; though I would not have it grow on my chin. Is thy lady within?

Clo. Would not a pair of these have bred, sir? Vio. Yes, being kept together, and put to use. Clo. I would play lord Pandarus of Phrygia, sir, to bring a Cressida to this Troilus.

Vio. I understand you, sir; 'tis well begg'd. Clo. The matter, I hope, is not great, sir, begging but a beggar; Cressida was a beggar. My lady is within, sir. I will construe to them whence you come who are you, and what you would, are out of my welkin: I might say, element; but the word is [Exit.

over-worn.

Vio. This fellow's wise enough to play the fool; And, to do that well, craves a kind of wit: He must observe their mood on whom he jests, The quality of persons, and the time; And, like the haggard, check at every feather That comes before his eye. This is a practice, As full of labour as a wise man's art: For folly, that he wisely shows, is fit; But wise men, folly-fallen, quite taint their wit.

Vio. My matter hath no voice, lady, but to your own most pregnant and vouchsafed ear.

Sir And. Odours, pregnant, and vouchsafed :—I'l get 'em all three ready.

Oli. Let the garden door be shut, and leave me to my hearing.

[Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Maria. Give me your hand, sir."

Vio. My duty, madam, and most humble service. Oli. What is your name?

Vio. Cesario is your servant's name, fair princess. Oli. My servant, sir! 'Twas never merry world, Since lowly feigning was call'd compliment: You are servant to the count Orsino, youth.

Vio. And he is yours, and his must needs be yours; Your servant's servant is your servant, madani.

Oli. For him, I think not on him: for his thoughts,
Would they were blanks, rather than fill'd with me!
Vio. Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts
On his behalf:-
Oli.
O, by your leave, I pray you;

I bade you never speak again of him:
But, would you undertake another suit,
I had rather hear you to solicit that,
Than music from the spheres.
Vio.
Dear lady,
Oli. Give me leave, I beseech you: I did send,
After the last enchantment you did here,
A ring in chase of you? so did I abuse
Myself, my servant, and, I fear me, you:
Under your hard construction must I sit,
To force that on you, in a shameful cunning,
Which you knew none of yours: What might you
Have you not set mine honour at the stake, [think?
And baited it with all the unmuzzled thoughts
That tyrannous heart can think? To one of your re-
Enough is shown; a cypress, not a bosom, [ceiving
Hides my poor heart: So let me hear you speak.
Vio. I pity you.

Oli. That's a degree to love.

Vio. No, not a grise; for 'tis a vulgar proof, That very oft we pity enemies.

Oli. Why, then, methinks, 'tis time to smile again: O world, how apt the poor are to be proud! If one should be a prey, how much the better To fall before the lion than the wolf? [Clock strikes. The clock upbraids me with the waste of time.Be not afraid, good youth, I will not have you : And yet, when wit and youth is come to harvest, Your wife is like to reap a proper man: There lies your way, due west.

Vio. Then westward hoe: Grace, and good disposition 'tend your ladyship! You'll nothing, madam, to my lord by me? Stay:

I

Oli.

pr'ythee, tell me, what thou think'st of me.
Vio. That you do think, you are not what you are.
Oli. If I think so, I think the same of you.
Vio. Then think you right; I am not what I am.
Oli. I would, you were as I would have you be!
Vio. Would it be better, madam, than I am,

I wish it might; for now I am your fool.
Oli. O, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful
In the contempt and anger of his lip!

A murd'rous guilt shows not itself more soon
Than love that would seem hid: love's night is noon.
Cesario, by the roses of the spring,

By maidhood, honour, truth, and every thing,

Sir To. Save you, gentleman.

Vio. And you, sir.

Sir And. Dieu vous garde, monsieur.
Vio. Et vous aussi: votre serviteur.

Sir And. I hope, sir, you are; and I am yours. Sir To. Will you encounter the house? my niece is desirous you should enter, if your trade be to her. Vio. I am bound to your niece, sir; I mean, she is the list of my voyage..

Sir To. Taste your legs, sir, put them to motion. Vio. My legs do better understand me, sir, than I understand what you mean by bidding me taste my legs.

Sir To. I mean to go, sir, to enter.

Vio. I will answer you with gait and entrance: But we are prevented.

Enter Olivia and Maria.

Most excellent accomplished lady, the heavens rain odours on you!

Sir And. That youth's a rare courtier! Rain odours! well.

Nor wit, nor reason, can my passion hide.
Do not extort thy reasons from this clause,
For that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause;
But, rather, reason thus with reason fetter:
Love sought is good, but given unsought, is better.
I have one heart, one bosom, and one truth,
Vio. By innocence I swear, and by my youth,
And that no woman has; nor never none
Shall mistress be of it, save I alone.
And so adieu, good madam; never more
Will I my master's tears to you deplore.
That heart, which now abhors, to like his love.
Oli. Yet come again: for thou, perhaps, may'st move
[Exeunt.

SCENE II. A Room in Olivia's House. Enter Sir Toby Belch, Sir Andrew Ague-cheek, and Fabian.

Sir And. No, faith, I'll not stay a jot longer.
Sir To. Thy reason, dear venom, give thy reason.
Fab. You must needs yield your reason, sir Andrew.
Sir And. Marry, I saw your niece do more favours