Sir To. Shall I bid him go? Clo. What an if you do? Sir To. Shall I bid him go, and spare not? [Singing. Sir To. Out o'time, Sir? ye lie: art thou any more than a steward? doft thou think, because thou art virtuous, there fhall be no more cakes and ale ? Clo. Yes, by Saint Anne; and ginger shall be hot i'th' mouth too. Sir To. Thou'rt i'th' right.-Go, Sir, rub your chain with crums3-A ftoop of wine, Maria.-Mal. Miftrefs Mary, if you priz'd my Lady's favour at any thing more than contempt, you would not give means for this uncivil rule 4; fhe fhall know of it, by this hand. [Exit. Mar. Go fhake your ears. Sir And. 'Twere as good a deed as to drink when a man's a hungry, to challenge him to the field, and then to break promife with him, and make a fool of him. Sir To. Do't, Knight, I'll write thee a challenge: or I'll deliver thy indignation to him by word of mouth. Mar. Sweet Sir Toby, be patient for to-night; fince the youth of the Duke's was to day with my Lady, she is much out of quiet. For Monfieur Malvolio, let me alone with him: if I do not gull him into a nayword, and make him a common recreation, do not think, I have wit enough to lie ftraight in my bed: I know, I can do it. Sir To. Poffefs us 5, poffefs us, tell us fomething of him. 3 Rub your chain with crums.] I fuppofe it should be read, rub your chin with crums, alluding to what had been faid before that. Malvolio was only a steward, and confequentlydined after his lady. 4 Rule is, method of life; fo mifrule is tumult and riot. s Poffefs us.] That is, inform us, tell us, make us mafters of the matter. Mar. Mar. Marry, Sir, fometimes he is a kind of a Puritan Sir And. O, if I thought that, I'd beat him like a dog Sir To. What, for being a Puritan ? thy exquifite reafon, dear Knight. Sir And. I have no exquifite reafon for't, but I have.. reafon good enough. 6 Mar. The devil a Puritan that he is, or any thing constantly but a time-pleafer; an affection'd afs, that cons state without book, and utters it by great fwaths; the best perfuaded of himfelf; fo cram'd, 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 caufe to work. Sir To. What wilt thou do? Mar. I will drop in his way fome obfcure epiftles of love, wherein, by the colour of his beard, the fhape of his leg, the manner of his gait, the expreffure of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he fhall find himself moft feelingly perfonated. I can write very like my Lady your Niece; on a forgotten matter we can hardly make diftinction of our hands. Sir To. Excellent, I fmell a device. Sir And. I have't in my nofe too. Sir To. He fhall think by the letters, that thou wilt drop, that they come from my Niece, and that the is in love with him. Mar. My purpofe is, indeed, a horfe of that colour. Sir And. And your horfe now would make him an afs. Mar. Afs, I doubt not, Sir And. O, 'twill be admirable. Mar. Sport royal, I warrant you: I know, my phyfick will work with him. I will plant you two, 6 an affectioned afs.] Affectioned, for full of affection. WARB VOL. II. Cc and and let the fool make a third, where he shall find the letter: obferve his conftruction of it. For this night to bed, and dream on the event. Farewel. Sir To. Good night, Penthefilea. Sir And. Before me, fhe's a good wench. [Exit. Sir To. She's a beagle, true-bred, and one that adores me; what o'that? Sir And. I was ador'd once too. Sir To. Let's to bed, Knight.-Thou hadft need fend 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 haft her not i'th' 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 fome fack, 'tis too late to go to bed now. Come, Knight; come, Knight. Changes to the Palace. Enter Duke, Viola, Curio, and others. Duke. G [Exeunt. IVE me fome mufick now.-Good mor Now, good Cefario, but that piece of fong, Cur. He is not here, so please your Lordship, that fhould fing it. Duke. Who was it? * Recollected, studied. WARB. I rather think that recollected fignifies, more nearly to its primitive fenfe, recalled, repeated, and alludes to the practice of compofers who often prolong the fong by repetitions. Cur. Cur. Fefte, the jefter, my Lord, a fool that the Lady Olivia's father took much delight in. He is about the houfe. Duke. Seek him out, and play the tune the while. [Ex. Curio. [Mufick. -Come hither, boy, if ever thou shalt love, In the fweet pangs of it, remember me; For fudh as I am, all true lovers are; Unftaid and fkittish in all motions elfe, Save in the conftant image of the creature That is belov'd.-How doft thou like this tune? Vio. It gives a very eccho to the feat Where love is thron'd. Duke. Thou doft speak mafterly. My life upon't, young tho' thou art, thine eye Hath it not, boy? Vio. A little, by your favour * Duke. What kind of woman is't? Vio. Of your complexion. Duke. She is not worth thee then. What years, i'faith? Vio. About your years, my Lord. Duke. Too old, by heav'n; let ftill the woman take An elder than herfelf, fo wears fhe to him; So fways fhe level in her hufband's heart. More longing, wavering, fooner lost and worn 7, Vio. I think it well, my Lord. Duke. Then let thy love be younger than thyself, Or thy affection cannot hold the bent: The word favour ambiguoufly used. 7 Loft and worn.] Though loft and worn may mean loft and worn out, yet loft and won being, I think, better, these two words coming ufually and natu rally together, and the alteration being very flight, I would fo read in this place with Sir Tho. Hanmer. For women are as rofes, whofe fair flower, Enter Curio and Clown. Duke. O fellow, come.-The fong we had laft night, Mark it, Cefario, it is old and plain; The fpinfters and the knitters in the fun, 8 And the free maids that weave their thread with bones, Do ufe to chaunt it: it is filly footh *, And dallies with the innocence of love, Clo. Are you ready, Sir? SONG. Come away, come away, death, I am flain by a fair cruel maid. My fhrowd of white, ftuck all with yew, O, prepare it. My part of death no one so true Did fhare it ". {Mufick. WARBURTON. The old age is the ages paft, the times of fimplicity. 2 My part of death no one so true Did feare it.] Though Death is a part in which every one acts his hare, yet of all thefe actors no one is jo true as I. Not |