Clo. [Shuts the door of the inner room, and sings.]
I am gone, sir,
And anon, sir,

I'll be with you again, &c.' [Exit, L

SCENE V.-Olivia's Garden.

Enter SEBASTIAN, R.

Seb. This is the air; that is the glorious sun :
This pearl she gave me, I do feel't, and see't:
And though 'tis wonder that enwraps me thus,
Yet 'tis not madness. Where's Antonio, then?
I could not find him at the Elephant;

His counsel now might do me golden service :
For though my soul disputes well with my sense,
That this may be some error, but no madness,
Yet doth this accident of flood and fortune
So far exceed all instance, all discourse,
That I am ready to distrust my eyes,

And wrangle with my reason, that persuades me
To any other trust, but that I am mad,
Or else the lady's mad.-But here she comes.

Enter OLIVIA and a FRIAR, L.

Oli. Blame not this haste of mind: if you mean well, Now go with me, and with this holy man,

Into the chantry by: there, before him,
And underneath that consecrated roof,
Plight me the full assurance of your faith,
That my most jealous and too doubtful soul
May live at peace: he shall conceal it,
Whiles you are willing it shall come to note;
What time we will our celebration keep
'According to my birth.-What do you say?
Seb. I'll follow this good man, and go with you,
And, having sworn truth, ever will be true.
Oli. Then lead the way, good father:

And heavens so shine,

[Exit FRIAR, Þ.

That they may fairly note this act of mine!

END OF ACT IV.

[Exeunt, L.

ACT V.

SCENE I.-The Street before Olivia's House.

Enter CLOWN and FABIAN, R.

Fab. Now, as thou lovest me, let me see his letter. Clo. Good master Fabian, grant me another request. Fab. Any thing.

Clo. Do not desire to see this letter.

Fab. That is, to give a dog, and, in recompense, desire my dog again. The Duke Orsino

[Exit, R

Enter DUKE, VIOLA, and two Gentlemen, L. Duke. Belong you to the lady Olivia, friend? I know thee wel. how dost thou, my good fellow?

Clo. Truly, sir, the better for my foes, and the worse for my friends.

Duke. Just the contrary; the better for thy friends. Clo. No, sir, the worse.

Duke. How can that be?

Clo. Marry, sir, they praise me, and make an ass of me; now my foes tell me plainly I am an ass; so that by my foes, sir, I profit in the knowledge of myself; and by my friends I am abused: so that if your four negatives make your two affirmatives, why then the worse for my friends and the better for my foes? Duke. Why, this is excellent.

Clo. By my troth, sir, no; though it please you to be one of my friends.

Duke. Thou shalt not be the worse for me; there's gold.

Clo. But that it would be double-dealing, sir, I would you could make it another,

Duke. O, you give me ill counsel.

Clo. Put your grace in your pocket, sir, for this once, and let your flesh and blood obey it.

Duke. Well, I will be so much a sinner to be a double dealer; there's another.

Clo. Primo, secundo,-Tertio, is a good play; and the old saying is, the third pays for all.

Duke. You can fool no more money out of me at this throw if you will let your lady know I am here to speak with her, and bring her along with you, it may awake my bounty further.

Clo. Marry, sir, lullaby to your bounty till I come again as you say, sir, let your bounty take a nap, I will wake it anon. [Exit, R. D. Enter ANTONIO and the two Officers, R.

Vio. Here comes the man, sir, that did rescue me.
Duke. That face of his I do remember well;
Yet, when I saw it last, it was besmear'd
As black as Vulcan, in the smoke of war:

A bawbling vessel was he captain of,

For shallow draught, and bulk, unprizable;

With which such scathful grapple did he make
With the most noble bottom of our fleet,

That very envy, and the tongue of loss,

Cried fame and honour on him.-What's the matter?
1st Off. This, please you, sir, is that Antonio,
That took the Phoenix, and her fraught, from Candy:
And this is he, that did the Tiger board,
When your young nephew, Titus, lost his leg;
Here in the streets, desperate of shame, and state,
In private brabble did we apprehend him.

Vio. He did me kindness, sir; drew on my side;
But, in conclusion, put strange speech upon me,
I know not what 'twas, but distraction.

Duke. Notable pirate! thou salt-water thief!
What foolish boldness brought thee to their mercies,
Whom thou, in terms so bloody and so dear,
Hast made thine enemies?

Ant. Orsino, noble sir,

Be pleased that I shake off these names you give me ;
Antonio never yet was thief, or pirate,

Though, I confess, on base and ground enough,
Orsino's enemy. A witchcraft drew me hither:
That most ungrateful boy, there, by your side,
From the rude sea's enraged and foamy mouth
Did I redeem; a wreck past hope he was:
His life I gave him, and for his sake, too,
Did I expose myself

Into the danger of this adverse town •
Drew to defend him, when he was beset;

Where being apprehended, his false cunning,
Not meaning to partake with me in danger,
Taught him to face me out of his acquaintance,
And grew, a twenty-years-removed thing,
While one would wink; denied me my own purse,
Which I had recommended to his use

Not half an hour before.

Vio. How can this be?

Duke. When came he to this town?

Ant. To-day, my lord; and for three months before No interim, not a minute's vacancy,.

Both day and night did we keep company.

Duke. Here comes the Countess; now heaven walks on earth.

But for thee, fellow, fellow, thy words are madness: But more of that anon.-Take him aside.

[ANTONIO and Officers retire a little.

Enter OLIVIA and two Servants from R. D.

Oli. What would my lord, but that he may not have, Wherein Olivia may seem serviceable?—

Cesario, you do not keep promise with me.

Vio. Madam?

Duke. Gracious Olivia,—

Oli. What do you say, Cesario?

Vio. My lord would speak; my duty hushes me.
Oli. If it be aught to the old tune, my lord,

It is as harsh and fulsome to mine ear,

As howling after music.

Duke. Still so cruel?

Oli. Still so constant, lord.

Duke. What! to perverseness? you uncivil lady,
To whose ingrate and unauspicious altars

My soul the faithfull'st offerings hath breathed out,
That e'er devotion tender'd!-What shall I do?

Oli. Even what it please my lord, that shall become him..

Duke. Why should I not, had I the heart to do it,
Like to the Egyptian thief, at point of death,
Kill what I love?

But hear me this :

Live you, the marble-breasted tyrant, still:
But this your minion, whom, I see, you love,
And whom, by Heaven, I swear, I tender dearly,
Him will I tear out of that cruel eye,
Where he sits crowned, in his master's spite.

Come, boy, with me; my thoughts are ripe in mischief: I'll sacrifice the lamb that I do love,

To spite a raven's heart within a dove.

[Exeunt DUKE and Gentlemen, R.

Vio, And I, most jocund, apt, and willingly,

To do you rest, a thousand deaths would die. [Going. Oli. Where goes Cesario?

Vio. After him I love,

More than I love these eyes, more than my life;

If I do feign, you witnesses above,

Punish my life for tainting of my love!

Oli. Ah, me, forsaken! how am I beguiled!

Vio. Who does beguile you? who does do you wrong? Oli. Hast thou forgot thyself? Is it so long?

Call forth the holy father.

[Exeunt two Servants, R. D.

Enter DUKE, R.

Duke. [To VIOLA.] Come away.

Oli. Whither, my lord?-Cesario, husband, stay
Duke. Husband?

Oli. Ay, husband; can he that deny ?

Duke. Her husband, sirrah?

Vio. No, my lord, not I.

Oli. Fear not, Cesario, take thy fortunes up; Be that thou know'st thou art, and then thou art As great as that thou fear'st.

Enter FRIAR and two Servants, R. D.

O, welcome, father!

Father, I charge thee, by thy reverence,
Here to unfold (though lately we intended
To keep in darkness, what occasion now
Reveals before 'tis ripe), what thou dost know,
Hath newly pass'd between this youth and me.
Friar. A contract of eternal bond of love,
Confirm'd by mutual joinder of your hands,
Strengthened by interchangement of your rings;
And all the ceremony

Seal'd in my function, by my testimony:
Since when, toward my grave,

I have travell'd but two hours.

Duke. O, thou dissembling cub! what wilt thou be When time hath sow'd a grizzle on thy case?

Farewell, and take her: but direct thy feet,
Where thou and I henceforth may never meet.