Imatges de pÓgina
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Sir And. Good mistress Accost, I desire better ac- thou not go to church in a galliard, and come home in a quaintance.

Mar. My name is Mary, sir.

Sir. And. Good ristress Mary Accost,

Sir To. You mistake, knight: accost is, front her,
board her, woo her, assail her.

Sir And. By my troth, I would not undertake her in
this company. Is that the meaning of accost?
Mar. Fare you well, gentlemen.

Sir To. An thou let part so, sir Andrew, 'would thou
might'st never draw sword again.

Sir And. An yon part so, mistress, I would I might never draw sword again. Fair lady, do you think you have fools in hand?

Mar. Sir, I have not you by the hand.

Sir And. Marry, but you shall have: and here's my band.

Mar. Now, sir, thought is free: I pray you, bring your hand to the buttery-bar, and let it drink.

coranto? My very walk should be a jig! I would not so much as make water, but in a sink-a-pace. What dost thou mean? is it a world to hide virtues in? I did think, by the excellent constitution of thy leg, it was formed under the star of a galliard.

Sir And. Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a flame-coloured stock. Shall we set about some revels?

Sir To. What shall we do else? were we not born under Taurus?

Sir And. Taurus? that's sides and heart.

Sir To. No, sir; it is legs and thighs. Let me see thee caper: ha! higher: ha, ha!— excellent! [Exeunt.

SCENE IV. A room in the Duke's palace.

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Enter VALENTINE, and VIOLA in man's attire. Val. If the duke continue these favours towards you, Cesario, you are like to be much advanced: he hath Sir And. Wherefore, sweet heart? what's your me-known you but three days, and already you are no Mar. It's dry, sir.

taphor?

Sir And. Why, I think so; I am not such an ass, but
Ican keep my hand dry. But what's your jest?
Mar. A dry jest, sir.

Sir And. Are you full of them?

Mar. Ay, sir; I have them at my fingers ends: marry, now I let go your hand, I am barren. [Exit Maria. Sir To. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of canary! When did I see thee so put down?

Sir And. Never in your life, I think; unless you see canary put me down. Methinks, sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian, or an ordinary man has: but I am a great eater of beef, and, I believe, that does harm to my wit.

Sir To. No question.

stranger.

Vio. You either fear his humour, or my negligence,
that you call in question the continuance of his love.
Is he inconstant, sir, in his favours?
Val. No, believe me.

Enter Duke, CURIO, and Attendants.
Vio. Ithank you. Here comes the count.
Duke. Who saw Cesario, ho?

Vio. On your attendance, my lord; here.
Duke. Stand you awhile aloof. — Cesario,
Thou know'st no less but all; I have unclasp'd
To thee the book even of my secret soul:
Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her;
Be not deny'd access, stand at her doors,
And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow,

Sir And. An I thought that, I'd forswear it. I'll Till thou have audience.
ride home to-mori ow, sir Toby.
Sir To. Pourquoy, my dear knight!

Sir And. What is pourquoy? do or not do? I would I had bestowed that time in the tongues, that I have in fencing, dancing, and bear-baiting. O, had I but followed the arts!

Sir To. Then hadst thou had an excellent head of hair.

Sir And. Why, would that have mended my hair? Sir To. Past question; for thou seest, it will not curl by nature.

Sir And. But it becomes me well enough, does't not? Sir To. Excellent: it hangs like flax on a distaff; and I hope to see a housewife take thee between her legs, and spin it off.

Sir And. 'Faith, I'll home to-morrow, sir Toby: your niece will not be seen; or, if she be, it's four to one she'll none of me: the count himself, here hard by, wooes her.

Sir To. She'll none o' the count; she'll not match above her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit; I have heard her swear it. Tut, there's life in't, man. Sir And. I'll stay a month longer. I am a fellow o' the strangest mind i' the world; I delight in masques and revels sometimes altogether.

Sir To. Art thou good at these kickshaws, knight? Sir And. As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be, under the degree of my betters; and yet I will not compare with an old man.

Sir To. What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight?
Sir And. 'Faith, I can cut a caper.
Sir To. And I can cut the mutton to't.

Sir And. And, I think, I have the back-trick, simply as strong as any man in Illyria.

Sir To. Wherefore are these things hid? wherefore have these gifts a curtain before them? are they like to take dust, like mistress Mall's picture? why dost

Vio. Sure, my noble lord,

If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow,
As it is spoke, she never will admit me.

Duke. Be clamorous, and leap all civil bounds,
Rather than make unprofited return!
Vio. Say, I do speak with her, my lord; what then?
Duke. O, then unfold the passion of my love,
Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith:
It shall become thee well to act my woes;
She will attend it better in thy youth,
Than in a nuncio of more grave aspect.
Vio. I think not so, my lord.

Duke. Dear lad, believe it!
For they shall yet belie thy happy years,
That say, thou art a man: Diana's lip
Is not more smooth, and rubious; thy small pipe
Is as the maiden's organ, shrill, and sound,
And all is semblative a woman's part.
know, thy constellation is right apt
For this affair.- Some four, or five, attend him;
All, if you will; for I myself am best,
When least in company. - Prosper well in this,
And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord,
To call his fortunes thine.

I

Vio. I'll do my best,

To woo your lady: yet, [Aside.] a barful strife!
[Exeunt.
Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife.

SCENE V. A room in Olivia's house.

Enter MARIA, and Clown. Mar. Nay, either tell me, where thou hast been, or I will not open my lips, so wide as a bristle may enter, in way of thy excuse: my lady will hang thee for thy ab

sence.

Clo. Let her hang me! he, that is well hanged in this world, needs to fear no colours. Mar. Make that good!

8

Clo. He shall see none to fear.

Oli. How say you to that, Malvolio?

Mar. A good lenten answer! I can tell thee where Mal. Imarvel your ladyship takes delight in such a
that saying was born, of I fear no colours.
Clo. Where, good mistress Mary?

Mar. In the wars; and that may you be bold to say in your foolery.

Clo. Well, God give them wisdom, that have it; and those that are fools, let them use their talents.

Mar. Yet you will be hanged, for being so long absent or, to be turned away, is not that as good as a hanging to you?

Clo. Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage; and for turning away, let summer bear it out.

Mar. You are resolute then?

Clo. Not so neither; but I am resolved on two points. Mar. That, if one break, the other will hold; or, if both break, your gaskins fall.

Clo. Apt, in good faith; very apt! Well, go thy
way; if sir Toby would leave drinking, thou wert as
witty a piece of Eve's flesh as any in Illyria.
Mar. Peace, you rogue, no more o' that; here comes
my lady: make your excuse wisely, you were best.
[Exit.
Enter OLIVIA and MALFOLIO.
Clo. Wit, an't be thy will, put me into good fooling!
Those wits,that think they have thee,do very oft prove
fools; and I, that am sure I lack thee, may pass for a
wise man for what says Quinapulus? Better a witty
fool, than a foolish wit. God bless thee, lady!

Oli. Take the fool away!
Clo. Do you not hear, fellows? Take away the lady!
Oli. Go to, you're a dry fool; I'll no more of you:
besides, you grow dishonest.

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 his 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, guilt-
less, and of free disposition, is to take those things
for bird-bolts, that you deem cannon-bullets: there
is no slander in an allowed fool, though he do nothing
but rail; nor no railing in a known discreet man,
though he do nothing but reprove.

Clo. Now Mercury endue thee with leasing, for thou
speakest well of fools!
Re-enter MARIA.

Mar. Madam, there is at the gate a young gentleman,
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 my people hold him in delay?
Mar. Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman.
Oli. Fetch him off, I pray you; he speaks nothing but
madman: fye on him! [Exit Maria.] Go yon, Mal-
volio: if it be a suit from the count, I am sick, or not
at home; what you will, to dismiss it. [Exit Malvo-
lio.] Now you see, sir, how your fooling grows old, and
people dislike it.

weak pia mater.

Enter SIR TOBY BELCH. Oli. By mine honour, half drunk.-What is he at the gate, cousin?

Clo. Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy eldest son should be a fool: whose skull Jove cram with Clo. Two faults, madonna, that drink and good coun-brains, for here he comes, one of thy kin, has a most sel will amend; for give the dry fool drink, then is the fool not dry; bid the dishonest man mend himself; if he mend, he is no longer dishonest; if he cannot, let the botcher mend him. Any thing, that's mended, is but patched virtue, that transgresses, is but patched with sin; and sin, that amends, is but patched with virtue. If that this simple syllogism will serve, so; if it will not, what remedy? As there is no true cuckold but calamity, so beauty's a flower:- the lady bade take away the fool; therefore, I say again, take her away!

Oli. Sir, I bade them take away you.

Clo. Misprision in the highest degree!- Lady, Cu-
cullus non facit monachum; that's as much as to say,
I wear not motley in my brain. Good madonna, give
me leave to prove you a fool!
Oli. Can you do it?

Clo. Dexterously, good madonna.
Oli. Make your proof!

Clo. I must catechize you for it, madonna; good my mouse of virtue, answer me!

Oli. Well, sir, for want of other idleness, I'll bide your proof.

Clo. Good madonna, why mourn'st thou?
Oli. Good fool, for my brother's death.
Clo. I think, his soul is in hell, madonna.
Oli. I know his soul is in heaven, fool.
Clo. The more fool you, madonna, to mourn for
your brother's soul being in heaven.-Take away the
fool, gentlemen!

Oli. What think you of this fool, Malvolio? doth he not mend?

Mal. Yes; and shall do, till the pangs of death shake him. Infirmity, that decays the wise, doth ever make the better fool.

Clo. God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for the better encreasing 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 no fool.

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Sir. To. A gentleman. Oli. A gentleman? What gentleman? Sir To. "Tis a gentleman here 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 the gate.

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 drunken 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 him.

Oli. 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. [Exit Clown.

Re-enter MALVOLIO.

Mal. Madam,yond young fellow swears, he will speak with you. I told him, you were sick; he takes on him to understand so much, and therefore comes to speak with you: I told him you were asleep; he seems 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. Mal. 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. Why, of man kind.

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Vio. To answer by the method, in the first of his

Oli. What manner of man?
Mal. Of very ill manner; he'll speak with you, will heart.

you, or no.

Oh. 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 him e'en
standing water,between boy and man. He is very well-
favoured, and he speaks very shrewishly; one would
think, his mother's milk were scarce out of him.
Ok. Let him approach! Call in my gentlewoman!
Mal. Gentlewoman, my lady calls.
Re-enter MARIA.

[Exit.

Oli. Give me my veil: come, throw it o'er my face! 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 excellently well penn'd, I have taken great pains 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 malice, I swear, I am not that I play. Are you the lady of the house?

Oli. If I do not usurp myself, I am.

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 shew you the picture.
Look you, sir, such a one as I was this present: is't not
well done?
[Unveiling.

Vio. Excellently done, if God did all.
Oli. 'Tis in grain, sir; 'twill endure wind and
weather.

Vio. 'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white
Nature's
's own sweet and cunning hand laid on.
Lady, you are the cruel'st she alive,
If you will lead these graces to the grave,
And leave the world no copy.

Oli. O, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted; I will give
out diverse schedules of my beauty: it shall be inven-
toried; and, every particle, and utensil, labelled to my
will: as, item, two lips indifferent red; item, two grey
eyes, with lids to them; item, one neck, one chin, and
so forth. Were you sent hither to 'praise me?
Vio. I see you what you are: you are too proud;
But, if you were the devil, you are fair.
My lord and master loves you; 0, such love
Could be but recompens'd, though you were crown'd
The nonpareil of beauty!

Oli. How does he love me?

Vio. With adorations, with fertile tears,

With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire.
Oli. Your lord does know my mind, I cannot love him:
Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble,
Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth,

Vio. Most certain,if you are she, you do usurp your-In voices well divulg'd, free, learn'd, and valiant,
self; for what is yours to bestow, is not yours to re-
serve. But this is from my commission: 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 pains to study it, and 'tis poetical!

Oli. It is the 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 giant, sweet lady. Oli. Tell me your mind!

Vio. I am a messenger.

Oli. Sure, you have some hideous matter to deliver, when the courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak your office! Vio. It alone concerns your ear. I bring no overture of war, no 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 learn'd from my entertainment. What I am, and what I would, are as secret, as maidenhead: to your ears, divinity; to any others, profanation.

I

Oli. Give us the place alone: we will hear this divi-
nity. [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.

Oli. In his bosom? in what chapter of his bosom?

And, in dimension, and the shape of nature,
A gracious person: but yet I cannot love him;
He might have took his answer long ago.

Vio. If I did love you in my master's flame,
With such a suffering, such a deadly life,
In your denial I would find no sense,
would not understand it.

I

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.

I

I

Oli. Get you to your lord;

cannot love him: let him send no more;
Unless, perchance, you come to me again,
To tell me how he takes it. Fare you well:
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?

[Exit.

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 fast:-soft
soft!

Unless the master were the man.

How now?

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Mal. Here, madam, at your service.
Oli. Run after that same peevish messenger,
The county's man: he left this ring behind him,
Would I, or not; tell him, I'll none of it.
Desire him not to flatter with his lord,
Nor hold him up with hopes; I am not for him:
If that the youth will come this way to-morrow,
I'll give him reasons for't. Hie thee, Malvolio!
Mal. Madam, I will.

Oli. I do I know not what; and fear to find
Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind.
Fate, shew thy force! Ourselves we do not owe;
What is decreed, must be; and be this so!

A CT II.

SCENE I. The Sea-coast.
Enter ANTONIO and SEBASTIAN.

[Exit.

[Exit.

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

Tio. 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 your-
self. She adds moreover, that you should put your lord
into a desperate assurance she will none of him: 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 be 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;

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 re-For, such as we are made of, such we be.
compense 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.

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 Olivia breathe?
O time, thou must untangle this, notI;
It is too hard a knot for me to antic.

[Exit.

SCENE III.-A room in Olivia's house. Enter Sir TOBY BELCH, and Sir ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK. Sir To. Approach, sir Andrew: not to be a-bed after midnight, is to be up betimes; and diluculo surgere, thou know'st

-

Ant. Alas, the day! Sir And. Nay, by my troth, I know not: but I know, Seb. Alady, sir, though it was said she much resem-to be up late, is to be up late. bled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful; but Sir To. A false couclusion; I hate it as an unfilled though I could not, with such estimable wonder, over- can. To be up after midnight, and to go to bed then, far believe that, yet thus far I will boldly publish her, is carly; so that, to go to bed after midnight, is to go she hore a mind, that envy could not bat call fair: she is to bed betimes. Do not our lives consist of the four drowned already, sir, with salt water, though I seem elements? 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 Orsino'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.

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

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. 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 Quenbus; 'twas very good, i'faith. [Exit. I sent thee sixpence for thy leman; hadst it?

SCENE II.-A'street.
Enter VIOLA; MALVOLIO following.
Mal. Were not you even now with the countess
Olivia?

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! Why, this is the best fooling, when all is done. Now, a song!

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

Sir And. Very sweet and contagious, i'faith!
Sir To. To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion.
But shall we make the welkin 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 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, thouknave, knight? I shall be constrained in't to call thee knave, knight.

Sir And. 'Tis 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 catterwauling 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!

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please you to take leave of her, she is very willing to bid you farewell.

Sir To. Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs be gone.

Mar. Nay, good sir Toby.

Clo. His eyes do shew his days are almost done.
Mal. Is't even so?

Sir To. But I will never die.

Clo. Sir Toby, there you lie.
Mal. This is much credit to you.
Sir To. Shall I bid him go?
Clo. What an if you do?

Sir To. Shall I bid him go, and spare not?
Clo. Ono, no, no, no, you dare not.

[Singing.

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'theright.-Go, sir, rub your chain with crums!-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 hand. [Exit.

Mar. Go shake 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 promise 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; since the youth of the count's was to-day with my lady, she is much out of quiet. For monsieur 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 straight in my bed: I know, I can do it.

Sir To. Possess us, possess us; tell us something

of him!

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, but I have reason good enough.

Mar. The devil a Puritan that he is, or any thing Sir To. My lady's a Cataian, we are politicians; Mal- constantly but a time-pleaser; an affectioned ass, that volio's a Peg-a-Ramsey, and Three merry men be we. cons state without book, and utters it by great swarths: Am not I consanguineous? am I not of her blood? Til-the best persuaded of himself, so crammed, as he ley-valley,lady! There dwelt a man in Babylon, lady, thinks, with excellencies, that it is his ground of faith, lady! [Singing. that all, that look on him, love him; and on that vice Clo. Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable fooling. in him will my revenge find notable cause to work. Sir And. Ay, he does well enough, if he be disposed, Sir To. What wilt thou do? and so do I too; he does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural.

Sir To. O, the twelfth day of December,―[Singing.
Mar. For the love o' God, peace! -

Enter MALVOLIO.

Mal. My masters, are you mad? or what are you? Have you no wit, manners, nor honesty, but to gabble like tinkers at this time of night? Do ye make an alehouse of my lady's house, that ye squeak out your coziers' catches without any mitigation or remorse of voice? Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time, in you?

Sir To. We did keep time, sir, in our catches. Sneck up!

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 expressure of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he shall find himself most feelingly personated: I can write 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 hav'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. Mal. Sir Toby, Imust be round with you. My lady Mar. Ass, Idoubt not. bade me tell you, that, though she harbours you as her Sir And. O, 'twill be admirable! kinsman, she's nothing allied to your disorders. If Mar. Sport royal, I warrant you! I know, my phyyou can separate yourself and your misdemeanours, sic will work with him. I will plant you two, and let you are welcome to the house; if not, an it would the fool make a third, where he shall find the letter;

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