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observe his construction of it. For this night, to bed, | And the free maids, that weave their thread with bones, and dream on the event. Farewell!

Sir To. Good night, Penthesilea !

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

[Exit. Do use to chaunt it; it is silly sooth,
And dallies with the innocence of love,
Like the old age.

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,


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,
Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times :-
Come, but one verse!

Clo. Are you ready, sir?
Duke. Ay; pr'ythee, sing!


Clo. Come away, come away, death,
And in sad cypress let me be laid!
Fly away, fly away, breath!

I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
My shroud of white, stuck all with yew,
O, prepare it!

My part of death no one so true
Did share it.


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Cur. He is not here, so please your lordship, that or another. should sing it.

Duke. Who was it?

Cur. Feste, the jester, my lord; a fool, that the lady Olivia's father took much delight in; he is about the house.

Duke. Seek him out, and play the tune the while!
[Exit Curio.-Music.
Come hither, boy; if ever thou shalt love,
In the sweet pangs of it remember me!
For, such as I am, all true lovers are;
Unstaid and skittish in all motions else,
Save, in the constant image of the creature

That is belov'd.-How dost thou like this tune?
Vio. It gives a very echo to the seat,

Where love is thron'd.

Duke. Thou dost speak masterly:

My life upon't, young though thou art, thine eye Hath stay'd upon some favour that it loves;

Hath it not, boy?

Vio. A little, by your favour.

Duke. What kind of woman is't?

Vio. Of your complexion.

Duke. Give me now leave to leave thee.

Clo. Now, the melancholy god protect thee; and the tailor make thy doublet of changeable taffata, for thy mind is a very opal !—I would have men of such constancy put to sea, that their business might be every thing, and their intent every where; for that's it, that always makes a good voyage of nothing.-Farewell.

Duke. Let all the rest give place.

[Exit Clown.

[Exeunt Curio and attendants.
Once more, Cesario,
Get thee to yon' same sovereign cruelty:
Tell her, my love, more noble than the world,
Prizes not quantity of dirty lands:

The parts, that fortune hath bestow'd upon her,
Tell her, I hold as giddily as fortune;
But 'tis that miracle, and queen of gems,
That nature pranks her in, attracts soul.
Vio. But, if she cannot love you, sir?
Duke. I cannot be so answer'd.

Vio. 'Sooth, but you must.


Say, that some lady, as, perhaps, there is,

Duke. She is not worth thee then. What year's, Hath for your love as great a pang of heart, i'faith?

Vio. About your years, my lord.

As you have for Olivia: you cannot love her;
You tell her so: must she not then be answer'd?

Duke. Too old, by heaven! Let still the woman take Duke. There is no woman's sides,

An elder than herself; so wears she to him,
So sways she level in her husband's heart.
For, boy, however we do praise ourselves,
Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm,

More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn,
Than women's are.

Vio. I think it well, my lord.

Duke. Then let thy love be younger than thyself, Or thy affection cannot hold the bent: For woman are as roses; whose fair flower, Being once display'd, doth fall that very hour. Vio. And so they are: alas, that they are so; To die, even when they to perfection grow! Re-enter CURIO, and Clown.

Duke. O fellow, come, the song we had last night! Mark it, Cesario; it is old, and plain: The spinsters and the knitters in the sun,

Can bide the beating of so strong a passion,
As love doth give my heart: no woman's heart
So big, to hold so much; they lack retention.
Alas, their love may be called appetite,-
No motion of the liver, but the palate,-
That suffer surfeit, cloyment, and revolt;
But mine is all as hungry as the sea,
And can digest as much: make no compare
Between that love a woman can bear me,
And that I owe Olivia!

Vio. Ay, but I know,—

Duke. What dost thou know?

Vio. Too well what love women to men may owe: In faith, they are as true of heart, as wc. My father had a daughter lov'd a man, As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman, I should your lordship.

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Duke. And what's her history?

Vio. 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?
Wemen 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?
Vio. I am all the daughters of my father's house,
And all the brothers too;- and yet I know not;-
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!

SCENE V.-Olivia's garden.

Sir To. 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 To. Bolts and shackles!

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

Mal. Seven of my people, with an obedient start, make out for him: I frown the while; and, perchance, wind up my watch, or play with some rich jewel. Toby approaches; courtsies there to me:

Sir To. Shall this fellow live?

Fab. Though our silence be drawn from us with cars, yet peace!

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

Enter Sir Toby BELCH, Sir ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK, and Mal. Saying, Cousin Toby, my fortunes having cast me on your niece, give me this prerogative of speech:Sir To. What, what?


Sir To. Come thy ways, signior Fabian!

Fab. Nay, I'll come; ifI lose a scruple of this sport, let me be boiled to death with melancholy! Sir To. Would'st 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 To. To anger him, we'll have the bear again; and we will fool him black and blue: - shall we not, sir Andrew?

Sir And. An we do not, it is pity of our lives.
Enter MARIA.

Sir To. Here comes the little villain:-how now, my nettle of India?

Mar. Getye 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 ideot o
him. Close, in the name ofjesting! [The men hide
themselves.] Lie thou there; [throws down a letter.]
for here comes the trout, that must be caught with
[Exit Maria.


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 To. Here's an over-weening rogue!

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

Sir And. 'Slight, I could so beat the rogue !—
Sir To. Peace, I say!

Mal. To be count Malvolio;

Sir To. Ah, rogue!


Sir And. Pistol him, pistol him!

Sir To. Peace, peace!

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

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Fab. Nay,patience,or we break the sinews of our plot! Mal. Besides, you waste the treasure of your time with a foolish knight;

Sir And. That's me, I warrant you.
Mal. One sir Andrew:

Sir And. 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 To. O, 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 7's ; and thus makes she her
great P's. It is, in contempt of question, her hand.
Sir And. Her C's, her U's, and her T's: why that?
Mal. [Reads.] 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. [Reads.] Jove knows, I love:
But who?

Lips do not move,
No man must know.
No man must know. - What follows? the numbers
altered!-No man must know :—If this should be thee,

Sir To. 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 To. Excellent wench, say I!

Mal. M, O, A, I, doth sway my life.-Nay, but first,

let me see,

let me see,

- let me see!

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

Mal. There is example for't; the lady of the strachy Mal. I may command where I adore. Why, she may married the yeoman of the wardrobe.

Sir And. Fie on him, Jezebel!

command me; I serve her, she is my lady. Why, this is evident to any formal capacity. There is no obstrucFab. O, peace! now he's deeply in; look,how imagi-tion in this: And the end, - What should that alnation blows him!

phabetical position portend? if I could make that re

Mal. Having been three months married to her, sit-semble something in me, -Softly!-M, 0, A, I.

ting in my state,

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

Sir To. O, ay! make up that :-he is now at a cold scent. Fab. Sowter will cry upon't, for all this, though it be as rank as a fox.

Mal. M,— Malvolio ; — M, — why, that begins my


Fab. Did not I say, he would work it out? the cur is sition, being addicted to a melancholy as she is, that it
excellent at faults.
cannot but turn him into a notable contempt: if you
will see it, follow me.

Mal. M, But then there is no consonancy in the sequel; that suffers under probation: A should follow, but O does.

Fab. And Oshall end, I hope.

Sir To. Ay, or I'll cudgel him, and make him cry, Q.
Mal. And then I comes behind;

Fab. Ay, an you had any eye behind you, you might
see more detraction at your heels, than fortunes be-

fore you.

Sir To. To the gates of Tartar, thou most excellent devil of wit!

Sir And. I'll make one too.


SCENE I.-Olivia's garden.

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Enter VIOLA, and Clown with a tabor.
Vio. Save thee, friend, and thy music! Dost thon
live by thy tabor?

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
do live at my house, and my house doth stand by the
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 stand 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?

Mal. M, O, A, I,- This simulation is not as the for-
mer:--and yet, to crush this a little, it would bow to
me, for every one of these letters are 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 I
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 art
like to be, cast thy humble slough, and appear fresh!
Be opposite with a kinsman, surly with servants! let
thy tongue tang arguments of state; put thyself into
the trick of singularity! She thus advises thee, that
sighs for thee. Remember who commended thy yellow
stockings; and wished to see thee ever cross-garter'd:
I say, remember! Goto; thou art made, if thou de-
sirest to be so; if not,let me see thee asteward still,the
fellow of servants, and not worthy to touch fortune's
fingers. Farewell. She, that would alter services with
The fortunate unhappy.
Day-light and champian discovers not more: this is
open. I will be proud, I will read politic authors, I will
baffle Sir Toby, I will wash off gross acquaintance, I
will be point-de-vice, the very man. I do not now fool
myself, to let imagination jade me; for every reason
excites to this, that my lady loves me. She did com-
mend my yellow stockings of late, she did praise my Clo. Not so, sir, I do care for something; but in my
leg being cross-gartered; and in this she mani-conscience, sir, I do not care for you: if that be to cara
fests herself to my love,and,with a kind of injunction, for nothing, sir, I would it would make you invisible.
drives me to these habits of her liking. Ithank my Vio. Art not thou the lady Olivia's fool?
stars, I am happy. I will be strange, stout, in yellow Clo. No, indeed, sir; the lady Olivia has no folly:
stockings, and cross-gartered, even with the swiftness she will keep no fool, sir, till she be married; and fools
of putting on. Jove, and my stars be praised!-Here is are as like husbands, as pilchards are to herrings, the
yet a postscript. Thou canst not choose but know who | husband's the bigger; I am, indeed, not her fool, but
I am. If thou entertainest my love, let it appear in thy her corrupter of words.
smiling; thy smiles become thee well: therefore in my

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Clo. Why, sir, her name's a word; and to dally with that word might make my sister wanton. But, 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.

Vio. I saw thee late at the count Orsino's.

presence still smile, dear my sweet, I pr'ythee! Jove, Clo. Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb, like the I thank thee.I will smile; I will do every thing that sun; it shines every where. I would be sorry, sir, but thou wilt have me. [Exit. the fool should be as oft with your master, as with my

Fab. I will not give my part of this sport for a pen-mistress: I think I saw your wisdom there.

sion of thousands to be paid from the Sophy.

Sir To. I could marry this wench for this device.
Sir And. So could I too.

Sir To. And ask no other dowry with her, but such another jest,

Enter MARIA.

Sir And. Nor I neither.

Fab. Here comes my noble gull-catcher.

Sir To. Wilt thou set thy foot o' my neck?

Sir And. Or o' mine either?

Vio. Nay, au 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

Sir To. Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip, and bring a Cressida to this Troilus.
become thy bond-slave?

Sir And. I' faith, or I either.

Sir To. Why, thou hast put him in such a dream, that, when the image of it leaves him, he must run mad. Mar. Nay, but say true; does it work upon him? Sir To. Like aqua-vitae with a midwife. Mar. If you will then see the fruits of the sport, mark his first approach before my lady: he will come to her in yellow stockings, and'tis a colour she abhors; and cross-gartered, a fashion she detests; and he will smile upon her, which will now be so unsuitable to her dispo


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 you are, and what you would, are out of my welkin: I might say, element; but the word is 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

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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.

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 un-
derstand 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.


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

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

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

Sir And. Odours, pregnant, and vouchsafed: -I'll 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, madam. 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,
Thad rather hear you to solicit that,
Than music from the spheres.

Fio. Dear lady,

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To force that on you in a shameful cunning,

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?
Oli. Stay:


Ipr'ythee, tell me, what thou think'st of me.
Vio. That you do think, you are not what you
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,
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'rons 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,
I love thee so, that, maugre all thy pride,
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.
Vio. By innocence I swear, and by my youth,
have one heart, one bosom, and one truth,
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.
Oli. Yet come again: for thou, perhaps, may'st move
That heart, which now abhors, to like his love.


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SCENE II. A room in Olivia's house. Enter Sir TOBY BELCH, Sir ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK, 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 to the count's serving man, than ever she bestowed upon me; I saw't i' the orchard.

Sir To. Did she see thee the while,old boy?tell me that. Sir And. As plain as I see you now.

Fab. This was a great argument of love in her toward you.

Sir And. 'Slight! will you make an ass o' me? Fab. I will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the oaths of judgment and reason.

Sir To. And they have been grand jury-men, since before Noah was a sailor.

Fab. She did show favour to the youth in your sight, only to exasperate you, to awake your dormouse valour,

Which you knew none of yours. What might you think? to put fire in your heart, and brimstone in your liver:

Have you not set mine honour at the stake,

And baited it with all the unmuzzled thoughts,

you should then have accosted her; and with some excellent jests,fire-new from the mint, you should have

That tyrannous heart can think? To one of your banged the youth into dumbness. This was looked for receiving

Enough is shown; a cyprus, not a bosom,
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 avulgar proof, That very oft we pity euemies.

Oli. Why, then, methinks, 'tis time to smile again: Oworld, 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.

at your hand, and this was baulked: the double gilt of this opportunity you let time wash off, and you are now sailed into the north of my lady's opinion; where you will hang like an icicle on a Dutchman's beard,unless you do redeem it by some laudable attempt, either of valour, or policy.

Sir And. And't be any way,it must be with valour; for policy I hate: I had as lief be a Brownist, as a politician. Sir To. Why then, build me thy fortunes upon the basis ofvalour. Challenge me the count's youth to fight with him; hurt him in eleven places; my niece shall take note of it; and assure thyself, there is no love

broker in the world can more prevail in man's com-
mendation with woman, than report of valour.
Fab. There is no way but this, sir Andrew.
Sir And. Will either of you bear me a challenge to

I pray you, let us satisfy our eyes
With the memorials, and the things of fame,
That do renown this city.



Ant. 'Would, you'd pardon me;

do not without danger walk these streets : Sir To. Go, write it in a martial hand; be curst and Once, in a sea-fight, 'gainst the Count his gallies, brief; it is no matter how witty, so it be eloquent, and did some service; of such note, indeed, full of invention: taunt him with the licence of ink: if That, were I ta'en here, it would scarce be answer'd. thou thou'st him some thrice, it shall not be amiss; and Seb. Belike, you slew great number of his people. as many lies, as will lie in thy sheet of paper, although Ant. The offence is not of such a bloody nature; the sheet were big enough for the bed of Ware in Eng-Albeit the quality of the time, and quarrel, land, set 'em down; go, about it. Let there be gall Might well have given us bloody argument. enough in thy ink; though thou write with a goose-It might have since been answer'd in repaying pen, no matter. About it!

Sir And. Where shall I find you?
Sir To. We'll call thee at the cubiculo: go.

[Exit Sir Andrew.
Fab. This is a dear manakin to you, sir Toby.
Sir To. I have been dear to him, lad; some two thou-
sand strong, or so.

Fab. We shall have a rare letter from him: but you'll not deliver it.

Sir To. Never trust me then; and by all means stir on the youth to an answer. I think, oxen and wainropes cannot hale them together. For Andrew, if he were opened, and you find so much blood in his live, as will clog the foot of a flea, I'll eat the rest of the anatomy. Fab. And his opposite, the youth, bears in his visage no great presage of cruelty.

Enter MARIA.

Sir To. Look where the youngest wren of nine comes. Mar. If you desire the spleen, and will laugh yourselves into stitches, follow me: yon' gull Malvolio is turned heathen,a very renegado; for there is no Christian that means to be saved by believing rightly, can ever believe such impossible passages of grossness. He's in yellow stockings.

What we took from them; which, for traffic's sake,
Most of our city did: only myself stood out;
For which, if I be lapsed in this place,
shall pay dear.


Seb. Do not then walk too open.

Ant. It doth not fit me. Hold, sir, here's my purse;
In the south suburbs, at the Elephant,
Is best to lodge: I will bespeak our diet,
Whiles you beguile the time, and feed your knowledge,
With viewing of the town; there shall you have me.
Seb. Why I your purse?


Ant. Haply, your eye shall light upon some toy
You have desire to purchase; and your store,
think, is not for idle markets, sir.

Seb. I'll be your purse-bearer, and leave you for
An hour.

Ant. To the Elephant.-
Seb. I do remember.

SCENE IV. -Olivia's garden.

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Oli. I have sent after him: he says, he'll come;
How shall I feast him? what bestow on him?
For youth is bought more oft,than begg'd, or borrow'd.
speak too loud.-


Where is Malvolio?--he is sad and civil,
And suits well for a servant with my fortunes;-
Where is Malvolio?

Mar. He's coming, madam;

Sir To. And cross-gartered?
Mar. Most villainously, like a pedant that keeps a
school i' the church. I have dogged him like his
murderer. He does obey every point of the letter that
I dropped to betray him. He does smile his face into
more lines, than are in the new map, with the aug-But in strange manner. He is sure possess'd.
mentation of the Indies: you have not seen such a
thing as 'tis; I can hardly forbear hurling things at
him. I know, my lady will strike him: if she do, he'll
smile, and take't for a great favour.

Sir To. Come, bring us, bring us where he is. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.-A Street.

Seb. I would not, by my will, have troubled you;
But, since you make your pleasure of your pains,
I will no further chide

Ant. I could not stay behind you; my desire,
More sharp than filed steel, did spur me forth;
And not all love to see you, (though so much,
As might have drawn one to a longer voyage,)
But jealousy what might befall your travel,
Being skilless in these parts; which to a stranger,
Unguided, and unfriended, often prove
Rough and unhospitable: my willing love,
The rather by these arguments of fear,
Set forth in your pursuit.

Seb. My kind Antonio,

I can no other answer make, but thanks,

And thanks, and ever thanks. Often good turns
Are shuffled off with such uncurrent pay:
But, were my worth, as is my conscience, firm,
You should find better dealing. What's to do?
Shall we go see the reliques of this town?
Ant. To-morrow, sir; best, first, go see your lodging.
Seb. I am not weary, and 'tis long to night;

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Mal. Not black in my mind, though yellow in my legs. It did come to his hands, and commands shall be executed. I think, we do know the sweet Roman hand. Oli. Wilt thou go to bed, Malvolio?

Mal. To bed? ay, sweetheart; and I'll come to thee. Oli. God comfort thee! Why dost thou smile so, and kiss thy hand so oft?

Mar. How do you, Malvolio?

Mal.At your request? Yes; nightingales answer daws. Mar. Why appear you with this ridiculous boldness before my lady?

Mal. Be not afraid of greatness: - 'Twas well writ.

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