Sir To. A gentleman.

Oli. A gentleman? What gentleman?

Sir To. 'Tis a gentleman here2-A plague o' these 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.

Oli. What's a drunken man like, fool?

[Exit.

Clo. Like a drown'd man, a fool, and a madman: one draught above heat3 makes him a fool; the second mads him; and a third drowns him.

Oli. Go thou and seek the coroner, and let him sit 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.

Re-enter MALVOLIO.

[Exit Clo.

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

2 'Tis a gentleman here-] He had before said it was a gentleman. He was asked, what gentleman? and he makes this reply; which, it is plain, is corrupt, and should be read thus:

'Tis a gentleman-heir.

i. e. some lady's eldest son just come out of the nursery; for this was the appearance Viola made in men's clothes. See the character Malvolio draws of him presently after. Warburton.

Can any thing be plainer than that Sir Toby was going to describe the gentleman, but was interrupted by the effects of his pickle-herring? I would print it as an imperfect sentence. Mr. Edwards has the same observation. Steevens.

Mr. Steevens's interpretation may be right: yet Dr. Warburton's reading is not so strange, as it has been represented. In Broome's Jovial Crew, Scentwell says to the gypsies: "We must find a young gentlewoman-heir among you." Farmer.

3 above heat-] i. e. above the state of being warm in a proper degree. Steevens.

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 to a bench, but he 'll speak with you.

Oli. What kind of man is he?

Mal. Why, of mankind.

Oli. What manner of man?

Mal. Of very ill manner; he'll speak with you, will you, or no.

Oli. 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 peascod, or a codling when 'tis almost an apple: 'tis with him e'en standing water, between boy and man. He is

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stand at your door like a sheriff's post,] It was the custom for that officer to have large posts set up at his door, as an indication of his office: the original of which was, that the king's proclamations, and other public acts, might be affixed thereon, by way of publication. So, Jonson's Every Man out of his Humor:

put off

"To the Lord Chancellor's tomb, or the Shrives posts.” So again, in the old play called Lingua:

"Knows he how to become a scarlet gown? hath he a pair of fresh posts at his door?" Warburton.

Dr. Letherland was of opinion, that " by this post is meant a post to mount a horse from, a horse-block, which, by the custom of the city, is still placed at the sheriff's door."

In the Contention for Honour and Riches, a masque by Shirley, 1633, one of the competitors swears:

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By the Shrive's post," &c.

Again, in A Woman never vex'd, com. by Rowley, 1632:

"If e'er I live to see thee sheriff of London,

"I'll gild thy painted posts cum privilegio." Steevens. 5 - or a codling when 'tis almost an apple :] A codling anciently meant an immature apple. So, in Ben Jonson's Alchemist: "Who is it, Dol?

"A fine young quodling."

The fruit at present styled a codling, was unknown to our gardens in the time of Shakspeare. Steevens.

6tis with him e'en standing water,] The old copy has-in. The emendation was made by Mr. Steevens. In the first folio e'en and in are very frequently confounded. Malone.

very well-favoured, and he speaks very shrewishly; one would think, his mother's milk were scarce out of him.

Oli. Let him approach: Call in my gentlewoman. Mal. Gentlewoman, my lady calls. [Exit.

Re-enter MARIA.

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 loth 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.

Vio. Most certain, if you are she, you do usurp yourself; for what is yours to bestow, is not yours to reserve. But this is from my commission: I will on with my speech in your praise, and then shew 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.

I am very comptible,] Comptible for ready to call to account. Warburton.

Viola seems to mean just the contrary. She begs she may not be treated with scorn, because she is very submissive, even to lighter marks of reprehension. Steevens.

Oli. It is the more like to be feigned; I pray you, keep it in. I heard you were saucy at my gates; and allow'd 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.

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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,2 sweet lady. Oli. Tell me your mind.

Vio. I am a messenger,3

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If you be not mad, be gone; if you have reason, be brief:] The sense evidently requires that we should read:

"If you be mad, be gone," &c.

For the words be mad, in the first part of the sentence, are opposed to reason in the second. M. Mason.

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skipping - Wild, frolick, mad. Johnson.

So, in K. Henry IV, P. I:

"The skipping king, he ambled up and down," &c. Steevens. Again in The Merchant of Venice:

take pain

"To allay, with some cold drops of modesty,

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1

Thy skipping spirit." Malone.

• I am to hull here -] To hull means to drive to and fro upon the water, without sails or rudder. So, in Philemon Holland's translation of the 9th Book of Pliny's Natural History, 1601, p. 239: - fell to be drowsie and sleepie, and hulled to and fro with the waves, as if it had beene half dead.” Again, in The Noble Soldier, 1634:

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"That all these mischiefs hull with flagging sail." Steevens.

2 some mollification for your giant,] Ladies, in romance, are guarded by giants, who repel all improper or troublesome advances. Viola, seeing the waiting-maid so eager to oppose her message, intreats Olivia to pacify her giant. Johnson.

Viola likewise alludes to the diminutive size of Maria, who is called on subsequent occasions, little villain, youngest wren of nine, &c. Steevens.

So, Falstaff to his page:

Sirrah, you giant," &c. K. Henry IV, P. II, Act I. Malone. 3 Oli. Tell me your mind.

Vio. I am a messenger.] These words (which in the old copy are part of Viola's last speech) must be divided between the two speakers.

Viola growing troublesome, Olivia would dismiss her, and therefore cuts her short with this command, Tell me your mind.

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 I learn'd from my entertainment. What I am, and what I would, are as secret as maiden-head: to your ears, divinity; to any other's, prophanation.

Oli. Give us the place alone: we will hear this divinity. [Exit MAR.] 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? Vio. To answer by the method, in the first of his heart.

Oli. O, I have read it; it is heresy. Have you no more to say?

Vio. Good madam, let me see your face.

Ok. 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 I was this present: Is 't not well done?* [Unveiling.

The other, taking advantage of the ambiguity of the word mind, which signifies either business or inclination, replies as if she had used it in the latter sense, I am a messenger. Warburton. As a messenger, she was not to speak her own mind, but that of her employer. M. Mason.

4- Look you, sir, such a one I was this present: Is 't not well done?] This is nonsense. The change of was to wear, I think, clears all up, and gives the expression an air of gallantry. Viola presses to see Olivia's face: The other at length pulls off her veil, and says: We will draw the curtain, and shew you the picture. I wear this complexion to-day, I may wear another to-morrow; jocularly intimating, that she painted. The other, vext at the jest, says, "Excellently done, if God did all." Perhaps, it may be true, what you say in jest; otherwise 'tis an excellent face. 'Tis in grain, &c. replies Olivia. Warburton.