Not a flower, not a flower sweet,
On
black coffin let there be strown ;
my
Not a friend, not a friend greet

My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown;
A thousand thousand sighs to save,
Lay me, O, where

Sad true lover ne'er find my grave,
To weep there.

Duke. There's for thy pains.

Clo. No pains, sir; I take pleasure in singing, sir. Duke. I'll pay thy pleasure then.

Clo. Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid, one time or another.

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. [Exit Clown. Duke. Let all the rest give place.[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 my 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,
Hath for your love as great a pang of heart
As you have for Olivia: you cannot love her;
You tell her so: Must she not then be answer'd?
Duke. There is no woman's sides,

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.

Duke. What dost thou know?

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

And what's her history?

Duke. 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? We men 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. [Exeunt, SCENE V.-Olivia's Garden.

Enter SIR TOBY BELCH, SIR ANDREW AGUE-
CHEEK, and FABIAN.

Sir To. Come thy ways, signior Fabian.
Fab. Nay, I'll come; if I 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. Get ye 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 idiot of him. Close, in the name of jesting! (The men hide themselves.) Lie thou there; (throws down a letter) for here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling. [Exit Maria.

Enter MALVOLIO.

Maria

Mal. 'Tis but fortune; all is fortune. 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 plumes!

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

Sir To. Peace, peace!

him.

Mal. There is example for't; the lady of the strachy married the yeoman of the wardrobe. Sir And. Fie on him, Jezebel!

Fab. O, peace! now he's deeply in; look, how imagination blows him.

Mal. Having been three months married to her, sitting in my state,

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

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; court'sies 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 familiar smile with an austere regard of control: Sir To. And does not Toby take you a blow o'the lips then?

Mal. Saying, Cousin Toby, my fortunes having cast me on your niece, give me this prerogative of speech:

Sir To. What, what?

Mal. You must amend your drunkenness.

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 Vio. Why,,man? [name, sir. 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.

Clo. Not so, sir, I do care for something: but in my conscience, sir, I do not care for you; if that be to care for nothing, sir, I would it would make you invisible.

Vio. Art thou not the lady Olivia's fool?

Clo. No, indeed, sir; the lady Olivia has no folly she will keep no fool, sir, till she be married; and fools are as like husbands, as pilchards are to herrings, the husband's the bigger; I am, indeed, not her fool, but her corrupter of words.

Vio. I saw thee late at the count Orsino's. Clo. Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb, like the sun; it shines every where. I would be sorry, sir, but the fool should be as oft with your master, as with my mistress: I think I saw your wisdom

there.

Vio. Nay, an thou pass upon me, I'll no more with thee. Hold, there's expences 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 bring a Cressida to this Troilus.

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. [Exit. 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 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. Enter SIR TOBY BELCH and SIR ANDREW AGUE

СНЕЕК.

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 understand what you mean by bidding me taste Sir To. I mean to go, sir, to enter. [my legs. Vio. I will answer you with gait and entrance: But we are prevented.

Enter OLIVIA and MARIA. Most excellent accomplished lady, the heavens rain odours on you! [odours! well. Sir And. That youth's a rare courtier: Rain

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. [to my hearing. Oli. Let the garden door be shut, and leave me [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;

Dear lady,

Your servant's servant is your servant, madam.
Oli. For him, I think not on him for his
thoughts,
[me!
'Would they were blanks, rather than fill'd with
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,
I had rather hear you to solicit that,
Than music from the spheres.
Vio.
Oli. Give me leave, I beseech you: I did send,
After the last enchantment you did here,
A ring in chase of you; so did I abuse
Myself, my servant, and, I fear me, you:
Under your hard construction must I sit,
To force that on you, in a shameful cunning,
Which you knew none of yours: What might you
Have you not set mine honour at the stake, [think?
And baited it with all the unmuzzled thoughts,
That tyrannous heart can think? To one of your
receiving

Enough is shown; a cyprus, not a bosom,
Hides my poor heart: Šo let me hear you speak.
Vio. I pity you.

Oli. That's a degree to love.

Vio. No, not a grise; for 'tis a vulgar proof, That very oft we pity enemies.

Oli. Why, then, methinks, 'tis time to smile O world, how apt the poor are to be proud! [again : 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.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:

I pr'ythee, tell me, what thou think'st of me.
Vio. That you do think, you are not what you are.
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,
I 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'rous guilt shews 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,
I have one heart, one bosom, and one truth,
And that no woman has; nor never none

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. [me that. Sir To. Did she see thee the while, old boy? tell 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 shew favour to the youth in your sight, only to exasperate you, to awake your dormouse valour, to put fire in your heart, and brimstone in your liver: You should then have accosted her; and with some excellent jests, fire-new from the mint, you should have banged the youth into dumbness. This was looked for 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 bang 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 of valour. 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 commendation 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 him?

Sur To. Go, write it in a martial hand; be curst and brief; it is no matter how witty, so it be eloquent and full of invention: taunt him with the licence of ink: if thou thou'st him some thrice, it shall not be amiss; and as many lies as will lie in thy sheet of paper, although the sheet were big enough for the bed of Ware in England, set 'em down; go, about it. Let there be gall enough in thy ink; though thou write with a goose-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 thousand 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 liver 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. 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 augmentation of the Indies: you have not seen such a thing as 'tis ; I can hardly forbear him; if she do, he'll smile, and take't for a great hurling things at him. I know, my lady will strike

favour.

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

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 befal 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;
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;
I do not without danger walk these streets :
Once, in a sea-fight, 'gainst the count his gallies
I did some service; of such note, indeed,
That, were I ta'en here, it would scarce be answer'd.
Seb. Belike, you slew great number of his people.
Ant. The offence is not of such a bloody nature;
Albeit the quality of the time, and quarrel,
Might well have given us bloody argument.
It might have since been answer'd in repaying
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,
I shall pay dear.
Seb.
Do not then walk too open.
Ant. It doth not fit me. Hold, sir, here's my
In the south suburbs, at the Elephant, [purse;
Is best to lodge: I will bespeak our diet,
Whiles you beguile the time, and feed your know-
ledge,

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. [an hour.

I

Seb. I'll be your purse-bearer, and leave you for Ant. To the Elephant.

Seb.

I do remember. [Exeunt.

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 bor-
I speak too loud.
[row'd.

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;
But in strange manner. He is sure possess'd.
Oli. Why, what's the matter? does he rave?
Mar.
No, madam,
He does nothing but smile: your ladyship
Were best have guard about you, if he come;
For, sure, the man is tainted in his wits.

Oli. Go call him hither.-I'm as mad as he,
If sad and merry madness equal be.—
Enter MALVOLIO.

How now, Malvolio?

Mal. Sweet lady, ho, ho. (Smiles fantastically.) Oli. Smil'st thou?

I sent for thee upon a sad occasion.

Mal. Sad, lady? I could be sad: This does make some obstruction in the blood, this cross-gartering; But what of that, if it please the eye of one, it is with me as the very true sonnet is: Please one, and please all.

Oli. Why, how dost thou, man? what is the matter with thee?

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? [to thee. Mal. To bed? ay, sweetheart; and I'll come 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. Oli. What meanest thou by that, Malvolio? Mal. Some are born great,—

Oli. Ha?

Mal. Some achieve greatness,—
Oli. What say'st thou ?

Mal. And some have greatness thrust upon them.
Oli. Heaven restore thee!

Mal. Remember, who commended thy yellow
Oli. Thy yellow stockings? [stockings:-
+--
Mal. And wished to see thee cross-gartered.
Oli. Cross-gartered?

[so;Mal. Go to; thou art made, if thou desirest to be Oli. Am I made?

Mal. If not, let me see thee a servant still.
Oli. Why, this is very midsummer madness.

Enter Servant.

Good

Ser. Madam, the young gentleman of the count Orsino's is returned; I could hardly entreat him back he attends your ladyship's pleasure. Oli. I'll come to him. [Exit Servant.] Maria, let this fellow be looked to. Where's my cousin Toby? Let some of my people have a special care of him; I would not have him miscarry for the half of my dowry.

[Exeunt Olivia and Maria. Mal. Oh, ho! do you come near me now? no worse man than sir Toby to look to me? This concurs directly with the letter: she sends him on purpose, that may appear stubborn to him; for she incites me to that in the letter. Cast thy humble slough, says she;-be opposite with a kinsman, surly with servants, let thy tongue tang arguments of state,—put thyself into the trick of

singularity;—and, consequently, sets down the manner how; as, a sad face, a reverend carriage, a slow tongue, in the habit of some sir of note, and so forth. I have limed her; but it is Jove's doing, and Jove make me thankful! And, when she went away now, Let this fellow be looked to: Fellow! not Malvolio, nor after my degree, but fellow. Why every thing adheres together; that no dram of a scruple, no scruple of a scruple, no obstacle, no incredulous or unsafe circumstance,--What can be said? Nothing, that can be, can come between me and the full prospect of my hopes. Well, Jove, not I, is the doer of this, and he is to be thanked.

Re-enter MARIA, with SIR TOBY BELCH and
FABIAN.

Sir To. Which way is he, in the name of sanctity? If all the devils in hell be drawn in little, and Legion himself possessed him, yet I'll speak to

him.

Fab. Here he is, here he is :-How is't with you, sir? how is't with you, man?

Mal. Go off; I discard you; let me enjoy my private; go off.

Mar. Lo, how hollow the fiend speaks within him! did not I tell you?-Sir Toby, my lady prays you to have a care of him.

Mal. Ah, ah! does she so?

Sir To. Go to, go to ; peace, peace, we must deal gently with him; let me alone.-How do you, Malvolio? how is't with yon? What, man! defy the devil: consider, he's an enemy to mankind.

Mal. Do you know what you say?

Mar. La you, an you speak ill of the devil, how he takes it at heart! Pray God, he be not bewitched! Fab. Carry his water to the wise woman.

Mar. Marry, and it shall be done to-morrow morning, if I live. My lady would not lose him for more than I'll say.

Mal. How now, mistress?
Mar. O lord!

Sir To. Pr'ythee, hold thy peace; this is not the way: Do you not see, you move him? let me alone with him.

Fab. No way but gentleness; gently, gently: the fiend is rough, and will not be roughly used. Sir To. Why, how now, my bawcock? how dost Mal. Sir? [thou, chuck? Sir To. Ay, Biddy, come with me. What, man! 'tis not for gravity to play at cherry-pit with Satan : Hang him, foul collier!

Mar. Get him to say his prayers; good sir Toby, get him to pray.

Mal. My prayers, minx?

[liness.

Mar. No, I warrant you, he will not hear of godMal. Go, hang yourselves all! you are idie shallow things: I am not of your element; you shall

know more hereafter.

Sir To. Is't possible?

[Exit.

Fab. If this were played upon a stage now, could condemn it as an improbable fiction.

I

Sir To. His very genius hath taken the infection of the device, man.

Mar. Nay, pursue him now; lest the device take air, and taint.

Fab. Why, we shall make him mad, indeed.
Mar. The house will be the quieter.

Sir To. Come, we'll have him in a dark room, and bound. My niece is already in the belief, that he is mad; we may carry it thus, for our pleasure, and his penance, till our very pastime, tired out of breath, prompt us to have mercy on him at which time, we will bring the device to the bar, and crown thee for a finder of madmen. But see, but see. Enter SIR ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK. Fab. More matter for a May morning. Sir And. Here's the challenge, read it; I warrant, there's vinegar and pepper in't.