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

Oli. Give us the place alone: we will hear this divinity. (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?

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

Oli. O, I have read it; it is heresy. Have you po 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.

Look you, sir, such a one as I was this present : Is't not well done ?] the line should perhaps run thus: " Look you, sir, such as once I was, this presents."

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 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 divers schedules of my beauty: It shall be inventoried; 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; O, such love Could be but recompens’d, though you were

crown'd The nonpareil of beauty! Oli.

How does he love me? Vie. With adorations, with fertile tears, With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire. Oli. Your lord does know my mind, I cannot

i love him: Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble, Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth; In voices well divulg'd, free, learn’d, and valiant, 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,

9 'Tis beauty truly blent,] i. e. blended, mixed together. ' In voices well divulg'd,] Well spoken of by the world.

In your denial I would find no sense,
I would not understand it.
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 pa-

rentage?
Vio. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well:
I am a gentleman.
Oli.

Get you to your lord;
I 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:
I 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? 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

į spirit, i Do give thee five-fold blazon:-Not too fast:

soft! soft! Unless the master were the man.-How now? Even so quickly may one catch the plague?

2 Write loyal cantons] for cantos.

.

Methinks, I feel this youth's perfections,
With an invisible and subtle stealth,
To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be.
What, ho, Malvolio!

Re-enter Malvolio.
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, l'il 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 fort. Hie thee, Malvolio.
Mal. Madam, I will.

[Exit. Oli. I do I know not what: and fear to find Mine eyet 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! (Exit.

... ACT II.
SCENE I. The Sea-coast.

Enter ANTONIO and SEBASTIAN.

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

Seb. By your patience, no: my stars shine darkly over me; the malignancy of my fate might, per

s The county's man:] County for count.

4 Mine eye, &c.] I think the meaning is, I fear that my eyes will seduce my understanding; that I am indulging a passion for this beautiful youth, which my reason cannot approve. MALONE.

S Ourselves we do not owe;] i. e. we are not our own masters. We cannot govern ourselves.

haps, distemper yours; therefore I shall crave of you your leave, that I may bear my evils alone: It were a bad recompense 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 Rodorigo; 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.

Ant. Alas, the day!

Seb. A lady, sir, though it was said she much resembled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful: but, though I could not, with such estimable wonder, overfar believe that, yet thus far I will boldly publish her, she bore a mind that envy could not but call fair: she is drowned already, sir, with salt water, though I seem 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,

to express myself. That is, to reveal myself.

the breach of the sea,] i. e. what we now call the breaking of the sea.

ir with such estimable wonder,] wonder and esteem.

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