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 beloved.-How dost thou like this tune?
Vio. It gives a very echo to the seat

Where Love is throned.

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. She is not worth thee, then. What years, i' faith?

Vio. About your years, my lord.

Duke. Too old, by heaven: Let still the woman take

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 women 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,

And the free maids, that weave their thread with bones,†

Do use to chant it; it is silly sooth,

And dallies with the innocence of love,

Like the old age.§

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

[Music

*Countenance.
Simple truth.

7 Lace-makers.
Times of simplicity.

Not a flower, not a flower sweet,
On my black coffin let there be strown;
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 everything, and their intent everywhere; for that's it, that always makes a good voyage of nothing. -Farewell. [Exit CLOWN.

Duke. Let all the rest give place.

Once more, Cesario,

[Exeunt CURIO and Attendants.

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 prankst 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 call'd 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 compar
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 we.

* A precious stone of all colours.

† Decks.

My father had a daughter loved a man,

As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman,
I should your lordship.

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 pined 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.*

SCENE V-Olivia's Garden,

[Exeunt,

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. Wouldst 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 beha viour to his own shadow, this half-hour; observe him, for the love of mockery; for, I know, this letter will make a contempla tive 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

Enter MALVOLIO.

[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,t 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 him.
Sir To. Peace, peace!

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 eye!

Mal. Calling my officers about me, in my branched velvet gown; having come from a day-bed,§ where I left Olivia sleep

ing:

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 ears, 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.

Sir To. Out, scab!

Fab. Nay, patience, or we break the sinews of our plot.

Mal. Besides, you waste the treasure of your time with a fool

ish 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.

* Struts.

State chair.

+ Puffs him up,

$ Couch.

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 Us, and her T'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, Malvolio?

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 stannyelt checks‡ at it! Mal. I may command where I adore. Why, she may command me; I serve her, she is my lady. Why, this is evident to any formal capacity. There is no obstruction in this;--And the end, What should that alphabetical position portend? if I could make that resemble something in me,-Softly !-M, O, ▲, I.— Sir To. O, ay! make up that he is now at a cold scent. Fab. Sowters will cry upon't, for all this, though it be as rank as a fox.

Mal. M-Malvolio-M,-why, that begins my name Fab. Did not I say he would work it out? the cur is excellent at faults.

Mal. M-But then there is no consonancy in the sequel; that suffers under probation: A should follow, but O does. Fab. And O shall end, I hope.

Sir To. Ay, or I'll cudgel hím, and make him cry, O.
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 before you.

Mal. M, O, A, I;-This simulation is not as the former: and yet, to crush this a little, it would bow to me, for every one of these letters is in my name. Soft; here follows prose.-If

* Badger.
Flies at it.

+ Hawk.

§ Name of a hound.