Away before me to sweet beds of flowers;
Love-thoughts lie rich, when canopied with bowers.

SCENE II. - The Sea-coast.

Enter VIOLA, Captain, and Sailors.

Vio. What country, friends, is this?
Cap.

Illyria, lady.

Vio. And what should I do in Illyria?
My brother he is in Elysium.
Perchance, he is not drown'd. - What think you, sailors?
Cap. It is perchance, that you yourself were saved.
Vio. O my poor brother! and so, perchance, may he be.
Cap. True, madam: and, to comfort you with chance,

Assure yourself, after our ship did split,

When you, and that poor number saved with you,
Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother,
Most provident in peril, bind himself

(Courage and hope both teaching him the practice)
To a strong mast, that lived upon the sea;
Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back,

I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves,

So long as I could see.

Vio.

For saying so, there's gold :

Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope,

Whereto thy speech serves for authority,

The like of him. Know'st thou this country?

Cap. Ay, madam, well; for I was bred and born,

Not three hours' travel from this very place.

Vio. Who governs here?

Cap.

As in his name.

Vio.

Cap.

A noble duke, in nature,

Orsino.

What is his name?

Vio. Orsino! I have heard my father name him:

He was a bachelor then.

Cap.

And so is now,

Or was so very late: for but a month

Ago I went from hence; and then 'twas fresh

In murmur, (as, you know, what great ones do,

The less will prattle of,) that he did seek

The love of fair Olivia.

Cap. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count

That died some twelvemonth since; then leaving her

In the protection of his son, her brother,

Who shortly also died: for whose dear love,

They say, she hath abjured the company

And sight of men.

[Exeunt

Viv.

O, that I served that lady :

And might not be delivered to the world,

Till I had made mine own occasion mellow,

What my estate is.

Cap.

That were hard to compass;

Because she will admit no kind of suit,
No, not the duke's.

Vio. There is a fair behavior in thee, captain;
And though that nature with a beauteous wall
Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee
I will believe, thou hast a mind that suits
With this thy fair and outward character.
I pray thee, and I'll pay thee bounteously,
Conceal me what I am; and be my aid
For such disguise as, haply, shall become
The form of my intent. I'll serve this duke;
Thou shalt present me as a page to him,
It may be worth thy pains; for I can sing,
And speak to him in many sorts of music,
That will allow me very worth his service.
What else may hap, to time I will commit;
Only shape thou thy silence to my wit.

Cap. Be thou his page, and I your mute will be;
When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see!
Vio. I thank thee: Lead me on.

[Exeunt.

Viola, having disguised herself in male attire, obtains the situation of Page, in the Duke's household, under the name of Cesario.

A Room in the Duke's Palace.

Enter VALENTINE, and VIOLA in man's attire.

Val. If the Duke continue these favors towards you, Cesario, you are like to be much advanced; he hath known you but three days, and already you are no stranger.

Vio. You either fear his humor, or my negligence, that you call in question the continuance of his love: Is he inconstant, sir, in his favors?

Val. No, believe me.

Enter DUKE, CURIO, and Attendants.

Vio. I thank you. Here comes the count.
Duke. Who saw Cesario, ho?

Vio. On your attendance, my lord; here.
Duke. Stand you awhile aloof. Cesario,
Thou know'st no less but all; I have unclasp'd
To thee the book even of my secret soul:
Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her;
Be not deny'd access, stand at her doors,

And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow,

Fill thou have audience.

Vio.

Sure, my noble iord,

If she be so abandoned to her sorrow
As it is spoke, she never will admit me.

Duke. Be clamorous, and leap all civil bounds,

Rather than make unprofited return.

Vio. Say, I do speak with her, my lord: What then ?
Duke. O, then unfold the passion of my love;

Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith.
It shall become thee well to act my woes;
She will attend it better in thy youth,
Than in a nuncio of more grave aspect.

Vio. I think not so, my lord.
Duke.

Dear lad, believe it;

For they shall yet belie thy happy years,
That say, thou art a man: Diana's lip

Is not more smooth, and rubious; thy small pipe

Is as the maiden's organ, shrill, and sound,

And all is semblative a woman's part.

I know, thy constellation is right apt

For this affair :- Some four, or five, attend him;

All, if you will; for I myself am best,

When least in company :---Prosper well in this,
And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord,

To call his fortunes thine.

Vio.

I'll do my best,

To woo your lady: yet, -[Aside.]-a barful strife :
Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife.

[Exeunt

The Lady Olivia, attended by her waiting woman Maria, and Malvolio her steward,

s informed that a messenger from the Duke seeks her presence.

SCENE V.

Enter OLIVIA, MARIA, and MALVOLIO.

Mar. Madam, there is at the gate a young gentleman, much desires to speak with you.

Oli. From the count Orsino, is it?

Mar. I know not, madam; 'tis a fair young man, and well attended. Oli. Who of my people hold him in delay ?

Mar. Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman.

Oli. Fetch him off, I pray you; he speaks nothing but madman: Fye on him!- [Exit MARIA.] - Go you, Malvolio: if it be a suit from the count, I am sick or not at home; what you will, to dismiss it.--[Exit MALVOLIO.]-Now you see, sir, how your fooling grows old, and people dislike it.

Re-enter MALVOLIO.

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 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 of 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

He is very well-favored, and he speaks very shrewishly.
Oli. Let him approach: Call in my gentlewoman.

Mal. Gentlewoman, my lady calls.

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 honorable lady of the house, which is she?
Oli. Speak to me, I shall answer for her: Your will ?

[Exit

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 loath 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 show 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.

Oli. It is the more like to be feigned; I pray you keep it in. I heard you were saucy at my gates; and allowed 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. Tell me your mind.

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 appeared in me, have I learn'd from my entertainment. What I am, and what I would, are to your ears, divinity; to any other's, profanation.

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 no more to say? Vio. Good madam, let me see your face.

Oli. Have you any commission from your lord to negotiate with my face? you are now out of your text: but we will draw the curtain, and show you the picture. Look you, sir, such a one as I was this present: Is't not well done?

Vio. Excellently done, if nature 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.

[Unveiling.

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. 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?

Vio. With adorations, with fertile tears,

With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire.

Oli. Your lord does know my mind, I cannot 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 va'iant,