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 belov'd.-How dost thou like this tune?
Vio. It gives a very echo to the seat
Where Love is thron'd.

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,
Fio. About your years, my lord. [i'faith?
Duke. Too old, by heaven; Let still the woman
An elder than herself; so wears she to him, [take
So sways she level in her husband's heart.
For, boy, however we do praise ourselves,
Oar 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
Mark it, Cesario; it is old and plain : [night :-
The spinsters and the knitters in the sun,
And the free maids, that weave their thread with
Do use to chant it; it is silly sooth, [bones,
And dallies with the innocence of love,
Like the old age.

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

SONG.

Clo. Come away, come away, death, And in sad cypress let me be laid; Fly away, fly away, breath;

I am slain by a fair cruel maid.

[Musick.

My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, O, prepare it;

My part of death no one so true

Did share it.

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, 0, where

Sad true lover never 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 taffeta, 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;

'Sooth, but you must.

But 'tis that miracle, and queen of gems,
That nature pranks her in, attracts my soul.
Vio. But, if she cannot love you, sír?
Duke. I cannot be so answered.
Vio.
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 answered?
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.

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. My father had a daughter lov'd 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 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, siguior 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.

Mar. Nay, but say true; does it work upon him? Sir To. Like aqua-vitæ with a midwife. . Mar. If you will then see the fruits of the sport, mark his first approach before my lady: he will come to her in yellow stockings, and 'tis a colour she abhors; and cross-gartered, a fashion she detests; and he will smile upon her, which will now be so unsuitable to her disposition, being addicted to a melancholy as she is, that it cannot but turn him into a notable contempt: if you will see it, follow me.

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.

Sir And. I'll make one too.

ACT III.

SCENE I Olivia's Garden.

[Exeunt.

Enter Viola, and Clown with a tabor.

Vio. Save thee, friend, and thy musick:

thou live by thy tabor?

Clo. No, sir, I live by the church. Vio. Art thou a churchman ?

Dost

Clo. No such matter, sir; I do live by the church; for I do live at my house, and my house doth stand by the church.

Vio. So thou may'st say, the king lies by a beggar, if a beggar dwell near him; or the church stands by thy tabor, if thy tabor stand by the church.

Clo. You have said, sir. To see this age!-A sentence is but a cheveril glove to a good wit; How quickly the wrong side may be turned outward! 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 name, sir.

Vio. Why, man?

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 not thou 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?

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: 1 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 my legs.

Sir To. I mean to go, sir, to enter.

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!

Sir And. That youth's a rare courtier! Rain odours! well.

Vio. My matter hath no voice, lady, but to your own most pregnant and vouchsafed ear.

Sir And. Odours, pregnant, and vouchsafed rI'll get 'em all three ready.

oli. Let the garden door be shut, and leave me to my hearing.

[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;

Your servant's servant is your servant, madam.
Oli. For him, I think not on him: for his

Oli.

thoughts,

Would they were blanks, rather than fill'd with me!
Vio. Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts
On his behalf :-
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 musick from the spheres.
Vio.

Dear lady,.
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
think?

Have you not set mine honour at the stake,
And baited it with all the unmuzzled thoughts

Enough is shown; a cyprus, not a bosom,

Hides my poor heart: So 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 again: O world, how apt the poor are to be proud! 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 shows not itself more soon
Than love that would seem hid: love's night is
Cesario, by the roses of the spring,

[noon.

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
Shall mistress be of it, save I alone.
And so adieu, good madam; never more
Will I my master's tears to you deplore. [move
Oli. Yet come again: for thou, perhaps, may'st
That heart, which now abhors, to like his love.
[Exeunt.

SCENE II. A Room in Olivia's House. Enter Sir Toby Belch, Sir Andrew Ague-cheek, and Fabian.

Sir And. No, faith, I'll not stay a jot longer.
Sir To. Thy reason, dear venom, give thy reason.
Fab. You must needs yield your reason, sir An-

drew.

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.

Sir To. Did she see thee the while, old boy? tell

me that.

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 pre. vail 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?

Sir To. Go, write it in a martial hand; be curst and brief; it is no matter how witty, so it be elo quent 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, not seen such a thing as 'tis; I can hardly forbear with the augmentation of the Indies: you have hurling things at him. I know my lady will strike him; if she do, he'll smile, and take't for a great Sir To. Come, bring us, bring us where he is. [Exeunt.

favour.

SCENE III-A Street.

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.

My kind Antonio,