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

.

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.
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 lei 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-love 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.

2

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 bestowed 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 answered. 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 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?

Tio. Too well what love women to men may owe:
In faith, they are as true of heart as we.
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?
T'io. A blank, my lord: She never told her love,
But let conccalment, 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.

Dule. But died thy sister of her love, my boy?

lio. I am all the danghters 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 FABIAX.

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 favor 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 ? 1

Mar. Get ye all three into the box-tree: Malvolio's coming down this walk; he has been yonder i’ the sun, practising behavior 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. 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, 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 overweening rogue !

Fab. O, peace! Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock of him; how he jets under his advanced plumes !

1 The first folio reads " mettle of India." By the nettle of India is meant a zoophite, called Urtica Marina, abounding in the Indian seas. " Que tacta totius corporis pruritum quendam ercitat, unde nomen Urticæ est sortita."- Franzii Hist. Animal. 1665, p. 620. In Holland's translation of Pliny, Book ix.-—“ As for those nettles, &c., their qualities is to raise an itching smart.” So Green, in his “Card of Fancie,"_" The flower of India, pleasant to be seen, but whoso smelleth to it feeleth present smart.” He refers to it again in his Mamilia, 1593. Maria has certainly excited a congenial sensation in Sir Toby. Mettle of India would signify my girl of gold, my precious girl.

To jet was to strut.
VOL. I.

36

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. Pistos 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. 0, 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 lett Olivia sleeping,

Sir To. Fire and brimstone!
Fab. O, peace, peace!

Mal. And then to have the humor 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 my 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.

Mai. I extend my hand to him thus, quenching my familiar smile with an austere regard of control :

1