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TWELFTH-NIGHT;

OR,

WHAT YOU WILL.

un WC

ACT 1. SCENE I. An apartment in the Duke's palace. Enter Duke, Curio, Lords; musicians attending,

Duke. If music be the food of love, play on,
Give me excess of it; that, surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.
That strain again ;--it had a dying fall:
0, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south,
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing, and giving odour.-Enough; no more;
'Tis not so sweet now, as it was before.
O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou !
That notwithstanding thy capacity
Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there,
Of what validity * and pitch soever,
But falls into abatement and low price,
Even in a minute ! so full of shapes is fancy,
That it alone is high-fantasticalt.

Cur. Will you go hunt, my lord ?
Duke,

What, Curio ?

The hart. Duke. Why, so I do, the noblest that I have : 0, when mine eyes did see Olivia first, Methought, she purg'd the air of pestilence; That instant was I turn’d into a hart;.

* Value, of Fantastical lo the height.

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And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds,
E’er since pursue me. How now? what news from

her ?

Enter Valentine. Val. So please my lord, I might not be admitted, But from her handmaid do return this answer : The element itself, till seven years heat*, Shall not behold her face at ample view; But, like a cloistress, she will veiled walk, And water once a day her chamber round, With eye-offending brine: all this, to season A brother's dead love, which she would keep fresh, And lasting, in her sad remembrance.

Duke. O, she that hath a heart of that fine frame, To pay this debt of love but to a brother, How will she love, when the rich golden shaft Hath kill'd the flock of all affections else That live in her ! when liver, brain, and heart, These sovereign thrones, are all supplied, and fill'd (Her sweet perfections,) with one self king ! Away before me to sweet beds of flowers ; Love-thoughts lie rich, when canopied with bowers.

[Exeunt. 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.

* Heated.

. And we is in Elysown'd

Vio

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. .

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.

A noble duke, in nature, As in his name.

What is his name? Сар.

Orsino.
· 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.

What's she?
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 abjur’d the company And sight of inen. · Pio.

O, that I served that lady; And might not be delivered to the world,

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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 behaviour 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 an eunuch 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 you his eunuch, and your mute I'll be: When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see !

Vio. I thank thee : lead me on. (Exeunt.

- SCENE III.

4 room in Olivia's house, Enter Sir Toby Belch, and Maria.” Sir To. What a plague means my niece, to take the death of her brother thus? I am sure care's an enemy to life.

Mar. By mytroth, Sir Foby, you must come in earliero'er nights; your cousin, mylady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours.

Sir To. Why, let her except before excepted. Mar. Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modest limits of order. Sir To. Confine? I'll confine myself no finer than

* Approve.

I am : these clothes are good enough to drink in, and so be these boots too, an they be not, let them hang themselves in their own straps.

Mar. That quaffing and drinking will undo you: I heard my lady talk of it yesterday; and of a foolish knight, that you brought in one night here, to be her wooer.

Sir To. Who? Sir Andrew Ague-cheek?
Mar. Ay, he.
Sir To. He's as tall * a man as any's in Illyria.
Mar. What's that to the purpose ?
Sir To. Why, he has three thousand ducats a year.

Mar. Ay, but he'll have but a year in all these ducats; he's a very fool, and a prodigal.

Sir To. Fie, that you'll say so! he plays o’the viol-de gambo, and speaks three or four languages word for word without book, and hath all the good gifts of nature.

Mar. He hath, indeed, -almost natural: for, besides that he's a fool, he's a great quarreller; and, but that he hath the gift of a coward to allay the gust he hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought among the prudent, he would quickly have the gift of a grave.

Sir To. By this hand, they are scoundrels, and substractors, that say so of him. Who are they?

Mar. They that add moreover, he's drunk nightly in your company.

Sir To. With drinking healths to my niece; I'll drink to her, as long as there is a passage in my throat, and drink in Illyria: he's a coward, and a coystrilt, that will not drink to my niece, 'till his brains turn o' the toe, like a parishı-top. What, wench? Castiliano vulgo; for here comes Sir Andrew Ague-face.

i Enter Sir Andrew Ague-cheek. Sir And. Sir Toby Belch! how now, Sir Toby Belch? Sir To. Sweet Sir Andrew! * Stout.

+ Keystril, a bastard hawk.

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