Sir To. Why, let her except, before excepted. Mar. Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modeft limits of order.

Sir To. Confine? I'll confine myself no finer than I am; these cloaths are good enough to drink in, and fo be these boots too; an they be not, let them hang themfelves 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


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 th' 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 fay fo! he plays o' th' violdegombo, and fpeaks three or four languages word for word without book, and hath all the good gifts of na



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 guft he hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought among the prudent, he would quickly have the gift of a grave.

Sir Tob. By this hand, they are fcoundrels and fubtractors that fay fo of him. Who are they?

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

Sir To. With drinking healths to my neice: I'll drink to her as long as there's a paffage in my throat, and drink in Illyria. He's a coward, and a coyftril, that will not drink to my neice 'till his brains turn o'th' toe like a parish-top. What, wench? Caftiliano vulgo; for here comes Sir Andrea Ague-cheek.

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Enter Sir Andrew.

Sir And. Sir Toby Belch! how now, Sir Toby Belch? Sir To. Sweet Sir Andrew!

Sir And. Bless you, fair fhrew.

Mar. And you too, Sir.

Sir To. Accoft, Sir Andrew, accost.

Sir And What's that?

Sir To. My neice's chamber-maid.

Sir And. Good mistress Accoft, I defire better acquaintance.

Mar. My name is Mary, Sir.

Sir And. Good miftrefs Mary Accoft,

Sir To. You mistake, Knight: accoft, is, front her, board her, wooe her, affail her.

Sir And. By my troth, I would not undertake her in this company. Is that the meaning of accost? Mar. Fare you well, gentlemen.

Sir To. An thou let her part fo, Sir Andrew, would thou might'ft never draw fword again.

Sir And. An you part fo, mistress, I would I might never draw fword again. Fair lady, do you think, you have fools in hand?

Mar. Sir, I have not you by th' hand.

Sir And. Marry, but you fhall have, and here's my hand.

Mar. Now, Sir, thought is free: I pray you, bring your hand to th' buttery-bar, and let it drink.

Sir And. Wherefore, fweet heart? what's your metaphor ?

Mar. It's dry, Sir.

Sir And. Why, I think fo: I am not fuch an ass, but I can keep my hand dry. But what's your jelt ? Mar. A dry jeft, Sir.

Sir And. Are you full of them ?

Mar. Ay, Sir, I have them at my finger's ends: marry, now I let

hand your

I am barren. go,

[Exit Maria. Sir To. O Knight, thou lack'ft a cup of canary: when

did I fee thee fo put down?

Sir And. Never in your life, I think, unless you see canary put me down: methinks, fometimes I have no more wit than a chriftian, or an ordinary man has; but I am a great eater of beef, and, I believe, that does harm to my wit.

Sir To. No question.

Sir And. An I thought that, I'd forfwear it. I'll ride home to-morrow, Sir Toby.

Sir To. Pourquoy, my dear Knight?

Sir And. What is pourquoy? do, or not do? I would, I had bestowed that time in the tongues that I have in fencing, dancing, and bear-baiting. (2) O, had I but follow'd the arts!

Sir To. Then hadft thou had an excellent head of hair.

Sir And Why, would that have mended my hair? Sir To. Paft queftion; for thou feeft, it will not curl by nature.

Sir And. But it becomes me well enough, does't not?

Sir To. Excellent! it hangs like flax on a diftaff; and I hope to fee a houfe-wife take thee between her legs, and spin it off.

(2) Sir And.

-O, had I but follow'd the Arts!

Sir To. Then hadst thou had an excellent Head of Hair.

Sir And. Why, would that have mended my Hair?

Sir To. Paft Queftion; for thou feeft it will not cool my Nature.] Prodigious Sagacity! and yet thus it has pass'd down thro' all the printed Copies. We cannot enough admire that happy Indolence of Mr. Pope, which can acquiefce in tranf mitting to us fuch Stuff for genuine Senfe and Argument. The Dialogue is of a very light Strain, 'tis certain, betwixt two foolish Knights: but yet I would be glad to know, methinks, what Sir Andrew's following the Arts, or his Hair being mended, could have to do with the cooling, or not cooling, Sir Toby's Nature. But my Emendation clears up all this Abfurdity: And the Context is an unexceptionable Confirmation.

Sir And. But it becomes me well enough, does't not?
Sir To. Excellent! It hangs like Flax on a Distaff, &c.


Sir And. Faith, I'll home to-morrow, Sir Toby; your neice will not be seen, or, if she be, it's four to one she'll none of me: the Duke himself here, hard by, wooes her.

Sir To. She'll none o’th' Duke, fhe'll not match above her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit; I have heard her fwear it. Tut, there's life in't, man.

Sir And. I'll ftay a month longer. I am a fellow o' th' ftrangeft mind i'th' world: I delight in masks and revels fometimes altogether.

Sir To. Art thou good at these kick-shaws, Knight?

Sir And. As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be, under the degree of my betters; and yet I will not compare with an old man.

Sir To. What is thy excellence in a galliard, Knight? Sir And. Faith, I can cut a caper.

Sir To. And I can cut the mutton to't.

Sir And. And, I think, I have the back-trick, fimply as ftrong as any man in Illyria.

Sir To. Wherefore are these things hid? wherefore have thefe gifts a curtain before them? are they like to take duft, like miftrefs Mall's picture? why doft thou not go to church in a galliard, and come home in a coranto ? my very walk fhould be a jig! I would not fo much as make water, but in a fink-a-pace: what doft thou mean? is it a world to hide virtues in? I did think, by the excellent constitution of thy leg, it was form'd under the ftar of a galliard.

Sir And. Ay, 'tis ftrong, and it does indifferent well in a flame-colour'd ftocking. Shall we fet about fome revels?

Sir To. What fhall we do else? were we not born under Taurus?

Sir And. Taurus? that's fides and heart. Sir To. No, Sir, it is legs and thighs. thee caper; ha! higher: ha, ha!

Let me fee excellent.



SCENE changes to the Palace.

Enter Valentine, and Viola in man's attire.

F the Duke continue these favours towards you,

Val. Cefario, you are like to be much advanc'd; he

hath known you but three days, and already you are no Aranger.

Vio. You either fear his humour, or my negligence, that you call in question the continuance of his love. Is he inconftant, Sir, in his favours.?

Val. No, believe me.

Enter Duke, Curio, and Attendants.

Vio. I thank you: here comes the Duke.
Duke. Who faw Cefario, hoa?

Vio. On your attendance, my Lord, here.
Duke. Stand you a-while aloof.

Thou know'ft no lefs, but all: I have unclafp'd

To thee the book even of my secret soul.

Therefore, good youth, addrefs thy gate unto her;
Be not deny'd accefs, ftand at her doors,
And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow,
'Till thou have audience.

Vio. Sure, my noble Lord,

If fhe be fo abandon'd to her forrow

As it is fpoke, fhe never will admit me.

Duke. Be clamorous, and leap all civil bounds,
Rather than make unprofited return.

Vio. Say, I do fpeak with her, my Lord; what then?
Duke. O, then, unfold the paffion of



Surprize 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 fo, my Lord.
Duke. Dear lad, believe it:

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

Is not more smooth and rubious; thy fmall pipe


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