away my fpeech; for, befides that it is excellently well penn'd, I have taken great pains to con it. Good Beauties, let me fuftain no fcorn; I am very comptible, even to the leaft sinister usage.

Oli. Whence came you, Sir?

Vio. I can fay little more than I have ftudied, and that Queftion's out of my Part. Good gentle One, give me modeft affurance, if you be the Lady of the houfe, 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 fwear, I am not that I play. Are you the Lady of the house?

Oli. If I do not ufurp my self, I am.

Vio. Most certain, if you are fhe, you do ufurp your felf; for what is yours to bestow, is not yours to referve; but this is from my Commiffion. I will on with my speech in your praife, and then fhew you the heart of my meffage.

Oli. Come to what is important in't: I forgive you the praife.

Vio. Alas, I took great pains to ftudy it, and 'tis poetical.

Oli. It is the more like to be feign'd. I pray you, keep it in. I heard, you were fawcy at my gates; and I allow'd your approach, rather to wonder at you than to hear you. If you be not mad, be gone; if you have reafon, be brief: 'tis not that time of the moon with me, to make one in fo skipping a dialogue.

Mar. Will you hoist fail, Sir? here lyes your way. Vio. No, good fwabber, I am to hull here a little longer. Some mollification for your Giant, fweet Lady tell me your mind, I am a Messenger.

Oli. Sure, you have fome hideous matter to deliver, when the courtefie of it is fo 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 appear'd in me, have I learn'd from my entertainment. What I am, and what I would, are as fecret as maiden-head; to your ears, divinity; to any other's, prophanation.

Oli. Give us the place alone. [Exit Maria.] We will hear this divinity. Now, Sir, what is your text? Vio. Moft fweet Lady,

Oli. A comfortable Doctrine, and much may be faid of it. Where lyes your text?

Vio. In Orfino's bofom.

Oli. In his bofom? in what chapter of his bofom? Vio. To answer by the method, in the firft of his heart. Oli. O, I have read it; it is herefie. Have you no more to fay?

Vio. Good Madam, let me fee your face.

Oli. Have you any commiffion from your Lord to negotiate with my face? you are now out of your text; but we will draw the curtain, and fhew you the picture. (3) Look you, Sir, fuch a one I wear this prefent: is't not well done? [Unveiling.

Vio. Excellently done, if God did all.

Oli. 'Tis in grain, Sir; 'twill endure wind and weather.
Vio. 'Tis Beauty truly blent, whofe red and white
Nature's own fweet and cunning hand laid on:
Lady, you are the cruell'ft She alive,

If you will lead these graces to the Grave,
And leave the world no copy.

(3) Look you, Sir, fuch a one I was this prefent: is't not well done?] This is Nonfenfe. My Correction, I think, clears all up, and gives the Expreffion an Air of Gallantry. Viola preffes to fee Olivia's Face: The.other at length pulls off her Veil, and fays; We will draw the Curtain, and shew you the Picture. I wear this Complexion to day, I may wear another to morrow; jocularly intimating, that She painted. The Other, vext at the Jeft, fays, 66 Excellently done, if God did al" Perhaps, it may be true, what you fay in Jeft; other wife 'tis an excellent Face. 'Tis in Grain, &c. replies Olivia. Mr. Warburton.

Oli. O, Sir, I will not be fo hard-hearted: I will give out diverse schedules of my beauty. It shall be inventoried, and every particle and utenfil labell'd to my will. As, Item, two lips indifferent red. Item, two grey eyes, with lids to them. Item, one neck, one chin, and fo forth. Were you fent hither to praise me?

Vio. I fee you, what you are; you are too proud;
But if you were the Devil, you are fair.

My Lord and Mafter loves you: O, fuch love
Could be but recompens'd, tho' you were crown'd
The Non-pareil of Beauty!

Oli. How does he love me?

Vio. With adorations, with fertile tears,

With

groans that thunder love, with fighs of fire.

Oli. Your Lord does know my mind, I cannot love him;

Yet I fuppofe him virtuous, know him noble,

Of great eftate, of fresh and stainless youth;

In voices well divulg'd; free, learn'd, and valiant;
And in dimenfion, and the shape of nature,
A gracious perfon; but yet I cannot love him :
He might have took his answer long ago.
Vio. If I did love you in my maiter's flame,
With fuch a fuff'ring, fuch a deadly life,
your denial I would find no fenfe :

In

I would not understand it.

Oli. Why, what would you do?

Vio. Make me a willow cabin at your gate,
And call upon my foul within the houfe;
Write loyal canto's of contemned love,
And fing them loud even in the dead of night:
(4) Hollow your name to the reverberant hills,
And make the babling goffip of the air
Cry out, Olivia! O, you should not rest
Between the elements of air and earth,

But you fhould pity me.

(4) Hollow your Name to the reverberate Hills,] I have, against the Authority of the printed Copies, corre&ted, reverberant. The Adjective Paffive makes Nonfenfe.

Oli. You might do much: What is your parentage?

Vio. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well : I am a gentleman.

Oli. Get you to your Lord;

I cannot love him: let him send no more;
Unless, perchance, you come to me again,
To tell me how he takes it; fare you well:
I thank you for your pains; fpend this for me.
Vio. I am no fee'd poft, lady; keep your purse :
My mafter, not my felf, lacks recompence.
Love make his heart of flint, that you shall love,
And let your fervour, like my master's, be
Plac'd in contempt! farewel, fair cruelty.
Oli. What is your parentage?

Above my fortunes, yet my flate is well:
I am a gentleman-

-I'll be fworn thou art.

[Exit.

Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit,
Do give thee five-fold blazon-not too fast-soft! foft!
Unless the mafter were the man.
-How now?

Even fo quickly may one catch the plague?
Methinks, I feel this youth's perfections,
With an invifible and subtile stealth,

To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be-
What ho, Malvolio,

Enter Malvolio.

Mal. Here, Madam, at your fervice.
Oli. Run after that fame peevish meffenger,
The Duke's man; he left this ring behind him,
Would I, or not: tell him, I'll none of it.
Defire him not to flatter with his Lord,
Nor hold him up with hopes; I am not for him:
If that the youth will come this way to-morrow,
I'll give him reasons for't. Hye thee, Malvolio.
Mal. Madam, I will.

Oli. I do, I know not what; and fear to find
Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind:
Fate, fhew thy force; our felves we do not owe;
What is decreed, muft be; and be this fo!

[Exit.

[Exit.

ACT

ACT II.

SCENE, The Street.

Enter Antonio and Sebaftian.

ANTONIO.

ILL you ftay no longer? nor will you not, that
I go with you?

Seb. By your patience, no: my stars fhine darkly over me; the malignancy of my fate might, perhaps, diftemper yours; therefore I fhall crave of you your leave, that Í bear may evils alone. It were a bad recompence for your love, to lay any of them on you.

my

Ant. Let me yet know of you, whither you are bound.

Seb. No, footh, Sir; my determinate voyage is meer extravagancy: but I perceive in you so excellent a touch of modefty, that you will not extort from me what I am willing to keep in; therefore it charges me in manners the rather to express myself: you must know of me then, Antonio, my name is Sebaftian, which I call'd Rodorigo; my father was that Sebaftian of Meffaline, whom, I know, you have heard of. He left behind him, myself, and a fifter, both born in one hour; if the heav'ns had been pleas'd, would we had fo ended! but you, Sir, alter'd that; for, fome hour before you took me from the breach of the sea, was my fifter drown'd.

Ant. Alas, the day!

Seb. A Lady, Sir, tho' it was faid fhe much refembled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful; but tho' I could not with fuch eftimable wonder over-far believe that, yet thus far I will boldly publish her, fhe bore a mind that envy could not but call fair: fhe is drown'd

already,