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Enter the Duke, Curio, and Lords.

Duke. IF musick 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:
O, 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 beiore.
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 fancy2,
That it alone is high-fantastical'.

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

Cur. The hart.

Duke. Why, so I do, the noblest that I have: O, when my eyes did see Olivia first, Methought she purg'd the air of pestilence :

That is, value. 2 i. e. love.

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That instant I was turn'd into a hart;

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 hand-maid do return this answer; The element itself, till seven years hence, 10 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, 15 And lasting, in her sad remembrance. Duke. O, she that hath a heart of that fine frame, To this debt of love but to a brother, pay How will she love, when the rich golden shaft Hath kill'd the flock of all affections else 20 That live in her! when liver, brain, and heart, These sovereign thrones, are all supply'd, and fill'd, (Her sweet perfections) with one self-same king! Away before me to sweet beds of flowers; Love-thoughtslie rich, when canopy'd with bowers. [Exeunt,

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Most provident in peril, bind himself

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. Pl serve this duke; 5Thou 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 musick, That will allow me very worth his service. What else may hap, to time I will commit: 10 Only shape thou thy silence to my wit.

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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.

SCENE III.

Olivia's House.

Enter Sir Toby, and Maria.

Sir To. What a plague means my niece, to take

(Courage and hope both teaching him the practice) 20 the death of her brother thus? I am sure, Care's

To a strong mast that liv'd 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.

Vio. 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?

Cup. 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 name.
Vio. What is his name?

Cap. Orsino.

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Jan enemy to life.

Mar. By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o'nights; your cousin, my lady, 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.

SirTo, Confine? I'll confine myself no finer than I am: these cloaths are good enough to drink in, 30 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

Vio. Orsino; I have heard my father name him. 35 to be her wooer.
He was a batchelor 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.

Vio. What's she?

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[her 45

Cap. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count That dy'd some twelve-month since; then leaving In the protection of his son, her brother, Who shortly also dy'd: for whose dear love, They say, she hath abjur'd the sight And company of men.

Vio. O, that I serv'd that lady;

And might not be deliver'd' to the world,
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.

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?
SirTo. 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' th' 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 50 gust he hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought among the prudent, he would quickly have the gift of a grave.

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Sir To. By this hand, they are scoundrels, and subtractors 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's a passage in my throat, and drink in Illyria. He's a coward, and a 60 coystril, that will not drink to my niece, till his That is, made public to the world. Tall means stout, courageous. 4 Mr. Steevens explains coystril to mean a coward cock, or a bastard hawk; while Mr. Tollet says, it implies a paltry groom, one only fit to carry arms, but not to use them,

2 i. e. approve.

brains turn o' the toe like a parish-top'. What, wench? Castiliano volgo'; for here comes Sir Andrew Ague-face.

Enter Sir Andrew.

Iman 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 forswear it. I'll

Sir And. Sir Toby Belch! how now, Sir Toby 5 ride home to-morrow, Sir Toby. Belch?

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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: 100, 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. Past question; for thou seest, it will not 15 curl by nature.

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Sir And. An you part so, mistress I would I might never draw sword again! Fair lady, do you 25 think you have fools in hand?

Mar. Sir, I have not you by the hand.

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

Mar. Now, sir, thought is free: I pray you, 30 bring your hand to the buttery-bar, and let it drink. Sir And. Wherefore, sweet-heart? what's your metaphor?

Mar. It's dry, sir3.

Sir And. Why, I think so; I am not such ar 35 ass, but I can keep my hand dry. But what's your jest?

Mar. A dry jest, sir.

Sir And. Are you full of them?

Mar. Ay, sir; I have them at my fingers' ends:40] marry, now I let go your hand, I am barren. [Exit Maria.

Sir To. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of canary ;| When did I see thee so put down?

Sir And. Never in your life, I think; unless you see canary put me down: Methinks, sometimes I have no more wit than a christian, or an ordinary

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

Sir To. Excellent! it hangs like flax on a distaff; and I hope to see a housewife take thee between her legs, and spin it off.

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

Sir To. She'll none o' the count; she'll not match above her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit; I have heard her swearit. Tut, there's life in't, man.

Sir And. I'll stay a month longer. I am a fellow o' the strangest mind i' the world; I delight in masques and revels sometimes 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, simply as strong as any man in Illyria.

Sir To. Wherefore are these things hid? where fore have these gifts a curtain before them? Are they like to take dust, like mistress Mall's pic45ture? why dost thou not go to church in a gal liard, and come home in a coranto? My very walk should be a jig; I would not so much as make

It was anciently the custom to keep a large top in every village, to be whipped in frosty weather, as well to warm the peasants by exercise, as to keep them out of mischief, while they could not work. 2 Dr. Warburton thinks we should read tolto; the meaning will then be in English, Put on your Castilian countenance; that is, your grave solemn looks. Mr. Malone observes, that Castilian seems to have been a cant term for a finical affected courtier. 'That is, not a lover's hand; a moist hand being vulgarly deemed a sign of an amorous constitution. Shakspeare is here supposed to allude to one Mary Frith, more generally known by the appellation of Mail Cut-purse; and of whom Mr. Grainger gives the following account in his Biographical History of England: "She was commonly supposed to have been an hermaphrodite, and practised, or was instrumental to, almost every crime and wild frolic which is notorious in the most abandoned and eccentric of both sexes. She was infamous as a prostitute and a procuress, a fortune-teller, a pick-pocket, a thief, and a receiver of stolen goods. Her most signal exploit was robbing General Fairfax upon Hounslow Heath, for which she was sent to Newgate, but was, by the proper application of a large sum of money, soon set at liberty. She died of the dropsy, in the 75th year of her age, but would probably have died sooner, if she had not smoaked. tobacco, in the frequent use of which she had long indulged herself.”

water

water but in a sink-a-pace'. What dost 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 star of a galliard.

Sir And. Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent 5 well in a flame-colour'd stock'. Shall we set about some revels?

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

Sir And. Taurus? that's sides and heart'. Sir To. No, sir; it is legs and thighs. Let me see thee caper: ha! higher: ha, ha!-excellent!

SCENE IV.

The Palace.

[Exeunt

Enter Valentine, and l'iola in man's attire.
Val. If the duke continue these favours towards

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you, Cesario, you are like to be much advanc'd; 20 he hath known you but three days, and already you are no stranger.

Vio. You either fear his humour, or my negli gence, that you call in question the continuance of his love: Is he inconstant, sir, in his favours? Val. No, believe me.

Enter Duke, Curio, and Attendants.
Vio. Ithank you. Here comes the count.
Duke. Who saw Cesario, ho?

Vio. On your attendance, my lord; here.
Duke. Stand you a-while aloof.-Cesario,
Thou know'st no less but all; I have unclasp'd
To thee the book even of my secret soul:
Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her;
Be not deny'd access, stand at her doors,
And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow,
'Till thou have audience.

Vio. Sure, my noble lord,

If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow

As it is spoke, she never will admit me.

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

[then

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140!

Vio. Say, I do speak with her, my lord: "What
Duke. O, then, unfold the passion of my love, 45
Surprise 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 so, my lord.
Duke. Dear lad, believe it;

For they shall yet belye thy happy years,
That say, thou art a man: Diana's lip

Is not more smooth, and rubious; thy small pipe
Is as the maiden's organ, shrill, and sound,
And all is semblative a woman's part.
I know, thy constellation is right apt

For this affair:-Some four, or five, attend him;
All, if you will: for I myself am best,
When least in company-Prosper well in this,

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And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord
To call his fortunes thine.
Fio. I'll do my best,

[strife':
To woo your lady: [Exit Duke.] yet,a "barrful
Who-e'er I woo, myself would be his wite. [Exeunt.
SCENE V.

Olivia's House.

Enter Maria and Clown.

Mar. Nay, either tell me where thou hast been, or I will not open my lips so wide as a bristle may enter in way of thy excuse: my lady will hang thee for thy absence.

Clo. Let her hang me: he, that is well hang'd in this world, needs tear no colours. Mar. Make that good.

Clo. He shall see none to fear.

Mar. A good Lenten' answer; I can tell thee where that saying was born, of, I fear no colours Clo. Where, good mistress Mary?

Mar. In the wars; and that may you be bold to say in your foolery.

Clo. Well, God give them wisdom that have it; and those that are fools, let them use their talents. Mar. Yet you will be hang'd, for being so long absent, or be turn'd away; Is not that as good as a hanging to you?

Clo. Marry, a good hanging prevents a bad marriage; and, for turning away, let summer bear it out.

Mar. You are resolute then?

Clo. Not so neither; but I am resolv'd on two points.

Mar. That, if one break, the other will hold; or, if both break, your gaskins fall.

Clo. Apt, in good faith; very apt! Well, go thy way; if Sir Toby would leave drinking, thou wert as witty a piece of Eve's flesh as any in Illyria.

Mar. Peace, you rogue, no more of that; here comes my lady: make your excuse wisely, you were best. [Exit.

Enter Olivia and Malvolio. Clo. Wit, an't be thy will, put me into good fooling! Those wits, that think they have thee, do very oft prove fools; and I, that am sure I lack thee, may pass for a wise man: For what says 50 Quinapalus? Better a witty fool, than a foolish wit.. God bless thee, lady!

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Oli. Take the fool away.

Clo. Do you not hear, fellow? take away the lady.

Oli. Go to, you're a dry fool; I'll no more of you: besides, you grow dishonest.

Clo. Two faults, Madonna', that drink and good counsel will amend: for give the dry fool drink, then is the fool not dry; bid the dishonest man 160mend himself; if he mend, he is no longer dis

That is, a cinque-pace; the name of a dance, the measures whereof are regulated by the number five. Stockings were in Shakspeare's time called stocks. This alludes to the medical astrology, which refers the affections of particular parts of the body, to the predominance of particular constella*i. e. a contest full of impediments. ⚫ Meaning, a short and spare one; alluding to the cominons in Lent. The cant word for mistress, dume,

tions.

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Lonest;

honest; if he cannot, let the botcher mend him :) Any thing that's mended, is but patch'd: virtue, that transgresses, is but patch'd with sin; and sin, that amends, is but patch'd with virtue: if that this simple syllogism will serve, so; if it will not, 5 What reinedy? As there is no true cuckold but calamity, so beauty's a flower: the lady bade take away the fool; therefore, I say again, take her

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Mar. I know not, madam; 'tis a fair young man, and well attended.

Oli. Who of my people hold him in delay? Mar. Sir Toby, Madam, your kinsman. Oli. Fetch him off, I pray you: he speaks nothing but madman; Fie on him! Go you, Malvolio: if it be a suit from the count, I am sick, or not at home; what you will to dismiss it. [Exit Malvolio.] Now you see, sir, how your fooling 10 grows old, and people dislike it.

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Oli. Well, sir, for want of other idleness, I'll 20 bide your proof.

Clo. Good Madonna, why mourn'st thou ?
Oli. Good fool, for my brother's death.
Clo. I think his soul is in hell, Madonna.
Oli. I know his soul is in heaven, fool.

Clo. The more fool you, Madonna, to mourn for your brother's soul being in heaven.-Take away the fool, gentlemen.

Oli. What think you of this fool, Malvolio? doth he not mend?

Mal. Yes; and shall do, 'till the pangs of death shake him: Infirmity, that decays the wise, doth ever make the better fool.

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Clo. God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for the better increasing your folly! Sir Toby will 35 be sworn that I am no fox; but he will not pass his word for two-pence that you are no fool.

Oli. How say you to that, Malvolio?

Mal. I marvel your ladyship takes delight in such a barren rascal; I saw him put down the 40 other day with an ordinary fool, that has no more brain than a stone: Look you now, he's out of his guard already; unless you laugh and minister occasion to him, he is gagg'd. I protest, I take these wise men, that crow so at these set kind of fools, 45 no better than the fools' zanies.

Oli. O, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and taste with a distemper'd appetite: to be generous, guiltless, and of free disposition, is to take those things for bird-bolts, that you deem cannon-bullets: 50 There is no slander in an allow'd fool, though he do nothing but rail; nor no railing in a known discreet man, though he do nothing but reprove.

Clo. Now Mercury indue thee with leasing', for thou speak'st well of fools!

Enter Maria.

Mar. Madam, there is at the gate a young gentlenian much desires to speak with you. Oli. From the count Orsino, is it?

'That is, lying.

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Clo. Thou hast spoken for us, Madonna, as if thy eldest son should be a fool; whose scull Jove cram with brains, for here comes one of thy kin has a most weak pia mater!

Enter Sir Toby.

Oli. By mine honour, half drunk.-What is he at the gate, cousin?

Sir To. A gentleman.

Oli. A gentleman? What gentleman ?

Sir To. 'Tis a gentleman here—A plague o'these pickle-herrings!-How now, sot?

Clo. Good Sir Toby,

Oli. Cousin, cousin, how have you come so early by this lethargy?

Sir To. Lechery! I defy lechery: There's on at the gate.

Oli. Ay, marry; what is he?

Sir To. Let himn be the devil, an he will, I care not: give me faith, say I. Well, it's all one. [Exit. Oli. What's a drunken man like, fool?

Clo. Like a drown'd man, a fool, anda madman: one draught above heat makes him a fool; the second mads him; and a third drowns him.

Oli. Go thou and seek the coroner, and let him sit o' my coz; for he's in the third degree of drink, he's drown'd: go, look after him.

Clo. He is but mad yet, Madonna; and the fool shall look to the madman. [Exit Clown.

Re-enter Malvolio.

Mal. Madam, yond young fellow swears he will speak with you. I told him you were sick; he takes on him to understand so much, and therefore comes to speak with you: I told him you were asleep; he seems to have a fore-knowledge of that too, and therefore comes to speak with you. What is to be said to him, lady? he's fortified against any denial.

Oli. Tell him, he shall not speak vith me.

Mal. He has been told so; and he says, he'll stand at your door like a sheriff's post', and be the supporter to a bench, but he'll speak with you. Oli. What kind of man is he?

Mal. Why, of man kind.

Oli. What manner of man?

Mal. Of very ill manner; he'll speak with you, will you, or no.

Oli. Of what personage, and years, is he?

Mal. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy; as a squash is before 'tis a 60 peascod, or a codling when 'tis almost an apple;

2 It was the custom of that officer to have large posts set up at his door, as an indication of his office; the original of which was that the king's proclamations, and other public acts, might be affixed thereon by of publication.

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