vants, and rot worthy to touch fortune's fingers. Farewell. She that would alter services with thee,' "The fortunate-unhappy.' Daylight and champain discovers not more; this is open I will be proud. I will baffle Sir Toby. I will wash off gross acquaintance, I will be point-de-vice, the very man. I do not now fool myself, to let imagination jade me; for every reason excites to this, that my lady loves me. She did commend my yellow stockings; of late she did praise my leg being cross-gartered !-I thank my stars, I am happy I will be strange, stout, in yellow stockings, and cross-gartered, even with the swiftness of putting on Jove, and my stars, be praised !-Here is yet a postscript, (Reads.) Thou canst not choose but know who I am. If thou entertainest my love, let it appear in thy smiling; thy smiles become thee well: therefore in my presence still smile, dear my sweet, I pr'ythee!' Jove, I thank thee !-I will smile; I will do every thing that thou wilt have me. [Exit, L.-They advance from behind the trees. Omnes. Ha ha ha! Fab. I will not give my part of this sport for a pension of thousands to be paid from the Sophy. Sir To. I could marry this wench for this device. And ask no other dowry with her, but such an Nor I, neither. Fab. Here comes my noble gull-catcher. Enter MARIA, R. Wilt thou set thy foot o' my neck? Sir To. Sir An. Or o' mine either? Sir To. Shall I become thy bond-slave? Sir An. Or I either? Sir To. Why, thou hast put him in such a dream, that when the image of it leaves him, he must ruu mad. Mar. Nay, but say true; does it work upon him? Sir To. Like aqua-vitæ with a midwife. Mar. If you will, then, see the fruits of the sport, mark his first approach before my lady: he will come to her in yellow stockings, and 'tis a color she ablors; and crossgartered, a fashion she detests; and he will smile upon will now be so unsuitable to her disposition eted to a melancholy as she is, that it cannot but to a notable contempt: if you will see it, follow [Exit, L. To the gates of Tartar, thou most excellent it ! . I'll make one too. And I. Huzza! huzza! huzza! SCENE II -A Public Square. [Exeunt, L Enter SEBASTIAN and ANTONIO, R. S. E. I would not, by my will, have troubled you; e you make your pleasure of your pains, further chide you. I could not stay behind you; my desire, arp than fileèd steel, did spur me forth; , besides, what might befall your travel, killess in these parts; which to a stranger, ed, and unfriended, often prove and unhospitable my willing love, Cher by these arguments of fear, th in your pursuit. My kind Antonio, no other answer make, but thanks, anks, and ever thanks.-What is to do? we go see the relics of this town? . To-morrow, sir; best, first, go see your lodging. . I am not weary, and 'tis long to night: 7 you, let us satisfy our eyes the memorials, and the things of fame, do renown this city. t. 'Would you'd pardon me. not without danger walk these streets; were I ta'en here, it would scarce be answered. eb. Do not, then, walk too open. nt. It doth not fit me.-Hold, sir, here's my purse; The south suburbs, at the Elephant, est to lodge; I will bespeak our diet, Whiles you beguile the time, and feed your knowledge, Ant. Haply your eye shall light upon some toy Seb. I'll be your purse-bearer, and leave you for Ant. To the Elephant. Seb. I do remember. [Exeunt, Sebastian, L., Antonio, R. SCENE III.-Olivia's Garden. Enter CLOWN, playing on a tabor, and VIOLA, L. Vio. Save thee, friend, and thy music: dost thou live by the tabor? Clown. No, sir, I live by the church. Vio. Art thou a churchman? Clown. No such matter, sir: I do live by the church: for I do live at my house, and my house doth stand by the church. Vio. Art not thou the lady Olivia's fool? Clown. No, indeed, sir: the lady Olivia has no folly; she will keep no fool, sir, till she be married; and fools are as like husbands as pilchards are to herring-the busband's the bigger I am, indeed, not her fool, but her corrupter of words. Vio. I saw thee late at the Duke Orsino's. Clown. Foolery, sir, does walk without the orb, like the sun it shines everywhere. I would be sorry, sir, but the fool should be as oft with your master as with my mistress I think I saw your wisdom there. Vio. Nay, an' thou pass upon me, I'll no more with thee. Hold, there's expenses for thee. [Gires him money. Clown. Now, Jove, in his next commodity of hair, send thee a beard! one. Vio. By my troth, I'll tell thee; I am almost sick for Is thy lady within ? Clown. Would not a pair of these have bred, sir? Vio. Yes, being kept together, and put to use. Clown, I would play lord Pandaras of Phrygia, sir, to bring a Cressida to this Troilus. understand you, sir: egged. 1. (Gives him more money.) My lady is within, sir. I will construe to them ou come who you are, and what you would are y welkin; I might say, element: but the word is [Exit, L This fellow's wise enough to play the fool; lo that well, craves a kind of wit: observe their mood on whom he jests, lity of persons, and the time; like the haggard, check at every feather Enter SIR TOBY and SIR ANDREW, L. To. Save you, gentleman. And you, sir. To. My nicce is desirous you should enter, if your De to her. I am bound to your neice, sir: I mean, she is the my voyage. To. Taste your legs, sir, put them to motion. -. My legs do better understand me, sir, than I unand what you mean, by bidding me taste my legs. 1o. I mean-to go, sir, to enter. 9. I will answer you with gait and entrance: but we revented. Enter OLIVIA, L. excellent, accomplished lady, the heavens rain odours ou! ir An. That youth's a rare courtier !-Rain odours! io. My matter hath no voice, lady, but to your own t pregnant and vouchsafed ear. Sir An. Odours, pregnant, and vouchsafed !'-I'll get all three ready. Oli. Leave me to my hearing. Sir An. Odours-pregnant-vouchsafed!' [Exeunt Sir Toby and Sir Andrew, R. Oli. Give me your hand, sir. Vio. My duty, madam, and most humble service. Oli. What is your name? Vio. Cesario is your servant's name, fair princess. Vio. And he is yours, and his must needs be yours; Oli. For him, I think not on him for his thoughts Oli. Oh, by your leave, I pray you; Vio. Dear lady Oli. Give me leave, I beseech you: I did send, A ring in chase of you; so did I abuse Which you knew none of yours: what might you think? And baited it with all the unmuzzled thoughts That tyrannous heart can think? To one of your re ceiving Enough is shown; a cypress, not a bosom, Hi les my poor heart so let me hear you speak. Vio. I pity you. Oli. That's a degree to love. Vio. No, not a grise: for 'tis a vulgar proof, That very oft we pity enemies. Oli. Why, then, methinks, 'tis time to smile again: Oh, world, how apt the poor are to be proud! [Clock strikes. The clock upbraids me with the waste of time.Be not afraid, good youth, I will not have you : And yet, when wit and youth is come to harvest. Your wife is like to reap a proper man: There lies your way, due west. |