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Clo. Sir Toby, there you lie.
Sir To. Out o'tune, Sir, ye lie: Art thou any more than a Steward? Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there : shall be no more Cakes and Ale?
Clo. Yes, by Saint Anne; and Ginger shall be hot i’th' Mouth too.
Sir To. Thou’rt i'th' right. Go, Sir, rub your Chain with Crums. A Stoop of Wine, Maria.
Mal. Mistress Mary, if you priz'd my Lady's Favour at any thing more than Contempt, you would not give means for this uncivil Rule; she shall know of it, by this Hand.
[Exit. Mar. Go shake your Ears. * Sir And. 'Twere as good a deed as to drink when a Man's a hungry, to challenge him the Field, and then to break Promise with him, and make a Fool of him.
Sir To. Do't, Knight, I'll write thee a Challenge : or I'll deliver thy Indignation to him by word of Mouth.
Mar. Sweet, Sir Toby, be patient for to Night'; since the Youth of the Duke's was to day with my Lady, she is much out of quiet. For Monsieur Malvolio, let me alone with him: If I do not gull him into a nayword, and make him a common Recreation, do not think I have wit enough to lye straight in my Bed : I know I can do it.
Sir To. Possess us, pofless us, tell us something of him.
Sir To. What, for being a Puritan? thy exquisite Reason, dear Knight.
Sir And. I have no exquisite Reason for't, but I have Reason good enough. - Mar. The Devil a Puritan that he is, or any thing conftantly but a Time-pleaser, an affection'd Ass, that Cons State without Book, and utters it by great swarths. The best persuaded of himself: So cram'd, as he thinks, with Excellencies, that it is his ground of Faith, that all that look
on him, love him; and on that Vice in him will my Revenge find notable Cause to work.
Sir To. What wilt thou do?
Mar. I will drop in his way some obscure Epistles of Love, wherein, by the colour of his Beard, the shape of his Leg, the manner of his Gate, the expressure of his Eye, Forehead, and Complexion, he shall find himself most feelingly personated. I can write very like my Lady your Neice, on a forgotten matter we can hardly make distin&tion of our hands.
Sir To. Excellent, I smell a Device.
Sir To. He shall think by the Letters that thou wilt drop, that they come from my Neice, and that she is in Love with him.
Mar. My purpose is indeed a Horse of that Colour. .
Mar, Sport royal, I warrant you: I know my Physick ? will work with him. I will plant you two, and let the Fool make a third, where he shall find the Letter : Observe his Construction of it: For this Night to Bed, and dream on the Event. Farewel.
Sir To. She's a Beagle, true bred, and one that adores me; what o'that?
Sir And. I was ador'd once too.
Sir To. Let's to Bed, Knight : Thou hadft need fend for more Mony.
Sir And. If I cannot recover your Neice, I am a foul way out.
Sir To. Send for Mony, Knight; if thou hast her nor i’th end, call me Cur.
Sir And. If I do not, never trust me, take it how you will.
ŞirTo. Come, come, I'll go burn some Sack, 'tis too late to go to Bed now : Come, Knight, come, Knight.
SCENE IV. The Palace.
Enter Duke, Viola, Curio, and others.
Cur. He is not here, so please your Lordship, that thould sing it.
Duke. Who was it?
Cur. Feste the "Jester, my Lord, a Fool that the LadyOlivia's Father took mucho delight in. He is about the House. Duke. Seek him out, and play the Tune the while.
[Musick. Come hither, Boy, if ever thou shalt Love, In the sweet Pangs of it, remember me ; For such as I am, all true Lovers are, Unstaid and skittish in all Motions else, Save in the constant Image of the Creature That is belov'd. How dost thou like this Tune?
Vio. It gives a very Eccho to the Seat
Duke. Thou dost speak masterly.
Vio. A little, by your Favour.
Duke. Too old, by Heav'n; Let still the Woman take
Our Fancies are more giddy and unfirm,
Vio. I think it well, my Lord.
Duke. Then let thy Love be younger than thy self,
Vio. And so they are: Alas, that they are so.
Enter Curio and Clown.
Clo. Are you ready, Sir?
And in Jad Cypress let me be laid;
I am Rain by a fair Cruel Maid.
On my black Coffin let there be strown :
My poor Corps, where my Bones Mall be thrown.
Clo. Truly, Sir, and Pleasure will be paid one time, or other.
Duke. Give me now leave, to leave thee.
Clo. Now the melancholly God prote& thee, and th: Taylor make thy Doublet of changeable Taffata, for this Mind is a very Opal. I would have Men of such Conftas cy put to Sea, thit their Business might be every thing, an their intent every where, for that's it that always makes : good Voyage of nothing. Farewel.
Vio. But if she cannot love you, Sir.
Vio. Sooth but you must. .
Duke. There is no Woman's Sides .
Vio. Ay but I know
Vio. Too well what love Women to Men do owe: