Vio. A blank, my Lord: She never told her Love,
But let Concealment, like a Worm i'th' Bud,
Feed on her damask Cheek: She pin'd in thought,
And with a green and yellow Melancholy,
She fate like Patience on a Monument,
Smiling at Grief. Was not this Love indeed?
We Men may fay more, fwear more, but indeed
Our fhews are more than will; for ftill we prove
Much in our Vows, but little in our Love.

Duke. But dy'd thy Sifter of her Love, my Boy?
Vio. I am all the Daughters of my Father's House,
And all the Brothers too- -and yet I know not
Sir, fhall I to this Lady?

Duke. Ay, that's the Theam.

To her in hafte; give her this Jewel: Say,
My Love can give no place, bid no denay.

Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian.

Sir To. Come thy ways, Signior Fabian.

[Exeunt.

Fab. Nay, I'll come; if I lofe a fcruple of this Sport, let me be boil'd to Death with Melancholy.

Sir To. Would't thou not be glad to have the niggardly rafcally Sheep-biter, come by fome notable Shame?

Fab. I would exult, Man; you know he brought me out of Favour with my Lady, about a Bear-baiting here.

Sir To. To anger him we'll have the Bear again, and we will fool him black and blue, fhall we not, Sir Andrew? Sir And. And we do not 'tis pity of our Lives.

Enter Maria.

Sir To. Here comes the little Villain: How now, my Nettle of India ?

Mar. Get ye all three into the Box-tree; Malvolio's coming down this Walk, he has been yonder i'th' Sun practifing Behaviour to his own Shadow this half hour: Obferve him for the love of Mockery; for I know this Letter will make a Contemplative Ideot of him. Close, in the Name of Jefting, lye thou there; for here comes the Trout that must be caught with tickling.

[Exit.

Enter

Enter Malvolio.

Maria once to

Mal. 'Tis but Fortune, all is Fortune. me she did affect me, and I have heard her felf come th near, that should fhe fancy, it should be one of my Com plexion. Befides, the ufes me with a more exalted R fpect, than any one elfe that follows her. What should! think on't?

Sir To. Here's an over-weaning Rogue.

Fab. Oh peace: Contemplation makes a rare Turkey Cock of him; how he jets under his advanc'd Plumés. Sir And. 'Slife, I could fo beat the Rogue.

Sir To. Peace, I fay.

Mal. To be Count Malvolio.

Sir To. Ah Rogue.

Sir And. Piftol him, Piftol him.

Sir To. Peace, peace.

Mal. There is Example for't: The Lady of the Strach married the Yeoman of the Wardrobe.

Sir And. Fie on him, Jezebel.

Fab. O peace, now he's deeply in; look how Imagination blows him.

Mal. Having been three Months married to her, fitting in my State.

Sir To. O for a Stone-bow to hit him in the Eye.

Mal. Calling my Officers about me, in my branch'd Velvet Gown; having come from a Day-bed, where I have left Olivia fleeping.

Sir To. Fire and Brimftone.

Fab. O peace, peace.

Mal. And then to have the Humour of State; and after a demure Travel of Regard, telling them I know my place, as I would they should do theirsTo ask for my Kinf man Toby

Sir To. Bolts and Shackles.

Fab. Oh peace, peace, peace, now, now.

Mal. Seven of my People with an obedient Start make out for him: I frown the while, and perchance wind up my Watch, or play with fome rich Jewel. Toby approaches, Courtfies there to me.

Sir To. Shall this Fellow live?

Fab.

Fab. Tho' our filence be drawn from us with Cares, yet

peace.

Mal. I extend my hand to him thus; quenching my familiar Smile with an auftere regard of Controul.

Sir To. And does not Toby take you a blow on the Lips then?

Mal. Saying, Coufin Toby, my Fortunes having caft me on your Neice, give me this Prerogative of SpeechSir To. What, what? Mal. You must amend Sir To. Out, Scab.

your

Drunkenness.

Fab. Nay, patience, or we break the Sinews of our Plot. Mal. Befides, you wafte the Treasure of your Time, with a foolish Knight

Sir And. That's me, I warrant you.

Mal. One Sir Andrew.

Sir And. I knew 'twas I, for many do call me Fool.
Mal. What Employment have we here?

Fab. Now is the Woodcock near the Gin.

[Taking up a

Letter.

Sir To. Oh peace! Now the Spirit of Humours intimate reading aloud to him.

Mal. By my Life this is my Lady's hand: These be her very C's, her U's, and her T's, and thus makes the her great. P's. It is in Contempt of question her Hand.

Sir And. Her C's, her U's, and her T's; why that?

Mal. To the unknown belov'd, this, and my good Wishes; Her very Phrases: By your leave, Wax. Soft! and the Impreffure her Lucrece, with which the ufes to feal; 'tis my Lady: To whom fhould this be?

Fab. This wins him, Liver and all.

Mal. Jove knows I Love, but who, Lips do not move, no Man must know. No Man must know-What follows? The Numbers alter'd-No Man muft know

If this fhould be thee, Malvolio?

Sir To. Marry hang thee, Brock.

Mal. I may command where I adore, but Silence, like a
Lucrefs Knife,

With boldness ftroke my Heart doth gore, M. O. A. I. doth
Sway my Life.

Fab. A Fuftian Riddle.

Sir To. Excellent Wench, fay I.

Mal. M.O. A. I. doth fway my Life Nay, but first let me fee-let me fee

Fab. What a difh of Poifon has fhe drefs'd him?

Sir To. And with what Wing the Stallion checks at it? Mal. I may command, where I adore. Why the may command me: I ferve her, the is my Lady. Why this i evident to any formal Capacity. There is no obftru&ion in this and the end-what should that Alphabetica pofition portend. If I could make that refemble fomething in me? Softly- -M. O. A. I.

Sir To. O. I. make up that, he is now at a cold Scent. Fab. Sowter will cry upon't for all this, tho' it be as rank as a Fox.

Mal. M. Malvolio.

my Name.

-M.

-why that begin

Fab. Did not I fay he would work it out, the Curisex cellent at Faults.

Mal. M. But then there is no confonancy in the Sequel; that fuffers under Probation: A fhould follow, but 0 does.

Fab. And O fhall end, I hope.

Sir To. Ay, or I'll cudgel him, and make him cry O. Mal. And then I. comes behind.

Fab. Ay, and you had any Eye behind you, you might fee more detraction at your Heels, than Fortunes before you.

Mal. M.O. A. I.-This Simulation is not as the former-And yet to cruth this a little, it would bow to me, for every one of thefe Letters are in my name. Soft, here follows Profe-If this fall into thy hand, revolve. In my Stars I am above thee, but be not afraid of Greatness; fome are born Great, fome atchieve Greatness, and some have Greatness put upon them. Thy Fates open their Hands, let thy Blood and Spirit embrace them; and to inure thy felf to what thou art like to be, cast thy humble Slough, and appear fresh. Be oppofite with a Kinsman, furly with Servants : Let thy Tongue tang Arguments of State; put thy felf into the Trick of Singularity. She thus advises thee, that fighs for thee. Remember who commended thy yellow Stockings, and wish'd to see thee ever cross-garter'd. I fay remember, go to, then art made, if thou defireft to be fo: If not, let me fee thee a Steward

Steward ftill, the Fellow of Servants, and not worthy to touch Fortune's Fingers. Farewel. She that would alter Services with thee. The fortunate and happy Day-light and Champian discovers not more: This is open. I will be proud, I will read politick Authors, I will baffle Sir Toby, I will wash off grofs Acquaintance, I will be point devife, the very Man. I do now fool my felf, to let Imagination jade me; for every Reafon excites to this, that my Lady loves me. She did commend my yellow Stockings of late, fhe did praise my Leg, being crofs-garter'd, and in this the manifefts her felf to my Love, and with a kind of Conjunction drives me to thefe Habits of her liking. I thank my Stars, I am happy: I will be strange, ftout, in yellow Stockings and cross-garter'd, even with the fwiftnefs of putting on. Jove, and Jove, and my Stars be praifed. Here is yet a Poftfcript. Thou canst not Thou canst not chufe to know who I am; if thou entertaineft my Love, let it appear in thy fmiling, thy Smiles become thee well. Therefore in my Prefence still smile, Dear my Sweet, I prethee. Jove, I thank thee, I will fmile, I will do every thing that thou wilt have me. [Exit. Fab. I will not give my part of this Sport for a Penfion

of Thousands to be paid from the Sophy.

Sir To. I could marry this Wench for this Device.

Sir And. So could I too.

Sir To. And ask no other Dowry with her, but fuch another Jeft.

Enter Maria.

Sir And. Nor I neither.

Fab. Here comes my noble Gull-catcher.

Sir To. Wilt thou fet thy Foot o'my Neck?

Sir And. Or o'mine either?

Sir To. Shall I play my Freedom at Tray-trip, and be come thy Bond-flave?

Sir And. I'faith, or I either?

Sir To. Why, thou haft put him in fuch a Dream, that when the Image of it leaves him, he must run mad. Mar. Nay, but fay true, does it work upon him? Sir To. Like Aqua-vita with a Midwife.

Mar. If you will then fee the Fruits of the Sport, mark his first approach before my Lady: He will come to her in yellow Stockings, and 'tis a Colour fhe abhors; and cross

Cc 2

garter'd,