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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 gait, ° the expressure of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he shall find himself most feelingly personated : I can write very like my lady, your niece; on a forgotten matter we can hardly make distinction of our hands.

Sir To. Exellent! I smell a device.
Sir And. I have't in my nose too.

Sir To. He shall think, by the letters that thou wilt drop, that they come from my niece, and that she is in love with him.

Mar. My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour.
Sir And. And your horse now would make him an ass.
Mar. Als I doubt not.
Sir And. O, 'twill be admirable.

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.

[Exit. Sir To. Good Night, ? Penthesilea. Sir And. Before me, she's a good wench.

Sir To. She's a beagle, true-bred, and one that adores me; What o'that?

Sir And. I was adored once too.

Sir To. Let's to-bed, knight.-Thou had'st need fend for more money.

the expressure)—the representation, description.
! Pentbefilea. ] --my Amazon.


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Sir And. If I cannot recover your niece, I am a foul

way out.

Sir To. Send for money, knight; if thou hast her not i'the end, call me Cut.

Sir And. If I do not, never trust me, take it how you will.

Sir To. Come, come; I'll go burn some sack, 'tis too late to go to bed now: come, knight ; come knight. [Exeunt.

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Enter Duke, Viola, Curio, and others.
Duke. Give me some music:—Now, good morrow,

friends :
Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song,
That old and antique song we heard last night:
Methought, it did relieve my passion much;
More than light airs, and 'recollected terms,
Of these moft brisk and giddy-paced times :-
Come, but one verse.

Cur. He is not here, so please your lordship that should sing it.

Duke. Who was it?

Cur. Feste the jester, my lord; a fool, that the lady Olivia's father took much delight in: he is about the house. Duke. Seek him out, and play the tune the while.

[Exit Curio. (Mufick. 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;

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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 echo to the seat
Where love is thron'd.

Duke. Thou doit fpeak masterly :
My life upon't, young though thou art, thine eye
"Hath stay'd upon some favour that it loves;
Hath it not, boy?

Vio. A little by * your favour.
Duke. What kind of woman is't?
Vio. Of your complexion.
Duke. She is not worth thee then. What years, i'faith?
Vio. About your years, my lord.

Duke. Too old, by heaven; Let still the woman take
An elder than herself; fo wears she to him,
So sways The level in her husband's heart.
For, boy, however we do praise ourselves,
Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm,
More longing, wavering, sooner lost and *won,
Than womens are.

Vio. I think it well, my Lord.

Duke. Then let thy love be younger than thyself,
Or thy affection cannot hold the bent :
For women are as roses; whose fair flower,
Being once display'd, doth fall that very hour.

Vio. And so they are: alas, that they are fo;
To die, even when they to perfection grow!

* motions else, save, in the constant image)--emotions, tendencies of the mind, except that of constantly presenting the image.

" It gives a very echo to the seat where love is tbron'd.)- It is in perfect unison with the heart-strings of a lover.

* Hath ftay'd upon fome favour that it loves ; ]-Hath been fix'd in rapture on some beauteous face, of which it is still enamoured. your favour. ]-equivocally,

worn, --worn out.



Re-enter Curio, and Clown.
Duke. O fellow, come, the song we had last night :
Mark it, Cesario; it is old, and plain :
The spinsters and the knitters in the sun,
And the y free maids that weave their thread with bones,
Do use to chaunt it; it is a silly sooth,
And dallies with the innocence of love,
Like the old age.

Clo. Are you ready, sir?
Duke. Ay; pr’ythet, sing.


S O N G.

Come away, come away, death,
And in Jad cypress let me be laid;

Fly away, fly away, breath;
I am sain by a fair cruel maid.
My frowd of white, stuck all with yew,

0, prepare it;
My part of death no one so true

Did share it.
Not a flower, not a flower sweet,
On my black coffin let there be frown ;

Not a friend, not a friend greet
My poor corpse, where my bones mall be thrown:
A thousand thousand sighs to save,

Lay me, O! where
Sad true-lover ne'er find my grave,

To weep there.

y free)-blithe-fair and free were conimon epithets of the fex.

z silly footh, and dallies with the innocence of love, like the old age.)simple truth, and sports with the subject of innocent love, like the songs in days of yore, the golden age. * Jad cypres]-a throud made of that stuff.


Duke. There's for thy pains.
Clo. No pains, fir; I take pleasure in singing, fir.
Duke. I'll pay thy pleasure then.

Clo. Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid, one time or other.

Duke. Give me now leave to leave thee.

Clo. Now, the melancholy god protect thee; and the taylor make thy doublet of changeable taffata, for thy mind is a very opal !—I would have men of such constancy put to sea, that their business might be every thing, and their intent every where ; for that's it, that always makes a good voyage of nothing.–Farewel.

[Exit. Duke. Let all the rest give place. — Once more, Cesario, Get thee to yon fame sovereign cruelty : Tell her, my love, more noble than the world, Prizes not quantity of dirty lands; The parts that fortune hath bestow'd upon her, Tell her I hold as 'giddily as fortune; But 'tis that miracle, and


of gems, That nature pranks her in, attracts my soul.

Vio. But, if she cannot love you, sir?
Duke. I cannot be fo answer'd.

Vio. 'Sooth, but you must.
Say, that some lady, as, perhaps, there is,
Hath for

your love as great a pang of heart
As you have for Olivia : you cannot love her ;
You tell her fo; Must she not then be answer'd ?

Duke. There is no woman's sides,
Can bide the beating of so strong a passion,
As love doth give my heart: no woman's heart

opal!]— fickle, wavering, from the stone so called, which reflects all colours.

giddily]-carelessly. d that miracle, and queen of gems, that nature pranks ber in, ]—that exquisite beauty, with which nature hath adorned her.



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