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Clo. Are you ready, sir?
Clo. Come away, come away, death,
Fly away, fly away, breath;
0, prepare it;
Did share it.
Not a friend, not a friend greet
Lay me, 0, where
To weep there.
Duke. There's for thy pains.
Clo. Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid, one time or another.
Duke. Give me now leave to leave thee.
Clo. Now, the melancholy god protect thee; and the tailor 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 no. thing.-Farewell.
[Exit Clown. Duke. Let all the rest give place.
[ Exeunt Curio and Attendants.
Once more, Cesario,
* A precious stone of all colours.
Get thee to yon' same sovereign cruelty:
Vio. But, if she cannot love you, sir?
'Sooth, but you must.
Duke. There is no woman's sides,
Ay, but I know,-
Vio. Too well what love women to men may owei In faith, they are as true of heart as we. My father had a daughter lov'd a man, As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman, I should your lordship. Duke.
And what's her history? Vio. A blank, my lord: She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, Feed on lier damask cheek : she pin'd in thought; And, with a green and yellow melancholy, She sat like patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed ?
Vio. I am all the daughters of my father's house,
Ay, that's the theme.
Enter Sir Toby Belch, Sir Andrew Ague-cheek,
Sir To. Come thy ways, signior Fabian.
Fab. Nay, I'll come; if I lose a scruple of this sport, let me be boiled to death with melancholy,
Sir To. Would'st thou not be glad to have the niggardly rascally sheep-biter come by some notable shame?
Fab. I would exult, man: you kuow, 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:-Shall we uot, sir Andrew ?
Sir And. An we do not, it is pity of our lives.
Sir To. Here comes the little villain :-How now, my nettle of India.
Mar. Get ye all three into the box-tree: Malvo. lio's coming down this walk; he has been yonder i’the sun, practising behaviour to his own shadow, this half hour: observe him, for the love of mock. ery; for, I know, this letter will make a contemplative idiot of him. Close, in the wame of jest. ing! [The men hide themseloes). Lie thou there; [throws down a letter) for here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling. [Erit Maria.
Mul. 'Tis but fortune; all is fortune. Maria once told me, she did affect me: and I have heard herself come thus near, that, should she fancy, it should be one of my complexion. Besides, she uses me with a more exalted respect, than any one else that follows her. What should I think on't?
Sir To. Here's an over-weening rogue!
Fab. O, peace! Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock of him; how he jetst under his advanced plumes!
Sir And. 'Slight, I could so beat the rogue:-
Mal. There is example for't; the lady of the strachy married the yeoman of the wardrobe.
Sir And. Fie on him, Jezebel!
Fab. O, peace! now he's deeply in; look how imagination blowst him!
Mal. Having been three months married to her, sitting in my stateg,
Sir To. O, for a stone-bow, to hit him in the eye! Mal. Calling my officers about me, in my branch
ed velvet gown; having come from a day-bed", where I left Olivia sleeping.
Sir To. Fire and brimstone!
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 their's -10 ask for my kinsman Toby:
Sir To. Bolts and shackles !
Mal. Seven of my people, with an obedient start, make out for him: I frown the while; and, per. chance, wind up my watch, or play with some rich jewel. Toby approaches; court'sies there to me:
Sir To. Shall this fellow live?
Fab. Though our silence be drawn from us with cars, yet peace.
Mal. I extend my hand to him thus, quenching my familiar smile with an austere regard of control:
Sir To. And does uot Toby take you a blow o’the
lips then ?
Mal. Saying, Cousin Toby, my fortunes having cast me on your niece, give me this prerogative of speech :
Sir To. What, what?
Fab. Nay, patience, or we break the sinews of our plot.
Mal. Besides, you waste the treasure of your time with a foolish knight;
Sir And. That's me, I warrant you.
Sir And. I knew, 'twas I; for many do call we fool. Mal. What employment have we here?
[Taking up the letter. Fab. Now is the woodcock near the gin.