but you, Sir, alter'd that; for, fome hours before you took me from the breach of the sea, was my fifter drown'd.

Ant. Alas, the day!

Seb. A lady, Sir, tho' it was faid fhe much refembled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful; but tho' I could not [with fuch eftimable wonder *] overfar believe that, yet thus far I will boldly publish her, she bore a mind that envy could not but call fair: she is drown'd already, Sir, with falt water, tho' I seem to drown her remembrance again with more.

be

Ant. Pardon me, Sir, your bad entertainment.
Seb. O good Antonio, forgive me your trouble.
Ant. If you
your fervant.

will not murther me for my love, let me

Seb. If you will not undo what you have done, that is, kill him whom you have recover'd, defire it not. Fare you well at once; my bofom is full of kindness, and I am yet so near the manners of my mother, that, upon the leaft occafion more, mine eyes will tell tales of me. I am bound to the Duke Orfino's court; fare

wel.

[Exit. Ant. The gentleness of all the gods go with thee! I have made enemies in Ofino's court, Elfe would I very fhortly fee thee there: But come what may, I do adore thee so, The danger fhall feem fport, and I will go.

SCENE II.

[Exit.

Enter Viola, and Malvolio, at feveral doors. Mal. Were not you e'en now with the Countess Olivia ?

Vio. Even now, Sir; on a moderate pace I have fince arrived but hither.

Mal. She returns this ring to you, Sir; you might have faved me my pains, to have taken it away yourfelf. She adds, moreover, that you should put your Lord into a defperate affurance she will none of him and one thing more, that you be never fo hardy to come again in his affairs, unlefs it be to report your Lord's taking of this: receive it fo.

This is an interpolation of the players.

1

Vio. She took the ring of me, I'll none of it.

Mal. Come, Sir, you peevishly threw it to her, and
her will is, it fhould be fo return'd: if it be worth
ftooping for, there it lies in your eye; if not, be it his
that finds it.
[Exit.
Vio. I left no ring with her; what means this lady?
Fortune forbid my outfide have not charm'd her!
She made good view of me; indeed, fo much,
That fure methought her eyes had crofs'd her tongue;
For fhe did fpeak in ftarts distractedly.

She loves me, fure; the cunning of her paffion
Invites me in this churlish meffenger.

None of my Lord's ring; why, he fent her none.
I am the man-If it be fo, (as 'tis);

Poor lady, she were better love a dream.
Difguife, I fee thou art a wickedness,
Wherein the pregnant enemy does much.
How eafy is it, for the proper falfe

In womens' waxen hearts to fet their forms!
Alas, our frailty is the caufe, not we,

For fuch as we are made, if fuch we be.

How will this fadge? my mafter loves her dearly,
And I, poor monster, fond as much on himr;
And she, mistaken, feems to doat on me.
What will become of this! as I am man,
My ftate is defperate for my mafter's love;
As I am woman, (now, alas the day!),
What thriftlefs fighs fhall poor Olivia breathe?
O time, thou must untangle this, not I;
It is too hard a knot for me t'unty.

[Exit.

SCENE III. Changes to Olivia's house.

Enter Sir Toby, and Sir Andrew.

Sir To. Approach, Sir Andrew: not to be a-bed after midnight, is to be up betimes; and diluculo furgere,. thou know'ft,

Sir And. Nay, by my troth, I know not: but I know, to be up late, is to be up late.

Sir To. A falfe conclufion: I hate it, as an unfill'd can; to be up after midnight, and to go to bed then, is early; fo that to go to bed after midnight, is to go

to bed betimes. Does not our life confift of the four elements?

Sir And. 'Faith, fo they fay; but I think it rather confifts of eating and drinking.

Sir To. Th'art a fcholar, let us therefore eat and drink. Maria! I fay-a stoop of wine.

Enter Clown.

Sir And. Here comes the fool, i' faith.

Clo. How now, my hearts? did you never fee the picture of we three ?

Sir To. Welcome, afs, now let's have a catch.

Sir And. By my troth, the fool has an excellent breast. I had rather than forty fhillings I had fuch a leg, and fo fweet, a breath to fing, as the fool has. In footh, thou waft in very gracious fooling laft night, when thou fpok'ft of Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians paffing the equinoctial of Queubus: 'twas very good, i' faith: I fent thee fixpence for thy lemon; hadft it?

Clo. I did impeticos thy gratillity; for Malvolio's nofe is no whip-ftock. My Lady has a white hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses.

Sir And. Excellent :. why, this is the beft fooling, when all is done. Now, a fong

Sir To. Come on, there's fixpence for you. Let's have a fong.

Sir And. There's a teftril of me too; if one Knight give a

Cla. Would you have a love-fong, or a fong of good life?

Sir To. A love-fong, a love-fong.

Sir And. Ay, ay, I care not for good life.

Clown fings.

O mistress mine, where are you roaming?
Oftay and hear, your true love's coming,
That can fing both high and low.
Trip no further, pretty fweeting;
Journeys end in lovers' meeting,
Every wife man's fon doth know.

He means to fay, impocket thy gratuity.

Sir And. Excellent good, i'faith!
Sir To. Good, good.

Clo. What is love? 'tis not hereafter:
Prefent mirth hath prefent laughter:
What's to come, is still unfure;
In decay there lies no plenty :

Then come kiss me, fweet, and twenty:
Youth's a stuff will not endure.

Sir And. A mellifluous voice, as I am a true Knight, Sir To. A contagious breath.

Sir And. Very fweet and contagious, i' faith.

Sir To. To hear by the nofe, it is dulcet in contagion. But fhall we make the welkin dance, indeed? Shall we roufe the night-owl in a catch, that will draw three fouls out of one weaver? fhall we do that?

Sir And. An you love me, let's do 't: I am a dog at a catch.

Clo. By'r Lady, Sir, and fome dogs will catch well. Sir And. Moft certain: let our catch be, Thou knave. Clo. Hold thy peace, thou knave, Knight. I fhall be constrain'd in 't, to call thee knave, Knight.

Sir And. 'Tis not the first time I have conftrain'd one to call me knave. Begin, fool; it begins, Hold thy peace.

Clo. I fhall never begin if I hold my peace.
Sir And. Good, i' faith: come, begin.

[They fing a catch.

SCENE IV. Enter Maria.

Mar. What a catterwauling do you keep here? If my Lady have not call'd up her fteward, Malvolio, and bid him turn you out of doors, never trust me.

Sir To. My Lady's a Catayan, we are politicians, Malvolio's a Peg-a-Ramfey, and Three merry men bewe. Am not I confanguinious? Am I not of her blood? Tilly valley, Lady! there dwelt a man in Babylon, Lady, Lady. [Singing. Clo. Befhrew me, the Knight's in admirable fooling. Sir And. Ay, he does well enough if he be difpos'd, and fo do I too: he does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural.

Sir To. O, the twelfth day of December,-[Singing. Mar. For the love o' God, peace.

Enter Malvolio.

Mal. My Mafters, are you mad? or what are you? have you no wit, manners, nor honesty, but to gabble like tinkers at this time of night? do you make an alehoufe of my Lady's houfe, that ye fqueak out your cottiers * catches without any mitigation or remorse of voice? is there no refpect of place, perfons, nor time, in you?

Sir To. We did keep time, Sir, in our catches. Sneak [Hiccoughs.

up!

Mal. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My Lady bade me tell you, that though fhe harbours you as her uncle, fhe's nothing ally'd to your diforders. If you can separate yourfelf and your misdemeanors, you are welcome to the houfe; if not, an it would please you to take leave of her, she is very willing to bid you farewel.

Sir To. Farewel, dear heart, fince I must needs be gone.

Mal. Nay, good Sir Toby.

Clo. His eyes do fhew his days are almost done.

Mal. Is 't even fo?

Sir To. But I will never dié.

Clo. Sir Toby, there you lye.

Mal. This is much credit to you.

Sir To. Shall I bid him go?
Clo. What, an if you do?

Sir To. Shall I bid him go, and Spare not?

Clo. O no, no, no, you dare not.

[Singing.

Sir To. Out o' time, Sir, ye lye: art thou any more than a fteward? doft thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?

Clo. Yes, by Saint Anne; and ginger fhall be hot i' th' mouth too.

Sir To. Thou 'rt i' th' right. Go, Sir, rub your chain with crums. A ftoop of wine, Maria.

Mal. Miftrefs Mary, if you priz'd my Lady's favour at any thing more than contempt, you would not give Ruftic, clownish.