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WHAT YOU WILL.
SCENE I. An Apartment in the Duke's Palace.
Enter DUKE, Curio, Lords ; Musicians attending.
Duke. If musick be the food of love, play on, Give me excess of it; that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die. That strain again ;—it had a dying fall : 0, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south, That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing, and giving odour.--Enough; no more; "Tis not so sweet now, as it was before. O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou ! That, notwithstanding thy capacity Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there, Of what validity' and pitch soever, But falls into abatement and low price, Even in a minute! so full of shape is fancy, That it alone is high-fantastical.?
Of what validity and pitch soever,] Validity is here used for value. MALONE.
· That it alone is high-fantastical.] High-fantastical, means fantastical to the height. VOL. II.
Cur. Will you go hunt, my lord ?
What, Curio :
Enter VALENTINE. Val. So please my lord, I might not be ad
mitted, But from her handmaid do return this answer: The element itself, till seven years heat," Shall not behold her face at ample view; But, like a cloistress, she will veiled walk, And water once a day her chamber round With eye-offending brine : all this, to season A brother's dead love, which she would keep fresh, And lasting, in her sad remembrance. Duke. O, she, that hath a heart of that fine
frame, To pay this debt of love but to a brother, How will she love, when the rich golden shaft, Hath kill'd the flock of all affections else That live in her! when liver, brain, and heart, These sovereign thrones, are all supplied, and fillid, (Her sweet perfections,)* with one self king :
3 The element itself, till seven years heat,) Heat for heated. The air, till it shall have been warmed by seven revolutions of the sun, shall not, &c.
. (Her sweet perfections,)) Liver, brain, and heart, are ad mitted in poetry as the residence of passions, judgement, and sentiments. These are what Shakspeare calls, her sweet perfections, though he has not very clearly expressed what he might design to have said. STEEVENS.
Away before me to sweet beds of flowers ;
you, sailors ? Cap. It is perchance, that you yourself were
saved. Vio. O my poor brother! and so, perchance,
may he be,
Cap. True, madam: and, to comfort you with
chance, Assure yourself, after our ship did split, When you, and that poor number saved with
you, Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother, Most provident in peril, bind himself (Courage and hope both teaching him the practice) To a strong mast, that lived
For saying so, there's gold:
Cap. Ay, madam, well ; for I was bred and born, Not three hours travel from this very place. Vio. Who governs here?
A noble duke, in nature, As in his name. *Vio
What is his name? Сар. .
Orsino. Vio. Orsino! I have heard
father name him : He was a bachelor then. Сар.
And so is now, Or was so very late: for but a month Ago I went from hence; and then 'twas fresh In murmur, (as, you know, what great ones do, The less will prattle of,) that he did seek The love of fair Olivia. Vio
O, that I served that lady:
That were hard to compass; Because she will admit no kind of suit, No, not the duke's.
Vio. There is a fair behaviour in thee, captain ; And though that nature with a beauteous wall Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee I will believe, thou hast a mind that suits With this thy fair and outward character. I pray thee, and I'll pay thee bounteously, Conceal me what I am; and be my aid For such disguise as, haply, shall become The form of my intent." I'll serve this duke; Thou shalt present me as an cunuch to him,
It may be worth thy pains ; for I can sing,
Cap. Be you his eunuch, and your mute I'll be ; When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see !
Vio. I thank thee: Lead me on. [Exeunt.
A Room in Olivia's House,
Enter Sir Toby BELCH, and MARIA.
Sir To. What a plague means my niece, to take the death of her brother thus? I am sure, care's an
enemy to life.
Mar. By my troth, sir Toby, you must come in earlier o’nights; your cousin, my lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours,
Sír To. Why, let her except before excepted.
Mar. Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modest limits of order.
Sir To. Confine? I'll confine myself no finer than I am: these clothes are good enough to drink in, and so be these boots too, an they be not, let them hang themselves in their own straps.
Mar. That quaffing and drinking will undo you: I heard my lady talk of it yesterday; and of a foolish knight, that you brought in one night here, to be her wooer.
Sir To. Who? Sir Andrew Ague-cheek?
· That will allow me -] To allow is to approve.