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Mar. The devil a Puritan that he is, or any thing constantly but a time-pleaser; an affection'd ass, that cons state without book, and utters it by great swarths: the 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 fome obscure epiftles of love, wherein, by the colour of his beard, the shape of his leg, the manner of his gait, the expresfure 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. Excellent, I smell a device.
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.
Mar. Als, I doubt not.
Mar. Sport royal, I warrant you: I know, my phylic will work with him. I will plant you two, and let the fool make a third, where he shall find the lester: observe his construction of it: for this night to bed, and dream on the event. Farewel.
[Exit. Sir To. Good night, Penthiflea. Sir And. Before me, she's a good wench.
Sir To. She's a beagle, true-bred, and one that adores me;
Sir To. Let's to bed, Knight: thou hadît need send for more money.
Sir And. If I cannot recover your Niece, I am a foul way out.
Sir To. Send for money, Knight; if thou haft her not i'th'end, call me cut.
Sir And. If I do not, never trust me, take it how
Sir To. Come, come, I'll go burn some fack, 'tis two late to go to bed now: come, Knight; come, Knight.
S CE N E V.
Changes to the Palace.
Enter Duke, Viola, Curio, and others.
Cur. He is not here, so please your Lordship, that should fing it.
Duke. Who was it?
Cur. Fefte, the jefter, 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. (Music. Come hither, boy; if ever thou shalt love, In the sweet
of it, remember me ;
Vro. * It gives a very echo from the seat
Duke. Thou dost speak mafterly.
some favour that it loves : Hath it not, boy?
Vio. A little, by your favour.
Duke. Too old, by heav'n ; let still the woman take An elder than herself, so wears she to him ; So [ways she 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 worn, Than women's 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 so, To die, even when they to perfe&tion grow!
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 free maids that weave their thread with
bones, Do use to chant it: it is filly sooth, * It gives a very echo to the seat
Where love is thron'd.] We should read, from the feat: 1.c. it reaches the Throne of Love, and reverberates thence.
And tallies with the innocence of love,
Clo. Are you really, Sir?
S ON G.
And in fad cypress let me be laid;
I am sain by a fair cruel maid.
0, prepare it.
Did share it.
Not a flower, not a flower sweet,
On my black coffin let there be frown:
My poor corps, where my bones shall be thrown.
Lay me, Õ! where
To weep there.
Duke. There's for thy pains.
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 conftancy put to sea, that their business might be every thing, and their intent no where; for that's it, that always makes a good voyage of nothing. Farewel.
[Exit. * a very opal!] A precious Stone of almost all Colours. Mr. Pope.
Vio. Sooth, but you must.
you have for Olivia : you cannot love her; You tell her fo; muft she not then be answer'd?
Duke. There is no woman's sides
Vio. Ay, but I know-
Vio. Too well what love women to men may owe ;