And tallies with the innocence of love,

Like the old age.

Clo. Are you ready, Sir?

Duke. Ay; pr'ythee, fing.

SONG.

Come away, come away, death,

And in fad cyprefs let me be laid;
Fly away, fly away, breath,

I am flain by a fair cruel maid.
My fhrowd of white, fuck all with yew,
O, prepare it.

My part of death no one so true
Did fhare it.

Not a flower, not a flower fweet,

On my black coffin let there be frown:

Not a friend, not a friend greet

[Mufic.

My poor corps, where my bones fhall be thrown.

A thousand thousand fighs to fave,

Lay me, 0! where

True lover never find my grave,
To weep there.

Duke. There's for thy pains.

Clo. No pains, Sir; I take pleasure in finging, Sir. 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 fuch conftancy put to fea, 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. SCENE

Duke. L

ET all the reft give place. Once more, Ce
fario,

Get thee to yond fame fovereign cruelty :
Tell her, my love, more noble than the world,
Prizes not quantity of dirty lands;

The parts, that fortune hath beftow'd upon her,
Tell her, I hold as giddily as fortune:
But 'tis that miracle, and Queen of Gems,
That nature pranks, her Mind, attracts my foul.
Vio. But if she cannot love you, Sir
Duke. I cannot be so answer'd.

Vio. Sooth, but you must.

Say, that fome 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; muft fhe not then be answer'd?
Duke. There is no woman's fides

Can bide the beating of fo ftrong a paffion,
As love doth give my heart: no woman's heart
So big to hold fo much; they lack retention.
Alas, their love may be call'd appetite :
No motion of the liver, but the palate,
That fuffers furfeit, cloyment, and revolt;
But mine is all as hungry as the sea,
And can digeft as much; make no compare
Between that love a woman can bear me,
And that I owe Olivia.

Vio. Ay, but I know

Duke. What doft thou know?

Vio. Too well what love women to men may owe; 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, 1 fhould your Lordship.

Duke. And what's her history?

Vio. A blank, my Lord: fhe never told her love,
But let concealment, like a worm i'th' bud,
Feed on her damafk cheek: fhe pin'd in thought;
And, with a green and yellow melancholy,
She fat like Patience on a monument,

Smiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed?
We men may fay more, fwear more, but, indeed,
Our fhews are more than will; for ftill we prove
Much in our vows, but little in our love.

Duke. But dy'd thy fifter of her love, my boy? Vio. I'm all the daughters of my father's house, And all the brothers too-and yet I know not-Sir, fhall I to this Lady?

Duke. Ay, that's the theme.

To her in hafle; give her this jewel: fay,

My love can give no place, 'bide no denay. [Exeunt.

Sir To.

Changes to Olivia's Garden.

Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian.

OME thy ways, Signior Fabian.

COM

Fab. Nay, I'll come; if I lofe a fcruple of this fport, let me be boil'd to death with melancholy.

Sir To. Would't thou not be glad to have the niggardly rafcally fheep-biter come by fome notable

fhame?

Fab. I would exult, man; you know, 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, fhall we not, Sir Andrew?

Sir And. An we do not, it's pity of our lives.

Enter Maria.

Sir To. Here comes the little villain: how now,

my nettle of India ?

Mar.

Mar. Get ye all three into the box-tree; Malvolio's coming down this walk, he has been yonder i'th' fun practising behaviour to his own fhadow this half hour. Obferve him, for the love of mockery; for, I know, this Letter will make a contemplative idiot of him. Close, in the name of jefting! lie thou there; for here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling. [Throws down a letter, and Exit.

Mal. "

'T

IS but fortune, all is fortune. Maria once told me, fhe did affect me; and I have heard herself come thus near, that should she fancy, it should be one of my complexion. Befides, she uses me with a more exalted refpect, than any one else that follows her. What fhould I think on't?

Sir To. Here's an over-weaning rogue.

Fàb. O, peace: contemplation makes a rare Turkey-cock of him; how he jets under his advanc'd plumes!

Sir And. 'Slife, I could fo beat the rogue.

Sir To. Peace, I fay.

Mal. To be Count Malvolio,

Sir To. Ah, rogue!

Sir And. Piftol him, pistol him.

Sir To. Peace, peace.

Mal. There is example for't: the Lady of the Trachy married the yeoman of the wardrobe. Sir And. Fie on him, Jezebel !

Fab. O, peace, now he's deeply in; look, how imagination blows him.

Mal. Having been three months married to her, fitting in my ftate—

Sir To. O for å ftone-bow, to hit him in the eye!Mal. Calling my officers about me, in my branch'd

0 5

velvet

velvet gown; having come down from a day-bed, where I have left Olivia fleeping.

Sir To. Fire and brimftone!

Fab. O, peace, peace.

Mal. And then to have the humour of ftate; and after a demure travel of regard, telling them, I know my place, as I would they fhould do theirs—to ask for my uncle Toby

Sir To. Bolts and fhackles !

Fab. Oh, peace, peace, peace; now, now.

Mal. Seven of my people with an obedient start make out for him: I frown the while, and, perchance, wind up my watch, or play with fome rich jewel. Toby approaches, curtfies there to me.

Sir To. Shall this Fellow live?

Fab. Tho' our filence be drawn from us with cares, yet, peace.

Mal. I extend my hand to him thus; quenching my familiar fmile with an auftere regard of controul. Sir To. And does not Toby take you a blow o'th' lips then?

Mal. Saying, uncle Toby, my fortunes having caft me on your Niece, give me this prerogative of fpeech

Sir To. What, what?
Mal. You must amend
Sir To. Out, scab!

Fab. Nay, petience, or we break the finews of our plot.

Mal. Befides, you wafte the treasure of your time with a foolish Knight

warrant you.

Sir And. That's me, I Mal. One Sir Andrew,Sir And. I knew, 'twas I; for many do call me Fool.

Mal. What employment have we here? [Taking up the Letter.

Fab. Now is the woodcock near the gin.