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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 And. I have't in my nose too.

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.
Sir And. And your horse now would make him

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an ass.

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Mar. Als, I doubt not.
Sir And. O, 'twill be admirable.

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;

what o'that?
Sir And. I was ador'd once too.

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

you will.

Sir To. Come, come, I'll go burn some fack, 'tis two late to go to bed now: come, Knight; come, Knight.

[Exeunt.

S CE N E V.

Changes to the Palace.

GIV

Enter Duke, Viola, Curio, and others.
Duke. IVE me some music; now, good morrow,

friends :
Now, good Cefario, but that piece of song,
That old antique song, we heard last night;
Methought, it did relieve my passion much;
More than light airs, and recollected terms
Of these moft brisk and giddy-paced times.
Come, but one verse.

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

pangs

of it, remember me ;
For such as I am, all true lovers are;
Unstaid and skittish in all notions else,
Save in the constant image of the creature
That is belov'd. How dost thou like this tune?

What years,

Vro. * It gives a very echo from the seat
Where love is thron’d.

Duke. Thou dost speak mafterly.
My life upon't, young tho' thou art, thine eye
Hath staid

upon

some favour that it loves : Hath it not, boy?

Vio. A little, by your favour.
Duke. What kind of woman is't ?
Vio. Of your complexion.
Duke. She is not worth thee then.

i'faith?
Vio. About your years, my Lord.

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.

(Music.

And tallies with the innocence of love,
Like the old age.

Clo. Are you really, Sir?
Duke. Ay; pr’ythee, sing.

S ON G.
Come away, conie away, death,

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

I am sain by a fair cruel maid.
My fhrowd of white, stuck all with yew,

0, prepare it.
My part of death no one so true

Did share it.

Not a flower, not a flower sweet,

On my black coffin let there be frown:
Not a friend, not a friend greet

My poor corps, where my bones shall be thrown.
A thousand thousand fighs to fave,

Lay me, Õ! where
True lover never find my grave,

To weep there.

Duke. There's for thy pains.
Clo. No pains, Sir; I take pleasure in singing, 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 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.

SCENE

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Duke.

LE
ET all the rest give place. Once more, Ces

sario,
Get thee to yond fame sovereign cruelty:
Tell her, my love, more noble than the world,
Prizes not quantity of dirty lands;
The parts, that fortune hath bestow'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 soul.
Vio. But if she cannot love

you,

Sir
Duke. I cannot be so answer’d.

Vio. Sooth, but you must.
Sáy, that some 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 she not then be answer'd?

Duke. There is no woman's sides
Can bide the beating of fo strong a passion,
As love doth give my heart: no woman's heart
So big to hold so much; they lack retention.
Alas, their love may be call'd appetite:
No motion of the liver, but the palate,
That suffers surfeit, cloyment, and revolt;
But mine is all as hungry as the sea,
And can digest 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 dost 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,
I should your Lordship.
Duke. And what's her history?

Vio.

04

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