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Vio. A blank, my Lord: she never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i'th' bud, Feed on her damask cheek: she pin'd in thought ; And, with a green and yellow melancholy, She sat like Patience on a monument, Smiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed ? We men may say more, swear more, but, indeed, Our shews are more than will; for still we prove Much in our vows, but little in our love.

Duke. But dy'd thy sister 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, shall I to this Lady ?

Duke. Ay, that's the theme. To her in hafle ; give her this jewel : say, My love can give no place, 'bide no denay. (Exeunt.


Changes to Olivia's Garden.
Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian,
Sir To.

, Fabian.
. I'll ;

a of this sport, let me be boil'd to death with melancholy.

Sir To. Would'ft thou not be glad to have the niggardly rascally sheep-biter come by some notable fhaine?

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, shall 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. Get ye all three into the box-tree; Malvolio's coming down this walk, he has been yonder i'th' sun practiGng behaviour to his own shadow this half hour. Observe him, for the love of mockery; for, I know, this Letter will make a contemplative idiot of him. Close, in the name of jesting! lie thou there ; for here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling.

[Throws down a letter, and Exil.

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Mal. IS but fortune, all is fortune. Maria once

told me, she did affect me; and I have heard herself come thus near, that should fhe fancy, it should be one of my complexion. Besides, she uses me with a more exalted respect, than any one else that follows her. What should 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 advancd plumes !

Sir And. 'Slife, I could fo beat the rogue.
Sir To. Peace, I say.
Mal. To be Count Malvolio,
Sir To. Ah, rogue!
Sir And. Pistol him, pistol him.
Sir To. Peace, peace.

Mal. There is example fort : 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 state

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



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

Sir To. Fire and brimstone!
Fab. O, peace, peace.

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

Sir To. Bolts and shackles !
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 some rich jewel. Toby approaches, curtfies there to me.

Sir To. Shall this Fellow live ?

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

Mal. I extend my hand to him thus; quenching my familiar smile with an austere regard of controul.

Sir To. And does not Toby take you a blow o'th' lips then?

Mal. Saying, uncle Toby, my fortunes having cast me on your Nicce, give me this prerogative of speech

Sir To. What, what?
Mal. You must amend

your drunkenness. Sir To. Out, scab!

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

Mal. Besides, you waste the treasure of your time with a foolish Knight

Sir And. That's me, I warrant you.
Mal. One Sir Andrew,

Sir And. I knew, 'twas I; for many do call me
Mal. What employment have we here ?

[Taking up the Letter. Fab. Now is the woodcock near the gin.

Sir To. Oh, peace! now the spirit of humours intimate reading aloud to him !

Mal. By my life, this is my Lady's hand: these be her very C's, U's, and her T's, and thus makes she her great P's. It is, in contempt of question, her hand.

Sir And. Her C's, her U's, and her T's: why that?

Mal. To the unknown belov’d, this, and my good wishes; her very phrases: By your leave, wax. Soft! and the impressure her Lucrece, with which she uses to seal ; 'tis my Lady: to whom should this be?

Fah. This wins him, liver and all.

Mal. Jove knows I love, but who, lips do not move, no man must know. No man must know-what follows ? the number's alter'd-no man must know if this should be thee, Malvolio?

Sir To. Marry, hang thee, Brock !
Mal. I may command where I adore, but silence, like a

Lucrece knife,
With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore, M. O. A. I, doth

sway my life. Fab. A fuftian riddle. . Sir To. Excellent wench, say I.

Mal. M. 0. A. I. doth sway my life-nay, but first, let me see -let me see

Fab. What a dish of poison has she dress’d him ?

Sir To. And with what wing the stanyel checks at it ?

Mal. I may command where I adore. Why, she may command me : I serve her, she is my Lady. Why, this is evident to any formal capacity. There is no obstruction in this and the end-what should that alphabetical position portend? if I could make that resemble fomething in me? softly-M. 0. A. I.

Sir To. O, ay! make up that; he is now at a cold fcent.

Fab. Sowter will cry upon't for all this, tho' it be as rank as a fox. 06


Mal. M.Malvolio-—-M.—why, that begins my


Fab. Did not I say, he would work it out? the cur is excellent at faults.

Mal. M. But then there is no consonancy in the sequel ; That suffers under probation : A should follow, but 0 does.

Fab. And O shall end, I hope.
Sir To. Ay, or I'll cudgel him, and make him

cry, O.

Mal. And then I comes behind.

Fab. Ay, and you had any eye behind you, you might see more detraction at your heels than fortunes before you.

Mal. M. 0. A. I. this fimulation is not as the former-and yet to crush this a little, it would bow to me, for every one of these letters is in my name. Soft, here follows prose-If this fall into thy hand, revolve. In my stars I

my stars. I am above thee, but be not afraid of greatness; some are born great, some atchieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them. Thy fates open their hands, let thy blood and spirit embrace them; and to inure thyself to what thou art like to be, cast thy humble sough, and appear fresh. Be opposite with a kinsman, Jurly with servants : let thy tongue tang arguments of state; put thyself into the trick of fingularity. She thus advises thee, that hghs for thee. Remember who commended thy yellow stockings, and wishod to see thee ever cross-garter d. I say, remember; go to, thou art made, if thou desirest to be so: if not, let me see thee a steward fill, the fellow of servants, and not worthy to touch fortunesfingers. Farewel. She, that would alter services with thee, the fortunate and happy. Day-light and champian discover no more: this is open. I will be proud, I will read politic authors, I will baffe Sir Toby, I will wash off gross acquaintance, I will be point devise, the very

I do not now fool myself, to let imagination jade me; for every reason excites to this, that my


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