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Mal. Madam, I will.

[Exit.

Oli. I do I know not what; and fear to find
Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind.
Fate, show thy force: Ourselves we do not owe:
What is decreed, must be; and be this so!

[Exit.

ACT II. 1

SCENE I. The Sea-coast.

Enter ANTONIO and SEBASTIAN.

Ant. Will you stay no longer? nor will you not, that I go with you?

Seb. By your patience, no: my stars shine darkly over me; the malignancy of my fate might, perhaps, distemper yours; therefore I shall crave of you your leave, that I may bear my evils alone: It were a bad recompense for your love, to lay any of them on you.

Ant. Let me yet know of you, whither you are bound.

Seb. No, sooth, sir; my determinate voyage is mere extravagancy. But I perceive in you so excellent a touch of modesty, that you will not extort from me what I am willing to keep in; therefore it charges me in manners the rather to express myself. You must know of me then, Antonio, my name is Sebastian, which I call'd Rodorigo; my father was that Sebastian of Messaline, whom I know you have heard of: he left behind him, myself, and a sister, both born in an hour; If the heavens had been pleas'd, 'would we had so ended! but you, sir, alter'd that; for, some hour before you took me from the breach of the sea, was my sister drown'd.

Aut. Alas, the day!

Seb. A lady, sir, though it was said she much resembled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful: but, though I could not, with such estimable wonder, over-far believe that, yet thus far I will boldly publish her, she bore a mind that envy could not but call fair: she is drown'd already, sir, with salt water, though I seem to drown her remembrance again with more. Ant. Pardon me, sir, your bad entertainment. Seb. O, good Antonio, forgive me your trouble. Ant. If you will not murder me for my love, let me be your servant.

1

Seb. If you will not undo what you have done, that is, kill him whom you have recover'd, desire it not. Fare ye well at once: my bosom is full of kindness; and I am yet so near the manners of my mother, that upon the least occasion more, mine eyes will tell tales of me. I am bound to the count Orsino's court: farewell. [Erit. Ant. The gentleness of all the gods go with thee! I have many enemies in Orsino's court, Else would I very shortly see thee there : But, come what may, I do adore thee so, That danger shall seem sport, and I will go. SCENE 11. A Street.

Enter VIOLA; MALVOLIO following.

[Erit.

Mal. Were not you even now with the countess Olivia?

Vio. Even now, sir; on a moderate pace I have since arrived but hither.

Mal. She returns this ring to you, sir; you might have saved me my pains, to have taken it away your self. She adds moreover, that you should put your lord into a desperate assurance she will none of him: And one thing more; that you be never so hardy to come again in his affairs, unless it be to report your lord's taking of this. Receive it so.

Vio. She took the ring of me; I'll none of it.

Mal. Come, sir, you peevishly threw it to her; and her will is, it should be so return'd: if it be worth stooping for, there it lies in your eye; if not, be it his that finds it.

[Exit.

Vio. I left no ring with her : What means this lady?
Fortune forbid, my outside have not charm'd her!"
She made good view of me; indeed, so much,
That, sure, methought, her eyes had lost her tongue,
For she did speak in starts distractedly.

She loves me, sure; the cunning of her passion
Invites me in this churlish messenger.

None of my lord's ring! why, he sent her none.
I am the man;-If it be so, (as 'tis)

Poor lady, she were better love a dream.
Disguise, I see, thou art a wickedness,
Wherein the pregnant eneny does much.
How easy is it, for the proper-false

In women's waxen hearts to set their forms!
Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we;

For, such as we are made of, such we be.

How will this fadge? My master loves her dearly;
And I, poor monster, fond as much on him;
And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me:
What will become of this? As I am mau,
My state is desperate for my master's love;
As I am woman, now alas the day!

What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe?
O time, thon must untangle this, not I;
It is too hard a knot for me to untie.

[Exit.

SCENE III. A Room in OLIVIA's House.

Enter Sir TOBY BELCH and Sir ANDREW
AGUE-CHEEK.

Sir To. Approach, sir Andrew: not to be a-bed after midnight, is to be up betimes; and diluculo surgere, thou know'st,

Sir And. Nay, by my troth, I know not: but I know, to be up late, is to be up late.

Sir To. A false conclusion; I hate it as an unfill'd can: To be up after midnight, and to go to bed then, is early; so that, to go to bed after midnight, is to go to bed betimes. Do not our lives consist of the four elements?

Sir And. 'Faith, so they say; but, I think, it rather consists of eating and drinking,

Sir To. Thou art a scholar; let us therefore eat and drink,-Marian, I say!—a stoop of wine!

Enter CLOWN.

Sir And. Here comes the fool, i'faith.

Clo. How now, my hearts? Did you never see the picture of we three?

Sir To. Welcome, ass. Now let's have a catch. Sir And. By my troth, the fool has an excellent breast. I had rather than forty shillings I had such a leg; and so sweet a breath to sing, as the fool has. In sooth, thou wast in very gracious fooling last night, when thou spokest of Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians passing the equinoctial of Queubus; 'twas very good, i'faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy leman; Hadst it? Clo. I did impeticos thy gratillity; for Malvolio's nose is no whipstock: My lady has a white hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottle ale houses.

Sir And. Excellent! Why, this is the best fooling when all is done. Now, a song.

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Sir To, Come on; there is sixpence for you: let's have a song.

Sir And. There's a testril of me too: if one knight give a

life!

Clo. Would you have a love-song, or a song of good
Sir To. A love-song, a love-tong
Sir And. Ay, ay;

care not for good life.

SONG.

Clo. O mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O, stay and hear; your true love's coming,
That can sing both high and low:
Trip no further, pretty sweeting;
Journeys end in lovers' meeting,
Every wise man's son doth know.

Sir And. Excellent good, i'faith!
Sir To. Good, good.

Clo. What is love? 'tis not hereafter;
Present mirth hath present laughter;
What's to come, is still unsure.
In delay there lies no plenty;
Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty,
Youth's a stuff will not endure.

Sir And. A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight.
Sir To. A contagious breath.

Sir And. Very sweet and contagious, i'faith.

Sir To. To hear by the nose, it is dalcet in contagion. But shall we make the welkin dance indeed! Shall we rouse the night-owl in a catch, that will draw three souls out of one weaver? shall we do that?

Sir And. An you love me, let's do't I am dog at a catch.

Clo. By'r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well. Sir And. Most certain: let our catch be, Thou knave. Clo. Hold thy peace, thou knave, knight! I shall be constrain'd in't to call thee knave, knight.

Sir And. 'Tis not the first time I have constrain'd one to call me knave. Begin, fool; it begins, Hold thy peace. Clo. I shall never begin, if I hold my peace. Sir And. Good, i'faith! Come, begin.

Enter MARIA.

[They sing a catch.

Mar. What a catterwauling do you keep here! if my lady have not call'd up her steward, Malvolio, and bid him turn you out of doors, never trust me.

Sir To. My lady's a Cataian, we are politicians;

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Malvolio's a Peg-a-Ramsey, and Three merry men be we. Am not I consanguineous? am I not of her blood? Tillyvalley lady! There dwelt a man in Babylon, lady, lady! [Singing.

Clo. Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable fooling. Sir And. Ay, he does well enough, if he be dispos'd, and so do I too; he does it with a better grace, but i do it more natural.

Sir To. O, the twelfth day of December
Mar. For the love o'God, peace.

Enter MALVOLIO.

[Singing.

Mal. My masters, are you mad? or what are you? Have you no wit, manners, nor honesty, but to gabble like tinkers at this time of night? Do ye make an alehouse of my lady's house, that ye squeak out your coziers' catches without any mitigation or remorse of voice? Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time, in you? Sir To. We did keep time, sir, in our catches. Sneck up!

Mal. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My lady bade me tell you, that, thongh she harbours you as her kinsman, she's nothing allied to your disorders. lf you can separate yourself and your misdemeanors, you are welcome to the house; if not, an it would please you to take leave of her, she is very willing to bid you farewell.

Sir To. Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs be gone.
Mal. Nay, good sir Toby.

Clo. His eyes do show his days are almost done.

Mal. Is't even so?

Sir To. But I will never die.

Clo. Sir Toby, there you lie.

Mal. This is much credit to you.

Sir To. Shall I bid him go?

Clo. What an if you do?

Sir To. Shall I bid him go, and spare not?

Clo. O no, no, no, no, you dare not.

[Singing.

Sir To. Out o'time? sir, ye lie.-Art any more than a steward? Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?

Clo. Yes, by Saint Anne; and ginger shall be hot i'the mouth too.

Sir To. Thou'rt i'the right.-Go, sir, rub your chain with crums:-A stoop of wine, Maria!

Mal. Mistress Mary, if you priz'd my lady's favour at any thing more than contempt, you would not give

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