Vio

A little, by your favour.
Duke. What kind of woman is't?
Vio.

Of your complexion. Duke. She is not worth thee, then. What

years, i' faith?

Vio. About your years, my lord.
Duke. Too old, by heaven; let still the woman

take
An elder than herself; so wears she to him,
So sways 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 thy-

self, 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 perfection grow!

Re-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 silly sooth,
And dallies with the innocence of love,
Like the old age.

Clo. Are you ready, sir?
D:kc. Ay; pr’ythee, sing.

[Music.

SONG.
Mlo. Come away, come away, death,
And in sad cypress let me be laid;

Fly away, fly away, breath;
I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
My shroud 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 strown;

NO a friend, not a friend greet
My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown:
A thousand thousand sighs to save,

Lay me, 0, where
Sad true lover ne'er 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 another.

Duke. Give me now leave to leave thee.

Clo. Now, the melancholy god protect thee; and the tailor make thy doublet of changeable taffeta, for thy mind is a very opal. I would have men of such constancy put to sea, that their business might be every thing, and their intent every where; for that's it that always makes a good voyage of nothing. Farewell. [Exit Clown. Duke. Let all the rest give place.

[Exeunt Curio and Attendants.

Once more, Cesario, Get thee to yon' same 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 in, attracts my soul.

Vio. But, if she cannot love you, sir ?
Duke. I cannot be so answer'd.
Vio.

Sooth, but you must.
Say, 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 so; must she not then be answer'd ?

Dicke. There is no woman's sides, Can bide the beating of so strong a passion As lyve doth give my heart: no woman's heart So big, to hold so much; they lack retention. Alas! their love may be callid appetite.No motion of the liver, but the palate, That suffer 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 loved a man,
As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman,
I should your lordship.
Duke.

And what's her history? Vio. A blank, my lord. She never told her

love, But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, Feed on her damask cheek : she pined 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 shows are more than will; for still we prove
Much in our vows, but little in our love.

Duke. But died thy sister of her love, my boy?
Vio. I am 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 haste; give her this jewel; say, My love can give no place, bide no denay.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.-Olivia's Garden,

Enter Sir Toby BELCII, Sir ANDREW AGUECIIEEK,

and FABIAN.
Sir To. Come thy ways, signior Fabian.

Fab. Nay, I'll come; if I lose a scruple of this sport, let me be boiled to death with melancholy.

Sir To. Would'st thou not be glad to have the niggardly rascally sheep-biter come by some notable shame!

Fab. I would exult, man: you know, he brought me out o’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 is pity of our lives. Sir To. Here comes the little villain :

Enter MARIA. Ho:7 now, my nettle of India ?

VOL. 111.

9

Mar. Get ye all three into the box-tree : Malvolio's coming down this walk; he has been yonder i’ the sun, practising 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 ! [The men hide themselves.] Lie thou there [throws down a letter]; for here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling

[Exit. Enter MALVOLIO.

Mal. 'Tis but fortune; all is fortune. Maria once told me, she did affect me : and I have heard herself come thus near, that, should she 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-weening rogue !

Fab. O, peace ! Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock of him; how he jets under his advanced plumes !

Sir And. 'Slight, I could so 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 for’t; the lady of the Strachy 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 month; married to her, sitting in my state