TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL. A CT I. SCENE, the PALACE. Enter the Duke, Curio, and Lords. DUKE. F Mufick be the food of Love, play on; That breathes upon a bank of violets, no more; O fpirit of Love, how quick and fresh art thou! Receiveth as the fea, nought enters there, Of what validity and pitch foe'er, But falls into abatement and low price, Even in a minute; (1) fo full of fhapes in fancy, (1) Cur. fo full of Shapes is Fancy, That it alone is high fantaftical.] Shakespeare has made his Polonius (a Character, which he defign'd fhould be receiv'd with Laughter) fày; for Gur. Will you go hunt, my Lord? Duke. What, Curio? Cur. The hart. Duke. Why, fo I do, the nobleft that I have: E'er fince purfue me. How now, what news from her? Enter Valentine. Val. So please my Lord, I might not be admitted, But from her hand-maid do return this answer: The element it felf, 'till feven years hence, Duke. O, She, that hath a heart of that fine frame, To pay this debt of love but to a Brother, How will the love, when the rich golden fhaft That live in her? when liver, brain, and heart, for to define true Madness, What is't, but to be Nothing else but mad, But there is no Parity of Reason why his Duke here, who is altogether ferious, and moralizing on the Qualities of Love, fhould tell us, that Fancy is alone the most fantastical Thing imaginable. I am perfuaded, the Alteration of is into in has given us the Poet's genuine Meaning that Love is moft fantastical, in being fo variable in its Fancies. And Shakespeare every. where fuppofes this to be the diftinguishing Characteriftic of this Paffion. In his As You like it, where What it is to be in Love is defin'd, amongst other Marks we have This ; It is to be all made of Fantafie. And in the fame Play, Rofalind, speaking of her Lover, fays; If I could meet that Fancy-monger, I would give him fome good Counsel, for he seems to have the Quotidian of Love upon him. And a hundred other Paffages might be quoted, did the Matter require any Proof. Mr. Warburton. Her Her fweet perfections, with one felf-fame King! Vio. SCENE, the Street. Enter Viola, a Captain and Sailors. WHE Vio. And what fhould I do in Illyria? My Brother he is in Elyfium. [Exeunt. Perchance, he is not drown'd; what think you, failors? Cap. It is perchance, that you your felf were fav'd. Vio. O my poor Brother! fo, perchance, may he be. Cap. True, Madam: and to comfort you with chance, Affure your self, after our Ship did split, When you, and that poor number fav'd with you, (Courage and Hope both teaching him the practice) I faw him hold acquaintance with the waves, Vio. For faying fo, there's gold. Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope, The like of him. Know'st thou this Country? Cap. Ay, Madam, well; for I was bred and born, Not three hours travel from this very place. Vio. Who governs here? Cap. A noble Duke in nature, as in name. Cap. Orfino. Vio. Orfino! I have heard my Father name him: He was a Batchelor then. Cap. And fo is now, or was fo very late; For but a month ago I went from hence, And And then 'twas fresh in murmur (as you know, Vio. What's fhe? Cap. A virtuous Maid, the Daughter of a Count, That dy'd fome twelve months fince, then leaving her In the protection of his Son, her Brother, Who fhortly alfo dy'd; for whofe dear love, Vio. O, that I ferv'd that Lady, And might not be deliver'd to the world, Cap. That were hard to compass; Because she will admit no kind of fuit, No, not the Duke's. Vio. There is a fair behaviour in thee, Captain; Cap. Be you his Eunuch, and your Mute I'll be: SCENE SCENE, an Apartment in Olivia's House. Sir To. Enter Sir Toby, and Maria. WHA HAT a plague means my Neice, to take the death of her Brother thus? I am fure, Care's an enemy to life. Mar. By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier a-nights; your Neice, my Lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours. Sir To. Why, let her except, before excepted. Mar. Ay, but you must confine your felf within the modeft limits of order. Sir To. Confine? I'll confine my self no finer than I am; these cloaths are good enough to drink in, and fo be these boots too; an they be not, let them hang themselves in their own straps. Mar. That quaffing and drinking will undo you; I heard my Lady talk of it yesterday, and of a foolish Knight that you brought in one night here, to be her Wooer? Sir To. Who, Sir Andrew Ague-cheek? Mar. Ay, he. Sir To. He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria. Sir To. Why, he has three thoufand ducats a year. Mar. Ay, but he'll have but a year in all thefe ducats: he's a very fool, and a prodigal. Sir To. Fie, that you'll fay fo! he plays o'th' viol-degambo, and speaks three or four languages word for word without book, and hath all the good gifts of Na ture. Mar. He hath, indeed, almoft natural; for befides that he's a fool, he's a great quarreller; and but that he hath the gift of a coward to allay the guft he hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought among the prudent, he would quickly have the gift of a Grave. Sir To. By this hand, they are fcoundrels and fubftractors that fay fo of him. Who are they? Mar. |