Oli. Fetch him off, I pray you, he speaks nothing but madman: fy on him! Go you, Malvolio; if it be a fuit from the Count, I am fick, or not at home: what you will to difmifs it. [Exit Malvolio.] Now you fee, Sir, how your fooling grows old, and people diflike it. Clo. Thou haft fpoke for us, Madona, as if thy eldeft fon fhould be a fool, whofe fcull Jove cram with brains, for here comes one of thy kin has a moft weak pia mater! Enter Sir TOBY. Oli. By mine honour, half drunk. What is he at the gate, uncle? Sir To. A gentleman. Oli. A gentleman? what gentleman? Sir To. Tis a gentleman. Here, [belches.] A plague o' thefe pickle herring! how now, fot? Cle. Good Sir Toby, Oli. Uncle, uncle, how have you come fo early by this lethargy? Sir To. Letchery? I defy letchery: there's one at the gate. Oli. Ay, marry, what is he? Sir To. Let him be the devil and he will, I care not: give me faith, fay I. Well, it's all one. [Exit. Oli. What's a drunken man like, fool? Clo. Like a drowned man, a fool, and a madman: one draught above heat makes him a fool, the fecond mads him, and a third drowns him. Oli. Go thou and feek the coroner, and let him fit o' my uncle; for he's in the third degree of drink; he's drowned; "go look after him. Clo. He's but mad yet, Madona, and the fool fhall. look to the madman. [Exit Clown. Enter MALVOLIO. Mal. Madam, yond young fellow fwears he will fpeak with you. I told him you were fick; he takes on him to understand so much, and therefore comes to fpeak with you. I told him you were afleep; he feems to have a foreknowledge of that too, and therefore comes to speak with you. What is to be faid to him, Lady? he's fortified against any denial. Oli. Tell him he shall not speak with me. Mal. He has been told fo; and he says he'll stand at your door like a Sheriff's poft, and be the fupporter to a bench, but he'll speak with you. Oli. What kind o' man is he? Mal. Why, of mankind. Oli. What manner of man ? Mal. Of very ill manners; he'll speak with you, will you or no. Oli. Of what perfonage and years is he? Mal. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy; as a fquafh is before 'tis a peafcod, or a codling when 'tis almost an apple: 'tis with him in standing water, between boy and man. He is very well-favoured, and he fpeaks very fhrewifhly one would think his mother's milk were fcarce out of him. : Oli. Let him approach: call in my gentlewoman. Mal. Gentlewoman, my Lady calls. Enter MARIA. [Exit. Oli. Give me my veil: come, throw it o'er my We'll once more hear Orfino's embassy. Enter VIOLA. [face; Vio. The honourable lady of the house, which is the? Vio. Speak to me, I fhall anfwer for her: your will? Oli. Moft radiant, exquifite, and unmatchable beauty-I pray you, tell me if this be the lady of the house, for I never faw her. I would be loth to caft away my speech; for befides that it is excellently well penned, I have taken great pains to con it. Good beauties, let me fuftain no fcorn; I am very comptible, even to the least finister usage. Oli. Whence came you, Sir? Vio. I can fay little more than I have studied, and that question's out of my part. Good gentle one, give me modeft affurance if you be the lady of the house, that I may proceed in my speech. Oli. Are you a comedian ? Vio. No, my profound heart; and yet, by the very fangs of malice I fwear, I am not that I play. Are you the lady of the house? Oli. If I do not ufurp myself, I am. Vio. Most certain, if you are fhe, you do ufurp yourself; for what is yours to beltow is not yours to referve; but this is from my commiffion. I will on with my fpeech in your praife, and then thew you the heart of my meffage. Oli. Come to what is important in't: I forgive you the praise. Vie. Alas, I took great pains to study it, and 'tis poetical. Oli. It is the more like to be feigned. I pray you keep it in. I heard you were faucy at my gates; and allowed your approach, rather to wonder at you than to hear you. If you be not mad, gone; if you have reason, be brief: 'tis not that time of the moon with me, to make one in fo fkipping a dialogue. be Mar. Will you hoift fail, Sir? here lyes your way. Vio. No, good fwabber, I am to hull here a little longer. Some mollification for your giant, fweet Lady: tell me your mind, I am a meffenger.. Oli. Sure you have fome hideous matter to de-* liver, when the curtefy of it is fo fearful. Speak your office. Vio. It alone concerns your ear. I bring no overture of war, no taxation of bomage; I hold the olive in my hand: my words are as full of peace as matter. Oli. Yet you began rudely. What are you? what would you? Vio. The rudeness that hath appeared in me have I learned from my entertainment. What I am and what I would, are as fecret as maidenhead; to your ears divinity; to any others profanation... Oli. Give us the place alone. [Exit Maria.] We will hear this divinity. Now, Sir, what is your text? Vio. Moft fweet Lady- Oli. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be faid of it. Where lyes your text? Vio. In Orfino's bofom. Oli. In his bofom? in what chapter of his bofom? Vio. To anfwer by the method, in the first of his heart. Oli. O, I have read it; it is herefy. Have you no more to fay? Vio. Good Madam, let me fee your face. Oli. Have you any commiffion from your Lord to negotiate with my face? you are now out of your text: but we will draw the curtain, and fhew you the picture. (3) Look you, Sir, such a one I wear this prefent; is't not well done? [Unveiling (3) Lock you, Sir, fuch a one I was this prefentis't not well done?] This is nonfenfe. My correction, I think; clears af Vio. Excellently done, if God did all. Oli. 'Tis in grain, Sir; 'twill endure wind and weather. Vio. 'Tis beauty truly blent, whofe red and white Nature's own tweet and cunning hand laid on: Lady, you are the cruelicit ibe alive, If you will lead thefe graces to the grave, Oli. O, Sir, I will not be io hard-hearted: I will give out diverfe schedules of my beauty. It fhall be inventoried, and every particle and utenfil labelled to my will; as, Item, two hips indiderent red. Item, two grey eyes, with lids to them. Item, one neck, one chin, and fo forth. Were you fent hither to praife me? Vin. I fee you, what you are; you are too proud; But if you were the devil, you are fair. My Lord and Mailer loves you: O, fuch love Could be but recompenc'd, tho' you were crowned The non-parcil of beauty! Oli. How does he love me? Vio. With adorations, with fertile tears, With groans that thunder love, with fighs of fire. Oli. Your Lord does know my mind, I cannot love him; Yet I fuppofe him virtuous, know him noble, : up, and gives the expreffion an air of gallantry. Viola preffes to fee Olivia's face the other at length pulls off her veil, and fays, "We will draw the curtain, and fhew you "the picture. I wear this complexion to-day, I may wear "another to-morrow;" jocularly intimating, that fe painted. The other, vexed at the jcft, fays, Excellently done, if God did all" Perhaps it may be true what you fay in jeft; otherwife 'tis an excellent face. grain," &c. replies Olivia. VOL. V. C 66 "Tis in Mr Warburton. |