Sir To. Excellent! I smell a device. Sir And. I have 't in my nose too. Sir To. He shall think, by the letters that thou wilt drop, that they come from my niece, and that she is in love with him.

Mar. My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour.
Sir To. And your horse now would make him an

Mar. Ass, I doubt not.

Sir And. O, 'twill be admirable.

Mar. Sport royal, I warrant you: I know, my physic will work with him. I will plant you two, and let the fool make a third, where he shall find the letter; observe his construction of it. For this night, to bed, and dream on the event. Farewell. [Exit. Sir To. Good night, Penthesilea.

Sir And. Before me, she's a good wench.

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 thyself,
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
Mark it, Cesario; it is old and plain: night :-
The spinsters and the knitters in the sun,
And the free maids, that weave their thread with
Do use to chaunt it; it is silly sooth, [bones,

Sir To. She's a beagle, true bred, and one that And dallies with the innocence of love, adores me; What o'that?

Sir And. I was adored once too.

Sir To. Let's to bed, knight.-Thou hadst need send for more money.

Sir And. If I cannot recover your niece, I am a foul way out.

Sir To. Send for money, knight; if thou hast her not i'the end, call me Cut.

Sir And. If I do not, never trust me, take it how you will.

Sir To. Come, come; I'll go burn some sack, 'tis too late to go to bed now: come, knight; come, knight. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.-A Room in the Duke's Palace.

Enter DUKE, VIOLA, CURIO, and others.

Duke. Give me some music:-Now, good morrow,
friends:

Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song,
That old and antique song we heard last night;
Methought, it did relieve my passion much;
More than light airs and recollected terms,
Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times:-
Come, but one verse.

Cur. He is not here, so please your lordship, that should sing it.

Duke. Who was it?

Cur. Feste, the jester, my lord; a fool, that the lady Olivia's father took much delight in: he is about

the house.

Dake. Seek him out, and play the tune the while.
[Exit CURIO.-Music.
Come hither, boy; If ever thou shalt love,
In the sweet pangs of it, remember me :
For, such as I am, all true lovers are ;
Unstaid and skittish in all motions else,
Save, in the constant image of the creature
That is belov'd.-How dost thou like this tune?
Fis. It gives a very echo to the seat
Where Love is thron'd.

Duke. Thou dost speak masterly:

My life upon't, young though thou art, thine eye
Hath stay'd upon some favour that it loves;
Hath it not, boy?

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,
Vio. About your years, my lord. [i'faith?
Duke. Too old, by heaven; Let still the woman
An elder than herself; so wears she to him, [take
So sways she level in her husband's heart.
For, boy, however we do praise ourselves,

Like the old age.

Clo. Are you ready, sir?
Duke. Ay; pr'ythee sing.

SONG.

Clo. 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,
O, 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;

Not a friend, not a friend greet

[Music

My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown:
A thousand thousand sighs to save,

Lay me, O, where

Sad true lover never 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. I give thee now leave to leave me.

Clo. Now, the melancholy god protect thee; and
the tailor make thy doublet of changeable taffata, 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?
Duke. There is no woman's sides,
Can bide the beating of so strong a passion

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 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 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.

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.

Enter MARIA.

Sir To. Here comes the little villain :-How now, my metal of India?

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 months married to her, sitting in my state,

Sir To. O, for a stone-bow, to hit him in the eye! Mal. Calling my officers about me, in my branched velvet gown; having come from a day-bed, where I 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 kinsman Toby:

Sir To. Bolts and shackles !

Fab. O, 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; court'sies there to me:

Sir To. Shall this fellow live?

Fab. Though our silence be drawn from us with cars, yet peace.

Mal. I extend my hand to him thus, quenching my familiar smile with an austere regard of control: Sir To. And does not Toby take you a blow o' the lips then?

Mal. Saying, Cousin Toby, my fortunes having cast me on your niece, give me this prerogative of speech :Sir To. What, what?

Mal. You must amend your drunkenness.
Sir To. Out, scab!

Fab. Nay, patience, or we break the sinews 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 fool.
Mal. What employment have we here?
[Taking up the letter.
Fab. Now is the woodcock near the gin.
Sir To. O, peace! and the spirit of humours inti-

Mar. Get ye all three into the box-tree: Mal-mate reading aloud to him!
volio'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
ideot 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.

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

Enter MALVolio.

Sir And. Her C's, her U's, and her T's: Why that? Mal. [reads.] To the unknown beloved, this, and my good wishes: her very phrases!-By your leave, wax. [Exit MARIA.Soft!-and the impressure her Lucrece, with which she uses to seal: 'tis my lady: To whom should this be?

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?

Fab. This wins him, liver and all.
Mal. [reads.] Jove knows, I love:
But who?