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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. Duke. Seek him out, and play the tune the while.
Vio. It gives a very echo to the seat
Thou dost speak masterly:
A little, by your favour.
Of your complexion. Duke. She is not worth thee then. What years,
I think it well, my lord.
For women are as roses; whose fair flower,
Vio. And so they are: alas, that they are so;
Re-enter Curio, and Clown.
Clo. Are you ready, sir ?
Clo. Come away, come away, death,
Fly away, fly away, breath;
O, prepare it ;
Did share it.
Not a flower, not a flower sweet,
Not a friend, not a friend greet
- free - ] Is, perhaps, artless, free from art. 7 — silly sooth,] It is plain, simple truth. & And dallies with the -] Plays or trifles. 9 — the old age.] The ages past, times of simplicity. + The cypress wood, of which coffins were made.
A thousand thousand sighs to save,
Lay me, 0, where
To weep there.
Duke. There's for thy pains.
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 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,
Vio. But, if she cannot love you, sir ?
'Sooth, but you must.
1- a very opal!] A precious stone of almost all colours. ? That nature pranks her in,] i, e, adorns.
Duke. There is no woman's sides
Ay, but I know,-
Vio. Too well what love women to men may owe:
And what's her history?
Duke. But died thy sister of her love, my boy?
Vio. I am all the daughters of my father's house,
Ay, that's the theme.
3 ----- bide no denay.] Denay, is denial.
Enter Sir Toby BELCH, Sir ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK,
and FABIAN. Sir To. Come thy ways, signior Fabian.
Fab. Nay, I'll come; if I lose a scruple of this sport, let me 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 of 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.
Enter Maria. Sir To. Here comes the little villain :-How now, my nettle of India *?
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 Maria.
Enter MALVOLIO. Mal. 'Tis but fortune; all is fortune. Maria once told me, she did affect me: and I have heard herself
4- nettle of India ?] The nettle of India is the plant that produces what is called cow-itch, a substance only used for the purpose of tormenting, by its itching quality.