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ACT II.
SCENEI. The Sea-coast.
Enter SEBASTIAN, and ANTONIO.

you?

ANT. Will you stay no longer ? nor will you not, that I go

with SEB. By your patience, no: my stars fine darkly over me; the malignancy of my fate might, perhaps, diftemper yours; therefore I shall crave of you your leave, that I may bear my

evils alone : it were a bad recompence

for

your love, to lay any of them on you. Ant. Let me yet know of you, whither you are bound.

SEB. No, 'sooth, fir; my determinate voyage is meer extravagancy. But I perceive in you so excellent a touch of modesty, that you will not extort from me what I am willing to keep in ; therefore it charges me in manners the rather to express myself: You must know of me then, Antonio, my name is Sebastian, which I callid Rodorigo; my father was that Sebastian of Messaline, whom I know, you have heard of: he left behind him, myself, and a fister, both born in an hour; If the heavens had been pleas'd, would we had so ended! but you, fir, alter'd that; for, some hour before you took me from the breach of the sea, was my sister drown'd.

Ant. Alas, the day!

SEB. A lady, fir, though it was said she much resembld me, was yet of many accounted beautiful : but, though I could not, with such estimable wonder, over-far believe that, yet thus far I will boldly pub

more.

lish her, she bore a mind that envy could not but call fair: she is drown'd already, sir, with salt water, though I seem to drown her remembrance again with

Ant. Pardon me, fir, your bad entertainment.
SEB. O good Antonio, forgive me your trouble.

Ant. If you will not murther me for my love, let me be your

fervant. SEB. If you will not undo what you have done, that is, kill him whom you have recover'd, desire it not. Fare ye well at once: my bosom is full of kindness ; and I am yet so near the manners of my mother, that, upon the least occasion more, mine eyes will tell tales of me. I am bound to the count Orsino's court: farewel.

[Exit. Ant. The gentleness of all the gods go with thee! I have many enemies in Orsino's court, Else would I very shortly see thee there : But, come what may, I do adore thee fo, That danger shall seem sport, and I will go. [Exit.

SCENE II. A Street. Enter VIOLA, Malvolio following. MAL. Were not you even now with the countess Olivia ?

V10. Even now, fir; on a moderate pace I have since arriv'd but hither.

MAL. She returns this ring to you, fir; you might have saved me my pains, to have taken it away your. self. She adds

moreover,
that you
should put your

lord into a desperate assurance she will none of him : And one thing more; that you be never so hardy to come

again in his affairs, unless it be to report your lord's taking of this. Receive it, fir.

Vio. She took the ring of me, I'll none of it.

Mal. Come, fir, you peevishly threw it to her; and her will is, it should be so return'd: if it be worth stooping for, there t it lies in your eye ; if not, be it his that finds it.

(Exit MalvoLIO.
V10. I left no ring with her : What means this lady?
Fortune forbid, my out-side have not charm'd her!
She made good view of me; indeed, so much,
That, fure, methought, her eyes had loft her tongue,
For The did speak in starts distractedly.
She loves me, sure; the cunning of her passion
Invites me in this churlith messenger.
None of my lord's ring? why, he sent her none.
I am the man; If it be so, (as 'tis)
Poor lady, she were better love a dream.
Disguise, I fee, thou art a wickedness,
Wherein the pregnant enemy does much.
How easy is it, for the proper

false
In women's waxen hearts to set their forms!
Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we;
For, such as we are made, e'en such we be.
How will this fadge? My master loves her dearly 3
And I, poor monster, fond as much on him;
And she, mistaken, seems to doat on me:
What will become of this ? As I am man,
My state is desperate for my master's love ;
As I am woman, now,

alas the day!
What thriftless fighs shall poor Olivia breath ?
O time, thou must untangle this, not I;
It is too hard a knot for me to unty.

[Exit.

2 it fo. 23 made, if such

VOL. IV.

I

to be

SCENE III. A Room in Olivia's House.

Enter Sir Toby, and Sir ANDREW. Sir T. Approach, fir Andrew : not to be a bed after midnight, is to be up betimes ; and diluculo furgere, thou know'it, Sir A. Nay, by my troth, I know not: but I know,

up late, is to be up late. Sir T. A false conclusion ; I hate it as an unfill'd can: To be up after midnight, and to go to bed then, is early; so that, to go to bed after midnight, is to go to bed betimes. Does not our life consist of the four elements ?

Sir A. 'Faith, so they say; but, I think, it rather confifts of eating and drinking.

Sir T. Thou’rt a scholar; let us therefore eat and drink.- Maria, I say,

a stoop of wine !

Enter Clown.
Sir A. Here comes the fool, i'faith.

Clo. How now, my hearts ? Did you never see the picture of we three.

Sir T. Welcome, ass. Now let's have a catch. Sir A. By my troth, the fool has an excellent breast. I had rather than forty shillings I had such a leg; and so sweet a breath to sing, as the fool has. - In sooth, thou walt in very gracious fooling last night, when thou spok’st of Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians passing the equinoctial of Queubus ; 'twas very good, i'faith. I sent thee fix-pence for thy leman ; Had'It it?

Clo. I did impeticos thy gratility; for Malvolio's nose is no whip-stock, my lady has a white hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottle-ale-houses.

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Sir A. Excellent! Why, this is the best fooling, when all is done. Now, a song.

Sir T. Come on ; there is fix-pence + for you: let's have a song.

Sir A. There's a testril 7 of me too : if one knight give a

Clo. Would you have a love-song, or a song of good life?

Sir T. A love-song, a love-fong.
Sir A. Ay, ay; I care not for good life.

SON G.
Clo. O mistress mine, where are you roaming ?

o, stay and hear ; your true love's coming,

that can sing both high and low: trip no farther, pretty sweeting ; journeys end in lovers' meeting,

every wise man's fon doth know.
Sir A. Excellent good, i'faith.
Sir T. Good, good.

St. II.
Clo. What is love? 'tis not hereafter ;

present mirth hath present laughter;

what's to come, is still unsure :
in delay there lies no plenty;
then come kiss me, sweet, and twenty,

youth's a fuff will not endure.
Sir A. A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight.
Sir T. A contagious breath.
Sir A. Very sweet and contagious, i'faith.

Sir T. To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion. But shall we make the welkin dance indeed ? Shall we

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