rouse the night-owl in a catch, that will draw three fouls out of one weaver? fhall we do that? Sir A. An you love me, let's do't: I am dog at a catch. Clo. By'r-lady, fir, and fome dogs will catch well. Sir A. Moft certain: Let our catch be, Thou knave. Clo. Hold thy peace, thou knave, knight? I thall be conftrain'd in't to call thee knave, knight. Sir A. 'Tis not the first time I have conftrain'd one to call me knave. Begin, fool; it begins, Hold thy peace. Clo. I fhall never begin, if I hold my peace. Catch fung. MAR. What a catterwawling do you keep here? If my lady have not call'd up her fteward Malvolio, and bid him turn you out of doors, never truft me. Sir T. My lady's a Cataian, we are politicians; Malvolio's a Peg o' Ramsey, and Three merry men be we. Am not I confanguinious? am I not of her blood? Tilly-vally! lady! There dwelt a man in Babylon,— lady, lady! Clo. Befhrew me, the knight's in admirable fooling. Sir A. Ay, he does well enough, if he be difpos'd, and fo do I too; he does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural. Sir T. O, the twelfth day of December,- Enter MALVOLIO. MAL. My mafters, are you mad? or what are you? Have you no wit, manners, nor honefty, but to gabble like tinkers at this time of night? Do ye make an alehoufe of my lady's houfe, that ye fqueak out your coziers' catches without any mitigation or remorfe of voice? Is there no refpect of place, perfons, nor time in you? Sir T. We did keep time, fir, in our catches. Sneck-up! MAL. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My lady bad me tell you, that, though she harbours you as her kinsman, fhe's nothing ally'd to your disorders: If you can separate yourself and your misdemeanours, you are welcome to the house; if not, an it would please you to take leave of her, she is very willing to bid you farewel. Sir T. Farewel, dear heart, fince I must needs be gone. MAR. Nay, good fir Toby. Clo. His eyes do fhow his days are almost done. MAL. Is't even fo? Sir T. But I will never dye. Clo. Sir Toby, there you lye. MAL. This is much credit to you Sir T. Shall I bid him go ? Clo. What an if you do? Sir T. Shall I bid him go, and Spare not? - Sir T. Out o'tune, fir, ye lye. - Art any more than a fteward? Doft thou think, because thou art virtuous, there fhall be no more cakes and ale ? Clo. Yes, by faint Anne; and ginger fhall be hot i'the mouth too. Sir T. Thou'rt i'the right. Go, fir, rub with crums: — A ftoop of wine, Maria. your chain MAL. Miftrefs Mary, if you priz'd my lady's favour at any thing more than contempt, you would not give means for this uncivil rule; fhe fhall know of it, by this [Exit MALVOLIO. hand. MAR. GO, shake your ears. Sir A. 'Twere as good a deed, as to drink when a man's a hungry, to challenge him to the field; and then to break promise with him, and make a fool of him. Sir T. Do't, knight; I'll write thee a challenge; or I'll deliver thy indignation to him by word of mouth. MAR. Sweet fir Toby, be patient for to-night; fince the youth of the count's was to day with my lady, she is much out of quiet. For monfieur Malvolio, let me alone with him: if I do not gull him into a nay-word, and make him a common recreation, do not think I have wit enough to lye ftrait in my bed: I know, I can do it. Sir T. Possefs us, possefs us; tell us fomething of him. MAR. Marry, fir, fometimes he is a kind of puritan : Sir A. O, if I thought that, I'd beat him like a dog. Sir T. What, for being a puritan? thy exquisite reason, dear knight? Sir A. I have no exquisite reason for't, but I have reason good enough. : MAR. The devil a puritan that he is, or any thing conftantly but a time-pleaser; an affection'd afs, that cons ftate without book, and utters it by great fwarths the best perfuaded of himself, fo cram'd, as he thinks, with excellencies, that it is his grounds of faith, that all, that look on him, love him; and on that vice in him will my revenge find notable cause to work. Sir T. What wilt thou do? MAR. I will drop in his way fome obfcure epiftles of love; wherein, by the colour of his beard, the shape of his leg, the manner of his gait, the expreffure of his eye, forehead, and complection, he fhall find himself moft feelingly perfonated: I can write very like my lady, your niece; on a forgotten matter we can hardly make diftinction of our hands. Sir T. Excellent! I fmell a device. Sir A. I ha't in my nose too. Sir T. He fhall think, by the letters that thou wilt drop, that they come from my niece, and that she's in love with him. MAR. My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour. Sir A. And your horfe now would make him an ass. MAR. Afs-I doubt not. Sir A. O, 'twill be admirable. MAR. Sport royal, I warrant you: I know, my physick will work with him. I will plant you two, and let the fool make a third, where he fhall find the letter; observe his conftruction of it: For this night, to bed, and dream on the event: Farewel. Sir T. Good night, Penthefilea. Sir A. Before me, fhe's a good wench. [Exit. Sir T. She's a beagle, true bred, and one that adores me; What o'that? Sir A. I was ador'd once too. Sir T. Let's to bed, knight: Thou hadst need send for more money. Sir A. If I cannot recover your niece, I am a foul way out. Sir T. Send for money, "knight; if thou hast her not i'the end, call me, cut. Sir A. If I do not, never trust me, take it how you will. Sir T. Come, come; I'll go burn fome fack, 'tis too late to go to bed now: come, knight, come, knight. SCENE IV. A Room in the Duke's Palace. Enter Duke, VIOLA, CURIO, and Others. Duk. Give me fome musick :- Now, good-morrow, Now, good Cesario, but that piece of fong, [friends: That old and antick song we heard last night: Methought, it did relieve my paffion much; More than light airs, and recollected terms, Of these moft brisk and giddy-paced times: Come, but one verse, CUR. He is not here, fo please your lordship, that fhould fing it. Duk. Who was it? CUR. Fefte, the jefter, my lord; a fool, that the lady Olivia's father took much delight in: he is about the house. Duk. Eo, feek him out, and play the tune the while. Come hither, boy; If ever thou shalt love, Duk. Thou doft speak masterly: My life upon't, young though thou art, thine eye Hath it not, boy? Vio. A little, by your favour. |