Duk. What kind of woman is't.

V10. Of your complection.

Duk. She is not worth thee then. What years, i'faith? V10. About your years, my lord.

Duk. Too old, by heaven; Let ftill the woman take An elder than herself; fo wears she to him,

So fways fhe level in her husband's heart.
For, boy, however we do praise ourselves,
Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm,
More longing, wavering, fooner loft and worn,
Than women's are.

V10. I think it well, my lord.

Duk. 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 difplay'd, doth fall that very hour.
Vio. And fo they are: alas, that they are fo;
To dye, even when they to perfection grow!
Re-enter Curio, with Clown.

Duk. O, fellow, come, the fong we had last night:Mark it, Cesario; it is old, and plain :

The fpinfters and the knitters in the fun,

And the free maids that weave their thread with bones,

Do use to chant it; it is filly footh,

And dallies with the innocence of love,

Like the old age.

Clo. Are you ready, fir?

Duk. Ay; pr'ythee, fing.

Clo.

SONG.

Come away, come away, death, and in fad cyprefs let me be lay'd;

fly away, fly away, breath;

32 Fye away, fie away

[Musick.

I am flain by a fair cruel maid:

my fbrowd of white, ftuck all with yew,
o, prepare it;

my part of death no one so true
did fhare it.
II. St.

Not a flower, not a flower fweet,
on my black coffin let there be strown ;
not a friend, not a friend greet

my poor corps, where my bones fhall be thrown : a thousand thousand fighs to fave,

lay me, o, where

fad true-love never find my grave,

Duk. There's

to weep there.

for thy pains.

Clo. No pains, fir, I take pleasure in finging, fir. Duk. I'll pay thy pleasure then.

Clo. Truly, fir, and pleasure will be pay'd, one time, or another.

Duk. Give me now leave to leave thee.

Clo. Now, the melancholy god protect thee; and the tailor make thy doublet of changeable taffeta, for thy mind is a very opal! I would have men of fuch conftancy put to fea, that their business might be every thing, and their intent every where; for that's it, that always makes a good voyage of nothing. Farewel. [Exit Clown. Duk. Let all the reft give place. Once more, Cesario, [Exeunt Curio, and Attendants, Get thee to yon' fame fovereign cruelty:

Tell her, my love, more noble than the world,

13 true lover

her,

Prizes not quantity of dirty lands;
The parts that fortune hath bestow'd upon
Tell her, I hold as giddily as fortune;
But 'tis that miracle, and queen of gems,
That nature pranks her in, attracts my foul.
V10. But, if the cannot love you, fir?
Duk. I cannot be so answer'd.

VIO. 'Sooth, but you must.

Say, that fome 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 fo; Muft fhe not then be anfwer'd ?
Duk. There is no woman's fides,

Can bide the beating of fo ftrong a paffion
As love doth give my heart: no woman's heart
So big, to hold fo much; they lack retention.
Alas, their love may be call'd appetite,
No motion of the liver, but the palate,
That fuffer furfeit, cloyment, and revolt;
But mine is all as hungry as the fea,
And can digeft as much : make no compare
Between that love a woman can bear me,
And that I owe Olivia.

V10. Ay, but I know,

Duk. What doft thou know?

V10. Too well what love women to men may owe:

In faith, they are as true of heart as we.

My father had a daughter lov'd a man,

As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman,

I fhould your lordship:

Duk. And what's her history?

Vio. A blank, my lord: She never told her love,

7 It cannot

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 fat like patience on a monument,

Smiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed ?
We men may fay more, fwear more: but, indeed,
Our fhews are more than will; for ftill we prove
Much in our vows, but little in our love.

Duk. But dy'd thy fifter of her love, my boy? V10. I am all the daughters of my father's houfe, and yet I know not:

And all the brothers too;

Sir, fhall I to this lady?

Duk. Ay, that's the theme.

To her in hafte: give her this

jewel; fay,

[Exeunt.

My love can give no place, bide no denay.

SCENE V. Olivia's Garden.

Enter Sir TOBY, Sir ANDREW, and FABIAN. Sir T. Come thy ways, fignior Fabian.

FAB. Nay, I'll come; if I lose a fcruple of this fport, let me be boil'd to death with melancholy.

Sir T. Would'ft thou not be glad, to have the niggardly rafcally sheep-biter come by fome notable shame?

FAB. I would exult, man: you know, he brought me out of favour with my lady, about a bear-baiting here. Sir T. To anger him, we'll have the bear again; and we'll fool him black and blue: Shall we not, fir Andrew?

Sir A. An we do not, it is pity of our lives.

Enter MARIA.

Sir T. 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 fun, practifing behaviour to his own fhadow, 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 jefting. [Men hide themselves.] Lye 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, fhe did affect me; and I have heard herself come thus near, that, should she fancy, it should be one of my complection. Befides, fhe uses me with a more exalted refpect, than any one elfe that follows her. What fhould I think on't?

Sir T. "Here's an over-weening rogue !"

FAB. "O, peace! Contemplation makes a rare tur"key-cock of him; how he jets under his advanc'd" "plumes!"

"Sir A. "S'light, I could fo beat the rogue :

Sir T. "Peace, I fay."

MAL. To be count Malvolio:

Sir T. "Ah, rogue!"

Sir A. "Piftol him, piftol him."

Sir T. "Peace, peace.

MAL. There is example for't; the lady of the Strachy marry'd the yeoman of the wardrobe.

Sir A. "Fye on him, Jezebel!"

FAB. "O, peace! now he's deeply in; look, how" "imagination blows him."

MAL. Having been three months marry'd to her, fitting in my ftate,