thing more than contempt, you would not give means for this uncivil rule: she shall know of it, by this hand.

Mar. Go shake your ears.

[Exit.

Sir And. 'T were as good a deed as to drink when a man's a-hungry, to challenge him the field, and then to break promise with him and make a fool of him.

Sir To. Do't, knight: I'll write thee a challenge; or I'll deliver thy indignation to him by word of mouth. 119

:

Mar. Sweet Sir Toby, be patient for to-night since the youth of the count's was to-day with my lady, she is much out of quiet. For Monsieur Malvolio, let me alone with him: if I do not gull him into a nayword, and make him a common recreation, do not think I have wit enough to lie straight in my bed: I know I can do it.

Sir To. Possess us, possess us; tell us something of him. Mar. Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of puritan. Sir And. O, if I thought that, I'ld beat him like a dog! Sir To. What, for being a puritan? thy exquisite reason, dear knight?

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Sir And. I have no exquisite reason for 't, but I have reason good enough.

Mar. The devil a puritan that he is, or any thing constantly, but a time-pleaser; an affectioned ass, that cons state without book and utters it by great swarths: the best persuaded of himself, so crammed, 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 To. What wilt thou do?

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Mar. I will drop in his way some obscure epistles of love; wherein, by the colour of his beard, the shape of his leg, the manner of his gait, the expressure of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he shall find himself most feelingly personated. I can write very like my lady your niece: on a forgotten matter we can hardly make distinction of our hands.

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's in love with him.

Mar. My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour. Sir And. And your horse now would make him an ass. Mar. Ass, I doubt not.

Sir And. O, 't will be admirable!

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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.

Sir To. Good night, Penthesilea.

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

[Exit. 161

Sir To. She's a beagle, true-bred, and one that 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.

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Sir And. If I do not, never trust me, take it how you will. Sir To. Come, come, I'll go burn some sack; 't is 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.

[Exeunt.

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.

Duke. Seek him out, and play the tune the while.

Come hither, boy: if ever thou shalt love,

[Exit Curio.

Music plays.

Unstaid and skittish in all motions else,

Save in the constant image of the creature

That is beloved. How dost thou like this tune?
Vio. It gives a very echo to the seat

Where Love is throned.

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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.

Duke. She is not worth thee, then.
Vio. About your years, my lord.

Of your complexion.

What years, i' faith?

Duke. Too old, by heaven: let still the woman take

An elder than herself; so wears she to him,

So sways she level in her husband's heart:
For, boy, however we do praise ourselves,
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 night. Mark it, Cesario, it is old and plain;

The spinsters and the knitters in the sun

And the free maids that weave their thread with bones

Do use to chant it: it is silly sooth,

And dallies with the innocence of love,

Like the old age.

Clo. Are you ready, sir?

Duke. Ay; prithee, sing.

SONG.

Clo. Come away, come away, death,
And in sad cypress let me be laid;
Fly away, fly away, breath;

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40

[Music. 50

I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
My shroud of white, stuck all with yew,
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

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.

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Clo. Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid, one time or another.

Duke. Give me now leave to leave thee.

71

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 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.

Duke. Let all the rest give place.

[Exit.

[Curio and Attendants retire.
Once more, Cesario,

Get thee to yond 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 't is 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
As love doth give my heart; no woman's heart
So big, to hold so much; they lack retention.
Alas, their love may be call'd appetite,
No motion of the liver, but the palate,

(M 38)

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That suffer surfeit, cloyment and revolt;
But mine is all as hungry as the sea,

And can digest as much: make no compare
Between that love a woman can bear me

And that I owe Olivia.

Duke. What dost thou know?

Vio. Too well what love women to men may owe:
In faith, they are as true of heart as we.
My father had a daughter loved a man,
As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman,
I should your lordship.

Duke.

And what's her history?

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 pined 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.

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[Exeunt.

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120

Enter SIR TOBY, SIR ANDREW, and FABIAN

Sir To. Come thy ways, Signior Fabian.

Fab. Nay, I'll come: if I lose a scruple of this sport, let me be boiled to death with melancholy.

Sir To. Wouldst 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 o' 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.

Sir To. Here comes the little villain.

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