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SCENE IX.

Enter Maria.

Sir And. Nor I neither.

Fab. Here comes my noble gull-catcher.
Sir To. Wilt thou fet thy foot o' my neck?

Sir And." Or o' mine either?

Sir To. Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip, and become thy bondflave?

Sir And. I'faith, or I either?

Sir To. Why, thou haft put him in fuch a dream, that, when the image of it leaves him, he must run mad.

Mar. Nay, but fay true, does it work upon him?

Sir To. Like aqua-vitæ with a midwife.

Mar. If you will then fee the fruits of the sport, mark his firft approach before my lady: he will come to her in yellow stockings, and 'tis a colour she abhors; and cross-garter'd, a fashion she detefts; and he will fmile upon her, which will now be fo unfuitable to her difpofition, being addicted to melancholy, as fhe is, that it cannot but turn him into a notable contempt: if you will see it, follow me.

Sir To. To the gates of tartar; thou moft excellent devil of wit !

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AVE thee, friend, and thy musick: doft thou live by the

SAVE

tabour?

Clo. No, fir, I live by the church.

Vio. Art thou a churchman?

Clo. No fuch matter, fir; I do live by the church: for I do live at my house, and my houfe doth stand by the church.

Vio. So thou may'ft fay, the king lies by a beggar, if a beggar dwell near him: or, the church ftands by thy tabour, if thy tabour stand by the church.

Clo. You have faid, fir: to fee this age! a fentence is but a chev'ril glove to a good wit; how quickly the wrong fide may be turned outward!

Vio. Nay, that's certain; they that dally nicely with words may quickly make them wanton.

Clo. I would therefore my fifter had no name, fir.

Vio. Why, man?

Clo. Why, fir, her name's a word; and to dally with that word, might make my fifter wanton: but, indeed, words are very rafcals, fince bonds difgrac'd them.

Vio. Thy reason, man?

Clo. Troth, fir, I can yield you none without words; and words are grown so false, I am loath to prove reason with them. Vio. I warrant, thou art a merry fellow, and careft for nothing. Clo. Not fo, fir, I do care for fomething; but, in my confcience, fir, I do not care for you: if that be to care for nothing, fir, I would it would make you invifible.

Vio. Art not thou the lady Olivia's fool?

Clo. No, indeed, fir, the lady Olivia has no folly: fhe will keep no fool, fir, till fhe be married; and fools are as like husbands, as pilchers are to herrings, the husband's the bigger: I am, indeed, not her fool, but her corrupter of words. Vio. I faw thee late at the duke Orfino's.

your

Clo. Foolery, fir, does walk about the orb like the fun; it fhines every where. I would be forry, fir, but the fool should be as oft with your mafter, as with my miftrefs: I think, I faw wisdom there. Vio. Nay, an thou pafs upon me, I'll no more with thee: Hold, there's expences for thee.

[gives him a piece of money.

Clo.

Clo. Now, Jove, in his next commodity of hair, fend thee a beard!

Vio. By my troth, I'll tell thee, I am almost fick for one; though I would not have it grow on my chin. Is thy lady within?

Clo. Would not a pair of these have bred, fir?

Vio. Yes, being kept together, and put to use.

Clo. I would play lord Pandarus of Phrygia, fir, to bring a Creffida to this Troilus.

Vio. I understand you, fir, 'tis well begg'd.

Clo. The matter, I hope, is not great, fir; begging but a beggar: Creffida was a beggar. My lady is within, fir. I will conster to her whence you come; who you are, and what you would, is out of my welkin; I might say element, but the word is overworn.

Vio. This fellow is wife enough to play the fool;
And to do that well, craves a kind of wit:

He must observe their mood on whom he jests,
The quality of the persons, and the time;

And, like the haggard, check at every feather
That comes before his eye. This is a practice,
As full of labour as a wife man's art:

For folly, that he wifely fhows, is fit;

But wife men's folly shown, quite taints their wit.

SCENE II.

Enter fir Toby, and fir Andrew.

Sir And. Save you, gentleman.

Vio. And you, fir.

Sir To. Dieu vous guarde, monfieur.

Vio. Et vous auffi; voftre ferviteur.

[Exit.

Sir To. I hope, fir, you are; and I am yours. Will you encounter the house? my nicce is defirous you should enter, if your trade be to her.

Vio. I am bound to your niece, fir; I mean, fhe is the lift of my voyage.

Sir To. Tafte your legs, fir, put them to motion.

Vio. My legs do better understand me, fir, than I understand what you mean by bidding me taste my legs.

Sir To. I mean, to go, fir, to enter.

Vio. I will answer you with gait and entrance; but we are prevented.

Enter Olivia, and Maria.

Most excellent accomplish'd lady, the heav'ns rain odours on you!

Sir And. That youth's a rare courtier! rain odours? well. Vio. My matter hath no voice, lady, but to your own most pregnant and vouchfafed ear.

Sir And. Odours, pregnant, and vouchsafed: I'll get 'em all three ready.

Oli. Let the garden door be shut, and leave me to my hearing. [Exeunt fir Toby, fir Andrew, and Maria.

SCENE III.

Give me your hand, fir.

Vio. My duty, madam, and most humble fervice.
Oli. What is your name?

Vio. Cefario is your fervant's name, fair princess.
Oli. My fervant, fir? 'Twas never merry world,
Since lowly feigning was call'd compliment:
You're fervant to the duke Orfino, youth.

Vio. And he is yours, and his must needs be
Your fervant's fervant is your fervant, madam.

yours:

Oli. For him, I think not on him: for his thoughts, Would they were blanks, rather than fill'd with me. Vio, Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts. On his behalf.

Oli. O, by your leave, I pray you;

I bade you never speak again of him,

But, would you undertake another fuit,

I'd rather hear you to folicit that
Than mufick from the spheres.

Vio. O deareft lady,

Oli. Give me leave, I befeech you: I did fend, After the laft enchantment (you did hear)

A ring in chase of you: fo did I abuse
Myself, my fervant, and, I fear me, you:
Under your hard conftruction must I fit,
To force that on you in a shameful cunning,
Which you knew none of yours. What might
Have you not fet mine honour at the ftake,
And baited it with all th' unmuzzled thoughts
That tyrannous heart can think? to your receiving
Enough is shown; a cypress, not a bosom,
Hides my poor heart. So let us hear you speak.
Vio. I pity you.

yours. What might you think?

Oli. That's a degree to love.

Vio. No not a grice: for 'tis a vulgar proof

That very oft we pity enemies.

Oli. Why then, methinks, 'tis time to fmile again :

O world, how apt the poor are to be proud!

If one fhould be a prey, how much the better
To fall before the lion, than the wolf!
The clock upbraids me with the waste of time.
Be not afraid, good youth, I will not have you;
And yet when wit and youth are come to harvest,
Your wife is like to reap a proper man:
There lies your way, due west.

Vio. Then weftward hoe!

Grace and good difpofition attend you!

You'll nothing, madam, to my lord by me?

[clock ftrikes.

Oli. Stay: pr'ythee, tell me, what thou think'st of me?
Vio. That you do think, you are not what you are.
Oli. If I think fo, I think the fame of you.

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