+. Su And, staggers to center.

Act II. Sc. iii.

TWELFTH NIGHT;

and bid him turn you out of doors, never trust

me.

Sir To. My lady's a Cataian, we are politicians,
Malvolio's a Peg-a-Ramsay, and 'Three merry
men be we.' Am not I consanguineous? am I
not of her blood? Tillyvally. Lady! [Sings] 80
There dwelt a man in Babylon, lady, lady!'

Clo. Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable fooling.
Sir And. Ay, he does well enough if he be disposed,
and so do I too: he does it with a better grace,
but I do it, more natural.

Sir To. [Sings

proken

Which

drink

the twelfth day of December',——

Mar. For the love o' God, peace!

Enter Malvolio.

wearing.

Youn and cap, larrying candle. сар Idanel awund him.

Mal. My masters, are you mad? or what are you.

day

all Sir And Have you no wit, manners, nor honesty, but to

and always.

gabble like tinkers at this time of night? Do 90
ye make an alehouse of my lady's house, that
ye squeak out your coziers' catches without any
mitigation or remorse of voice? Is there no
respect of place, persons, nor time in you?,
1?+
Sir To. We did keep time, sir, in our catches.

Sternly!

Sneck up!

sings

Mal. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My lady
bade me tell you, that, though she harbours
you as her kinsman, she 's nothing allied to your
disorders. If you can separate yourself and 100
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 fare-
well.

Illaria from behind table plucks sin
Toby's sleeve.

Sat

OR, WHAT YOU WILL

Sumps and facts down!

Act II. Sc. iii.

свища

holds

Sir To. Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs be

gone.'

Mar. Nay, good Sir Toby.

Clo. His eyes do show his days are almost done.'

Mal. Isteven so?

and balls again.

Sir To. But I will never die,'

Clo: Sir Toby, there you slide Joby.

Mal. This is much credit to you.

Sir To. Shall I hid him go, and spare not?"
Clo. 'One, no, no, no, you dare not.

ase form helps him up.

snaps his

Ein J
Sir To. Out o tue, ir: ye lie. Art any more
than a steward? Dost thou think, because thous
art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and
ale?

120

Clo. Yes, by Saint Anne, and ginger shall be hot p
Clo. holds

the mouth too.

Sir To. Thou'rt i' the right. Go, sir, rub your chain
with crumbs. A stoup of wine, Maria! X

Mal. Mistress Mary, if you prized my lady's favour
at any thing more than contempt, you would not

of it, by this hand.

Mar. Go shake your ears.

Mal,

Sir And. 'Twere 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. at f. of table.

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

elo, en table,

Mar.

TWELFTH NIGHT;

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 140
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?

Sir And. I have no exquisite reason for 't, but I have 150 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 re-
venge find notable cause to work.

Sir To. What wilt thou do?

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.

160

• Heases his hands to her.

OR, WHAT YOU WILL

Sir To. Excellent! I smell a device.
Sir And. I have 't in my nose too.

Act II. Sc. iii.

Sir To. He shall think, by the letters that thou wilt 170 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, 'twill be admirable!

and

Mar. Sport royal, I warrant you: I know my physic
will work with him. I will plant you two, and
Alet the fool make a third, where he shall find the 180
letter: observe his construction of it. For this
night, to bed, and dream on the event.
well.

Sir To. Good night, Penthesilea.

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

Fare

[Exit.

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. i fan right

Sir And. If I cannot recover your niece, I am a foul 190 way out.

Sir To. Send for money, knight; if thou hast her not

i' the end, call me cut.

Sir And. If I do not, never trust me, take it how you

will.

burn

Sir To. Come, come, I'll come, is to
fall flat

un some sack; 'tis too
late to go to bed now come, knight come,

knight. tatant and

53

[Exeunt.

Scene IV.

The Duke's palace.

Enter Duke, Viola, Curio, and others.

Duke. Give me some music. Now, good morfow, 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.

Puke

IO

[Exit Curio. Music plays.

Come hither, boy: if ever thou shalt love,
In the sweet pangs of it remember me;
For such as I am all true lovers are,
Ustaid and skittish in all mations else,

Save in the constant image of the creature
That is beloved. Now dost thou like this tune?

Vio. It gives a very echo to the seat

Where love is throned.

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?

20