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Mar, Ay, but he'll have but a year in all these ducats : he's a very fool and a prodigal.

Sir To. Fy, that you'll say so! he plays o'th' violdegambo, and speaks three or four languages word for word without book, and hath all the good gifts of nature.

Mar. He hath, indeed, -almost natural; for be.. sides that he's a fool, he's a great quarreller ; and but that he hath the gift of a coward to allay the gust he hath in quarrelling, ?tis thought, among the prudent, he would quickly have the gift of a grave,

Sir To. By this hand they are scoundrels and subtractors that say so of him. Who are they?

Mar. They that add, moreover, he's drunk nightly in your company,

Sir To. With drinking healths to my niece: I'll drink to her as long as there's a passage in my throat, and drink in Illyria. He's a coward, and a coystril, that will not drink to my niece 'till his brains turn o? th? toe, like a parish-top. What, wench? Castiliano Volgo *; for here comes Sir Anadrew Ague-cheek.

S CE N E IV.

Enter Sir Andrew, .
Sir And. Sir Toby Belch! how now, Sir Toby
Belch?

Sir To. Sweet Sir Andrew !
Sir. And. Bless you, fair fhrew.
Mar. And you too, Sir.
Sir To. Accost, Sir Andrew, accost-
Sir And. What's that?
Sir To. My niece's chamber-maid.

Sir And. Good Mistress Accost, I defire better aca quaintance.

Mar. My name is Mary, Sir.
Sir And. Good Mistress Mary Accost,-

* We Thould read volto. In English, put on your Castilian countenance ; that is, your grave, folema looks, Warburton.

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my hand.

Sir To. You mistake, knight : accost is, front her, board her, wooe her, asfáil her.

Sir And. By my troth, I would not undertake her in this company. Is that the meaning of accost.

Mar. Fare you well, gentlemen.

Sir To. An thou let her part fo, Sir Andrew, would thou mightít never draw a sword again.

Sir And. An you part so, mistress, I would I might never draw sword again. Fair lady, do

you think you have fools in hand?

Mar. Sir, I have not you by th' hand. Sir And. Marry but you shall have, and here's Mar. Now, Sir, thought is free: I pray you bring your hand to th' buttery-bar, and let it drink.

Sir And. Wherefore, sweet heart? what's your metaphor?

Mar. It's dry, Sir.

Sir And. Why, I think fo: I am not such an ass but I can keep my hand dry. But what's your jest?

Mar. A dry jest, Sir.
Sir And. Are you full of them?

Mar. Ay, Sir, I have them at my fingers ends :: marry, now I let

your
hand

go,
I am barren.

[Exit Maria. Sir To. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of canary: when did I see thee so put down?

Sir And. Never in your life, I think, unless you see canary put me down. Methinks, sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian, or an ordinary man has; but I am a great eater of beef, and, I believe, that does harin to my wit.

Sir To. No question.

Sir And. An I thought that, I'd forswear it. I'll ride home to-morrow, Sir Toby.

Sir To. Pourquoy, my dear knight.

Sir And. What is pourquoy? do, or not do? I would I had bestowed that time in the tongues that I have in fencing, dancing, and bear-baiting. O, had I but follow'd the arts !

Sir To. Then hädst thou had an excellent head of hair.

Sir And Why, would that have mended my hair?

Sir To. Past question; for thou seest it will not curl by nature.

Sir And. But it becomes me well enough, does't not?

Sir To. Excellent! it hangs like flax on a distaff; and I hope to see a house-wife take thee beiween her legs, and spin it off.

Sir And. Faith, I'll home to morrow, Sir Toby ; your neice will not be seen, or, if she be, it's four to one she'll none of me: the Duke himself here, hard by, wooes her.

Sir . She'll none o'th' Duke ; she'll not match above her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit; I have heard her swear it. Tut, there's life in't,

man.

Sir And. I'll stay.a month longer. I am a fellow o'th' strangest mind i'th world: I delight in masks and revels sometimes altogether.

Sir To. Art thou good at these kick-shaws, knight?

Sir And. As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be, under the degree of my betters; and yet I will not compare with an old man.

Sir To. What, is thy excellence in a galliard, knight?

Sir And. Faith I can cut a caper.
Sir To. And I can cut the mutton to't.

Sir And. And, I think, I have the back-trick sim ply as strong as any man in Illyria.

Sir To. Wherefore are these things hid? where fore have the e gifts a curtain before them? are they like to take dust, like Mistress Mall's picture? why dost thou not go to church in a galliard, and come home in a coranto? my very walk should be. a jig! I would not so much as make water, but in a link-a-pace! what'dost thou mean? is it a world to hide virtues in? I did think, by the excellent constitution of thy leg, it was form’d under the star of a galliard.

Sir And. Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a flame-colour'd stocking. Shall we fet abouti fome revels?

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Sir To. What shall we do else? were we not born under Tauriis?

Sir And. Tourus ? that's sides and heart *.

Sir To. No, Sir, it is legs and thighs. Let me see thee caper; ha ! higher : ha, ha! -excellent.

[Exeunt.

S CE N E V.
Changes to the Palace.

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Enter Valentine, and Viola in Man's Attire. Val. If the Duke continue these favours towards you, Cesario, you are like to be much advanc'd; he haih known you but three days, and already you are no stranger.

Vio. You either fear his humour, or my negli-
gence, that you call in question the continuance of
his lore. Is he inconstant, Sir, in his favours ?
Kal.' No, believe me.

Enter Duke, Curio, and Attendants..
Vio. I thank you: here comes the Duke..
Duko. Who saw Cesario, hoa ?
Vio. On your attendance, my Lord, here.
Duke. Siand you a-while aloof.–Cesario,
Thou know'st no less, but all : I have unclasp’d
To thee the book ev'n of my secret foul :
Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her;
Be not denyd access, stand at her doors,
And tell them, ihere thy fixed' foot shall grow,
'Till ti o'u have audience.

Vio. Sure, my noble Lord,
If the te fo abandon'd to her sorrow
As it is fpoke, she never will admit me.

Duke. Be clainorous, and leap all civil bounds,
Rather than make unprofited return.

Allading to the medical astrology fill preserved in almanacks, which refers the affections of particular parts of the body, to the predominance of pariicular conftele lations. Johnson.

Vio. Say I do speak with her, my Lord; what then?

Duke. O, then, unfold the paliion of my love,
Surprize her with discourse of my dear faith;
It shall become thee well to act niy woes;
She will attend it better in thy youth,
Than in a nuncio of more grave aspect.
Vio. I think not so, my Lord.

Duke. Dear lad, believe it :
For they shall yet belie thy happy years,
That say thou art a man : Diana's lip
Is not more smooth and rubious; thy finall pipe
Is as the maiden's organ, shrill, and sound,
And all is semblative-a woman's part.
I know thy constellation is right apt
For this affair. -Some four or five attend him;
All, if you will; for I myself am best
When least in company. Prosper well in this,
And thou shalt live as freely as thy Lord,
To call his fortunes thine.

Vio. I'll do my best To woo your Lady ; [Exit Duke.] yet, o baneful

ftrife! Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife. [Excunt.

SC E N E VI.
Changes to Olivia's House.

· Enter Maria and Clown. Mar. Nay, either tell me where thou hast been, or I will not open my lips so wide as a bristle may enter, in way of thy excuse ; my Lady will hang thee for thy absence.

Clo. Let her hang me; he that is well hang’d iu this world, needs fear no colours,

Mar. Make that good. Clo. He shall see none to fear. Mar. A good lenten answer: I can tell thee where that saying was born, of, I fear no colours.

Clo. Where, good Mistress Mary?

Mar. In the wars, and that may you be bold to fay in your foolery.

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