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That, fure, methought her eyes had loft her tongue +;

For fhe did fpeak in ftarts diftractedly:

She loves me, fure; the cunning of her passion
Invites me in this churlith meffenger.

None of my Lord's ring; why, he fent her none.
I am the man-If it be fo, (as, 'tis ;)
Poor Lady, fhe were better love a dream.
Difguife, I fee thou art a wickedness,
Wherein the pregnant enemy does much.
How eafy is it, for the proper falfe

In women's waxen hearts to fet their forms *!
Alas, our frailty is the caufe, not we,

For fuch as we are made, if such we be.
How will this fadge? my mafter loves her dearly,
And I, poor monfter, fond as much on him;
And fhe mistaken feems to doat on me.
What will become of this? as I am man,
My ftate is defperate for my master's love;
As I am woman, (now, alas the day!)
What thriftless fighs fhall poor Olivia breathe?
O time, thou muft untangle this, not I;
It is too hard a knot for me t'unty.

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[Exit.

Sir To. Approach, Sir Andrew: not to be a-bed

We fay a man lofes his company, when they go one way and he goes another. So Olivia's tongue lost her eyes; her tongue was talking of the Duke, and her eyes gazing on his meffenger. Johnson.

*This is obfcure. The meaning is, how easy is difguife to women; how eafily does their own falfehood, contained in their waxen changeable hearts, enable them to affume deceitful appearances.

The two next lines are perhaps transposed, and should be read thus:

For fuch as we are made, if fuch we be,
Alas, our frailty, is the cause, not we.

after midnight, is to be up betimes; and Diluculo furgere, thou know'ft,

Sir And. Nay, by my troth, I know not: but I know, to be up late, is to be up late.

Sir To. A falfe conclufion: I hate it, as an unfill'd cann; to be up after midnight, and to go to bed then, is early; fo that to go to bed after midnight, is to go to bed betimes. Does not our life confift of the four elements?

Sir And. 'Faith, fo they fay; but, I think, it rather confifts of eating and drinking.

Sir To. Th'art a fcholar, let us therefore eat and drink. Maria! I fay!-a stoop of wine.

Enter Clown.

Sir And. Here comes the fool, i' faith.

Clo. How now, my hearts? did you never see the picture of we three?

Sir To. Welcome, afs, now let's have a catch.

Sir And. By my troth, the fool has an excellent breast. I had rather than forty fhillings I had fuch a leg, and fo fweet a breath to fing, as the fool has. In footh, thou waft in very gracious fooling laft night, when thou spok'ft of Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians paffing the equinoctial of Queubus: 'twas very good, i' faith: I fent thee fix-pence forthy leman, had'ft it?

Clo. I did impeticos * thy gratility; for Malvolio's nofe is no whip-stock. My Lady has a white hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses.

Sir And. Excellent: why, this is the best fooling, when all is done. Now, a fong

Sir To. Come on, there's fix-pence for you. Let's have a song.

Sir And. There's a teftril of me too; knight give a

if one

Clo. Would you have a love-fong, or a song of good life?

Sir To. A love-fong, a love-fong.

Sir And. Ay, ay, I care not for good life.

He means to fay, impocket thy gratuity. Hanmer.

Clown fings.

Omiftrefs mine, where are you roaming
O stay and hear, your true love's coming,
That can fing both high and low.
Trip no further, pretty sweeting,
Fourney's end in lover's meeting,
Every wife man's fon doth know.
Sir And. Excellent good, ' faith!
Sir To. Good, good.

Clo. What is love 'tis not hereafter,
Prefent mirth hath prefent laughter,
What's to come, is still unfure:
In delay there lyes no plenty,

Then come kiss me, fweet, and twenty ;
Youth's a stuff will not endure.

Sir And. A mellifluous voice, as I am a true knight.

Sir To. A contagious breath.

Sir And. Very fweet and contagious, i' faith.

Sir To. To hear by the nofe, it is dulcet in contagion. But fhall we make the welkin dance, indeed? Shall we rouze the night-owl, in a catch that will draw thee fouls out of one weaver? fhall we do that?

Sir And. An you love me, let's do't: I am a dog at a catch.

Clo. By'r lady, Sir, and fome dogs will catch well. Sir And. Moft certain? let our catch be, Thou knave.

Clo. Hold thy peace, thou knave, knight. I fhall be constrain'd in't, to call thee knave, knight.

Sir And. 'Tis not the first time I have constrained one to call me knave. Begin, fool; it begins, Hold thy peace.

Clo. I fhall never begin, if I hold my peace.
Sir And. Good, i' faith: come, begin.

* This catch is lost. Johnsan.

[They fing a catch *.

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Mar. What a catterwauling do you keep here? If my Lady have not call'd up her fteward, Malvolio, and bid him turn you out of doors, never trust me.

Sir To. My Lady's a Catayan, we are politicians, Malvolio's a Peg-a-Ramfey, and Three merry men be we. Am not I a confanguineous? am not I of her blood? Tilly valley +, Lady! there dwelt a man in Babylon, lady, lady. [Singing. Clo. Befhrew me, the knight's in admirable fooling

Sir And. Ay, he does well enough if he be difpos'd, and fo do I too: he does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural.

Sir To. O, the twelfth day of December,[Singing.
Mar. For the love o' God, peace.

Enter Malvolio.

Mal. My mafters, are you mad? or what are you? have you no wit, manners, nor honefty, but to gabble like tinkers at this time of night? do ye make an alehouse of my Lady's house, that ye fqueak out your coziers* catches without any mitigation or remorse of voice? is there no respect of place, perfons, nor time in you?

Sir To. We did keep time, Sir, in our catches. Sneck up![Hiccoughs. Mal. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My Lady bade me tell you, that tho' fhe harbours you. as her uncle, fhe's nothing ally'd to your diforders. If you can separate yourself and your misdemeanors, 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 farewell.

Tilly valley was an interjection of contempt, which Sir Thomas More's lady is recorded to have had very often in her mouth. Johnson.

* i. e. Coblers catches. Revifal. 1

VOL. III.

C

Sir To. Farewell, dear heart, fince I must needs be gone.

Mal. Nay, good Sir Toby.

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Clo. His eyes do fhew, his days are almost done.
Mal. Is't even fo?

Sir To. But I will never die.

Clo. Sir Toby, there you lie.
Mal. This is much credit to you.
Sir To. Shall I bid him go?

Clo. What an if you do?

[Singing.

Sir To. Shall I bid him go, and spare not?
Clo. O no, no, no, you dare not.

Sir To. Out o' time, Sir, ye lie: art thou any more than a steward? doft thou think, because thou art virtuous, there fhall be no more cakes and ale?

Clo. Yes, by St Anne; and ginger fhall be hot i' th' mouth too.

Sir To. Thou'rt i' th' right.-Go, Sir, rub your chain with crums.-A ftoop of wine, Maria.

Mal. Miftrefs Mary, if you priz'd my Lady's favour at any thing more than contempt, you would not give means for this uncivil rule: fhe fhall know of it, by this hand. [Exit.

Mar. Go fhake your ears.

Sir And. 'Twere as good a deed as to drink when a man's a hungry, to challenge him to the field, and then to break promife 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.

Mar. Sweet Sir Toby, be patient for to-night; fince the youth of the Duke's was to day with my Lady, fhe is much out of quiet. For Monfieur 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 ly ftraight in my bed: I know I can do it.

Sir To. Poffefs us, poffefs us, tell us fomething of him.

Mar. Marry, Sir, fometimes he is a kind of a Puritan.

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