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Sir And. O, if I thought that, I'd beat him like

a dog.

Sir To. What, for being a Puritan? thy exquifite reason, dear knight.

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

Mar. The devil a Puritan that he is, or any thing conftantly but a time-pleafer; an affection'd* afs, that cons state without book, and utters it by great fwaths; the best perfuaded of himself; fo cram'd, as he thinks, with excellencies, that it is his ground of faith, that all that look on him, love him and on that vice in him will my revenge find notable caufe to work.

Sir To. What wilt thou do?

Mar. I will drop in his way fome obfcure epiftles of love, wherein, by the colour of his beard, the fhape of his leg, the manner of his gait, the expreflure of his eye, forehead, and complection, he hall find himself moft feelingly perfonated. I can write very like my Lady, your niece; on a forgotten matter we can hardly make diftinction of our hands.

Sir To. Excellent! I fmell a device.

Sir And. I have't in my nole too.

Sir To. He fhall think by the letters that thou wilt drop, that they come from my niece, and that he is in love with him.

Mar. My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour.

Sir And. And your horfe now would make him an afs.

Mar. Afs, I doubt not.

Sir And. O, 'twill be admirable..

Mar. Sport royal, I warrant you: I know my phyfic will work with him. I will plant you two, and let the fool make a third, where he fhall find the letter: obferve his conftruction of it. For this night to bed, and dream on the event. Farewell.

*Affection'd, for full of affectation. Warburton.

[Exit.

Sir To. Good night, Penthefilea.

Sir And. Before me, fhe's a good wench. Sir To. She's a beagle true-bred, and one that adores me: what o' that?

Sir And. I was ador'd once too.

Sir To. Let's to bed, knight.-Thou hadst need fend 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 haft her not i' th' end, call me Cut.

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

Sir To. Come, come, I'll go burn fome fack; 'tis. too late to go to bed now, Come, knight; come, knight. [Exeunt..

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Enter Duke, Viola, Curio, and others.

Duke. Give me fome mufic now.-Good morrow, friends

Now, good Cefario, but that piece of fong,
That old and antique fong, we heard laft night:
Methought it did relieve my paffion much;
More than light airs, and recollected terms
Of these most brifk and giddy-paced times.
-Come, but one verse,

Cur. He is not here, fo please your Lordship, that fhould fing it.

Duke. Who was it?

Cur. Fefte, the jefter, 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.. [Ex. Curio. [Mufic.. -Come hither, boy. If ever thou fhalt love, In the fweet pangs of it, remember me; For fuch as I am, all true lovers are; Unftaid and fkittish in all motions else,

Save in the conftant image of the creature

That is belov'd.-How doft thou like this tune?
Vio. It gives a very echo to the feat
Where love is thron'd.

Duke. Thou doft speak masterly.

My life upon't, young tho' thou art, thine eye
Hath ftaid upon fome favour that it loves:
Hath it not, boy?

Vio. A little, by your favour.

Duke. What kind of woman is't?

Vio. Of your complection.

Duke. She is not worth thee then. What years, i' faith?

Vio. About your years, my Lord.

Duke. Too old, by heav'n: let ftill the woman take An elder than herfelf, fo wears the to him; So fways the level in her husband's heart. For, boy, howeyer we do praise ourselves, Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, More longing, wavering, fooner loft and won, 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 rofes, whofe fair flower Being once difplay'd, doth fall that very hour. Vio. And fo they are: alas that they are fo, To die even' when they to perfection grow! Enter Curio and Clown.

Duke. O fellow, come.- -The fong we had laft night,

Mark it, Cefario, it is old and plain;

The fpinfters and the knitters in the fun,

And the free maids that weave their thread with

bones,

Do use to chaunt it: it is filly footh,

And dallies with the innocence of love,

Like the old age.

Clo. Are you ready, Sir?
Duke. Ay; pr'ythee, fing.

[Mufic.

SONG.

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

I am flain by a fair cruel maid.
My browd of white, stuck all with yew,
O prepare it.

My part of death no one fo true

Did share it.

Not a flower, not a flower fweet,

On my black coffin let there be strown:

Not a friend, not a friend greet

My poor corpfe,where mybones shall be thrown. A thousand thoufand fighs to fave,

Lay me, O! where

True lover never find my grave,».
To weep there.

Duke. There's for thy pains.

Clo. No pains, Sir; I take pleasure in finging, Sir. Duke. I'll pay thy pleasure then.

Clo. Truly, Sir, and pleasure will be paid one time or other.

Duke. Give me now leave to leave thee.

Clo. Now the melancholy God protect thee, and the tailor make thy doublet of changeable taffata, for thy mind is a very opal +! I would have men of fuch conftancy put to fea, 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. [Exit.

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[Exeunt.

Duke. Let all the rest give place.

Once more, Cefario,

Get thee to yond fame fovereign 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,

† A precious ftone of almost all colours. Pope.

Tell her, I hold as giddily as fortune:
But 'tis that miracle, and Queen of gems,
That nature pranks her in, attracts my foul.
Vio. But if he cannot love you, Sir-
Duke. I cannot be fo anfwer'd..
Vio. Sooth, but you must.

Say, that fome 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 fo; muft fhe not then be anfwer'd?
Duke. There is no woman's fides

Can bide the beating of fo ftrong a passion,
As love doth give my heart: no woman's heart
So big to hold fo much; they lack retention.
Alas, their love may be call'd appetite :
No motion of the liver, but the palate,
That fuffers furfeit, cloyment, and revolt;
But mine is all as hungry as the sea,
And can digeft as much; make no compare
Between that love a woman can bear me,
And that I owe Olivia.

Vio. Ay, but I know

Duke. What doft 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 lov'd a man, As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman, I fhould 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'th' bud, Feed on her damask cheek: fhe pin'd in thought; And, with a green and yellow melancholy, She fat like Patience on a monument, Smiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed? We men may fay more, fwear more; but, indeed, Our fhows are more than will; for ftill we prove Much in our vows, but little in our love.

Duke. But dy'd thy fifter of her love, my boy? Vio. I'm all the daughters of my father's house, And all the brothers too-and yet I know notSir, fhall I to this Lady?

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