for that's it that always makes a good voyage of nothing. Farewel.

[Exit. Duke. Let all the reft 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 bestowed upon her,
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 the cannot love you, Sir------
Duke. I cannot be fo answered.

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 the not then be answered?
Duke. There is no woman's fides

Can bide the beating of fo ftrong a paffion,
As love doth give my heart no woman's heart
So big to hold to much; they lack retention.
Alas, their love may be called appetite:
No motion of the liver, but the palate
That fuffers furfeit, cloyment, and revolt;
But mine is all as hungry as the fea,
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? };

Vin. Too well what love women to men may owe, In faith they are as true of heart as we. My father had a daughter loved a man, As it might be, perhaps, were 1 a woman, I fhould your Lordship.

Duke, And what's her hiftory?

Vio. A blank, my Lord: the never told her love, But let Concealment, like a worm i the bud,› Feed on her damafk cheek: (9) the pined in thought, And with a green and yellow melancholy,

She fat like Patience on a monument, vi med il
Smiling at Grief. Was not this love indeed?
We men may fay more, swear more; but indeed, l
Our fhews are more than will; for ftill we prove
Much in our vows, but little in our love.

Duke. But died thy fifter of her love, my boy?
Vio. Fm all the daughters of my father's houfe,
Lonware & 90 10.5 1 suku
-she pined in thought, ruddi ja mit
And with a greu ante
yellow melancholyo

(9)

She fate like

ce on a monument,

Smiling at grief. This very fine image, which has been so universally applauded, it is not impoffible but our Author might, originally have borrowed from Chaucer, in his fembly of foules,

And her befidis wonder difcretlie:
Dante e Pacience fittinge there i fonde

With face pale, upon an hill of Jender dy loob nii If he was indebted, however, for the first rude draught, how amply has he repaid that debt in heightening the pic ture! How much does the green and yellow melancholy tran fcend the Old Bard's face pale; the monument, his bill of fund; and what an additional beauty is, fmiling at Grief, for which there are no ground nor traces in the original! Our Author has given us this fine picture again in another place, but, to fhew the power and extent of his genius, with features" sand lincaments varied

yet thou

Doft look like Patience, gazing on kings' graves,_\\
And Smiling [harfh] extremity out of act

Pericles,, Prince of Tyre. This abfurd old play. Fbava elfewhere taken notice, was not entirely of our Author's penning; but he has honour ed it with a number of master-touches, fo peculiar to hims falf, that a knowing reader may with cafe and certainty didinguish the traces of his pencil.

And all the brothers too—and yet I know not-
Sir, fhall I to this lady?

Duke. Ay, that's the theme.

To her in halte; give her this jeweb:: fay

My love can give no place, bide no denay. [Exeunti

SCENE changes to Olivia's Garden."

Enter Sir TOBY, Sir ANDREW, and FABIAN. Sir To. Come thy ways, Signior Fabian. Fab. Nay, I'll come; if I lofe a feruple of this fport, let me be boiled to death with melancholy?

Sir To. Wouldit thou not be glad to have the nigardly rafcally fheep-biter coine by fome notable fhame?

Fab. I would exult, man; you know he brought me out of favour with my Lady, about a bearbaiting here.

Sir To. To anger him, we'll have the bear again;' and we will fool him black and blue; thall we not, Sir Andrew? -|

Sir "And. "An' we do not, it's pity of our lives.

Enter MARIA.

Sir To. Here comes the little villain: how now, my nettle of India ?

"Mar. Get ye all three into the box-tree; Malvolio's coming down this walk, he has been yonder i' th' fun practising behaviour to his own thadow this half hour. Obferve him, for the love of mockery; for, I know, this letter will make a contemplative ideot of him. Clofe, in the name of jetting! ly thou there; for here comes the trout that muit be caught with tickling.

· [Throws down a letter, and Exiti

Enter MALVOLIO.

Mal. 'Tis but fortune, all is fortune.

Maria

once told me she did affect me: and I have heard herself come thus near, that fhould the fancy, it fhould be one of my complexion. Befides, fhe ufes me with a more exalted refpect, than any one else that follows her. What fhould I think on't?

Sir To. Here's an over-weening rogue, maž Fab. Oh, peace contemplation makes a rare Turkey-cock of him; how he jets under his advanced plumes! 5. Es, se 9. gat fel € Sir And. 'Slife, I could fo beat the rogue.2 Sir To. Peace, fayt vile story Mal. To be Count Malvolio,

- Sir To. Ah, rogue!

Sir And. Piftol him, pistol him.
Sir To. Peace, peace.

Mal. There is example for't: the Lady of the Strachy married the yeoman of the wardrobe.;, Sir And. Fy on him, Jezebel!!

Fab. O, peace, now he's deeply in; look how imagination blows him.

Mal. Having been three months married to her, fitting in my ftate

Sir To. O for a stone-bow, to hit him in the eye !-Mal. Calling my officers about me, in my branched velvet gown: having come down from a day-bed, where I have left Olivia fleeping.

Sir To. Fire and brimstone !

Fab O, peace, peace.

Mal. And then to have the humour of state; and after a demure travel of regard, telling them, I know my place, as I would they fhould do theirs-to afk for my uncle Toby

Sir To. Bolts and fhackles !

-Fab. Oh, peace,' peace, peace; now, now.

Mal. Seven of my people with an obedient start make out for him: I frown the while, and, perchance wind up my watch, or play with fome rich jewel. Toby approaches, curtfies there to me. Sir To. Shall this fellow live ? ..`--

T

Fab. Though our filence be drawn from us with cares, yet, peace...

Mal. I extend my hand to him thus, quenching my familiar smile with an auftere regard of controul Sir To. And does not Toby take you a blow o th' lips then?

Mal. Saying, uncle Toby, my fortunes having caft me on your niece, give me this prerogative of fpeech.------

Sir To. What, what?

Mal. You must amend your

drunkenness

Fab. Nay, patience, or we break the finews of our plot.

J

Mal. Befides, you waste the treasure of your time with a foolish knight----.

Sir And. That's me, I warrant you.
Mal. One Sir Andrew.--------)

Sir And, I knew it was I; for many do call me fool.

Mal. What employment have we here? [Taking up the letter. Fab. Now is the woodcock near the gin. Sir To. Oh peace! now the fpirit of humours intimate reading aloud to him!

Mal. By my life, this is my Lady's hand: thefe be her very C's, her U's, and her T's, and thus makes the her great P's. It is, in contempt of queftion, her hand.

Sir And. Her C's, her U's, and her T's: why that?