The love of fair Olivia.

VIO. What's fhe?

CAP. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count That dy'd fome twelve-month fince; then leaving her In the protection of his fon, her brother,

Who shortly alfo dy'd: for whose dear love,
They fay, fhe hath abjur'd the company
And fight of men.

V10. O, that I ferv'd that lady;

And might not be deliver'd to the world, Till I had made mine own occafion mellow, my eftate is !

What

CAP. That were hard to compass;

Because she will admit no kind of fuit,

No, not the duke's.

V10. There is a fair behaviour in thee, captain; And though that nature with a beauteous wall Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee

aid

I will believe, thou haft a mind that fuits
With this thy fair and outward character.
I pray thee, and I'll pay thee bounteously,
Conceal me what I am; and be my
For fuch disguise as, haply, shall become
The form of my intent. I'll ferve this duke ;
Thou fhalt present me as an eunuch to him,
It may be worth thy pains; for I can fing,
And speak to him in many forts of musick,
That will allow me very worth his service.
What else may hap, to time I will commit;
Only shape thou thy filence to my wit.

CAP. Be you his eunuch, and your mute I'll be:
When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not fee!
V10. I thank thee: Lead me on.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. A Room in OLIVIA'S Houfe.

Enter Sir TOBY BELCH, and MARIA.

SIR TO. What a plague means my niece, to take the death of her brother thus? I am fure, care's an enemy to life.

MAR. By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o'nights; your coufin, my lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours.

SIR TO. Why, let her except before excepted.

MAR. Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modeft limits of order.

SIR TO. Confine? I'll confine myself no finer than I am: these clothes are good enough to drink in, and fo be these boots too; an they be not, let them hang themselves in their own straps.

MAR. That quaffing and drinking will undo you: I heard my lady talk of it yesterday; and of a foolish knight, that you brought in one night here, to be her

wooer.

SIR TO. Who? Sir Andrew Ague-cheek?

MAR. Ay, he.

SIR TO. He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria.
MAR. What's that to the purpose ?

SIR TO. Why, he has three thousand ducats a year. MAR. Ay, but he'll have but a year in all these ducats; he's a very fool, and a prodigal.

SIR TO. Fie, that you'll say so! he plays o'the viol-degambo, 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, befides that he's a fool, he's a great quarreller; and, but that he hath the gift of a coward to allay the guft 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 fcoundrels, and subftractors, that fay fo 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 paffage in my throat, and drink in Illyria: He's a coward, and a coyftril, that will not drink to my niece, till his brains turn o'the toe like a parish top. What, wench? Caftiliano vulgo; for here comes Sir Andrew Ague-face.

Enter Sir ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK.

SIR AND. Sir Toby Belch! how now, Sir Toby Belch? SIR TO. Sweet fir Andrew!

[ance.

SIR AND. Good miftrefs Accoft, I defire better acquaint

MAR. My name is Marry, fir.

SIR AND. Good Miftrefs Mary Accoft,

SIR TO. You mistake, knight: accoft, is, front her, board her, woo her, affail 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 part fo, fir Andrew, 'would thou might'ft never draw fword again.

SIR AND. An you part fo, miftrefs, I would I might never draw fword again. Fair lady, do you think you have fools in hand?

MAR. Sir, I have not you by the hand.

SIR AND. Marry, but you shall have; and here's my hand.

MAR. Now, fir, thought is free: I pray you, bring your hand to the buttery-bar, and let it drink.

SIR AND. Wherefore, fweet heart? what's your metaphor ?

MAR. It's dry, fir.

SIR AND. Why, I think fo; I am not fuch an ass, but I can keep my hand dry. But what's your jeft?

SIR AND. Are you full of them?

MAR. Ay, fir; I have them at my finger's ends: marry, now I let go your hand, I am barren. [Exit MARIA. SIR TO. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of canary: When did I fee thee fo put down?

SIR AND. Never in your life, I think; unless you fee canary put me down: Methinks, fometimes I have no more wit than a Chriftian, or an ordinary man has: but I am a great eater of beef, and, I believe, that does harm to my wit.

SIR To. No queftion.

SIR AND. An I thought that, I'd forfwear it. I'll ride home to-morrow, fir 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 hadst thou had an excellent head of hair. SIR AND. Why, would that have mended my hair? SIR To. Paft question; for thou seeft, it will not curl by nature.

VOL. I.

Ii

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 housewife take thee between her legs, and spin it off.

SIR AND. 'Faith, I'll home to-morrow, Sir Toby: your niece will not be feen; or, if fhe be, it's four to one she'll none of me: the count himself, here hard by, wooes her.

SIR To. She'll none o'the count; fhe'll not match above her degree, neither in eftate, years, nor wit; I have heard her fwear it. Tut, there's life in't, man.

SIR AND. I'll stay a month longer. I am a fellow o'the ftrangest mind i'the world; I delight in mafques and revels fometimes 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, fimply as ftrong as any man in Illyria,

SIR TO. Wherefore are these things hid? wherefore have these gifts a curtain before them? are they like to take duft, like miftrefs Mall's picture? why doft thou not go to church in a galliard, and come home in a coranto? My very walk fhould be a jig; I would not fo much as make water, but in a fink-a-pace. What dost thou mean? is it a world to hide virtues in? I did think, by the excellent conftitution of thy leg, it was form'd under the star of a galliard.

SIR AND. Ay, 'tis ftrong, and it does indifferent well