Vio. I can fay little more than I have ftudied, and that queftion's out of my part. Good gentle one, give me modeft affurance, if you be the lady of the house, that I may proceed in my speech.

Oli. Are you a comedian?

Vio. No, my profound heart; and yet, by the very fangs of malice, I swear, I am not that I play. Are you the lady of the house?

Oli. If I do not usurp my self, I am.

V10. Most certain, if you are fhe, you do ufurp your self; for what is yours to bestow, is not yours to referve; but this is from commiffion. I will on with my fpeech in your praise, and then fhew you the heart of my message.

my

Oli. Come to what is important in't: I forgive you the praise. Vio. Alas, I took great pains to study it, and 'tis poetical. Oli. It is the more like to be feign'd. I pray you keep it in. I heard you were sawcy at my gates, and I allow'd your approach, rather to wonder at you than to hear you. If you be not mad, be gone; if you have reason, be brief; 'tis not that time of the moon with me, to make one in fo skipping a dialogue.

Mar. Will you hoist sail, Sir? here lyes your way.

Vio. No, good fwabber, I am to hull here a little longer. Some mollification for your giant, fweet lady: tell me your mind, I am a messenger.

Oli. Sure you have fome hideous matter to deliver, when the curtefie of it is fo fearful. Speak your office.

Vio. It alone concerns your ear. I bring no overture of war, no taxation of homage; I hold the olive in my hand: my words are as full of peace as matter.

Oli. Yet you began rudely. What are you? what would you? Vio. The rudeness that hath appear'd in me have I learn'd from my entertainment. What I am, and what I would, are as fecret as a maiden-head; to your ears, divinity; to any others, prophanation.

Oli.

Oli. Give us the place alone. [Exit Maria.] We will hear this divinity. Now, Sir, what is your text?

Vio. Most sweet lady.

Oli. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be said of it. Where lyes the text?

Vio. In Orfino's bosom.

Oli. In his bofom? in what chapter of his bosom?

Vio. To answer by the method, in the first of his heart.
Oli. O, I have read it; it is herefie. Have you no more to say?
Vio. Good madam let me fee your face.

Oli. Have you any commiffion from your lord to negotiate with my face? you are now out of your text; but we will draw the curtain, and fhew you the picture. Look you, Sir, fuch a one I was this present: is't not well done? [Unveiling.

Vio. Excellently done, if God did all.

Oli. 'Tis in grain, Sir, 'twill endure wind and weather.
Vio. 'Tis beauty truly blent, whofe red and white
Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on:
Lady, you are the cruell'ft fhe alive,

If you will lead these graces to the grave,

And leave the world no copy.

Oli. O, Sir, I will not be so hard-hearted: I will give out divers schedules of my beauty. It shall be inventoried, and every particle and utenfil labell❜d to my will. As, Item, two lips indifferent red. Item, two grey eyes, with lids to them. Item, one neck, one chin, and fo forth. Were you fent hither to praise me?

Vio. I fee you what you are, you are too proud;

But if you were the devil, you are fair.

My lord and mafter loves you: O fuch love

Could be but recompenc'd, tho' you were crown'd
The non-pareil of beauty.

Oli. How does he love me?

Vio. With adorations, with fertile tears,

With groans that thunder love, with fighs of fire.
Oli. Your lord does know my mind, I cannot love him ;
Yet I fuppofe him virtuous, know him noble,

Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth;

In voices well divulg'd, free, learn'd, and valiant,
And in dimension and the shape of nature

A gracious perfon; yet I cannot love him;
He might have took his answer long ago.

V10. If I did love you in my master's flame,
With fuch a fuff'ring, fuch a deadly life,
In your denial I would find no sense:
I would not understand it.

Oli. Why, what would you do?

Vio. Make me a willow cabin at your gate,
And call upon my foul within the house;
Write loyal cantos of contemned love,

And fing them loud even in the dead of night:
Hollow your name to the reverberate hills,
And make the babling goffip of the air
Cry out, Olivia: O you fhould not rest
Between the elements of air and earth,
But you should pity me.

Oli. You might do much :

What is your parentage?

Vio. Above my fortunes, yet my ftate is well: I am a gentleman.

Oli. Get you to your lord;

I cannot love him: let him send no more,
Unless, perchance, you come to me again,
To tell me how he takes it; fare you well:

I thank you for you pains; spend this for me.
Vio. I am no feed-poft, lady; keep your purse:

My

My master, not my self, lacks recompence.
Love, make his heart of flint, that you shall love,
And let your fervour like my master's be,
Plac'd in contempt: farewel, fair cruelty.
Oli. What is your parentage?

Above my fortunes, yet my ftate is well:

I am a gentleman I'll be fworn thou art.

Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit,
Do give thee five-fold blazon

not too fast

Unless the mafter were the man. How now?

Even fo quickly may one catch the plague?
Methinks I feel this youth's perfections,
With an invisible and fubtile stealth
To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be
What hoa, Malvolio.

Enter Malvolio.

Mal. Here, madam, at your service.

Oli. Run after that fame peevish meffenger, The Duke's man; he left this ring behind him Would I, or not: tell him, I'll none of it. Defire him not to flatter with his lord,

-soft, soft,

Nor hold him up with hopes; I am not for him:
If that the youth will come this way to-morrow,
I'll give him reason for't. Hye thee, Malvolio.
Mal. Madam, I will.

Oli. I do I know not what, and fear to find

[Exit.

[Exit.

Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind:

Fate, fhew thy force; our felves we do not owe;
What is decreed must be; and be this fo.

[Exit.

ACT

W

ACT II. SCENE L

The STREET.

Enter Antonio and Sebaftian.

ΑΝΤΟΝΙ Ο.

ILL you stay no longer? nor will you not that
I go with you?

Seb. By your patience, no: my stars fhine darkly over me; the malignancy of my fate might perhaps distemper yours; therefore I crave of you your leave, that I may bear my evils alone. It were a bad recompence for your love, to lay any of them on you.

Ant. Let me yet know of you, whither you are bound.

Seb. No footh, Sir, my determinate voyage is meer extravagancy: but I perceive in you fo excellent a touch of modesty, that you will not extort from me what I am willing to keep in ; therefore it charges me in manners the rather to express my self: you must know of me then, Antonio, my name is Sebaftian, which I call'd Rodorigo; my father was that Sebaftian of Meffaline, whom I know you have heard of. He left behind him, my self, and a fifter, both born in one hour; if the heav'ns had been pleas'd, would we had fo ended! but you, Sir, alter'd that, for fome hours before you took me from the breach of the sea, was my fifter drown'd.

Ant. Alas the day!

Seb. A lady, Sir, tho' it was faid fhe much resembled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful; but tho' I could not with fuch

eftimable