TWELFTH-NIGHT:

OR,

WHAT YOU WILL.

E2

Dramatis Perfonæ.

ORSINO, Duke of Illyria.

Sebastian, a young Gentleman, Brother to Viola.
Antonio, a Sea-captain, Friend to Sebastian.
Valentine,

Curio,

}

Gentlemen, attending on the Duke.

Sir Toby Belch, Uncle to Olivia.

Sir Andrew Ague-cheek, a foolish Knight, pretending to

Olivia.

A Sea-captain, Friend to Viola.

Fabian, Servant to Olivia.

Malvolio, a fantastical Steward to Olivia.

Clown, Servant to Olivia.

Olivia, a Lady of great Beauty and Fortune, below'd by

the Duke.

Viola, in love with the Duke.
Maria, Olivia's Woman.

Priest, Sailors, Officers, and other Attendants.

SCENE, a City on the Coast of Illyria.

7

TWELFTH-NIGHT:

OR,

WHAT YOU WILL..

ACT I.

SCENE, The PALACE.
Enter the Duke, Curio, and Lords.

DUKE.

F musick be the food of love, play on;
Give me excess of it; that, furfeiting,
The appetite may ficken, and fo die.
That strain again; -it had a dying fall:
O, it came o'er my ear, like the sweet

fouth,

That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing, and giving odour. Enough!-no more;
'Tis not so sweet now, as it was before.

O fpirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou!
That, notwithstanding thy capacity

Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there,
Of what validity and pitch foe'er,

But falls into abatement and low price,

E 3

Even

Even in a minute; (1) so full of shapes in fancy,
That it alone is high fantastical.

Cur. Will you go hunt, my Lord ?

Duke. What, Curio?

Cur. The hart.

Duke. Why, so I do, the noblest that I have :

O, when my eyes did see Olivia first,
Methought, she purg'd the air of pestilence;
That instant was I turn'd into a hart,
And my defires, like fell and cruel hounds,

E'er fince pursue me. How now, what news from her?

Enter Valentine.

Val. So please my Lord, I might not be admitted, But from her hand-maid do return this answer : The element itself, 'till seven years hence, Shall not behold her face at ample view; But, like a cloystress, she will veiled walk, And water once a day her chamber round With eye-offending brine: all this to season A brother's dead love, which she would keep fresh And lafting in her fad remembrance.

Duke. O, she, that hath a heart of that fine frame, To pay this debt of love but to a brother, How will the love, when the rich golden shaft Hath kill'd the flock of all affections else That live in her? when liver, brain, and heart, These sov'reign thrones, are all fupply'd, and fill'd, Her fweet perfections, with one self-fame King! Away before me to sweet beds of flowers; Love-thoughts lye rich, when canopy'd with bowers.

(1)

So full of Shapes is Fancy,

[Exeunt.

That it alone is high fantastical.] There can be no Reason why the Duke here, who is altogether serious, and moralizing on the Qualities of Love, should tell us, that Fancy is alone the most fantastical Thing imaginable. I am perfuaded, the Alteration of is into in has given us the Poet's genuine Meaning; that Love is most fantastical, in being so variable in its

Fancies.

Mr. Warburton.
SCENE,