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Sir And. Where shall I find you?

Sir To. We'll call thee at the Cubiculo: go.

[Exit Sir Andrew.

Fab. This is a dear manikin to you, Sir Toby. - Sir To. I have been dear to him, lad, some two thousand ftrong or fo.

Fab. We shall have a rare letter from him; but you'll - not deliver't.

Sir To. Never trust me then; and by all means stir on. the youth to an answer. I think, oxen and wainropes cannot hale them together. For Andrew, if he were open'd, and you find so much blood in his liver as will clog the foot of a flea, I'll eat the rest of th' anatomy. Fab. And his oppofite, the youth, bears in his visage no great presage of cruelty.

Enter Maria.

Sir To. Look, where the youngest wren of nine comes. Mar. If you defire the spleen, and will laugh yourselves into stitches, follow me: yond gull Malvolio is - turned Heathen, a very Renegado; for there is no Christian, that means to be sav'd by believing rightly, can ever believe such impossible passages of grossness. He's in yellow stockings.

Sir To. And cross-garter'd?

more

Mar. Most villainously; like a pedant that keeps a school i'th' church: I have dogg'd him, like his murtherer. He does obey every point of the letter, that I dropt to betray him; he does fmile his face into lines than is in the new map, with the augmentation of the Indies; you have not seen such a thing, as 'tis ; I can hardly forbear hurling things at him. I know, my lady will strike him; if the do, he'll smile, and take't for a great favour.

Sir To. Come, bring us, bring us where he is.

[Exeunt.

SCENE

Seb.

I

SCENE changes to the Street.

Enter Sebaftian and Anthonio.

Would not by my will have troubled you.
But fince you make your pleasure of your pains,

I will no further chide you.

Ant. I could not stay behind you; my defire,
(More sharp than filed steel,) did spur me forth;
And not all love to see you, (tho' so much,
As might have drawn one to a longer voyage.)
But jealoufie what might befal your travel,
Being skilless in these parts; which to a stranger,
Unguided and unfriended, often prove
Rough and unhospitable. My willing love,
The rather by these arguments of fear,
Set forth in your pursuit.

Seb. My kind Anthonio,

(8) I can no other answer make, but thanks;
And thanks, and ever thanks; and oft good turns
Are shuffled off with fuch uncurrent pay;
But were my worth, as is my conscience, firm,
You should find better dealing: what's to do?
Shall we go fee the relicks of this town?

(8) I can no other Answer make but Thanks,
And Thanks : and ever-oft good Turns

Are shuffled off with such uncurrent Pay;] It must be obvious to every Reader, who has the least Knowledge in Versification, that the second Line is too short by a whole Foot; however the Editors have indolently pass'd it over without Sufpicion. Then, who ever heard of this goodly double Adverb, ever-oft, which seems to have as much Propriety as, always. Sometimes? As I have restor'd the Passage, it is very much in our Author's Manner, and Mode of Expreffion. So, in Cymbeline;

Since when I have been Debtor to You for Courtefies, which I will be ever to pay, and yet pay still. And in All's well, that Ends well.

And let me buy your friendly Help thus far,

Which I will over-pay, and pay again
When I have found it.

Ant.

Ant. To-morrow, Sir; best, first, go see your lodg

ing.

Seb. I am not weary, and 'tis long to night;
I pray you, let us fatisfie our eyes
With the memorials, and the things of fame,
That do renown this city.

Ant. 'Would, you'd pardon me :
I do not without danger walk these streets.
Once, in a fea-fight 'gainst the Duke his gallies,
I did fome service, of such note, indeed,
That were I ta'en here, it would scarce be answer'd.
Seb. Belike, you flew great number of his people.
Ant. Th' offence is not of such a bloody nature,
Albeit the quality of the time and quarrel
Might well have given us bloody argument:
It might have fince been answer'd in repaying
What we took from them, which, for traffick's fake,
Most of our city did. Only myself stood out;
For which, if I be lapsed in this place,

I shall pay dear.

Seb. Do not then walk too open.

Ant. It doth not fit me: hold, Sir, here's my purse.

In the south suburbs at the Elephant

Is best to lodge: I will bespeak our diet,

Whiles you beguile your time, and feed your knowledge With viewing of the town; there shall you have me.

Seb. Why I your purse?

Ant. Haply, your eye shall light upon some toy

You have defire to purchase; and your store,

I think, is not for idle markets, Sir.

Seb. I'll be your purse-bearer, and leave you for

An hour.

Ant. To th' Elephant.

Seb. I do remember.

[Exeunt.

VOL. III.

G

SCENE

SCENE changes to Olivia's House.

Oli. (9) (9) I

Enter Olivia, and Maria.

say, he will come;

Have Have sent after him;
How shall I feast him? what bestow o
him?

For youth is bought more oft, than begg'd or bon

row'd.

I speak too loud.

Where is Malvolio ? he is sad and civil,

And suits well for a servant with my fortunes.

Where is Malvolio?

Mar. He's coming, Madam; but in very strang

manner.

He is sure possest, Madam.

Oli. Why, what's the matter, does he rave?

Mar. No, Madam, he does nothing but smile; your ladyship were best to have some guard about you, if he come; for, fure, the man is tainted in his wits.

Oli. Go call him hither.

I'm as mad as he,

Enter Malvolio.

If fad and merry madness equal be.
How now, Malvolio ?

Mal. Sweet lady, ha, ha.

[Smiles fantastically

Oli. Smil'st thou? I fent for thee upon a fad occa fion.

(9) I have sent after him; he says he'll come.) But Who did he say so to? Or from Whom could my Lady have any fuch Intelligence? Her Servant, employ'd upon this Errand, wa not yet return'd; and, when he does return, he brings Word that the Youth would hardly be intreated back. I am per fuaded, She was intended rather to be in Suspense, and delie berating with Herself: putting the Supposition that he would come; and asking Herself, in that Cafe, how she should en tertain him.

Mal

Mal. Sad, lady? I could be sad; this does make some obstruction in the blood; this cross-gartering; but what of it? if it please the eye of One, it is with me as the very true sonnet is: Please one, and please all.

Oli. Why? how dost thou, man? what is the matter with thee?

Mal. Not black in my mind, tho' yellow in my legs: it did come to his hands, and commands shall be executed. I think, we do know that sweet Roman hand. Oli. Wilt thou go to bed, Malvolio ?

Mal. To bed? ay, sweet heart; and I'll come to thee.

Oli. God comfort thee! why dost thou smile so, and kiss thy hand so oft ?

Mar. How do you, Malvolio ?

Mal. At your request?

Yes, nightingales answer daws!

Mar. Why appear you with this ridiculous boldness

before my lady?

Mal. Be not afraid of Greatness;-'twas well writ. Oli. What meanest thou by that, Malvolio?

Mal. Some are born Great

Oli. Ha?

Mal. Some atchieve Greatness

Oli. What say'st thou ?

Mal. And fome have Greatness thrust upon them
Oli. Heav'n restore thee!

Mal. Remember, who commended thy yellow stock.

ings.

- Oli. Thy yellow stockings?

fo

Mal. And wish'd to fee thee cross-garter'd

Oli. Cross-garter'd?

Mal. Go to, thou art made, if thou desirest to be

Oli. Am I made ?

Mal. If not, let me see thee a servant still.

Oli. Why, this is a very midsummer madness.

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