Enter OLIVIA and a Priest. Oli. Blame not this haste of mine: If you mean well, Now go with me, and with this holy man, Into the chantry5 by: there, before him, Plight me the full assurance of your faith; That my most jealous and too doubtful soul May live at peace: He shall conceal it, Whiles you are willing it shall come to note; What time we will our celebration keep According to my birth.-What do you say? Seb. I'll follow this good man, and go with you; And, having sworn truth, ever will be true. Oli. Then lead the way, good father;-And heavens so shine, That they may fairly note this act of mine! [Exeunt. ACT V. SCENE I. The Street before Olivia's House. Enter Clown and FABIAN. Fab. Now, as thou lovest me, let me see his letter. Clo. Good master Fabian, grant me another request. Fab. Any thing. Clo. Do not desire to see this letter. Fab. That is, to give a dog, and, in recompense, desire my dog again. Enter DUKE, VIOLA, and Attendants. Duke. Belong you to the lady Olivia, friends? Clo. Ay, sir; we are some of her trappings. Duke. I know thee well; How dost thou, my good fellow? Clo. Truly, sir, the better for my foes, and the worse for my friends. Duke. Just the contrary; the better for thy friends. Clo. No, sir, the worse. Duke. How can that be? Clo. Marry, sir, they praise me, and make an ass of me; now my foes tell me plainly I am an ass: so that by my foes, sir, I profit in the knowledge of myself; and by my friends I am abused: so that, conclusions to be as kisses, if your four negatives make your two affirmatives, why, then the worse for my friends, and the better for my foes. Duke. Why, this is excellent. Clo. By my troth, sir, no; though it please you to be one of my friends. Duke. Thou shalt not be the worse for me; there's gold. Clo. But that it would be double-dealing, sir, I would you could make it another. Duke. O, you give me ill counsel. Clo. Put your grace in your pocket, sir, for this once, and let your flesh and blood obey it. Duke. Well, I will be so much a sinner to be a double dealer; there's another. Clo. Primo, secundo, tertio, is a good play; and the old saying is, the third pays for all: the triplex, sir, is a good tripping measure; or the bells of St. Bennet, sir, may put you in mind; One, two, three. Duke. You can fool no more money out of me at this throw: if you will let your lady know, I am here to speak with her, and bring her along with you, it may awake my bounty further. Clo. Marry, sir, lullaby te your bounty, till I come again. I go, sir; but I would not have you to think, that my desire of having is the sin of covetousness : but, as you say, sir, let your bounty take a nap, I will awake it anon. [Exit Clown. Enter ANTONIO and Officers. Vio. Here comes the man, sir, that did rescue me. For shallow draught, and bulk, unprizable; That very envy, and the tongue of loss, Cry'd fame and honour on him.-What's the matter? 1 Off. Orsino, this is that Antonio, 8 That took the Phoenix, and her fraught, from Candy; When your young nephew Titus lost his leg: Vio. He did me kindness, sir; drew on my side; 7 Mischievous. I know not what 'twas, but distraction. Duke. Notable pirate! thou salt-water thief! What foolish boldness brought thee to their mercies, Whom thou, in terms so bloody, and so dear, Hast made thine enemies? Ant. Orsino, noble sir, Be pleas'd that I shake off these names you give me; Though, I confess, on base and ground enough, While one would wink; denied me mine own purse, Not half an hour before. Vio. How can this be? Duke. When came he to this town? Ant. To-day, my lord; and for three months be fore, (No interim, not a minute's vacancy), Both day and night did we keep company. Enter OLIVIA and Attendants. Duke. Here comes the countess; now heaven walks on earth. But for thee, fellow, fellow, thy words are madness: Oli. What would my lord, but that he may not have, Wherein Olivia may seem serviceable?— Cesario, you do not keep promise with me. Vio. Madam? Duke. Gracious Olivia, Oli. What do you say, Cesario? lord, -Good my Vio. My lord would speak, my duty hushes me. Oli. If it be aught to the old tune, my lord, It is as fat and fulsome to mine ear, As howling after musick. Duke. Still so cruel? Oli. Still so constant, lord. Duke. What! to perverseness? you uncivil lady, To whose ingrate and unauspicious altars My soul the faithfull'st offerings hath breath'd out, That e'er devotion tender'd! What shall I do? Oli. Even what it please my lord, that shall become him. Duke. Why should I not, had I the heart to do it, Like to the Egyptian thief, at point of death, Kill what I love; a savage jealousy, That sometime savours nobly?-But hear me this: 9 Dull, gross., |