Cur.

The hart.

Duke. Why, so I do, the noblest that I have: O, when mine eyes did see Olivia first, Methought, she purg'd the air of pestilence; That instant was I turn'd into a hart; And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds, E'er since pursue me.-How now? what news

from her?

Enter Valentine.

Val. So please my lord, I might not be admitted, But from her handmaid do return this answer: The element itself, till seven years heat,1 Shall not behold her face at ample view; But, like a cloistress, 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 lasting, in her sad remembrance.

Duke. O, she that hath a heart of that fine frame, To pay this debt of love but to a brother, How will she 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 sovereign thrones, are all supplied, and fill'd, (Her sweet perfections,) with one self king!Away before me to sweet beds of flowers; Love-thoughts lie rich, when canopied with bowers. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.-The sea-coast. Enter Viola, Captain, and Sailors.

Vio. What country, friends, is this?

Cap.

Illyria, lady.

Vio. And what should I do in Illyria? My brother he is in Elysium.

(1) Heated.

Perchance, he is not drown'd:-What think you,

sailors?

Cap. It is perchance, that you yourself were saved.

Vio. O my poor brother! and so, perchance, may he be.

Cap. True, madam: and, to comfort you with chance,

Assure yourself, after our ship did split,

When you, and that poor number saved with you, Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother, Most provident in peril, bind himself

(Courage and hope both teaching him the prac tice)

To a strong mast, that lived upon the sea;
Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back,
I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves,
So long as I could see.

Vio.
For saying so, there's gold:
Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope,
Whereto thy speech serves for authority,

The like of him. Know'st thou this country? Cap. Ay, madam, well; for I was bred and born,

Not three hours' travel from this very place.
Vio. Who governs here?

Cap.

As in his name.

Vio.

Cap.

A noble duke, in nature,

What is his name?

Orsino.

Vio. Orsino! I have heard my father name him: He was a bachelor then.

Cap.
And so is now,
Or was so very late; for but a month

Ago I went from hence; and then 'twas fresh
In murmur (as, you know, what great ones do,
The less will prattle of,) that he did seek

The love of fair Olivia.

Vio.

What's she?

Cap. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count

That died some twelvemonth since; then leaving

her

In the protection of his son, her brother,
Who shortly also died: for whose dear love,
They say, she hath abjur'd the company
And sight of men.

Vio.
O, that I served that lady;
And might not be delivered to the world,
Till I had made mine own occasion mellow,
What my estate is.

Cap.

That were hard to compass;

Because she will admit no kind of suit,
No, not the duke's.

Vio. There is a fair behaviour in thee, captain
And though that nature with a beauteous wall
Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee
I will believe, thou hast a mind that suits
With this thy fair and outward character.
I pray thee, and I'll pay thee bounteously,
Conceal me what I am; and be my aid
For such disguise as, haply, shall become
The form of my intent. I'll serve this duke ;,
Thou shalt present me as a eunuch to him,
It may be worth thy pains; for I can sing,
And speak to him in many sorts of music,
That will allow me very worth his service.
What else may hap, to time I will commit;
Only shape thou thy silence to my wit.

Cap. Be you his eunuch, and your mute I'll be When my tongue Blabs, then let mine eyes not see! Vio. I thank thee: lead me on. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.—A room in Olivia's house. Enter Sir Toby Belch, and Maria.

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

(1) Approve.

Mar. By troth, sir Toby, you must come in earlier o' nights; your cousin, 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 modest limits of order.

Sir To. Confine? I'll confine myself no finer than I am these clothes are good enough to drink in, and so 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-de-gambo, 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, besides that he's a fool, he's a great quarreller; and, but that he hath the gift of a coward to allay the gust 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 scoundrels, and substractors, that say so 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 is a passage in my (1) Stout.

throat, and drink in Illyria: he's a coward, and a coystril, that will not drink to my niece, till his brains turn o' the toe, like a parish-top. What, wench? Castiliano 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 sir Andrew!

Sir And. Bless you, fair shrew.

Mar. And you too, sir.

Sir To. Accost, sir Andrew, accost.

Sir And. What's that?

Sir To. My neice's chamber-maid.

Sir And. Good mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance.

Mar. My name is Mary, sir.

Sir And. Good mistress Mary Accost,

Sir To. You mistake, knight: accost, is, front her, board her, woo her, assail 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 so, sir Andrew, 'would thou might'st never draw sword again.

Sir And. An you part so, mistress, I would I might never draw sword 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, sir, thought is free: I pray you, bring your hand to the buttery-bar, and let it drink. Sir And. Wherefore, sweetheart? what's your metaphor?

Mar. It's dry, sir.

(1) Keystril, a bastard hawk.