Clo. Apt, in good faith; very apt: well, go thy way, if Sir Toby would leave drinking, thou wert as witty a piece of Eve's flesh as any in Illyria.

Mar. Peace, you rogue, no more o' that, here comes my Lady; make your excufe wifely, you were best.

Enter Olivia, and Malvolio.

[Exit:

Clo. Wit, and't be thy will, put me into a good fooling! thofe wits, that think they have thee, do very oft prove fools; and I, that am fure I lack thee, may pafs for a wife man. For what fays Quinapalus, Better a witty fool than a foolish wit. God bless thee, Lady!

Oli. Take the fool away.

Clo. Do you not hear, fellows? take away the Lady. Oli. Go to, y'are a dry fool; I'll no more of you; befides, you grow dishonest.

Clo. Two faults, Madona, that drink and good counfel will amend; for give the dry fool drink, then is the fool not dry: Bid the dishoneft man mend himself ; if he mend, he is no longer difhoneft; if he cannot, let the botcher mend him. Any thing, that's mended, is but patch'd; virtue, that tranfgreffes, is but patch'd with fin; and fin, that amends, is but patch'd with virtue. If that this fimple fyllogifm will ferve, fo; if it will not, what remedy? as there is no true cuckold but calamity, fo beauty's a flower: the Lady bad take away the fool, therefore, I fay again, take her away.

Oli. Sir, I bad them take away you.

Clo. Mifprifion in the highest degree.Lady, Cucullus non facit monachum; that's as much as to fay, I wear not motley in my brain: good Madona, give me leave to prove you a fool.

Oli. Can you do it?

Clo. Dexterously, good Madona.

Oli. Make your proof.

Clo. I must catechize you for it, Madona; good my mouse of virtue, anfwer me.

Oli. Well, Sir, for want of other idleness, I'll bide your proof,

Clo.

Clo. Good Madona, why mourn'ft thou ?
Oli. Good fool, for my brother's death.
Clo. I think, his foul is in hell, Madona.
Oli. I know, his foul is in heav'n, fool.

Clo. The more fool you, Madona, to mourn for your brother's foul being in heav'n : take away the fool, Ġentlemen.

Oli. What think you of this fool, Malvolio, doth he not mend?

Mal. Yes, and fhall do, 'till the pangs of death fhake him. Infirmity, that decays the wife, doth ever make better the fool.

Clo. God fend you, Sir, a fpeedy infirmity, for the better increafing your folly! Sir Toby will be fworn, that I am no fox; but he will not pafs his word for two pence, that you are no fool.

Oli. How fay you to that, Malvolio?

Mal. I marvel, your Ladyfhip takes delight in fuch a barren rafcal; I faw him put down the other day with an ordinary fool, that has no more brain than a ftone. Look you now, he's out of his guard already; unless you laugh and minifter occafion to him, he is gagg'd. I proteft, I take thefe wife men, that crow fo at these fet kind of fools, no better than the fools' Zanies.

Oli. O, you are fick of self-love, Malvolio, and taste with a distemper'd appetite. To be generous, guiltless, and of free difpofition, is to take those things for birdbolts that you deem cannon-bullets: there is no flander in an allow'd fool, though he do nothing but rail: nor no railing in a known discreet man, though he do nothing but reprove.

Clo. Now Mercury indue thee with leafing, for thou fpeak'ft well of fools!

Enter Maria.

Mar. Madam, there is at the gate a young Gentleman, much defires to speak with you.

Oli. From the Count Orfino, is it?

Mar.

Mar. I know not, Madam, 'tis a fair young Man, and well attended,

Oli. Who of my people hold him in delay ?

Mar. Sir Toby, Madam, your Uncle.

Oli. Fetch him off, I pray you, he speaks nothing but madman: fie on him! Go you, Malvolio; if it be a fuit from the Count, I am fick, or not at home: What you will, to dismiss it. [Exit Malvolio.] Now you fee, Sir, how your fooling grows old, and people diflike it.

Clo. Thou haft fpoke for us, Madona, as if thy eldest Son fhould be a fool: whofe fcull Jove cram with brains, for here comes one of thy Kin has a most weak Pia Mater!

Enter Sir Toby.

Oli. By mine honour, half drunk. What is he at the gate, Uncle?

Sir To. A Gentleman.

Oli. A Gentleman ? what Gentleman ?
Sir To. 'Tis a Gentleman. Here,-

[belches.] A

plague o' these pickle herring! how now, fot?

Clo. Good Sir Toby,

Oli. Uncle, Uncle, how have you come fo early by this lethargy?

Sir To. Letchery! I defie letchery: there's one at the gate.

Oli. Ay, marry, what is he?

Sir To. Let him be the devil and he will, I care not: give me faith, fay I. Well, it's all one.

Oli. What's a drunken man like, fool?

[Exit.

Clo. Like a drown'd man, a fool, and a madman: one draught above heat makes him a fool; the fecond mads him; and a third drowns him.

Oli. Go thou and feek the Coroner, and let him fit o' my Uncle; for he's in the third degree of drink ; he's drown'd; go, look after him.

Clo. He is but mad yet, Madona, and the fool fhall look to the madman.

[Ex. Clown.

Enter

Enter Malvolio.

Mal. Madam, yond young Fellow fwears he will speak with you. I told him, you were fick; he takes on him to understand so much, and therefore comes to speak with you. I told him, you were afleep; he feems to have a fore-knowledge of that too, and therefore comes to speak with you. What is to be faid to

him, Lady? he's fortified against any denial. Oli. Tell him, he fhall not speak with me. Mal. He has been told fo;

and he fays, he'll stand

at your door like a Sheriff's poft, and be the supporter to a bench, but he'll speak with you.

Oli. What kind o' man is he?

Mal. Why, of mankind.

Oli. What manner of man ?

Mal. Of very ill manners; he'll speak with you, will

you or no.

Oli. Of what perfonage and years is he?

Mal. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy; as a fquafh is before 'tis a peafcod, or a codling when 'tis almoft an apple: 'tis with him in ftanding water, between boy and man. He is very well-favour'd, and he speaks very fhrewishly; would think, his mother's milk were fcarce out of him.

Oli. Let him approach: call in my Gentlewoman.
Mal. Gentlewoman, my Lady calls.

Enter Maria.

Oli. Give me my veil: come, throw it o'er We'll once more hear Orfino's embaffy.

Enter Viola.

one

[Exit.

Vio. The honourable Lady of the house, which is

The ?

Oli. Speak to me, I fhall anfwer for her: your will? Vio. Moft radiant, exquifite, and unmatchable Beauty. I pray you, tell me, if this be the Lady of the houfe, for I never faw her. I would be loth to caft

away

away my fpeech; for, befides that it is excellently well penn'd, I have taken great pains to con it. Good Beauties, let me fuftain no fcorn; I am very comptible, even to the least finister usage.

Oli. Whence came you, Sir?

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 houfe, 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 fwear, I am not that I play. Are you the Lady of the house?

Oli. If I do not ufurp my felf, I am.

Vio. Moft certain, if you are fhe, you do ufurp your felf; for what is yours to bestow, is not yours to reserve; but this is from my Commiffion. I will on with my speech in your praise, and then fhew you the heart of my meffage.

Oli. Come to what is important in't: I forgive you the praise.

Vio. Alas, I took great pains to ftudy it, and 'tis poetical.

Oli. It is the more like to be feign'd. I pray you, keep it in. I heard, you were faucy 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 hoift fail, 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 courtefie 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.