Smiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed? We men may fay more, fwear more, but, indeed, Our fhews are more than will; for ftill we prove Much in our vows, but little in our love.

Duke. But dy'd thy fifter of her love, my boy? Vio. I'm all the daughters of my father's house, And all the brothers too-and yet I know not— Sir, fhall I to this Lady?

Duke. Ay, that's the theme.

To her in hafte; give her this jewel: fay,
My love can give no place, bide no denay.

SCENE VII.

[Exeunt

Changes to Olivia's garden.

Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian.

Sir To. Come thy ways, Signior Fabian.

Fab. Nay, I'll come; if I lofe a fcruple of this fport, let me be boil'd to death with melancholy.

Sir To. Would't thou not be glad to have the niggardly rafcally fheep-biter come by fome notable fhame? Fab. I would exult, man; you know he brought me out of favour with my Lady, about a bear-baiting here. Sir To. To anger him, we'll have the bear again; and we will fool him black and blue; fhall we not, Sir Andrew?

Sir And. An we do not, it's pity of our lives.

Enter Maria.

Sir To. Here comes the little villain: how now, my nettle of India ?

Mar. Get ye all three into the box-tree; Malvolio's coming down this walk, he has been yonder i' th' fun practifing behaviour to his own fhadow this half-hour. Obferve him, for the love of mockery; for I know this letter will make a contemplative idiot of him. Clofe, in the name of jefting! lie thou there; for here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling.

[Throws down a letter, and Exit.

SCENE VIII. Enter Malvolio.

Mal. 'Tis but fortune, all is fortune. Maria once told me, fhe did affect me; and I have heard herself

come thus near, that should fhe fancy, it fhould be one of my complexion. Befides, fhe ufes me with a more exalted refpect, than any one elfe that follows her. What fhould I think on 't ?

Sir To. Here's an over-weaning rogue.

Fab. O, peace: contemplation makes a rare turkeycock of him; how he jets under his advanc'd plumes ! Sir And. 'Slife, I could fo beat the rogue.

Sir To. Peace, I fay.

Mal. To be Count Malvolio,

Sir To. Ah, rogue!

Sir And. Piftol him, piftol him.

Sir To. Peace, peace.

Plal. There is example for 't: the lady of the Trachy* married the yeoman of the wardrobe.

Sir And. Fie on him, Jezebe!!

Fab. O, peace, now he's deeply in; look how imagination blows him.

Mal. Having been three months married to her, fitting in my ftate

Sir To. O for a stone-bow to hit him in the eye?.

Mal. Calling my officers about me, in my branch'd velvet gown; having come down from a day-bed, where I have left Olivia fleeping.

Sir To. Fire and brimftone!

Fab. O, peace, peace.

Mal. And then to have the humour of ftate; and after a demure travel of regard, telling them, I know my place, as I would they fhould do theirs to ask for my uncle Toby

Sir To. Bolts and fhackles !

Fab. Ch, peace, peace, peace; now, now.

Mal. Seven of my people with an obedient start make out for him: I frown the while, and perchance wind up my watch, or play with fome rich jewel. Toby approaches, curtfies there to me.

Sir To. Shall this fellow live?

Fab. Tho' our filence be drawn from us with cares, yet, peace.

*that is, Thrace. It was common to use the article the before names of places. And this was no improper instance, where the fcene was in Illyria.

Mal. I extend my hand to him thus; quenching my familiar fmile with an auftere regard of controul.

Sir To. And does not Toby take you a blow o' th' lips then?

Mal. Saying, Uncle Toby, my fortunes having caft me on your niece, give me this prerogative of speechSir To. What, what?

Mal. You must amend your drunkenness.

Sir To. Out, scab!

Fab. Nay, patience, or we break the finews of our plot.

Mal. Befides, you wafte the treasure of your time with a foolish Knight

Sir And. That's me, I warrant you.

Mal. One Sir Andrew,

Sir And. I knew, 'tis I; for many do call me fool. Mal. What employment have we here?

[Taking up the letter.

Fab. Now is the woodcock near the gin.

Sir To. Oh peace! now the fpirit of humours intimate reading aloud to him!

Mal. By my life, this is my Lady's hand: thefe be her very C's, her U's, and her T's, and thus makes fhe her great P's. It is, in contempt of queftion, her hand.

Sir And. Her C's, her U's, and her T's: why that? Mal. To the unknown belov'd, this, and my good wishes; her very phrafes. By your leave, wax. Soft! and the impreffure her Lucrece, with which fhe uses to feal? 'tis my Lady: to whom should this be?

Fab. This wins him, liver and all.

Mal. Jove knows I love, but who, lips do not move, no man must know. No man muft know-what, follows; the number's alter'd- -no man must knowif this fhould be thee, Malvolio?

Sir To. Marry, hang thee, Brock!

Mal. I may command where I adore; but filence, like a Lucrece knife,

With bloodless ftroke my heart doth gore, M. O. A. I, doth fway my life.

Fab. A fuftian riddle.

Sir To. Excellent wench, fay I.

Mal. M. O. A. I. doth fway my life-nay, but first let me fee-let me fee

Fab. What a dish of poifon has fhe dress'd him?

Sir To. And with what wing the ftanyel checks at it? Mal. I may command where I adore. Why, the may command me: I ferve her, fhe is my lady. Why, this is evident to any formal * capacity. There is no obftruction in this-and the end-what fhould that alphabetical pofition portend? If I could make that refemble fomething in me? foftly,-M. O. A. I

Sir To. O, ay! make up that; he is now at a cold fçent.

Fab. Sowter will cry upon't for all this, tho' it be as rank as a fox.

Mal. M.-Malvolio.

my name.

M.-why, that begins

Fab. Did not I fay, he would work it out: the cur is excellent at faults.

Mal. M. But then there is no confonancy in the fequel; that fuffers under probation: A fhould follow, but does.

0..

Fab. And fhall end, I hope.

Sir To. Ay, or I'll cudgel him, and make him cry,

Mal. And then I comes behind.

Fab. Ay, an you had any eye behind you, you might fee more detraction at your heels than fortunes before

you.

Mal. M. O. A. I.-This fimulation † is not as the former-and yet to crufh this a little, it would bow to me, for every one of thefe letters is in my name. Soft, here follows profe- If this fall into thy hand, revolve. In my fars I am above thee, but be not afraid of greatness fome are born great, fome atchieve greatnefs, and fome have greatness thruft upon them. Thy fates open their hands, let thy blood and fpirit embrace them; and, to enure thyself to what thou art like to be, caft thy bumble flough, and appear fresh. Be oppofite with a kinfman, furly with fervants: let thy tongue tang arguments of fate; put thyself into the trick of fingularity. She thus

Formal, for common. † Simulation, for refemblance.

advises thee, that fighs for thee. Remember who commended thy yellow stockings, and wifh'd to fee thee ever crossgartered. I fay, remember; go to, thou art made, if thou defireft to be fo; if not, let me fee thee a feward still, the fellow of fervants, and not worthy to touch Fortune's fingers. Farewel. She that would alier fervices with thee, the fortunate and happy. Day-light and champian discover no more this is open. I will be proud, I will read politic authors, I will baffle Sir Toby, I will wafh off grofs acquaintance, I will be point devife, the very man. I do not now fool myfelf, to let imagination jade me; for every reafon excites to this, that my Lady loves me. She did commend my yellow ftockings of late, fhe did praife my leg, being crofs-garter'd, and in this fhe manifefts herself to my love, and with a kind of injunction drives me to thefe habits of her liking. I thank my ftars, I am happy I will be ftrange, ftout, in yellow ftockings, and crofs-garter'd, even with the swiftnefs of putting on. Jove and my stars be praifed! Here is yet a poftfcript. Thou canst not chufe but know who I am; if thou entertaineft my love, let it appear in thy fmiling; thy fmiles become thee well. Therefore in my prefence ftill fimile, dear my fweet, I pr'ythee. -Jove, I thank thee! I will fmile, I will do every thing that thou wilt have me.

:

[Exit. Fab. I will not give my part of this fport for a penfion of thoufands to be paid from the Sophy.

Sir To. I could marry this wench for this device.
Sir And. So could I too.

Sir To. And afk no other dowry with her, but fuck another jeft.

SCENE IX.

Sir And. Nor I neither.

Enter Maria.

Fab. Here comes my noble gull-catcher.

Sir To. Wilt thou fet thy foot o'my neck?

Sir And. Or o'mine either?

Sir To. Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip, and become thy bond-flave?

Sir And. I'faith, or I either?

Sir To. Why, thou haft put him in fuch a dream, that when the image of it leaves him, he must run mad.