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Cur. The Hart.

Duke. Why fo I do, the nobleft that I have:
O when mine Eyes did fee Olivia first,
Methought the purg'd the Air of Peftilence;
That Inftant was I turn'd into a Hart,
And my Defires, like fell and cruel Hounds,

E'er fince purfue me. How now, what News from her?

Enter Valentine.

Val. So please my Lord, I might not be admitted,
But from her Hand-maid do return this Answer:
The Element it felf, 'till feven Years heat,
Shall not behold her Face at ample View;
But like a Cloyftrefs fhe will vailed walk,
And water once a Day her Chambers round
With Eye-offending Brine: All this to season
A Brother's dead Love, which fhe would keep fresh
And lasting in her fad Remembrance.

Duke. O he that hath a Heart of this fine Frame,
Το pay this Debt of Love but to a Brother,
How will the love, when the rich golden Shaft
Hath kill'd the Flock of all Affections elfe

That live in her! When Liver, Brain, and Heart,
Thefe foveraign Thrones, are all fupply'd, and fill'd
Her sweet Perfections with one self-fame King:
Away before me, to sweet Beds of Flowers,

Love Thoughts lye rich, when canopy'd with Bowers.

SCENE II. The Street.

Enter Viola, a Captain and Sailors.

Vio. What Country, Friends, is this?

Cap. This is Illyria, Lady.

Vio. And what fhould I do in Illyria?

My Brother he is in Elizium.

[Exeunt.

Perchance he is not drown'd; what think you, Sailors?
Cap. It is perchance that you your self were fav'd.

Vio. O my poor Brother! And fo perchance may he be.
Cap. True, Madam; and to comfort you with Chance,
Affure your felf, after our Ship did split,

When you, and thofe poor Number faved with you,

Hung

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Hung on your driving Boat: I faw your Brother,
Moft provident in Peril, bind himself,

Courage and Hope both teaching him the Practice,
To a ftrong Maft that liv'd upon the Sea,
Where like Orion on the Dolphin's Back,

I faw him hold Acquaintance with the Waves,
So long as I could fee.

Vio. For faying fo, there's Gold:

Mine own Escape unfoldeth to my Hope,
Whereto thy Speech ferves 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. A noble Duke in Nature, as in Name.
Vio. What is his Name?

Cap. Orfino.

Vio. Orfino! I have heard my Father Name him. He was a Batchellor then.

Cap. And fo is now, or was fo

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 lefs will prattle of,
That he did feek the Love of fair Olivia.
Vio. What's the?

Cap. A virtuous Maid, the Daughter of a Count,
That dy'd fome twelve Months fince, then leaving her
In the Protection of his Son, her Brother,
Who shortly a'fo dy'd; for whofe dear Love,
They fay, fhe had abjur'd the Sight

And Company of Men.

Vio. O that I ferv'd that Lady,

And might not be deliver'd to the World,

'Till I had made mine own Occafion mellow

What my Estate is.

Cap. That were hard to compafs,

Because she will admit no kind of Suit,

No, not the Duke's.

Vio. There is a fair Behavior in thee, Captain ; And tho' that Nature, with a beauteous Wall Doth oft close in Pollution; yet of thee,

I will believe thou haft a Mind that fuits
With this thy fair and outward Character,
I prethee, and I'll pay thee bounteously,
Conceal me what I am, and be my Aid,
For fuch Difguife as haply fhall become
The Form of my Intent. I'll ferve this Duke,
Thou fhalt prefent me as an Eunuch to him,
It may be worth thy Pains; for I can fing,
And fpeak to him in many forts of Mufick,
That will allow me very worth his Service.
What elfe may hap, to Time I will commit,
Only fhape 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 fee.
Vio. I thank thee; lead me on.

SCENE III. Olivia's House.

Enter Sir Toby, and Maria.

[Exeunt.

Sir To. What a Plague means my Neece to take the Death of her Brother thus? I am fure Care's an Enemy to Life. Mar. By my Troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier a Nights; your Coufin, my Lady, takes great Exceptions to your ill Hours.

Sir To. Why let her except, before excepted.

Mar. Ay, but you must confine your felf within the modeft Limits of Order.

Sir To. Confine? I'll confine my felf no finer than I am; thefe Clothes are good enough to drink in, and fo be these Boots too; and 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 th' 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 fay fo: He plays o'th' Viol-deGambo, and speaks three or four Languagest Word for Word without Book, and hath all the good Gifts of Na

ture.

Mar. He hath indeed, almost natural; for befides that he's a Fool, he's a great Quarreller; and but that he hath the Gift of a Coward to allay the Guft 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 fay fo of him. Who are they?

Mar. They that add moreover, he's drunk nightly in your Company.

Sir To. With drinking Healths to my Neece: I'll drink to her as long as there is a Paffage in my Throat, and Drink in Illyria. He's a Coward and a Coyftril that will not drink to my Neece 'till his Brains turn o'th' Toe like a Parish Top. What Wench? Caftiliano vulgo ; for here comes Sir Andrew Ague-face. Enter Sir Andrew.

Sir And. Sir Toby Belch! How now, Sir Toby Belch?
Sir To. Sweet Sir Andrew.

Sir And. Blefs you, fair Shrew.

Mar. And you too, Sir.

Sir To. Accoft, Sir Andrew, accost.

Sir And. What's that?

Sir To. My Neece's Chamber-maid.

Sir And. Good Miftrefs Accoft, I defire better Acquain

tance.

Mar. My Name is Mary, Sir.

Sir And. Good Mistress Mary accoft.

Sir To. You mistake, Knight: Accoft is, front her, board her, woe her, affail her.

Sir And. By my Troth, I would not undertake her in this Company. Is that the Meaning of Accoft?

Mar. Fare you well, Gentlemen.

Sir To. And thou let her part fo, Sir Andrew, would thou migh'ft never draw Sword again.

Sir And. And you part fo, Mistress, I would I might ne ver draw Sword again. Fair Lady, do you think you have Fools in Hand?

Ma

Mar. Sir, I have not you by th' Hand.

Sir And. Marry but you fhall have, and here's my Hand. Mar. Now, Sir, Thought is free: I pray you bring your Hand to th' Buttery Bar, and let it drink.

Sir And. Wherefore, fweet Heart? What's your Metaphor ?

Mar. It's dry, Sirs

Sir And. Why, I think fo: I am not such an Ass, but I can keep my Hand dry. But what's your Jeft? Mar. A dry Jeft, Sir.

Sir And. Are you full of them?

Mar. Ay, Sir, I have them at my Finger Ends: Marry, now I let go your Hand, I am barren.

[Exit Maria. Sir To. O Knight, thou lack'st a Cup of Canary: When did I fee thee fo put down?

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Sir And. Never in your Life, I think, unless you see Canary put down: Methinks, fometimes I have no more Wit than a Chriftian, or an ordinary Man has; but I am a great Eater of Beef, and I believe that do's harm to my Wit. Sir To. No Question.

Sir And. And I thought that I'd forfwear it. I'll ride home, to Morrow, Sir Toby.

Sir To. Pur-quoy, my dear Knight?

Sir And. What is pur-quoy? Do, or not do? I would I had beftowed that time in the Tongues, that I have in Fencing, Daneing, and Bear-baiting: O had I but follow'd the Arts.

Sir To. Then hadft thou had an excellent Head of Hair. Sir And. Why, would that have mended my Hair? Sir To. Paft Queftion, for thou feeft it will not cool my Nature.

Sir And, But it becomes me well enough, does't not? Sir To. Excellent, it hangs like Flax on a Distaff; and I hope to fee a Housewife take thee between her Legs, and spin it off.

Sir And. Faith I'll home to Morrow, Sir Toby, your Neece will not be feen, or if fhe be, it's four to one the'll none of me: The Duke himself here hard by, wooes her.

Sr To. She'll none o'th' Duke, fhe'll not match above her Degree, neither in Eftate, Years, nor Wit; I have heard her fwear. Tut, there's Life in't Man.

Sir And.

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