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TWELFTH-NI G H T:
WHAT YOU WILL.
A C T I.
SCENE, the PAL AC E.
Enter the Duke, Curio, and Lords.
O, it came o'er my ear, like the sweet
so full of Shapes is Fancy, That it alone is high fantastical.] Shakespeare has made his Polonius (a Character, which he design d should be receiv'd with Laughter) fay;
Gur. Will you go hunt, my Lord ?
Duke. Why, so I do, the noblest that I have:
Enter Valentine. Val. So please my Lord, I might not be admitted, But from her hand-maid do return this answer: The element it self, 'till seven years hence, Shall not behold her face at ample view ; But, like a Cloystress, 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 fad remembrance,
Duke. O, She, that hath a heart of that fine frame, To pay this debt of love but to a Brother, How will fhe 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 sov'raign Thrones, are all supply'd, and fillid,
for to define true Madness, What is't, but to be Nothing else but mad, But there is no Parity of Reason why his Duke here, who is altogether ferious, and moralizing on the Qualities of Love, should tell us, that Fancy is alone the most fantastical Thing imaginable. I am persuaded, the Alteration of is into in has given us the Poet's genuine Meaning; that Love is most fantastical, in being so variable in its Fancies. And Shakespeare every.where supposes this to be the distinguishing Characteristic of this passion. In his As You like it, where What it is to be in Love is definid, amongst other Marks we have This ;
It is to be alt made of Fantasie.
If I could meet that Fancy-monger, I would give him fome good Counsel, for he seems to have the Quotidian of Love upon him. And a hundred other Passages might be quoted, did the Matter require
Her sweet perfections, with one self-fame King !
[Exeunt. SCENE, the Street.
Enter Viola, a Captain and Sailors.
Cap. Illyria, Lady.
Vio. For saying so, there's gold.
Cap. Ay, Madam, well; for I was bred and born,
Vio. Who governs here?
Vio. Orsino! I have heard my Father name him:
Cap. And so is now, or was so
And then 'twas fresh in murmur (as you know,
Vio. What's the
Cap. A virtuous Maid, the Daughter of a Count,
Vio. O, that I sery'd that Lady,
Cap. That were hard to compass;
Vio. There is a fair behaviour in thee, Captain ;
may be worth thy pains; for I can sing,
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.
Enter Sir Toby, and Maria.
HAT a plague means my Neice, to take
the death of her Brother thus? I am sure, Care's an enemy to life.
Mar. By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier 4-nights ; your Neice, my Lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours.
Sir To. Why, let her except, before excepted.
Mar. Ay, but you must confine your self within the modest limits of order.
Sir To. Confine? I'll confine my self no finer chan I am; these cioaths 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
Sir To. Who, Sir Andrew Ague-cheek ?
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 lo! he plays o'th'viol-degambo, and speaks three or four languages word for word without book, and hath all the good gifts of Na
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 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 say so of him. Who are they?