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Sir To. Farewel, dear heart; since I must needs be gone.
Mal. Nay, good Sir Toby.
Clo. His eyes do shew, bis days are almost done.
Mal. Is't even fo?
Sir To. But I will never die.
Clo. Sir Toby, there you lie.
Mal. This is much credit to you.
Sir To. Shall I bid him go?

[Singing
Clo. What, an if you do?
Sir To.. Shall I bid him go, and Spare not ?
Clo. O no, no, no, you dare not.

Sir To. Out o'time, Sir? ye lie: art thou any more than a steward? dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale ?

Clo. Yes, by Saint Anne ; and ginger shall be hot i'th' mouth too.

in To. Thou'rt i'th' right. Go, Sir, rub your chain och crums. A stoop of wine, Maria.

Mal. Mistress Mary, if you priz'd my Lady's favour at any thing more than contempt, you would not give means for this uncivil Rule; she shall know of it, by this hand.

[Exit. Mar. Go, shake your ears.

Sir And. "Twere as good a deed as to drink when a man's a hungry, to challenge him to the field, and then to break promise with him, and make a fool of him.

Sir. To. Do't, Knight, I'll write thee a Challenge: or I'll deliver thy indignation to him by word of mouth.

Mar. Sweet Sir Toby, be patient for to night; since the youth of the Duke's was to day with my Lady, she is much out of quier. For Monsieur Malvolio, let me alone with him : if I do not gull him into a nayword, and make him a common recreation, do not think, I have wit enough to lye straight in my bed: I know, I can do it. Sir To. Poffefs us, possess us, tell us something of

him. Mar. Marry, Sir, sometimes he is a kind of a Pu

ritan.

Sir And. O, if I thought That, I'd beat him like a dog.

Sir To. What, for being a Puritan ? thy exquisite reason, dear Knight.

Sir And. I have no exquisite reason for't, but I have reason good enough.

Mar. The Devil a Puritan that he is, or any thing constantly but a time-pleaser; an affection’d als, that cons state without book, and utters it by great swarths. The best persuaded of himself: So cram'd, as he thinks, with excellencies, that it is his ground of faith, that all that look on him, love him; and on that vice in him will my revenge find notable cause to work.

Sir To. What wilt thou do?

Mar. I will drop in his way fome obscure epistles of love, wherein, by the colour of his beard, the shape of his leg, the manner of his gate, the expressure of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he shall find himself most feelingly personated. I can write very like my Lady your Neice; on a forgotten matter we can hardly make distinction of our hands.

Sir To. Excellent, I smell a device.
Sir And. I have't in my nose too.

Sir To. He shall think by the letters, that thou wilt drop, that they come from my Neice, and that she is in love with him.

Mar. My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour. Sir And. And your horse now would make him an ass.

Mar. Als, I doubt not.
Sir And. O, 'twill be admirable.

Mar. Sport royal, I warrant you: I know, my Phy: fick will work with him. I will plant you two, and let the Fool make a third, where he shall find the letter: observe his construction of it: for this night to bed, and dream on the event. Farewel, [Exit.

Sir To. Good night, Penthifilea.
Sir And. Before me, she's a good wench,

Sir To. She's a beagle, true-bred, and one that adoręs me; what o'that?

Sir

li 3

you will.

Sir And. I was ador'd once too.

Sir To. Let's to bed, Knight : thou hadft need send for more mony.

Sir And. If I cannot recover your Neice, I am a foul way out.

Sir To. Send for mony, Knight; if thou hast her not i'th'end, call me Cut.

Sir And. If I do not, never trust me, take it how

Sir To. Come, come, I'll go burn some Sack, 'tis too late to go to bed now : come, Knight ; come, Knight.

[Exeunt. SCENE changes to the Palace.

Enter Duke, Viola, Curio, and others.
Duke,

Go
IVE me some musick ; now, good mor-

row, friends :
Now, good Cesario, but that piece of Song,
That old and antique Song, we heard last night;
Methought, it did relieve my Passion much;
More than light Airs, and recollected terms
Of these moft brisk and giddy-paced Times.
Come, but one Verse.

Cur. He is not here, so please your Lordship, that should fing it.

Duke. Who was it?

Cur. Feste_ the Jester, my Lord, a Fool that the Lady Olivia's Father took much delight in. He is about the House. Duke. Seek him out, and play the tune the while.

[Ex. Curio. [Mufick, Come hither, boy; if ever thou shalt love, In the sweet pangs of it, remember me; For such as I am, all true Lovers are ; Unstaid and skittish in all motions else, Save in the constant image of the Creature That is belov'd. How doft thou like this Tune? * Vio. It gives a very Echo to the Seat Where Love is thron'd.

Duke.

2

Duke. Thou doft speak masterly.
My life upon't, young tho' thou art, thine eye
Hath staid upon some favour that it loves :
Hath it not, Boy?

Vio. A little, by your favour.
Duke. What kind of Woman is’t ?'
Vio. Of your complexion.
Duke. She is not worth thee then. What years,

i'faith?
Vio. About your years, my Lord.

Duke. Too old, by heav'n'; let still the Woman take An elder than her self, so wears she to him ; So sways she level in her husband's heart. For, Boy, however we do praise our selves, Our Fancies are more giddy and unfirm, More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn,

, Than Women's are.

Vio. I think it well, my Lord.

Duke. Then let thy love be younger than thy self, Or thy affection cannot hold the Bent : For Women are as roses, whose fair flower,, Being once displayd, doth fall that very hour,

Vio. And so they are: alas, that they are fa, To die, even when they to perfection grow!

Enter Curio and Clown.

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Duke. O fellow, come; the Song we had last night..
Mark it, Cesario, it is old and plain;
The spinsters and the knitters in the Sun,
And the free maids that weave their thread with banes,
Do use to chant it: it is filly Sooth,
And dallies with the innocence of love,
Like the old Age.

Clo. Are you ready, Sir
Duke. I prythee, ling

[Mufick,

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S O N G

Come away, come away, Death,

And in sad cypress let me be laid ;
Fly away, fly away, breath,

I am Main by a fair cruel Maid.
My fbrowd of white, fuck all with yew,

O, prepare it.
My part of death no one so true

Did pare it.

Not a Flower, not a Flower sweet,

On my black Coffin let there be ftrown:
Not a Friend, not a Friend greet

My poor corps, where my bones shall be thrown,
A thousand thousand fighs to save,

Lay me, O! where
True Lover never find my Grave,

To weep there.
Duke. There's for thy pains.
Clo. No pains, Sir; I take pleasure in singing, Sir.
Duke. I'll pay thy pleasure then.

Clo. Truly, Sir, and pleasure will be paid one time or other.

Duke. Give me now leave to leave thee.

Clo. Now the melancholy God protect thee, and the Taylor make thy doublet of changeable taffata, for thy mind is a very Opal ! (8) I would have Men of such constancy put to fea, that their business might be every thing, and their intent every where ; for that's it,

that (8) I would have Men of such Constancy put to Sea, that their Bufio ness might be every where, and their intent every where, &c.] Mr. Warburton fufpects this Place to have suffer'd under the Indolence of Editors: and therefore, tho? I have not disturb'd the Text, I think it very proper to subjoin his Emendation, and Reasons for it.

Not only the Antithesis (which is no mean Confideration, when the " Question is on Shakespeare's Writings ;) but the Sense requires, we « should read; that their Bufiness might be every where, and their Intent go where, &c.

“ Because,

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