Sir To Poffefs us, poffefs us; tell us fomething of him. Mar. Marry, fir, fometimes he is a kind of a puritan. Sir And. O, if I thought that, I'd beat him like a dog. Sir To. What, for being a puritan? thy exquifite reason, dear knight. Sir And. I have no exquifite reason for't, but I have reason good enough. Mar. The devil a puritan that he is, or any thing conftantly but a time-pleaser, an affected ass, that cons ftate without book, and utters it by great fwarths. The best persuaded of himself: fo 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 obfcure epiftles of love; wherein, by the colour of his beard, the shape of his leg, the manner of his gait, the expreffure of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he fhall find himself moft feelingly perfonated; I can write very like my lady your niece; on a forgotten matter we can hardly make diftinction of our hands. Sir To. Excellent! I fmell a device. Sir To. He fhall think by the letters that thou wilt drop, that they come from my niece, 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. Sir And. O, 'twill be admirable. Mar. Sport royal, I warrant you: I know, my phyfick 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, fhe's a good wench. Sir To. She's a beagle, true bred, and one that adores me; what o'that? Sir And. I was ador'd once too. Sir Sir To. Let's to bed, knight: thou hadst need fend for more money. Sir And. If I cannot recover your niece, I am a foul way out. Sir To. Send for money, knight; if thou haft her not i'th' end, call me, cut. Sir And. If I do not, never trust me, take it how you will. Sir To. Come, come; I'll go burn fome fack, 'tis too late to go to bed now: come, knight, come, knight. [Exeunt. Duke. GI The Palace. Enter Duke, Viola, Curio, and others. NIVE me fome mufick; now, good-morrow, friends: That old and antique fong we heard last night: Cur. He is not here, so please your lordship, that should fing it. Cur. Fefte the jefter, 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. Come hither, boy; if ever thou shalt love, In the fweet pangs of it, remember me; That is belov'd. How doft thou like this tune? Where love is thron'd. L112 [mufick. Duke. Duke. Thou doft speak masterly. My life upon't, young though thou art, thine eye Hath stay'd upon fome 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? Duke. Too old, by heav'n; let ftill the woman take An elder than herself, fo wears the to him; So fways the level in her husband's heart. For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, Vio. I think it well, my lord. Duke. Then let thy love be younger than ́thyself, Or thy affection cannot hold the bent: For women are as rofes, whose fair flower Being once display'd, doth fall that very hour. Enter Curio, and Clown. Duke. O, fellow, come, the fong we had last night. Mark it, Cefario; it is old and plain : The spinfters and the knitters in the fun, And the free maids that weave their thread with bones, Do use to chant it: it is filly footh, And dallies with the innocence of love, Like the old age. Clo. Are you ready, fir? Duke. I pr'ythee, fing. [mufick. Song. Song. Come away, come away, death, And in fad cypress let me be lay'd; Fly away, fly away, breath, I am flain by a fair cruel maid. My part of death no one so true Not a flower, not a flower fweet, On my black coffin let there be ftrown: Not a friend, not a friend greet My poor corps, where my bones fhall be thrown. A thoufand thousand fighs to fave, Lay me where True lover never find my grave, Duke. There's for thy pains. Clo. No pains, fir; I take pleasure in finging, fir. Clo. Truly, fir, and pleasure will be pay'd one time or other. Clo. Now, the melancholy god protect thee, and the tailor make thy doublet of changeable taffeta, for thy mind is a very opal! I would have men of fuch conftancy put to fea, that their business might be every thing, and their intent every where, for that's it that always makes a good voyage of nothing. Farewel. SCENE VI. Duke. Let all the reft give place. Once more, Cefario, [Exit. Get thee to yond fame fovereign cruelty: Tell Tell her, my love, more noble than the world, The parts that fortune hath bestow'd upon her, Vio. Sooth, but you must. Say that fome lady, as, perhaps, there is, Can bide the beating of so strong a paffion, And can digeft as much; make no compare Vio. Ay, but I know. Duke. What doft thou know? Vio. Too well what love women to men may owe; In faith, they are as true of heart as we. My father had a daughter lov'd a man, As it might be, perhaps, where I a woman, I fhould your lordship. Duke. What's her history? Vio. A blank, my lord: fhe never told her love, She |