Vio. Then think you right: I am not what I am.
Oli. I would you were as I would have you bel
Vio. Would it be better, madam, than I am,
I wish I might; for now I am your fool.

Oli. O, what a deal of fcorn looks beautiful

In the contempt and anger of his lip!

A murd'rous guilt fhows not itself more foon

Than love that would feem hid: love's night is noon.
Cefario, by the roses of the spring,

By maidhood, honour, truth, and every thing,
I love thee fo, that, maugre all thy pride,
Nor wit, nor reason, can my paffion hide.
Do not extort 'wry reasons from this clause,
For that I woo; thou therefore haft no cause:
But, rather, reafon thus with reason fetter;
Love fought is good; but given unfought is better.
Vio. By innocence I fwear, and by my youth,
I have one heart, one bofom, and one truth,
And that no woman has, nor never none
Shall mistress be of it.

Oli. Save I alone!

Vio. And fo adieu, good madam; never more

Will I my master's tears to you deplore.

Oli. Yet come again; for thou, perhaps, may'st move

That heart, which now abhors to like his love.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

Olivia's house.

Sir And.

Enter fir Toby, fir Andrew, and Fabian.

O, 'faith, I'll not stay a jot longer.

And. Nr.
N°

Sir To. Thy reafon, dear venom, give thy reason. Fab. You must needs yield your reason, fir Andrew. Sir And. Marry, I faw your niece do more favours to the

VOL. II.

Nnn

duke's

duke's ferving-man than ever she bestow'd on me. I faw't i'th' orchard.

Sir To. Did the fee thee the while, old boy? tell me that. Sir And. As plain as I fee you now.

Fab. This was a great argument of love in her toward you. Sir And. 'Slight! will you make an ass o'me?

Fab. I prove it legitimate, fir, upon the oaths of judgment and reafon.

Sir To. And they have been grand jurymen fince before Noah was a failor.

Fab. She did fhow favour to the youth in your fight, only to exasperate you, to awake your dormouse valour, to put fire in your heart, and brimstone in your liver. You should then have accosted her; and with some excellent jefts, fire-new from the mint, you should have bang'd the youth into dumbnefs: this was look'd for at your hand, and this was baulk'd. The double gilt of this opportunity you let time wash off, and you are now fail'd into the north of my lady's opinion; where you will hang like an icicle on a Dutchman's beard, unless you do redeem it by fome attempt, either of valour, or policy.

Sir And. An't be any way, it must be with valour; for policy I hate: I had as lief be a Brownist, as a politician.

Sir To. Why then, build me thy fortunes upon the basis of valour; challenge me the duke's youth to fight with him, hurt him in eleven places, my niece fhall take note of it; and affure thyself, there is no love-broker in the world can more prevail in man's commendation with women, than report of valour. Fab. There is no way but this, fir Andrew.

Sir And. Will either of you bear me a challenge to him? Sir To. Go, write it in a martial hand, be curft, and brief: it is no matter how witty, so it be eloquent, and full of invention; taunt him with the licence of ink; if thou thou'ft him fome thrice, it shall not be amifs; and as many lies as will lie in thy fheet of paper, although the sheet were big enough for the bed of Ware in England, fet 'em down, and go about it. Let there be gall

enough

enough in thy ink, though thou write it with a goose-pen, no matter: about it.

Sir And. Where fhall I find you?

Sir To. We'll call thee at thy cubiculo: go.

[Exit fir Andrew.

SCENE V.

Fab. This is a dear manakin to you, fir Toby.

Sir To. I have been dear to him, lad, fome two thousand strong, or fo.

Fab. We fhall have a rare letter from him; but you'll not deliver't.

Sir To. Never truft me then; and by all means ftir on the youth to an answer. I think, oxen and wainropes cannot hale them together. For Andrew, if he were open'd, and you find so much blood in his liver as will clog the foot of a flea, I'll eat the reft of th' anatomy.

Fab. And his oppofite, the youth, bears in his visage no great prefage of cruelty.

Enter Maria.

a

Sir To. Look, where the youngest wren of nine comes.

Mar. If you defire the spleen, and will laugh yourselves into ftitches, follow me: yond gull Malvolio is turned heathen, a very renegado; for there is no chriftian, that means to be fav'd by believing rightly, can ever believe- such impossible passages of groffness. He's in yellow ftockings.

Sir To. And cross-garter'd?

Mar. Moft villanoufly; like a pedant that keeps a school i'th' church. I have dogg'd him like his murderer: he does obey every point of the letter that I drop'd to betray him; he does fmile his face into more lines than is in the new map, with the augmentation of the Indies; you have not seen such a thing as

The wren is remarkable for laying many eggs at a time, nine or ten and sometimes more: and as she is the fmalleft of birds, the laft of fo large a brood may be supposed to be little indeed, which is the image intended here to be given of Maria.

'tis; I can hardly forbear hurling things at him. I know, my lady will strike him; if she do, he'll fmile, and take't for a great favour.

Sir To. Come, bring us, bring us where he is.

[Exeunt.

Seb.

Enter Sebastian, and Antonio.

Would not, by my will, have troubled you:
But, fince you make your pleasure of your pains,
I will no further chide you.

Ant. I could not stay behind you; my defire,
More sharp than filed fteel, did fpur me forth,
And not all love to fee you, though so much
As might have drawn one to a longer voyage;
But jealousy what might befall your travel,
Being skilless in these parts; (which to a stranger
Unguided and unfriended often prove
Rough and unhofpitable) my willing love,
The rather by these arguments of fear,
Set forth in your pursuit.

Seb. My kind Antonio,

I can no other answer make but thanks,

And thanks; and ever thanks: and oft good turns

Are fhuffled off with fuch uncurrent pay;

But, were my worth, as is my confcience, firm,
You should find better dealing: what's to do?

Shall we go fee the relicks of this town?

Ant. To-morrow, fir; best first go see your lodging.
Seb. I am not weary, and 'tis long to night;

I pray you, let us fatisfy our eyes

With the memorials, and the things of fame,
That do renown this city.

Ant. Would you'd pardon me!

I do not without danger walk these streets.
Once in a feafight 'gainst the duke his gallies
I did fome fervice; of fuch note, indeed,

That were I ta'en here, it would fcarce be anfwer'd.
Seb. Belike, you flew great number of his people.
Ant. Th' offence is not of fuch a bloody nature;
Albeit the quality of the time and quarrel
Might well have given us bloody argument:
It might have fince been anfwer'd, in repaying
What we took from them; which, for traffick's fake,
Most of our city did: only myself stood out;
For which if I be lapsed in this place

I fhall pay

dear.

Seb. Do not then walk too open.

Ant. It doth not fit me: hold, fir, here's my purse. In the fouth fuburbs at the elephant

Is beft to lodge: I will befpeak our diet,

Whiles you beguile the time, and feed your knowledge
With viewing of the town; there shall you have me.
Seb. Why I your purse?

Ant. Haply, your eye fhall light upon fome toy

You have defire to purchase; and your store,

I think, is not for idle markets, fir.

Seb. I'll be your purse-bearer, and leave you An hour.

Ant. To th' elephant.

Seb. I do remember.

for

[Exeunt.

SCENE VII.

Olivia's house.

Enter Olivia, and Maria.

Have fent after him; fay, he will come,

Oli.

Oli.I

How shall I feaft him? what bestow on him?

For