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Enter the Duke, Curio, and Lords.
F musick be the food of love, play on,
Give me excess of it; that, surfeiting,
The appetite may ficken, and so die.
That strain again ; it had a dying fall :
O, it came o'er my ear, like the sweet south
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing and giving odour. Hush! no more;
'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.
O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou !
That, notwithstanding thy capacity
Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there
Of what validity and pitch soe'er,
But falls into abatement and low price,
Even in a minute: so full of shapes is fancy,
And thou all o'er art high fantastical.
Cur. Will you go hunt, my lord?
Duke. What, Curio?
H h h
Cur. The hart.
Duke. Why, so I do, the noblest that I have:
O, when mine eyes did see Olivia first,
Methought, the purg'd the air of pestilence;
That instant was I turn'd into a hart;
And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds,
E’er since pursue me. How now? what news from her?
Val. So please my lord, I might not be admitted,
But from her handmaid do return this answer:
The element itself, till seven years hence,
Shall not behold her face at ample view;
But, like a cloistress, she will veiled walk,
And water once a day her chambers round
With eye-offending brine: all this to season
A brother’s dead love, which she would keep fresh
And lasting in her sad remembrance still.
Duke. O, she that hath a heart of that fine frame,
To pay this debt of love but to a brother,
How will she love, when the rich golden shaft
Hath kill'd the flock of all affections else
That live in her! when liver, brain, and heart,
Three sov’reign thrones, are all supply'd, and fillid,
Her sweet perfections, with one self-fame king!
Away before me to sweet beds of flowers ;
Lovethoughts lie rich, when canopy'd with bowers. [Exeunt.
Enter Viola, a Captain, and Sailors.
HAT country, friends, is this?
Capt. Illyria, lady.
Vio. And what should I do in Illyria?.
My brother he is in Elysium.
Perchance, he is not drown'd: what think you, sailors ?
Cap. It is perchance that you yourself were fav’d.
Vio. O my poor brother ! so, perchance, may he be.
Cap. True, madam: and, to comfort you with chance,
Assure yourself, after our ship did split,
When you, and that poor number fav’d with you,
Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother,
Most provident in peril, bind himself
(Courage and hope both teaching him the pradice)
To a strong mast that liv'd upon the sea;
Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back,
I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves,
So long as I could fee.
Vio. There's gold for saying so.
Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope,
Whereto thy speech serves for authority,
The like of him. And knowest 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 his name.
Vio. What is his name?
Vio. Orsino! I have heard my father name him:
He was a bachelor then.
Cap. And so is now, or was so 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 less will prattle of)
That he did seek the love of fair Õlivia.
Vio. What's she?
Cap. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count,
That dy'd some twelve months since, then leaving her
In the protection of his son, her brother,
Who shortly also dy'd: for whose dear love,
They say, she hath abjur’d the company
And fight of men.
Vio, o, that I serv'd that lady,
And't might not be deliver'd to the world,
Till I had made mine own occasion mellow,
What my estate is !
Cap. That were hard to compass,
Because she will admit no kind of suit,
No, not the duke's.
Vio. There is a fạir behaviour in thee, captain ;
And, though that nature with a beauteous wall
Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee
I will believe, thou hast a mind that suits
With this thy fair and outward character.
I pr’ythee, and I'll pay thee bounteously,
Conceal me what I am, and be my
For such disguise as, haply, shall become
The form of my intent. I'll serve this duke,
Thou shalt present me as an eunuch to him,
It may be worth thy pains; for I can fing,
And speak to him in many sorts of musick,
That will allow me very worth his service.
What else may hap, to time I will commit;
Only shape 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 see!
Vie. I thank thee: lead me on,
Enter fir Toby, and Maria.
HAT a to
death of her brother thus ? I am sure, care's an
Mar. By my troth, fir Toby, you must come in earlier o’nights; your niece, my lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours.
Sir To. Why, let her except before excepted.
Mar. Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modest limits of order.
Sir To. Confine? I'll confine myself no finer than I am; these cloths are good enough to drink in, and so be these boots too; if 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, fir Andrew Ague-cheek?
Mar. Ay, he.
Sir To. He's as tall a man as any 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 say so! he plays o'th' viol-de-gambo, and speaks three or four languages word for word without book, and hath all the good gifts of nature.
Mar. He hath, indeed, almost natural; for, besides that he's a fool, he's a great quarreler; and, but that he hath the gift of a coward to allay the gust he hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought among the prudent, he would quickly have the gift of a grave.