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SCENE IX.

Enter Maria.
Sir And. Nor I neither.
Fab. Here comes my noble gull-catcher.
Sir To. Wilt thou set thy foot o’my neck ?
Sir And. Or o'mine either?

Sir To. Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip, and become thy bondslave?

Sir And. l'faith, or I either?

Sir To. Why, thou hast put him in such a dream, that, when the image of it leaves him, he must run mad.

Mar. Nay, but fay true, does it work upon him?
Sir To. Like aqua-vitæ with a midwife.

Mar. If you will then see the fruits of the sport, mark his first approach before my lady: he will come to her in yellow stockings, and 'tis a colour she abhors; and cross-garter’d, a fashion The detests; and he will smile upon her, which will now be so unsuitable to her disposition, being addicted to melancholy, as she is, that it cannot but turn him into a notable contempt: if

you will see it, follow me.

Sir To. To the gates of tartar ; thou most excellent devil of wit ! Sir And. I'll make one too.

Exeunt.

**

ACT III. SCENE I.

Olivia's garden.
Enter Viola, and Clown.

VIOLA.
NAVE thee, friend, and thy musick: dost thou live by the

tabour ? Clo. No, fir, I live by the church.

SA

Vio. Art thou a churchman?

Clo. No such matter, sir; I do live by the church: for I do live at my house, and my house doth stand by the church.

Vio. So thou may'st say, the king lies by a beggar, if a beggar dwell near him : or, the church stands by thy tabour, if thy tabour stand by the church.

Clo. You have said, fir: to see this age! a sentence is but a chev’ril glove to a good wit; how quickly the wrong

fide

may be turned outward !

Vio. Nay, that's certain; they that dally nicely with words may quickly make them wanton.

Člo. I would therefore my fister had no name, fir.
Vio. Why, man?
Clo

. Why, fir, her name's a word; and to dally with that word, might make my sister wanton: but, indeed, words are very rascals, fince bonds disgrac'd them.

Vio. Thy reason, man?

Clo. Troth, sir, I can yield you none without words; and words are grown so false, I am loath to prove reason with them.

Vio. I warrant, thou art a merry fellow, and carest for nothing.

Clo. Not so, fir, I do care for something ; but, in my conscience, sir, I do not care for you: if that be to care for nothing, fir, I would it would make you invisible.

Vio. Art not thou the lady Olivia's fool?

Clo. No, indeed, sir, the lady Olivia has no folly: she will keep no fool, sir, till she be married; and fools are as like husbands, as pilchers are to herrings, the husband's the bigger : I am, indeed, not her fool, but her corrupter of words.

Vio. I saw thee late at the duke Orfino's.

Clo. Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the fun; it shines every where. I would be sorry, fir, but the fool should be as oft with your master, as with my mistress : I think, I saw your wisdom there.

Vio. Nay, an thou pass upon me, I'll no more with thee; Hold, there's expences for thee. (gives him a piece of money.

Clo.

Clo. Now, Jove, in his next commodity of hair, send thee a beard !

Vio. By my troth, I'll tell thee, I am almost fick for one; though I would not have it grow on my chin. Is thy lady within ?

Clo. Would not a pair of these have bred, fir?
Vio. Yes, being kept together, and put to use.

Clo. I would play lord Pandarus of Phrygia, sir, to bring a Cressida to this Troilus.

Dio. I understand you, sir, 'tis well begg’d.

Clo. The matter, Í hope, is not great, fir; begging but a beggar: Cressida was a beggar. My lady is within, fir. I will conster to her whence you come; who you are, and what you would, is out of my welkin; I might say element, but the word is overworn.

[Exit

. Vio. This fellow is wise enough to play the fool; And to do that well, craves a kind of wit: He must observe their mood on whom he jests, The quality of the persons, and the time; And, like the haggard, check at every feather That comes before his eye. This is a practice, As full of labour as a wise man's art : For folly, that he wisely shows, is fit; But wise men's folly shown, quite taints their wit.

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Enter for Toby, and for Andrew.
Sir And. Save you, gentleman.
Vio. And you, fir.
Sir To. Dieu vous guarde, monsieur.
Vio. Et vous aus ; vostre serviteur.

Sir To. I hope, fir, you are; and I am yours. Will you encounter the house ? my niece is desirous you should enter, if your trade be to her.

Vio. I am bound to your niece, fir; I mean, she is the list of my voyage.

Sir To. Taste your legs, sir, put them to motion.

Vio. My legs do better understand me, sir, than I understand what you mean by bidding me taste my legs.

Sir To. I mean, to go, sir, to enter.

Vio. I will answer you with gait and entrance; but we are prevented.

Enter Olivia, and Maria. Most excellent accomplish'd lady, the heav'ns rain odours on you !

Sir And. That youth's a rare courtier ! rain odours ? well.

Vio. My matter hath no voice, lady, but to your own most pregnant and vouchsafed ear.

Sir And. Odours, pregnant, and vouchsafed : I'll get 'em all three ready. Oli. Let the garden door be shut, and leave me to my hearing.

[Exeunt fir Toby, fir Andrew, and Maria.

SCENE III.

Give me your hand, fir.

Vio. My duty, madam, and most humble service.
Oli. What is your name?
Vio. Cesario is your servant's name, fair princess.

Oli. My servant, fir? 'Twas never merry world,
Since lowly feigning was call’d compliment:
You're servant to the duke Orfino, youth.

Vio. And he is yours, and his must needs be yours:
Your servant’s servant is your servant, madam.

Oli. For him, I think not on him: for his thoughts, Would they were blanks, rather than fill’d with me.

Vio, Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts On his behalf.

Oli. O, by your leave, I pray you ;

I bade

I bade you never speak again of him,
But, would

you

undertake another suit,
I'd rather hear you to solicit that
Than musick from the spheres.

Vio. O dearest lady,

Oli. Give me leave, I beseech you: I did fend,
After the last enchantment (you did hear)
A ring in chase of you: so did I abuse
Myself, my servant, and, I fear me, you:
Under your hard construction must I fit,
To force that on you in a shameful cunning,
Which

you

knew none of yours. What might you think?
Have you not set mine honour at the stake,
And baited it with all th’unmuzzled thoughts
Thạt tyrannous heart can think? to your receiving
Enough is shown; a cypress, not a bosom,
Hides my poor heart. So let us hear you speak.

Vio. I pity you.

Oli. That's a degree to love.

Vio. No not a grice: for ’tis a vulgar proof
That very oft we pity enemies.

Oli. Why then, methinks, 'tis time to smile again :
O world, how apt the poor are to be proud!
If one should be a prey, how much the better
To fall before the lion, than the wolf!

[clock firikes.
The clock upbraids me with the waste of time.
Be not afraid, good youth, I will not have you;
And yet when wit and youth are come to harvest,
Your wife is like to reap a proper man:
There lies your way, due west.

Vio. Then westward hoe!
Grace and good disposition attend you !
You'll nothing, madam, to my lord by me?

Oli. Stay : pr’ythee, tell me, what thou think?st of me?
Vio. That

you do think, you are not what you are.
Oli. If I think so, I think the same of you.

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