O time, thou must untangle this, not I;
It is too hard a knot for me to untie.

SCENE III. A Room in OLIVIA's House.
Enter Sir TOBY BELCH, and Sir ANDREW
AGUE-CHEEK.

[Exit.

SIR TO. Approach, fir Andrew: not to be a-bed after midnight, is to be up betimes; and diluculo furgere, thou know'ft,

SIR AND. Nay, by my troth, I know not: but I know, to be up late, is to be up late.

SIR TO. A falfe conclufion; I hate it as an unfill'd can: To be up after midnight, and to go to bed then, is early; so that, to go to bed after midnight, is to go to bed betimes. Do not our lives confift of the four elements?

SIR AND. 'Faith, fo they fay; but, I think, it rather confifts of eating and drinking.

SIR TO. Thou art a fcholar; let us therefore eat and drink.—Marian, I say!. -a ftoop of wine!

Enter CLOWN.

SIR AND. Here comes the fool, i'faith.

CLO. How now, my hearts? Did you never see the picture of we three?

SIR TO. Welcome, afs. Now let's have a catch.

SIR AND. By my troth, the fool has an excellent breast. I had rather than forty fhillings I had fuch a leg; and so sweet a breath to fing, as the fool has. In footh, thou waft in very gracious fooling last night, when thou spokeft of Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians paffing the equinoctial of Queubus; 'twas very good, i'faith. I fent thee fix-pence for thy leman; Hadft it?

Czo. I did impeticos thy gratillity; for Malvolio's nofe

is no whipftock: My lady has a white hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses.

ŞIR AND. Excellent! Why, this is the best fooling, when all is done. Now, a fong.

SIR TO. Come on; there is fix-pence for you: let's have a fong.

SIR AND. There's a teftril of me too: if one knight give a

CLÓ. Would you have a love-fong, ora fong of good life?
SIR TO. A love-fong, a love-fong.

SIR AND. Ay, ay; I care not for good life.
SONG.

CLO. O mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O, ftay and hear; your true love's coming,
That can fing both high and low;
Trip no further, pretty fweeting;
Journeys end in lovers' meeting,
Every wife man's fon doth know.
SIR AND. Excellent good, i'faith!
SIR To. Good, good.

CLO. What is love? 'tis not hereafter;
Prefent mirth bath present laughter;
What's to come, is ftill unfure:

In delay there lies no plenty;

Then come kiss me, fweet and twenty,

Youth's a ftuff will not endure.

SIR AND. A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight.

SIR TO. A contagious breath.

SIR AND. Very fweet and contagious, i'faith.

SIR TO. To hear by the nofe, it is dulcet in contagion. But fhall we make the welkin dance indeed?. Shall we roufe the night-owl in a catch, that will draw three fouls out of one weaver? fhall we do that?

SIR AND. An you love me, let's do't: I am dog at a catch.

CLO. By'r lady, fir, and fome dogs will catch well.

SIR AND. Moft certain : let our catch be, Thou knave. CLO. Hold thy peace, thou knave, knight! I fhall be conftrain'd in't to call thee knave, knight.

SIR AND. 'Tis not the first time I have constrain❜d one to call me knave. Begin, fool; it begins, Hold thy peace. CLO. I fhall never begin, if I hold my peace.

SIR AND. Good, i'faith! Come, begin.

Enter MARIA.

[They fing a Catch.

MAR. What a catterwauling do you keep here! If my lady have not call'd up her fteward, Malvolio, and bid him turn you out of doors, never trust me.

Mal

SIR TO. My lady's a Cataian, we are politicians; volio's a Peg-a-Ramfey, and Three merry men be we. Am not I confanguineous? am I not of her blood? Tillyvalley lady! There dwelt a man in Babylon, lady, lady!

[Singing. CLO. Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable fooling. SIR AND. Ay, he does well enough, if he be difpos'd, and fo do I too; he does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural.

SIR TO. O, the twelfth day of December,—
MAR. For the love o'God, peace.

Enter MALVOLIO.

[Singing.

MAL. My masters, are you mad? or what are you? Have you no wit, manners, nor honefty, but to gabble like tinkers at this time of night? Do ye make an alehouse of my lady's house, that ye fqueak out your coziers' catches without any mitigation or remorfe of voice? Is there no respect of place, perfons, nor time, in you?

SIR TO. We did keep time, fir, in our catches, Sneck up!

MAL. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My lady bade me tell you, that, though she harbours you as her kinsman, she's nothing allied to your disorders. If you can separate yourself and your misdemeanors, you are welcome to the houfe; if not, an it would please you to take leave of her, fhe is very willing to bid you farewel.

SIR TO. Farewel, dear heart, fince I must needs be
MAL. Nay, good fir Toby.

CLO. His eyes do fhew his 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?

CLO. What an if you do?

SIR To. Shall I bid him go, and fpare not?

CLO. O no, no, no, no, you dare not.

gone.

[Singing.

SIR To. Out o'time? fir, ye lie.-Art any more than a fteward? Doft thou think, because thou art virtuous, there fhall be no more cakes and ale?

CLO. Yes, by Saint Anne; and ginger fhall be hot i'the mouth too.

SIR TO. Thou'rt i'the right.-Go, fir, rub your chain with crums :-A ftoop 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; the shall know of it, by this hand. [Exit.

MAR. Go fhake 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 promife 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 fir Toby, be patient for to-night; fince the youth of the count's was to-day with my lady, fhe is much out of quiet. For monfieur 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 lie ftraight in my bed: I know, I can do it.

SIR TO. Poffefs us, poffefs us; tell us fomething of him. MAR. Marry, fir, fometimes he is a kind of Puritan. SIR AND. O, if I thought that, I'd beat him like a dog. SIR TO. What, for being a Puritan? thy exquifite reafon, dear knight?

SIR AND. I have no exquifite reafon for't, but I have reafon good enough.

MAR. The devil a Puritan that he is, or any thing conftantly but a time-pleaser; an affection'd afs, that cons state without book, and utters it by great fwarths: the best perfuaded of himself, fo cramm'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 caufe 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 most feelingly perfonated: I can write very like my lady, your niece; on a forgotten matter we can hardly make diftinction of our hands.