After the last enchantment you did here,
A ring in chase of you; fo did I abufe
Myself, my fervant, and, I fear me, you:
Under your hard conftruction 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 fet mine honour at the stake,

And baited it with all the unmuzzled thoughts

That tyrannous heart can think? To one of your receiving Enough is fhewn; a cyprus, not a bosom,

Hides my poor heart: So let me hear you speak.

V10. I pity you.

OLI. That's a degree to love.

V10. No, not a grife; 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!

[Clock Strikes.

If one should be a prey, how much the better
To fall before the lion, than the wolf?
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 is come to harvest,
Your wife is like to reap a proper man:
There lies you way, due west.

V10. Then weftward-hoe:

Grace, and good difpofition 'tend your ladyship!
You'll nothing, madam, to my lord by me?

OLI. Stay :

I pr'ythee, tell me, what thou think'st of me.

V10. That you do think, you are not what you are.
OLI. If I think fo, I think the same of you.
V10. Then think you right; I am not what I am.
OLI. I would, you were as I would have you be!

V10. Would it be better, madam, than I am, I wish it 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 reafon, can my paffion hide.
Do not extort thy reasons from this clause,
For, that I woo, thou therefore haft no cause :
But, rather, reafon thus with reafon fetter:
Love fought is good, but given unfought, is better.
Vio. By innocence I swear, 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, fave I alone.

And fo adieu, good madam; never more
Will I my master's tears to you deplore.

OLI. Yet come again: for thou, perhaps, may'ft move That heart, which now abhors, to like his love. [Exeunt.

SCENE II. A Room in OLIVIA'S Houfe.

Enter Sir TOBY BELCH, Sir ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK, and FABIAN.

SIR AND. No, faith, I'll not ftay a jot longer. SIR TO. Thy reason, dear venom, give thy reason. FAB. You must needs yield your reafon, fir Andrew. SIR AND. Marry, I faw your niece do more favours to the count's ferving man, than ever she bestowed upon me; I faw't i'the orchard.

SIR TO. Did she see 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 will prove it legitimate, fir, upon the oaths of judgement and reason.

SIR TO. And they have been grand jury-men, fince before Noah was a failor.

FAB. She did show 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 accofted her; and with fome excellent jefts, fire-new from the mint, you fhould 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 failed 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 laudable attempt, either of valour, or policy.

SIR AND. And't be any way, it must be with valour ; for policy I hate: I had as lief be a Brownift, as a politician.

SIR TO. Why then, build me thy fortunes upon the bafis of valour. Challenge me the count's youth to fight with him; hurt him in eleven places; my niece fhall take note of it: and affure thyfelf, there is no lovebroker in the world can more prevail in man's commendation with woman, 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, fo it be eloquent, and full of invention: taunt him with the licence of ink: if thou thou'st him fome thrice, it shall not be amiss; 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, set 'em down; go, about it. Let there be gall enough in thy ink; though thou write with a goofe-pen, no matter: About it.

SIR AND. Where fhall I find you?

SIR TO. We'll call thee at the cubiculo: Go.

[Exit Sir ANDREW. fir Toby.

FAB. This is a dear manakin to you,

SIR TO. I have been dear to him, lad; fome two thoufand ftrong, or fo.

FAB. We shall have a rare letter from him: but you'll not deliver it.

SIR TO. Never truft me then; and by all means stir on the youth to an anfwer. I think, oxen and wainropes cannot hale them together. For Andrew, if he were open'd, and you find fo much blood in his liver as will clog the foot of a flea, I'll eat the rest of the anatomy. FAB. And his oppofite, the youth, bears in his vifage no great prefage of cruelty.

Enter MARIA.

SIR TO. Look, where the youngest wren of nine comes. MAR. If you defire the spleen, and will laugh yourfelves into stitches, follow me: yon' 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 fuch impoffible paffages of groffness. He's in yellow ftockings.

SIR TO. And cross-garter'd?

MAR. Most villainously; like a pedant that keeps

school i'the church. I have dogg'd him, like his murderer: He does obey every point of the letter that I dropp'd to betray him. He does fmile his face into more lines, than are in the new map, with the augmentation of the Indies: you have not seen such a thing as 'tis; I can hardly forbear hurling things at him. I know, my lady will strike him; if she do, he'll smile, and take't for a great favour.

SIR TO. Come, bring us, bring us where he is. [Exeunt.

SCENE III. A Street.

Enter ANTONIO and SEBASTIAN.

SEB. I 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 spur me forth;
And not all love to see you, (though fo much,
As might have drawn one to a longer voyage),
But jealoufy what might befall your travel,
Being skillefs 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 purfuit.

SEB. My kind Antonio,

I can no other answer make, but, thanks,
And thanks, and ever thanks: Often 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 reliques of this town?

ANT. To-morrow, fir; beft, firft, go see your lodging.
VOL. I.

T