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And water once a day her chamber 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.

To

Duke. O, she that hath a heart of that fine frame

pay this debt of love but to a brother,

How will she love, when the rich golden shaft
Hath killed the flock of all affections else

That live in her; when liver, brain, and heart,
These sovereign thrones, are all supplied and

filled

Her sweet perfections-with one self king !—

Away before me to sweet beds of flowers:
Love-thoughts lie rich when canopied with bowers.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.-The Sea-coast.

Enter VIOLA, Captain, and Sailors.

Vio. What country, friends, is this?

Cap.

Illyria, lady.

Vio. And what should I do in Illyria?

My brother he is in Elysium.

Perchance, he is not drowned-what think you, sailors?

Cap. It is perchance that you yourself were

saved.

Vio. O my poor brother! and so, perchance, may he be.

Cap. True, madam: and, to comfort you with chance,

Assure yourself, after your ship did split,

When you, and this poor number saved with you, Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother, Most provident in peril, bind himself—

Courage and hope both teaching him the practice---
To a strong mast that lived upon the sea;

Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back,
I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves
So long as I could see.

Vio.

For saying so, there's gold.

Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope—
Whereto thy speech serves for authority--
The like of him. Know'st 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 name.
Vio. What is his name?

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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 't was fresh in murmur-as, you know, What great ones do, the less will prattle of That he did seek the love of fair Olivia,

Tio. What's she?

Cap. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count That died some twelvemonth since, then leaving her

In the protection of his son, her brother,

Who shortly also died; for whose dear loss,
They say, she hath abjured the company

And sight of men.

Vio.

O, that I served that lady,

And might not be delivered 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 fair behaviour in thee, captain; And though that nature with a beauteous wall Doth cft close-in pollution, yet of thee

I will believe, thou hast a mind that suits
With this thy fair and outward character.

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I prithee,—and I'll pay thee bounteously,

Conceal me what I

am;

and be my

aid

For such disguise as haply shall become

I'll serve this duke:

The form of my intent.
Thou shalt present me as an eunuch to him :
It may be worth thy pains; for I can sing,
And speak to him in many sorts of music,
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. Vio. I thank thee. Lead me on.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.-A Room in OLIVIA'S House.

Enter Sir TOBY BELCH and MARIA.

Sir To. What a plague means my niece, to take the death of her brother thus? I am sure care's an enemy to life.

Mar. By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o' nights: your cousin, my lady, takes great

11 1

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 clothes are good enough to drink in; and so be these boots too,-an 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 Sir Andrew Ague-cheek?

Mar. Ay, he.

Sir To. He's as tall a man as any 's in Illyria. Mar. What's that to the 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' the viol-de-gamboys, 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 quarreller ; and, but that he hath the gift of a coward to allay the cust ha bath in

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