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

Enter Sir TOBY BELCH and Sir ANDREW AGUE

CHEEK.

Sir To. Approach, Sir Andrew: not to be a-bed after midnight is to be up betimes; and diluculo surgere, thou knowest,—

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

Sir To. A false conclusion: I hate it as an unfilled 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. Does not our life consist of the four elements?

Sir And. Faith, so they say; but I think, it rather consists of eating and drinking.

Sir To. Thou 'rt a scholar: let us therefore eat and drink.-Maria, I say!—a stoop of wine! Sir And. Here comes the fool, i̇' faith.

Enter Clown.

Clo. How now, my hearts! the picture of We Three?

Sir To. Welcome, ass.
Sir And. By my troth

Did you never see

Now let's have a catch. the fo 11

breast. I had rather than forty shillings I had such a leg, and so sweet a breath to sing, as the fool has. In sooth, thou wast in very gracious fooling last night when thou spokest of Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians passing the equinoctial of Queubus: 't was very good, i' faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy leman: hadst it?

Clo. I did impeticos thy gratillity; for Malvolio's nose is no whipstock; my lady has a white hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses.

Sir And. Excellent! Why, this is the best fooling, when all is done. Now, a song.

Sir To. Come on; there is sixpence for you: let's have a song.

Sir And. There's a testril of me too: if one knight give

a

Clo. Would you have a love-song, or a song of good life?

Sir To. A love-song, a love-song.

Sir And. Ay, ay; I care not for good life.

SONG,

Clo. O mistress mine! where are you roaming? O, stay and hear; your true love's coming, That cam sing both high and loan:

Journeys end in lovers' meeting,
Every wise man's son doth know.
Sir And. Excellent good, i' faith.
Sir To. Good, good.

Clo.

What is love? 't is not hereafter;
Present mirth hath present laughter;

What's to come is still unsure:
In delay there lies no plenty;

Then come kiss me, sweet-and-twenty,

Youth's a stuff will not endure.

Sir And. A mellifluous voice, as I am true

knight.

Sir To. A contagious breath.

Sir And. Very sweet and contagious, i̇' faith.

Sir To. To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion. But shall we make the welkin dance indeed? Shall we rouse the night-owl in a catch that will draw three souls out of one weaver shall we do that?

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

Clo. By 'r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well.

Sir And. Most certain. Let our catch be, Thou knave.

70

TWELFTH-NIGHT.

shall be constrained in 't to call thee knave,

knight.

Sir And. 'T is not the first time I have con

strained one to call me knave.

begins, Hold thy peace.

Begin, fool: it

Clo. I shall never begin, if I hold my peace.
Sir And. Good, i' faith. Come, begin.

[They sing the catch.

Enter MARIA.

Mar. What a caterwauling do you keep here! If my lady have not called up her steward Malvolio, and bid him turn you out of doors, never trust me. Sir To. My lady's a Cataian; we are politicians; Malvolio's a Peg-a-Ramsey, and Three Am not I consanguineous? am merry men be we. I not of her blood? Tilly vally, lady! [Sings.} There dwelt a man in Babylon, lady, lady!

Clo. Beshrew me, the knight's in ad mirable fooling.

Sir And. Ay, he does well enough, if he be disposed, and so do I too: he does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural.

Sir To. [Sings.]

[Sings.]

0, the

O, the twelfth day of

Enter MALVOLIO.

Mal. My masters, are you mad? or what are you? Have you no wit, manners, nor honesty, but to gabble like tinkers at this time of night? Do ye make an ale-house of my lady's house, that ye squeak out your coziers' catches without any mitigation or remorse of voice? Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time, in you?

Sir To. We did keep time, sir, in our catches. Snick-up!

My

Mal. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. 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 misdemeanours, you are welcome to the house; if not, an it would please you to take leave of her, she is very willing to bid you farewell.

Sir To. Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs

be gone.

Mar. Nay, good Sir Toby.

Clo. His eyes do show, his days are almost done. Mal. Is 't even so?

Sir To. But I will never die.

Clo. Sir Toby, there you lie.

Mal. This is much credit to you.

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