Clo. The more fool you, Madona, to mourn for your brother's foul being in heav'n. Take away the fool, Gentlemen. Oli. What think you of this fool, Malvolio? doth he not mend? Mal. Yes, and fhall do, till the pangs of death fhake him. Infirmity, that decays the wife, doth ever make better the fool. Clo. God fend you, Sir, a speedy infirmity, for the better increafing your folly! Sir Toby will be fworn that I am no fox; but he will not pafs his word for two pence that you are no fool. Oli. How fay you to that, Malvolio? Mal. I marvel your Ladyfhip takes delight in fuch a barren rascal. I faw him put down the other day with an ordinary fool, that has no more brain than a stone. Look you now, he's out of his guard already; unless you laugh and minifter occafion to him, he is gagg'd. I proteft, I take these wife men that crow fo at these fet kind of fools, no better than the fools' Zanies. Oli. O, you are fick of self-love, Malvolio, and tafte with a diftemper'd appetite. To be generous, guiltlefs, and of free difpofition, is to take thofe things for bird-bolts that you deem cannon-bullets there is no flander in an allowed fool, though he do nothing but rail; nor no railing in a known discreet man, though he do nothing but reprove. Clo. Now, Mercury endue thee with pleafing, for thou fpeak' well of fools! Enter Maria. Mar. Madam, there is at the gate a young gentleman much defires to fpeak with you. Oli. From the Count Orfino, is it? Mar. I know not, Madam; 'tis a fair young man, and well attended. Oli. Who of my people hold him in delay ? Oli. Fetch him off, I pray you; he fpeaks nothing but madman: fie en him! Go you, Malvolio; if it be a fuit from the Count, I am fick, or not at home: what you will, to difmifs it. [Exit Malvolio.] Now, you you fee, Sir, how your fooling grows old, and people diflike it. Clo. Thou haft fpoke for us, Madona, as if thy eldest fon fhould be a fool: whofe fcull jove cram with brains, for here comes one of thy kin has a most weak pia mater! SCENE VIII. Enter Sir Toby. Oli. By mine honour, half drunk. the gate, uncle? Sir Tob. A gentleman. Oli. A gentleman what gentleman ? What is he at Sir To. Tis a gentleman-heir,-A plague o' thefe pickle herring! how now, fot? Clo. Good Sir Toby, Oli. Uncle, uncle, how have you come fo early by this lethargy? Sir To. Letchery! I defy letchery. There's one at the gate, Oli. Ay, marry, what is he? Sir To. Let him be the devil an he will, I care not: give me faith, fay I. Well, its all one. Oli. What's a drunken man like, fool? [Exit. Clo. Like a drown'd man, a fool, and a madman : one draught above heat makes him a fool, the second mads him, and a third drowns him. Oli. Go thou and feek the corner, and let him fit 'my uncle; for he's in the third degree of drink; he's drown'd go, look after him. Clo. He is but mad yet, Madona, and the fool fhall look to the madman. [Exit Clown. Enter. Malvolio. Mal. Madam, yond young fellow fwears he will fpeak with you. I told him you were fick; he takes on him to understand so much and therefore comes to Ipeak with you. I told him you were afleep; he seems to have a foreknowledge of that too, and therefore comes to speak with you. What is to be faid to him, Lady he's fortified against any denial. Oli. Tell him he fhall not speak with me. Mal. He has been told fo; and he fays, he'll ftand at at your door like a fheriff's poft *, and be the fupporter to a bench, but he'll speak with you. Oli. What kind o'man is he? Mal. Why of mankind. Oli. What manner of man? Mal. Of very ill manners; he'll speak with you, will you or no. Oli. Of what perfonage and years is he? Mal. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy; as a squash is before 'tis a peafcod, or a codling when 'tis almost an apple: 'tis with him in ftanding water, between boy and man. He is very well favoured, and he fpeaks very fhrewithly; one would think his mother's milk were scarce out of him. Oli. Let him approach: call in my gentlewoman. Mal. Gentlewoman, my Lady calls. SCENE IX. Enter Maria. [Exit. Oli. Give me my veil: come, throw it o'er my face; We'll once more hear Orfino's embaffy. Enter Viola. Vio. The honourable lady of the house, which is fhe? Oli. Speak to me, I shall answer for her: your will? Vio. Moft radiant, exquifite, and unmatchable beauty I pray you, tell me, if this be the lady of the houfe, for I never faw her. I would be loth to caft away my fpeech; for, befides that it is excellently well penn'd, I have take great pains to con it. Good beauties, let me fuftain no fcorn; I am very comp tible †, even to the least finister ufage. Oli. Whence came you, Sir? Vio. I can fay little more than I have ftudied, and that queftion's out of my part. Good gentle one, give *Heretofore all proclamations by the King, all appointments of the rates of wages by the juftices of peace, and other things of the like rature, were fent, to the fheriff of each county, who was obliged to promulgate them, not only by caufing them to be read in every market-town, but by affixing them to fome convenient place within it; for which purpose great pofts or pillars were erected in each fuch town, and thefe were called fheriff's pofis. Comptible, for ready to call to account. me modeft affurance, if you be the lady of the house, that I may proceed in my speech. Oli. Are you a comedian ? Are Vio. No, my profound heart; and yet by the very fangs of malice, fwear I am not that I play. you the lady of the house? Oli. IfI do not ufurp myself, I am. Vio. Moft certain, if you are fhe, you do ufurp yourfelf; for what is your's to bestow, is not your's to referve: but this is from my commiffion. I will on with my speech in your praise, and then fhew you the heart of my message. Oli. Come to what is important in't: I forgive you the praise. Vio. Alas, I took great pains to ftudy it, and 'tis poetical. Oli. It is the more like to be feign'd. I pray you keep it in. I heard you were faucy at my gates; and I allow'd your approach, rather to wonder at you than to hear you. If you be not mad, be gone; if you have reafon, be brief: 'tis not that time of the moon with me, to make one in so skipping a dialogue. Mar. Will you hoift fail, Sir, here lies your way. Vio. No, good swabber, I am to hull here a little longer. Some mollification for your giant, fweet lady. Oli. Tell me your mind. Vio, I am a meffenger. Oli. Sure you have fome hideous matter to deliver, when the courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak your of fice. in Vio. It alone concerns your ear. I bring no overture of war, no taxation of homage; I hold the olive my hand; my words are as full of peace as matter. Oli. Yet you began rudely. What are you? what would you? Vio. The rudeness that hath appear'd in me, have I learn'd from my entertainment. What I am and what I would, are as fecret as maiden-head; to your ears, divinity; to any other's, profanation. Oli. Give us the place alone. [Exit Maria.] We will hear this divinity. Now, Sir, what is your text? Vio. Moft fweet lady, * VOL. III. N Oli. Oli. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be faid of it. Where lies your text? Vio. In Orfino's bofom. Oli. In his bofom? in what chapter of his bofom? Vio. To answer by the method, in the first of his heart. Oli. O, I have read it; it is herefy. Have you no more to say? Vio. Good Madam, let me fee your face. Oli. Have you any commiffion from your Lord to negotiate with my face? you are now out of your text; but we will draw the curtain, and show you the picture. Look you, Sir, fuch a one I wear this present; is't not well done? [Unveiling: Vio. Excellently done, if God did all. Oli. 'Tis in grain, Sir; 'twill endure wind and weather. Vio. 'Tis beauty truly blent, whofe red and white If you would lead the fe graces to the grave, Oli. O, Sir, I will not be fo hard-hearted: I will give out divers schedules of my beauty. It fhall be inventoried, and every particle and utenfil labell'd to my will. As, Item, Two lips indifferent red. Item, Two gray eyes, with lids to them. Item, one neck, one chin, and fo forth. Were you fent hither to praise me? Vio. I fee you what you are; you are too proud; But if you were the devil, you are fair. My lord and mafter loves you: O, fuch love Oli. How does he love me? Vio. With adorations, with fertile tears, With groans that thunder love, with fighs of fire. Oli. Your lord does know my mind, I cannot love him; Yet I fuppofe him virtuous, know him noble, A |