DUKE. Oh, she that hath a heart of that fine frame,

To 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!

Away before me to sweet beds of flowers;

Love-thoughts lie rich, when canopied with bowers.

[Exeunt R. I E.

SCENE SECOND.-The Sea-coast.

Enter VIOLA, ROBERTO, and two Sailors, L. U. E., carrying a Trunk.

VIO.

What country, friends, is this?

ROB. This is 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? ROB. It is perchance that you yourself were saved. Vio. O, my poor brother! and so, perchance, may he be.

ROB. True, madam: and, to comfort you with chance, Assure yourself, after our ship did split,

When you, and that 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. Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope,
Whereto thy speech serves for authority,

The like of him. Know'st thou this country?

ROB. Ay, madam, well; for I was bred and born Not three hours' travel from this very place.

VIO. Who governs here?

ROB. A noble duke, in nature

As in his name.

VIO. Orsino!-I have heard my father name him: He was a bachelor then.

ROB. And so is now,

Or was so very late; for but a month

Ago I went from hence; and then 'twas fresh
In murmur, as, you know what great ones do
The less will prattle of, that he did seek

The love of fair Olivia.

VIO. What is she?

ROB. 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 love.
They say, she hath abjured the company

And sight of men.

VIO. Oh, 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!

ROB. That were hard to compass;
Because she will admit of no kind of suit,
No, not the duke's.

VIO. There is a fair behavior in thee, captain,
And, I believe, thou hast a mind that suits
With this thy fair and outward character.
I pray thee, and I'll pay thee bounteously,
Conceal me what I am; and be my aid
For such disguise as, haply, shall become
The form of my intent. I'll serve this duke;
Thou shalt present me as a page unto 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.

ROB. Be you his page, and I your mute will be;
When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see!
VIO.

I thank thee:-Lead me on. [Exeunt L. I F..

SCENE THIRD.-A Garden.

Enter MARIA and SIR TOBY BELCH, R.

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 niece, my lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours.

SIR TO. Why, let her except before excepted.

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 have brought in here to be her wooer. SIR TO. Who? Sir Andrew Aguecheek?

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 violde-gambo, and hath all the good gifts of nature.

MAR. He hath, indeed, all most 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 gust he hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought among the prudent, he would quickly have the gift of a grave.

SIR TO. By this hand, they are scoundrels and substractors that say so of him. Who are they?

MAR. They add, moreover, that he's drunk nightly in your company.

SIR TO. With drinking healths to my niece! I'll drink to her as long as there is a passage in my throat, and drink to Illyria! he's a coward and a coystril, that will not drink to my niece, till his brains turn o' the toe like a parish top!--See, here comes Sir Andrew Agueface. [Crosses to C.

SIR AN. (Without R.) Sir Toby Belch! how now, Sir Toby Belch!

SIR TO.

SIR AN.

Sweet Sir Andrew!

Enter SIR ANDREW, R. 2 E.
Bless you, fair shrew!

MAR. And you, too, sir.

SIR TO.

SIR AN.

SIR TO.

Accost, Sir Andrew, accost!
What's that?

My niece's chambermaid.

SIR AN. (Crosses to c.) Good Mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance.

MAR.

SIR AN.

My name is Mary, sir.

Good Mistress Mary Accost

SIR TO. You mistake, knight; accost is, front her, board her, woo her, assail her.

SIR AN. By my troth, I would not undertake her in this company. Is that the meaning of accost? MAR. Fare you well, gentlemen.

[Crosses to L. SIR TO. An thou let part so, Sir Andrew, 'twould thou might'st never draw sword again.

SIR AN. An you part so, mistress, I would I might never draw sword again! Fair lady, do you think you have fools in hand?

MAR. Sir, I have not you by the hand.

SIR AN. Marry, but you shall have; and here's my hand.

MAR. (Takes his hand.) Now, sir, thought is tree: I pray you bring your hand to the buttery-bar, and let it drink.

SIR AN. Wherefore, sweetheart? what's your metaphor?

MAR. It's dry, sir.

SIR AN. Why, I think so; I am not such an ass, but I can keep my hand dry. But what's your jest? MAR. A dry jest, sir.

SIR AN. Are you full of them?

MAR. Ay, sir; I have them at my fingers' ends; marry, (lets go his hand,) now I let go your hand, I am barren. [Exit L. I E. SIR TO. Oh, knight, thou lack'st a cup of canary: when did I see thee so put down?

SIR AN. Never in your life, I think; unless you see canary put me down: methinks, sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian, or an ordinary man has: but I am a great eater of beef, and, I believe, that does harm to my wit.

SIR TO. No question.

SIR AN. An I thought that, I'd forswear it. I'll ride home to-morrow, Sir Toby.

SIR TO. Pourquoy, my dear knight?

SIR AN. What is pourquoy? do, or not do? I would I had bestowed that time in the tongues that I have in fencing, dancing, and bear-bating: oh, had I but followed the arts!

SIR TO. Then hadst thou had an excellent head of hair.

SIR AN.

SIR TO.

Why, would that have mended my hair? Past question; for, thou seest, it will not curl by nature.

SIR AN. But it becomes me well enough, does 't not? SIR TO. Excellent: it hangs like flax on a distaff; and I hope to see a housewife take thee between her legs, and spin it off.

SIR AN. 'Faith, I'll home to-morrow, Sir Toby: your niece will not be seen; or, if she be, it's four to one she'll none of me: the duke himself, here hard by, woos her.

SIR TO. She'll none o' the duke; she'll not match above her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit; I have heard her swear it. Tut, there's life in 't, man.

SIR AN. I'll stay a month longer. I am a fellow o' the strangest mind i' the world; I delight in masques and revels sometimes altogether.

SIR TO. Art thou good at these kick-shaws, knight? SIR AN. As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be under the degree of my betters; and yet I'll not compare with an old man.

SIR TO. What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight? SIR AN. 'Faith, I can cut a caper.

SIR TO. SIR AN. And, I think, I have the back-trick simply as strong as any man in Illyria.

And I can cut the mutton to 't.

SIR TO. Wherefore are these things hid? wherefore have these gifts a curtain before them? why dost thou not go to church in a galliard, and come home in a coranto? My very walk should be a jig. What dost thou mean? is it a world to hide virtues in!—I did think, by the excellent constitution of thy leg, it was formed under the star of a galliard.