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particle, and utensil, labelled to my will; as, item, two lips indifferent red; item, two grey eyes with lids to them ; item, one neck, one chin, and so forth. Were you sent hither to praise me?

Vio. I see you wbat you are: you are too proud;
But, if you were the devil, you are fair.
My lord and master loves you: 0! such love
Could be but recompens'd, though you were crown'd
The nonpareil of beauty!

How does he love me?
Vio. With adorations, fertile tears,
With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire.

Oli. Your lord does know my mind; I cannot love him :
Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him poble,
Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth;
In voices well divulg’d, free, learn'd, and valiant,
And in dimension, and the shape of nature,
A gracious person; but yet I cannot love him.
He might have took his answer long ago.

Vio. If I did love you in my master's flame,
With such a suffering, such a deadly life,
In your denial I would find no sense:
I would not understand it.

Why, what would you?
Vio. Make me a willow cabio at your gate,
And call upon my soul within the house;
Write loyal cantons of contemned love,
And sing them loud even in the dead of night;
Halloo your pame to the reverberate hills,
And make the babbling gossip of the air
Cry out, Olivia! 0! you should not rest
Between the elements of air and earth,
But you should pity me.

Öli. You might do much.. What is your parentage?

Vio. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well:
I am a gentleman.

Get you

your lord :

I cannot love him. Let him send no more,
Upless, perchance, you come to me again,
To tell me how he takes it. Fare you well:
I thank you for your pains. Spend this for me.

Vio. I am no fee'd post, lady; keep your purse:
My master, not myself, lacks recompense.
Love make his heart of flint that you shall love,
And let your fervour, like my master's, be
Plac'd in contempt! Farewell, fair cruelty.

Oli. What is your parentage ?
“Above my fortunes, yet my state is well:
I am a gentleman.” — I'll be sworn thou art:
Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit,
Do give thee five-fold blazon. -- Not too fast: - soft! soft!
Unless the master were the man. How pow?
Even so quickly may one catch the plague.
Melbinks, I feel this youth's perfections,
With an invisible and subtle stealth,
To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be.
What, ho! Malvolio.

Re-enter MALVOLIO.

Here, Madam, at your service.
Oli. Run after that same peevish messenger,
The county's man: he left this ring behind him,
Would I, or not: tell him, I'll pone of it.
Desire him not to flatter with his lord,
Nor hold him up with hopes: I am not for him.
If that the youth will come this way to-morrow,
I'll give bim reasons for't. Hie thee, Malvolio.
Mal. Madam, I will.

Oli. I do I know not what, and fear to find
Mine eye too great a flatterer før my mind.
Fate, show thy force: ourselves we do not owe;
What is decreed must be, and be this so!


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you are bound.

Enter ANTONIO and SEBASTIAN. Ant. Will you stay no longer ? por will you not, that I go with you?

Seb. By your patience, no. My stars shine darkly over me: the malignancy of my fate might, perhaps, distemper yours; therefore, I shall crave of you your leave, that I may bear my evils alone. It were a bad recompense for your love, to lay any of them on you.

Ant. Let me yet know of you, whither

Seb. No, 'sooth, Sir. My determinate voyage is mere extravagancy; but I perceive in you so excellent a touch of modesty, that you will not extort from me what I am willing to keep in. therefore, it charges me in manners the rather to express myself. You must know of me then, Antonio, my name is Sebastian, which I called Roderigo. My father was that Sebastian of Messaline, whom, I know, you have heard of: he left behind him, myself, and a sister, both born in an hour. If the heavens had been pleased, would we had so ended! but, you, Sir, altered that; for some hour before you took me from the breach of the sea was my sister drowned.

Ant. Alas, the day!

Seb. A lady, Sir, though it was said she much resembled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful: but, though I could not with such estimable wonder overfar believe that, yet thus far I will boldly publish her she bore a mind that envy could not but call fair. She is drowned already, Sir, with salt water, though I seem to drown her remembrance again with more.

Ant. Pardon me, Sir, your bad entertainment.
Seb. 0, good Antonio! forgive me your trouble.

Ant. If you will not murder me for my love, let me be your servant.

Seb. If you will not undo what you have done, that is, kill him whom you have recovered, desire it not. Fare ye well at once :

my bosom is full of kindness; and I am yet so near the manners of my mother, that upon the least occasion more, mine eyes will tell tales of me. I am bound to the count Orsino's court: farewell.

[Exit. Ant. The gentleness of all the gods go with thee! I have many enemies in Orsino's court, Else would I very shortly see thee there; But, come what may, I do adore thee so, That danger shall seem sport, and I will go.



A Street.

Enter VIOLA; MALVOLIO following.
Mal. Were not you even now with the countess Olivia ?

Vio. Even now, Sir: on a moderate pace I have since arrived but hither.

Mal. She returns this ring to you, Sir: you might have saved me my pains, to have taken it away yourself. She adds, moreover, that you should put your lord into a desperate assurance she will none of him. And one thing more; that you be never so hardy to come again in his affairs, unless it be to report your lord's taking of this: receive it so.

Vio. She took the ring of me! — I'll done of it.

Mal. Come, Sir; you peevishly threw it to her, and her will is, it should be so returned: if it be worth stooping for, there it lies in your eye; if not, be it his that finds it.

[Exit. Vio. I left no ring with her: what means this lady? Fotune forbid my outside bave not charm'd her! She made good view of me; indeed, so much, That, methought, her eyes had lost her tongue, For she did speak in starts distractedly. She loves me, sure: the cunning of her passion Invites me in this churlish messenger. None of my lord's ring? why, he sent her none. I am the man:- if it be so, as 't is, Poor lady, she were better love a dream.

Disguise, I see, thou art a wickedness,
Wherein the pregnant enemy does much.
How easy is it, for the proper false
In women's waxen hearts to set their forms!
Alas! our frailty is the cause, not we,
For such as we are made, if such we be.
How will this fadge? My master loves her dearly;
And I, poor monster, fond as much on him;
And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me.
What will become of this? As I am man,
My state is desperate for my master's love;
As I am woman, now alas the day!
What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe.
O time! thou must untangle this, not I;
It is too hard a knot for me t'untie.


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 know'st,

Sir And. Nay, by my troth, I know not; but I koow, 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. Do not our lives consist of the four elements?

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

Sir To. Thou art a scholar; let us therefore eat and drink. Marian, I say! - a stoop of wide!

Enter Clown.
Sir And. Here comes the fool, i' faith.

Clo. How now, my hearts! Did you never see the picture of we three? Sir To. Welcome, ass. Now let's have a catch.

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