LITMIR.BIZ

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what news from my Olivia? – speak.

      Val. So please my lord, I might not be admitted;

      But from her handmaid do return this answer;

      The element itself, till seven years heat,

      Shall not behold her face at ample view;

      But, like a cloistress, she will veiled walk,

      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.

      Duke. O, 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 kill'd 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.

      SCENE III

      A Room in Olivia's House.

      Enter Maria and Sir Toby Belch.

      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 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. Fye, that you'll say so! he plays o' the viol-de-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 band, they are scoundrels, and substractors, that say so of him. Who are they?

      Mar. They that add, moreover, 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 in 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 Ague-face.

      [Sir Andrew Ague-cheek, without.

      Sir And. Sir Toby Belch! how now, Sir Toby Belch?

      Sir To. Sweet Sir Andrew!

      Enter Sir Andrew.

      Sir And. Bless you, fair shrew.

      Mar. And you too, sir.

      Sir To. Accost, Sir Andrew, accost.

      Sir And. What's that?

      Sir To. My niece's chamber-maid.

      Sir And. Good Mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance.

      Mar. My name is Mary, sir.

      Sir And. Good Mistress Mary Accost, —

      Sir To. You mistake, knight; accost, is, front her, board her, woo her, assail her.

      Sir And. By my troth, I would not undertake her in this company. Is that the meaning of accost?

      Mar. Fare you well, gentlemen.

      Sir To. An thou let part so, Sir Andrew, 'would thou might'st never draw sword again.

      Sir And. 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 And. Marry, but you shall have; and here's my hand.

      Mar. [Takes his hand.] Now, sir, thought is free: I pray you, bring your hand to the buttery-bar, and let it drink.

      Sir And. Wherefore, sweet-heart? what's your metaphor?

      Mar. It's dry, sir.

      Sir And. 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 And. 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 Maria.

      Sir To. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of canary: When did I see thee so put down?

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

      Sir To. Pourquoy, my dear knight?

      Sir And. What is pourquoy? do, or not do? I would I had bestow'd that time in the tongues, that I have in fencing, dancing, and bear-baiting: O, had I but follow'd the arts!

      Sir To. Then hadst thou had an excellent head of hair.

      Sir And. Why, would that have mended my hair?

      Sir To. Past question; for, thou seest, it will not curl by nature.

      Sir And. 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 And. '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, wooes 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 And. 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 And. 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 And. 'Faith, I can cut a caper.

      Sir To. And I can cut the mutton to't.

      Sir And. And, I think,

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