Vio. To answer by the method,1 in the first of his heart.

Oli. O, I have read it; it is heresy. Have you no more to say?

Vio. Good madam, let me see your face.

Oli. Have you any commission 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, such a one as I was this present: 2 is 't not well done?

[unveiling.

Vio. Excellently done, if God did all. Oli. 'Tis in grain, sir; 'twill endure wind and weather.

3

Vio. "Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and

white

Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on.
Lady, you are the cruel'st she alive,

If

you will lead these graces to the grave,

And leave the world no copy.

Oli. O, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted; I will give out divers schedules of my beauty. It shall be inventoried, and every particle and utensil labelled to my will: as, item, two lips indifferent red; item, two gray eyes, with lids to them; item, one neck, one chin, and so forth. Were you sent hither to praise me ?

Vio. I see you what you are: you are too proud; But, if you were the devil, you are fair.

1 Methodically. 2 Probably, presents, i. e. represents. Blended, mixed together.

My lord and master loves you. O, such love
Could be but recompensed, though you were crown'd
The nonpareil of beauty!

Oli.

How does he love me?

Vio. With adorations, with fertile tears,

With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire. Oli. Your lord does know my mind; I cannot lov

him.

Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble,
Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth;
In voices well divulged,1 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,
your denial I would find no sense;

In

I would not understand it.

Oli.

Why, what would you?

Vio. Make me a willow cabin 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;
Holla your name to the reverberate 3 hills,
And make the babbling gossip of the air
Cry out, Olivia! O, you should not rest
Between the elements of air and earth,
But
you should pity me.

Well spoken of by the world. • Echoing.

2 Cantos, verses.

Oli. You might do much. What is your parent

age?

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

Oli.

Get you to your lord;

I cannot love him: let him send no more;

Unless, perchance, you come to me again,
To tell me how he takes it.

I thank you for your pains:
Vio. I am no fee'd post,1

My master, not myself, lacks

Fare you well: spend this for me. lady; keep your purse: recompense.

Love make his heart of flint, that you shall love;
And let your fervor, like my master's, be
Placed in contempt! Farewell, fair cruelty. [Exit.
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 now?
Even so quickly may one catch the plague?
Methinks, I feel this youth's perfections,

With an invisible and subtile stealth,

To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be.-
What, ho, Malvolio !—

Oli. Run after that same peevish messenger, The county's1 man: he left this ring behind him, Would I, or not: tell him, I'll none of it. Desire him not to flatter with his lord,

[Exit.

Nor hold him up with hopes; I am not for him :
If that the youth will come this way to-morrow,
I'll give him 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 for my mind.
Fate, show thy force. Ourselves we do not owe: 2

What is decreed, must be; and be this so!

[Exit.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

The sea-coast.

Enter ANTONIO and SEBASTIAN.

Ant. Will you stay no longer? nor 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.

1 The count's.

2 Possess; i. e. we are not our own masters.

Ant. Let me yet know of you, whither you are bound.

1

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 1 myself. You must know of me then, Antonio, my name is Sebastian, which I called Rodorigo; 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,2 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. O, good Antonio, forgive me your trouble. Ant. If you will not murder me for my love, let me be your servant.

1 Reveal.

SHAK.

2 With such esteem and wonder.

IV.

C