Introductory matter

PRELIMINARY REMARKS.

There is great reason to believe, that the serious part of this Comedy is founded on some old translation of the seventh history in the fourth volume of Belleforest's Histoires Tragiques. Belleforest took the story, as usual, from Bandello. The comic scenes appear to have been entirely the production of Shakspeare. It is not impossible, however, that the circumstances of the Duke sending his Page to plead his cause with the Lady, and of the Lady's falling in love with the Page, &c. might be borrowed from the Fifth Eglog of Barnaby Googe, published with his other original Poems in 1563:

Thus also concludes the first scene of the third act of the play before us:

“And so adieu, good madam; never more
“Will I my master's tears to you deplore,” &c.

I offer no apology for the length of the foregoing extract, the book from which it is taken, being so uncommon, that only one copy, except that in my own possession, has hitherto occurred. Even Dr. Farmer, the late Rev. T. Warton, Mr. Reed, and Mr. Malone, were unacquainted with this Collection of Gooeg's Poetry. Steevens.

Thus far Mr. Steevens. By the kindness of my friend, Mr. Heber, the present possessor of the very rare book which has been quoted, I am enabled to add the remainder of Barnaby Googe's poem, from which it will appear that if there be any resemblance at all between the story of his Egloge and the fable of Twelfth-Night, it is very remote indeed:

“And thou o Traytour vyle,
  “and enmye to my lyfe,
“Absent thy selfe from out my syght,
  “procure no greater stryfe,
“Synce y^t these teares, had neuer force
  “to moue thy stoneye harte,
“Let neuer these my weryed eyes,
  “se the no more. Departe.
“This sayde, in haste she hieth in,
  “and there doth vengeaunce call,
“And strake her self, with cruel knyfe,
  “and bluddy doune doth fall.
“This dolfull chance, wh&abar; Faustus heard
  “lamentynge lowde he cryes,
“And teares his heare and doth accuse,
  “the unjust and cruell skies,
“And in this ragynge moode awaye,
  “he stealeth oute alone,
“And gone he is: no m&abar; knowes where
  “eche man doth for hym mone.
“Valerius whan he doth perceyve
  “his mayster to be gone:
“He weepes & wailes, in piteous plight
  “and forth he ronnes anone,
“No man knowes where, he is becom,
  “some saye the woodes he tooke,
“Intendynge there to ende his lyfe,
  “on no man more to looke:
“The Courte lamentes, the Princesse eke
  “herselfe doth weepe for woe,
“Loe Faustus fled, and Claudia deade,
  “Valerius vanyshed soe.

“Finis Egloge quinte.”

Mr. Malone was of opinion that the plot of this play was rather taken from The Historie of Apolonius and Silla, which is the second tale in a collection, by Barnabe Riche, entitled Rich his Farewell to Militarie Profession, which first appeared in 1583. In compliance with his intention, it is here inserted. I ought, in justice, to add, that I am not sure that this was Mr. Malone's own discovery, for I find it pointed out in a very modest and respectful letter addressed to him, in the year 1806, by Mr. Octavius Gilchrist of Stamford.

“During the time that the famous citty of Constantinople, remained in the handes of the Christians, amongst many other noble men, that kept their abiding in that florishing citty, there was one whose name was Apolonius, a worthy duke, who being but a very

yong man, and euen then newe come to his possessions which were very great, leuied a mighty bande of men, at his owne proper charges, with whom hee serued against the Turke, during the space of one whole yeere, in which time although it were very short, this young duke so behaued himselfe, as well by prowesse and valiance shewed with his owne hands, as otherwise, by his wisdome and liberality, vsed towards his souldiors, that all the world was filled with the fame of this noble duke. When he had thus spent one yeeres seruice, he caused his trompet to sound a retrait, and gathering his company together, and imbarking themselues he set saile, holding his course towards Constantinople: but beeing vpon the sea, by the extremity of a tempest which sodainely fell, his fleete was seuered some one way, and some an other, but hee him selfe recouered the Isle of Cypres, where he was worthily receiued by Pontus duke and gouernour of the same isle, with whom hee lodged, while his shippes were new repairing.

“This Pontus that was lord and gouernour of this famous isle, was an auncient duke, and had two children, a sonne and a daughter, his son was named Siluio, of whom hereafter we shal haue further occasion to speake, but at this instant he was in the parts of Africa, seruing in the warres.

“The daughter her name was Silla, whose beauty was so pereles, that she had the soueraignty amongst all other dames, as well for her beauty as for the noblenesse of her birth. This Silla hauing heard of the worthinesse of Apolonius, this yong duke, who besides his beauty and good graces, had a certaine natural allurement, that being now in his company in her fathers court, she was so strangely attached with the loue of Apolonius, that there was nothing might content her but his presence and sweet sight, and although she saw no maner of hope, to attaine to that she most desired: knowing Apolonius to be but a guest, and ready to take the benefit of the next wind, and to depart into a straunge countrye, whereby shee was bereaued of all possibility euer to see him againe, and therefore striued with her selfe to leaue her fondnesse, but al in vaine it would not bee, but like the fowle which is once limed, the more shee striueth, the faster she tyeth her selfe. So Silla was now constrained perforce her will to yield to loue, wherefore from time to time, shee vsed so great familiarity with him, as her honour might well permitte, and fed him with such amorous baites, as the modestye of a maide, could reasonably afforde, which when shee perceiued, did take but small effect, feeling her selfe out raged with the extremity of her passion, by the onely countenance that she bestowed vpon Apolonius, it might haue bene well perceiued, that the very eyes pleaded vnto him for pitie and remorse. But Apolonius comming but lately from out the field, from the chasing of his enemies, and his fury not yet throughly desolued, nor purged from his stomacke, gaue no regard to those

amorous entisements, which by reason of his youth, he had not bin acquainted withall. But his minde ran more to heare his pilots, bring newes of a merry wind, to serue his turne to Constantinople, which in the ende came very prosperously: and giuing Duke Pontus hearty thankes for his great entertainement, taking his leaue of himselfe, and the lady Silla his daughter, departed with his company, and with a happy gale ariued at his desired porte; Gentlewoman according to my promise, I will here for breuities sake, omit to make repetition of the long and dolorous discourse recorded by Silla, for this sodaine departure of Apolonius, knowing you to be as tenderly hearted as Silla her selfe, whereby you may the better coniecture the furie of her feuer.

“But Silla the further that she saw her selfe bereaued of al hope, euer any more to see her beloued Apolonius, so much the more contagious were her passions, and made the greater speed to execute that she had premeditated in her minde, which was this: Amongest many seruants that did attend vpon her, there was one whose name was Pedro, who had a long time waited vpon her in her chamber, whereby shee was well assured of his fidelity and trust: to that Pedro, therefore shee bewraied first the feruencie of her loue borne to Apolonius, coniuring him in the name of the Gods [Goddess] of Loue her selfe, and binding him by the duety that a seruant ought to haue, that tendereth his mistresse safety and good liking, and desiring him with teares trickling downe her cheekes, that hee would giue his consent to aide and assiste her, in that she had determined, which was for that she was fully resolued to goe to Constantinople, where she might againe take the view of her beloued Apolonius, that hee according to the trust she had reposed in him, would not refuse to giue his consent, secretly to conuey her from out her fathers court according as she would giue him direction, and also to make himselfe partaker of her iourney, and to waite vpon her, till she had seen the ende of her determination.

“Pedro perceiuing with what vehemencie his lady and mistresse had made request vnto him, albeit hee sawe many perilles and doubts, depending in her pretence, notwithstanding, gaue his consent to bee at her disposition, promising her to further her with his best aduice, and to bee ready to obey whatsoeuer shee would please to commaund him. The match beeyng thus agreed vpon, and all things prepared in a readinesse for their departure: it happened there was a galley of Constantinople, ready to depart, which Pedro vnderstanding came to the captaine, desiring him to haue passage for himselfe, and for a poore maide that was his sister, which were bounde to Constantinople vpon certaine vrgent affaires, to which request, the captaine graunted, willing him to prepare aboarde with all speed, because the winde serued him presently to depart.

“Pedro now commyng to his misters [mistress], and tellyng her how he had handeled the matter with the captaine, she likyng verie well of the deuise, disguisyng her selfe into verie simple atyre, stoole away from out her fathers court, and came with Pedro, whom now she called brother aboarde the gallye, where al things being in readinesse and the wind seruing verie wel, they launched forth with their oores, and set saile, when they were at the sea, the captaine of the galley taking the vew of Silla, perceiuing her singular beautie, he was better pleased in beholdyng of her face, then in takyng the height either of the sunne or starre, and thinking her by the homlinesse of her apparell, to be but some simple maiden, calling her into his cabin, he beganne to break with her after the sea fashion, desiring her to vse his owne cabin for her better ease: and during the time that she remained at the sea, she should not want a bed, and then whispering softly in her eare, he saied, that for want of a bedfellow, he himselfe would supply that rome. Silla not being acquainted with any such talke, blushed for shame, but made him no answer at all, my captaine feeling such bickering within himselfe, the like whereof he had neuer indured vpon the sea: was like to be taken prisoner aboard his owne ship, and forced to yeeld himselfe captiue without any cannon shot, wherefore to salue all sores, and thinking it the readiest way to speed, he began to breake with Silla in the way of marriage, telling her how happy a voyage she had made, to fal into the lyking of such a one as himselfe was, who was able to keepe and maintaine her like a gentlewoman, and for her sake would likewise take her brother into his fellowship, whom hee would by some meanes prefer in such sort, that both of them should haue good cause to thinke themselues thrise happy, shee to light of such a husband, and he to light of such a brother. But Silla nothing pleased with these preferments, desired him to cease his talke, for that she did thinke her selfe indeede to be too vnworthy such a one as hee was, neither was she minded yet to marry, and therefore desired him to fixe his fancie vpon some that were better worthy then her selfe was, and that could better like of his courtesie then she could do, the captaine seeing himselfe thus refused, being in a great chafe, he said as followeth

“Then seeing you make so little accompt of my courtesie, proffered to one that is so far vnworthy of it, from henceforth I will vse the office of my authority, you shall know that I am the captaine of this shippe, and haue power to commaund and dispose of things at my pleasure; and seeing you haue so scornfully reiected me to be your loyall husband, I will now take you by force, and vse you at my will, and so long as it shall please me, will keepe you for mine owne store, there shall be no man able to defend you, nor yet to perswade me from that I haue determined. Silla with these words being stroke into a great feare,

did thinke it now too late, to rew her rashe attempt, determined rather to dye with her owne hands, then to suffer her selfe to be abused in such sort, therefore she most humbly desired the captaine so much as he could to saue her credit, and seeing that she must needes be at his will and disposition, that for that present he would depart, and suffer her till night, when in the darke he might take his pleasure, without any maner of suspition to the residue of his companie. The captaine thinking now the goale to be more than halfe wonne, was contented so farre to satisfie her request, and departed out leauing her alone in his cabin.

“Silla, being alone by her selfe, drue out her knife readie to strike her selfe to the heart, and falling upon her knees, desired God to receiue her soule, as an acceptable sacrifice for her follies, which she had so wilfully committed, crauing pardon for her sinnes, and so forth continuing a long and pittifull reconciliation to God, in the middest whereof was such, that there was no man but did thinke the seas would presently haue swallowed them, the bilowes so sodainly arose with the rage of the winde, that they were all glad to fall to heauing out of water, for otherwise their feeble gallie had neuer beene able to haue brooked the seas, this storme continued all that day and the next night, and they being driuen to put romer [sic. orig.] before the winde to keepe the gallie a head the billow, were driuen vpon the maine shore, where the gallie brake all to peeces, there was euery man prouiding to saue his owne life, some gat vpon hatches, boordes, and casks, and were driuen with the waues too and fro, but the greatest number were drowned, amongst the which Pedro was one, but Silla her selfe being in the cabyn as you have heard, tooke holde of a chest that was the captaines, the which by the onely prouidence of God brought her safe to the shore, the which when she had recouered, not knowing what was become of Pedro her man, shee deemed that both he and all the rest had beene drowned, for that she saw no body vpon the shore but her selfe, wherefore, when she had a while made great lamentations, complaining her mishappes, she beganne in the end to comfort her selfe with the hope, that she had to see her Apolonius, and found such meanes that she brake open the chest that brought her to land, wherein shee found good store of coine, and sondrie sutes of apparell that were the captaines, and now to preuent a number of iniuries, that might bee proffered to a woman that was left in her case, shee determined to leaue her owne apparell, and to sorte her selfe into some of those sutes, that being taken for a man, shee might passe through the countrie in the better safety, and as shee changed her apparell shee thought it likewise conuenient to change her name, wherefore not readily happening of any other, shee called her selfe Siluio, by the name of her owne brother, whom you have heard spoken of before.

“In this maner she trauailed to Constantinople, where she

inquired out the pallace of the Duke Apolonius, and thinking her selfe now to bee both fit and able to play the seruingman, she presented her selfe to the duke, crauing his seruice, the duke very willing to giue succour vnto strangers, perceiuing him to be a proper smogue yong man, gaue him entertainment: Silla thought her selfe nowe more than satisfied for all the casualties that had happened vnto her in her iourney, that shee might at her pleasure take but the view of the Duke Apolonius, and aboue the rest of his seruantes was verie diligent and attendaunt vpon him, the which the duke perceiuing, beganne likewise to growe into good liking with the diligence of his man, and therefore made him one of his chamber, who but Siluio then was most neare about him, in helping of him to make him readie in a morning in the setting of his ruffes, in the keeping of his chamber, Siluio pleased his maister so wel, that aboue all the rest of his seruantes about him, he had the greatest credit, and the duke put him most in trust.

“At this verie instaunt, there was remainyng in the Cittie a noble Dame a widdowe, whose husband was but lately deceased, one of the noblest men that were in the partes of Grecia, who left his lady and wife large possessions and great liuings. This ladyes name was called Iulina, who besides the aboundance of her wealth, and the greatnesse of her reuenues, had likewise the soveraigntie of all the dames of Constantinople for her beautie. To this lady Iulina, Apolonius became an earnest suter, and according to the manner of loovers, besides faire wordes, sorrowfull sighes, and piteous counten&abar;ces, there must be sending of louing letters, chaines, bracelets, brouches, ringes, tablets, gemmes, iuels and presents I know not what: so my duke, who in the time that he remained in the Ile of Cypres, had no skill at all in the arte of loue, although it were more then half profferred vnto him, was now become a scholler in loues schoole, and had alreadie learned his first lesson, that is, to speake pittifully, to looke ruthfully, to promise largely, to serue diligently, and to please carefully: now he was learning his second lesson, that is to reward liberally, to giue bountifully, to present willingly, and to write louingly. Thus Apolonius was so busied in his new study, that I warrant you there was no man that could chalenge him for plaiyng the truant, he followed his profession with so good a will: and who must bee the messenger to carrie the tokens and loue letters, to the lady Iulina, but Siluio his man, in him the duke reposed his only c&obar;fidence, to goe betwene him and his lady.

“Now gentlewomen, doe you thinke there could haue beene a greater torment deuised, wherewith to afflict the heart of Silla, then herself to be made the instrument to worke her owne mishap, and to plaie the atturney in a cavse, that made so much against herself. But Silla altogether desirous to please her

maister, cared nothing at all to offend her selfe, followed his businesse with so good a will as if it had been in her own preferment.

“Iulina nowe hauing many times, taken the gaze of this yong youth Siluio, perceiuyng him to bee of such excellent perfect grace, was so intangeled with the often sight of this sweete temptation, that she fell into as great a liking with the man, as the maister was with her selfe: and on a time Siluio beyng sent from his maister, with a message to the lady Iulina, as he beganne very earnestly to solicite in his maisters behalfe, Iulina interrupting him in his tale, saied: Siluio it is enough that you haue saied for your maister, from henceforth either speake for your selfe, or say nothing at all. Silla abashed to heare these words, beg&abar; in her mind to accuse the blindnes of loue, that Iulina neglecting the good of so noble a duke, wold preferre her loue vnto such a one, as nature it selfe had denied to rec&obar;pence her liking.

“And now for a time, leauing matters depending as you haue heard, it fell out that the right Siluio indeede (whom you haue heard spoken of before, the brother of Silla,) was come to his fathers courte into y^e Ile of Cypres, where vnderst&abar;ding, that his sister was departed, in maner as you haue heard coniectured, that the very occasion did proceede of some liking had betweene Pedro her man (that was missing with her) and her selfe, but Siluio who loued his sister, as dearly as his owne life, and the rather for that she was his naturall sister, both by father and mother, so the one of them was so like the other, in countenance and fauour, that there was no man able to descerne the one from the other by their faces, sauing by their aparell, the one being a man, the other a woman.

“Siluio therefore vowed to his father, not onely to seeke out his sister Silla, but also to reuenge the villanie, which he conceiued in Pedro, for the carrying away of his sister, and thus departing, hauing trauailed through many citties and townes, without hearing any maner of newes, of those he went to seeke for, at the last he arriued at Constantinople, where as he was walking in an euening for his owne recreation, on a pleasant greene parade, without the valles of the citie, he fortuned to meet with the lady Iulina, who likewise had been abroad to take the aire, and as she sodainly cast her eyes vpon Siluio, thinking him to be her olde acquaintance, by reason they were so like one another, as you haue heard before, said vnto him, I pray you let me haue a little talke with you, seeing I haue so luckely met you in this place.

“Siluio wondering to heare himselfe so rightly named, being but a stranger, not of aboue two dayes continuance in the citie, very courteously came towards her, desirous to heare what she would say.

“Iulina commanding her traine something to stand back, sayd as followeth. Seeing my good will and friendly loue, hath beene the onely cause to make me so prodigall to offer, that I see is so

lightly reiected, it maketh me to thinke, that men be of this condition, rather to desire those things, which they cannot come by, then to esteeme or value of that, which both largely and liberallie is offered vnto them, but if the liberalitie of my proffer, hath made to seeme lesse the value of the thing that I meant to present, it is but in your owne conceipt, considering how many noble men there hath beene here before, and be yet at this present, which hath both serued, sued, and most humbly intreated, to attaine to that, which to you of my selfe, I haue freely offered, and I perceiue is despised, or at the least very lightly regarded.

“Siluio wondering at these wordes, but more amazed that shee could so rightly call him by his name, could not tell what to make of her speeches, assuring himselfe that shee was deceiued, and did mistake him, did thinke notwithstanding, it had bene a point of great simplicity, if he should forsake that, which fortune had so fauourably proffered vnto him, perceiuing by her traine, that she was some lady of great honour, and viewing the perfection of her beauty, and the excellency of her grace and countenance, did thinke it vnpossible that she should be despised, and therefore aunswered thus.

“Madame, if before this time, I haue seemed to forget my selfe, in neglecting your courtesie, which so liberally you haue meant vnto me: please it you to pardon what is past, and from this day forewardes, Siluio remaineth ready prest to make such reasonable amendes as his ability may any waies permit, or as it shall please you to commaund.

“Iulina the gladdest woman that might bee, to heare these ioyful newes, said: Then my Siluio see you faile not to morrow at night to sup with me at my owne house, where I will discourse farther with you, what amends you shall make me, to which request Siluio gave his glad consent, and thus they departed very well pleased. And as Iulina did thinke the time very long, till she had reapt the fruite of her desire: so Siluio he wisht for haruest before corne could growe, thinking the time as long, till hee saw how matters would fall out, but not knowing what lady she might bee, he presently (before Iulina was out of sight) demaunded of one that was walking up, what shee was, and how she was called, who satisfied Siluio in euery point, and also in what part of the towne her house did stand, whereby he might enquire it out.

“Siluio thus departing to his lodging, passed the night with verie vnquiet sleepes, and the next morning his mind ran so much of his supper, that he neuer cared, neither for his breakfast, nor dinner, and the day to his seeming passed away so slowely, that hee had thought the stately steedes had bin tired, that drawe the chariot of the sunne, or else some other Josua had commaunded them againe to stande, and wished that Phaeton had beene there with a whippe.

“Iulina on the other side, she had thought the clocke-setter had plaied the knaue, the day came no faster forewards, but sixe

a clocke being once strucken, recouered comfort to both parties; and Siluio hastening himselfe to the pallace of Iulina, where by her he was friendly welcomed, and a sumptuous supper being made readie, furnished with sundrie sorts of delicate dishes, they sate them downe, passing the supper time with amorous lookes, louing countenances, and secret glaunces conueighed from the one to the other, which did better satisfie them, then the feeding of their daintie dishes.

“Supper time being thus spent, Iulina did thinke it very unfitly, if she should turne Siluio to go seeke his lodging in an euening, desired him therefore, that he would take a bed in her house for that night, and bringing vp into a faire chamber, that was very richly furnished, she found such meanes, that when all the rest of her household seruants were a bed and quiet, she came her selfe to beare Siluio companie, where concluding vpon conditions, that were in question betweene them, they passed the night with such ioy and contentation, as might in that convenient time he wished for, but onely that Iulina, feeding too much of some one dish aboue the rest, receiued a surfet, whereof she could not be cured in fortie weekes after, a naturall inclination in all women which are subiect to longing, and want the reason to vse a moderation in their diet: but the morning approaching, Iulina tooke her leaue, and conueighed her selfe into her owne chamber, and when it was faire day light, Siluio making himself readie, departed likewise about his affaires in the towne, debating with himselfe how things had happened, being well assured that Iulina had mistaken him, and therefore for feare of further euils, determined to come no more there, but tooke his iourney towards other places in the parts of Grecia, to see if he could learne any tidings of his sister Silla.

“The Duke Apolonius hauing made a long sute and neuer a whit the neerer of his purpose, came to Iulina to craue her direct answer, either to accept of him, and of such conditions as he proffered vnto her, or els to give him his last farewell.

“Iulina, as you haue heard, had taken an earnest pennie of an other, whom he [she] had thought had beene Siluio the dukes man, was at a controuersie in her selfe, what she might doe: one while she thought, seeing her occasion served so fit, to craue the duke's good will, for the marrying of his man, then againe, she could not tell what displeasure the duke would conceiue, in that she should seeme to preferre his man before him selfe, did thinke it therefore best to conceale the matter, till she might speake with Siluio, to vse his opinion how these matters should be handled, and herevpon resoluing hir selfe, desiring the duke to pardon her speeches, said as followeth.

“Sir Duke, for that from this time forwardes I am no longer of my selfe, hauing giuen my full power and authority ouer to an other, whose wife I now remaine by faithfull vowe and promise:

and albeit, I knowe the world will wounder, when they shall vnderstand the fondnesse of my choise, yet I trust you your selfe will nothing dislike with me, sith I haue meant no other thing, then the satisfiyng of mine owne contentation and liking.

“The duke hearing these wordes, aunswered: Madam, I must then content my selfe, although against my wil, hauing the lawe in your owne hands, to like of whom list, and to make choise where it pleaseth you.

“Iulina giuing the duke great thankes, that would content himselfe with such pacience, desired him likewise, to giue his free consent good wil, to the partie whom she had chosen to be her husband.

“Nay surely madam (quoth the duke) I will neuer give my consent, that any other man shall enioy you then my selfe, I haue made too great accompt of you, then so lightly to passe you away with my good will: but seeing it lieth not in me to let you, hauing (as you say) made your owne choise, so from hence forwards I leaue you to your owne liking, alwaies willing you well, and thus will take my leaue.

“The duke departed towards his owne house very sorrowfull, that Iulina had thus serued him, but in the meane space that the duke had remained in the house of Iulina, some of his seruantes fell into talke and conference, with the seruantes of Iulina, where debating betweene them, of the likelihood of the marriage, betweene the duke and the ladie, one of the seruantes of Iulina said: that he neuer sawe his lady and mistresse, vse so good countenance to the duke himself, as shee had done to Siluio his man, and beganne to report with what familiarity and courtesie, she had receiued him, feasted him, and lodged him, and that in his opinion, Siluio was like to speede before the duke or any other that were suters.

“This tale was quickly brought to the duke himself, who making better inquiry in the matter, found it to bee true that was reported, and better considering of the words, which Iulina had vsed towards himselfe, was very well assured that it could be no other then his owne man, that had thrust his nose so far out of ioynt, wherefore without any other respect, caused him to bee thrust into a dungeon, where he was kept prisoner, in a very pitifull plight.

“Poore Siluio, hauing got intelligence by some of his fellowes, what was the cause that the duke his maister did beare such displeasure vnto him, deuised all the meanes he could, as well by meditation [mediation] by his fellowes, as otherwise by petitions, and supplications to the duke, that he would suspend his iudgment, till perfect proofe were had in the matter, and then if any manner of thing did fall out against him, wherby the duke had cause to take any griefe, he would confesse himselfe worthy not onely of imprisonment, but also of most vile and shamefull death:

with these petitions he daiely plied the duke, but all in vaine, for the duke thought hee had made so good proofe, that he was throughlie confirmed in his opinion against his man.

“But the ladie Iulina, wondering what made Siluio, that he was so slacke in his visitation, and why he absented himselfe so long from her presence, began to thinke that all was not well, but in the end, perceiuing no decoction of her former surfet, receiued as you haue heard, and finding in her selfe, an vnwounted swelling in her bellie, assuring her selfe to bee with child, fearing to become quite bankrout of her honour, did thinke it more then time to seeke out a father, and made such secret search, and diligent enquirie, that shee learned the truth how Siluio, was kepte in prison, by the duke his maister, and minding to find a present remedie, as well for the loue she bare to Siluio, as for the maintainaunce of her credit and estimation, shee speedily hasted to the pallace of the duke, to whom she saied as followeth.

“Sir Duke, it may be that you will thinke my comming to your house in this sorte, doeth something passe the limites of modestie, the which I protest before God, proceedeth of this desire, that the worlde should know, how iustly I seeke meanes to maintaine my honour, but to the end I seeme not tedious with prolixitie of woords, not to vse other then direct circumstaunces, knowe sir, that the loue I beare to my onely beloued Siluio, whom I doe esteeme more then all the jewelles in the world, whose personage I regard more then my owne life, is the onely cause of my attempted iourney, beseeching you, that all the whole displeasure, which I understand you haue conceiued against him, may be imputed vnto my charge, and that it would please you louingly to deale with him, whom of my selfe I haue chosen rather for the satisfaction of mine honest liking, then for the vaine preheminencies or honourable dignities looked after by ambitious mindes.

“The duke hauing heard this discourse, caused Siluio presently to be sent for, and to be brought before him, to whom he saied: Had it not been sufficient for thee, when I had reposed my selfe in thy fidelitie, and the trustinesse of thy seruice, that thou shouldest so traiterously deale with me, but since that time hast not spared, still to abuse me with so many forgeries, and periured protestations, not onely hateful vnto me, whose simplicitie thou thinkest to be such that by the plotte of thy pleasant tongue, thou wouldest make me beleeue a manifest vntroth, but most abominable be thy doings in the presence and sight of God, that hast not spared to blaspheme his holy name, by calling him to be a witnesse to maintaine thy leasinges, and so detestably wouldest thou forsweare thy self, in a matter that is so openly knowne.

“Poore Siluio whose innocencie was such, that he might lawfully sweare, seeing Iulina to be there in place, aunswered thus.

“Most noble duke, well vnderstanding your conceiued greefe, most humbly I beseech you paciently to heare my excuse, not

minding thereby to aggrauate or heape vp your wrath and displeasure, protesting before God, that there is nothing in the world, which I regarde so much, or doe esteeme so deare, as your good grace and fauour, but desirous that your grace should know my innocencie, and to cleare my selfe of such impositions, wherewith I knowe I am wrongfully accused, which as I vnderstand should be in the practising of the lady Iulina, who standeth here in place, whose acquitaunce for my better discharge, now I most humbly craue, protesting before the almightie God, that neither in thought, word, nor deede, I have not otherwise used my selfe, then according to the bonde and duetie of a seruant, that is both willing and desirous, to further his maisters sutes, which if I haue otherwise sayed then that is true, you madame Iulina, who can verie wel decide the depthes of al this doubt, I most humbly beseech you to certifie a troth, if I haue in any thing missaied, or haue otherwise spoken then is right and iust.

“Iulina hauing heard this discourse which Siluio had made, perceiuyng that he stood in great awe of the dukes displeasure, aunswered thus: Thinke not my Siluio, that my comming hither is to accuse you of any misdemeanour towardes your maister, so I doe not denay, but in all such imbassages wherein towardes me you haue been imployed, you haue vsed the office of a faithfull and trustie messenger, neither am I ashamed to confesse, that the first daie that mine eyes did behold, the singular behauiour, the notable curtesie, and other innumerable giftes wherwith my Siluio is endued, but that beyond al measure my heart was so inflamed, that impossible it was for me, to quench the feruent loue, or extinguish the least part of my conceiued torment, before I had bewraied the same vnto him, and of my owne motion, craued his promised faith and loialty of marriage, and now is the time to manifest the same vnto the world, which hath been done before God, and betweene our selues: knowing that it is not needefull, to keepe secret that, which is neither euill done, nor hurtful to any persone, therefore (as I saied before) Siluio is my husband by plighted faith, wh&obar; I hope to obtaine without offence, or displeasure of any one, trusting that there is no man, that will so farre forget himselfe, as to restraine that, which God hath left at libertie for euery wight, or that will seeke by crueltie, to force ladyes to marrie otherwise, then accordyng to their owne likyng. Feare not then my Siluio to keepe your faith and promise, which you haue made vnto me, and as for the rest: I doubt not thinges will so fall out, as you shall have no maner of cause to complaine.

“Siluio amazed to heare these wordes, for that Iulina by her speech, seemed to confirme that, which he most of all desired to bee quite of, saied: Who would haue thought that a ladie of so great honour and reputation, would her selfe be the embassadour, of a thing so prouidentiall, and vncomely for her estate, what plighted promises be these which bee spoken of: altogether ignoraunt

vnto me, which if be otherwise than I haue saied, you sacred gods consume me straight with flashing flames of fire. But what wordes might I vse to giue credit to the truth, and innocencie of my cause? Ah madame Iulina I desire no other testimonie, then your owne honestye and vertue thinking that you wil not so much blemish the brightnesse of your honour, knowing that a woman is or should be, the image of curtesie, continencie, and shamfastnesse, from the which so soone as she stoopeth, and leaueth the office of her duetie and modesty, besides the degraduation of her honour, she thrusteth her selfe into the pit of perpetual infamy, and as I can not think you would so farre forget your selfe, by the refusall of a noble duke, to dimme the light of your renowne and glorie, which hitherto you haue maintained, amongst the best and noblest ladies, by such a one as I knowe my selfe to be, too farre vnworthie your degree and callyng, so most humbly I beseech you to confesse a troth, whereto tendeth those vowes and promises you speake of, which speeches be so obscure vnto me, as I know not for my life howe I might vnderstand them.

“Iulina something nipped with these speeches, saied, and what is the matter that now you make so little accoumpt of your Iulina, that beeing my husband indeed, haue the face to denie me, to whom thou art contracted by so many solemne othes: what art thou ashamed to haue me to thy wife? how much oughtest thou rather to be ashamed to breake thy promised faith, and to haue despised the holie and dreadfull name of God, but that time constraineth me to lay open that, which shame rather willeth I should dissemble and keepe secret, behold me here then Siluio whom thou hast gotten with childe, who if thou bee of such honestie, as I trust for all this I shall finde, then the thing is done without preiudice, or any hurt to my conscience, consideryng that by the professed faith, thou didest accoumpt mee for thy wife, and I receiued thee for my spouse and loyall husband, swearing by the almightie God, that no other then you haue made the conquest and triumph of my chastitie, whereof I craue no other witneses then your selfe, and mine own conscience.

“I praie you gentlewomen, was not this a foule oversight of Iulina, that would so precisely sweare so great an oth, that she was gotten with child by one, that was altogether vnfurnisht with implementes for such a tourne. For Gods loue take heede, and let this be an example to you, when you be with child, how you sweare who is the father, before you haue had good proofe and knowledge of the partie, for men be so subtill, and full of sleight, that God knoweth a woman may quickly be deceiued.

“But nowe to returne to our Siluio, who hearing an othe sworne so diuinely that it [he] had gotten a woman with child, was like to beleeue that it had bin true in very deede, but remembring his owne impediment, thought it impossible that he should committee such an acte, and therfore halfe in a chafe, he saied. What lawe

is able to restraine the foolish indescretion of a woman, that yeeldeth herselfe to her owne desires, what shame is able to bridle or withdrawe her from her mind and madnesse, or with what snaffell is it possible to holde her back, from the execution of her filthinesse, but what abhomination is this, that a lady of such a house should so forget the greatnesse of her estate, the alliaunce whereof she is descended, the nobility of her deceased husband, and maketh no conscience to shame and slaunder her selfe, with such a one as I am, beeing so farre vnfit and vnseemely for her degree, but how horrible is it to heare the name of God so defaced, that we make no more account, but for the maintainance of our mischiefs, we feare no whit at all to forsweare his holy name, as though he were not in all his dealings most righteous, true and iust, and will not onely lay open our leasings to the worlde, but will likewise punish the same with sharpe and bitter scourges.

“Iulina, not able to indure him to proceede any farther in his sermon, was alreadie surprised with a vehement griefe, began bitterly to crie out, vttering these speeches following.

“Alas, is it possible that the soueraigne iustice of God, can abide a mischiefe so great and cursed, why may I not now suffer death, rather then the infamy which I see to wander before mine eies. Oh happy and more then right-happy had I bin, if inconstant fortune had not deuised this treason, wherein I am surprised and caught, am I thus become to be intangled with snares, and in the handes of him, who inioying the spoiles of my honour, will openly depriue mee of my fame, by making mee a common fable to all posterity in time to come, ah traitour and discourteous wretch, is this the recompence of the honest and firme amity which I haue borne thee, wherein haue deserued this discourtesie, by louing thee more then thou art able to deserue, is it I, arrant theefe is it I, vpon whom thou thinkest to worke thy mischiefes, doest thou thinke me no better worth, but that thou maiest prodigally wast my honour at thy pleasure, didest thou dare to aduenture vpon me, hauing thy conscience wounded with so deadly a treason: ah vnhappy and aboue all other most vnhappy, that haue so charely preserued mine honour, and now am made a prey to satisfie a yong mans lust, that hath coueted nothing but the spoile of my chastity and good name.

“Herewithall the teares so gushed downe her cheekes, that she was not able to open her mouth to vse any further speech.

“The duke who stoode by all this while, and heard this whole discourse, was wonderfully moued with compassi&obar; towards Iulina, knowing that from her infancie she had euer so honourably vsed her selfe, that there was no man able to detect her of any misdemeanour, otherwise then beseemed a lady of her estate, wherefore being fully resolued that Siluio his man had committed this villanie against her, in a great furie drawing his rapier, he said vnto Siluio.

“How canst thou (arrant theefe) shew thy selfe so cruell and carelesse to such as doe thee honour, hast thou so little regard of such a noble lady, as humbleth her selfe to such a villaine as thou art, who without any respect either of her renowne or noble estate, canst be content to seeke the wracke and utter ruine of her honour, but frame thy selfe to make such satisfaction as she requireth, although I know vnworthy wretch, that thou art not able to make her the least part of amends, or I sweare by God, that thou shalt not escape the death which I will minister to thee with mine owne hands, and therefore aduise thee well what thou dooest.

“Siluio hauing heard this sharpe sentence, fell downe on his knees before the duke crauing for mercie, desiring that he might be suffered to speake with the lady Iulina apart, promising to satisfie her according to her owne contentation.

“Well (quoth the duke) I take thy worde, and there withall I aduise thee that thou performe thy promise, or otherwise I protest before God, I will make thee such an example to the world, that all traitours shall tremble for feare, how they doe seeke the dishonouring of ladies.

“But now Iulina had conceiued so great griefe against Siluio, that there was much adoe, to perswade her to talke with him, but remembring her owne case, desirous to heare what excuse he could make, in the end she agreed, and being brought into a place seuerallie by themselves, Siluio began with a pitious voyce to say as followeth.

“I know not madam, of whom I might make complaint, whether of you or of my selfe, or rather of fortune, which hath conducted and brought vs both into so great aduersitie, I see that you receiue great wrong, and I am condemned against all right, you in perill to abide the bruite of spightfull tongues, and I in danger to loose the thing that I most desire; and although I could alledge many reasons to prooue my sayings true, yet I referre my selfe to the experience and bountie of your minde. And here with all loosing his garments downe to his stomacke, and shewed Iulina his breastes and prety teates, surmounting farre the whitenesse of snow it selfe, saying: Loe madam, beholde here the party whom you haue chalenged to be the father of your childe, see I am a woman the daughter of a noble duke, who onely for the loue of him, whom you so lightly have spoken of, haue forsaken my father, abandoned my countrey, and in manner as you see am become a seruing man, satisfying my selfe, but with the onely sight of my Apolonius, and now madam, if my passion were not vehement, and my tormentes without comparison, I would wish that my fained griefes might be laughed to scorne, and my dissembled paines to bee rewarded with floutes. But my loue beeing pure, my trauaile continuall, and my griefes endlesse, I trust madam you wil not only excuse me of crime, but also pitty my distresse, the

which I protest I would stil haue kept secret, if my fortune would so haue permitted.

“Iulina, did now thinke her selfe to be in a worse case then euer she was before, for now she knew not whom to challenge to be the father of her child, wherefore, when she had told the duke the verye certaintye of the discourse, which Siluio had made vnto her, shee departed to her owne house, with such griefe and sorrowe, that she purposed neuer to come out of her owne dores againe alive, to be a wonder and mocking stocke to the world.

“But the duke more amazed, to heare this straunge discourse of Siluio came vnto him, whom when he had viewed with bitter consideration, perceiued in deede that it was Silla, the daughter of Duke Pontus, and imbracing her in arme, he said

“Oh the branche of al vertue and the flowre of curtesie it selfe, pardon me I beseech you of all such discourtesies, as I have ignorantly committed towards you: desiring you that without farther memorie of auncient griefes, you will accept of me, who is more ioyfull and better contented with your presence, then if the whole world were at my commaundement. Where hath there euer bin founde such liberality in a louer, which hauing beene trained vp and nourished amongest the delicacies and banquets of the court, accompanied with traines of many faire and noble ladies liuing in pleasure, and in the middest of delights, would so prodigally aduenture your selfe, neither fearing mishaps, nor misliking to take such pains, as I knowe you haue not bin accustomed vnto. O liberality neuer heard of before! O fact that can neuer be sufficiently rewarded! O true loue most pure and vnfained: heere with all sending for the most artificiall workemen, he prouided for her sondry suites of sumpteous apparell, and the mariage day appointed, which was celebrated with great triumph through the whole citty of Constantinople, euery one praising the noblenesse of the duke, but so many as did behold the excellent beauty of Silla, gaue her the praise aboue all the rest of the ladies in the troupe.

“The matter seemed so wonderfull and straunge throughout al the parts of Grecia, in so much that it came to the hearing of Siluio, who as you haue heard, remained in those parts to enquire of his sister, he being the gladdest man in the world, hasted to Constantinople, where comming to his sister he was ioyfully receiued, and most louingly welcomed, and intertained of the duke, his brother in law. After he had remained there two or three daies, the duke reuealed vnto Siluio, the whole discourse how it happened, betweene his sister and the lady Iulina, and how his sister was chalenged, for getting a woman with child: Siluio blushing with these wordes, was striken with great remorse to make Iulina amends; vnderstanding her to bee a noble lady, and was left defamed to the world through his default, hee therefore bewraied the whole circumstance to the duke, whereof the duke beeing very ioyfull, immediately repaired with Siluio to the house of Iulina,

who they found in her chamber, in great lamentation and mourning. To whom the duke saide, take courage madam for behold here a gentleman, that wil not sticke, both to father your child and to take you for his wife, no inferiour person, but the sonne and heyre of a noble duke, worthy of your estate and dignity.

“Iulina seeing Siluio in place, did know very well that he was the father of her childe, and was so rauished with ioy, that she knew not whether she were awake, or in some dreame. Siluio imbracing her in his armes, crauing forgiuenesse of all that was past: concluded with her the marriage day, which was presently accomplished with great ioy and contentation to all parties: and thus Siluio hauing attained a noble wife, and Silla his sister her desired husband, they passed the residue of their daies with such delight, as those that haue accomplished the perfections of their felicities.” Boswell.

August 6, 1607, a comedy called What You Will, (which is the second title of this play,) was entered at Stationers' Hall by Tho. Thorpe. I believe, however, it was Marston's play with that name. Ben Jonson, who takes every opportunity to find fault with Shakspeare, seems to ridicule the conduct of Twelfth-Night, in his Every Man out of his Humour, at the end of Act III. Sc. VI. where he makes Mitis say, “That the argument of his comedy might have been of some other nature, as of a duke to be in love with a countess, and that countess to be in love with the duke's son, and the son in love with the lady's waiting maid: some such cross wooing, with a clown to their serving man, better than be thus near and familiarly allied to the time.” Steevens.

I suppose this comedy to have been written in 1607. Ben Jonson unquestionably could not have ridiculed this play in Every Man out of his Humour, which was written many years before it.

See an Attempt to ascertain the Order of Shakspeare's Plays, vol. ii. Malone.

PERSONS REPRESENTED. Orsino, Duke of Illyria. Sebastian, a young Gentleman, Brother to Viola. Antonio, a Sea Captain, Friend to Sebastian. A Sea Captain, Friend to Viola. Valentine, Gentleman attending on the Duke. Curio, Gentleman attending on the Duke. Sir Toby Belch, uncle of Olivia. Sir Andrew Ague-Cheek [Sir Andrew Aguecheek]. Malvolio, Steward to Olivia. Fabian, Servant to Olivia. Clown [Feste], Servant to Olivia. Olivia, a rich Countess. Viola, in love with the Duke. Maria, Olivia's Woman. Lords, Priests, Sailors, Officers, Musicians, and other Attendants. [Officer 1], [Officer 2], [Priest] SCENE, a City in Illyria; and the Sea-coast near it.

TWELFTH-NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL. ACT I. SCENE I. An Apartment in the Duke's Palace. Enter Duke, Curio, Lords; Musicians attending.

Duke.
If musick be the food of love, play on,
Give me excess of it; that, surfeiting^{1 note}
,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.—
That strain again;—it had a dying fall^{2 note}

O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet South^{3 note}

Cur.
Will you go hunt, my lord?

Duke.
What, Curio?

Cur.
The hart.

Duke.
Why, so I do, the noblest that I have:
O, when mine eyes did see Olivia first,

Methought, she purg'd the air of pestilence;
That instant was I turn'd into a hart;
And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds,
E'er since pursue me^{7 note}

Enter Valentine.

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^{8 note}

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^{9 note} else
That live in her^{1 note}







: when liver, brain, and heart,
These sovereign thrones^{2 note}, are all supplied, and fill'd,
(Her sweet perfections^{3 note},) with one self king^{4 note}

Away before me to sweet beds of flowers;
Love-thoughts lie rich, when canopied with bowers. [Exeunt.

SCENE II. The Sea-coast. Enter Viola^{5 note}, Captain, and Sailors.

Vio.
What country, friends, is this?

Cap.
This is Illyria, lady^{6 note}.

Vio.
And what should I do in Illyria?
My brother he is in Elysium^{7 note}
.
Perchance, he is not drown'd:—What think you, sailors?

Cap.
It is perchance, that you yourself were saved.

Vio.
O my poor brother! and so, perchance, may he be.

Cap.
True, madam: and, to comfort you with chance,
Assure yourself, after our ship did split,
When you, and that poor number saved with you^{8 note},
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.
For saying so, there's gold:
Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope,
Whereto thy speech serves for authority,
The like of him. Know'st thou this country?

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

Vio.
Who governs here?

Cap.
A noble duke, in nature,
As in his name^{9 note}
.

Vio.
What is his name?

Cap.
Orsino.

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

Cap.
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's she?

Cap.
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 abjur'd the company
And sight of men.

Vio.
O, that I served that lady^{1 note}

And might not be delivered to the world^{2 note}

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

Vio.
There is a fair behaviour in thee, captain;
And though that nature with a beauteous wall
Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee
I will believe, thou hast a mind that suits
With this thy fair and outward character.
I prithee, (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^{3 note};
Thou shalt present me as an eunuch to him^{4 note}

Cap.
Be you his eunuch, and your mute I'll be:
When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see!

Vio.
I thank thee: Lead me on. [Exeunt.

SCENE III. A Room in Olivia's House. Enter Sir Toby Belch, and Maria.

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

Sir To.

Why, let her except before excepted^{6 note}.

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 brought in one night here, to be her wooer.

Sir To.

Who? Sir Andrew Ague-cheek?

Mar.

Ay, he.

Sir To.

He's as tall a man^{7 note}

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-gamboys^{8 note}

Mar.

He hath, indeed,—almost natural^{9 note}
: 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 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^{1 note}

brains turn o' the toe like a parish-top^{2 note}

Enter Sir Andrew Ague-cheek.

Sir And.

Sir Toby Belch! how now, Sir Toby Belch?

Sir To.

Sweet sir Andrew!

Sir And.

Bless you, fair shrew.

Mar.

And you too, sir.

Sir To.

Accost, sir Andrew, accost^{4 note}

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^{5 note}

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.

Now, sir, thought is free^{6 note}: 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^{7 note}

Sir And.

Why, I think so; I am not such an ass, but I can keep my hand dry^{8 note}. 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, now I let go your hand, I am barren.

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 bestowed that time in the tongues, that I have in fencing, dancing, and bear-baiting: O, had I but followed 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^{9 note}.

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 count himself, here hard by, woos her.

Sir To.

She'll none o' the count; 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 will not compare with an old man^{9 note}

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, I have the back-trick, simply as strong as any man in Illyria.

Sir To.

Wherefore are these things hid? wherefore have these gifts a curtain before them? are they like to take dust, like mistress Mall's picture^{1 note}

why dost thou not go to church in a galliard, and come home in a coranto? My very walk should be

a jig; I would not so much as make water, but in a sink-a-pace^{2 note}

Sir And.

Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a flame-coloured stock^{3 note}

Sir To.

What shall we do else? were we not born under Taurus?

Sir And.

Taurus? that's sides and heart^{4 note}.

Sir To.

No, sir; it is legs and thighs. Let me see thee caper: ha! higher: ha, ha!—excellent!