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 crave of you your leave, that I may bear my evils alone. It were a bad recompence for your love, to lay any of them on you.

Ant.

Let me yet know of you whither you are bound.

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 call'd 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 one hour; if the heavens had been pleas'd, would we had so ended! but you, Sir, alter'd that; for some hours before you took me from the breach of the sea, was my sister drown'd.

Ant.

Alas the day!

Seb.

A lady, Sir, who, tho' it was said she much resembled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful; but tho' I could not with such estimable* ^note wonder over-far believe that, yet thus far I will boldly publish her, she bore a mind that envy could not but call fair: she is drown'd already, Sir, with salt water; tho' I seem to drown her remembrance again, with more.

Ant.

Pardon me, Sir, your bad entertaiment.

Seb.

O good Antonio, forgive me your trouble.

Ant.

If you will not murther 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 recover'd, 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 duke Orsino's court; farewel.

Ant.

The gentleness of the Gods go with thee!

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