Antonio.

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 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 meer 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 my self: 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, my self, and a Sister, both born in one hour; if the heav'ns had been pleas'd, would we had so ended! but you, Sir, alter'd That; for, some hour before you took me from the breach of the sea, was my Sister drown'd.

Ant.

Alas, the day!

Seb.

A Lady, Sir, tho' it was said she much resembled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful; but tho' I could not with such estimate 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 entertainment.

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 all the Gods go with thee!
I have made 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. [Exit. Enter Viola and Malvolio, at several doors.

Mal.

Were not you e'en 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 your self. 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 none of it.

Mal.

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

Vio.
I left no ring with her; what means this Lady?
Fortune forbid, my outside have not charm'd her!
She made good view of me; indeed, so much,
That, sure, 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, 'tis;)
Poor Lady, she were better love a Dream.
Disguise, I see thou art a wickedness,
Wherein the pregnant enemy does much.
How easie is it, for the proper false
In womens 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'unty. [Exit.

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