Edward Capell [1767], Mr William Shakespeare his comedies, histories, and tragedies, set out by himself in quarto, or by the Players his Fellows in folio, and now faithfully republish'd from those Editions in ten Volumes octavo; with an introduction: Whereunto will be added, in some other Volumes, notes, critical and explanatory, and a Body of Various Readings entire (Printed by Dryden Leach, for J. and R. Tonson [etc.], London) [word count] [S10601].
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SCENE II.
A Street.
Enter Viola, Malvolio following.
Mal.
Were not you even now with the countess
Olivia?
Vio.
Even now, sir; on a moderate pace I have since
arriv'd but hither.
Mal.
She returns this ring to you, sir; you might
have saved me my pains, to have taken it away yourself.
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 hard to come
-- 25 --
again in his affairs, unless it be to report your lord's
taking of this. Receive it, note sir.
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 lies in your eye; if not, be it
his that finds it.
[Exit Malvolio.
Vio.
I left no ring with her: What means this lady?
Fortune forbid, my out-side have not charm'd her!
She made good view of me; indeed, so much,
That, sure, methought, her eyes had lost her note 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 easy is it, for the proper false
In women's waxen hearts to set their forms!
Alas, our frailty note is the cause, not we;
For, such as we are made, e'en such note 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 doat 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 breath?
O time, thou must untangle this, not I;
It is too hard a knot for me to unty.
[Exit.
-- 26 --
Edward Capell [1767], Mr William Shakespeare his comedies, histories, and tragedies, set out by himself in quarto, or by the Players his Fellows in folio, and now faithfully republish'd from those Editions in ten Volumes octavo; with an introduction: Whereunto will be added, in some other Volumes, notes, critical and explanatory, and a Body of Various Readings entire (Printed by Dryden Leach, for J. and R. Tonson [etc.], London) [word count] [S10601].
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