F mufick be the food of love, play on ;
Give me excess of it; that, furfeiting,
The appetite may ficken, and fo die.
That strain again; - it had a dying fall:
O, it came o'er my ear, like the fweet
fouth,

-

That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing, and giving odour. Enough! 'Tis not fo fweet now, as it was before.

no more;

O fpirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou!
That, notwithstanding thy capacity

Receiveth as the fea, nought enters there,
Of what validity and pitch foe'er,

But falls into abatement and low price,

E 3

Even

Even in a minute; (1) fo full of fhapes in fancy,
That it alone is high fantastical.

Cur. Will you go hunt, my Lord?
Duke. What, Curio?

Cur. The hart.

Duke. Why, fo I do, the nobleft that I have: O, when my eyes did fee Olivia first, Methought, the purg'd the air of peftilence; That inftant was I turn'd into a hart,

And my defires, like fell and cruel hounds,

E'er fince pursue me. How now, what news from her?
Enter Valentine.

Val. So please my Lord, I might not be admitted,
But from her hand-maid do return this answer:
The element itself, 'till seven years hence,
Shall not behold her face at ample view;
But, like a cloyftrefs, fhe will veiled walk,
And water once a day her chamber round
With eye-offending brine: all this to feason
A brother's dead love, which fhe would keep fresh
And lasting in her fad remembrance.

Duke. O, fhe, that hath a heart of that fine frame,
Το pay this debt of love but to a brother,
How will the love, when the rich golden fhaft
Hath kill'd the flock of all affections elfe
That live in her? when liver, brain, and heart,
These fov'reign thrones, are all fupply'd, and fill'd,
Her sweet perfections, with one felf-fame King!
Away before me to sweet beds of flowers;
Love-thoughts lye rich, when canopy'd with bowers.

(1)

-fo full of Shapes is Fancy,

[Exeunt.

That it alone is bigb fantaftical.] There can be no Reason why the Duke here, who is altogether serious, and moralizing on the Qualities of Love, fhould tell us, that Fancy is alone the most fantastical Thing imaginable. I am persuaded, the Alteration of is into in has given us the Poet's genuine Meaning; that Love is most fantaftical, in being fo variable in its Fancies. Mr. Warburton.

SCENE,

SCENE, the Street.

Enter Viola, a Captain, and Sailors.

Vio. WHAT country, friends, is this?

Cap. Illyria, Lady.

-Vio. And what should I do in Illyria? My brother he is in Elyftum.

Perchance, he is not drown'd: what think you, failors?
Cap. It is perchance that you yourself were fav'd.
Vio. O my poor brother! fo, perchance, may he be.
Cap. True, Madam: and to comfort you with chance,
Affure yourself, after our fhip did split,

When you, and that poor number fav'd with you,
Hung on our driving boat: I faw, your brother,
Molt provident in peril, bind himself
(Courage and hope both teaching him the practice)
To a ftrong maft that liv'd upon the fea;
Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back,
I faw him hold acquaintance with the waves,
So long as I could fee.

Vio. For faying fo, there's gold.

Mine own efcape unfoldeth to my hope,
Whereto thy fpeech ferves 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 name.
Vio. What is his name?

Cap. Orfino.

Vio. Orfino! I have heard my father name him: He was a batchelor then.

Cap. And fo is now, or was

late;

fo very
For but a month ago I went from hence,
And then 'twas fresh in murmur (as you know,
What Great ones do, the lefs will prattle of)
That he did feek the love of fair Olivia.

Vio. What's the ?

Cap. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a Count,

That dy'd fome twelve months fince, then leaving her
In the protection of his fon, her brother,
Who fhortly alfo dy'd; for whose dear love,
They fay, the hath abjur'd the fight

And company of men.

Vio. O, that I ferv'd that lady,

And might not be deliver'd to the world,
'Till I had made mine own occafion mellow

What my eftate is!

Cap. That were hard to compafs;

Because fhe will admit no kind of fuit,
No, not the Duke's.

Vio. There is a fair behaviour in thee, Captain ;
And tho' that nature with a beauteous wall
Doth oft clofe in pollution; yet of thee,
I will believe, thou haft a mind that fuits
With this thy fair and outward character:
I pr'ythee, and I'll pay thee bounteously,
Conceal me what I am, and be my aid
For fuch difguife as, haply, fhall become
The form of my intent. I'll ferve this Duke;
Thou fhalt prefent me as an eunuch to him,
It may be worth thy pains; for I can fing,
And speak to him in many forts of musick,
That will allow me very worth his fervice,
What elfe may hap, to time I will commit;
Only shape thou thy filence to my wit.

Cap. Be thou his eunuch, and your mute I'll be,
When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not fee.
Vio. I thank thee; lead me on.

[Exeunt.

SCENE, an Apartment in Olivia's House.
Enter Sir Toby, and Maria.

Sir To. WHAT a plague means my neice, to take

the death of her brother thus? I am fure,

care's an enemy to life.

Mar. By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier a-nights; your neice, my lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours.

Sir To. Why, let her except, before excepted. Mar. Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modeft limits of order.

Sir To. Confine? I'll confine myself no finer than I am; these cloaths are good enough to drink in, and fo be these boots too; an they be not, let them hang themfelves in their own ftraps.

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 as any's in Illyria.
Mar. What's that to th' 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. Fie, that you'll fay fo! he plays o' th' violdegambo, and fpeaks three or four languages word for word without book, and hath all the good gifts of

nature.

Mar. He hath, indeed,

almoft natural; for befides 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 fcoundrels and fubtractors 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 neice: I'll drink to her, as long as there's a paffage in my throat, and drink in Illyria. He's a coward, and a coystril, that will not drink to my neice 'till his brains turn o' th' toe like a parish-top. What, wench? Caftiliano vulgo; for here comes Sir Andrew Ague-check.

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