221And. Ile stay a moneth longer. I am a fellow o'th

222strangest minde i'th world: I delight in Maskes and Re-

223uels sometimes altogether.

224To. Art thou good at these kicke-chawses Knight?

225And. As any man in Illyria, whatsoeuer he be, vnder

226the degree of my betters, & yet I will not compare with

227an old man.

228To. What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight?

229And. Faith, I can cut a caper.

230To. And I can cut the Mutton too't.

231And. And I thinke I haue the backe-tricke, simply as

232strong as any man in Illyria.

233To. Wherefore are these things hid? Wherefore haue

234these gifts a Curtaine before 'em? Are they like to take

235dust, like mistris Mals picture? Why dost thou not goe

236to Church in a Galliard, and come home in a Carranto?

237My verie walke should be a Iigge: I would not so much

238as make water but in a Sinke-a-pace: What dooest thou

239meane? Is it a world to hide vertues in? I did thinke by

240the excellent constitution of thy legge, it was form'd vn-

241der the starre of a Galliard.

242And. I, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a

243dam'd colour'd stocke. Shall we sit about some Reuels?

244To. What shall we do else: were we not borne vnder

245Taurus?

246And. Taurus? That sides and heart.

247To. No sir, it is leggs and thighes: let me see thee ca-

248per. Ha, higher: ha, ha, excellent. Exeunt

251Val. If the Duke continue these fauours towards you

252Cesario, you are like to be much aduanc'd, he hath known

253you but three dayes, and already you are no stranger.

254Vio. You either feare his humour, or my negligence,

255that you call in question the continuance of his loue. Is

256he inconstant sir, in his fauours. Val. No beleeue me.

258Vio. I thanke you: heere comes the Count.

259Duke. Who saw Cesario hoa?

260Vio. On your attendance my Lord heere.

261Du. Stand you a-while aloofe. Cesario,

262Thou knowst no lesse, but all: I haue vnclasp'd

263To thee the booke euen of my secret soule.

264Therefore good youth, addresse thy gate vnto her,

265Be not deni'de accesse, stand at her doores,

266And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow

267Till thou haue audience.

268Vio. Sure my Noble Lord,

269If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow

270As it is spoke, she neuer will admit me.

271Du, Be clamorous, and leape all ciuill bounds,

272Rather then make vnprofited returne,

273Vio. Say I do speake with her (my Lord) what then?

274Du. O then, vnfold the passi}on of my loue,

275Surprize her with discourse of my deere faith;

276It shall become thee well to act my woes:

277She will attend it better in thy youth,

278Then in a Nuntio's of more graue aspect.

279Vio. I thinke not so, my Lord.

280Du. Deere Lad, beleeue it;

281For they shall yet belye thy happy yeeres,

282That say thou art a man: Dianas lip

283Is not more smooth, and rubious: thy small pipe

284Is as the maidens organ, shrill, and sound,

285And all is semblatiue a womans part.

286I know thy constellation is right apt

287For this affayre: some foure or fiue attend him,

288All if you will: for I my selfe am best

289When least in companie: prosper well in this,

290And thou shalt liue as freely as thy Lord,

291To call his fortunes thine.

292Vio. Ile do my best

293To woe your Lady: yet a barrefull strife,

294Who ere I woe, my selfe would be his wife. Exeunt.

297Ma. Nay, either tell me where thou hast bin, or I will

298not open my lippes so wide as a brissle may enter, in way

299of thy excuse: my Lady will hang thee for thy absence.

300Clo. Let her hang me: hee that is well hang'de in this

301world, needs to feare no colours.

302Ma. Make that good.

303Clo. He shall see none to feare.

304Ma. A good lenton answer: I can tell thee where y^t

305saying was borne, of I feare no colours.

306Clo. Where good mistris Mary?

307Ma. In the warrs, & that may you be bolde to say in

308your foolerie.

309Clo. Well, God giue them wisedome that haue it: &

310those that are fooles, let them vse their talents.

311Ma. Yet you will be hang'd for being so long absent,

312or to be turn'd away: is not that as good as a hanging to

313you?

314Clo. Many a good hanging, preuents a bad marriage:

315and for turning away, let summer beare it out.

316Ma. You are resolute then?

317Clo. Not so neyther, but I am resolu'd on two points

318Ma. That if one breake, the other will hold: or if both

319breake, your gaskins fall.

320Clo. Apt in good faith, very apt: well go thy way, if

321sir Toby would leaue drinking, thou wert as witty a piece

322of Eues flesh, as any in Illyria.

323Ma. Peace you rogue, no more o'that: here comes my

324Lady: make your excuse wisely, you were best.

326Clo. Wit, and't be thy will, put me into good fooling:

327those wits that thinke they haue thee, doe very oft proue

328fooles: and I that am sure I lacke thee, may passe for a

329wise man. For what saies Quinapalus, Better a witty foole,

330then a foolish wit. God blesse thee Lady.

331Ol. Take the foole away.

332Clo. Do you not heare fellowes, take away the Ladie.

333Ol. Go too, y'are a dry foole: Ile no more of you: be-

334sides you grow dis-honest.

335Clo. Two faults Madona, that drinke & good counsell

336wil amend: for giue the dry foole drink, then is the foole

337not dry: bid the dishonest man mend himself, if he mend,

338he is no longer dishonest; if hee cannot, let the Botcher

339mend him: any thing that's mended, is but patch'd: vertu

340that transgresses, is but patcht with sinne, and sin that a-

341mends, is but patcht with vertue. If that this simple

342Sillogisme will serue, so: if it will not, vvhat remedy?

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