bristle may enter, in way of thy excufe; my Lady will hang thee for thy abfence.

Clo. Let her hang me; he that is well hang'd in this world, needs fear no colours. Mar. Make that good.

Clo. He fhall fee none to fear.

Mar. A good lenten answer: I can tell thee where that faying was born, of, I fear no colours. Clo. Where, good mistress Mary?

Mar. In the wars, and that may you be bold to fay in your foolery.

Clo. Well, God give them wifdom that have it; and thofe that are fools, let them ufe their talents.

Mar. Yet you will be hang'd for being fo long abfent, or be turn'd away; is not that as good as a hanging to you

?

Clo. Marry, a good hanging prevents a bad marriage; and for turning away, let fummer bear it out. Mar. You are refolute then?

Clo. Not fo neither, but I am refolv'd on two points. Mar. That if one break, the other will hold; or, if both break, your gaskins fall.

Clo. Apt, in good faith; very apt well, go thy way, if Sir Toby would leave drinking, thou wert as witty a piece of Eve's flesh as any in Illyria.

Mar. Peace, you rogue, no more o' that; here comes my Lady; make your excufe wifely, you were beft. [Exit.

Enter Olivia, and Malvolio.

Clo. Wit, and't be thy will, put me into a good fooling! thofe wits, that think they have thee, do very oft prove fools; and I, that am fure I lack thee,

7

anfwer.

lenten anfwer:-] A lean, or as we now call it, a dry

may

may pafs for a wife man. For what fays Quinapalus, Better be a witty fool than a foolish wit3.

thee, Lady!

Oli. Take the fool away.

God bless

Clo. Do you not hear, fellows? take away the Lady. Oli. Go to, y'are a dry fool; I'll no more of you; befides, you grow dishonest.

Clo. Two faults, Madona, that drink and good counsel will amend; for give the dry fool drink, then is the fool not dry: Bid the dishonest man mend himself; if he mend, he is no longer dishonest; if he cannot, let the botcher mend him. Any thing, that's mended, is but patch'd; virtue, that tranfgreffes, is but patch'd with fin; and fin, that amends, is but patch'd with virtue. If that this fimple fyllogifm will ferve, fo; if it will not, what remedy? as there is no true cuckold but calamity, fo beauty's a flower: the Lady bade take away the fool, therefore, I fay again, take her away.

Oli. Sir, I bade them take away you.

Clo. Mifprifion in the highest degree.-Lady, Cucullus non facit monachum; that's as much as to fay, I wear not motley in my brain: good Madona, give me leave to prove you a fool.

Oli. Can you do it?

Clo. Dexterously, good Madona.
Oli. Make your proof.

Clo. I muft catechize you for it, Madona; good my mouse of virtue, anfwer me.

Oli. Well, Sir, for want of other idleness, I'll bide your proof.

Clo. Good Madona, why mourn'ft thou?
Oli. Good fool, for my brother's death.
Clo. I think, his foul is in hell, Madona.

Hall, in his Chronicle, fpeaking of the death of Sir Thomas More, fays, that he knows not

whether to call him a foolish wife man, or a wife foolish man.

Oli. I know his foul is in heav'n, foel.

Clo. The more fool you, Madona, to mourn for your brother's foul being in heav'n: take away the fool, Gentlemen.

Oli. What think you of this fool, Malvolio, doth he not mend?

Mal. Yes, and fhall do, 'till the pangs of death shake him. Infirmity, that decays the wife, doth ever make better the fool.

Clo. God fend you, Sir, a speedy infirmity, for the better increasing your folly! Sir Toby will be fworn, that I am no fox; but he will not pafs his word for two pence, that you are no fool.

Oli. How fay you to that, Malvolio?

Mal. I marvel, your Ladyfhip takes delight in fuch a barren rafcal; I faw him put down the other day with an ordinary fool, that has no more brain than a ftone. Look you now, he's out of his guard already; unless you laugh and minifter occafion to him, he is gagg'd. I proteft, I take thefe wife men, that crow fo at these fet kind of fools, no better than the fools' Zanies.

Oli. O, you are fick of felf-love, Malvolio, and taste with a diftemper'd appetite. To be generous, guiltlefs, and of free difpofition, is to take those things for bird-bolts that you deem cannon-bullets: there is no flander in an allow'd fool, though he do nothing but rail; nor no railing in a known difcreet man, though he do nothing but repove.

Clo. Now Mercury indue thee with leafing, for thou speak'ft well of fools!

9 Now Mercury indue thee with LEASING, for thou speak' ft well of fools!] This is a ftupid blunder. We should read, with PLEASING, i. e. with eloquence, make thee a gracious and power

Enter

ful fpeaker, for Mercury was the God of orators as well as cheats. But the firft Editors, who did not understand the phrafe, indue thee with pleafing, made this foolish correction; more excufable,

however

Enter Maria.

Mar. Madam, there is at the gate a young Gentle man, much defires to speak with you.

Oli. From the Count Orfino, is it?

Mar. I know not, Madam, 'tis a fair young Man, and well attended.

Oli. Who of my people hold him in delay?
Mar. Sir Toby, Madam, your Uncle.

Oli, Fetch him off, I pray you, he speaks nothing but madman: fie on him! Go you, Malvolio; if it be a fuit from the Count, I am fick, or not at home: What you will, to difmifs it. [Exit Malvolio.] Now you fee, Sir, how your fooling grows old, and people diflike it.

Clo. Thou haft fpoke for us, Madona, as if thy eldest Son should be a fool: whofe fcull Jove cram with brains, for here comes one of thy Kin has a most weak Pia Mater!

the

Oli. By mine honour, half drunk. What is he at gate, Uncle?

Sir To. A Gentleman.

Oli. A Gentleman? what Gentleman?

I

Sir To. 'Tis a Gentleman here.A plague o these pickle herring! how now, for?

however, than the laft Editor's, who, when this emendation was pointed out to him, would make one of his own; and fo in his Oxford edition, reads, with LEARNING; without troubling himself to fatisfy the reader how the first editor should blunder in a word fo eafy to be understood

Cla.

Clo. Good Sir Toby,

Oli. Uncle, Uncle, how have you come fo early by this lethargy?

Sir To. Letchery! I defie letchery: there's one at the gate.

Oli. Ay, marry, what is he?

Sir To. Let him be the devil and he will, I care not give me faith, fay I. Well, it's all one. [Exit. Oli. What's a drunken man like, fool?

Clo. Like a drown'd man, a fool, and a madman: one draught above heat makes him a fool; the second mads him; and a third drowns him.

Oli. Go thou and feek the Coroner, and let him fit o' my Uncle; for he's in the third degree of drink; he's drown'd; go look after him.

Glo. He is but mad yet, Madona, and the fool fhall look to the madman. [Exit Clown.

Enter Malvolio.

Mal. Madam, yond young Fellow fwears he will fpeak with you. I told him, you were fick; he takes on him to understand fo much, and therefore comes to speak with you: I told him you were afleep; he feems to have a fore-knowledge of that too, and therefore comes to speak with you. What is to be faid to him, Lady? he's fortified against any denial.

Oli. Tell him, he fhall not fpeak with me.

Mal. He has been told fo; and he fays, he'll ftand at your door like a Sheriff's poft, and be the fupporter to a bench, but he'll speak with you.