Part 11

Mar. The diu'll a Puritane that hee is, or any thing constantly but a time-pleaser, an affection'd Asse, that cons State without booke, and vtters it by great swarths. The best perswaded of himselfe: so cram'd (as he thinkes) with excellencies, that it is his grounds of faith, that all that looke on him, loue him: and on that vice in him, will my reuenge finde notable cause to worke

To. What wilt thou do? Mar. I will drop in his way some obscure Epistles of loue, wherein by the colour of his beard, the shape of his legge, the manner of his gate, the expressure of his eye, forehead, and complection, he shall finde himselfe most feelingly personated. I can write very like my Ladie your Neece, on a forgotten matter wee can hardly make distinction of our hands

To. Excellent, I smell a deuice

An. I hau't in my nose too

To. He shall thinke by the Letters that thou wilt drop that they come from my Neece, and that shee's in loue with him

Mar. My purpose is indeed a horse of that colour

An. And your horse now would make him an Asse

Mar. Asse, I doubt not

An. O twill be admirable

Mar. Sport royall I warrant you: I know my Physicke will worke with him, I will plant you two, and let the Foole make a third, where he shall finde the Letter: obserue his construction of it: For this night to bed, and dreame on the euent: Farewell.

Exit

To. Good night Penthisilea

An. Before me she's a good wench

To. She's a beagle true bred, and one that adores me: what o'that? An. I was ador'd once too

To. Let's to bed knight: Thou hadst neede send for more money

An. If I cannot recouer your Neece, I am a foule way out

To. Send for money knight, if thou hast her not i'th end, call me Cut

An. If I do not, neuer trust me, take it how you will

To. Come, come, Ile go burne some Sacke, tis too late to go to bed now: Come knight, come knight.

Exeunt.

Scena Quarta.

Enter Duke, Viola, Curio, and others

Du. Giue me some Musick; Now good morow frends. Now good Cesario, but that peece of song, That old and Anticke song we heard last night; Me thought it did releeue my passion much, More then light ayres, and recollected termes Of these most briske and giddy-paced times. Come, but one verse

Cur. He is not heere (so please your Lordshippe) that should sing it? Du. Who was it? Cur. Feste the Iester my Lord, a foole that the Ladie Oliuiaes Father tooke much delight in. He is about the house

Du. Seeke him out, and play the tune the while.

Musicke playes.

Come hither Boy, if euer thou shalt loue In the sweet pangs of it, remember me: For such as I am, all true Louers are, Vnstaid and skittish in all motions else, Saue in the constant image of the creature That is belou'd. How dost thou like this tune? Vio. It giues a verie eccho to the seate Where loue is thron'd

Du. Thou dost speake masterly, My life vpon't, yong though thou art, thine eye Hath staid vpon some fauour that it loues: Hath it not boy? Vio. A little, by your fauour