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Sir Toby. What a plague means my niece, to take the death of her brother thus? I am sure, care's an enemy to life.

Maria. By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o'nights; your cousin, my lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours.

Sir Toby. Why, let her except before excepted.

Maria. Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modest limits of order.

Sir Toby. Confine? I'll confine myself no finer than I am: these clothes are good enough to drink in, and so be these boots too; an they be not, let them hang themselves in their own straps.

Maria. 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 Toby. Who? Sir Andrew Aguecheek?

Maria. Ay, he.

Sir Toby. He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria.

Maria. What's that to the purpose?

Sir Toby. Why, he has three thousand ducats a year.

Maria. Ay, but he'll have but a year in all these ducats; he's a very fool and a prodigal.

Sir Toby. Fie, that you'll say so! he plays o' the viol-de-gambo, and speaks three or four languages word for word without book, and hatli all the good gifts of nature.

Maria. He hath, indeed,-almost natural: for, besides 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 Toby. By this hand, they are scoundrels and substractors that say so of him. Who are they?

Maria. They that add, moreover, he's drunk nightly in your company.

Sir Toby. With drinking healths to my niece; I'll drink to her, as long as there is a passage in my throat, and drink in Illyria: He's a coward and a coystril that will not drink to my niece till his brains turn o' the toe like a parish-top.



Sir Tobie. Que diable a donc ma nièce de s'affecter ainsi de la mort de son frère? Indubitablement le chagrin est l'ennemi de la vie?

Marie. En vérité, Sir Tobie, il faut que vous veniez le soir de meilleure heure; votre nièce, ma maîtresse, ne voit pas vos heures indues sans beaucoup de répugnance.

Sir Tobie. Il vaut mieux qu'elle en éprouve que d'en inspirer.

Marie. Fort bien; mais il faut vous tenir dans les modestes limites. des convenances.

Sir Tobie. Me tenir! ma tenue est forte bonne. Ces habits sont assez bons pour boire, et ces bottes aussi; sinon qu'elles se pendent, morbleu ! à leurs propres courroies.

Marie. Ces excès de boisson vous perdront! Hier encore j'entendais madame en parler, ainsi que de l'imbécile chevalier que vous avez amené ici un soir pour lui faire la cour.

Sir Tobie. Qui? Sir André Rougeface?

Marie. Lui-même.

Sir Tobie. C'est un des hommes les plus importants qu'il y ait en Illyrie.

Marie. Qu'est-ce que cela fait?

Sir Tobie. Mais il a trois mille ducats de revenu.

Marie. Oui, mais il n'en a que pour une année avec tous ses ducats: c'est un vrai fou, un prodigue.

Sir Tobie. Fi done! comment pouvez-vous dire cela? Il joue de la viole de Gamboy, il parle trois ou quatre langues, mot pour mot, sans livres, et possède tous les dons de la nature.

Marie. C'est vrai, au naturel; outre qu'il est un sot, il est grand tapageur; et si sa qualité de lâche ne calmait sa fougue de querelleur, les gens sensés sont d'avis qu'il ne tarderait pas à joindre à tous ces dons celui d'un cercueil.

Sir Tobie. Par cette main, ce sont des canailles et des détracteurs ceux qui parlent ainsi de lui! Qui sont-ils ?

Marie. Ceux qui ajoutent qu'il s'enivre tous les soirs dans votre compagnie.

Sir Tobie. En buvant à la santé de ma nièce: je veux boire à sa santé tant qu'il y aura un passage dans mon gosier et du vin en Illyrie: il est un lâche et un chapon celui qui ne veut pas boire à la santé de ma nièce jusqu'à ce que la cervelle lui tourne comme un sabot de paroisse.

LA DOUZIÈME NUIT.-Acte I. Scène 11I.



Celia. My sweet Rose, my dear Rose, be merry.

Rosalind. From henceforth I will, coz, and devise sports. Let me sce-What think you of falling in love? THE interest of As You Like It depends on the varied fortunes of ROSALIND and CELIA. The father of ROSALIND has been banished from his kingdom by his brother, CELIA'S father; but an intimate affection subsists between the two cousins, and they remain inseparable, despite of the alienation of their parents.

ORLANDO, the youngest son of Sir ROWLAND DE BOIS, an intimate friend of ROSALIND'S father, appears, however, on the scene; and, by his manly prowess in defeating a noted wrestler, gains both the notice and heart of ROSALIND, who rewards him by giving him a chain she had been wearing. Being dependent on a cruel brother, OLIVER, he has but a short-lived happiness, and so flees to the forest of Arden, in hopes of being retained amongst the followers of ROSALIND's father, who had there taken refuge.

The father of CELIA becoming jealous of her attachment to ROSALIND, orders the latter to depart from his dominions. The cousins, however, will not be parted; and, therefore, make their escape to Arden, ROSALIND being disguised as a hunter; they are accompanied by TOUCHSTONE, a "fool" attached to the court. CELIA changes her name to ALIENA, and travels as sister to ROSALIND. ORLANDO, wandering in the forest, hangs on a tree a copy of verses in praise of ROSALIND, who finds them. CELIA happens to pick up another, and also discovers the writer, ORLANDO.

ROSALIND, maintaining her disguise, is mistaken by him for a forester, and most adroitly forces him to a full confession of his love for her. From time to time she pursues this deceit, and, without mercy, torments ORLANDO in his love-sick condition. She persuades him to address her as if she were ROSALIND; but he, not perceiving the reality, falls into frequent neglect, for which she sharply chides him.

OLIVER, ORLANDO's brother, having been banished, is accidentally rescued by ORLANDO, in the forest, from an attack by a lioness, and is sent to ROSALIND, to excuse ORLANDO in not keeping an appointment with her. This leads to OLIVER discovering himself to the cousins; and, what is still better, of falling in love with CELIA.

ROSALIND now resolves to drop her disguise towards ORLANDO. She promises him that, on the day of CELIA's marriage, he shall marry his ROSALIND. Meanwhile, ORLANDO has been a frequent guest at her father's table in another part of the forest. He still has not the least idea that ROSALIND really stands before him, and herself promises this realisation of his heartfelt desires.

On the morrow, CELIA and OLIVER, with TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY-a young shepherdess whom he has met with in the forest, and is going to marry—and two rustics, SILVIUS and PHOEBE, repair to the place where ROSALIND'S father and his attendants are living. PHOEBE had long resisted the advances of SILVIUS, and had fallen in love with ROSALIND, mistaking her, as had ORLANDO, for a forester. She had exacted a promise from ROSALIND, that she would marry no other woman but her.

ROSALIND, however, enters, in woman's attire, in presence of all, and thus declares herself:

"I'll have no father if you be not he; (To the Duke.)
I'll have no husband if you be not he; (To Orlando.)
Nor ne'er wed woman if you be not she." (To Phœbe.)

And the marriage of each couple ends the scene.

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