Unless the master were the man.-How now? Even so quickly may one catch the plague? With an invisible and subtle stealth, To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be.— What, ho, Malvolio !— Malvolio. Re-enter MALVOLIO. Here, madam, at your service. Olivia. Run after that same peevish messenger, The county's man he left this ring behind him, Would I, or not; tell him, I'll none of it. Desire him not to flatter with his lord, Nor hold him up with hopes! I am not for him : Olivia. I do I know not what: and fear to find Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind.18 ACT II. SCENE I. Sebastian. A lady, sir, though it was said she much resembled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful: but, though I could not, with such estimable wonder, overfar believe that, yet thus far I will boldly publish her, she bore a mind that envy could not but call fair: she is drowned already, sir, with salt water, though I seem to drown her remembrance again with more. SCENE II. Viola. I left no ring with her: What means this lady? She loves me, sure; the cunning of her passion None of my lord's ring! why, he sent her none. Poor lady, she were better love a dream. In women's waxen hearts to set their forms! For, such as we are made of, such we be. How will this fadge? My master loves her dearly; What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe? It is too hard a knot for me to untie. SCENE IV. Duke. Too old, by heaven; Let still the woman take An elder than herself; so wears she to him, So sways she level in her husband's heart. For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, Viola. I think it well, my lord. Duke. Then let thy love be younger than thyself Get thee to yon' same sovereign cruelty: The parts that fortune hath bestow'd upon her, Viola. * 'Sooth, but you must. Say, that some lady, as, perhaps, there is, Can bide the beating of so strong a passion That suffer surfeit, cloyment, and revolt; And can digest as much : make no compare And that I owe Olivia. Viola. Ay, but I know, Duke. What dost thou know? Viola. Too well what love women to men may owe: In faith, they are as true of heart as we. My father had a daughter lov'd a man, As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman, I should your lordship. Duke. And what's her history? Viola. A blank, my lord: She never told her love,19 She sat like patience on a monument, Duke. But died thy sister of her love, my boy? Viola. I am all the daughters of my father's house, And all the brothers too ;-and yet I know not :— Sir, shall I to this lady? Duke. ACT III. SCENE I. Olivia. O, by your leave, I pray you ; Viola. Dear lady,— Olivia. Give me leave, 'beseech you: I did send, After the last enchantment you did here, A ring in chase of you; so did I abuse Under your hard construction must I sit, To force that on you, in a shameful cunning, Which you knew none of yours: What might you think? Have you not set mine honour at the stake, And baited it with all the unmuzzled thoughts That tyrannous heart can think? To one of your receiving Enough is shown; a cyprus, not a bosom, Hides my heart: So let me hear you speak. Viola. I pity you. Olivia. That's a degree to love. Olivia. O, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful In the contempt and anger of his lip! A murd'rous guilt shows not itself more soon Than love that would seem hid: love's night is noon. Cesario, by the roses of the spring, By maidhood, honour, truth, and every thing, |