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Unless the master were the man.-How now?
Even so quickly may one catch the plague?
Methinks, I feel this youth's perfections,
With an invisible and subtle stealth,
To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be.—
What, ho, 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 :
If that the youth will come this way to-morrow,
I'll give him reasons for 't. Hie thee, Malvolio.

Malvolio. Madam, I will.

Olivia. I do I know not what: and fear to find
Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind.18
Fate, show thy force: ourselves we do not owe;
What is decreed, must be ; and be this so!


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.


Viola. I left no ring with her: What means this lady?
Fortune forbid my outside have not charm'd her!
She made good view of me; indeed so much,
That, sure, methought her eyes had lost her tongue,
For she did speak in starts distractedly.

She loves me, sure; the cunning of her passion
Invites me in this churlish messenger.

None of my lord's ring! why, he sent her none.
I am the man ;-If it be so, (as 'tis),

Poor lady, she were better love a dream.
Disguise, I see, thou art a wickedness,
Wherein the pregnant enemy does much.
How easy is it for the proper-false

In women's waxen hearts to set their forms!
Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we;

For, such as we are made of, such we be.
How will this fadge? My master loves her dearly;
And I, poor monster, fond as much on him;
And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me:
What will become of this! As I am man,
My state is desperate for my master's love;
As I am woman, now alas the day!

What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe?
O time, thou must untangle this, not I;

It is too hard a knot for me to untie.


Duke. Too old, by heaven; Let still the woman take

An elder than herself; so wears she to him, she level in her husband's heart.



For, boy, however we do praise ourselves,
Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm,
More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn,
Than women's are.


I think it well, my lord.
Duke. Then let thy love be younger than thyself
Or thy affection cannot hold the bent:
For women are as roses; whose fair flower,
Being once display'd, doth fall that very hour.

Viola. And so they are: alas, that they are so ;
To die, even when they to perfection grow!




Duke. Once more, Cesario,

Get thee to yon' same sovereign cruelty :
Tell her, my love, more noble than the world,
Prizes not quantity of dirty lands;

The parts that fortune hath bestow'd upon her,
Tell her, I hold as giddily as fortune;
But 'tis that miracle, and queen of gems,
That nature pranks her in, attracts my soul.
Viola. But, if she cannot love you, sir?
Duke. I cannot be so answer'd.

'Sooth, but you must.
Say, that some lady, as, perhaps, there is,
Hath for your love as great a pang of heart
As you have for Olivia: you cannot love her;
You tell her so; Must she not then be answer'd ?
Duke. There is no woman's sides

Can bide the beating of so strong a passion
As love doth give my heart: no woman's heart
So big, to hold so much; they lack retention.
Alas, their love may be call'd appetite,—
No motion of the liver, but the palate,-

That suffer surfeit, cloyment, and revolt ;
But mine is all as hungry as the sea,
And can digest as much : make no compare
Between that love a woman can bear me,
And that I owe Olivia.


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.


Ay, but I know,

And what's her history?
Viola. A blank, my lord: She never told her love,19
But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud,

Feed on her damask cheek: she pin'd in thought;
And, with a green and yellow melancholy,

She sat like patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed ?
We men may say more, swear more: but, indeed,
Our shows are more than will; for still we prove
Much in our vows, but little in our love.

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?

Ay, that's the theme.
To her in haste; give her this jewel; say,
My love can give no place, bide no denay.


Olivia. O, by your leave, I pray you ;
I bade you never speak again of him :
But, would you undertake another suit,
I had rather hear you to solicit that,
Than musick from the spheres.


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
Myself, my servant, and, I fear me, you:
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,

I love thee so, that, maugre all thy pride,
Nor wit, nor reason, can my passion hide.
Do not extort thy reasons from this clause,

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