And, in dimension, and. the shape of nature, Vio. If I did love you in my master's flame, I would not understand it. Oli. Why, what would you And sing them loud even in the dead of night; ? Oli. You might do much: What is your parentage? Oti. Get you to your lord; I cannot love him: let him send no more; Oli. What is your parentage? Above my fortunes, yet my state is well; I am a gentleman. -I'll be sworn thou art; Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit, Do give thee five-fold blazon :--Not too fast :-soft! soft! Unless the master were the man.-How now? Even so quickly may one catch the plague ? To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be.— Mal. Re-enter MALVOLIO. Here, madam, at your service. Nor hold him up with hopes; I am not for him: If that the youth will come this way to-morrow, [Exit. Oli. I do I know not what: and fear to find Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind. Fate, show thy force: Ourselves we do not owe; [Exit. ACT II. SCENE.-A Street. Enter VIOLA; MALVOLIO following. Mal. Were not you even now with the countess Olivia ? Vio. Even now, sir; on a moderate pace I have since arrived but hither. Mal. She returns this ring to you, sir; you might have saved me my pains, to have taken it away yourself. She adds, moreover, that you should put your lord into a desperate assurance she will none of him: And one thing more; that you be never so hardy to come again in his affairs, unless it be to report your lord's taking of this. Receive it so. Vio. She took the ring of me; I'll none of it. Mal. Come, sir, you peevishly threw it to her; and her will is, it should be so returned: if it be worth stooping for, there it lies in your eye; if not, be it his that finds it. Vio. 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, She loves me, sure; the cunning of her passion None of my lord's ring! why, he sent her none. In women's waxen hearts to set their forms! And I, poor monster, fond as much on him [Exit. What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe? O time, thou must entangle this, not I; It is too hard a knot for me to untie. [Exit Viola becomes enamored of the Duke, and with exquisite delicacy describes her own feelings, while professing to narrate her sister's story. SCENE.-A Room in the Duke's Palace. Enter DUKE, VIOLA, CURIO, and others. friends : Cur. He is not here, so please your lordship, that should sing it. Duke. Who was it? Cur. Feste, the jester, my lord; a fool, that the lady Olivia's father took much delight in: he is about the house. Duke. Seek him out, and play the tune the while. Come hither, boy; if ever thou shalt love, [Exit CURIO.-Music. That is belov'd.-How dost thou like this tune? Where Love is thron❜d. Duke. Thou dost speak masterly: My life upon't, young though thou art, thine eye Hath it not, boy? Vio. Duke. She is not worth thee then. Of your complexion. What years, i' faith? Duke. Too old, by heaven. Let still the woman take So sways she level in her husband's heart. Vio. I think it well, my lord. For women are as roses; whose fair flower, Get thee to yond' same sovereign cruelty: The parts that fortune hath bestow'd upon her, As Vio. 'Sooth, but you must. Say, that some lady, as, perhaps, there is, Can bide the beating of so strong a passion And can digest as much: make no compare Vio. Ay, but I know,— Duke. What dost thou know? Vio. Too well what love women to men may: In faith, they are as true of heart as we. Duke. Feed on her damask cheek: she pin'd in thought; Duke. But died thy sister of her love, my boy? Duke. Ay, that's the theme. To her in haste; give her this jewel; say, My love can give no place, bide no denay.* ACT III. OLIVIA, and VIOLA. According to the Duke's instructions, Viola again presents herself to Olivia, but finds the lady unwilling to listen to Orsino's suit. The cause is explained in the following scene. Oli. Give me your hand, sir. Vio. My duty, madam, and most humble service. Vio. Cesario is your servant's name, fair princess. Vio. And he is yours, and his must needs be yours; Oli. For him, I think not on him: for his thoughts, Oli. Vio. Dear lady, Oli. Give me leave, I beseech you: I did send To force that on you, in a shameful cunning, Which you knew none of yours: What might you think? Have you not set mine honor 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 poor heart: So let me hear you speak. Vio. I pity you. Oli. That's a degree to love. Vio. No, not a step; for 'tis a vulgar proof, That very oft we pity enemies. Oli. Why, then, methinks, 'tis time to smile again. O world, how apt the poor are to be proud! * Denial. |