Vio. I can say little more than I have studied, and that question's out of my part. Good gentle one, give me modest assurance, if you be the lady of the house, that I may proceed in my speech. Oli. Are you a comedian? Vio. No, my profound heart: and yet, by the very fangs of malice, I swear, I am not that I play. Are you the lady of the house? Oli. If I do not usurp myself, I am. Vio. Most certain, if you are she, you do usurp yourself; for what is yours to bestow, is not yours to reserve. But this is from my commission: I will on with my speech in your praise, and then shew you the heart of my message. Oli. Come to what is important in't: I forgive you the praise. Vio. Alas, I took great pains to study it, and 'tis poetical. Oli. It is the more like to be feigned; I pray you, keep it in. I heard, you were saucy at my gates; and allowed your approach, rather to wonder at you than to hear you. If you be not mad, be gone; if you have reason, be brief: 'tis not that time of moon with me, to make one in so skipping a dialogue. Mar. Will you hoist sail, sir? here lies your way. Vio. No, good swabber; I am to hull here a little longer. Some mollification for your giant, sweet lady. Oli. Tell me your mind. Vio. I am a messenger. Oli. Sure, you have some hideous matter to deliver, when the courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak your office. Vio. It alone concerns your ear. I bring no over ture of war, no taxation of homage; I hold the olive in hand: my my words are as full of peace as matter. Oli. Yet you began rudely. What are you? what would you? Vio. The rudeness, that hath appear'd in me, have I learn'd from my entertainment. What I am, and what I would, are as secret as maidenhead: to your ears, divinity; to any other's, prophanation. Oli. Give us the place alone: we will hear this divinity. [Exit MARIA.] Now, sir, what is your text? Vio. Most sweet lady, Oli. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be said of it. Where lies your text? Vio. In Orsino's bosom. Oli. In his bosom? In what chapter of his bosom? Vio. To answer by the method, in the first of his heart. Oli. O, I have read it; it is heresy. Have you no more to say? Vio. Good madam, let me see your face. Oli. Have you any commission from your lord to negociate with my face? you are now out of your text: but we will draw the curtain, and shew you the picture. Look you, sir, such a one as I was this present: Is't not well done? [Unveiling. Vio. Excellently done, if God did all. Oli. 'Tis in grain, sir; 'twill endure wind and weather. Vio. Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on: Lady, you are the cruel'st she alive, If you will lead these graces to the grave, Oli. O, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted; I will give out divers schedules of my beauty : It shall be inventoried; and every particle, and utensil, labelled to my will: as, item, two lips indifferent red; item, two grey eyes, with lids to them; item, one neck, one chin, and so forth. Were you sent hither to 'praise me? Vio. I see you what you are: you are too proud; But, if you were the devil, you are fair. My lord and master loves you; O, such love Could be but recompens'd, though you were crown'd The non-pareil of beauty! Oli. How does he love me? Vio. With adorations, with fertile tears, With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire. Oli. Your lord does know my mind, I cannot love him: Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble, Vio. If I did love you in my master's flame, I would not understand it. Oli. Why, what would you? Vio. Make me a willow cabin at your gate. And call upon my soul within the house; Write loyal cantons of contemned love, And sing them loud even in the dead of night; But Oli. You might do much: What is your parentage? Vio. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well: I am a gentleman. Oli. 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; [Exit. 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.— Re-enter MALVOLIO. Mal. Here, madam, at your service. Oli. Run after that same peevish messenger, Nor hold him up with hopes; I am not for him: [Exit. Oli. I do I know not what: and fear to find [Erit. |