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Oli. Give us the place alone : [Exit MAR. ) we will hear this divinity. 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? V'io. In Orsino's bosom.
520 Oli. In his bosom ? in what chapter of his bosom?
Vio. To answer by the inethod, 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 negotiate 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 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 cruell'st slie alive, If you will lead these graces to the grave, And leave the world no copy.
539 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, labellid 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!
551 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
Vio. If I did love you in my master's fame,
denial I would find no sense, 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 cantos of contemned love, And sing them loud even in the dead of night; 570 Haloo your name to the reverberate hills, And make the babbling gossip of the air Cry out, Olivia! O, you should not rest
Between the elements of air and earth,
you should pity me. Oli. You might do much: What is your parentage ?
Vio. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well :
Oli. Get you to your lord ;
Vio. I am no fee'd post, lady ; keep your purse ;
Oli. What is your parentage?
590 I am a gentleman.
I'll be sworn thou art ;
Mal. Here, madam, at your service.
Oli. Run after that same peevish messenger,
ACT II. SCENE I.
The Street. Enter ANTONIO, and SEBASTIAN.
ILL you stay no longer ? nor will you not, that I go with you?
Seb. By your patience, no: my stars shine darkly over me; the malignancy of my fate might, perhaps, distemper yours; therefore I shall crave of you your leave, that I may bear my evils alone: It were a bad recompénce for your love, to lay any of them on you.
Ant. Let me yet know of you, whither you are bound.
9 Seb. No, in sooth, sir; my determinate voyage is mere extravagancy. But I perceive in you so excel.
lent a touch of modesty, that you will not extort from me what I am willing to keep in; therefore it charges me in manners the rather to express myself : You must know of me, then, Antonio, my name is Sebastian, which I call’d Rodorigo; my father was that Sebastian of Messaline, whom I know, you have heard of: he left behind him, myself, and a sister, both born in an hour; If the heavens had been ples'd, would we had so ended! but you, sir, alter'd that; for, some hour before you took me from the breach of the sea, was my sister drown'd.
Ant. Alas, the day!
Seb. A lady, sir, though it was said she muchre. sembled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful.; but, though I could not, with such estimable wonder, over-far believe that, yet thus far I will boldly publish her, slie bore a mind that envy could not but call
she is drown'd, already, sir, with salt water, though I seem to drown her remembrance again with
31 Ant. Pardon me, sir, your bad entertainment. Seb. O good Antonio, forgive me your trouble.
Ant. If you will not murther me for my love, let me be your servant.
Seb. If you will not undo what you have done, that is, kill him whom you have recover'd, desire it not. Fare ye well at once : my bosom is full of kindness; and I am yet so near the manners of my mother, that upon the least occasion more, mine eyes will tell