SCENE: A city in Illyria; and the sea-coast near it    ACT I. SCENE I. The DUKE'S palace  Enter ORSINO, Duke of Illyria, CURIO, and other LORDS; MUSICIANS attending    DUKE. If music be the food of love, play on,     Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,     The appetite may sicken and so die.     That strain again! It had a dying fall;     O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound     That breathes upon a bank of violets,     Stealing and giving odour! Enough, no more;     'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.     O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou!     That, notwithstanding thy capacity     Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there,     Of what validity and pitch soe'er,     But falls into abatement and low price     Even in a minute. So full of shapes is fancy,     That it alone is high fantastical.   CURIO. Will you go hunt, my lord?   DUKE. What, Curio?   CURIO. The hart.   DUKE. Why, so I do, the noblest that I have.     O, when mine eyes did see Olivia first,     Methought she purg'd the air of pestilence!     That instant was I turn'd into a hart,     And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds,     E'er since pursue me.                       Enter VALENTINE      How now! what news from her?   VALENTINE. So please my lord, I might not be admitted,     But from her handmaid do return this answer:     The element itself, till seven years' heat,     Shall not behold her face at ample view;     But like a cloistress she will veiled walk,     And water once a day her chamber round     With eye-offending brine; all this to season     A brother's dead love, which she would keep fresh     And lasting in her sad remembrance.   DUKE. O, she that hath a heart of that fine frame     To pay this debt of love but to a brother,     How will she love when the rich golden shaft     Hath kill'd the flock of all affections else     That live in her; when liver, brain, and heart,     These sovereign thrones, are all supplied and fill'd,     Her sweet perfections, with one self king!     Away before me to sweet beds of flow'rs:     Love-thoughts lie rich when canopied with bow'rs.                                                           Exeunt     SCENE II. The sea-coast  Enter VIOLA, a CAPTAIN, and SAILORS    VIOLA. What country, friends, is this?   CAPTAIN. This is Illyria, lady.   VIOLA. And what should I do in Illyria?     My brother he is in Elysium.     Perchance he is not drown'd- what think you, sailors?   CAPTAIN. It is perchance that you yourself were saved.   VIOLA. O my poor brother! and so perchance may he be.   CAPTAIN. True, madam, and, to comfort you with chance,     Assure yourself, after our ship did split,     When you, and those poor number saved with you,     Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother,     Most provident in peril, bind himself-     Courage and hope both teaching him the practice-     To a strong mast that liv'd upon the sea;     Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back,     I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves     So long as I could see.   VIOLA. For saying so, there's gold.     Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope,     Whereto thy speech serves for authority,     The like of him. Know'st thou this country?   CAPTAIN. Ay, madam, well; for I was bred and born     Not three hours' travel from this very place.   VIOLA. Who governs here?   CAPTAIN. A noble duke, in nature as in name.   VIOLA. What is his name?   CAPTAIN. Orsino.   VIOLA. Orsino! I have heard my father name him.     He was a bachelor then.   CAPTAIN. And so is now, or was so very late;     For but a month ago I went from hence,     And then 'twas fresh in murmur- as, you know,     What great ones do the less will prattle of-     That he did seek the love of fair Olivia.   VIOLA. What's she?   CAPTAIN. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count     That died some twelvemonth since, then leaving her     In the protection of his son, her brother,     Who shortly also died; for whose dear love,     They say, she hath abjur'd the company     And sight of men.   VIOLA. O that I serv'd that lady,     And might not be delivered to the world,     Till I had made mine own occasion mellow,     What my estate is!   CAPTAIN. That were hard to compass,     Because she will admit no kind of suit-     No, not the Duke's.   VIOLA. There is a fair behaviour in thee, Captain;     And though that nature with a beauteous wall     Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee     I will believe thou hast a mind that suits     With this thy fair and outward character.     I prithee, and I'll pay thee bounteously,     Conceal me what I am, and be my aid     For such disguise as haply shall become     The form of my intent. I'll serve this duke:     Thou shalt present me as an eunuch to him;     It may be worth thy pains, for I can sing     And speak to him in many sorts of music,     That will allow me very worth his service.     What else may hap to time I will commit;     Only shape thou silence to my wit.   CAPTAIN. Be you his eunuch and your mute I'll be;     When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see.   VIOLA. I thank thee. Lead me on.                        Exeunt     SCENE III. OLIVIA'S house  Enter SIR TOBY BELCH and MARIA    SIR TOBY. What a plague means my niece to take the death of her     brother thus? I am sure care's an enemy to life.   MARIA. By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o' nights;     your cousin, my lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours.   SIR TOBY. Why, let her except before excepted.   MARIA. Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modest limits     of order.   SIR TOBY. Confine! I'll confine myself no finer than I am. These     clothes are good enough to drink in, and so be these boots too;     an they be not, let them hang themselves in their own straps.   MARIA. That quaffing and drinking will undo you; I heard my lady     talk of it yesterday, and of a foolish knight that you brought in     one night here to be her wooer.   SIR TOBY. Who? Sir Andrew Aguecheek?   MARIA. Ay, he.   SIR TOBY. He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria.   MARIA. What's that to th' purpose?   SIR TOBY. Why, he has three thousand ducats a year.   MARIA. Ay, but he'll have but a year in all these ducats; he's a     very fool and a prodigal.   SIR TOBY. Fie that you'll say so! He plays o' th' viol-de-gamboys,     and speaks three or four languages word for word without book,     and hath all the good gifts of nature.   MARIA. He hath indeed, almost natural; for, besides that he's a     fool, he's a great quarreller; and but that he hath the gift of a     coward to allay the gust he hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought     among the prudent he would quickly have the gift of a grave.   SIR TOBY. By this hand, they are scoundrels and subtractors that     say so of him. Who are they?   MARIA. They that add, moreover, he's drunk nightly in your company.   SIR TOBY. With drinking healths to my niece; I'll drink to her as     long as there is a passage in my throat and drink in Illyria.     He's a coward and a coystrill that will not drink to my niece     till his brains turn o' th' toe like a parish-top. What, wench!     Castiliano vulgo! for here comes Sir Andrew Agueface.                      Enter SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK    AGUECHEEK. Sir Toby Belch! How now, Sir Toby Belch!   SIR TOBY. Sweet Sir Andrew!   AGUECHEEK. Bless you, fair shrew.   MARIA. And you too, sir.   SIR TOBY. Accost, Sir Andrew, accost.   AGUECHEEK. What's that?   SIR TOBY. My niece's chambermaid.   AGUECHEEK. Good Mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance.   MARIA. My name is Mary, sir.   AGUECHEEK. Good Mistress Mary Accost-   SIR Toby. You mistake, knight. 'Accost' is front her, board her,     woo her, assail her.   AGUECHEEK. By my troth, I would not undertake her in this company.     Is that the meaning of 'accost'?   MARIA. Fare you well, gentlemen.   SIR TOBY. An thou let part so, Sir Andrew, would thou mightst never     draw sword again!   AGUECHEEK. An you part so, mistress, I would I might never draw     sword again. Fair lady, do you think you have fools in hand?   MARIA. Sir, I have not you by th' hand.   AGUECHEEK. Marry, but you shall have; and here's my hand.   MARIA. Now, sir, thought is free. I pray you, bring your hand to     th' buttry-bar and let it drink.   AGUECHEEK. Wherefore, sweetheart? What's your metaphor?   MARIA. It's dry, sir.   AGUECHEEK. Why, I think so; I am not such an ass but I can keep my     hand dry. But what's your jest?   MARIA. A dry jest, sir.   AGUECHEEK. Are you full of them?   MARIA. Ay, sir, I have them at my fingers' ends; marry, now I let     go your hand, I am barren.                        Exit MARIA   SIR TOBY. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of canary! When did I see     thee so put down?   AGUECHEEK. Never in your life, I think; unless you see canary put     me down. Methinks sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian     or an ordinary man has; but I am great eater of beef, and I     believe that does harm to my wit.   SIR TOBY. No question.   AGUECHEEK. An I thought that, I'd forswear it. I'll ride home     to-morrow, Sir Toby.   SIR TOBY. Pourquoi, my dear knight?   AGUECHEEK. What is 'pourquoi'- do or not do? I would I had bestowed     that time in the tongues that I have in fencing, dancing, and     bear-baiting. Oh, had I but followed the arts!   SIR TOBY. Then hadst thou had an excellent head of hair.   AGUECHEEK. Why, would that have mended my hair?   SIR TOBY. Past question; for thou seest it will not curl by nature.   AGUECHEEK. But it becomes me well enough, does't not?   SIR TOBY. Excellent; it hangs like flax on a distaff, and I hope to     see a huswife take thee between her legs and spin it off.   AGUECHEEK. Faith, I'll home to-morrow, Sir Toby. Your niece will     not be seen, or if she be, it's four to one she'll none of me;     the Count himself here hard by woos her.   SIR TOBY. She'll none o' th' Count; she'll not match above her     degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit; I have heard her     swear't. Tut, there's life in't, man.   AGUECHEEK. I'll stay a month longer. I am a fellow o' th' strangest     mind i' th' world; I delight in masques and revels sometimes     altogether.   SIR TOBY. Art thou good at these kickshawses, knight?   AGUECHEEK. As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be, under the     degree of my betters; and yet I will not compare with an old man.   SIR TOBY. What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight?   AGUECHEEK. Faith, I can cut a caper.   SIR TOBY. And I can cut the mutton to't.   AGUECHEEK. And I think I have the back-trick simply as strong as     any man in Illyria.   SIR TOBY. Wherefore are these things hid? Wherefore have these     gifts a curtain before 'em? Are they like to take dust, like     Mistress Mall's picture? Why dost thou not go to church in a     galliard and come home in a coranto? My very walk should be a     jig; I would not so much as make water but in a sink-a-pace. What     dost thou mean? Is it a world to hide virtues in? I did think, by     the excellent constitution of thy leg, it was form'd under the     star of a galliard.   AGUECHEEK. Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in     flame-colour'd stock. Shall we set about some revels?   SIR TOBY. What shall we do else? Were we not born under Taurus?   AGUECHEEK. Taurus? That's sides and heart.   SIR TOBY. No, sir; it is legs and thighs. Let me see the caper. Ha,     higher! Ha, ha, excellent!                            Exeunt     SCENE IV. The DUKE'S palace  Enter VALENTINE, and VIOLA in man's attire    VALENTINE. If the Duke continue these favours towards you, Cesario,     you are like to be much advanc'd; he hath known you but three     days, and already you are no stranger.   VIOLA. You either fear his humour or my negligence, that you call     in question the continuance of his love. Is he inconstant, sir,     in his favours?   VALENTINE. No, believe me.                    Enter DUKE, CURIO, and ATTENDANTS    VIOLA. I thank you. Here comes the Count.   DUKE. Who saw Cesario, ho?   VIOLA. On your attendance, my lord, here.   DUKE. Stand you awhile aloof. Cesario,     Thou know'st no less but all; I have unclasp'd     To thee the book even of my secret soul.     Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her;     Be not denied access, stand at her doors,     And tell them there thy fixed foot shall grow     Till thou have audience.   VIOLA. Sure, my noble lord,     If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow     As it is spoke, she never will admit me.   DUKE. Be clamorous and leap all civil bounds,     Rather than make unprofited return.   VIOLA. Say I do speak with her, my lord, what then?   DUKE. O, then unfold the passion of my love,     Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith!     It shall become thee well to act my woes:     She will attend it better in thy youth     Than in a nuncio's of more grave aspect.   VIOLA. I think not so, my lord.   DUKE. Dear lad, believe it,     For they shall yet belie thy happy years     That say thou art a man: Diana's lip     Is not more smooth and rubious; thy small pipe     Is as the maiden's organ, shrill and sound,     And all is semblative a woman's part.     I know thy constellation is right apt     For this affair. Some four or five attend him-     All, if you will, for I myself am best     When least in company. Prosper well in this,     And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord     To call his fortunes thine.   VIOLA. I'll do my best     To woo your lady. [Aside] Yet, a barful strife!     Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife.     SCENE V. OLIVIA'S house  Enter MARIA and CLOWN    MARIA. Nay, either tell me where thou hast been, or I will not open     my lips so wide as a bristle may enter in way of thy excuse; my     lady will hang thee for thy absence.   CLOWN. Let her hang me. He that is well hang'd in this world needs     to fear no colours.   MARIA. Make that good.   CLOWN. He shall see none to fear.   MARIA. A good lenten answer. I can tell thee where that saying was     born, of 'I fear no colours.'   CLOWN. Where, good Mistress Mary?   MARIA. In the wars; and that may you be bold to say in your     foolery.   CLOWN. Well, God give them wisdom that have it; and those that are     fools, let them use their talents.   MARIA. Yet you will be hang'd for being so long absent; or to be     turn'd away- is not that as good as a hanging to you?   CLOWN. Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage; and for turning     away, let summer bear it out.   MARIA. You are resolute, then?   CLOWN. Not so, neither; but I am resolv'd on two points.   MARIA. That if one break, the other will hold; or if both break,     your gaskins fall.   CLOWN. Apt, in good faith, very apt! Well, go thy way; if Sir Toby     would leave drinking, thou wert as witty a piece of Eve's flesh     as any in Illyria.   MARIA. Peace, you rogue, no more o' that. Here comes my lady. Make     your excuse wisely, you were best.                      Exit                       Enter OLIVIA and MALVOLIO    CLOWN. Wit, an't be thy will, put me into good fooling! Those wits     that think they have thee do very oft prove fools; and I that am     sure I lack thee may pass for a wise man. For what says     Quinapalus? 'Better a witty fool than a foolish wit.' God bless     thee, lady!   OLIVIA. Take the fool away.   CLOWN. Do you not hear, fellows? Take away the lady.   OLIVIA. Go to, y'are a dry fool; I'll no more of you. Besides, you     grow dishonest.   CLOWN. Two faults, madonna, that drink and good counsel will amend;     for give the dry fool drink, then is the fool not dry. Bid the     dishonest man mend himself: if he mend, he is no longer     dishonest; if he cannot, let the botcher mend him. Anything     that's mended is but patch'd; virtue that transgresses is but     patch'd with sin, and sin that amends is but patch'd with virtue.     If that this simple syllogism will serve, so; if it will not,     what remedy? As there is no true cuckold but calamity, so     beauty's a flower. The lady bade take away the fool; therefore, I     say again, take her away.   OLIVIA. Sir, I bade them take away you.   CLOWN. Misprision in the highest degree! Lady, 'Cucullus non facit     monachum'; that's as much to say as I wear not motley in my     brain. Good madonna, give me leave to prove you a fool.   OLIVIA. Can you do it?   CLOWN. Dexteriously, good madonna.   OLIVIA. Make your proof.   CLOWN. I must catechize you for it, madonna.     Good my mouse of virtue, answer me.   OLIVIA. Well, sir, for want of other idleness, I'll bide your     proof.   CLOWN. Good madonna, why mourn'st thou?   OLIVIA. Good fool, for my brother's death.   CLOWN. I think his soul is in hell, madonna.   OLIVIA. I know his soul is in heaven, fool.   CLOWN. The more fool, madonna, to mourn for your brother's soul     being in heaven. Take away the fool, gentlemen.   OLIVIA. What think you of this fool, Malvolio? Doth he not mend?   MALVOLIO. Yes, and shall do, till the pangs of death shake him.     Infirmity, that decays the wise, doth ever make the better fool.   CLOWN. God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for the better     increasing your folly! Sir Toby will be sworn that I am no fox;     but he will not pass his word for twopence that you are no fool.   OLIVIA. How say you to that, Malvolio?   MALVOLIO. I marvel your ladyship takes delight in such a barren     rascal; I saw him put down the other day with an ordinary fool     that has no more brain than a stone. Look you now, he's out of     his guard already; unless you laugh and minister occasion to him,     he is gagg'd. I protest I take these wise men that crow so at     these set kind of fools no better than the fools' zanies.   OLIVIA. O, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and taste with a     distemper'd appetite. To be generous, guiltless, and of free     disposition, is to take those things for bird-bolts that you deem     cannon bullets. There is no slander in an allow'd fool, though he     do nothing but rail; nor no railing in known discreet man, though     he do nothing but reprove.   CLOWN. Now Mercury endue thee with leasing, for thou speak'st well     of fools!                               Re-enter MARIA    MARIA. Madam, there is at the gate a young gentleman much desires     to speak with you.   OLIVIA. From the Count Orsino, is it?   MARIA. I know not, madam; 'tis a fair young man, and well attended.   OLIVIA. Who of my people hold him in delay?   MARIA. Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman.   OLIVIA. Fetch him off, I pray you; he speaks nothing but madman.     Fie on him! [Exit MARIA] Go you, Malvolio: if it be a suit from     the Count, I am sick, or not at home- what you will to dismiss     it. [Exit MALVOLIO] Now you see, sir, how your fooling grows old,     and people dislike it.   CLOWN. Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy eldest son should     be a fool; whose skull Jove cram with brains! For- here he comes-     one of thy kin has a most weak pia mater.                           Enter SIR TOBY    OLIVIA. By mine honour, half drunk! What is he at the gate, cousin?   SIR TOBY. A gentleman.   OLIVIA. A gentleman! What gentleman?   SIR TOBY. 'Tis a gentleman here. [Hiccups] A plague o' these     pickle-herring! How now, sot!   CLOWN. Good Sir Toby!   OLIVIA. Cousin, cousin, how have you come so early by this     lethargy?   SIR TOBY. Lechery! I defy lechery. There's one at the gate.   OLIVIA. Ay, marry; what is he?   SIR TOBY. Let him be the devil an he will, I care not; give me     faith, say I. Well, it's all one.                       Exit   OLIVIA. What's a drunken man like, fool?   CLOWN. Like a drown'd man, a fool, and a madman: one draught above     heat makes him a fool; the second mads him; and a third drowns     him.   OLIVIA. Go thou and seek the crowner, and let him sit o' my coz;     for he's in the third degree of drink, he's drown'd; go look     after him.   CLOWN. He is but mad yet, madonna, and the fool shall look to the     madman.                                                 Exit                             Re-enter MALVOLIO    MALVOLIO. Madam, yond young fellow swears he will speak with you. I     told him you were sick; he takes on him to understand so much,      and therefore comes to speak with you. I told him you were     asleep; he seems to have a foreknowledge of that too, and     therefore comes to speak with you. What is to be said to him,     lady? He's fortified against any denial.   OLIVIA. Tell him he shall not speak with me.   MALVOLIO. Has been told so; and he says he'll stand at your door     like a sheriff's post, and be the supporter to a bench, but he'll     speak with you.   OLIVIA. What kind o' man is he?   MALVOLIO. Why, of mankind.   OLIVIA. What manner of man?   MALVOLIO. Of very ill manner; he'll speak with you, will you or no.   OLIVIA. Of what personage and years is he?   MALVOLIO. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy;     as a squash is before 'tis a peascod, or a codling when 'tis     almost an apple; 'tis with him in standing water, between boy and     man. He is very well-favour'd, and he speaks very shrewishly; one     would think his mother's milk were scarce out of him.   OLIVIA. Let him approach. Call in my gentlewoman.   MALVOLIO. Gentlewoman, my lady calls.                     Exit                            Re-enter MARIA    OLIVIA. Give me my veil; come, throw it o'er my face;     We'll once more hear Orsino's embassy.                               Enter VIOLA    VIOLA. The honourable lady of the house, which is she?   OLIVIA. Speak to me; I shall answer for her. Your will?   VIOLA. Most radiant, exquisite, and unmatchable beauty- I pray you     tell me if this be the lady of the house, for I never saw her. I     would be loath to cast away my speech; for, besides that it is     excellently well penn'd, I have taken great pains to con it. Good     beauties, let me sustain no scorn; I am very comptible, even to     the least sinister usage.   OLIVIA. Whence came you, sir?   VIOLA. 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.   OLIVIA. Are you a comedian?   VIOLA. 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?   OLIVIA. If I do not usurp myself, I am.   VIOLA. 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     show you the heart of my message.   OLIVIA. Come to what is important in't. I forgive you the praise.   VIOLA. Alas, I took great pains to study it, and 'tis poetical.   OLIVIA. It is the more like to be feigned; I pray you keep it in. I     heard you were saucy at my gates, and allow'd 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 dialogue.   MARIA. Will you hoist sail, sir? Here lies your way.   VIOLA. No, good swabber, I am to hull here a little longer.     Some mollification for your giant, sweet lady.   OLIVIA. Tell me your mind.   VIOLA. I am a messenger.   OLIVIA. Sure, you have some hideous matter to deliver, when the     courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak your office.   VIOLA. It alone concerns your ear. I bring no overture of war, no     taxation of homage: I hold the olive in my hand; my words are as     full of peace as matter.   OLIVIA. Yet you began rudely. What are you? What would you?   VIOLA. 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 cars, divinity; to any other's, profanation.   OLIVIA. Give us the place alone; we will hear this divinity.     [Exeunt MARIA and ATTENDANTS] Now, sir, what is your text?   VIOLA. Most sweet lady-   OLIVIA. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be said of it.     Where lies your text?   VIOLA. In Orsino's bosom.   OLIVIA. In his bosom! In what chapter of his bosom?   VIOLA. To answer by the method: in the first of his heart.   OLIVIA. O, I have read it; it is heresy. Have you no more to say?   VIOLA. Good madam, let me see your face.   OLIVIA. 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 show you the picture. [Unveiling] Look you, sir, such a one I     was this present. Is't not well done?   VIOLA. Excellently done, if God did all.   OLIVIA. 'Tis in grain, sir; 'twill endure wind and weather.   VIOLA. 'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white     Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on.     Lady, you are the cruell'st she alive,     If you will lead these graces to the grave,     And leave the world no copy.   OLIVIA. 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 labell'd 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?   VIOLA. 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 nonpareil of beauty!   OLIVIA. How does he love me?   VIOLA. With adorations, fertile tears,     With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire.   OLIVIA. Your lord does know my mind; I cannot love him.     Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble,     Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth;     In voices well divulg'd, free, learn'd, and valiant,     And in dimension and the shape of nature     A gracious person; but yet I cannot love him.     He might have took his answer long ago.   VIOLA. If I did love you in my master's flame,     With such a suff'ring, such a deadly life,     In your denial I would find no sense;     I would not understand it.   OLIVIA. Why, what would you?   VIOLA. 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;     Halloo your name to the reverberate hals,     And make the babbling gossip of the air     Cry out 'Olivia!' O, you should not rest     Between the elements of air and earth     But you should pity me!   OLIVIA. You might do much.     What is your parentage?   VIOLA. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well:     I am a gentleman.   OLIVIA. Get you to your lord.     I cannot love him; let him send no more-     Unless perchance you come to me again     To tell me how he takes it. Fare you well.     I thank you for your pains; spend this for me.   VIOLA. I am no fee'd post, lady; keep your purse;     My master, not myself, lacks recompense.     Love make his heart of flint that you shall love;     And let your fervour, like my master's, be     Plac'd in contempt! Farewell, fair cruelty.             Exit   OLIVIA. '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?     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    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.                                  Exit   OLIVIA. 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;     What is decreed must be; and be this so!                Exit