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. Look you, sir, such a one I was this present. [Unveiling.] Is't not well done?

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 she alive

If you will lead these graces to the grave,

And leave the world no copy.

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 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?

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 nonpareil of beauty.

OLI.

How does he love me?

VIO.

With adorations, 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,

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.

VIO.

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.

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;

Hallow 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

But you should pity me!

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 –

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.

VIO.

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 fervor like my master's be

Plac'd in contempt! Farewell, fair cruelty.

 

Exit.

 

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 fivefold 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!

 

Enter Malvolio.

 

MAL.

Here, madam, at your service.

OLI.

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.

MAL. Madam, I will.

 

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;

What is decreed must be; and be this so.

 

[Exit.]

 

 

Act II,

Scene I

Enter Antonio and Sebastian.

 

ANT. Will 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 recompense for your love, to lay any of them on you.

ANT. Let me yet know of you whither you are bound.

SEB. No, sooth, sir; my determinate voyage is mere extravagancy. But I perceive in you so excellent 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.