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Twefth
Night - OLIVIA
Act 1 Scene 5
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 makes his heart of flint that you shall love;
And let your fervour, like my master’s be
Placed 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 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!
//
Act 3 Scene 1
Oli. Give me leave, beseech you,
I did send.
After the
last enchantment you did here,
A ring in chase of you; so I did abuse
Myself, my servant. and, I fear me, you.
Under your hard construction must I sit,
To force that on you in a shameful cunning
Which you knew none of yours. What might you think?
Have you not set mine honour at the stake,
An baited it with all th’ unmuzzled thoughts
That tyrannous heart can think? To one of your receiving
Enough is shown: a cyprus, not a bosom,
Hides my heart. So, let me hear you speak.
Vio. I pity you.
Oli. That’s a degree to love.
Vio. No, not a grize; 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!
If one should be a prey, how much the better
To fall before the lion than the wolf! (Clock strikes)
The clock upbraids me with the waste of time.
Be not afraid, good youth; I will not have you;
And yet, when wit and youth is come to harvest,
Your wife is like to reap a proper man.
There lies your way, due west.
Vio. Then westward-ho!
Grace and good disposition attend your ladyship!
You’ll nothing, madam, to my lord by me?
Oli. Stay. I prithee tell me what thou think’st of me?
Vio. That you do
think you are not what you are.
Oli. If I think so, I
think the same of you.
Vio. Then think you right: I am not
what I am.
Oli. I would you were as I would have you
be!
Vio. Would it be better, madam, than I am?
I wish it might, for now I am your fool.
Oli. O, what
a deal of scorn looks beautiful
In the contempt and anger of his lip!
A murd’rous guilt shows itself more soon
Than love that would seem hid: love’s night is noon.
Cesario, by the roses of the spring,
By maidenhood, honour, truth, and every thing,
I love thee so that, maugre all thy pride,
Nor wit nor reason can my passion hide.
Do not extort thy reasons from this clause,
For that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause;
But rather reason thus with reason fetter:
Love sought is good, but given unsought is better.
Vio. By
innocence I swear, and by my youth,
I have one heart, one bosom, and one truth,
And that no woman has; nor never none
Shall mistress be of it, save I alone.
And so adieu, good madam; never more
Will I my master’s tears to you deplore.
Oli. Yet come
again; for thou perhaps mayst move
That heart which now abhors to like his love.