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ANTONIO.
Alas the day!
SEBASTIAN.
A lady, sir, though it was said she much resembled me,
was yet of many accounted beautiful: but though I could not, with
such estimable wonder, overfar believe that, yet thus far I will
boldly publish her,--she bore mind that envy could not but call
fair. She is drowned already, sir, with salt water, though I seem
to drown her remembrance again with more.
ANTONIO.
Pardon me, sir, your bad entertainment.
SEBASTIAN.
O, good Antonio, forgive me your trouble.
ANTONIO.
If you will not murder me for my love, let me be your servant.
SEBASTIAN.
If you will not undo what you have done--that is, kill
him whom you have recovered--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
tales of me. I am bound to the Count Orsino's court: farewell.
[Exit.]
ANTONIO.
The gentleness of all the gods go with thee!
I have many cnemies in Orsino's court,
Else would I very shortly see thee there:
But come what may, I do adore thee so
That danger shall seem sport, and I will go.
[Exit.]
SCENE II.
A street.
[Enter VIOLA; MALVOLIO following.]
MALVOLIO.
Were you not even now with the Countess Olivia?
VIOLA.
Even now, sir; on a moderate pace I have since arrived but
hither.
MALVOLIO.
She returns this ring to you, sir; you might have saved
me my pains, to have taken it away yourself. She adds moreover,
that you should put your lord into a desperate assurance she will
none of him: and one thing more: that you be never so hardy to
come again in his affairs, unless it be to report your lord's
taking of this. Receive it so.
VIOLA.
She took the ring of me: I'll none of it.
MALVOLIO.
Come, sir, you peevishly threw it to her; and her will is
it should be so returned. If it be worth stooping for, there it
lies in your eye; if not, be it his that finds it.
[Exit.]
VIOLA.
I left no ring with her; what means this lady?
Fortune forbid my outside have not charm'd her!
She made good view of me; indeed, so much,
That methought her eyes had lost her tongue,
For she did speak in starts distractedly.
She loves me, sure: the cunning of her passion
Invites me in this churlish messenger.
None of my lord's ring! why, he sent her none.
I am the man; --if it be so,--as 'tis,--
Poor lady, she were better love a dream.
Disguise, I see thou art a wickedness
Wherein the pregnant enemy does much.
How easy is it for the proper-false
In women's waxen hearts to set their forms!
Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we;
For such as we are made of, such we be.
How will this fadge? My master loves her dearly,
And I, poor monster, fond as much on him;
And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me.
What will become of this? As I am man,
My state is desperate for my master's love;
As I am woman, now alas the day!
What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe!
O time, thou must untangle this, not I;
It is too hard a knot for me to untie!