_Ant._ Today, my lord; and for three months before, No interim, not a minute's vacancy, Both day and night did we keep company. 90
_Duke._ Here comes the countess: now heaven walks on earth. But for thee, fellow; fellow, thy words are madness: Three months this youth hath tended upon me; But more of that anon. Take him aside.
_Oli._ What would my lord, but that he may not have, 95 Wherein Olivia may seem serviceable? Cesario, you do not keep promise with me.
_Oli._ What do you say, Cesario? Good my lord,-- 100
_Vio._ My lord would speak; my duty hushes me.
_Oli._ If it be aught to the old tune, my lord, It is as fat and fulsome to mine ear As howling after music.
_Duke._ What, to perverseness? You uncivil lady, To whom ingrate and unauspicious altars My soul the faithfull'st offerings hath breathed out That e'er devotion tender'd! What shall I do?
_Oli._ Even what it please my lord, that shall become him. 110
_Duke._ Why should I not, had I the heart to do it, Like to the Egyptian thief at point of death, Kill what I love?--a savage jealousy That sometime savours nobly. But hear me this: Since you to non-regardance cast my faith, 115 And that I partly know the instrument That screws me from my true place in your favour, Live you the marble-breasted tyrant still; But this your minion, whom I know you love, And whom, by heaven I swear, I tender dearly, 120 Him will I tear out of that cruel eye, Where he sits crowned in his master's spite. Come, boy, with me; my thoughts are ripe in mischief: I 'll sacrifice the lamb that I do love, To spite a raven's heart within a dove. 125
_Vio._ And I, most jocund, apt and willingly, To do you rest, a thousand deaths would die.
_Vio._ After him I love More than I love these eyes, more than my life, More, by all mores, than e'er I shall love wife. 130 If I do feign, you witnesses above Punish my life for tainting of my love!
_Oli._ Ay me, detested! how am I beguiled!
_Vio._ Who does beguile you? who does do you wrong?
_Oli._ Hast thou forgot thyself? is it so long? 135 Call forth the holy father.
_Oli._ Whither, my lord? Cesario, husband, stay.
_Oli._ Alas, it is the baseness of thy fear 140 That makes thee strangle thy propriety: Fear not, Cesario; take thy fortunes up; Be that thou know'st thou art, and then thou art As great as that thou fear'st.