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Viola. In Orsino's bosom.
Oliv. In his bosom, in what chapter of his bosom?

Viola. To answer by the method, in the first of his heart.

Oliv. Oh, I have read it; it is heresy. Have you no more to say?

Viola. Good madam, let me see your face.
Oliv. Have you any commission from your

lord to negociate 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 wear I.

[Unveiling. 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.

Oliv. Oh, sir, I will not be so hard hearted: 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: Oh, such love Could be but recoinpens'd, tho' you were crown'd The non-pareil of beauty !

Oliv. How does he love me? Viola. With adorations, with fertile tears : With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire. Oliv. Your lord does know my mind, I cannot love

him: He might have took his answer long ago. Viola. If I did love



master's flame,
With such a suffering, such a deadly life,

denial I would find no sense, I would not understand it.

Oliv. Why, what would you?

Viola. Make me a willow cabin at your gate,
And call upon my soul within the house:
Write loyal cantos of contemned love,

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