Orsino
                                                
                                                
                                                    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,
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.
                                                
                                                
                                             
                                        
                                            
                                                
                                                    Viola
                                                
                                                
                                                    And I, most jocund, apt and willingly,
To do you rest, a thousand deaths would die.
                                                
                                                
                                             
                                        
                                            
                                                
                                                    Olivia
                                                
                                                
                                                    Where goes Cesario?
                                                
                                                
                                             
                                        
                                            
                                                
                                                    Viola
                                                
                                                
                                                    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.
If I do feign, you witnesses above
Punish my life for tainting of my love!
                                                
                                                
                                             
                                        
                                            
                                                
                                                    Olivia
                                                
                                                
                                                    Ay me, detested! how am I beguiled!
                                                
                                                
                                             
                                        
                                            
                                                
                                                    Viola
                                                
                                                
                                                    Who does beguile you? who does do you wrong?
                                                
                                                
                                             
                                        
                                            
                                                
                                                    Olivia
                                                
                                                
                                                    Hast thou forgot thyself? is it so long?
Call forth the holy father.
                                                
                                                
                                             
                                        
                                            
                                        
                                            
                                                
                                                    Olivia
                                                
                                                
                                                    Whither, my lord? Cesario, husband, stay.
                                                
                                                
                                             
                                        
                                            
                                        
                                            
                                                
                                                    Olivia
                                                
                                                
                                                    Ay, husband: can he that deny?
                                                
                                                
                                             
                                        
                                            
                                                
                                                    Orsino
                                                
                                                
                                                    Her husband, sirrah!
                                                
                                                
                                             
                                        
                                            
                                                
                                                    Viola
                                                
                                                
                                                    No, my lord, not I.
                                                
                                                
                                             
                                        
                                            
                                                
                                                    Olivia
                                                
                                                
                                                    Alas, it is the baseness of thy fear
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.