Oli. If I do not usurp myself, I am.
Vio. Most certain, if you are she, you do usurp yourself; for what is yours to bestow, is not yours to reserve.
Oli. I heard you were saucy at my gates; and allow'd your approach, rather to wonder at you than to hear you. If you be not mad, be gone; if you have reason, be brief: 'tis not that time of moon with me, to make one in so skipping a dialogue.—What are you? what would you?
Vio. What I am, and what I would, are to your ears, divinity; to any other's, profanation.
Oli. Give us the place alone: we will hear this divinity.
[Exit Maria.
Now, sir, what is your text?
Vio. Most sweet lady,——
Oli. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be said of it. Where lies your text?