DUKE.
O then unfold the passion of my love,
Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith;
It shall become thee well to act my woes;
She will attend it better in thy youth,
Than in a nuncio’s of more grave aspect.
VIOLA.
I think not so, my lord.
DUKE.
Dear lad, believe it;
For they shall yet belie thy happy years,
That say thou art a man: Diana’s lip
Is not more smooth and rubious; thy small pipe
Is as the maiden’s organ, shrill and sound,
And all is semblative a woman’s part.
I know thy constellation is right apt
For this affair. Some four or five attend him:
All, if you will; for I myself am best
When least in company. Prosper well in this,
And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord,
To call his fortunes thine.
VIOLA.
I’ll do my best
To woo your lady. [Aside.] Yet, a barful strife!
Whoe’er I woo, myself would be his wife.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE V. A Room in Olivia’s House.
Enter Maria and Clown.
MARIA.
Nay; either tell me where thou hast been, or I will not open my lips so wide as a bristle may enter, in way of thy excuse: my lady will hang thee for thy absence.
CLOWN.
Let her hang me: he that is well hanged in this world needs to fear no colours.
MARIA.
Make that good.