VIOLA.
Most certain, if you are she, you do usurp yourself; for what is yours to bestow is not yours to reserve. But this is from my commission. I will on with my speech in your praise, and then show you the heart of my message.
OLIVIA.
Come to what is important in’t: I forgive you the praise.
VIOLA.
Alas, I took great pains to study it, and ’tis poetical.
OLIVIA.
It is the more like to be feigned; I pray you keep it in. I heard you were saucy at my gates; and allowed your approach, rather to wonder at you than to hear you. If you be 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.
MARIA.
Will you hoist sail, sir? Here lies your way.
VIOLA.
No, good swabber, I am to hull here a little longer. Some mollification for your giant, sweet lady. Tell me your mind. I am a messenger.
OLIVIA.
Sure, you have some hideous matter to deliver, when the courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak your office.
VIOLA.
It alone concerns your ear. I bring no overture of war, no taxation of homage; I hold the olive in my hand: my words are as full of peace as matter.
OLIVIA.
Yet you began rudely. What are you? What would you?
VIOLA.
The rudeness that hath appeared in me have I learned from my entertainment. What I am and what I would are as secret as maidenhead: to your ears, divinity; to any other’s, profanation.