VIOLA.
My duty, madam, and most humble service.
OLIVIA.
What is your name?
VIOLA.
Cesario is your servant’s name, fair princess.
OLIVIA.
My servant, sir! ’Twas never merry world,
Since lowly feigning was call’d compliment:
Y’are servant to the Count Orsino, youth.
VIOLA.
And he is yours, and his must needs be yours.
Your servant’s servant is your servant, madam.
OLIVIA.
For him, I think not on him: for his thoughts,
Would they were blanks rather than fill’d with me!
VIOLA.
Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts
On his behalf.
OLIVIA.
O, by your leave, I pray you.
I bade you never speak again of him.
But would you undertake another suit,
I had rather hear you to solicit that
Than music from the spheres.
VIOLA.
Dear lady—
OLIVIA.
Give me leave, beseech you. I did send,
After the last enchantment you did here,
A ring in chase of you. So did I abuse
Myself, my servant, and, I fear me, you.
Under your hard construction must I sit;
To force that on you in a shameful cunning,
Which you knew none of yours. What might you think?
Have you not set mine honour at the stake,
And baited it with all th’ unmuzzled thoughts
That tyrannous heart can think? To one of your receiving
Enough is shown. A cypress, not a bosom,
Hides my heart: so let me hear you speak.