Oli. I would you were as I would have you be!
140
Vio. Would it be better, madam, than I [am]?
I wish it might, for now I am your fool.
Oli. O, what a deal of scorn looks [beautiful]
In the contempt and anger of his lip!
A murderous guilt shows not itself more soon
Than love that would seem hid: love's night is noon.
Cesario, by the roses of the spring,
By maidhood, honour, truth and every thing,