OLIVIA.
Even what it please my lord that shall become him.
DUKE.
Why should I not, had I the heart to do it,
Like to th' Egyptian thief at point of death,
Kill what I love?— a savage jealousy
That sometime savours nobly. But hear me this:
Since you to non-regardance cast my faith,
And that I partly know the instrument
That screws me from my true place in your favour,
Live you the marble-breasted tyrant still;
But this your minion, whom I know you love,
And whom, by heaven I swear, I tender dearly,
Him will I tear out of that cruel eye,
Where he sits crowned in his master's spite.
Come, boy, with me; my thoughts are ripe in mischief;
I 'll sacrifice the lamb that I do love,
To spite a raven's heart within a dove.
VIOLA.
And I, most jocund, apt, and willingly,
To do you rest, a thousand deaths would die.
OLIVIA.
Where goes Cesario?
VIOLA.
After him I love
More than I love these eyes, more than my life,
More, by all mores, than ere I shall love wife.
If I do feign, you witnesses above,
Punish my life for tainting of my love!
OLIVIA.
Ay me, detested! how am I beguil'd!
VIOLA.
Who does beguile you? who does do you wrong?
OLIVIA.
Hast thou forgot thyself? is it so long?
Call forth the holy father.
DUKE.
Come, away!
OLIVIA.
Whither, my lord? Cesario, husband, stay.