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- TWELFTH NIGHT
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- Act 2 Scene 2
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- (Enter Viola as Cesario, and Malvolio, at several doors)
- l1l Malvolio Were not you evÆn now with the Countess
- l2l Olivia?
- l3l Viola Even now, sir, on a moderate pace, I have since
- l4l arrived but hither.
- l5l Malvolio (offering a ring) She returns this ring to you,
- l6l sir. You might have saved me my pains to have taken
- l7l it away yourself. She adds, moreover, that you should
- l8l put your lord into a desperate assurance she will none
- l9l of him. And one thing more: that you be never so
- l10l hardy to come again in his affairs, unless it be to report
- l11l your lordÆs taking of this. Receive it so.
- l12l Viola She took the ring of me. IÆll none of it.
- l13l Malvolio Come, sir, you peevishly threw it to her, and
- l14l her will is it should be so returned.
- (He throws the ring down)
- l15l If it be worth stooping for, there it lies, in your eye; if
- l16l not, be it his that finds it.
- (Exit)
- Viola (picking up the ring)
- l17l I left no ring with her. What means this lady?
- l18l Fortune forbid my outside have not charmed her.
- l19l She made good view of me, indeed so much
- l20l That straight methought her eyes had lost her tongue,
- l21l For she did speak in starts, distractedly.
- l22l She loves me, sure. The cunning of her passion
- l23l Invites me in this churlish messenger.
- l24l None of my lordÆs ring! Why, he sent her none.
- l25l I am the man. If it be soùas Ætisù
- l26l Poor lady, she were better love a dream!
- l27l Disguise, I see thou art a wickedness
- l28l Wherein the pregnant enemy does much.
- l29l How easy is it for the proper false
- l30l In womenÆs waxen hearts to set their forms!
- l31l Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we,
- l32l For such as we are made of, such we be.
- l33l How will this fadge? My master loves her dearly,
- l34l And I, poor monster, fond as much on him,
- l35l And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me.
- l36l What will become of this? As I am man,
- l37l My state is desperate for my masterÆs love.
- l38l As I am woman, now, alas the day,
- l39l What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe!
- l40l O time, thou must untangle this, not I.
- l41l It is too hard a knot for me tÆ untie.
- (Exit)
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