“I told him,” said the servant, “that you were sick. He said he knew you were, and therefore he came to speak with you. I told him that you were asleep. He seemed to have a foreknowledge of that, too, and said that therefore he must speak with you. What is to be said to him, lady? for he seems fortified against all denial, and will speak with you, whether you will or no.” Olivia, curious to see who this peremptory messenger might be, desired be might be admitted, and, throwing her veil over her face, she said she would once more hear Orsino’s embassy, not doubting but that he came from the duke, by his importunity. Viola, entering, put on the most manly air she could assume, and, affecting the fine courtier language of great men’s pages, she said to the veiled lady: “Most radiant, exquisite, and matchless beauty, I pray you tell me if you are the lady of the house; for I should be sorry to cast away my speech upon another; for besides that it is excellently well penned, I have taken great pains to learn it.” “Whence come you, sir?” said Olivia. “I can say little more than I have studied,” replied Viola, and that question is out of my part.” “Are you a comedian?” said Olivia. “No,” replied Viola; “and yet I am not that which I play,” meaning that she, being a woman, feigned herself to be a man. And again she asked Olivia if she were the lady of the house. Olivia said she was; and then Viola, having more curiosity to see her rival’s features than haste to deliver her master’s message, said, “Good madam, let me see your face.” With this bold request Olivia was not averse to comply, for this haughty beauty, whom the Duke Orsino had loved so long in vain, at first sight conceived a passion for the supposed page, the humble Cesario. When Viola asked to see her face, Olivia said, “Have you any commission from your lord and master to negotiate with my face?” And then, forgetting her determination to go veiled for seven long years, she drew aside her veil, saying: “But I will draw the curtain and show the picture. Is it not well done?” Viola replied: “It is beauty truly mixed; the red and white upon your cheeks is by Nature’s own cunning hand laid on. You are the most cruel lady living if you lead these graces to the grave and leave the world no copy.” “Oh, sir,” replied Olivia, “I will not be so cruel. The world may have an inventory of my beauty. As, item, two lips, indifferent red; item, two gray eyes with lids to them; one neck; one chin; and so forth. Were you sent here to praise me?” Viola replied, “I see what you are: you are too proud, but you are fair. My lord and master loves you. Oh, such a love could but be recompensed though you were crowned the queen of beauty; for Orsino loves you with adoration and with tears, with groans that thunder love, and sighs of fire.”