ORSINO: What? Fear not to speak your thought. Words are but holy as the deeds they cover: _75 A priest who has forsworn the God he serves; A judge who makes Truth weep at his decree; A friend who should weave counsel, as I now, But as the mantle of some selfish guile; A father who is all a tyrant seems, _80 Were the profaner for his sacred name. NOTE: _77 makes Truth edition 1821; makes the truth editions 1819, 1839. GIACOMO: Ask me not what I think; the unwilling brain Feigns often what it would not; and we trust Imagination with such fantasies As the tongue dares not fashion into words, _85 Which have no words, their horror makes them dim To the mind's eye.--My heart denies itself To think what you demand. ORSINO: But a friend's bosom Is as the inmost cave of our own mind Where we sit shut from the wide gaze of day, _90 And from the all-communicating air. You look what I suspected-- GIACOMO: Spare me now! I am as one lost in a midnight wood, Who dares not ask some harmless passenger The path across the wilderness, lest he, _95 As my thoughts are, should be--a murderer. I know you are my friend, and all I dare Speak to my soul that will I trust with thee. But now my heart is heavy, and would take Lone counsel from a night of sleepless care. _100 Pardon me, that I say farewell--farewell! I would that to my own suspected self I could address a word so full of peace.