Antonio dared not show himself openly in Illyria, for several years before he had fought valiantly on the side of the enemies of Orsino, and done much damage to the Duke’s fleet. When on their arrival, therefore, Sebastian proposed to take a walk to see anything of note in the city, Antonio replied that it would be better for himself to go and secure a lodging, and order food to be prepared; he knew of a place that would suit very well, the Elephant Inn, in the south suburbs of the city. Sebastian in the meanwhile could go for a walk, and join him in about an hour’s time. Knowing that Sebastian had no money, or very little, Antonio further insisted on giving him his purse, in case he should see any trifle he wished to purchase. Everything being thus arranged, they parted, Antonio to go to the Elephant Inn, and Sebastian to take a walk through the town. * * * * * In the palace of the Duke there was still sadness, for the young page Cesario, in spite of his kind reception by the Countess Olivia, had brought back no more cheering answer than former envoys. Weary at heart, Orsino longed to hear some soothing music, and he called for a touching little song which he had heard sung the night before--a plaintive, old-world ditty, whose quaint sadness and simplicity had more power to relieve his sorrow than the more light and cheerful strains of modern music. His servants told him that the person who had sung the song was Feste the jester, who had been in the service of the Countess Olivia’s father, and, as he was still about the house, Orsino ordered him to be fetched. So Feste came, and this was the song he sang: “Come away, come away, death, And in sad cypress let me be laid; Fly away, fly away, breath; I am slain by a fair, cruel maid; My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, O, prepare it! My part of death, no one so true Did share it. “Not a flower, not a flower sweet, On my black coffin let there be strown; Not a friend, not a friend greet My poor corpse, where my bones shall be strown; A thousand, thousand sighs to save, Lay me, O where Sad true lover never find my grave To weep there!” This sad little song just suited the melancholy mood of the Duke, and when Feste had sung it, and gone away, Orsino went on talking to Viola--or his young page Cesario, as he thought her--about his unhappy love for Olivia. He bade her go once more to the cruel lady, and _insist_ on her listening to him. “But if she cannot love you, sir?” said Viola. “I cannot be answered so,” said Orsino. “Sooth, but you must,” replied Viola. “Say that some lady, as perhaps there is, has as great a love for you as you have for Olivia; you cannot love her; you tell her so; must she not then be answered?”