_Sir To._ Save you, gentleman. _Vio._ And you, sir. _Sir And._ Dieu vous garde, monsieur. _Vio._ Et vous aussi; votre serviteur. _Sir And._ I hope, sir, you are; and I am yours. 70 _Sir To._ Will you encounter the house? my niece is desirous you should enter, if your trade be to her. _Vio._ I am bound to your niece, sir; I mean, she is the list of my voyage. _Sir To._ Taste your legs, sir; put them to motion. 75 _Vio._ My legs do better understand me, sir, than I understand what you mean by bidding me taste my legs. _Sir To._ I mean, to go, sir, to enter. _Vio._ I will answer you with gait and entrance. But we are prevented. 80 _Enter_ OLIVIA _and_ MARIA. Most excellent accomplished lady, the heavens rain odours on you! _Sir And._ That youth's a rare courtier: 'Rain odours;' well. _Vio._ My matter hath no voice, lady, but to your own 85 most pregnant and vouchsafed ear. _Sir And._ 'Odours,' 'pregnant,' and 'vouchsafed:' I'll get 'em all three all ready. _Oli._ Let the garden door be shut, and leave me to my hearing. [_Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Maria._] Give 90 me your hand, sir. _Vio._ My duty, madam, and most humble service. _Oli._ What is your name? _Vio._ Cesario is your servant's name, fair princess. _Oli._ My servant, sir! 'Twas never merry world 95 Since lowly feigning was call'd compliment: You're servant to the Count Orsino, youth. _Vio._ And he is yours, and his must needs be yours: Your servant's servant is your servant, madam. _Oli._ For him, I think not on him: for his thoughts, 100 Would they were blanks, rather than fill'd with me! _Vio._ Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts On his behalf. _Oli._ O, by your leave, I pray you, I bade you never speak again of him: But, would you undertake another suit, 105 I had rather hear you to solicit that Than music from the spheres. _Vio._ Dear lady,-- _Oli._ Give me leave, beseech you. I did send, After the last enchantment you did here, A ring in chase of you: so did I abuse 110 Myself, my servant and, I fear me, you: Under your hard construction must I sit, To force that on you, in a shameful cunning, Which you knew none of yours: what might you think? Have you not set mine honour at the stake 115 And baited it with all the unmuzzled thoughts That tyrannous heart can think? To one of your receiving Enough is shown: a cypress, not a bosom, Hides my heart. So, let me hear you speak. _Vio._ I pity you. _Oli._ That's a degree to love. 120