Du. Heere comes the Countesse, now heauen walkes on earth: But for thee fellow, fellow thy words are madnesse, Three monthes this youth hath tended vpon mee, But more of that anon. Take him aside Ol. What would my Lord, but that he may not haue, Wherein Oliuia may seeme seruiceable? Cesario, you do not keepe promise with me Vio. Madam: Du. Gracious Oliuia Ol. What do you say Cesario? Good my Lord Vio. My Lord would speake, my dutie hushes me Ol. If it be ought to the old tune my Lord, It is as fat and fulsome to mine eare As howling after Musicke Du. Still so cruell? Ol. Still so constant Lord Du. What to peruersenesse? you vnciuill Ladie To whose ingrate, and vnauspicious Altars My soule the faithfull'st offrings haue breath'd out That ere deuotion tender'd. What shall I do? Ol. Euen what it please my Lord, that shal becom him Du. Why should I not, (had I the heart to do it) Like to th' Egyptian theefe, at point of death Kill what I loue: (a sauage iealousie, That sometime sauours nobly) but heare me this: Since you to non-regardance cast my faith, And that I partly know the instrument That screwes me from my true place in your fauour: Liue you the Marble-brested Tirant still. But this your Minion, whom I know you loue, And whom, by heauen I sweare, I tender deerely, Him will I teare out of that cruell eye, Where he sits crowned in his masters spite. Come boy with me, my thoughts are ripe in mischiefe: Ile sacrifice the Lambe that I do loue, To spight a Rauens heart within a Doue Vio. And I most iocund, apt, and willinglie, To do you rest, a thousand deaths would dye Ol. Where goes Cesario? Vio. After him I loue, More then I loue these eyes, more then my life, More by all mores, then ere I shall loue wife. If I do feigne, you witnesses aboue Punish my life, for tainting of my loue Ol. Aye me detested, how am I beguil'd? Vio. Who does beguile you? who does do you wrong? Ol. Hast thou forgot thy selfe? Is it so long? Call forth the holy Father Du. Come, away Ol. Whether my Lord? Cesario, Husband, stay Du. Husband? Ol. I Husband. Can he that deny? Du. Her husband, sirrah? Vio. No my Lord, not I Ol. Alas, it is the basenesse of thy feare, That makes thee strangle thy propriety: Feare not Cesario, take thy fortunes vp, Be that thou know'st thou art, and then thou art As great as that thou fear'st. Enter Priest. O welcome Father: Father, I charge thee by thy reuerence Heere to vnfold, though lately we intended To keepe in darkenesse, what occasion now Reueales before 'tis ripe: what thou dost know Hath newly past, betweene this youth, and me