ANTONIO. Orsino, noble sir, Be pleased that I shake off these names you give me: Antonio never yet was thief or pirate, Though, I confess, on base and ground enough, Orsino’s enemy. A witchcraft drew me hither: That most ingrateful boy there by your side From the rude sea’s enraged and foamy mouth Did I redeem; a wreck past hope he was. His life I gave him, and did thereto add My love, without retention or restraint, All his in dedication. For his sake Did I expose myself, pure for his love, Into the danger of this adverse town; Drew to defend him when he was beset; Where being apprehended, his false cunning (Not meaning to partake with me in danger) Taught him to face me out of his acquaintance, And grew a twenty years’ removed thing While one would wink; denied me mine own purse, Which I had recommended to his use Not half an hour before. VIOLA. How can this be? DUKE. When came he to this town? ANTONIO. Today, my lord; and for three months before, No int’rim, not a minute’s vacancy, Both day and night did we keep company. Enter Olivia and Attendants. DUKE. Here comes the Countess, now heaven walks on earth. But for thee, fellow, fellow, thy words are madness. Three months this youth hath tended upon me; But more of that anon. Take him aside. OLIVIA. What would my lord, but that he may not have, Wherein Olivia may seem serviceable? Cesario, you do not keep promise with me. VIOLA. Madam? DUKE. Gracious Olivia— OLIVIA. What do you say, Cesario? Good my lord— VIOLA. My lord would speak, my duty hushes me. OLIVIA. If it be aught to the old tune, my lord, It is as fat and fulsome to mine ear As howling after music. DUKE. Still so cruel? OLIVIA. Still so constant, lord. DUKE. What, to perverseness? You uncivil lady, To whose ingrate and unauspicious altars My soul the faithfull’st off’rings hath breathed out That e’er devotion tender’d! What shall I do? OLIVIA. Even what it please my lord that shall become him. DUKE. Why should I not, had I the heart to do it, Like to the Egyptian thief at point of death, Kill what I love?—a savage jealousy That sometime savours nobly. But hear me this: Since you to non-regardance cast my faith, And that I partly know the instrument That screws me from my true place in your favour, Live you the marble-breasted tyrant still. But this your minion, whom I know you love, And whom, by heaven I swear, I tender dearly, Him will I tear out of that cruel eye Where he sits crowned in his master’s spite.— Come, boy, with me; my thoughts are ripe in mischief: I’ll sacrifice the lamb that I do love, To spite a raven’s heart within a dove. VIOLA. And I, most jocund, apt, and willingly, To do you rest, a thousand deaths would die. OLIVIA. Where goes Cesario? VIOLA. After him I love More than I love these eyes, more than my life, More, by all mores, than e’er I shall love wife. If I do feign, you witnesses above Punish my life for tainting of my love. OLIVIA. Ah me, detested! how am I beguil’d!