Once more, Cesario, Get thee to yond same sovereign cruelty. Tell her my love, more noble than the world, Prizes not quantity of dirty lands; The parts that fortune hath bestow'd upon her, Tell her, I hold as giddily as fortune; But 't is that miracle and queen of gems That Nature pranks her in attracts my soul. VIOLA. But if she cannot love you, sir? DUKE. I cannot be so answer'd. VIOLA. Sooth, but you must. Say that some lady, as perhaps there is, Hath for your love as great a pang of heart As you have for Olivia: you cannot love her; You tell her so; must she not, then, be answer'd? DUKE. There is no woman's sides Can bide the beating of so strong a passion As love doth give my heart; no woman's heart So big to hold so much; they lack retention. Alas, their love may be call'd appetite-- No motion of the liver, but the palate-- That suffer surfeit, cloyment, and revolt; But mine is all as hungry as the sea, And can digest as much. Make no compare Between that love a woman can bear me And that I owe Olivia. VIOLA. Ay, but I know-- DUKE. What dost thou know? VIOLA. Too well what love women to men may owe; In faith, they are as true of heart as we. My father had a daughter lov'd a man, As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman, I should your lordship. DUKE. And what's her history? VIOLA. A blank, my lord. She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i' th' bud, Feed on her damask cheek; she pin'd in thought, And with a green and yellow melancholy, She sat, like patience on a monument, Smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed? We men may say more, swear more; but indeed Our shows are more than will; for still we prove Much in our vows, but little in our love. DUKE. But died thy sister of her love, my boy? VIOLA. I am all the daughters of my father's house, And all the brothers too; and yet I know not. Sir, shall I to this lady? DUKE. Ay, that's the theme. To her in haste; give her this jewel; say, My love can give no place, bide no denay. [Exeunt.] SCENE V. OLIVIA'S garden. [Enter SIR TOBY, SIR ANDREW, and FABIAN.] SIR TOBY. Come thy ways, Signior Fabian. FABIAN. Nay, I'll come: if I lose a scruple of this sport, let me be boil'd to death with melancholy. SIR TOBY. Wouldst thou not be glad to have the niggardly rascally sheep-biter come by some notable shame? FABIAN. I would exult, man; you know he brought me out o' favour with my lady about a bear-baiting here. SIR TOBY. To anger him, we'll have the bear again; and we will fool him black and blue: shall we not, Sir Andrew? SIR ANDREW. And we do not, it is pity of our lives. [Enter MARIA.] SIR TOBY. Here comes the little villain. How now, my metal of India!