_Enter_ DUKE, _and_ VIOLA. _Duke._ Come hither, boy:--If ever thou shalt love, In the sweet pangs of it, remember me: For, such as I am, all true lovers are.-- My life upon't, young though thou art, thine eye Hath stay'd upon some favour that it loves; Hath it not, boy? _Vio._ A little, by your favour. _Duke._ What kind of woman is't? _Vio._ Of your complexion. _Duke._ She is not worth thee then. What years, i' faith? _Vio._ About your years, my lord. _Duke._ Too old, by heaven.--Once more, Cesario, Get thee to yon same sovereign cruelty: Tell her, my love, more noble than the world, Prizes not quantity of dirty lands; The parts that fortune hath bestowed upon her, Tell her, I hold as giddily as fortune; But 'tis that miracle, and queen of gems, That nature pranks her in, attracts my soul. _Vio._ But, if she cannot love you, sir? _Duke._ I cannot be so answered. _Vio._ 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 answered? _Duke._ There is no woman's sides, Can bide the beating of so strong a passion As love doth give my heart:--make no compare Between that love a woman can bear me, And that I owe Olivia. _Vio._ Ay, but I know,-- _Duke._ What dost thou know? _Vio._ Too well what love women to men may owe: In faith, they are as true of heart as we. My father had a daughter loved a man, As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman, I should your lordship. _Duke._ And what's her history? _Vio._ A blank, my lord: She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, Feed on her damask cheek: she pined 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? _Vio._ I am all the daughters of my father's house, And all the brothers too.-- 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._ ACT THE THIRD. SCENE I. OLIVIA'S _Garden_. _Enter_ SIR TOBY, SIR ANDREW, _and_ FABIAN. _Sir To._ Come thy ways, Signior Fabian. _Fab._ Nay, I'll come; if I lose a scruple of this sport, let me be boiled to death with melancholy. _Sir To._ Would'st thou not be glad to have the niggardly rascally sheep-biter come by some notable shame?