Twelfth Night; or What you Will

Stand you awhile aloof. Cesario,

Thou know'st no less but all; I have unclasp'd

To thee the book even of my secret soul.

Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her;

Be not denied access, stand at her doors,

And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow

Till thou have audience.


VIOLA.

Sure, my noble lord,

If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow

As it is spoke, she never will admit me.


DUKE.

Be clamorous and leap all civil bounds

Rather than make unprofited return.


VIOLA.

Say I do speak with her, my lord, what then?


DUKE.

O, then unfold the passion of my love,

Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith!

It shall become thee well to act my woes;

She will attend it better in thy youth

Than in a nuncio's of more grave aspect.


VIOLA.

I think not so, my lord.


DUKE.

Dear lad, believe it;

For they shall yet belie thy happy years,

That say thou art a man: Diana's lip

Is not more smooth and rubious; thy small pipe

Is as the maiden's organ, shrill and sound,

And all is semblative a woman's part.

I know thy constellation is right apt

For this affair. Some four or five attend him;

All, if you will; for I myself am best

When least in company. Prosper well in this,

And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord,

To call his fortunes thine.