Twelfth Night; Or, What You Will

man. He is very well-favour'd, and he speaks very shrewishly; one
one
would think his mother's milk were scarce out of him.
OLIVIA. Let him approach. Call in my gentlewoman.
MALVOLIO. Gentlewoman, my lady calls. Exit

OLIVIA. Of what personage and years is he?
MALVOLIO. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy;
as a squash is before 'tis a peascod, or a codling when 'tis
almost an apple; 'tis with him in standing water, between boy and
man. He is very well-favour'd, and he speaks very shrewishly; one
would think his mother's milk were scarce out of him.

OLIVIA. Let him approach. Call in my gentlewoman.

MALVOLIO. Gentlewoman, my lady calls.

    Exit

Re-enter MARIA

OLIVIA. Give me my veil; come, throw it o'er my face;
We'll once more hear Orsino's embassy.

Enter VIOLA

VIOLA. The honourable lady of the house, which is she?

OLIVIA. Speak to me; I shall answer for her. Your will?

VIOLA. Most radiant, exquisite, and unmatchable beauty- I pray you
tell me if this be the lady of the house, for I never saw her.
I would be loath to cast away my speech; for, besides that it
is
excellently well penn'd, I have taken great pains to con it.
Good
beauties, let me sustain no scorn; I am very comptible, even to
the least sinister usage.

OLIVIA. Whence came you, sir?

VIOLA. I can say little more than I have studied, and that
question's out of my part. Good gentle one, give me modest
assurance if you be the lady of the house, that I may proceed in my speech.

OLIVIA. Are you a comedian?

VIOLA. No, my profound heart; and yet, by the very fangs of malice
I swear, I am not that I play. Are you the lady of the house?

OLIVIA. If I do not usurp myself, I am.

VIOLA. Most certain, if you are she, you do usurp yourself; for
what is yours to bestow is not yours to reserve. But this is from
my commission. I will on with my speech in your praise, and then
show you the heart of my message.

OLIVIA. Come to what is important in't. I forgive you the praise.

VIOLA. Alas, I took great pains to study it, and 'tis poetical.

OLIVIA. It is the more like to be feigned; I pray you keep it in. I
heard you were saucy at my gates, and allow'd your approach
rather to wonder at you than to hear you. If you be not mad, be
gone; if you have reason, be brief; 'tis not that time of moon
with me to make one in so skipping dialogue.

MARIA. Will you hoist sail, sir? Here lies your way.

VIOLA. No, good swabber, I am to hull here a little longer.
Some mollification for your giant, sweet lady.

OLIVIA. Tell me your mind.

VIOLA. I am a messenger.

OLIVIA. Sure, you have some hideous matter to deliver, when the
courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak your office.

VIOLA. It alone concerns your ear. I bring no overture of war, no
taxation of homage: I hold the olive in my hand; my words are as
full of peace as matter.

OLIVIA. Yet you began rudely. What are you? What would you?

VIOLA. The rudeness that hath appear'd in me have I learn'd from my
entertainment. What I am and what I would are as secret as
maidenhead- to your cars, divinity; to any other's, profanation.

OLIVIA. Give us the place alone; we will hear this divinity.
[Exeunt MARIA and ATTENDANTS] Now, sir, what is your text?

VIOLA. Most sweet lady-

OLIVIA. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be said of it.
Where lies your text?

VIOLA. In Orsino's bosom.

OLIVIA. In his bosom! In what chapter of his bosom?