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?
VIOLA.
To answer by the method, in the first of his heart.
OLIVIA.
O, I have read it; it is heresy. Have you no more to say?
VIOLA.
Good madam, let me see your face.
OLIVIA.
Have you any commission from your lord to negotiate with my face?
You are now out of your text; but we will draw the curtain, and
show you the picture. Look you, sir, such a one I was this
present; is 't not well done?
[Unveiling.]
VIOLA.
Excellently done, if God did all.
OLIVIA.
'T is in grain, sir; 't will endure wind and weather.
VIOLA.
'T is beauty truly blent whose red and white
Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on.
Lady, you are the cruell'st she alive,
If you will lead these graces to the grave,
And leave the world no copy.
