VIOLA.
Alas, I took great pains to study it, and 't is poetical.
OLIVIA.
It is the more like to be feign'd; 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; 't is not that time of moon
with me to make one in so skipping a 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. Tell me your mind; 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 ears, 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, —
