heart as we are. My father had a daughter
loved a man, as I perhaps, were I a woman, should love your lordship.'
'And what is her history?' said Orsino. 'A blank, my lord,' replied
Viola: 'she never told her love, but let concealment, like a worm in
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.' The duke inquired if this lady died of her love, but
to this question Viola returned an evasive answer; as probably she had
feigned the story, to speak words expressive of the secret love and
silent grief she suffered for Orsino.

While they were talking, a gentleman entered whom the duke had sent to
Olivia, and he said: 'So please you, my lord, I might not be admitted
to the lady, but by her handmaid she returned you this answer: Until
seven years hence, the element itself shall not behold her face; but
like a cloistress she will walk veiled, watering her chamber with her
tears for the sad remembrance of her dead brother.' On hearing this,
the duke exclaimed: 'O she that has a heart of this fine frame, to pay
this debt of love to a dead brother, how will she love, when the rich
golden shaft has touched her heart!' And then he said to Viola: 'You
know, Cesario, I have told you all the secrets of my heart; therefore,
good youth, go to Olivia's house. Be not denied access; stand at her
doors, and tell her, there your fixed foot shall grow till you have
audience.' 'And if I do speak to her, my lord, what then?' said Viola.
'O then,' replied Orsino, 'unfold to her the passion of my love. Make a
long discourse to her of my dear faith. It will well become you to act
my woes, for she will attend more to you than to one of graver aspect.'

Away then went Viola; but not willingly did she undertake this
courtship, for she was to woo a lady to become a wife to him she wished
to marry: but having undertaken the affair, she performed it with
fidelity; and Olivia soon heard that a youth was at her door who
insisted upon being admitted to her presence. 'I told him,' said the
servant, 'that you were sick: he said he knew you were, and therefore
he came to speak with you. I told him that you were asleep: he seemed
to have a foreknowledge of that too, and said, that therefore he must
speak with you. What is to be said to him, lady? for he seems fortified
against all denial, and will speak with you, whether you will or no.'
Olivia, curious t