s
well my mind. I cannot love him; yet I doubt not he is virtuous; I know
him to be noble and of high estate, of fresh and spotless youth. All
voices proclaim him learned, courteous, and valiant; yet I cannot love
him, he might have taken his answer long ago.' 'If I did love you as my
master does,' said Viola, 'I would make me a willow cabin at your
gates, and call upon your name, I would write complaining sonnets on
Olivia, and sing them in the dead of the night; your name should sound
among the hills, and I would make Echo, the babbling gossip of the air,
cry out Olivia. O you should not rest between the elements of earth and
air, but you should pity me.' 'You might do much,' said Olivia: 'what
is your parentage?' Viola replied: 'Above my fortunes, yet my state is
well. I am a gentleman.' Olivia now reluctantly dismissed Viola,
saying: 'Go to your master, and tell him, I cannot love him. Let him
send no more, unless perchance you come again to tell me how he takes
it.' And Viola departed, bidding the lady farewell by the name of Fair
Cruelty. When she was gone, Olivia repeated the words, Above my
fortunes, yet my state is well. I am a gentleman. And she said aloud:
'I will be sworn he is; his tongue, his face, his limbs, action, and
spirit, plainly show he is a gentleman.' And then she wished Cesario
was the duke; and perceiving the fast hold he had taken on her
affections, she blamed herself for her sudden love: but the gentle
blame which people lay upon their own faults has no deep root; and
presently the noble lady Olivia so far forgot the inequality between
her fortunes and those of this seeming page, as well as the maidenly
reserve which is the chief ornament of a lady's character, that she
resolved to court the love of young Cesario, and sent a servant after
him with a diamond ring, under the presence that he had left it with
her as a present from Orsino. She hoped by thus artfully making Cesario
a present of the ring, she should give him some intimation of her
design; and truly it did make Viola suspect; for knowing that Orsino
had sent no ring by her, she began to recollect that Olivia's looks and
manner were expressive of admiration, and she presently guessed her
master's mistress had fallen in love with her. 'Alas,' said she, 'the
poor lady might as well love a dream. Disguise I see is wicked, for it
has caused Olivia to breathe as fruitless sighs for me as I do for
Orsino.'

Viola returned to Orsino's pala