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I hope, sir, you are; and I am yours.
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SIR TOBY.
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Will you encounter the house? my niece is desirous you
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should enter, if your trade be to her.
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VIOLA.
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I am bound to your niece, sir: I mean, she is the list of my
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voyage.
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SIR TOBY.
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Taste your legs, sir; put them to motion.
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VIOLA.
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My legs do better understand me, sir, than I understand what
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you mean by bidding me taste my legs.
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SIR TOBY.
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I mean, to go, sir, to enter.
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VIOLA.
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I will answer you with gait and entrance: but we are prevented.
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[Enter OLIVIA and MARIA.]
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Most excellent accomplished lady, the heavens rain odours on you!
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SIR ANDREW.
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That youth's a rare courtier- 'Rain odours'! well.
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VIOLA.
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My matter hath no voice, lady, but to your own most pregnant
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and vouchsafed car.
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SIR ANDREW.
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'Odours,' 'pregnant,' and 'vouchsafed':--I'll get 'em all
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three ready.
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OLIVIA.
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Let the garden door be shut, and leave me to my hearing.
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[Exeunt SIR TOBY, SIR ANDREW, and MARIA.]
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Give me your hand, sir.
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VIOLA.
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My duty, madam, and most humble service.
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OLIVIA.
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What is your name?
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VIOLA.
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Cesario is your servant's name, fair princess.
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OLIVIA.
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My servant, sir! 'Twas never merry world,
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Since lowly feigning was call'd compliment:
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You are servant to the Count Orsino, youth.
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VIOLA.
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And he is yours, and his must needs be yours;
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Your servant's servant is your servant, madam.
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OLIVIA.
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For him, I think not on him: for his thoughts,
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Would they were blanks rather than fill'd with me!
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VIOLA.
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Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts
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On his behalf:--
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OLIVIA.
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O, by your leave, I pray you:
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I bade you never speak again of him:
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But, would you undertake another suit,
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I had rather hear you to solicit that
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Than music from the spheres.
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VIOLA.
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Dear lady,--
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OLIVIA.
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Give me leave, beseech you: I did send,
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After the last enchantment you did here,
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A ring in chase of you; so did I abuse
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Myself, my servant, and, I fear me, you:
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Under your hard construction must I sit;
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To force that on you, in a shameful cunning,
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Which you knew none of yours. What might you think?
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Have you not set mine honour at the stake,
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And baited it with all the unmuzzl'd thoughts
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That tyrannous heart can think? To one of your receiving
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Enough is shown: a cypress, not a bosom,
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Hides my heart: so let me hear you speak.
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VIOLA.
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I Pity you.
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OLIVIA.
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That's a degree to love.
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