Ros. I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder before you came ; for look here what I found on a palm- tree : I was never so be-rhymed since Pythagoras' time, that I was an Irish rat, which I can hardly remember.
OLIVIA.
[TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT You WILL, Act 1. Scene 5.]
Vio. Good madam, let me see your face.
Oli. 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 as I was this present. Is 't not well
done? [Unveiling.
Vio. Excellently done, if God did all.
Oli. 'Tis in grain, sir ; 'twill endure wind and weather.
Vio. 'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white
Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on :
Lady, you are the cruel'st she alive,
If you will lead these graces to the grave,
And leave the world no copy.
