VIOLA.
[TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT You WILL, Act II. Scene 4.]
Vio. Too well what love women to men may owe ;
In faith, they are as true of heart as we.
My father had a daughter loved a man,
As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman,
I should your lordship.
Duke. And what's her history ?
Vio. A blank, my lord. She never told her love,
But let concealment, like a worm i' 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. Was not this love, indeed ?
We men may say more, swear more : but, indeed,
Our shows are more than will ; for still we prove
Much in our vows, but little in our love.
Duke. But died thy sister of her love, my boy ?
Vio. I am all the daughters of my father's house,
and all the brothers too.
MARIA.
[TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT You WILL, Act I. Scene 3.]
Sir And. An' you part so, mistress, I would I might never draw sword again. Fair lady, do you think you have fools in hand ?
