embassy, not doubting but that he came from the duke, by his importunity.  Viola entering, put on the most manly air she could assume, and affecting the fine courtier’s language of great men’s pages, she said to the veiled lady, “Most radiant, exquisite, and matchless beauty, I pray you tell me if you are the lady of the house; for I should be sorry to cast away my speech upon another; for besides that it is excellently well penned, I have taken great pains to learn it.”  “Whence come you, sir?” said Olivia.  “I can say little more than I have studied,” replied Viola; “and that question is out of my part.”  “Are you a comedian?” said Olivia.  “No,” replied Viola; “and yet I am not that which I play;” meaning, that she being a woman, feigned herself to be a man.  And again she asked Olivia if she were the lady of the house.  Olivia said she was; and then Viola, having more curiosity to see her rival’s features than haste to deliver her master’s message, said, “Good madam, let me see your face.”  With this bold request Olivia was not averse to comply; for this haughty beauty, whom the Duke Orsino had loved so long in vain, at first sight conceived a passion for the supposed page, the humble Cesario.

When Viola asked to see her face, Olivia said, “Have you any commission from your lord and master to negotiate with my face?” And then, forgetting her determination to go veiled for seven long years, she drew aside her veil, saying, “But I will draw the curtain and shew the picture.  Is it not well done?” Viola replied, “It is beauty truly mixed; the red and white upon your cheeks is by Nature’s own cunning hand laid on.  You are the most cruel lady living, if you will lead these graces to the grave, and leave the world no copy.”  “O sir,” replied Olivia, “I will not be so cruel.  The world may have an inventory of my beauty.  As, item, two lips, indifferent red; item, two grey eyes, with lids to them; one neck; one chin, and so forth.  Were you sent here to praise me?” Viola replied, “I see you what you are:  you are too proud, but you are fair.  My lord and master loves you.  O such a love could but be recompensed, though you were crowned the queen of beauty:  for Orsino loves you with adoration and with tears, with groans that thunder love, and sighs of fire.”  “Your lord,” said Olivia, “knows 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