Olivia is manifestly somewhat inclined to have her own way.  But then it must also be acknowledged that her way is pretty apt to be right.  This wilfulness, or something that borders upon it, is shown alike in her impracticability to the Duke’s solicitations, and in her pertinacity in soliciting his messenger.  And it were well worth the while to know, if we could, how one so perverse in certain spots can manage notwithstanding to be so agreeable as a whole.  Then too, if it seems rather naughty in her that she does not give the Duke a better chance to try his power upon her, she gets pretty well paid in falling a victim to the eloquence which her obstinacy stirs up.  Nor is it altogether certain whether her conduct springs from a pride that will not listen where her fancy is not taken, or from an unambitious modesty that prefers not to “match above her degree.”  Her “beauty truly blent, whose red and white Nature’s own sweet and cunning hand laid on,” saves the credit of the fancy-smitten Duke in such an urgency of suit as might else breed some question of his manliness; while her winning infirmity, as expressed in the tender violence with which she hastens on “a contract and eternal bond of love” with the astonished and bewildered Sebastian, “that her most jealous and too doubtful soul may live at peace,” shows how well the sternness of the brain may be tempered into amiability by the meekness of womanhood.

Manifold indeed are the attractions which the Poet has shed upon his heroes and heroines; yet perhaps the learned spirit of the man is more wisely apparent in the home-keeping virtues and unobtrusive beauty of his average characters.  And surely the contemplation of Olivia may well suggest the question, whether the former be not sometimes too admirable to be so instructive as those whose graces walk more in the light of common day.  At all events, the latter may best admonish us,

    “How Verse may build a princely throne
          On humble truth.”

Similar thoughts might aptly enough be suggested by the Duke, who, without any very splendid or striking qualities, manages somehow to be a highly agreeable and interesting person.  His character is merely that of an accomplished gentleman, enraptured at the touch of music, and the sport of thick-thronging fancies.  It is plain that Olivia has only enchanted his imagination, not won his heart; though he is not himself aware that such is the case.  This fancy-sickness—­for it appears to be nothing else—­naturally renders him somewhat capricious and fantastical, “unstaid and skittish in his motions”; and, but for the exquisite poetry which it inspires him to utter, would rather excite our mirth than enlist our sympathy.  To use an illustration from another play, Olivia is not so much his Juliet as his Rosalind; and perhaps a secret persuasion to that effect is the real cause of her rejecting his suit.  Accordingly, when he sees her placed beyond his hope, he has no more trouble about her; but turns, and builds a true affection where, during the preoccupancy of his imagination, so many sweet and tender appeals have been made to his heart.