1.1.0.12[Music.] Enter Orsino Duke of Illyria, Curio, and other 3Lords. If music be the food of love, play on,
1.1.26Give me excess of it, that surfeiting,
1.1.37The appetite may sicken, and so die.
1.1.48[To the Musicians] That strain again! It had a dying fall;
1.1.59Oh, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound
1.1.610That breathes upon a bank of violets,
1.1.711Stealing, and giving odor.
[To the Musicians] Enough, no more.
1.1.812'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.
1.1.913O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou,
1.1.1014That notwithstanding thy capacity
1.1.1115Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there,
1.1.1216Of what validity and pitch soe'er,
1.1.1317But falls into abatement and low price
1.1.1418Even in a minute. So full of shapes is fancy,
1.1.1519That it alone is high fantastical.
Will you go hunt, my Lord?
Will you go hunt, my Lord? What, Curio?
Will you go hunt, my Lord? What, Curio? The hart.
Why so I do, the noblest that I have.
1.1.1824O when mine eyes did see Olivia first,
1.1.1925Methought she purged the air of pestilence;
1.1.2026That instant was I turned into a hart,
1.1.2127And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds,
E'er since pursue me. How now, what news from her?
So please my lord, I might not be admitted,
1.1.2431But from her handmaid do return this answer:
1.1.2532The element itself, till seven years' heat,
1.1.2633Shall not behold her face at ample view;
1.1.2734But like a cloistress she will veilèd walk,
1.1.2835And water once a day her chamber round
1.1.2936With eye-offending brine--all this to season
1.1.3037A brother's dead love, which she would keep fresh
1.1.3138And lasting in her sad remembrance.
O she that hath a heart of that fine frame
1.1.3340To pay this debt of love but to a brother,
1.1.3441How will she love, when the rich golden shaft
1.1.3542Hath killed the flock of all affections else
1.1.3643That live in her--when liver, brain, and heart,
1.1.3744These sovereign thrones, are all supplied, and filled
1.1.3845Her sweet perfections, with one self king!
1.1.3946Away before me, to sweet beds of flowers;
1.1.4047Love-thoughts lie rich, when canopied with bowers.