Page 617 - Shakespeare - Vol. 3

OLIVIA

If it be aught to the old tune, my lord,
It is as fat and fulsome to mine ear [105]
As howling after music.

DUKE
Still so cruel?

OLIVIA

Still so constant, lord.

DUKE

What, to perverseness? You uncivil lady,
To whose ingrate and unauspicious altars
My soul the faithfull’st off’rings hath breath’d out [110]
That e’er devotion tender’d−What shall I do?

OLIVIA
Even what it please my lord that shall become him.

DUKE

Why should I not, had I the heart to do it,
Like to th’ Egyptian thief at point of death,
Kill what I love? − a savage jealousy [115]
That sometime savours nobly. But hear me this:

Since you to non-regardance cast my faith,
And that I partly know the instrument
That screws me from my true place in your favour,
Live you the marble-breasted tyrant still. [120]

But this your minion, whom I know you love,
And whom, by heaven, I swear I tender dearly,
Him will I tear out of that cruel eye
Where he sits crowned in his master’s spite.

Come, boy, with me; my thoughts are ripe in mischief: [125]
I’ll sacrifice the lamb that I do love,
To spite a raven’s heart within a dove.

VIOLA