A Room in the DUKE'S Palace. |
|
Enter DUKE, CURIO, Lords; Musicians attending. |
Duke. If music be the food of love, play on; |
Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, |
The appetite may sicken, and so die. |
That strain again! it had a dying fall: |
O! it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound |
That breathes upon a bank of violets, |
Stealing and giving odour. Enough! no more: |
'Tis not so sweet now as it was before. |
O spirit of love! how quick and fresh art thou, |
That, notwithstanding thy capacity |
Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there, |
Of what validity and pitch soe'er, |
But falls into abatement and low price, |
Even in a minute: so full of shapes is fancy, |
That it alone is high fantastical. |
Cur. Will you go hunt, my lord? |
Duke. What, Curio? |
Cur. The hart. |
Duke. Why, so I do, the noblest that I have. |
O! when mine eyes did see Olivia first, |
Methought she purg'd the air of pestilence. |
That instant was I turn'd into a hart, |
And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds, |
E'er since pursue me. |
|
Enter VALENTINE. |
How now! what news from her? |
Val. So please my lord, I might not be admitted; |
But from her handmaid do return this answer: |
The element itself, till seven years' heat, |
Shall not behold her face at ample view; |
But, like a cloistress, she will veiled walk, |
And water once a day her chamber round |
With eve-offending brine: all this, to season |
A brother's dead love, which she would keep fresh |
And lasting in her sad remembrance. |
Duke. O! she that hath a heart of that fine frame |
To pay this debt of love but to a brother, |
How will she love, when the rich golden shaft |
Hath kill'd the flock of all affections else |
That live in her; when liver, brain, and heart, |
These sovereign thrones, are all supplied, and fill'd |
Her sweet perfections with one self king. |
Away before me to sweet beds of flowers; |
Love-thoughts lie rich when canopied with bowers. [Exeunt. |
Design © 1995-2007 ZeFLIP.com All rights reserved.