Duke.
If music be the food of love, play on* ^note;
Give me excess of it; that, surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die. [Music again.
That strain again; it had a dying fall:
O, it came o'er my ear, like the sweet south,
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing and giving odour. [Music again.] Hush! no more;
'Tis not so sweet now, as it was before† ^note






.

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* ^note,
E'er since pursue me. How now, what news from her? Enter Valentine.

Val.
So please my lord, I might not be admitted,
But from her handmaid do return this answer:
The element itself, till seven years hence,
Shall not behold her face at ample view;
But like a cloystress she will veiled walk,
And water once a day her chambers round,
With eye-offending brine: all this to season
A brother's dead love, which she would keep fresh
And lasting, in her sad remembrance still.

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!
Away before me to sweet beds of flowers,
Love-thoughts lie rich, when canopied with bowers. [Exeunt.

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