Val.

If the Duke continue these favours towards you, Cesario, you are like to be much advanc'd; he hath known you but three days, and already you are no stranger.

Vio.

You either fear his humour, or my negligence, that you call in question the continuance of his love. Is he inconstant, Sir, in his favours?

Val.

No, believe me.

Vio.

I thank you: here comes the Duke.

Duke.

Who saw Cesario, hoa?

Vio.

On your attendance, my lord, here.

Duke.
Stand you a while aloof. Cesario,
Thou know'st no less, but all: I have unclasp'd
To thee the book even of my secret soul.
Therefore, good youth, address thy gate unto her,
Be not deny'd access, stand at her doors,
And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow
'Till thou have audience.

Vio.
Sure, my noble lord,
If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow
As it is spoke, she never will admit me.

Duke.
Be clamorous, and leap all civil bounds,
Rather than make unprofited return.

Vio.
Say I do speak with her, my lord, what then?

Duke.
O then, unfold the passion of my love,

Surprize her with discourse of my dear faith;
It shall become thee well to act my woes;
She will attend it better in thy youth,
Than in a nuncio's of more grave aspect.

Vio.
I think not so, my lord.

Duke.
Dear lad, believe it:
For they shall yet belie thy happy years,
That say thou art a man: Diana's lip
Is not more smooth and rubious; thy small pipe
Is as the maiden's organ, shrill and sound,
And all is semblative a woman's part.
I know thy constellation is right apt
For this affair: some four or five attend him,
All if you will; for I my self am best
When least in company. Prosper well in this,
And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord,
To call his fortunes thine.

Vio.
I'll do my best
To woo your lady; yet, O baneful strife!
Who-e'er I woo, my self would be his wife. [Exeunt.

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