Orsini

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 odor. Enough; no more.

O, it came o’er my ear like the sweet sound
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
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Viola
On your attendance, my lord, here.
Orsino, to Curio and Attendants
Stand you awhile aloof.—Cesario,
Thou know’st no less but all. I have unclasped
To thee the book even of my secret soul.
Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her.
Be not denied access. Stand at her doors
And tell them,
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