Tell me your mind

Olivia
Tell me your mind.
Viola
I am a messenger.
Olivia
Sure you have some hideous matter to deliver
when the courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak your office.

I see you what you are. You are too proud.
But if you were the devil you are fair.

Viola
It alone concerns your ear. I bring no overture
of war, no taxation of homage. I hold the olive in
my hand. My words are as full of peace as matter.
Olivia
Yet you began rudely. What are you? What
would you?
Viola
The rudeness that hath appeared in me have I
learned from my entertainment. What I am and
what I would are as secret as maidenhead: to your
ears, divinity; to any other’s, profanation.
Olivia
Give us the place alone. We will hear this divinity.
 Maria and Attendants exit.
Now, sir, what is your text?
Viola
Most sweet lady—
Olivia
A comfortable doctrine, and much may be said
of it. Where lies your text?
Viola
In Orsino’s bosom.
Olivia
In his bosom? In what chapter of his bosom?
Viola
To answer by the method, in the first of his heart.
Olivia
O, I have read it; it is heresy. Have you no more
to say?
Viola
Good madam, let me see your face.
Olivia
Have you any commission from your lord to
negotiate with my face? You are now out of your
text. But we will draw the curtain and show you the picture.
 She removes her veil.
Look you, sir, such a one I was this present.
Is ’t not well done?
Viola
Excellently done, if God did all.
Olivia
’Tis in grain, sir; ’twill endure wind and weather.
Viola
’Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white
Nature’s own sweet and cunning hand laid on.
Lady, you are the cruel’st she alive
If you will lead these graces to the grave
And leave the world no copy.
Olivia
O, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted! I will give
out divers schedules of my beauty. It shall be
inventoried and every particle and utensil labeled
to my will: as, item, two lips indifferent red; item,
two gray eyes with lids to them; item, one neck, one
chin, and so forth. Were you sent hither to praise me?
Viola
I see you what you are. You are too proud.
But if you were the devil you are fair.
My lord and master loves you. O, such love
Could be but recompensed though you were crowned
The nonpareil of beauty.