| ACT II SCENE II | A street. | |
| | Enter VIOLA, MALVOLIO following | |
| MALVOLIO | Were not you even now with the Countess Olivia? | |
| VIOLA | Even now, sir; on a moderate pace I have since | |
| | arrived but hither. | |
| MALVOLIO | She returns this ring to you, sir: you might have | 5 |
| | saved me my pains, to have taken it away yourself. | |
| | She adds, moreover, that you should put your lord | |
| | into a desperate assurance she will none of him: | |
| | and one thing more, that you be never so hardy to | |
| | come again in his affairs, unless it be to report | 10 |
| | your lord's taking of this. Receive it so. | |
| VIOLA | She took the ring of me: I'll none of it. | |
| MALVOLIO | Come, sir, you peevishly threw it to her; and her | |
| | will is, it should be so returned: if it be worth | |
| | stooping for, there it lies in your eye; if not, be | 15 |
| | it his that finds it. | |
| | Exit | |
| VIOLA | I left no ring with her: what means this lady? | |
| | Fortune forbid my outside have not charm'd her! | |
| | She made good view of me; indeed, so much, | |
| | That sure methought her eyes had lost her tongue, | 20 |
| | For she did speak in starts distractedly. | |
| | She loves me, sure; the cunning of her passion | |
| | Invites me in this churlish messenger. | |
| | None of my lord's ring! why, he sent her none. | |
| | I am the man: if it be so, as 'tis, | 25 |
| | Poor lady, she were better love a dream. | |
| | Disguise, I see, thou art a wickedness, | |
| | Wherein the pregnant enemy does much. | |
| | How easy is it for the proper-false | |
| | In women's waxen hearts to set their forms! | 30 |
| | Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we! | |
| | For such as we are made of, such we be. | |
| | How will this fadge? my master loves her dearly; | |
| | And I, poor monster, fond as much on him; | |
| | And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me. | 35 |
| | What will become of this? As I am man, | |
| | My state is desperate for my master's love; | |
| | As I am woman,--now alas the day!-- | |
| | What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe! | |
| | O time! thou must untangle this, not I; | 40 |
| | It is too hard a knot for me to untie! | |
| | Exit | |