William Shakespeare: Twelfth Night

ACT III. 4. SCENE IV. OLIVIA'S garden. (continued)

VIOLA.
With the same 'haviour that your passion bears
Goes on my master's griefs.

OLIVIA.
Here, wear this jewel for me; 'tis my picture;
Refuse it not; it hath no tongue to vex you:
And, I beseech you, come again to-morrow.
What shall you ask of me that I'll deny,
That, honour saved, may upon asking give?

VIOLA.
Nothing but this, your true love for my master.

OLIVIA.
How with mine honour may I give him that
Which I have given to you?

VIOLA.
I will acquit you.

OLIVIA.
Well, come again to-morrow. Fare thee well;
A fiend like thee might bear my soul to hell.

[Exit.]

[Re-enter SIR TOBY BELCH and SIR FABIAN.]

SIR TOBY.
Gentleman, God save thee.

VIOLA.
And you, sir.

SIR TOBY.
That defence thou hast, betake thee to't. Of what nature
the wrongs are thou hast done him, I know not; but thy
intercepter, full of despite, bloody as the hunter, attends
thee at the orchard end: dismount thy tuck, be yare in thy
preparation, for thy assailant is quick, skilful, and deadly.

VIOLA.
You mistake, sir; I am sure no man hath any quarrel to me;
my remembrance is very free and clear from any image of offence
done to any man.

SIR TOBY.
You'll find it otherwise, I assure you: therefore, if you
hold your life at any price, betake you to your guard; for your
opposite hath in him what youth, strength, skill, and wrath, can
furnish man withal.

VIOLA.
I pray you, sir, what is he?

SIR TOBY.
He is knight, dubbed with unhacked rapier and on carpet
consideration; but he is a devil in private brawl; souls and
bodies hath he divorced three; and his incensement at this moment
is so implacable that satisfaction can be none but by pangs of
death and sepulchre: hob, nob is his word; give't or take't.