Twelfth Night: Act 2, Scene 2

    comedy

    A street.

    Scene Summary

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    Malvolio catches up with Cesario to return the ring Olivia claimed was left behind. Viola realises at once what has happened: Olivia has fallen in love with her disguise. She sees the mess of misplaced affections clearly — she loves Orsino, Orsino loves Olivia, Olivia loves Cesario, who is a woman. 'What will become of this?'

    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
    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
    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
    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,
    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,
    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!
    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.
    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;
    It is too hard a knot for me to untie!
    Exit