ORSINO:There is no woman’s sides Can bide the beating of so strong a passion As love doth give my heart. No woman’s heart So big, to hold so much. They lack retention. Alas, their love may be called appetite, No motion of the liver, but the palate, That suffer surfeit, cloyment, and revolt; But mine is all as hungry as the sea, And can digest as much. Make [bad word] Between that love a woman can bear me And that I owe Olivia

VIOLA: Ay, but I know—

ORSINO: What dost thou know?

VIOLA: Too well what love women to men may owe. In faith, they are as [bad word] of heart as we. My father had a daughter loved a man As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman, I should your lordship.

ORSINO: And what’s her history?

VIOLA: blank, my lord. She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i’ the bud, Feed on her damask cheek. She pined in thought, And with a green and yellow melancholy She sat like patience on a monument, Smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed? We men may say more, swear more, but indeed Our shows are more than will, for still we prove Much in our vows, but little in our love