Enter VIOLA, MALVOLIO following
(DN: You know that big fake tree we have? We're putting it out in the center of the stage, but slightly right. Feferi, Equius, the two of you work together to get it out. Jane, you're coming in from stage left upstage. Walk around. Trace a curved path. Eridan, sprint out of the same place to catch her when she's right and down of the tree. Eridan, you are panting and huffing. Jane, you are confused.)
wwere not you evven noww wwith the countess olivvia?
Even now, sir; on a moderate pace I have since
arrived but hither.
(DN: Eridan, move to speak, then put your hands on your knees and breathe heavily. When you've got your breath, stand upright and look official. Give the line with irritation.)
she returns this ring to you sir: you might havve
savved me my pains to have taken it away yourself.
she adds moreovver 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. receivve it so
(DN: Jane, back up. He is being weird.)
She took the ring of me: I'll none of it.
come sir you peevvishly threw it to her; and her
wwill is it should be so returned: if it be wworth
stooping for, there it lies in your eye; if not be
it his that finds it
(DN: Eridan, drop the ring. MAKE SURE IT DOESN'T FALL OFF THE STAGE.)
(DN: Stage left, wherever. Jane, pick up the ring as he leaves and marvel at it.)
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!
(DN: Stage right. Equius, Nepeta, strike the tree.)