taxation of homage: I hold the olive in my hand; my words are as
full of peace as matter.

OLIVIA.
Yet you began rudely. What are you? what would you?

VIOLA.
The rudeness that hath appear'd in me have I learn'd from my
entertainment. What I am, and what I would, are as secret as
maidenhead; to your ears, divinity; to any other's, profanation.

OLIVIA.
Give us the place alone; we will hear this divinity.
[Exeunt MARIA and ATTENDANTS.] Now, sir, what is your text?

VIOLA.
Most sweet lady,--

OLIVIA.
A comfortable doctrine, and much may be said of it. Where lies
your text?

VIOLA.
In Orsino's bosom.

OLIVIA.
In his bosom! In what chapter of his bosom?

VIOLA.
To answer by the method, in the first of his heart.