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DUKE.If music be the food of love, play on, Give me excess of it; that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken and so die.That strain again, it had a dying fall;O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet soundThat breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odour. Enough; no more;'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou, That notwithstanding thy capacityReceiveth as the sea, nought enters there, Of what validity and pitch soever, But falls into abatement and low priceEven in a minute! So full of shapes is fancy, That it alone is high fantastical.CURIO.Will you go hunt, my lord?DUKE.What, Curio?CURIO.The hart.DUKE.Why so I do, the noblest that I have.O, when mine eyes did see Olivia first, Methought she purg'd the air of pestilence;That instant was I turn'd into a hart, And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds, E'er since pursue me. How now? what news from her?Enter VALENTINE.VALENTINE.So please my lord, I might not be admitted, But from her handmaid do return this answer: The element itself, till seven years' heat, Shall not behold her face at ample view;But like a cloistress she will

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