Excerpt from The Plays of William Shakspeare, Vol. 2 of 9: Accurately Printed From the Text of the Corrected Copy Left by the Late George Steevens, Esq.; Containing, Twelfth-Night, or What You Will; Measure for Measure; Much Ado About Nothing; Midsummer-Night's Dream; Love's Labour's Lost

Duke. Ir 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 0, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south, That breathes upon a bank Of violets, Stealing and giving Odour. - Enough; no more; 'tis not SO sweet now, as it was before. 0 spirit Of love, how quick and fresh art thou That, notwithstanding thy capacity Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there, Of what validity and pitch soc'et, But falls into abatement and low price, Even in a minute So full of shapes is fancy, That it alone is high-fantastical. Cur. Will you go hunt, my lord? Duke. What, Curio? Cur. The hart. Duke. Why, so I do, the noblest that I have 0, when mine eyes did see Olivia first, Methought, she purg'd the air Of pestilence; That instant was I turn'd into a hart.

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