Reading Twelfe Night, or What You Will — William Shakespeare

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Section 910

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This is the ayre, that is the glorious Sunne,

This pearle she gaue me, I do feel't, and see't,

And though tis wonder that enwraps me thus,

Yet 'tis not madnesse. Where's Anthonio then,

I could not finde him at the Elephant,

Yet there he was, and there I found this credite,

That he did range the towne to seeke me out,

His councell now might do me golden seruice,

For though my soule disputes well with my sence,

That this may be some error, but no madnesse,

Yet doth this accident and flood of Fortune,

So farre exceed all instance, all discourse,

That I am readie to distrust mine eyes,

And wrangle with my reason that perswades me

To any other trust, but that I am mad,

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