Orsino: For women are as roses, whose fair flower
Being one displayed, doth fall that very hour.
Viola: And so they are: alas, that they are so;
To die, when they to perfection grow.
I do protest —
No — ?
How can this be?
Madam, I —
My Lord would speak, my duty hushes me,
My woman's weeds, —
to confirm that —
I am Viola.
Now, can I
Speak — ?
(even FABIAN: Good madam, hear me speak,
even ANTONIO: Let me speak a little)
I can sing and speak in many sorts of music...
What's in a name?
For women are as roses,
Once displayed, they
Fall that very hour.
(Do not let them display you!)
(Disguise, I see thou art a wickedness) *winks*
As I am man, my state is
Desperate, vocal, verse.
As I am woman, — now alas the day!
What thriftless sighs!