Twelfth Night

by: William Shakespeare

Act I, Scenes i-ii

1
If music be the food of love, play on.
Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,
That appetite may sicken and die (I.i)
2
Away before me to sweet beds of flowers.
Love-thoughts lie rich when canopied with bowers.
(I.i)
3
Conceal me what I am, and be my aid
For such disguise as haply shall become
The form of my intent. (I.ii)