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OLIVIA: I have said too much unto a heart of stone
And laid mine honour too unchary out:
There's something in me that reproves my fault;
But such a headstrong potent fault it is,
That it but mocks reproof.
VIOLA: With the same 'havior that your passion bears
Goes on my master's grief.
OLIVIA: Here, wear this jewel for me, 'tis my picture;
Refuse it not; it hath no tongue to vex you;
And I beseech you come again to-morrow.
What shall you ask of me that I'll deny,
That honour saved may upon asking give?
VIOLA: Nothing but this; your true love for my master.
OLIVIA: How with mine honour may I give him that
Which I have given to you?
VIOLA: I will acquit you.
OLIVIA: Well, come again to-morrow: fare thee well:
A fiend like thee might bear my soul to hell.
-- Twelfth Night - iii:iv:ccix-cxxv