Willow

Twelfth Night, [1.5.263-271]. Viola. “Make me a willow cabin at your gate,/ And call upon my soul within the house;/ Write loyal cantons of contemned love/ And sing them loud even in the dead of night;/ Halloo your name to the reverberate hills,/ And make the babbling gossip of the air/ Cry out ‘Olivia!’ O, you should not rest/ Bewteen the elements of air and earth/ But you should pity me.”