For now, here's a performance poem that was never performed:
Thine is the mask I wear
Concealing my sex and
Like Hero with her blushing cheeks oh so like Diana in her orb and not a bit coquettish in her
An unearned and invisible habit I don and shun the company of men
In my own bed
The memory in and out of my loins.
Cesario is the mask of lusty, confusEd Olivia.
I'm guilty of liking Shakespeare quite a bit, if you couldn't tell. Also, there appears to be formatting issues here... ugh. I'm going to upload this to Fictionpress and pray the same issues don't lie there as well.