As a result, Orsino asks for there to be an excess of music. He hopes that it will cure him of his obsession with love in the same way that eating too much food can make someone sick. It turns out that, in the end, Orsino’s love isn’t genuine. He just likes the idea of being in love. He’s a bit of a dreamer.
If music be the food of love, play on;
Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.
That strain again! it had a dying fall:
O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound,
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing and giving odour! Enough; no more:
'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.
O spirit of love! how quick and fresh art thou,
That, notwithstanding thy capacity
Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there,
Of what validity and pitch soe'er,
But falls into abatement and low price,
Even in a minute: so full of shapes is fancy
That it alone is high fantastical.