Twelfth Night

What a plague means my niece to take the death of her brother thus! I am sure care's an enemy to life.

By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier a-nights. Your cousin, my lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours.

Why let her except, before excepted.

Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modest limits of order.

Confine? I'll confine myself no finer than I am! These clothes are good enough to drink in, and so be these boots too; an they be not, let them hang themselves in their own straps.

That quaffing and drinking will undo you. I heard my lady talk of it yesterday—and of a foolish knight that you brought in one night here, to be her wooer.

Who, Sir Andrew Aguecheek?

Ay, he.

He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria.

What's that to th'purpose?

Why, he has three thousand ducats a year.

Ay, but he'll have but a year in all these ducats. He's a very fool, and a prodigal.

Fie that you'll say so! He plays o'th'viol-de-gamboys, and speaks three or four languages word for word without book, and hath all the good gifts of nature.

He hath indeed, all most natural. For besides that he's a fool, he's a great quarreler; and but that he hath the gift of a coward, to allay the gust he hath in quarreling, 'tis thought among the prudent he would quickly have the gift of a grave.

By this hand, they are scoundrels and substractors that say so of him. Who are they?

They that add, moreover, he's drunk nightly in your company.

With drinking healths to my niece! I'll drink to her as long as there is a passage in my throat, and drink in Illyria. He's a coward and a coistrel that will not drink to my niece till his brains turn o'th'toe, like a parish top. Enter Sir Andrew.
What, wench! Castiliano vulgo ; for here comes Sir Andrew Agueface.

Sir Toby Belch! How now, Sir Toby Belch!

Sweet Sir Andrew!

Bless you, fair shrew.

And you too, sir.

Accost, Sir Andrew, accost!

What's that?

My niece's chambermaid.

Good Mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance.

My name is Mary, sir.

Good Mistress Mary Accost—

[Aside to Sir Andrew] You mistake, knight. "Accost" is front her, board her, woo her, assail her.

[Aside to Sir Toby, indicating audience] By my troth, I would not undertake her in this company. Is that the meaning of "accost"?

Fare you well, gentlemen.

[Aside to Sir Andrew] An thou let part so, Sir Andrew, would thou might'st never draw sword again.

An you part so, mistress, I would I might never draw sword again! Fair lady, do you think you have fools in hand?

Sir, I have not you by th'hand.

Marry, but you shall have, and here's my hand.

[Taking his hand] Now sir, thought is free. I pray you, bring your hand to th'buttery bar, and let it drink.

Wherefore, sweetheart? What's your metaphor?

It's dry, sir.

Why, I think so. I am not such an ass but I can keep my hand dry. But what's your jest?

A dry jest, sir.

Are you full of them?

Ay, sir, I have them at my fingers' ends. [Letting go his hand] Marry, now I let go your hand, I am barren.

O knight, thou lack'st a cup of canary. [Pouring wine] When did I see thee so put down?

Never in your life, I think, unless you see canary put me down. Methinks sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian or an ordinary man has. But I am a great eater of beef, and I believe that does harm to my wit.

No question.

An I thought that, I'd forswear it. I'll ride home tomorrow, Sir Toby.

Pourquoi , my dear knight?

What is pourquoi ? "Do," or "not do"? I would I had bestowed that time in the tongues that I have in fencing, dancing, and bear-baiting. O had I but followed the arts!

Then hadst thou had an excellent head of hair.

Why, would that have mended my hair?

Past question, for thou see'st it will not curl by nature.

But it becomes me well enough, dost not?

Excellent! It hangs like flax on a distaff; and I hope to see a housewife take thee between her legs, and spin it off.

Faith, I'll home tomorrow, Sir Toby. Your niece will not be seen, or if she be, it's four to one she'll none of me. The count himself here hard by woos her.

She'll none o'th'count. She'll not match above her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit; I have heard her swear't. Tut, there's life in't, man.

I'll stay a month longer. I am a fellow o'th' strangest mind i'th'world. I delight in masques and revels sometimes altogether.

Art thou good at these kickshawses, knight?

As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be, under the degree of my betters; and yet I will not compare with an old man.

What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight?

Faith, I can cut a caper.

And I can cut the mutton to it.

And I think I have the back-trick simply as strong as any man in Illyria.

Wherefore are these things hid? Wherefore have these gifts a curtain before 'em? Are they like to take dust, like Mistress Moll's picture? Why dost thou not go to church in a galliard, and come home in a coranto? My very walk should be a jig; I would not so much as make water but in a cinquepace! What dost thou mean! Is it a world to hide virtues in? I did think by the excellent constitution of thy leg, it was formed under the star of a galliard.

Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a flame-colored stock. Shall we set about some revels?

What shall we do else? Were we not born under Taurus!

Taurus? That's sides and heart.

No, sir, it is legs and thighs. Let me see thee caper. [Sir Andrew dances.]
Ha, higher! Ha, ha, excellent!

If the Duke continue these favors towards you, Cesario, you are like to be much advanced. He hath known you but three days, and already you are no stranger.

You either fear his humor, or my negligence, that you call in question the continuance of his love. Is he inconstant, sir, in his favors?

No, believe me.

I thank you. Here comes the count.

Who saw Cesario, ho?

Nay, either tell me where thou hast been, or I will not open my lips so wide as a bristle may enter, in way of thy excuse. My lady will hang thee for thy absence.

Let her hang me; he that is well hanged in this world needs to fear no colors.

Make that good.

He shall see none to fear!

A good lenten answer. I can tell thee where that saying was born, of "I fear no colors."

Where, good Mistress Mary?

In the wars; and that may you be bold to say in your foolery.

Well, God give them wisdom that have it; and those that are fools, let them use their talents.

Yet you will be hanged for being so long absent; or to be turned away—is not that as good as a hanging to you?

Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage; and for turning away, let summer bear it out.

You are resolute, then?

Not so neither, but I am resolved on two points—

That if one break, the other will hold; or if both break, your gaskins fall!

Apt in good faith, very apt. Well, go thy way; if Sir Toby would leave drinking, thou wert as witty a piece of Eve's flesh as any in Illyria.

Peace, you rogue, no more o'that! Enter Lady Olivia, with Malvolio [and Gentlemen] [and Ladies].
Here comes my lady. Make your excuse wisely, you were best.

[To the audience] Wit, an't be thy will, put me into good fooling! Those wits that think they have thee, do very oft prove fools; and I, that am sure I lack thee, may pass for a wise man. For what says Quinapalus? "Better a witty fool, than a foolish wit." [To Olivia] God bless thee, lady!

[To the Gentlemen] Take the fool away.

Do you not hear, fellows? Take away the lady.

Go to, y'are a dry fool; I'll no more of you. Besides, you grow dishonest.

Two faults, madonna, that drink and good counsel will amend: for give the dry fool drink, then is the fool not dry. Bid the dishonest man mend himself: if he mend, he is no longer dishonest; if he cannot, let the botcher mend him. Anything that's mended is but patched; virtue that transgresses is but patched with sin, and sin that amends is but patched with virtue. If that this simple syllogism will serve, so; if it will not, what remedy? As there is no true cuckold but calamity, so beauty's a flower. The lady bade take away the fool, therefore I say again, take her away.

Sir, I bade them take away you.

Misprision in the highest degree! Lady, cucullus non facit monachum —that's as much to say, as "I wear not motley in my brain." Good madonna, give me leave to prove you a fool.

Can you do it?

Dexteriously, good madonna.

Make your proof.

I must catechize you for it, madonna. Good my mouse of virtue, answer me.

Well sir, for want of other idleness, I'll bide your proof.

Good madonna, why mourn'st thou?

Good fool, for my brother's death.

I think his soul is in hell, madonna.

I know his soul is in heaven, fool.

The more fool, madonna, to mourn for your brother's soul, being in heaven. [To the Gentlemen] Take away the fool, gentlemen.

What think you of this fool, Malvolio? Doth he not mend?

Yes, and shall do, till the pangs of death shake him: infirmity, that decays the wise, doth ever make the better fool.

God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for the better increasing your folly: Sir Toby will be sworn that I am no fox, but he will not pass his word for twopence that you are no fool.

How say you to that, Malvolio?

I marvel your ladyship takes delight in such a barren rascal. I saw him put down the other day with an ordinary fool, that has no more brain than a stone. Look you now, he's out of his guard already. Unless you laugh and minister occasion to him, he is gagged. I protest I take these wise men, that crow so at these set kind of fools, no better than the fools' zanies.

Oh, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and taste with a distempered appetite. To be generous, guiltless, and of free disposition, is to take those things for bird-bolts that you deem cannon bullets. There is no slander in an allowed fool, though he do nothing but rail; nor no railing in a known discreet man, though he do nothing but reprove.

Now Mercury endue thee with leasing, for thou speak'st well of fools.

Madam, there is at the gate a young gentleman much desires to speak with you.

From the Count Orsino, is it?

I know not, madam. 'Tis a fair young man, and well attended.

Who of my people hold him in delay?

Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman.

Fetch him off, I pray you, he speaks nothing but madman. Fie on him! [Exit Maria.]
Go you, Malvolio; if it be a suit from the count, I am sick, or not at home. What you will, to dismiss it. Exit Malvolio.
Now you see, sir, how your fooling grows old, and people dislike it.

Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy eldest son should be a fool; whose skull Jove cram with brains, for— Enter Sir Toby [drunk].
here he comes— one of thy kin has a most weak pia mater.

By mine honor, half drunk. What is he at the gate, cousin?

A gentleman.

A gentleman? What gentleman?

'Tis a gentleman here— [belching] a plague o'these pickle herring! [To Clown] How now, sot!

Good Sir Toby!

Cousin, cousin, how have you come so early by this lethargy?

Lechery? I defy lechery! There's one at the gate.

Ay, marry, what is he?

Let him be the devil an he will, I care not; give me faith, say I. Well, it's all one.

What's a drunken man like, fool?

Like a drowned man, a fool, and a madman: one draught above heat makes him a fool, the second mads him, and a third drowns him.

Go thou and seek the coroner, and let him sit o'my coz, for he's in the third degree of drink: he's drowned. Go look after him.

He is but mad yet, madonna, and the fool shall look to the madman.

Madam, yond young fellow swears he will speak with you. I told him you were sick; he takes on him to understand so much, and therefore comes to speak with you. I told him you were asleep; he seems to have a foreknowledge of that too, and therefore comes to speak with you. What is to be said to him, lady? He's fortified against any denial.

Tell him he shall not speak with me.

He has been told so; and he says he'll stand at your door like a sheriff's post, and be the supporter to a bench, but he'll speak with you.

What kind o'man is he?

Why, of mankind.

What manner of man?

Of very ill manner: he'll speak with you, will you or no.

Of what personage and years is he?

Not yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy: as a squash is before 'tis a peascod, or a codling when 'tis almost an apple. 'Tis with him in standing water between boy and man. He is very well-favored, and he speaks very shrewishly; one would think his mother's milk were scarce out of him.

Let him approach. Call in my gentlewoman.

[Calling offstage] Gentlewoman, my lady calls.

The honorable lady of the house, which is she?

Speak to me, I shall answer for her. Your will?

Most radiant, exquisite, and unmatchable beauty— [To Maria or a Gentleman] I pray you tell me if this be the lady of the house, for I never saw her. I would be loath to cast away my speech; for besides that it is excellently well penned, I have taken great pains to con it. [Olivia and others laugh.] Good beauties, let me sustain no scorn; I am very comptible, even to the least sinister usage.

Whence came you, sir?

I can say little more than I have studied, and that question's out of my part. Good gentle one, give me modest assurance if you be the lady of the house, that I may proceed in my speech.

Are you a comedian?

No, my profound heart; and yet—by the very fangs of malice I swear—I am not that I play. Are you the lady of the house?

If I do not usurp myself, I am.

Most certain, if you are she, you do usurp yourself, for what is yours to bestow is not yours to reserve. But this is from my commission. I will on with my speech in your praise, and then show you the heart of my message.

Come to what is important in't, I forgive you the praise.

Alas, I took great pains to study it, and 'tis poetical.

It is the more like to be feigned, I pray you keep it in. I heard you were saucy at my gates, and allowed your approach rather to wonder at you, than to hear you. If you be not mad, be gone. If you have reason, be brief. 'Tis not that time of moon with me to make one in so skipping a dialogue.

Will you hoist sail, sir? Here lies your way.

[To Maria] No, good swabber, I am to hull here a little longer. [To Olivia] Some mollification for your Giant, sweet lady! Tell me your mind, I am a messenger.

Sure you have some hideous matter to deliver, when the courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak your office.

It alone concerns your ear. I bring no overture of war, no taxation of homage. I hold the olive in my hand. My words are as full of peace as matter.

Yet you began rudely. What are you? What would you?

The rudeness that hath appeared in me, have I learned from my entertainment. What I am, and what I would, are as secret as maidenhead: to your ears, divinity; to any others', profanation.

Give us the place alone; we will hear this divinity. [Exeunt Maria, Gentlemen, and Ladies.]
Now sir, what is your text?

Most sweet lady—

A comfortable doctrine, and much may be said of it. Where lies your text?

In Orsino's bosom.

In his bosom! In what chapter of his bosom?

To answer by the method, in the first of his heart.

O, I have read it. It is heresy. Have you no more to say?

Good madam, let me see your face.

Have you any commission from your lord to negotiate with my face? You are now out of your text. But we will draw the curtain, and show you the picture. [She unveils.]
Look you, sir, such a one I was this present. Is't not well done?

Excellently done, if god did all.

'Tis in grain, sir, 'twill endure wind and weather.

O sir, I will not be so hardhearted. I will give out divers schedules of my beauty. It shall be inventoried, and every particle and utensil labeled to my will: as, item, [Indicating] two lips, indifferent red; item, two grey eyes, with lids to them; item, one neck; one chin; and so forth. Were you sent hither to praise me?

Will you stay no longer? Nor will you not that I go with you?

By your patience, no. My stars shine darkly over me. The malignancy of my fate might perhaps distemper yours; therefore I shall crave of you your leave that I may bear my evils alone. It were a bad recompense for your love to lay any of them on you.

Let me yet know of you whither you are bound.

No, sooth, sir. My determinate voyage is mere extravagancy. But I perceive in you so excellent a touch of modesty that you will not extort from me what I am willing to keep in; therefore it charges me in manners the rather to express myself. You must know of me then, Antonio, my name is Sebastian (which I called Roderigo). My father was that Sebastian of Messaline whom I know you have heard of. He left behind him myself and a sister, both born in an hour. If the heavens had been pleased, would we had so ended! But you, sir, altered that, for some hour before you took me from the breach of the sea was my sister drowned.

Alas the day!

A lady, sir, though it was said she much resembled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful. But though I could not with such estimable wonder overfar believe that, yet thus far I will boldly publish her: she bore a mind that envy could not but call fair. [Weeping] She is drowned already, sir, with salt water, though I seem to drown her remembrance again with more.

Pardon me, sir, your bad entertainment.

O good Antonio, forgive me your trouble.

If you will not murder me for my love, let me be your servant.

If you will not undo what you have done—that is, kill him whom you have recovered—desire it not. Fare ye well at once; my bosom is full of kindness, and I am yet so near the manners of my mother that upon the least occasion more mine eyes will tell tales of me. I am bound to the Count Orsino's court; farewell.

Were not you even now with the Countess Olivia?

Even now, sir; on a moderate pace, I have since arrived but hither.

She returns this ring to you, sir. You might have saved me my pains to have taken it away yourself. She adds, moreover, that you should put your lord into a desperate assurance she will none of him. And one thing more: that you be never so hardy to come again in his affairs, unless it be to report your lord's taking of this. [Offering the ring] Receive it so.

She took the ring of me; I'll none of it.

Come, sir, you peevishly threw it to her; and her will is, it should be so returned. [Throwing the ring down] If it be worth stooping for, there it lies, in your eye; if not, be it his that finds it.

Approach, Sir Andrew. Not to be abed after midnight, is to be up betimes; and diluculo surgere , thou know'st.

Nay, by my troth, I know not; but I know to be up late is to be up late.

A false conclusion. I hate it as an unfilled can. To be up after midnight, and to go to bed then, is early; so that to go to bed after midnight, is to go to bed betimes. Does not our life consist of the four elements?

Faith, so they say, but I think it rather consists of eating and drinking.

Th'art a scholar; let us therefore eat and drink. [Calling] Marian, I say, a stoup of wine!

Here comes the fool, i'faith.

How now, my hearts! Did you never see the picture of "We Three"?

Welcome, ass. Now let's have a catch.

By my troth, the fool has an excellent breast. I had rather than forty shillings I had such a leg, and so sweet a breath to sing, as the fool has. In sooth, thou wast in very gracious fooling last night, when thou spok'st of Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians passing the equinoctial of Queubus. 'Twas very good, i'faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy leman—hadst it?

I did impeticos thy gratillity: for Malvolio's nose is no whipstock, my lady has a white hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses.

Excellent! Why, this is the best fooling, when all is done. Now a song!

[To Clown, giving money] Come on, there is sixpence for you. Let's have a song.

[Giving sixpence] There's a testril of me too. If one knight give a—

Would you have a love song, or a song of good life?

A love song, a love song.

Ay, ay. I care not for good life.

Excellent good, i'faith.

Good, good.

A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight.

A contagious breath.

Very sweet and contagious, i'faith.

To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion. But shall we make the welkin dance indeed? Shall we rouse the night-owl in a catch that will draw three souls out of one weaver? Shall we do that?

An you love me, let's do't! I am dog at a catch.

By'r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well.

Most certain. Let our catch be "Thou Knave."

"Hold thy peace, thou knave," knight? I shall be constrained in't to call thee knave, knight.

'Tis not the first time I have constrained one to call me knave. Begin, fool. It begins, [Singing] "Hold thy peace."

I shall never begin if I hold my peace.

Good, i'faith! Come, begin.

What a caterwauling do you keep here! If my lady have not called up her steward Malvolio, and bid him turn you out of doors, never trust me.

My lady's a Cathayan, we are politicians, Malvolio's a Peg-a-Ramsay, and [Singing] "Three merry men be we"! Am not I consanguineous? Am I not of her blood? Tilly-vally, lady! [Singing] "There dwelt a man in Babylon, lady, lady"!

Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable fooling.

Ay, he does well enough if he be disposed, and so do I too. He does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural.

[Singing] "O'the twelfth day of December—"

For the love o'god, peace!

My masters, are you mad! Or what are you? Have you no wit, manners, nor honesty, but to gabble like tinkers at this time of night? Do ye make an alehouse of my lady's house, that ye squeak out your coziers' catches without any mitigation or remorse of voice? Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time in you?

We did keep time, sir, in our catches. Sneck up!

Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My lady bade me tell you that, though she harbors you as her kinsman, she's nothing allied to your disorders. If you can separate yourself and your misdemeanors, you are welcome to the house. If not, an it would please you to take leave of her, she is very willing to bid you farewell.

[Singing] [To Maria] "Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs be gone."

Nay, good Sir Toby.

[Singing] [Indicating Sir Toby] "His eyes do show his days are almost done."

Is't even so?

[Singing] "But I will never die."

[Singing] Sir Toby, there you lie.

This is much credit to you.

[Singing] [Indicating Malvolio] "Shall I bid him go?"

[Singing] "What an if you do?"

[Singing] "Shall I bid him go, and spare not?"

[Singing] "O no, no, no, no, you dare not!"

[To Malvolio] Out o'tune, sir? Ye lie! Art any more than a steward? Dost thou think because thou art virtuous there shall be no more cakes and ale?

Yes, by Saint Anne, and ginger shall be hot i'th'mouth too.

Th'art i'th'right. [To Malvolio] Go, sir, rub your chain with crumbs. A stoup of wine, Maria!

Mistress Mary, if you prized my lady's favor at anything more than contempt, you would not give means for this uncivil rule. She shall know of it, by this hand.

Go shake your ears!

'Twere as good a deed as to drink when a man's a-hungry, to challenge him the field, and then to break promise with him, and make a fool of him.

Do't, knight. I'll write thee a challenge; or I'll deliver thy indignation to him by word of mouth.

Sweet Sir Toby, be patient for tonight. Since the youth of the count's was today with my lady, she is much out of quiet. For Monsieur Malvolio, let me alone with him. If I do not gull him into a nayword, and make him a common recreation, do not think I have wit enough to lie straight in my bed. I know I can do it.

Possess us, possess us, tell us something of him.

Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of puritan.

Oh, if I thought that, I'd beat him like a dog!

What, for being a puritan? Thy exquisite reason, dear knight?

I have no exquisite reason for't, but I have reason good enough.

The devil a puritan that he is, or anything constantly but a time-pleaser, an affectioned ass, that cons state without book, and utters it by great swaths. The best persuaded of himself, so crammed, as he thinks, with excellencies, that it is his grounds of faith that all that look on him love him; and on that vice in him will my revenge find notable cause to work.

What wilt thou do?

I will drop in his way some obscure epistles of love, wherein by the color of his beard, the shape of his leg, the manner of his gait, the expressure of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he shall find himself most feelingly personated. I can write very like my lady your niece; on a forgotten matter we can hardly make distinction of our hands.

Excellent, I smell a device.

I have't in my nose too.

He shall think by the letters that thou wilt drop that they come from my niece, and that she's in love with him.

My purpose is indeed a horse of that color.

And your horse now would make him an ass.

Ass, I doubt not.

Oh, 'twill be admirable!

Sport royal, I warrant you. I know my physic will work with him. I will plant you two, and let the fool make a third, where he shall find the letter. Observe his construction of it. For this night, to bed, and dream on the event. Farewell.

Good night, Penthesilea!

Before me, she's a good wench.

She's a beagle true bred, and one that adores me. What o'that?

I was adored once, too.

Let's to bed, knight. Thou hadst need send for more money.

If I cannot recover your niece, I am a foul way out.

Send for money, knight. If thou hast her not i'th'end, call me cut.

If I do not, never trust me, take it how you will.

Come, come, I'll go burn some sack; 'tis too late to go to bed now. Come, knight, come, knight.

He is not here, so please your lordship, that should sing it.

Who was it?

Feste the jester, my lord, a fool that the Lady Olivia's father took much delight in. He is about the house.

Seek him out, [To the Musicians] and play the tune the while.

Are you ready, sir?

No pains, sir; I take pleasure in singing, sir.

Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid, one time or another.

Now the melancholy god protect thee, and the tailor make thy doublet of changeable taffeta, for thy mind is a very opal. I would have men of such constancy put to sea, that their business might be everything, and their intent everywhere; for that's it that always makes a good voyage of nothing. Farewell.

Come thy ways, Signor Fabian.

Nay, I'll come! If I lose a scruple of this sport, let me be boiled to death with melancholy.

Wouldst thou not be glad to have the niggardly rascally sheep-biter come by some notable shame?

I would exult, man! You know he brought me out o'favor with my lady, about a bear-baiting here.

To anger him we'll have the bear again, and we will fool him black and blue—shall we not, Sir Andrew?

An we do not, it is pity of our lives.

Here comes the little villain! How now, my metal of India?

Get ye all three into the box-tree. Malvolio's coming down this walk; he has been yonder i'the sun practicing behavior to his own shadow this half hour. Observe him, for the love of mockery, for I know this letter will make a contemplative idiot of him. Close, in the name of jesting! [The men hide.] Lie thou there; [Placing the letter on the stage] for here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling.

[To the audience] 'Tis but fortune, all is fortune. Maria once told me she did affect me, and I have heard herself come thus near, that should she fancy, it should be one of my complexion. Besides, she uses me with a more exalted respect than anyone else that follows her. What should I think on't?

[Aside to Sir Toby and Fabian] [and the audience.] Here's an overweening rogue!

[Aside] Oh, peace! Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock of him; how he jets under his advanced plumes!

[Aside] 'Slight, I could so beat the rogue!

[Aside] Peace, I say!

To be Count Malvolio!

[Aside] Ah, rogue!

[Aside] Pistol him, pistol him!

[Aside] Peace, peace!

There is example for't: the Lady of the Strachy married the yeoman of the wardrobe.

[Aside] Fie on him, Jezebel!

[Aside] Oh, peace, now he's deeply in. Look how imagination blows him.

Having been three months married to her, sitting in my state—

[Aside] Oh, for a stone-bow to hit him in the eye!

—calling my officers about me, in my branched velvet gown, having come from a day-bed, where I have left Olivia sleeping—

[Aside] Fire and brimstone!

[Aside] Oh, peace, peace!

—and then to have the humor of state, and after a demure travel of regard—telling them I know my place, as I would they should do theirs—to ask for my kinsman Toby.

[Aside] Bolts and shackles!

[Aside] Oh, peace, peace, peace! [Malvolio walks near the letter.] Now, now!

Seven of my people, with an obedient start, make out for him. I frown the while, and perchance wind up my watch, or play with my— [Realizing he is playing with his steward's chain] some rich jewel. Toby approaches; curtsies there to me—

[Aside] Shall this fellow live!

[Aside] Though our silence be drawn from us with cars, yet peace!

—I extend my hand to him, thus; quenching my familiar smile with an austere regard of control—

[Aside] And does not Toby take you a blow o'the lips then?

—saying, "Cousin Toby, my fortunes having cast me on your niece give me this prerogative of speech—"

[Aside] What, what!

"—you must amend your drunkenness."

[Aside] Out, scab!

[Aside] Nay, patience, or we break the sinews of our plot!

"Besides, you waste the treasure of your time with a foolish knight—"

[Aside] That's me, I warrant you.

"—one Sir Andrew."

[Aside] I knew 'twas I, for many do call me fool.

[Seeing and then taking up the letter] What employment have we here?

[Aside] Now is the woodcock near the gin.

[Aside] Oh, peace, and the spirit of humors intimate reading aloud to him.

[To the audience, as he examines the outside of the letter] By my life, this is my lady's hand: these be her very C's, her U's, and her T's, and thus makes she her great P's. It is, in contempt of question, her hand.

[Aside] Her C's, her U's, and her T's—why that?

[Reading] "To the unknown belovèd, this, and my good wishes."
Her very phrases! [Starting to break the seal] By your leave, wax. [Pausing] Soft! And the impressure her Lucrece, with which she uses to seal. 'Tis my lady! To whom should this be?

[Aside] This wins him, liver and all.

But who?
Lips, do not move,
No man must know."
"No man must know." What follows? The numbers altered. "No man must know." If this should be thee, Malvolio!

[Aside] Marry, hang thee, brock!

[Aside] A fustian riddle.

[Aside] Excellent wench, say I.

"M.O.A.I. doth sway my life." Nay, but first let me see, let me see, let me see.

[Aside] What dish o'poison has she dressed him!

[Aside] And with what wing the staniel checks at it!

"I may command, where I adore." Why, she may command me: I serve her, she is my lady. Why, this is evident to any formal capacity. There is no obstruction in this. And the end—what should that alphabetical position portend? If I could make that resemble something in me! Softly. "M.O.A.I."

[Aside] Oh, ay, make up that! He is now at a cold scent.

[Aside] Sowter will cry upon't for all this, though it be as rank as a fox.

"M." Malvolio! "M," why that begins my name!

[Aside] Did not I say he would work it out? The cur is excellent at faults.

"M." But then there is no consonancy in the sequel. That suffers under probation: "A" should follow, but "O" does.

[Aside] And "O" shall end, I hope.

[Aside] Ay, or I'll cudgel him, and make him cry "O"!

And then "I" comes behind.

[Aside] Ay, an you had any eye behind you, you might see more detraction at your heels than fortunes before you.

"M.O.A.I." This simulation is not as the former; and yet to crush this a little, it would bow to me, for every one of these letters are in my name. Soft, here follows prose.

Jove, I thank thee. I will smile, I will do everything that thou wilt have me.

I will not give my part of this sport for a pension of thousands to be paid from the Sophy.

I could marry this wench for this device—

So could I too.

—and ask no other dowry with her, but such another jest.

Nor I neither.

Here comes my noble gull-catcher.

[Abasing himself on the stage] Wilt thou set thy foot o'my neck?

[Following suit as Sir Toby rises] Or o'mine either?

Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip, and become thy bondslave?

I'faith, or I either?

Why, thou hast put him in such a dream that when the image of it leaves him he must run mad.

Nay, but say true, does it work upon him?

Like aqua-vitae with a midwife.

If you will then see the fruits of the sport, mark his first approach before my lady. He will come to her in yellow stockings, and 'tis a color she abhors, and cross-gartered, a fashion she detests; and he will smile upon her, which will now be so unsuitable to her disposition, being addicted to a melancholy as she is, that it cannot but turn him into a notable contempt. If you will see it, follow me.

To the gates of Tartarus, thou most excellent devil of wit!

I'll make one too.

Save thee, friend, and thy music. Dost thou live by thy tabor?

No, sir, I live by the church.

Art thou a churchman?

No such matter, sir. I do live by the church, for I do live at my house, and my house doth stand by the church.

So thou mayst say the king lies by a beggar, if a beggar dwell near him; or the church stands by thy tabor, if thy tabor stand by the church.

You have said, sir. [To the audience as well as Viola] To see this age! A sentence is but a cheverel glove to a good wit: how quickly the wrong side may be turned outward!

Nay, that's certain: they that dally nicely with words may quickly make them wanton.

I would therefore my sister had had no name, sir.

Why, man?

Why, sir, her name's a word, and to dally with that word might make my sister wanton. But indeed, words are very rascals since bonds disgraced them.

Thy reason, man?

Troth, sir, I can yield you none without words, and words are grown so false I am loath to prove reason with them.

I warrant thou art a merry fellow and car'st for nothing.

Not so, sir, I do care for something; but in my conscience, sir, I do not care for you: if that be to care for nothing, sir, I would it would make you invisible.

Art not thou the Lady Olivia's fool?

No indeed, sir! The Lady Olivia has no folly. She will keep no fool, sir, till she be married; and fools are as like husbands as pilchards are to herrings: the husband's the bigger. I am indeed not her fool, but her corrupter of words.

I saw thee late at the Count Orsino's.

Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun, it shines everywhere. I would be sorry, sir, but the fool should be as oft with your master as with my mistress: I think I saw your wisdom there.

Nay, an thou pass upon me, I'll no more with thee. Hold, [Giving him a coin] there's expenses for thee.

Now Jove, in his next commodity of hair, send thee a beard.

By my troth, I'll tell thee, I am almost sick for one, [To the audience] though I would not have it grow on my chin. [To the Clown.] Is thy lady within?

[Indicating the coin] Would not a pair of these have bred, sir?

Yes, being kept together, and put to use.

I would play Lord Pandarus of Phrygia, sir, to bring a Cressida to [Displaying the coin] this Troilus.

[Gives another coin.] I understand you, sir, 'tis well begged.

The matter, I hope, is not great, sir, begging but a beggar: Cressida was a beggar. My lady is within, sir. I will conster to them whence you come; who you are, and what you would, are out of my welkin—I might say element, but the word is overworn.

Save you, gentleman.

And you, sir.

I hope, sir, you are, and I am yours.

Will you encounter the house? My niece is desirous you should enter, if your trade be to her.

I am bound to your niece, sir; I mean, she is the list of my voyage.

Taste your legs, sir, put them to motion.

My legs do better understand me, sir, than I understand what you mean by bidding me taste my legs.

I mean to go, sir, to enter.

I will answer you with gait and entrance— Enter Olivia and [Maria].
But we are prevented. [To Olivia] Most excellent accomplished lady, the heavens rain odors on you.

[To the audience] That youth's a rare courtier: "rain odors"—well.

My matter hath no voice, lady, but to your own most pregnant and vouchsafed ear.

[Writing] "Odors," "pregnant," and "vouchsafed": I'll get 'em all three all ready.

Let the garden door be shut, and leave me to my hearing.

No, faith, I'll not stay a jot longer!

Thy reason, dear venom, give thy reason.

You must needs yield your reason, Sir Andrew!

Marry, I saw your niece do more favors to the count's serving-man than ever she bestowed upon me. I saw't i'th'orchard.

Did she see thee the while, old boy, tell me that?

As plain as I see you now.

This was a great argument of love in her toward you.

'Slight, will you make an ass o'me?

I will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the oaths of judgment and reason.

And they have been grand-jurymen since before Noah was a sailor.

She did show favor to the youth in your sight only to exasperate you, to awake your dormouse valor, to put fire in your heart, and brimstone in your liver. You should then have accosted her, and with some excellent jests, fire-new from the mint, you should have banged the youth into dumbness. This was looked for at your hand, and this was balked. The double gilt of this opportunity you let time wash off, and you are now sailed into the north of my lady's opinion, where you will hang like an icicle on a Dutchman's beard, unless you do redeem it by some laudable attempt, either of valor or policy.

An't be any way, it must be with valor, for policy I hate. [To the audience] I had as lief be a Brownist, as a politician.

Why then, build me thy fortunes upon the basis of valor. Challenge me the count's youth to fight with him, hurt him in eleven places. My niece shall take note of it; and assure thyself, there is no love-broker in the world can more prevail in man's commendation with women than report of valor.

There is no way but this, Sir Andrew.

Will either of you bear me a challenge to him?

Go, write it in a martial hand. Be cursed and brief. It is no matter how witty, so it be eloquent, and full of invention. Taunt him with the license of ink. If thou "thou'st" him some thrice, it shall not be amiss; and as many lies as will lie in thy sheet of paper, although the sheet were big enough for the bed of Ware in England, set 'em down. Go, about it! Let there be gall enough in thy ink; though thou write with a goose-pen, no matter. About it!

Where shall I find you?

We'll call thee at thy cubiculo . Go!

This is a dear manikin to you, Sir Toby.

I have been dear to him, lad, some two thousand strong, or so.

We shall have a rare letter from him—but you'll not deliver't?

Never trust me then; and by all means stir on the youth to an answer. I think oxen and wainropes cannot hale them together. For Andrew, if he were opened and you find so much blood in his liver as will clog the foot of a flea, I'll eat the rest of th'anatomy.

And his opposite, the youth, bears in his visage no great presage of cruelty.

Look where the youngest wren of nine comes.

If you desire the spleen, and will laugh your selves into stitches, follow me. Yond gull Malvolio is turned heathen, a very renegado; for there is no Christian that means to be saved by believing rightly can ever believe such impossible passages of grossness. He's in yellow stockings!

And cross-gartered?

Most villainously, like a pedant that keeps a school i'th'church. I have dogged him like his murderer. He does obey every point of the letter that I dropped to betray him. He does smile his face into more lines than is in the new map with the augmentation of the Indies; you have not seen such a thing as 'tis. I can hardly forbear hurling things at him; I know my lady will strike him. If she do, he'll smile, and take't for a great favor.

Come, bring us, bring us where he is!

He's coming, madam, but in very strange manner. He is sure possessed, madam.

Why, what's the matter? Does he rave?

No, madam, he does nothing but smile. Your ladyship were best to have some guard about you if he come, for sure the man is tainted in's wits.

How now, Malvolio!

Sweet lady, ho, ho!

Smil'st thou? I sent for thee upon a sad occasion.

Sad, lady? I could be sad. This does make some obstruction in the blood, this cross-gartering; but what of that? If it please the eye of one, it is with me as the very true sonnet is, [Singing] "Please one, and please all."

Why, how dost thou, man? What is the matter with thee?

Not black in my mind, though yellow in my legs. [Holding up letter] It did come to his hands, and commands shall be executed. I think we do know the sweet roman hand.

Wilt thou go to bed, Malvolio?

To bed! [Singing] "Ay, sweetheart, and I'll come to thee."

God comfort thee! Why dost thou smile so, and kiss thy hand so oft?

How do you, Malvolio?

[To Maria, scornfully] At your request? Yes, nightingales answer daws!

Why appear you with this ridiculous boldness before my lady?

[To Olivia] "Be not afraid of greatness": 'twas well writ.

What mean'st thou by that, Malvolio?

"Some are born great—"

Ha?

"—some achieve greatness—"

What say'st thou?

"—and some have greatness thrust upon them."

Heaven restore thee!

"Remember who commended thy yellow stockings—"

Thy yellow stockings?

"—and wished to see thee cross-gartered."

Cross-gartered?

"Go to, thou art made, if thou desir'st to be so—"

Am I made?

"—if not, let me see thee a servant still."

[To the audience] Why, this is very midsummer madness.

Madam, the young gentleman of the Count Orsino's is returned; I could hardly entreat him back. He attends your ladyship's pleasure.

I'll come to him. [Exit Servant.] Good Maria, let this fellow be looked to. Where's my cousin Toby? Let some of my people have a special care of him; I would not have him miscarry for the half of my dowry.

Oh ho, do you come near me now? [To the audience] No worse man than Sir Toby to look to me! This concurs directly with the letter. She sends him on purpose, that I may appear stubborn to him; for she incites me to that in the letter. "Cast thy humble slough," says she, "be opposite with a kinsman, surly with servants, let thy tongue tang with arguments of state, put thyself into the trick of singularity"; and consequently sets down the manner how: as, a sad face, a reverend carriage, a slow tongue, in the habit of some sir of note, and so forth. I have limed her, but it is Jove's doing, and Jove make me thankful. And when she went away now, "Let this fellow be looked to." "Fellow!" Not Malvolio, nor after my degree, but "fellow." Why, everything adheres together, that no dram of a scruple, no scruple of a scruple, no obstacle, no incredulous or unsafe circumstance—what can be said? Nothing that can be can come between me and the full prospect of my hopes. Well Jove, not I, is the doer of this, and he is to be thanked.

[Pretending not to see Malvolio] Which way is he, in the name of sanctity? If all the devils of hell be drawn in little, and Legion himself possessed him, yet I'll speak to him.

Here he is, here he is. [To Malvolio] How is't with you, sir? How is't with you, man?

Go off, I discard you. Let me enjoy my private. Go off!

[To Sir Toby and Fabian, aloud, to be overheard] Lo, how hollow the fiend speaks within him! Did not I tell you? Sir Toby, my lady prays you to have a care of him.

[Aside] Ah ha! Does she so?

[To them, aloud] Go to, go to. Peace, peace, we must deal gently with him. Let me alone. [Approaching Malvolio] How do you, Malvolio? How is't with you? What, man, defy the devil; consider, he's an enemy to mankind.

Do you know what you say?

[To them, aloud] La you, an you speak ill of the devil, how he takes it at heart! Pray God he be not bewitched!

[To them, aloud] Carry his water to th'wise woman.

[To them, aloud] Marry, and it shall be done tomorrow morning if I live. My lady would not lose him for more than I'll say.

How now, mistress?

[To them, aloud] Oh Lord!

[To them, aloud] Prithee hold thy peace, this is not the way. Do you not see you move him? Let me alone with him.

[To them, aloud] No way but gentleness; gently, gently. The fiend is rough, and will not be roughly used.

[Approaching Malvolio] Why, how now, my bawcock? How dost thou, chuck?

Sir!

Ay, biddy, come with me. What, man, 'tis not for gravity to play at cherry-pit with Satan. Hang him, foul collier!

[To them, aloud] Get him to say his prayers, good Sir Toby, get him to pray.

My prayers, minx!

[To them, aloud] No, I warrant you, he will not hear of godliness.

Go hang yourselves all! You are idle, shallow things; I am not of your element. You shall know more hereafter.

[Laughing] Is't possible?

[Including the audience] If this were played upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an improbable fiction!

His very genius hath taken the infection of the device, man.

Nay, pursue him now, lest the device take air, and taint.

Why, we shall make him mad indeed.

The house will be the quieter.

Come, we'll have him in a dark room and bound. My niece is already in the belief that he's mad. We may carry it thus for our pleasure, and his penance, till our very pastime, tired out of breath, prompt us to have mercy on him; at which time we will bring the device to the bar and crown thee for a finder of madmen. Enter Sir Andrew [with a challenge].
But see, but see!

More matter for a May morning!

Here's the challenge, read it. I warrant there's vinegar and pepper in't.

[Taking the challenge] Is't so saucy?

Ay, is't, I warrant him! Do but read.

[Taking the challenge and reading] Give me.
"Youth, whatsoever thou art, thou art but a scurvy fellow."

[To Sir Andrew] Good, and valiant.

[Reading] "Wonder not, nor admire not in thy mind, why I do call thee so, for I will show thee no reason for't."

[To Sir Andrew] A good note: that keeps you from the blow of the law.

[Reading] "Thou com'st to the Lady Olivia, and in my sight she uses thee kindly. But thou liest in thy throat; that is not the matter I challenge thee for."

Very brief, and to exceeding good sense— [Aside] less.

[Reading] "I will waylay thee going home, where if it be thy chance to kill me—"

Good.

[Reading] "—thou kill'st me like a rogue and a villain."

[To Sir Andrew] Still you keep o'th'windy side of the law. Good.

[Reading] "Fare thee well, and God have mercy upon one of our souls. He may have mercy upon mine, but my hope is better, and so look to thyself. Thy friend, as thou usest him, and thy sworn enemy,
Andrew Aguecheek."

If this letter move him not, his legs cannot. I'll giv't him.

You may have very fit occasion for't; he is now in some commerce with my lady, and will by and by depart.

Go, Sir Andrew; scout me for him at the corner of the orchard like a bum-baily. So soon as ever thou see'st him, draw. And as thou draw'st, swear horrible; for it comes to pass oft that a terrible oath with a swaggering accent, sharply twanged off, gives manhood more approbation than ever proof itself would have earned him. Away!

Nay, let me alone for swearing.

Now will not I deliver his letter; for the behavior of the young gentleman gives him out to be of good capacity and breeding. His employment between his lord and my niece confirms no less. Therefore this letter, being so excellently ignorant, will breed no terror in the youth; he will find it comes from a clodpoll. But, sir, I will deliver his challenge by word of mouth, set upon Aguecheek a notable report of valor, and drive the gentleman (as I know his youth will aptly receive it) into a most hideous opinion of his rage, skill, fury, and impetuosity. This will so fright them both that they will kill one another by the look, like cockatrices.

Here he comes with your niece; give them way till he take leave, and presently after him.

I will meditate the while upon some horrid message for a challenge.

Gentleman, god save thee.

And you, sir.

That defense thou hast, betake thee to't. Of what nature the wrongs are thou hast done him, I know not; but thy interceptor, full of despite, bloody as the hunter, attends thee at the orchard-end. Dismount thy tuck, be yare in thy preparation, for thy assailant is quick, skilful, and deadly.

You mistake, sir; I am sure no man hath any quarrel to me. My remembrance is very free and clear from any image of offence done to any man.

You'll find it otherwise, I assure you. Therefore, if you hold your life at any price, betake you to your guard; for your opposite hath in him what youth, strength, skill, and wrath can furnish man withal.

I pray you, sir, what is he?

He is knight, dubbed with unhatched rapier and on carpet consideration, but he is a devil in private brawl. Souls and bodies hath he divorced three, and his incensement at this moment is so implacable that satisfaction can be none but by pangs of death and sepulcher. "Hob, nob" is his word: giv't or take't.

I will return again into the house, and desire some conduct of the lady. I am no fighter. I have heard of some kind of men that put quarrels purposely on others to taste their valor; belike this is a man of that quirk.

Sir, no. His indignation derives itself out of a very competent injury; therefore get you on, and give him his desire. Back you shall not to the house, unless you undertake that with me which with as much safety you might answer him. Therefore on, or strip your sword stark naked; for meddle you must, that's certain, or forswear to wear iron about you.

[To the audience] This is as uncivil as strange. [To Sir Toby] I beseech you, do me this courteous office, as to know of the knight what my offence to him is. It is something of my negligence, nothing of my purpose.

I will do so. [To Fabian] Signor Fabian, stay you by this gentleman till my return.

Pray you, sir, do you know of this matter?

I know the knight is incensed against you, even to a mortal arbitrament, but nothing of the circumstance more.

I beseech you, what manner of man is he?

Nothing of that wonderful promise, to read him by his form, as you are like to find him in the proof of his valor. He is indeed, sir, the most skilful, bloody, and fatal opposite that you could possibly have found in any part of Illyria. Will you walk towards him? [Viola hesitates.] I will make your peace with him, if I can.

I shall be much bound to you for't. I am one that had rather go with sir priest than sir knight; I care not who knows so much of my mettle.

Why, man, he's a very devil, I have not seen such a virago. I had a pass with him, rapier, scabbard, and all, and he gives me the stuck in with such a mortal motion that it is inevitable; and on the answer, he pays you as surely as your feet hits the ground they step on. They say he has been fencer to the Sophy.

Pox on't, I'll not meddle with him!

Ay, but he will not now be pacified; [Pointing towards Viola and Fabian] Fabian can scarce hold him yonder.

Plague on't, an I thought he had been valiant, and so cunning in fence, I'd have seen him damned ere I'd have challenged him. Let him let the matter slip, and I'll give him my horse, gray Capilet.

I'll make the motion. Stand here, make a good show on't; this shall end without the perdition of souls. [Aside] Marry, I'll ride your horse as well as I ride you. Enter Fabian and Viola. [or they come forward.]
[To Fabian] I have his horse to take up the quarrel. I have persuaded him the youth's a devil.

[Indicating Viola] He is as horribly conceited of him; and pants and looks pale, as if a bear were at his heels.

[To Viola] There's no remedy, sir; he will fight with you for's oath sake. Marry, he hath better bethought him of his quarrel, and he finds that now scarce to be worth talking of. Therefore draw, for the supportance of his vow; he protests he will not hurt you.

[To the audience] Pray God defend me! A little thing would make me tell them how much I lack of a man.

[To Viola] Give ground if you see him furious.

Come, Sir Andrew, there's no remedy, the gentleman will for his honor's sake have one bout with you. He cannot by the duello avoid it. But he has promised me, as he is a gentleman and a soldier, he will not hurt you.
[To them both] Come on, to't.

Pray God he keep his oath!

[To Sir Andrew] I do assure you, 'tis against my will.

You, sir? Why, what are you?

[Drawing ] Nay, if you be an undertaker, I am for you.

O good Sir Toby, hold! Here come the officers.

[To Antonio] I'll be with you anon.

[To Sir Andrew] Pray sir, put your sword up, if you please.

Marry, will I, sir; [Sheathing his sword] and for that I promised you, I'll be as good as my word. He will bear you easily, and reins well.

Come hither, knight, come hither, Fabian. We'll whisper o'er a couplet or two of most sage saws.

A very dishonest paltry boy, and more a coward than a hare. His dishonesty appears in leaving his friend here in necessity, and denying him; and for his cowardship, ask Fabian.

A coward, a most devout coward, religious in it.

'Slid, I'll after him again, and beat him.

Do, cuff him soundly, but never draw thy sword.

An I do not—

Come, let's see the event.

I dare lay any money 'twill be nothing yet.

Will you make me believe that I am not sent for you?

Well held out i'faith! No, I do not know you, nor I am not sent to you by my lady, to bid you come speak with her; nor your name is not Master Cesario; nor this is not my nose neither. Nothing that is so, is so.

Vent my folly! [To the audience] He has heard that word of some great man, and now applies it to a fool. Vent my folly! I am afraid this great lubber the world will prove a cockney. [To Sebastian] I prithee now, ungird thy strangeness, and tell me what I shall vent to my lady. Shall I vent to her that thou art coming?

By my troth, thou hast an open hand. [To the audience] These wise men that give fools money get themselves a good report—after fourteen years' purchase!

Now, sir, have I met you again? There's for you!

[Seizing Sebastian] Hold, sir, or I'll throw your dagger o'er the house.

[To the audience] This will I tell my lady straight; [To them] I would not be in some of your coats for twopence.

Come on, sir, hold!

Nay, let him alone. I'll go another way to work with him: I'll have an action of battery against him, if there be any law in Illyria. Though I struck him first, yet it's no matter for that.

Come, sir, I will not let you go. Come, my young soldier, put up your iron. You are well fleshed. Come on!

[Drawing] What, what! Nay then, I must have an ounce or two of this malapert blood from you.

Madam.

Nay, I prithee put on this gown, and this beard; make him believe thou art Sir Topaz the curate. Do it quickly. I'll call Sir Toby the whilst.

[To the audience] Well, I'll put it on, and I will dissemble myself in't, and I would I were the first that ever dissembled in such a gown. I am not tall enough to become the function well, nor lean enough to be thought a good student; but to be said an honest man and a good housekeeper goes as fairly as to say a careful man and a great scholar. Enter Sir Toby [and Maria].
The competitors enter.

Jove bless thee, Master Parson.

Bonos dies , Sir Toby: for as the old hermit of Prague, that never saw pen and ink, very wittily said to a niece of King Gorboduc, "That that is, is"; so I, being Master Parson, am Master Parson; for what is "that" but "that," and "is" but "is"?

To him, Sir Topaz!

[In the voice of Sir Topaz] What ho, I say. Peace in this prison.

[To the audience or Maria] The knave counterfeits well: a good knave.

[Within] Who calls there?

Sir Topaz the curate, who comes to visit Malvolio the lunatic.

[Within] Sir Topaz, Sir Topaz, good Sir Topaz, go to my lady.

Out, hyperbolical fiend! How vexest thou this man! Talkest thou nothing but of ladies?

[Aside to Clown] Well said, Master Parson!

[Within] Sir Topaz, never was man thus wronged. Good Sir Topaz, do not think I am mad: they have laid me here in hideous darkness.

Fie, thou dishonest Satan! I call thee by the most modest terms— [Including the audience] for I am one of those gentle ones that will use the devil himself with courtesy—say'st thou that house is dark?

[Within] As hell, Sir Topaz.

Why, it hath bay windows transparent as barricadoes, and the clerestories toward the south-north are as lustrous as ebony; and yet complainest thou of obstruction?

[Within] I am not mad, Sir Topaz; I say to you this house is dark.

Madman, thou errest. I say there is no darkness but ignorance, in which thou art more puzzled than the Egyptians in their fog.

[Within] I say this house is as dark as ignorance, thoughignorance were as dark as hell; and I say there was never man thus abused. I am no more mad than you are. Make the trial of it in any constant question.

What is the opinion of Pythagoras concerning wildfowl?

[Within] That the soul of our grandam might haply inhabit a bird.

What think'st thou of his opinion?

[Within] I think nobly of the soul, and no way approve his opinion.

Fare thee well. Remain thou still in darkness.Thou shalt hold th'opinion of Pythagoras ere I will allow of thy wits, and fear to kill a woodcock lest thou dispossess the soul of thy grandam. [Moving away] Fare thee well.

[Within] Sir Topaz, Sir Topaz!

My most exquisite Sir Topaz!

Nay, I am for all waters.

Thou mightst have done this without thy beard and gown; he sees thee not.

[To Clown] To him in thine own voice, and bring me word how thou find'st him. I would we were well rid of this knavery. If he may be conveniently delivered, I would he were, for I am now so far in offence with my niece, that I cannot pursue with any safety this sport to the upshot. Come by and by to my chamber.

Tell me how thy lady does.

[Within] Fool!

[Within] Fool!

[Within] Fool, I say!

Who calls, ha?

[Within] Good fool, as ever thou wilt deserve well at my hand, help me to a candle, and pen, ink, and paper. As I am a gentleman, I will live to be thankful to thee for't.

Master Malvolio?

[Within] Ay, good fool.

Alas, sir, how fell you besides your five wits?

[Within] Fool, there was never man so notoriously abused. I am as well in my wits, fool, as thou art.

But as well? Then you are mad indeed, if you be no better in your wits than a fool.

[Within] They have here propertied me: keep me in darkness, send ministers to me, asses, and do all they can to face me out of my wits.

Advise you what you say, the minister is here. [Speaking as Sir Topaz] Malvolio, Malvolio, thy wits the heavens restore. Endeavour thyself to sleep, and leave thy vain bibble babble.

[Within] Sir Topaz!

[As Sir Topaz] Maintain no words with him, good fellow. [Speaking as himself] Who I, sir? Not I, sir! God buy you, good Sir Topaz. [As Sir Topaz] Marry, amen. [As himself] I will, sir, I will.

[Within] Fool! Fool! Fool, I say!

Alas, sir, be patient. What say you, sir? I am shent for speaking to you.

[Within] Good fool, help me to some light, and some paper; I tell thee I am as well in my wits as any man in Illyria.

Well-a-day that you were, sir.

[Within] By this hand, I am! Good fool, some ink, paper, and light; and convey what I will set down to my lady. It shall advantage thee more than ever the bearing of letter did.

I will help you to't. But tell me true, are you not mad indeed, or do you but counterfeit?

[Within] Believe me, I am not, I tell thee true.

Nay, I'll ne'er believe a madman till I see his brains! I will fetch you light, and paper, and ink.

[Within] Fool, I'll requite it in the highest degree. I prithee, be gone!

Now as thou lov'st me, let me see his letter.

Good Master Fabian, grant me another request.

Anything.

Do not desire to see this letter.

This is to give a dog, and in recompense desire my dog again.

Belong you to the Lady Olivia, friends?

Ay, sir, we are some of her trappings.

I know thee well. How dost thou, my good fellow?

Truly, sir, the better for my foes, and the worse for my friends.

Just the contrary; the better for thy friends.

No, sir, the worse.

How can that be?

Marry, sir, they praise me, and make an ass of me. Now, my foes tell me plainly I am an ass, so that by my foes, sir, I profit in the knowledge of myself, and by my friends I am abused. So that, conclusions to be as kisses, if your four negatives make your two affirmatives, why then, the worse for my friends and the better for my foes.

Why, this is excellent.

By my troth, sir, no; though it please you to be one of my friends.

Thou shalt not be the worse for me; there's gold.

But that it would be double-dealing, sir, I would you could make it another.

O you give me ill counsel.

Put your grace in your pocket, sir, for this once, and let your flesh and blood obey it.

Well, I will be so much a sinner to be a double-dealer; there's another.

Primo, secundo, tertio is a good play; and the old saying is, "the third pays for all"; the triplex, sir, is a good tripping measure; or the bells of Saint Bennet, sir, may put you in mind: one, two, three.

You can fool no more money out of me at this throw. If you will let your lady know I am here to speak with her, and bring her along with you, it may awake my bounty further.

Marry, sir, lullaby to your bounty till I come again. I go, sir, but I would not have you to think that my desire of having is the sin of covetousness—but as you say, sir, let your bounty take a nap; I will awake it anon.

For the love of God, a surgeon! Send one presently to Sir Toby.

What's the matter?

He's broke my head across, and has given Sir Toby a bloody coxcomb too. For the love of God, your help! I had rather than forty pound I were at home.

Who has done this, Sir Andrew?

The count's gentleman, one Cesario. We took him for a coward, but he's the very devil incardinate.

My gentleman Cesario?

[Seeing Viola] [and recoiling in fear]. 'Od's lifelings, here he is! [To her] You broke my head for nothing; and that that I did, I was set on to do't by Sir Toby.

If a bloody coxcomb be a hurt, you have hurt me; I think you set nothing by a bloody coxcomb. Here comes Sir Toby halting; you shall hear more. But if he had not been in drink, he would have tickled you othergates than he did.

How now, gentleman? How is't with you?

That's all one, he's hurt me, and there's th'end on't. [To Clown] Sot, didst see Dick Surgeon, sot?

Oh, he's drunk, Sir Toby, an hour agone; his eyes were set at eight i'th'morning.

Then he's a rogue, and a passy-measures pavan. I hate a drunken rogue.

Away with him! Who hath made this havocwith them?

I'll help you, Sir Toby, because we'll be dressed together.

Will you help? An ass-head, and a coxcomb, and a knave? A thin-faced knave, a gull!

Get him to bed, and let his hurt be looked to.

Truly, madam, he holds Beelzebub at the stave's end as well as a man in his case may do. He's here writ a letter to you. I should have given't you today morning, but as a madman's epistles are no gospels, so it skills not much when they are delivered.

Open't, and read it.

[Reading madly] Look then to be well edified, when the fool delivers the madman.
"By the Lord, madam—"

How now, art thou mad?

No, madam, I do but read madness. An your ladyship will have it as it ought to be, you must allow vox .

Prithee, read i'thy right wits.

So I do, madonna. But to read his right wits is to read thus. Therefore perpend, my princess, and give ear.

[To Fabian] Read it you, sirrah.

(Reads.) "By the Lord, madam, you wrong me, and the world shall know it. Though you have put me into darkness, and given your drunken cousin rule over me, yet have I the benefit of my senses as well as your ladyship. I have your own letter, that induced me to the semblance I put on; with the which I doubt not but to do myself much right, or you much shame. Think of me as you please. I leave my duty a little unthought of, and speak out of my injury. The madly-used Malvolio."

Did he write this?

Ay, madam.

[To Malvolio] Why, "Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrown upon them." I was one, sir, in this interlude, one Sir Topaz, sir; but that's all one. "By the Lord, fool, I am not mad!" But do you remember: "Madam, why laugh you at such a barren rascal? An you smile not, he's gagged." And thus the whirligig of time brings in his revenges.