SIR TOBY BELCH What, what?
MALVOLIO ‘You must amend your drunkenness.’
SIR TOBY BELCH Out, scab!
FABIAN Nay, patience, or we break the sinews of our plot.
MALVOLIO ‘Besides, you waste the treasure of your time with
a foolish knight,’–
SIR ANDREW That’s me, I warrant you.
MALVOLIO ‘One Sir Andrew,’–
SIR ANDREW I knew ’twas I; for many do call me fool.
MALVOLIO What employment have we here?
Taking up the letter
FABIAN Now is the woodcock near the gin.
SIR TOBY BELCH O, peace! and the spirit of humour intimate reading
aloud to him!
MALVOLIO 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.
SIR ANDREW Her C’s, her U’s and her T’s: why that?
MALVOLIO [Reads]
‘To the unknown beloved, this, and my good
wishes:’–her very phrases! By your leave, wax.
Soft! and the impressure her Lucrece, with which she
uses to seal: ’tis my lady. To whom should this be?
FABIAN This wins him, liver and all.
MALVOLIO [Reads]
Jove knows I love: 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?
SIR TOBY BELCH Marry, hang thee, brock!
MALVOLIO [Reads]
I may command where I adore;
But silence, like a Lucrece knife,
With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore:
M, O, A, I, doth sway my life.
FABIAN A fustian riddle!
SIR TOBY BELCH Excellent wench, say I.
MALVOLIO ‘M, O, A, I, doth sway my life.’ Nay, but first, let
me see, let me see, let me see.
FABIAN What dish o’ poison has she dressed him!
SIR TOBY BELCH And with what wing the staniel cheques at it!
MALVOLIO ‘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,–
SIR TOBY BELCH O, ay, make up that: he is now at a cold scent.
FABIAN Sowter will cry upon’t for all this, though it be as
rank as a fox.
MALVOLIO M,–Malvolio; M,–why, that begins my name.
FABIAN Did not I say he would work it out? the cur is
excellent at faults.
MALVOLIO M,–but then there is no consonancy in the sequel;
that suffers under probation A should follow but O does.
FABIAN And O shall end, I hope.
SIR TOBY BELCH Ay, or I’ll cudgel him, and make him cry O!
MALVOLIO And then I comes behind.
FABIAN Ay, an you had any eye behind you, you might see
more detraction at your heels than fortunes before
you.
MALVOLIO 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.
Reads
‘If this fall into thy hand, revolve. In my stars I
am above thee; but be not afraid of greatness: some
are born great, some achieve greatness, and some
have greatness thrust upon ’em. Thy Fates open
their hands; let thy blood and spirit embrace them;
and, to inure thyself to what thou art like to be,
cast thy humble slough and appear fresh. Be
opposite with a kinsman, surly with servants; let
thy tongue tang arguments of state; put thyself into
the trick of singularity: she thus advises thee
that sighs for thee. Remember who commended thy
yellow stockings, and wished to see thee ever
cross-gartered: I say, remember. Go to, thou art
made, if thou desirest to be so; if not, let me see
thee a steward still, the fellow of servants, and
not worthy to touch Fortune’s fingers. Farewell.
She that would alter services with thee,
THE FORTUNATE-UNHAPPY.’
Daylight and champaign discovers not more: this is
open. I will be proud, I will read politic authors,
I will baffle Sir Toby, I will wash off gross
acquaintance, I will be point-devise the very man.
I do not now fool myself, to let imagination jade
me; for every reason excites to this, that my lady
loves me. She did commend my yellow stockings of
late, she did praise my leg being cross-gartered;
and in this she manifests herself to my love, and
with a kind of injunction drives me to these habits
of her liking. I thank my stars I am happy. I will
be strange, stout, in yellow stockings, and
cross-gartered, even with the swiftness of putting
on. Jove and my stars be praised! Here is yet a
postscript.
Reads
‘Thou canst not choose but know who I am. If thou
entertainest my love, let it appear in thy smiling;
thy smiles become thee well; therefore in my
presence still smile, dear my sweet, I prithee.’
Jove, I thank thee: I will smile; I will do
everything that thou wilt have me.
Exit
FABIAN I will not give my part of this sport for a pension
of thousands to be paid from the Sophy.
SIR TOBY BELCH I could marry this wench for this device.
SIR ANDREW So could I too.
SIR TOBY BELCH And ask no other dowry with her but such another jest.
SIR ANDREW Nor I neither.
FABIAN Here comes my noble gull-catcher.
Re-enter MARIA
SIR TOBY BELCH Wilt thou set thy foot o’ my neck?
SIR ANDREW Or o’ mine either?
SIR TOBY BELCH Shall I play my freedom at traytrip, and become thy
bond-slave?
SIR ANDREW I’ faith, or I either?
SIR TOBY BELCH Why, thou hast put him in such a dream, that when
the image of it leaves him he must run mad.
MARIA Nay, but say true; does it work upon him?
SIR TOBY BELCH Like aqua-vitae with a midwife.
MARIA 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 colour 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.
SIR TOBY BELCH To the gates of Tartar, thou most excellent devil of wit!
SIR ANDREW I’ll make one too.
Exeunt
Act 3
Scene 1
OLIVIA’s garden.
Enter VIOLA, and Clown with a tabour
VIOLA Save thee, friend, and thy music: dost thou live by
thy tabour?
Clown No, sir, I live by the church.
VIOLA Art thou a churchman?
Clown 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.
VIOLA So thou mayst say, the king lies by a beggar, if a
beggar dwell near him; or, the church stands by thy
tabour, if thy tabour stand by the church.
Clown You have said, sir. To see this age! A sentence is
but a cheveril glove to a good wit: how quickly the
wrong side may be turned outward!
VIOLA Nay, that’s certain; they that dally nicely with
words may quickly make them wanton.
Clown I would, therefore, my sister had had no name, sir.
VIOLA Why, man?
Clown 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.
VIOLA Thy reason, man?
Clown Troth, sir, I can yield you none without words; and
words are grown so false, I am loath to prove
reason with them.
VIOLA I warrant thou art a merry fellow and carest for nothing.
Clown 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.
VIOLA Art not thou the Lady Olivia’s fool?
Clown 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.
VIOLA I saw thee late at the Count Orsino’s.
Clown Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun,
it shines every where. 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.
VIOLA Nay, an thou pass upon me, I’ll no more with thee.
Hold, there’s expenses for thee.
Clown Now Jove, in his next commodity of hair, send thee a beard!
VIOLA By my troth, I’ll tell thee, I am almost sick for