| ACT II SCENE V | OLIVIA's garden. | |
| | Enter SIR TOBY BELCH, SIR ANDREW, and FABIAN | |
| SIR TOBY BELCH | Come thy ways, Signior Fabian. | |
| FABIAN | Nay, I'll come: if I lose a scruple of this sport, | |
| | let me be boiled to death with melancholy. | |
| SIR TOBY BELCH | Wouldst thou not be glad to have the niggardly | 5 |
| | rascally sheep-biter come by some notable shame? | |
| FABIAN | I would exult, man: you know, he brought me out o' | |
| | favour with my lady about a bear-baiting here. | |
| SIR TOBY BELCH | To anger him we'll have the bear again; and we will | |
| | fool him black and blue: shall we not, Sir Andrew? | 10 |
| SIR ANDREW | An we do not, it is pity of our lives. | |
| SIR TOBY BELCH | Here comes the little villain. | |
| | Enter MARIA | |
| | How now, my metal of India! | |
| MARIA | Get ye all three into the box-tree: Malvolio's | |
| | coming down this walk: he has been yonder i' the | 15 |
| | sun practising 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! Lie thou there, | |
| | Throws down a letter | |
| | for here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling. | 20 |
| | Exit | |
| | Enter MALVOLIO | |
| MALVOLIO | '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 any one else that follows her. | 25 |
| | What should I think on't? | |
| SIR TOBY BELCH | Here's an overweening rogue! | |
| FABIAN | O, peace! Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock | |
| | of him: how he jets under his advanced plumes! | |
| SIR ANDREW | 'Slight, I could so beat the rogue! | 30 |
| SIR TOBY BELCH | Peace, I say. | |
| MALVOLIO | To be Count Malvolio! | |
| SIR TOBY BELCH | Ah, rogue! | |
| SIR ANDREW | Pistol him, pistol him. | |
| SIR TOBY BELCH | Peace, peace! | 35 |
| MALVOLIO | There is example for't; the lady of the Strachy | |
| | married the yeoman of the wardrobe. | |
| SIR ANDREW | Fie on him, Jezebel! | |
| FABIAN | O, peace! now he's deeply in: look how | |
| | imagination blows him. | 40 |
| MALVOLIO | Having been three months married to her, sitting in | |
| | my state,-- | |
| SIR TOBY BELCH | O, for a stone-bow, to hit him in the eye! | |
| MALVOLIO | Calling my officers about me, in my branched velvet | |
| | gown; having come from a day-bed, where I have left | 45 |
| | Olivia sleeping,-- | |
| SIR TOBY BELCH | Fire and brimstone! | |
| FABIAN | O, peace, peace! | |
| MALVOLIO | And then to have the humour of state; and after a | |
| | demure travel of regard, telling them I know my | 50 |
| | place as I would they should do theirs, to for my | |
| | kinsman Toby,-- | |
| SIR TOBY BELCH | Bolts and shackles! | |
| FABIAN | O peace, peace, peace! now, now. | |
| MALVOLIO | Seven of my people, with an obedient start, make | 55 |
| | out for him: I frown the while; and perchance wind | |
| | up watch, or play with my--some rich jewel. Toby | |
| | approaches; courtesies there to me,-- | |
| SIR TOBY BELCH | Shall this fellow live? | |
| FABIAN | Though our silence be drawn from us with cars, yet peace. | 60 |
| MALVOLIO | I extend my hand to him thus, quenching my familiar | |
| | smile with an austere regard of control,-- | |
| SIR TOBY BELCH | And does not Toby take you a blow o' the lips then? | |
| MALVOLIO | Saying, 'Cousin Toby, my fortunes having cast me on | |
| | your niece give me this prerogative of speech,'-- | 65 |
| 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 | 70 |
| | 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? | 75 |
| | 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 | 80 |
| | 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 | |
| | 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? | 85 |
| 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 | 90 |
| | 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, | 95 |
| | 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 | 100 |
| | 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 | 105 |
| | 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,-- | 110 |
| 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 | 115 |
| | 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! | 120 |
| 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 | 125 |
| | 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 | 130 |
| | 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 | 135 |
| | 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 | 140 |
| | 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, | 145 |
| | 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. | 150 |
| | 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 | 155 |
| | 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 | 160 |
| | 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.' | 165 |
| | 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. | 170 |
| 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? | 175 |
| 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 | 180 |
| | 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 | 185 |
| | 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 | 190 |
| | 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 | |
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