| 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
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? |
| 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
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.
|
| |
[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.
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!
|
| 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! |
| 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. |
| 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
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
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
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.
|
| 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,'-- |
| 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] |
