Twelfth Night eText - Act II

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Act II

Scene I

The sea-coast.

[Enter Antonio and Sebastian.]

[Exit.]

[Exit.]

ANTONIO:
Will you stay no longer, nor will you not that I go with
you?
SEBASTIAN:
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(5)
evils alone: it were a bad recompense for your love, to lay any
of them on you.
ANTONIO:
Let me know of you whither you are bound.
SEBASTIAN:
No, sooth, sir: my determinate voyage is mere
extravagancy. But I perceive in you so excellent a touch of(10)
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 Rodorigo. My father was
that Sebastian of Messaline, whom I know you have heard of.(15)
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 hours before you took me
from the breach of the sea was my sister drowned.
ANTONIO:
Alas the day!(20)
SEBASTIAN:
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. She is drowned already, sir, with(25)
salt water, though I seem to drown her remembrance again
with more.
ANTONIO:
Pardon me, sir, your bad entertainment.
SEBASTIAN:
O good Antonio, forgive me your trouble.
ANTONIO:
If you will not murder me for my love, let me be(30)
your servant.
SEBASTIAN:
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(35)
least occasion more mine eyes will tell tales of me. I am
bound to the Count Orsino's court: farewell.
ANTONIO:
The gentleness of all the gods go with thee!
I have many enemies in Orsino's court,
Else would I very shortly see thee there.(40)
But, come what may, I do adore thee so,
That danger shall seem sport, and I will go.

Scene II

A street

[Enter Viola; Malvolio following.]

[Exit.]

[Exit.]

MALVOLIO:
Were you not even now with the Countess
Olivia?
VIOLA:
Even now, sir; on a moderate pace I have since arrived
but hither.
MALVOLIO:
She returns this ring to you, sir: you might have(5)
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.(10)
Receive it so.
VIOLA:
She took the ring of me: I'll none of it.
MALVOLIO:
Come, sir, you peevishly threw it to her; and her
will is, it should be so returned: if it be worth stooping
for, there it lies in your eye; if not, be it his that finds it.(15)
VIOLA:
I left no ring with her: what means this lady?
Fortune forbid my outside have not charm'd her!
She made good view of me; indeed, so much,
That sure methought her eyes had lost her tongue,
For she did speak in starts distractedly.(20)
She loves me, sure; the cunning of her passion
Invites me in this churlish messenger.
None of my lord's ring! why, he sent her none.
I am the man: if it be so, as 'tis,
Poor lady, she were better love a dream.(25)
Disguise, I see, thou art a wickedness,
Wherein the pregnant enemy does much.
How easy is it for the proper-false
In women's waxen hearts to set their forms!
Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we!(30)
For such as we are made of, such we be.
How will this fadge? my master loves her dearly;
And I, poor monster, fond as much on him;
And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me.
What will become of this? As I am man,(35)
My state is desperate for my master's love;
As I am woman,—now alas the day!—
What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe!
O time! thou must untangle this, not I;
It is too hard a knot for me to untie!(40)

Scene III

Olivia's house

[Enter Sir Toby and Sir Andrew.]

[Enter Clown]

[They sing a catch.]

[Enter Maria.]

[Enter Malvolio.]

[Exit.]

[Exit.]

[Exeunt.]

SIR TOBY:
Approach, Sir Andrew: not to be abed after midnight
is to be up betimes; and ‘diluculo surgere,’ thou know'st.
SIR ANDREW:
Nay; by my troth, I know not: but I know, to be
up late is to be up late.
SIR TOBY:
A false conclusion: I hate it as an unfilled can. To be(5)
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. Do not our
lives consist of the four elements?
SIR ANDREW:
Faith, so they say; but I think it rather consists of
eating and drinking.(10)
SIR TOBY:
Thou'rt a scholar; let us therefore eat and drink.
Marian, I say! a stoup of wine!
SIR ANDREW:
Here comes the fool, i' faith.
CLOWN:
How now, my hearts. Did you never see the picture
of ‘we three’?(15)
SIR TOBY:
Welcome, ass. Now let's have a catch.
SIR ANDREW:
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 spokest of(20)
Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians passing the equinoctial of
Queubus; 'twas very good, i' faith. I sent thee sixpence
for thy leman: hadst it?
CLOWN:
I did impeticos thy gratillity; for Malvolio's nose is no
whipstock: my lady has a white hand, and the Myrmidons(25)
are no bottle-ale houses.
SIR ANDREW:
Excellent! why, this is the best fooling, when all
is done. Now, a song.
SIR TOBY:
Come on; there is sixpence for you: let's have a
song.(30)
SIR ANDREW:
There's a testril of me too: if one knight give
a—
CLOWN:
Would you have a love-song, or a song of good life?
SIR TOBY:
A love-song, a love-song.
SIR ANDREW:
Ay, ay: I care not for good life.(35)
CLOWN:
O, mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O, stay and hear; your true love's coming,
That can sing both high and low:
Trip no further, pretty sweeting;(40)
Journeys end in lovers meeting,
Every wise man's son doth know.

[sings]

SIR ANDREW:
Excellent good, i' faith.
SIR TOBY:
Good, good.
CLOWN:
What is love? 'tis not hereafter;(45)
Present mirth hath present laughter;
What's to come is still unsure:
In delay there lies no plenty;
Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty,(50)
Youth's a stuff will not endure.
SIR ANDREW:
A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight.
SIR TOBY:
A contagious breath.
SIR ANDREW:
Very sweet and contagious, i' faith.
SIR TOBY:
To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion. But(55)
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?
SIR ANDREW:
An you love me, let's do't: I am dog at a catch.
CLOWN:
By'r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well.(60)
SIR ANDREW:
Most certain. Let our catch be, ‘Thou knave.’
CLOWN:
‘Hold thy peace, thou knave’ knight? I shall be constrained
in't to call thee knave, knight.
SIR ANDREW:
'Tis not the first time I have constrained one to call
me knave. Begin, fool; it begins ‘Hold thy peace.’(65)
CLOWN:
I shall never begin if I hold my peace.
SIR ANDREW:
Good, i' faith! Come, begin.
MARIA:
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.(70)
SIR TOBY:
My lady's a Cataian, we are politicians; Malvolio's a
Peg-a-Ramsey, and [Singing.] ‘Three merry men be we.’Am
not I consanguineous? am I not of her blood? Tillyvalley,
Lady! [sings] ‘There dwelt a man in Babylon, lady, lady.’
CLOWN:
Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable fooling.(75)
SIR ANDREW:
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.
SIR TOBY:
‘O, the twelfth day of December,’—

[Sings]

MARIA:
For the love o' God, peace!(80)
MALVOLIO:
My masters, are you mad? or what are you? Have ye
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(85)
place, persons, nor time in you?
SIR TOBY:
We did keep time, sir, in our catches. Sneck up!
MALVOLIO:
Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My lady
bade me tell you, that, though she harbours you as her
kinsman, she's nothing allied to your disorders. If you can(90)
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.
SIR TOBY:
‘Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs be gone.’
MARIA:
Nay, good Sir Toby.(95)
CLOWN:
‘His eyes do show his days are almost done.’
MALVOLIO:
Is't even so?
SIR TOBY:
‘But I will never die.’
CLOWN:
Sir Toby, there you lie.
MALVOLIO:
This is much credit to you.(100)
SIR TOBY:
‘Shall I bid him go?’
CLOWN:
‘What an if you do?’
SIR TOBY:
‘Shall I bid him go, and spare not?’
CLOWN:
‘O, no, no, no, no, you dare not.’
SIR TOBY:
Out o' tune, sir: ye lie. Art any more than a steward?(105)
Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there
shall be no more cakes and ale?
CLOWN:
Yes, by Saint Anne, and ginger shall be hot i' the
mouth too.
SIR TOBY:
Thou'rt i' the right. Go, sir, rub your chain with
crumbs. A stoup of wine, Maria!
MALVOLIO:
Mistress Mary, if you prized my lady's favour
at anything more than contempt, you would not give
means for this uncivil rule: she shall know of it, by
this hand.(115)
MARIA:
Go shake your ears.
SIR ANDREW:
'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.
SIR TOBY:
Do't, knight; I'll write thee a challenge: or I'll(120)
deliver thy indignation to him by word of mouth.
MARIA:
Sweet Sir Toby, be patient for tonight: since the youth
of the Count's was today with thy 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(125)
common recreation, do not think I have wit enough to
lie straight in my bed: I know I can do it.
SIR TOBY:
Possess us, possess us; tell us something of him.
MARIA:
Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Puritan.
SIR ANDREW:
O, if I thought that I'd beat him like a dog.(130)
SIR TOBY:
What, for being a puritan? thy exquisite reason, dear
knight?
SIR ANDREW:
I have no exquisite reason for't, but I have reason
good enough.
MARIA:
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 swarths: 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(140)
to work.
SIR TOBY:
What wilt thou do?
MARIA:
I will drop in his way some obscure epistles of love;
wherein, by the colour of his beard, the shape of his leg,
the manner of his gait, the expressure of his eye, forehead,(145)
and complexion, he shall find himself most feelingly personated.
I can write very like my lady, your niece; on a forgot-
ten matter we can hardly make distinction of our hands.
SIR TOBY:
Excellent! I smell a device.
SIR ANDREW:
I have't in my nose too.(150)
SIR TOBY:
He shall think, by the letters that thou wilt drop, that
they come from my niece, and that she is in love with him.
MARIA:
My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour.
SIR ANDREW:
And your horse now would make him an ass.
MARIA:
Ass, I doubt not.(155)
SIR ANDREW:
O 'twill be admirable!
MARIA:
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.(160)
Farewell.
SIR TOBY:
Good night, Penthesilea.
SIR ANDREW:
Before me, she's a good wench.
SIR TOBY:
She's a beagle true-bred, and one that adores me: what
o' that?(165)
SIR ANDREW:
I was adored once too.
SIR TOBY:
Let's to bed, knight. Thou hadst need send for more
money.
SIR ANDREW:
If I cannot recover your niece, I am a foul way
out.(170)
SIR TOBY:
Send for money, knight; if thou hast her not i' the
end, call me cut.
SIR ANDREW:
If I do not, never trust me, take it how you
will.(175)
SIR TOBY:
Come, come; I'll go burn some sack; 'tis too late
to go to bed now: come, knight; come, knight.

Scene IV

Duke Orsino's palace.

[Enter Duke, Viola, Curio, and others.]

[Re-enter Curio and Clown.]

[Music]

[Exit Clown.]

[Exeunt.]

DUKE ORSINO:
Give me some music. Now, good morrow,
friends.
Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song,
That old and antique song we heard last night:
Methought it did relieve my passion much,(5)
More than light airs and recollected terms
Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times:
Come, but one verse.
CURIO:
He is not here, so please your lordship that should
sing it.(10)
DUKE ORSINO:
Who was it?
CURIO:
Feste, the jester, my lord; a fool that the Lady Olivia's
father took much delight in. He is about the house.
DUKE ORSINO:
Seek him out, and play the tune the while.
Come hither, boy: if ever thou shalt love,(15)
In the sweet pangs of it remember me;
For such as I am all true lovers are,
Unstaid and skittish in all motions else,
Save in the constant image of the creature
That is beloved. How dost thou like this tune?(20)

[Exit Curio: Music plays.]

VIOLA:
It gives a very echo to the seat
Where Love is throned.
DUKE ORSINO:
Thou dost speak masterly:
My life upon't, young though thou art, thine eye
Hath stay'd upon some favour that it loves:(25)
Hath it not, boy?
VIOLA:
A little, by your favour.
DUKE ORSINO:
What kind of woman is't?
VIOLA:
Of your complexion.
DUKE ORSINO:
She is not worth thee, then. What years, i' faith?(30)
VIOLA:
About your years, my lord.
DUKE ORSINO:
Too old by heaven: let still the woman take
An elder than herself: so wears she to him,
So sways she level in her husband's heart:
For, boy, however we do praise ourselves,(35)
Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm,
More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn,
Than women's are.
VIOLA:
I think it well, my lord.
DUKE ORSINO:
Then let thy love be younger than thyself,(40)
Or thy affection cannot hold the bent;
For women are as roses, whose fair flower
Being once display'd, doth fall that very hour.
VIOLA:
And so they are: alas, that they are so;
To die, even when they to perfection grow!(45)
DUKE ORSINO:
O, fellow, come, the song we had last night.
Mark it, Cesario; it is old and plain;
The spinsters and the knitters in the sun,
And the free maids that weave their thread with bones
Do use to chant it: it is silly sooth,(50)
And dallies with the innocence of love
Like the old age.
CLOWN:
Are you ready, sir?
DUKE ORSINO:
Ay; prithee, sing.
CLOWN:
(55)
Come away, come away, death,
And in sad cypress let me be laid;
Fly away, fly away breath;
I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
My shroud of white, stuck all with yew,(60)
O, prepare it!
My part of death, no one so true
Did share it.
Not a flower, not a flower sweet
On my black coffin let there be strown;(65)
Not a friend, not a friend greet
My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown:
A thousand thousand sighs to save,
Lay me, O, where
Sad true lover never find my grave,(70)
To weep there!

[Sings]

DUKE ORSINO:
There's for thy pains.

[giving money]

CLOWN:
No pains, sir: I take pleasure in singing, sir.
DUKE ORSINO:
I'll pay thy pleasure, then.
CLOWN:
Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid one time or(75)
another.
DUKE ORSINO:
Give me now leave to leave thee.
CLOWN:
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(80)
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.
DUKE ORSINO:
Let all the rest give place.
Once more, Cesario,(85)
Get thee to yond same sovereign cruelty:
Tell her, my love, more noble than the world,
Prizes not quantity of dirty lands;
The parts that fortune hath bestow'd upon her,
Tell her, I hold as giddily as fortune;(90)
But 'tis that miracle and queen of gems
That nature pranks her in attracts my soul.

[Exeunt Curio and Attendants.]

VIOLA:
But if she cannot love you, sir?
DUKE ORSINO:
I cannot be so answer'd.
VIOLA:
Sooth, but you must.(95)
Say that some lady, as perhaps there is,
Hath for your love as great a pang of heart
As you have for Olivia: you cannot love her;
You tell her so; must she not then be answer'd?
DUKE ORSINO:
There is no woman's sides(100)
Can bide the beating of so strong a passion
As love doth give my heart; no woman's heart
So big, to hold so much; they lack retention.
Alas, their love may be call'd appetite,
No motion of the liver, but the palate,(105)
That suffer surfeit, cloyment and revolt;
But mine is all as hungry as the sea,
And can digest as much: make no compare
Between that love a woman can bear me
And that I owe Olivia.(110)
VIOLA:
Ay, but I know—
DUKE ORSINO:
What dost thou know?
VIOLA:
Too well what love women to men may owe:
In faith, they are as true of heart as we.
My father had a daughter loved a man,(115)
As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman,
I should your lordship.
DUKE ORSINO:
And what's her history?
VIOLA:
A blank, my lord. She never told her love,
But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud,(120)
Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought,
And with a green and yellow melancholy
She sat like patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed?
We men may say more, swear more: but indeed,(125)
Our shows are more than will; for still we prove
Much in our vows, but little in our love.
DUKE ORSINO:
But died thy sister of her love, my boy?
VIOLA:
I am all the daughters of my father's house,
And all the brothers too: and yet I know not.(130)
Sir, shall I to this lady?
DUKE ORSINO:
Ay, that's the theme.
To her in haste: give her this jewel; say,
My love can give no place, bide no denay.

Scene V

Olivia's garden.

[Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian.]

[Exit.]

[Enter Malvolio.]

[Taking up the letter.]

[Exit.]

[Enter Maria.]

[Exeunt.]

SIR TOBY:
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:
Wouldst thou not be glad to have the niggardly rascally
sheep-biter come by some notable shame?(5)
FABIAN:
I would exult, man: you know, he brought me out o'
favour with my lady about a bear-baiting here.
SIR TOBY:
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.(10)
SIR TOBY:
Here comes the little villain.
How now, my nettle of India?

[Enter Maria.]

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,(15)
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;
for here comes the trout that must be
caught with tickling.(20)

[The men hide themselves.]

[Throws down a letter.]

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(25)
I think on't?
SIR TOBY:
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:
Peace, I say.
MALVOLIO:
To be Count Malvolio!
SIR TOBY:
Ah, rogue!
SIR ANDREW:
Pistol him, pistol him.
SIR TOBY:
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:
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:
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(50)
as I would they should do theirs, to ask for my kinsman
Toby,—
SIR TOBY:
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 my
watch, or play with my—some rich jewel. Toby approaches;
courtesies there to me,—
SIR TOBY:
Shall this fellow live?
FABIAN:
Though our silence be drawn from us with cars, yet(60)
peace.
MALVOLIO:
I extend my hand to him thus, quenching my familiar
smile with an austere regard of control,—
SIR TOBY:
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:
What, what?
MALVOLIO:
‘You must amend your drunkenness.’
SIR TOBY:
Out, scab!(70)
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,’—(75)
SIR ANDREW:
I knew 'twas I; for many do call me fool.
MALVOLIO:
What employment have we here?
FABIAN:
Now is the woodcock near the gin.
SIR TOBY:
O, peace! and the spirit of humours intimate reading
aloud to him!(80)
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:
‘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?

[Reads]

FABIAN:
This wins him, liver and all.
MALVOLIO:
(90)
‘Jove knows I love,
But who?
Lips, do not move,
No man must know.’
‘No man must know.’ What follows? the numbers alter'd!(95)
‘No man must know:’ if this should be thee, Malvolio?

[Reads]

SIR TOBY:
Marry, hang thee, brock!
MALVOLIO:
‘I may command where I adore;
But silence, like a Lucrece knife,
With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore;(100)
M, O, A, I, doth sway my life.’

[Reads]

FABIAN:
A fustian riddle!
SIR TOBY:
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.(105)
FABIAN:
What dish o' poison has she dressed him!
SIR TOBY:
And with what wing the staniel checks 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(110)
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:
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.(115)
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.(120)
FABIAN:
And O shall end, I hope.
SIR TOBY:
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.(125)
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:
'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(130)
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(135)
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(140)
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,(145)
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(150)
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:
‘Thou canst not choose but know who I am. If thou(155)
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.(160)

[Reads]

[Reads]

FABIAN:
I will not give my part of this sport for a pension of
thousands to be paid from the Sophy.
SIR TOBY:
I could marry this wench for this device.
SIR ANDREW:
So could I too.
SIR TOBY:
And ask no other dowry with her but such another(165)
jest.
SIR ANDREW:
Nor I neither.
FABIAN:
Here comes my noble gull-catcher.
SIR TOBY:
Wilt thou set thy foot o' my neck?
SIR ANDREW:
Or o' mine either?(170)
SIR TOBY:
Shall I play my freedom at traytrip, and become
thy bond-slave?
SIR ANDREW:
I' faith, or I either?
SIR TOBY:
Why, thou hast put him in such a dream, that when
the image of it leaves him he must run mad.(175)
MARIA:
Nay, but say true; does it work upon him?
SIR TOBY:
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 crossgartered,(180)
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.(185)
SIR TOBY:
To the gates of Tartar, thou most excellent devil
of wit!
SIR ANDREW:
I'll make one too.