Scene V

Olivia's garden.

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

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.

[Enter Maria.]

How now, my nettle 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,(15)
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 themselves.]

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. 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?

[Taking up the letter.]

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:

[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:

(90)

[Reads]

‘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?

SIR TOBY:

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;(100)
M, O, A, I, doth sway my life.’

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!’