SIR TOBY
Come 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
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
To anger him we’ll have the bear again, and we will fool him black and blue, shall we not, Sir Andrew?
SIR ANDREW
And we do not, it is pity of our lives.
SIR TOBY
Here comes the little villain. How now, my metal of India?
MARIA
Get all three into the box-tree. Malvolio’s coming down this walk; he has been yonder i’ the sun practising behaviour 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 there; for here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling.
MALVOLIO
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 anyone else that follows her. What should 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!
SIR TOBY
Peace, I say.
MALVOLIO
To be Count Malvolio.
SIR TOBY
Ah, rogue!
SIR ANDREW
Pistol him, pistol him.
SIR TOBY
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
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
Fire and brimstone!
FABIAN
O, peace, peace.
MALVOLIO
And then to have the of state; and after a demure travel of regard, telling them I know my place 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 wind up my watch, or play with some rich jewel. Toby approaches; curtsies there to me—
SIR TOBY
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
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!
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 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!
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: my lady. To whom should this be?
FABIAN
This wins him, liver and all.
MALVOLIO
Jove knows I love,
But who?
Lips, do not move,
No man must know.
MALVOLIO
‘No man must know.’ What follows? The numbers alter’d! ‘No man must know.’—If this should be , Malvolio?
SIR TOBY
Marry, hang , brock!
MALVOLIO
I may command where I adore,
But silence, like a Lucrece knife,
With bloodless stroke my heart gore;
M.O.A.I. sway my life.
FABIAN
A fustian riddle!
SIR TOBY
Excellent , say I.
MALVOLIO
‘M.O.A.I. 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
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 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.
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
Ay, or I’ll cudgel him, and make him cry ‘O!’
MALVOLIO
And then ‘I’ comes behind.
FABIAN
Ay, and 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.
If this fall into hand, revolve. In my stars I am above , but be not afraid of greatness. Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon ’em. fates open their hands, let blood and spirit embrace them. And, to inure thyself to what art like to be, cast humble slough and appear fresh. Be opposite with a kinsman, surly with servants. Let tongue tang arguments of state; put thyself into the trick of singularity. She thus advises that sighs for . Remember who commended yellow stockings, and wished to see ever cross-gartered. I say, remember. Go to, art made, if desir’st to be so. If not, let me see a steward still, the fellow of servants, and not worthy to touch Fortune’s fingers. Farewell. She that would alter services with ,
The Fortunate Unhappy.
MALVOLIO
Daylight and champian 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-device, 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. canst not choose but know who I am. If entertain’st my love, let it appear in smiling; smiles become well. Therefore in my presence still smile, dear my sweet, I . Jove, I thank . I will smile, I will do everything that wilt have me.
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 for this device.
SIR ANDREW
So could I too.
SIR TOBY
And ask no other dowry with her but such another jest.
SIR ANDREW
Nor I neither.
FABIAN
Here comes my noble gull-catcher.
SIR TOBY
Wilt set foot o’ my neck?
SIR ANDREW
Or o’ mine either?
SIR TOBY
Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip, and become bond-slave?
SIR ANDREW
I’ faith, or I either?
SIR TOBY
Why, 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
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 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
To the gates of Tartar, most excellent devil of wit!
SIR ANDREW
I’ll make one too.