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_ ACT II 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
boil'd to death with melancholy.
SIR TOBY.
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.
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.
[Enter MARIA.]
SIR TOBY.
Here comes the little villain.
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 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 thou there [throws down a
letter], for here comes the trout that must be caught with
tickling.
[Exit.]
[Enter MALVOLIO.]
MALVOLIO.
'T is 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.
Here 's an overweening rogue!
FABIAN.
O, peace! Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock of him; how he
jets under his advanc'd 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 branch'd 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 humour 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 perchance wind up my watch, or play with
my-- 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 't was 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!
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; 't is 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 alter'd!
'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:
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.
FABIAN.
What dish o' poison has she dress'd 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, 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
wish'd to see thee ever cross-garter'd. I say, remember. Go to,
thou art made, if thou desir'st 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 champain 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-garter'd; 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-garter'd, 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
entertain'st 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.
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 jest.
SIR ANDREW.
Nor I neither.
FABIAN.
Here comes my noble gull-catcher.
[Re-enter MARIA.]
SIR TOBY.
Wilt thou set thy foot o' my neck?
SIR ANDREW.
Or o' mine either?
SIR TOBY.
Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip, 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.
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 't is a colour she abhors; and cross-garter'd, 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, thou most excellent devil of wit!
SIR ANDREW.
I'll make one too.
[Exeunt.] _
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