SCENE I.
The Street before Olivia's House.
Enter Sebastian and Clown.
Clo.
Will you make me believe, that I am not
sent for you?
Seb.
Go to, go to, thou art a foolish fellow;
Let me be clear of thee.
Clo.
Well held out, i' faith! No, I do not know
you; nor I am not sent to you by my lady, to bid
you come speak with her; nor your name is not
master Cesario; nor this is not my nose neither.—
Nothing, that is so, is so.
Seb.
I pr'ythee, vent thy folly somewhere else;
Thou know'st not me.
Clo.
Vent my folly! He has heard that word of
some great man, and now applies it to a fool8 note.
-- 468 --
Vent my folly! I am afraid this great lubber9 note, the
world, will prove a cockney1 note.—I pr'ythee now,
ungird thy strangeness, and tell me what I shall
vent to my lady; Shall I vent to her, that thou art
coming?
Seb.
I pr'ythee, foolish Greek2 note
, depart from me;
There's money for thee; if you tarry longer,
I shall give worse payment.
Clo.
By my troth, thou hast an open hand:—
These wise men, that give fools money, get themselves
a good report after fourteen years' purchase3 note
.
-- 469 --
Enter Sir Andrew, Sir Toby, and Fabian.
Sir And.
Now, sir, have I met you again?
there's for you.
[Striking Sebastian.
Seb.
Why, there's for thee, and there, and there:
Are all the people mad?
[Beating Sir Andrew.
Sir To.
Hold, sir, or I'll throw your dagger o'er
the house.
Clo.
This will I tell my lady straight: I would
not be in some of your coats for two-pence.
[Exit Clown.
Sir To.
Come on, sir; hold.
[Holding Sebastian.
Sir And.
Nay, let him alone, I'll go another
way to work with him; I'll have an action of battery
against him, if there be any law in Illyria:
though I struck him first, yet it's no matter for
that.
Seb.
Let go thy hand.
Sir To.
Come, sir, I will not let you go. Come,
my young soldier, put up your iron: you are well
fleshed; come on.
Seb.
I will be free from thee. What wouldst thou now?
If thou dar'st tempt me further, draw thy sword.
[Draws.
Sir To.
What, what? Nay, then I must have an
ounce or two of this malapert blood from you.
[Draws.
-- 470 --
Enter Olivia.
Oli.
Hold, Toby; on thy life, I charge thee, hold.
Sir To.
Madam?
Oli.
Will it be ever thus? Ungracious wretch,
Fit for the mountains, and the barbarous caves,
Where manners ne'er were preach'd! out of my sight!
Be not offended, dear Cesario:—
Rudesby, be gone!—I pr'ythee, gentle friend,
[Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian.
Let thy fair wisdom, not thy passion, sway
In this uncivil and unjust extent4 note
Against thy peace. Go with me to my house;
And hear thou there how many fruitless pranks
This ruffian hath botch'd up5 note
, that thou thereby
May'st smile at this: thou shalt not choose but go;
Do not deny: Beshrew his soul for me,
He started one poor heart of mine in thee6 note
.
-- 471 --
Seb.
What relish is in this7 note? how runs the stream?
Or I am mad, or else this is a dream:—
Let fancy still my sense in Lethe steep;
If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep!
Oli.
Nay, come, I pr'ythee: 'Would thou'dst be rul'd by me!
Seb.
Madam, I will.
Oli.
O, say so, and so be!
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
A Room in Olivia's House.
Enter Maria and Clown.
Mar.
Nay, I pr'ythee, put on this gown, and
this beard; make him believe, thou art sir Topas8 note
the curate; do it quickly: I'll call sir Toby the
whilst.
[Exit Maria.
Clo.
Well, I'll put it on, and I will dissemble
myself9 note
in't; and I would I were the first that ever
dissembled in such a gown. I am not fat enough
to become the function well1 note
: nor lean enough to
-- 472 --
be thought a good student: but to be said, an
honest man, and a good housekeeper, goes as fairly,
as to say, a careful man, and a great scholar2 note
.
The competitors enter3 note.
Enter Sir Toby Belch and Maria.
Sir To.
Jove bless thee, master parson.
Clo.
Bonos dies, sir Toby: for as the old hermit
of Prague4 note, that never saw pen and ink, very wittily
said to a niece of king Gorboduc, That, that
is, is5 note: so I, being master parson, am master parson;
For what is that, but that? and is, but is?
Sir To.
To him, sir Topas.
Clo.
What, hoa, I say,—Peace in this prison!
Sir To.
The knave counterfeits well; a good
knave.
Mal. [In an inner chamber.]
Who calls there?
Clo.
Sir Topas, the curate, who comes to visit
Malvolio the lunatick.
-- 473 --
Mal.
Sir Topas, sir Topas, good sir Topas, go
to my lady.
Clo.
Out, hyperbolical fiend! how vexest thou
this man? talkest thou nothing but of ladies?
Sir To.
Well said, master parson.
Mal.
Sir Topas, never was man thus wronged:
good sir Topas, do not think I am mad; they have
laid me here in hideous darkness.
Clo.
Fye, thou dishonest Sathan! I call thee by
the most modest terms; for I am one of those
gentle ones, that will use the devil himself with
courtesy: Say'st thou, that house6 note is dark?
Mal.
As hell, sir Topas.
Clo.
Why, it hath bay-windows7 note
transparent as
-- 474 --
barricadoes, and the clear stories8 note towards the
south-north are as lustrous as ebony; and yet complainest
thou of obstruction?
Mal.
I am not mad, sir Topas; I say to you, this
house is dark.
Clo.
Madman, thou errest: I say, there is no
darkness, but ignorance; in which thou art more
puzzled, than the Egyptians in their fog.
Mal.
I say, this house is as dark as ignorance,
though ignorance were as dark as hell; and I say,
there was never man thus abused: I am no more
mad than you are; make the trial of it in any constant
question9 note
.
Clo.
What is the opinion of Pythagoras, concerning
wild-fowl?
Mal.
That the soul of our grandam might haply
inhabit a bird.
Clo.
What thinkest thou of his opinion?
Mal.
I think nobly of the soul, and no way approve
his opinion.
Clo.
Fare thee well: Remain thou still in darkness:
thou shalt hold the opinion of Pythagoras,
ere I will allow of thy wits; and fear to kill a woodcock1 note,
lest thou dispossess the soul of thy grandam.
Fare thee well.
-- 475 --
Mal.
Sir Topas, sir Topas,—
Sir To.
My most exquisite sir Topas!
Clo.
Nay, I am for all waters2 note
.
Mar.
Thou might'st have done this without thy
beard, and gown; he sees thee not.
Sir To.
To him in thine own voice, and bring me
word how thou findest him: I would, we were well
rid of this knavery. If he may be conveniently
delivered, I would he were; for I am now so far in
offence with my niece, that I cannot pursue with
-- 476 --
any safety this sport to the upshot. Come by and
by to my chamber.
[Exeunt Sir Toby and Maria.
Clo.
Hey Robin, jolly Robin3 note
,
Tell me how thy lady does.
[Singing.
Mal.
Fool,—
Clo.
My lady is unkind, perdy.
Mal.
Fool,—
Clo.
Alas, why is she so?
Mal.
Fool, I say;—
Clo.
She loves another—Who calls, ha?
Mal.
Good fool, as ever thou wilt deserve well
-- 477 --
at my hand, help me to a candle, and pen, ink, and
paper; as I am a gentleman, I will live to be thankful
to thee for't.
Clo.
Master Malvolio!
Mal.
Ay, good fool.
Clo.
Alas, sir, how fell you besides your five
wits4 note
?
Mal.
Fool, there was never man so notoriously
abused: I am as well in my wits, fool, as thou art.
Clo.
But as well? then you are mad, indeed, if
you be no better in your wits than a fool.
Mal.
They have here propertied me5 note; keep me
in darkness, send ministers to me, asses, and do all
they can to face me out of my wits.
Clo.
Advise you what you say; the minister is
here.—Malvolio, Malvolio, thy wits the heavens restore!
endeavour thyself to sleep, and leave thy
vain bibble babble.
Mal.
Sir Topas,—
Clo.
Maintain no words with him6 note, good fellow.
—Who, I, sir? not I, sir. God b' wi' you, good
sir Topas.—Marry, amen.—I will, sir, I will.
-- 478 --
Mal.
Fool, fool, fool, I say,—
Clo.
Alas, sir, be patient. What say you, sir?
I am shent7 note for speaking to you.
Mal.
Good fool, help me to some light, and
some paper; I tell thee, I am as well in my wits, as
any man in Illyria.
Clo.
Well-a-day,—that you were, sir!
Mal.
By this hand, I am: Good fool, some ink,
paper, and light, and convey what I will set down
to my lady; it shall advantage thee more than ever
the bearing of letter did.
Clo.
I will help you to't. But tell me true, are
you not mad indeed? or do you but counterfeit8 note
?
-- 479 --
Mal.
Believe me, I am not; I tell thee true.
Clo.
Nay, I'll ne'er believe a madman, till I see
his brains. I will fetch you light, and paper, and
ink.
Mal.
Fool, I'll requite it in the highest degree:
I pr'ythee, be gone.
Clo.
I am gone, sir,
And anon, sir,
I'll be with you again,
In a trice,
Like to the old vice9 note
,
Your need to sustain;
Who with dagger of lath,
In his rage and his wrath,
Cries, ah, ha! to the devil:
Like a mad lad,
Pare thy nails, dad,
Adieu, goodman devil1 note
.
[Exit.
-- 480 --
SCENE III.
Olivia's Garden.
Enter Sebastian.
Seb.
This is the air; that is the glorious sun;
This pearl she gave me, I do feel't, and see't:
And though 'tis wonder that enwraps me thus,
Yet 'tis not madness. Where's Antonio then?
I could not find him at the Elephant:
Yet there he was; and there I found this credit,
-- 481 --
That he did range the town to seek me out2 note
.
His counsel now might do me golden service:
-- 482 --
For though my soul disputes well with my sense,
That this may be some error, but no madness,
Yet doth this accident and flood of fortune
So far exceed all instance, all discourse3 note
,
That I am ready to distrust mine eyes,
And wrangle with my reason, that persuades me
To any other trust4 note, but that I am mad,
Or else the lady's mad; yet, if 'twere so,
She could not sway her house, command her followers,
Take, and give back, affairs, and their despatch,
With such a smooth, discreet, and stable bearing,
As, I perceive, she does: there's something in't,
That is deceivable5 note. But here the lady comes6 note
.
Enter Olivia and a Priest.
Oli.
Blame not this haste of mine: If you mean well,
Now go with me, and with this holy man,
Into the chantry by7 note: there, before him,
-- 483 --
And underneath that consecrated roof,
Plight me the full assurance of your faith;
That my most jealous and too doubtful soul
May live at peace: He shall conceal it,
Whiles8 note
you are willing it shall come to note;
What time we will our celebration keep
According to my birth.—What do you say?
Seb.
I'll follow this good man, and go with you;
And, having sworn truth9 note, ever will be true.
Oli.
Then lead the way, good father;—And heavens so shine1 note,
That they may fairly note this act of mine!
[Exeunt.
James Boswell [1821], The plays and poems of William Shakspeare, with the corrections and illustrations of various commentators: comprehending A Life of the Poet, and an enlarged history of the stage, by the late Edmond Malone. With a new glossarial index (J. Deighton and Sons, Cambridge) [word count] [S10201].
