How does he, sirrah?

Clo.

Truly, madam, he holds Belzebub at the staves end, as well as a man in his case may do: h'as here writ a letter to you, I should have given it you, to-day morning. But as a madman's epistles are no gospels, so it skills not much when they are deliver'd.

Oli.

Open't and read it.

Clo.

Look then to be well edify'd, when the fool delivers the madman—By the lord, madam,—

Oli.

How now, art mad?

Clo.

No, madam, I do but read madness.

Oli.

Read it you, sirrah.

Fab. [Reads]

By the lord, madam, you wrong me, and the world shall know it: though you have put me into darkness, and given your drunken uncle rule over me, yet have I benefit of my senses, as well as your ladyship. I have your own letter, that induced me to the semblance I put on; with the which I doubt not but to do myself much right, or you much shame: think of me as you please: I leave my duty a little unthought of, and speak out of my injury.

The madly us'd Malvolio.

Oli.
Did he write this?

Clo.
Ay, madam.

Oli.
See him deliver'd, Fabian, bring him hither.
My lord, so please you, these things further thought on,
To think me as well a sister as a wife,
One day shall crown the alliance on't, so please you,
Here at my house.

Duke.
Madam, I am most apt t'embrace your offer.
Your master quits you; and for your service done him, [To Viola.
Here is my hand, you shall from this time be
Your master's mistress, and his sister she.

Previous section

Next section