SCENE I.
The street.
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 fool. Vent
my folly! I am afraid this great lubber4 note the world
will prove a cockney.—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 Greek5 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
-- 254 --
wise men, that give fools money, get themselves a good
report after fourteen years' purchase6 note
.
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
flesh'd; come on.
-- 255 --
Seb.
I will be free from thee. What wouldst thou now?
If thou dar'st tempt me further, draw thy sword.
Sir To.
What, what? Nay, then I must have an
ounce or two of this malapert blood from you.
[They draw and fight.
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, and Sir Andrew.
Let thy fair wisdom, not thy passion, sway
In this uncivil and unjust extent7 note
Against thy peace. Go with me to my house;
And hear thou there how many fruitless pranks
This ruffian hath botch'd up8 note
, that thou thereby
May'st smile at this: thou shalt not chuse but go;
-- 256 --
Do not deny: Beshrew his soul for me,
He started one poor heart of mine in thee9 note.
Seb.
What relish is in this1 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!
SCENE II.
An apartment 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 Topas2 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 myself
in't; and I would I were the first that ever dissembled
in such a gown. I am not tall enough to become
the function well3 note
; nor lean enough to be thought
-- 257 --
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 scholar4 note
. The competitors enter.
Enter Sir Toby, and Maria.
Sir To.
Jove bless thee, master parson.
Clo.
Bonos dies, sir Toby: for as the old hermit of
Prague, that never saw pen and ink, 5 notevery wittily
said to a niece of king Gorboduc, That, that is, is: 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. [Within.]
Who calls there?
Clo.
Sir Topas, the curate, who comes to visit
Malvolio the lunatick.
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 wrong'd;
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
-- 258 --
most modest terms; for I am one of those gentle ones,
that will use the devil himself with courtesy; Say'st
thou, that house is dark?
Mal.
As hell, sir Topas.
Clo.
Why, 6 note
it hath bay windows transparent as barricadoes,
and the clear stones 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 abus'd: I am no more mad
-- 259 --
than you are, make the trial of it in any constant
question7 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 think'st 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 woodcock, lest
thou dispossess the soul of thy grandam. Fare thee
well.
Mal.
Sir Topas, sir Topas,—
Sir To.
My most exquisite sir Topas!
Clo.
Nay, I am for all waters8 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 find'st him: I would, we were all rid
of this knavery. If he may be conveniently deliver'd,
I would he were; for I am now so far in offence
with my niece, that I cannot pursue with any
safety this sport to the upshot. Come by and by to
my chamber.
[Exit with Maria.
Clo.
Hey Robin, jolly Robin9 note
,
Tell me how thy lady does.
[Singing.
-- 260 --
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 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 beside your five wits1 note
?
Mal.
Fool, there was never man so notoriously
abus'd: 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 2 noteproperty'd me; 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.
3 noteMaintain no words with him, good fellow.—
-- 261 --
Who, I, sir? not, I, sir. God b'w'you, good sir
Topas.—Marry, amen.—I will, sir, I will.
Mal.
Fool, fool, fool, I say,—
Clo.
Alas, sir, be patient. What say you, sir? I
am shent for speaking to you4 note
.
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 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 counterfeit5 note
?
Mal.
Believe me, I am not; I tell thee true.
Clo.
Nay, I'll ne'er believe a mad man, 'till I see
his brains. I will fetch you light, and paper, and
ink.
-- 262 --
Mal.
Fool, I'll requite it in the highest degree:
I pr'ythee, be gone.
Clo.
I am gone, sir,
[Singing.
And anon, sir,
I'll be with you again,
In a trice,
Like to the old vice6 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,
7 note
Adieu, goodman devil.
[Exit.
-- 263 --
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 credit8 note
,
That he did range the town to seek me out.
His counsel now might do me golden service:
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 discourse9 note
,
That I am ready to distrust mine eyes,
And wrangle with my reason, that persuades me
-- 264 --
To any other trust1 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 dispatch,
With such a smooth, discreet, and stable bearing,
As, I perceive, she does: there's something in't,
That is deceivable. But here the lady comes.
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 by: there, before him,
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,
2 note
Whiles 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 3 notetruth, ever will be true.
Oli.
Then lead the way, good father;—And heavens so shine4 note,
That they may fairly note this act of mine!
[Exeunt.
-- 265 --
Samuel Johnson [1778], The plays of William Shakspeare. In ten volumes. With the corrections and illustrations of various commentators; to which are added notes by Samuel Johnson and George Steevens. The second edition, Revised and Augmented (Printed for C. Bathurst [and] W. Strahan [etc.], London) [word count] [S10901].
