Clown.
Clown.
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 lubber 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.
1 noteI pr'ythee, foolish Greek, depart from me;
there's mony for thee. If you tarry longer, I shall
give worse payment.
Clo.
By my troth, thou hast an open hand; these
-- 185 --
wise men, that give fools mony, 2 noteget themselves a
good report after fourteen years' purchase.
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; tho' 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.
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.
-- 186 --
SCENE II.
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 extent
Against thy peace. Go with me to my house,
And hear thou there, how many fruitless pranks
3 noteThis ruffian hath botch'd up, that thou thereby
May'st smile at this: thou shalt not chuse but go:
Do not deny; beshrew his soul for me,
He started one poor heart of mine in thee.
Seb.
What relish is in this? 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 pray: 'would, thou'dst be rul'd by me.
Seb.
Madam, I will.
Oli.
O, say so, and so be!
[Exeunt.
-- 187 --
SCENE III.
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 Topas 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 well, nor lean enough to be
thought a good student; but to be said an honest
man, and a good housekeeper, goes as fairly, 4 noteas to
say, a graceful man and a great scholar. The competitors
enter.
Enter Sir Toby, and Maria.
Sir To.
Jove bless thee, Mr. Parson.
Clo.
Bonos dies, Sir Toby; &wlquo;for as the old hermit
of Prague, that never saw pen and ink, 5 notevery wittily
said to a neice of King Gorboduck, that that is,
is: so I being Mr. Parson, am Mr. Parson; for
what is that, but that? and is, but is?&wrquo;
Sir To.
To him, Sir Topas.
-- 188 --
Clo.
What, hoa, I say,—peace in this prison!
Sir To.
The knave counterfeits well; a good knave.
[Malvolio within.
Mal.
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 of nothing but 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.
Fie, 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 curtesie:
say'st thou, that house is dark?
Mal.
As hell, Sir Topas.
Clo.
Why, it hath bay-windows transparent as baricadoes,
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
than you are, make the tryal of it in any constant
question.
Clo.
What is the opinion of Pythagoras, concerning
wild-fowl?
-- 189 --
Mal.
That the soul of our grandam might happily
inhabit a bird.
Clo.
What think'st thou of his opinion?
Mal.
I think nobly of the soul, and no way approve
of his opinion.
Clo.
Fare thee well: remain thou still in darkness;
thou shalt hold th' 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.
6 noteNay, I am for all waters.
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 neice, that I cannot pursue with any
safety this sport to the upshot. Come by and by to
my chamber.
[Exit with Maria.
SCENE IV.
Clo.
Hey Robin, jolly Robin, tell me how my lady does.
[Singing.
Mal.
Fool,—
Clo.
My lady is unkind, perdie.
Mal.
Fool,—
Clo.
Alas, why is she so?
Mal.
Fool, I say;—
Clo.
She loves another—who calls, ha?
-- 190 --
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.
Mr. Malvolio!
Mal.
Ay, good fool.
Clo.
Alas, Sir, how fell you besides your five
wits?
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 thou art mad, indeed, if you
be no better in your wits than a fool.
Mal.
They have here propertied 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 heav'ns restore: endeavour
thyself to sleep, and leave thy vain bibble
babble.
Mal.
Sir Topas,—
Clo.
Maintain no words with him, good fellow.
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 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 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 counterfeit?
-- 191 --
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.
Mal.
Fool, I'll requite it in the highest degree;
I pr'ythee, be gone.
Clo.
I am gone, Sir, and anon, Sir,
[Singing.
I'll be with you again
In a trice, like to the old vice,
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, good man drivel.
[Exit.
SCENE V.
Changes to another Apartment in Olivia's House.
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 Anthonio then?
I could not find him at the Elephant;
Yet there he was, and there 7 noteI found this credit,
That he did range the town to seek me out.
His counsel now might do me golden service;—
For tho' 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 8 noteall instance, all discourse;
-- 192 --
That I am ready to distrust mine eyes,
And wrangle with my reason that persuades me
To any other trust, but that I'm 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 she comes.
Enter Olivia and 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,
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 truth, ever will be true.
Oli.
Then lead the way, good father; and heav'ns so shine,
That they may fairly note this act of mine!
[Exeunt.
-- 193 --
Alexander Pope [1747], The works of Shakespear in eight volumes. The Genuine Text (collated with all the former Editions, and then corrected and emended) is here settled: Being restored from the Blunders of the first Editors, and the Interpolations of the two Last: with A Comment and Notes, Critical and Explanatory. By Mr. Pope and Mr. Warburton (Printed for J. and P. Knapton, [and] S. Birt [etc.], London) [word count] [S11301].
