Clo.

Wit, and't be thy will, put me into a good fooling! those wits, that think they have thee, do very oft prove fools; and I, that am sure I lack thee, may pass for a wise man. For what says Quinapalus, Better be a witty fool than a foolish wit. God bless thee, Lady!

Oli.

Take the fool away.

Clo.

Do you not hear, fellows? take away the Lady.

Oli.

Go to, y'are a dry fool; I'll no more of you; besides, you grow dishonest.

Clo.

Two faults, Madona, that drink and good counsel will amend; for give the dry fool drink, then is the fool not dry: Bid the dishonest man mend himself; if he mend, he is no longer dishonest; if he cannot, let the botcher mend him. Any thing, that's mended, is but patch'd; virtue, that transgresses, is but patch'd with sin; and sin, that amends, is but patch'd with virtue. If that this simple syllogism will serve, so; if it will not, what remedy? as there is no true cuckold but calamity, so beauty's a flower: the Lady bad take away the fool, therefore, I say again, take her away.

Oli.

Sir, I bad them take away you.

Clo.

Misprision in the highest degree.—Lady, Cucullus non facit monachum; that's as much as to say, I wear not motley in my brain: good Madona, give me leave to prove you a fool.

Oli.

Can you do it?

Clo.

Dexterously, good Madona.

Oli.

Make your proof.

Clo.

I must catechize you for it, Madona; good my mouse of virtue, answer me.

Oli.

Well, Sir, for want of other idleness, I'll bide your proof.

Clo.

Good Madona, why mourn'st thou?

Oli.

Good fool, for my brother's death.

Clo.

I think, his soul is in hell, Madona.

Oli.

I know, his soul is in heav'n, fool.

Clo.

The more fool you, Madona, to mourn for your brother's soul being in heav'n: take away the fool, Gentlemen.

Oli.

What think you of this fool, Malvolio, doth he not mend?

Mal.

Yes, and shall do, 'till the pangs of death shake him. Infirmity, that decays the wise, doth ever make better the fool.

Clo.

God send you, Sir, a speedy infirmity, for the better increasing your folly! Sir Toby will be sworn, that I am no fox; but he will not pass his word for two pence, that you are no fool.

Oli.

How say you to that, Malvolio?

Mal.

I marvel, your Ladyship takes delight in such a barren rascal; I saw him put down the other day with an ordinary fool, that has no more brain than a stone. Look you now, he's out of his guard already; unless you laugh and minister occasion to him, he is gagg'd. I protest, I take these wise men, that crow so at these set kind of fools, no better than the fools' Zanies.

Oli.

O, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and taste with a distemper'd appetite. To be generous, guiltless, and of free disposition, is to take those things for birdbolts that you deem cannon-bullets: there is no slander in an allow'd fool, though he do nothing but rail; nor no railing in a known discreet man, though he do nothing but reprove.

Clo.

^{9 note}Now Mercury indue thee with pleasing, for thou speak'st well of fools!

Enter Maria.

Mar.

Madam, there is at the gate a young Gentleman, much desires to speak with you.

Oli.

From the Count Orsino, is it?

Mar.

I know not, Madam, 'tis a fair young Man, and well attended.

Oli.

Who of my people hold him in delay?

Mar.

Sir Toby, Madam, your Uncle.

Oli.

Fetch him off, I pray you, he speaks nothing but madman: fie on him! Go you, Malvolio; if it be a suit from the Count, I am sick, or not at home: What you will, to dismiss it. [Exit Malvolio] Now you see, Sir, how your fooling grows old, and people dislike it.

Clo.

Thou hast spoke for us, Madona, as if thy eldest Son should be a fool: whose scull Jove cram with brains, for here comes one of thy Kin has a most weak Pia Mater!—