Fabian.
Sir T.
Come thy ways, signior Fabian.
Fab.
Nay, I'll come; if I lose a scruple of this sport,
let me be boil'd to death with melancholy.
Sir T.
Would'st thou not be glad, to have the niggardly
rascally sheep-biter come by some notable shame?
Fab.
I would exult, man: you know, he brought me
out of favour with my lady, about a bear-baiting here.
Sir T.
To anger him, we'll have the bear again; and
we'll fool him black and blue:—Shall we not, sir
Andrew?
Sir A.
An we do not, it is pity of our lives.
Enter Maria.
Sir T.
Here comes the little villain:—How now, my
nettle note of India?
-- 37 --
Mar.
Get ye all three into the box-tree: Malvolio's
coming down this walk; he has been yonder i'the sun,
practising behaviour to his own shadow, this half hour:
observe him, for the love of mockery; for, I know, this
letter will make a contemplative ideot of him. Close,
in the name of jesting. [Men hide themselves.] Lye thou
there; [throws down a Letter.] for here comes the trout,
that must be caught with tickling.
[Exit Maria.
Enter Malvolio.
Mal.
'Tis but fortune; all is fortune. Maria once
told me, she did affect me; and I have heard herself
come thus near, that, should she fancy, it should be one
of my complection. Besides, she uses me with a more
exalted respect, than any one else that follows her. What
should I think on't?
&clquo;Sir T.
&clquo;Here's an over-weening rogue!&crquo;
&clquo;Fab.
&clquo;O, peace! Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock
of him; how he jets under his advanc'd
plumes!&crquo;
&clquo;Sir A.
&clquo;S'light, I could so beat the rogue:—&crquo;
&clquo;Sir T.
&clquo;Peace, I say.&crquo;
Mal.
To be count Malvolio:
&clquo;Sir T.
&clquo;Ah, rogue!&crquo;
&clquo;Sir A.
&clquo;Pistol him, pistol him.&crquo;
&clquo;Sir T.
&clquo;Peace, peace.&crquo;
Mal.
There is example for't; the lady of the Strachy
marry'd the yeoman of the wardrobe.14Q0439
&clquo;Sir A.
&clquo;Fye on him, Jezebel!&crquo;
&clquo;Fab.
&clquo;O, peace! now he's deeply in; look, how
imagination blows him.&crquo;
Mal.
Having been three months marry'd to her, sitting
in my state,—
-- 38 --
&clquo;Sir T.
&clquo;O for a stone-bow, to hit him in the eye!&crquo;
Mal.
Calling my officers about me, in my branch'd
velvet gown; having come from a day-bed, where I have
left Olivia sleeping:
&clquo;Sir T.
&clquo;Fire and brimstone!&crquo;
&clquo;Fab.
&clquo;O, peace, peace!&crquo;
Mal.
And then to have the humour of state: and,
after a demure travel of regard,—telling them, I know
my place, as I would they should do theirs,—to ask for
my kinsman Toby:
&clquo;Sir T.
&clquo;Bolts and shackles!&crquo;
&clquo;Fab.
&clquo;O, peace, peace, peace! now, now.&crquo;
Mal.
Seven of my people, with an obedient start,
make out for him: I frown the while; and, perchance,
wind up my watch, or play with some rich jewel: Toby
approaches; curtsies there to me:
&clquo;Sir T.
&clquo;Shall this fellow live?&crquo;
&clquo;Fab.
&clquo;Though our silence be drawn from us with
cares, yet peace.&crquo;
Mal.
I extend my hand to him, † thus, quenching
my familiar smile with an austere regard of controul;
&clquo;Sir T.
&clquo;And does not Toby take you a blow o'the
lips then?&crquo;
Mal.
Saying, Cousin Toby, my fortunes having cast
me on your niece give me this prerogative of speech;
&clquo;Sir T.
&clquo;What, what?&crquo;
Mal.
You must amend your drunkenness.
&clquo;Sir T.
&clquo;Out, scab!&crquo;
&clquo;Fab.
&clquo;Nay, patience, or we break the sinews of our plot.&crquo;
Mal.
Besides, you waste the treasure of your time with
a foolish knight;
&clquo;Sir A.
&clquo;That's me, I warrant you.&crquo;
-- 39 --
Mal.
One sir Andrew:
&clquo;Sir A.
&clquo;I knew, 'twas I; for many do call me fool.&crquo;
Mal.
What employment note have we here?
[taking up the Letter.
&clquo;Fab.
&clquo;Now is the woodcock near the gin.&crquo;
&clquo;Sir T.
&clquo;O, peace! and the spirit of humours intimate
reading aloud to him!&crquo;
Mal.
By my life, this is my lady's hand: these be
her very C's, her U's, and her T's; and thus makes she
her great P's. It is, in contempt of question, her hand.
&clquo;Sir A.
&clquo;Her C's, her U's, and her T's; Why that?&crquo;
Mal. [reads.]
To the unknown belov'd, this, and my
good wishes: her very phrases!—By your leave, wax:—
Soft; and the impressure her Lucrece, with which she
uses to seal: 'tis my lady: To whom should this be?
[opes the Letter.
&clquo;Fab.
&clquo;This wins him, liver and all.&crquo;
Mal. [reads.]
Jove knows, I love:
But who?
Lips note do not move;
No man must know.
No man must know. What follows? The numbers alter'd!
No man must know: If this should be thee, Malvalio?
&clquo;Sir T.
&clquo;Marry, hang thee, brock!&crquo;
Mal. [reads.]
I may command where I adore:
But silence, like a Lucrece knife,
With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore;
M, O, A, I, doth sway my life.
&clquo;Fab.
&clquo;A sustian riddle!&crquo;
&clquo;Sir T.
&clquo;Excellent wench, say I.&crquo;
Mal.
M, O, A, I, doth sway my life. Nay, but first,
let me see, let me see, let me see.
-- 40 --
&clquo;Fab.
&clquo;What a dish of poison has she dress'd him!&crquo;
&clquo;Sir T.
&clquo;And with what wing the stanyel note checks
at it!&crquo;
Mal.
I may command where I adore. Why, she may
command me; I serve her, she is my lady: Why, this
is evident to any formal capacity! there is no obstruction
in this;—And the end; What should that alphabetical
position portend? if I could make that resemble
something in me,—Softly; M, O, A, I.
&clquo;Sir T.
&clquo;O, ay, make up that: note—he is now at a cold
scent.&crquo;
&clquo;Fab.
&clquo;Sowter will cry upon't, for all this, though
it be as note rank as a fox.&crquo;
Mal.
M,—Malvolio;—M, why, that begins my name.
&clquo;Fab.
&clquo;Did not I say, he would work it out? the
cur is excellent at faults.&crquo;
Mal.
M,—But then there is no consonancy in the
sequel; that suffers under probation: A should follow,
but O does.
&clquo;Fab.
&clquo;And O shall end, I hope.&crquo;
&clquo;Sir T.
&clquo;Ay, or I'll cudgel him, and make him cry O.&crquo;
Mal.
And then I comes behind.
&clquo;Fab.
&clquo;Ay, an you had any eye behind you, you
might see more detraction at your heels, than fortunes
before you.&crquo;
Mal.
M, O, A, I;—This simulation note is not as the
former: and yet, to crush this a little, it would bow to
me, for every one of these letters are in note my name. Soft;
here follows prose.
[reads.
If this fall into thy hand, revolve. In my stars I am
above thee; but be not afraid of greatness: Some are born
great note, some atchieve note greatness, and some have greatness
-- 41 --
thrust upon them: thy fates open their hands; let thy
blood and spirit embrace them. And, to inure thyself to
what thou art like to be, cast thy humble slough, and
appear fresh: be opposite with a kinsman, surly with
servants: let thy tongue tang arguments of state; put
thyself into the trick of singularity: She thus advises
thee, that sighs for thee. Remember who commended
thy yellow stockings; and wish'd to see thee ever cross-garter'd:
I say, remember. Go to: thou art made, if
thou desir'st to be so; if not, let me see thee a steward
still, the fellow of servants, and not worthy to touch
fortune's fingers. Farewel. She that would alter services
with thee,
The fortunate-unhappy.
Day-light, and champian, discovers not more: this is
open. I will be proud, I will read politick authors, I
will baffle sir Toby, I will wash off gross acquaintance,
I will be point-devise the very man. I do not note now fool
myself, to let imagination jade me; for every note reason
excites to this, that my lady loves me; She did commend
my yellow stockings of late, she did praise my
leg being cross-garter'd; and in this † she manifests
herself to my love, and, with a kind of injunction note,
drives me to these habits of her liking. I thank my
stars, I am happy. I will be strange, stout, in yellow
stockings, note and cross-garter'd, even with the swiftness of
putting on. Jove, and my stars, be praised! Here is yet
a post-script.
Thou can'st not choose but know who I am. If thou
entertain'st my love, let it appear in thy smiling; thy
smiles become thee well: therefore in my presence still smile,
dear my sweet, I pr'ythee.
Jove, I thank thee.—I will smile; I will do
-- 42 --
every thing that thou wilt have me.
[Exit.
Fab.
I will not give my part of this sport for a
pension of thousands to be pay'd from the Sophy.
Sir T.
I could marry this wench for this device;
Sir A.
So could I too.
Sir T.
And ask no other dowry with her, but such
another jest.
Sir A.
Nor I neither.
Enter Maria.
Fab.
Here comes my noble gull-catcher.
Sir T.
Wilt thou set thy foot o'my neck?
Sir A.
Or o'mine either?
Sir T.
Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip, and become
thy bond-slave?
Sir A.
I'faith, or I either?
Sir T.
Why, thou hast put him in such a dream,
that, when the image of it leaves him, he must run
mad.
Mar.
Nay, but say true, does it work upon him?
Sir T.
Like aqua-vitæ with a midwife.
Mar.
If you will then see the fruits of the sport,
mark his first approach before my lady: he will come
to her in yellow stockings, and 'tis a colour she abhors;
and cross-garter'd, a fashion she detests; and he will
smile upon her, which will now be so unsuitable to her
disposition, being addicted to a melancholy as she is,
that it cannot but turn him into a notable contempt: if
you will see it, follow me.
Sir T.
To the gates of tartar, thou most excellent
devil of wit.
Sir A.
I'll make one too.
[Exeunt.
-- 43 --
Edward Capell [1767], Mr William Shakespeare his comedies, histories, and tragedies, set out by himself in quarto, or by the Players his Fellows in folio, and now faithfully republish'd from those Editions in ten Volumes octavo; with an introduction: Whereunto will be added, in some other Volumes, notes, critical and explanatory, and a Body of Various Readings entire (Printed by Dryden Leach, for J. and R. Tonson [etc.], London) [word count] [S10601].
