Clown.
Clo.
Will you make me believe, that I am not sent for you?
-- 66 --
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; note
nor this is not my nose neither&dotup; nothing, that is
so, is so&dotup;
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 note 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 note coming?
Seb.
I pr'ythee, foolish Greek14Q0445, depart from me;
There's &dagger2; money for thee; if you tarry longer,
I shall give worse payment.
Clo.
By my troth, thou hast an open hand:—These
wise men, that give fools money, get themselves a good
report, after fourteen years purchase.
Enter Sir Andrew, Sir Toby, and Fabian.
Sir A.
Now, sir, have I met you again? there's for
you.
[striking Sebastian.
Seb.
Why, there's for thee, and there, and there, and there:
[striking him again.
Are all the people mad?
Sir T.
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 T.
Come on, sir; hold.
[holding Sebastian.
Sir A.
Nay, let him alone, I'll go another way to
-- 67 --
work with him; I'll have an action of battery against
him, if there be any note law in Illyria: though I strook him
first, yet it's no matter for that.
Seb.
Let go thy hand.
Sir T.
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 would'st thou now?
[wrenches from him, and draws.
If thou dar'st tempt me further, draw thy sword.
Sir T.
What, what? Nay, then I must have an ounce
or two of this malapert blood from you.
[draws too.
Enter Olivia, hastily.
Oli.
Hold, Toby; on thy life, I charge thee, hold.
Sir T.
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, Sir Andrew, and Fabian.
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
This ruffian hath botch'd up, that thou thereby
May'st smile at this: thou shalt not choose 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;
-- 68 --
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!
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
A Room in Olivia's House.
Enter Maria, and Clown.
Mar.
Nay, I pr'ythee, put on this &dagger2; gown, and &dagger2;
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 dissembl'd 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 as to say, a graceful note man, and a
great scholar. The competitors enter.
Re-enter Maria, with Sir Toby.
Sir T.
Jove bless thee, Mr. parson.
Clo.
Bonos dies, sir Toby:14Q0446 for as the old hermit of
Prague, that never saw pen and ink, very wittily said to
a niece of king Gorboauc, That, that is, is; so I, being
Mr. parson, am Mr. parson; For what is that, but that;
and is, but is?
Sir T.
To him, sir Topas.
Clo.
What ho, I say, [rapping at an inner Door.]
Peace in this prison!
&clquo;Sir T.
&clquo;The knave counterfeits well; a good knave.&crquo;
Mal. [within.]
Who calls there?
Clo.
Sir Topas the curate, who comes to visit Malvolio
the lunatick.
-- 69 --
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?
&clquo;Sir T.
&clquo;Well said, Mr. parson.&crquo;
Mal.
Sir Topas, never was man thus wrong'd; good
sir Topas, do not think I am mad; they have lay'd 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 courtesy; Say'st thou,
that house is dark?
Mal.
As hell, sir Topas.
Clo.
Why, it hath bay windows transparent as barricadoes,
and the clear stones note toward 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 puzzl'd,
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 trial of it in any constant question.
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.
-- 70 --
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 wood-cock, lest thou
dispossess the soul of note thy grandam. Fare thee well.
Mal.
Sir Topas, sir Topas,—
&clquo;Sir T.
&clquo;My most exquisite sir Topas!&crquo;
&clquo;Clo.
&clquo;Nay, I am for all waters.&crquo;
&clquo;Mar.
&clquo;Thou might'st have done this without thy
beard, and gown; he sees thee not.&crquo;
&clquo;Sir T.
&clquo;To him in thine own voice, and bring me
word how thou find'st him: I would, we were well
rid note of this knavery. If he may be conveniently deliver'd,
I would he were; for I am now so fair in offence
with my niece, that I cannot pursue with any
safety this sport to the upshot. Come by and by to my
chamber. note&crquo;
[Exeunt Sir Toby, and Maria.
Clo. [sings.]
Hey, Robin, jolly Robin,
tell me how thy lady does.
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.
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;
-- 71 --
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 property'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.
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, note 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 will 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?
Mal.
Believe me, I am not; I tell thee true.
Clo.
Nay, I'll ne'er believe a madman, '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 pry'thee, be gone.
-- 72 --
Clo.
I am gone, sir,
[singing.
and anon, sir,
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, goodman devil. note
[Exit.
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 credit,
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 discourse,
That I am ready to distrust mine eyes,
And wrangle with my reason, that persuades me
To any other trust, but that I am mad,
Or else the lady's mad; yet, if 'twere so,
She could not sway her house, command her followers,
-- 73 --
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,
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 heavens so shine,
That they may fairly note this act of mine!
[Exeunt.
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].
