Clo.

Hey Robin, jolly Robin, tell me how my lady does.

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?

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 propertied me; they 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 thy self 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, Sir.

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?

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, pair thy nails, dad,
  Adieu, good man drivel. [Exit.

Previous section

Next section