Maria.
Sir To.
Jove bless thee, master parson.
Clo.
Bonos dies, sir Toby: for as the old hermit of
Prague, that never saw pen and ink, very wittily said
to a niece of king Gorboduc, “That, that is, is;” so I,
being master parson, am master parson, for what is
that, but that? and is, but is?
Sir To.
To him, sir Topas.
Clo.
What, ho! I say.—Peace in this prison.
Sir To.
The knave counterfeits well; a good knave.
Mal. [Within.]
Who calls there?
Clo.
Sir Topas, the curate, who comes to visit Malvolio
the lunatic.
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?
Sir To.
Well said, master parson.
Mal.
Sir Topas, never was man thus wronged. 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,
-- 402 --
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-windows5 note transparent as barricadoes,
and the clear stories6 note 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 abused. 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 thinkest thou of his opinion?
Mal.
I think nobly of the soul, and no way approve
his opinion.
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 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.
Nay, I am for all waters7 note.
-- 403 --
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 findest him: I would, we were well rid
of this knavery. If he may be conveniently delivered,
I would he were; for I am now so far in offence with
my niece, that I cannot pursue with any safety this
sport to the upshot. Come by and by to my chamber.
[Exeunt Sir Toby and Maria.
Clo.
“Hey Robin, jolly Robin8 note,
Tell me how thy lady does.”
[Singing.
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.
Master Malvolio!
Mal.
Ay, good fool.
Clo.
Alas, sir, how fell you besides your five wits?
Mal.
Fool, there was never man so notoriously
abused: 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 propertied me9 note; keep me in
-- 404 --
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
babble10 note.
Mal.
Sir Topas,—
Clo.
Maintain no words with him, good fellow.—
Who, I, sir? not I, sir. God b' wi' 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
shent1 note
note 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
pr'ythee, be gone.
-- 405 --
Clo.
I am gone, sir,
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 11Q04602 note.
[Exit.
J. Payne Collier [1842–1844], The works of William Shakespeare. The text formed from an entirely new collation of the old editions: with the various readings, notes, a life of the poet, and a history of the Early English stage. By J. Payne Collier, Esq. F.S.A. In eight volumes (Whittaker & Co. [etc.], London) [word count] [S10101].
