Olivia's garden.

[Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian.]

SIR TOBY:

Come thy ways, Signior Fabian.

FABIAN:

Nay, I'll come: if I lose a scruple of this sport, let me be
boiled to death with melancholy.

SIR TOBY:

Wouldst thou not be glad to have the niggardly rascally
sheep-biter come by some notable shame?(5)

FABIAN:

I would exult, man: you know, he brought me out o'
favour with my lady about a bear-baiting here.

SIR TOBY:

To anger him we'll have the bear again; and we will
fool him black and blue: shall we not, Sir Andrew?

SIR ANDREW:

An we do not, it is pity of our lives.(10)

[Enter Maria.]

SIR TOBY:

Here comes the little villain.
How now, my nettle of India?

MARIA:

Get ye all three into the box-tree: Malvolio's coming
down this walk: he has been yonder i' the sun practising
behavior to his own shadow this half hour: observe him,(15)
for the love of mockery; for I know this letter will make
a contemplative idiot of him. Close, in the name of jesting! [The men hide themselves.]
Lie thou there; [Throws down a letter.]
for here comes the trout that must be
caught with tickling.(20)

[Exit Maria. Enter Malvolio.]

MALVOLIO:

'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
complexion. Besides, she uses me with a more exalted
respect than any one else that follows her. What should(25)
I think on't?

SIR TOBY:

Here's an overweening rogue!

FABIAN:

O, peace! Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock of
him: how he jets under his advanced plumes!

SIR ANDREW:

'Slight, I could so beat the rogue!(30)

SIR TOBY:

Peace, I say.

MALVOLIO:

To be Count Malvolio!

SIR TOBY:

Ah, rogue!

SIR ANDREW:

Pistol him, pistol him.

SIR TOBY:

Peace, peace!(35)

MALVOLIO:

There is example for't; the lady of the Strachy married
the yeoman of the wardrobe.

SIR ANDREW:

Fie on him, Jezebel!

FABIAN:

O, peace! now he's deeply in: look how imagination
blows him.(40)

MALVOLIO:

Having been three months married to her, sitting in
my state,—

SIR TOBY:

O, for a stone-bow to hit him in the eye!

MALVOLIO:

Calling my officers about me, in my branched
velvet gown; having come from a day-bed, where I have left(45)
Olivia sleeping.

SIR TOBY:

Fire and brimstone!

FABIAN:

O, peace, peace.

MALVOLIO:

And then to have the humour of state; and after
a demure travel of regard, telling them I know my place(50)
as I would they should do theirs, to ask for my kinsman
Toby,—

SIR TOBY:

Bolts and shackles!

FABIAN:

O, peace, peace, peace! now, now.

MALVOLIO:

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 my—some rich jewel. Toby approaches;
courtesies there to me,—

SIR TOBY:

Shall this fellow live?

FABIAN:

Though our silence be drawn from us with cars, yet(60)
peace.

MALVOLIO:

I extend my hand to him thus, quenching my familiar
smile with an austere regard of control,—

SIR TOBY:

And does not Toby take you a blow o' the lips
then?

MALVOLIO:

Saying ‘Cousin Toby, my fortunes having cast me on
your niece give me this prerogative of speech,’—

SIR TOBY:

What, what?

MALVOLIO:

‘You must amend your drunkenness.’

SIR TOBY:

Out, scab!(70)

FABIAN:

Nay, patience, or we break the sinews of our plot.

MALVOLIO:

‘Besides, you waste the treasure of your time with a
foolish knight,’—

SIR ANDREW:

That's me, I warrant you.

MALVOLIO:

‘One Sir Andrew,’—(75)

SIR ANDREW:

I knew 'twas I; for many do call me fool.

MALVOLIO:

What employment have we here?

FABIAN:

Now is the woodcock near the gin.

SIR TOBY:

O, peace! and the spirit of humours intimate reading
aloud to him!(80)

MALVOLIO:

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.

SIR ANDREW:

Her C's, her U's, and her T's: why that?

MALVOLIO:

[Reads] ‘To the unknown beloved, this, and my (80)
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?

FABIAN:

This wins him, liver and all.(90)

MALVOLIO:

[Reads] ‘Jove knows I love,
But who?
Lips, do not move,
No man must know.’
‘No man must know.’ What follows? the numbers alter'd!(95)
‘No man must know:’ if this should be thee, Malvolio?

SIR TOBY:

Marry, hang thee, brock!

MALVOLIO:

[Reads] ‘I may command where I adore;
But silence, like a Lucrece knife,
With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore;(100)
M, O, A, I, doth sway my life.’

FABIAN:

A fustian riddle!

SIR TOBY:

Excellent wench, say I.

MALVOLIO:

‘M, O, A, I, doth sway my life.’ Nay, but first, let
me see, let me see, let me see.(105)

FABIAN:

What dish o' poison has she dressed him!

SIR TOBY:

And with what wing the staniel checks at it!

MALVOLIO:

‘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(110)
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,—

SIR TOBY:

O, ay, make up that: he is now at a cold scent.

FABIAN:

Sowter will cry upon't for all this, though it be as
rank as a fox.(115)

MALVOLIO:

M,—Malvolio; M,—why, that begins my name.

FABIAN:

Did not I say he would work it out? the cur is excellent
at faults.

MALVOLIO:

M,—but then there is no consonancy in the sequel;
that suffers under probation: A should follow, but O does.(120)

FABIAN:

And O shall end, I hope.

SIR TOBY:

Ay, or I'll cudgel him, and make him cry ‘O!’

MALVOLIO:

And then I comes behind.

FABIAN:

Ay, an you had any eye behind you, you might see more
detraction at your heels than fortunes before you.(125)

MALVOLIO:

'M, O, A, I; this simulation 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 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, some(130)
achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon 'em.
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(135)
of state; put thyself into the trick of singularity: she thus
advises thee that sighs for thee. Remember who commended
thy yellow stockings, and wished to see thee ever cross-gartered:
I say, remember. Go to, thou art made, if thou desirest
to be so; if not, let me see thee a steward still, the fellow of(140)
servants, and not worthy to touch Fortune's fingers. Farewell.
She that would alter services with thee,
The Fortunate-Unhappy.'
Daylight and champaign discovers not more: this is open. I
will be proud, I will read politic authors, I will baffle Sir Toby,(145)
I will wash off gross acquaintance, I will be point-devise the
very man. I do not now fool myself to let imagination jade
me; for every reason excites to this, that my lady loves me. She
did commend my yellow stockings of late, she did praise my
leg being cross-gartered; and in this she manifests herself to my(150)
love, and with a kind of injunction drives me to these habits
of her liking. I thank my stars I am happy. I will be strange,
stout, in yellow stockings, and cross-gartered, even with the
swiftness of putting on. Jove and my stars be praised! Here is
yet a postscript:
‘Thou canst not choose but know who I am. If thou(155)
entertainest my love, let it appear in thy smiling; thy smiles
become thee well; therefore, in my presence still smile, dear
my sweet, I prithee.’
Jove, I thank thee. I will smile; I will do everything that
thou wilt have me.(160)

[Exit Malvolio.]

FABIAN:

I will not give my part of this sport for a pension of
thousands to be paid from the Sophy.

SIR TOBY:

I could marry this wench for this device.

SIR ANDREW:

So could I too.

SIR TOBY:

And ask no other dowry with her but such another(165)
jest.

[Enter Maria.]

SIR ANDREW:

Nor I neither.

FABIAN:

Here comes my noble gull-catcher.

SIR TOBY:

Wilt thou set thy foot o' my neck?

SIR ANDREW:

Or o' mine either?(170)

SIR TOBY:

Shall I play my freedom at traytrip, and become
thy bond-slave?

SIR ANDREW:

I' faith, or I either?

SIR TOBY:

Why, thou hast put him in such a dream, that when
the image of it leaves him he must run mad.(175)

MARIA:

Nay, but say true; does it work upon him?

SIR TOBY:

Like aqua-vitae with a midwife.

MARIA:

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 crossgartered,(180)
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.(185)

SIR TOBY:

To the gates of Tartar, thou most excellent devil
of wit!

SIR ANDREW:

I'll make one too.

[Exeunt.]