Twelfth Night
OLIVIA.
Why, what’s the matter? Does he rave?
MARIA.
No, madam, he does nothing but smile: your ladyship were best to have
some guard about you if he come, for sure the man is tainted in ’s
wits.
OLIVIA.
Go call him hither. I’m as mad as he,
If sad and merry madness equal be.
Enter Malvolio.
How now, Malvolio?
MALVOLIO.
Sweet lady, ho, ho!
OLIVIA.
Smil’st thou? I sent for thee upon a sad occasion.
MALVOLIO.
Sad, lady? I could be sad: this does make some obstruction in the
blood, this cross-gartering. But what of that? If it please the eye of
one, it is with me as the very true sonnet is: ‘Please one and please
all.’
OLIVIA.
Why, how dost thou, man? What is the matter with thee?
MALVOLIO.
Not black in my mind, though yellow in my legs. It did come to his
hands, and commands shall be executed. I think we do know the sweet
Roman hand.
OLIVIA.
Wilt thou go to bed, Malvolio?
MALVOLIO.
To bed? Ay, sweetheart, and I’ll come to thee.
OLIVIA.
God comfort thee! Why dost thou smile so, and kiss thy hand so oft?
MARIA.
How do you, Malvolio?
MALVOLIO.
At your request? Yes, nightingales answer daws!
MARIA.
Why appear you with this ridiculous boldness before my lady?
MALVOLIO.
‘Be not afraid of greatness.’ ’Twas well writ.
OLIVIA.
What mean’st thou by that, Malvolio?
MALVOLIO.
‘Some are born great’—
OLIVIA.
Ha?
MALVOLIO.
‘Some achieve greatness’—
OLIVIA.
What say’st thou?
MALVOLIO.
‘And some have greatness thrust upon them.’
OLIVIA.
Heaven restore thee!
MALVOLIO.
‘Remember who commended thy yellow stockings’—
OLIVIA.
Thy yellow stockings?
MALVOLIO.
‘And wished to see thee cross-gartered.’
OLIVIA.
Cross-gartered?
MALVOLIO.
‘Go to: thou art made, if thou desir’st to be so:’—
OLIVIA.
Am I made?
MALVOLIO.
‘If not, let me see thee a servant still.’
OLIVIA.
Why, this is very midsummer madness.
Enter Servant.
SERVANT.
Madam, the young gentleman of the Count Orsino’s is returned; I could
hardly entreat him back. He attends your ladyship’s pleasure.
OLIVIA.
I’ll come to him.
[_Exit Servant._]
Good Maria, let this fellow be looked to. Where’s my cousin Toby? Let
some of my people have a special care of him; I would not have him
miscarry for the half of my dowry.
[_Exeunt Olivia and Maria._]
MALVOLIO.
O ho, do you come near me now? No worse man than Sir Toby to look to
me. This concurs directly with the letter: she sends him on purpose,
that I may appear stubborn to him; for she incites me to that in the
letter. ‘Cast thy humble slough,’ says she; ‘be opposite with a
kinsman, surly with servants, let thy tongue tang with arguments of
state, put thyself into the trick of singularity,’ and consequently,
sets down the manner how: as, a sad face, a reverend carriage, a slow
tongue, in the habit of some sir of note, and so forth. I have limed
her, but it is Jove’s doing, and Jove make me thankful! And when she
went away now, ‘Let this fellow be looked to;’ ‘Fellow!’ not
‘Malvolio’, nor after my degree, but ‘fellow’. Why, everything adheres
together, that no dram of a scruple, no scruple of a scruple, no
obstacle, no incredulous or unsafe circumstance. What can be said?
Nothing that can be can come between me and the full prospect of my
hopes. Well, Jove, not I, is the doer of this, and he is to be thanked.
Enter Sir Toby, Fabian and Maria.
SIR TOBY.
Which way is he, in the name of sanctity? If all the devils of hell be
drawn in little, and Legion himself possessed him, yet I’ll speak to
him.
FABIAN.
Here he is, here he is. How is’t with you, sir? How is’t with you, man?
MALVOLIO.
Go off, I discard you. Let me enjoy my private. Go off.
MARIA.
Lo, how hollow the fiend speaks within him! Did not I tell you? Sir
Toby, my lady prays you to have a care of him.
MALVOLIO.
Ah, ha! does she so?
SIR TOBY.
Go to, go to; peace, peace, we must deal gently with him. Let me alone.
How do you, Malvolio? How is’t with you? What, man! defy the devil!
Consider, he’s an enemy to mankind.
MALVOLIO.
Do you know what you say?
MARIA.
La you, an you speak ill of the devil, how he takes it at heart! Pray
God he be not bewitched.
FABIAN.
Carry his water to th’ wise woman.
MARIA.
Marry, and it shall be done tomorrow morning, if I live. My lady would
not lose him for more than I’ll say.
MALVOLIO.
How now, mistress!
MARIA.
O Lord!
SIR TOBY.
Prithee hold thy peace, this is not the way. Do you not see you move
him? Let me alone with him.
FABIAN.
No way but gentleness, gently, gently. The fiend is rough, and will not
be roughly used.
SIR TOBY.
Why, how now, my bawcock? How dost thou, chuck?
MALVOLIO.
Sir!
SIR TOBY.
Ay, biddy, come with me. What, man, ’tis not for gravity to play at
cherry-pit with Satan. Hang him, foul collier!
MARIA.
Get him to say his prayers, good Sir Toby, get him to pray.
MALVOLIO.
My prayers, minx?
MARIA.
No, I warrant you, he will not hear of godliness.
MALVOLIO.
Go, hang yourselves all! You are idle, shallow things. I am not of your
element. You shall know more hereafter.
[_Exit._]
SIR TOBY.
Is’t possible?
FABIAN.
If this were played upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an
improbable fiction.
SIR TOBY.
His very genius hath taken the infection of the device, man.
MARIA.
Nay, pursue him now, lest the device take air and taint.
FABIAN.
Why, we shall make him mad indeed.
MARIA.
The house will be the quieter.
SIR TOBY.
Come, we’ll have him in a dark room and bound. My niece is already in
the belief that he’s mad. We may carry it thus for our pleasure, and
his penance, till our very pastime, tired out of breath, prompt us to
have mercy on him, at which time we will bring the device to the bar,
and crown thee for a finder of madmen. But see, but see!
Enter Sir Andrew.
FABIAN.
More matter for a May morning.
SIR ANDREW.
Here’s the challenge, read it. I warrant there’s vinegar and pepper
in’t.
FABIAN.
Is’t so saucy?
SIR ANDREW.
Ay, is’t, I warrant him. Do but read.
SIR TOBY.
Give me. [_Reads._] _Youth, whatsoever thou art, thou art but a scurvy
fellow._
FABIAN.
Good, and valiant.
SIR TOBY.
_Wonder not, nor admire not in thy mind, why I do call thee so, for I
will show thee no reason for’t._
FABIAN.
A good note, that keeps you from the blow of the law.
SIR TOBY.
_Thou comest to the Lady Olivia, and in my sight she uses thee kindly:
but thou liest in thy throat; that is not the matter I challenge thee
for._
FABIAN.
Very brief, and to exceeding good sense—less.
SIR TOBY.
_I will waylay thee going home; where if it be thy chance to kill me—_
FABIAN.
Good.
SIR TOBY.
_Thou kill’st me like a rogue and a villain._
FABIAN.
Still you keep o’ th’ windy side of the law. Good.
SIR TOBY.
_Fare thee well, and God have mercy upon one of our souls! He may have
mercy upon mine, but my hope is better, and so look to thyself. Thy
friend, as thou usest him, and thy sworn enemy,
Andrew Aguecheek._
If this letter move him not, his legs cannot. I’ll give’t him.
MARIA.
You may have very fit occasion for’t. He is now in some commerce with
my lady, and will by and by depart.
SIR TOBY.
Go, Sir Andrew. Scout me for him at the corner of the orchard, like a
bum-baily. So soon as ever thou seest him, draw, and as thou draw’st,
swear horrible, for it comes to pass oft that a terrible oath, with a
swaggering accent sharply twanged off, gives manhood more approbation
than ever proof itself would have earned him. Away.
SIR ANDREW.
Nay, let me alone for swearing.
[_Exit._]
SIR TOBY.
Now will not I deliver his letter, for the behaviour of the young
gentleman gives him out to be of good capacity and breeding; his
employment between his lord and my niece confirms no less. Therefore
this letter, being so excellently ignorant, will breed no terror in the
youth. He will find it comes from a clodpole. But, sir, I will deliver
his challenge by word of mouth, set upon Aguecheek notable report of
valour, and drive the gentleman (as I know his youth will aptly receive
it) into a most hideous opinion of his rage, skill, fury, and
impetuosity. This will so fright them both that they will kill one
another by the look, like cockatrices.
Enter Olivia and Viola.
FABIAN.
Here he comes with your niece; give them way till he take leave, and
presently after him.
SIR TOBY.
I will meditate the while upon some horrid message for a challenge.
[_Exeunt Sir Toby, Fabian and Maria._]
OLIVIA.
I have said too much unto a heart of stone,
And laid mine honour too unchary on’t:
There’s something in me that reproves my fault:
But such a headstrong potent fault it is,
That it but mocks reproof.
VIOLA.
With the same ’haviour that your passion bears
Goes on my master’s griefs.
OLIVIA.
Here, wear this jewel for me, ’tis my picture.
Refuse it not, it hath no tongue to vex you.
And I beseech you come again tomorrow.
What shall you ask of me that I’ll deny,
That honour sav’d, may upon asking give?
VIOLA.
Nothing but this, your true love for my master.
OLIVIA.
How with mine honour may I give him that
Which I have given to you?
VIOLA.
I will acquit you.
OLIVIA.
Well, come again tomorrow. Fare thee well;
A fiend like thee might bear my soul to hell.
[_Exit._]
Enter Sir Toby and Fabian.
SIR TOBY.
Gentleman, God save thee.
VIOLA.
And you, sir.
SIR TOBY.
That defence thou hast, betake thee to’t. Of what nature the wrongs are
thou hast done him, I know not, but thy intercepter, full of despite,
bloody as the hunter, attends thee at the orchard end. Dismount thy
tuck, be yare in thy preparation, for thy assailant is quick, skilful,
and deadly.
VIOLA.
You mistake, sir; I am sure no man hath any quarrel to me. My
remembrance is very free and clear from any image of offence done to
any man.
SIR TOBY.
You’ll find it otherwise, I assure you. Therefore, if you hold your
life at any price, betake you to your guard, for your opposite hath in
him what youth, strength, skill, and wrath, can furnish man withal.
VIOLA.
I pray you, sir, what is he?
SIR TOBY.
He is knight, dubbed with unhatched rapier, and on carpet
consideration, but he is a devil in private brawl. Souls and bodies
hath he divorced three, and his incensement at this moment is so
implacable that satisfaction can be none but by pangs of death and
sepulchre. Hob, nob is his word; give’t or take’t.
VIOLA.
I will return again into the house and desire some conduct of the lady.
I am no fighter. I have heard of some kind of men that put quarrels
purposely on others to taste their valour: belike this is a man of that
quirk.
SIR TOBY.
Sir, no. His indignation derives itself out of a very competent injury;
therefore, get you on and give him his desire. Back you shall not to
the house, unless you undertake that with me which with as much safety
you might answer him. Therefore on, or strip your sword stark naked,
for meddle you must, that’s certain, or forswear to wear iron about
you.
VIOLA.
This is as uncivil as strange. I beseech you, do me this courteous
office, as to know of the knight what my offence to him is. It is
something of my negligence, nothing of my purpose.
SIR TOBY.
I will do so. Signior Fabian, stay you by this gentleman till my
return.
[_Exit Sir Toby._]
VIOLA.
Pray you, sir, do you know of this matter?
FABIAN.
I know the knight is incensed against you, even to a mortal
arbitrement, but nothing of the circumstance more.
VIOLA.
I beseech you, what manner of man is he?
FABIAN.
Nothing of that wonderful promise, to read him by his form, as you are
like to find him in the proof of his valour. He is indeed, sir, the