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

Mal. M, Malvolio; M, why that begins my


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


Mal. M,--but then there is no consonancy in the sequel; that suffers under probation: 4 should follow, but does.

Mal. And then I comes behind.

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


Mal. M, O, A, I; this simulation is not as the former; and yet, to crush this a little, it would how to me, for every one of these letters are in my name. Soft! here follows prose.

Fab. And O shall end, I hope.

Sir To. Ay, or I'll cudgel him, and make him him? cry 0!

THE FORTUNATE-UNHAPPY. Daylight and champain discovers not more: this is open. I will be proud, I will read politic authors, I will baffle Sir Toby, 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 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 entertaincst my love, let it appear in thy smiling; thy smiles become thee well; therefore in my presence still smile, dear my sweet, I prithee.


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 achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them. 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 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 crossgartered: 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 servants, and not worthy to touch Fortune's fingers. Farewell. She that would alter services with thee,


Jove, I thank thee. I will smile: I will do every thing that thou wilt have me. Exit. Fab. I will not give my part of this sport for apension of thousands to be paid from the Sophy. Sir To. I could marry this wench for this device.

Sir And. So could I too.

Sir To. And ask no other dowry with her but such another jest.


Re-enter MARIA.

Sir To. Wilt thou set thy foot o' my neck?
Sir And. Or o' mine either?

and become thy bond-slave?
Sir To. Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip,

Sir And. Nor I neither.

Fab. Here comes my noble gull-catcher.

Sir And. I' faith, or I either?

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

Mar. Nay, but say true; does it work upon


Sir To. Like aqua-vitæ with a midwife. Mar. 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 cross-gartered, 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.


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

Sir And. I'll make one too.


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Vio. Nay, that's certain: they that dally nicely with words may quickly make them wanton. Clo. I would therefore my sister had had no name, sir.

Vio. Why, man?


Clo. Why, sir, her name's a word; and to dally with that word might make my sister wanton. But indeed words are very rascals since bonds disgraced them.

Vio. Thy reason, man?

words; and words are grown so false, I am loath Clo. Troth, sir, I can yield you none without to prove reason with them.

Vio. I warrant thou art a merry fellow, and carest for nothing.


Clo. Not so, sir, I do care for something; but in my conscience, sir, I do not care for you: if that be to care for nothing, sir, I would it would make you invisible.

Vio. Art not thou the Lady Olivia's fool? Clo. No, indeed, sir; the Lady Olivia has no folly she will keep no fool, sir, till she be married; and fools are as like husbands as pilchards are to herrings, the husband's the bigger.


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Clo. Would not a pair of these have bred, sir? Vio. Yes, being kept together and put to use. Clo. I would play Lord Pandarus of Phrygia, sir, to bring a Cressida to this Troilus.

Vio. I understand you, sir; 'tis well begged. Clo. The matter, I hope, is not great, sir, begging but a beggar: Cressida was a beggar. My lady is within, sir. I will construe to them whence you come; who you are and what you would are out of my welkin; I might say 'element,' but the word is overworn.


Vio. This fellow's wise enough to play the fool, And to do that well craves a kind of wit: He must observe their mood on whom he jests, The quality of persons, and the time, And, like the haggard, check at every feather 70 That comes before his eye. This is a practice As full of labour as a wise man's art; For folly that he wisely shows is fit; But wise men, folly-fall'n, quite taint their wit.

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Vio. My duty, madam, and most humble


Exeunt Sir TOBY, Sir ANDREW, and MARIA. Give me your hand, sir.

Oli. What is your name?

Vio. Cesario is your servant's name, fair princess.

Oli. My servant, sir! 'Twas never merry world Since lowly feigning was call'd compliment. You're servant to the Count Orsino, youth.

Vio. And he is yours, and his must needs be yours:

Your servant's servant is your servant, madam. Oli. For him, I think not on him: for his thoughts,


Would they were blanks rather than fill'd with me!

Vio. Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts

On his behalf.
O! by your leave, I pray you,
I bade you never speak again of him:
But, would you undertake another suit,
I had rather hear you to solicit that
Than music from the spheres.



Dear lady,Oli. Give me leave, beseech you. I did send After the last enchantment you did here, A ring in chase of you: so did I abuse Myself, my servant, and, I fear me, you: Under your hard construction must I sit, To force that on you, in a shameful cunning, Which you knew none of yours: what might

you think?

Have you not set mine honour at the stake, And baited it with all the unmuzzled thoughts That tyrannous heart can think? To one of your receiving

Enough is shown; a cypress, not a bosom, Hideth my heart. So, let me hear you speak. 199 Vio. I pity you.


That's a degree to love. Vio. No, not a grize; for 'tis a vulgar proof That very oft we pity enemies.

Oli. Why, then, methinks 'tis time to smile again.

O world! how apt the poor are to be proud. If one should be a prey, how much the better To fall before the lion than the wolf!

Clock strikes. The clock upbraids me with the waste of time. Be not afraid, good youth, I will not have you: And yet, when wit and youth is come to harvest, Your wife is like to reap a proper man. There lies your way, due west.



Then westward-ho! Grace and good disposition attend your ladyship! You'll nothing, madam, to my lord by me?

Oli Stay:

I prithee, tell me what thou think'st of me.
Vio. That you do think you are not what you


Oli. If I think so, I think the same of you. Vio. Then think you right: I am not what I am. Oli. I would you were as I would have you be! Vio. Would it be better, madam, than I am! I wish it might, for now I am your fool.


Oli. O what a deal of scorn looks beautiful In the contempt and anger of his lip. A murderous guilt shows not itself more soon Than love that would seem hid; love's night is


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Fab. You must needs yield your reason, Sir Andrew.

Sir And. Marry, I saw your niece do more favours to the count's serving-man than ever she bestowed upon me; I saw 't i' the orchard. Sir To. Did she see thee the while, old boy? tell me that. 10

Sir And. As plain as I see you now. Fab. This was a great argument of love in her toward you.

Sir And. 'Slight! will you make an ass o' me? Fab. I will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the oaths of judgment and reason.

Sir To. And they have been grand-jurymen since before Noah was a sailor.

Fab. She did show favour to the youth in your sight only to exasperate you, to awake your dormouse valour, to put fire in your heart, and brimstone in your liver. You should then have accosted her, and with some excellent jests, fire-new from the mint, you should have banged the youth into dumbness. This was looked for at your hand, and this was balked: the double gilt of this opportunity you let time wash off, and you are now sailed into the north of my lady's opinion; where you will hang like an icicle on a Dutchman's beard, unless you do redeem it by some laudable attempt, either of valour or policy.


Sir And. An't be any way, it must be with valour, for policy I hate: I had as lief be a Brownist as a politician.

Sir To. Why then, build me thy fortunes upon the basis of valour: challenge me the count's youth to fight with him; hurt him in eleven places: my niece shall take note of it; and assure thyself, there is no love-broker in the world can more prevail in man's commendation with woman than report of valour.


Fab. There is no way but this, Sir Andrew. Sir And. Will either of you bear me a challenge to him?

Sir To. Go, write it in a martial hand; be

curst and brief; it is no matter how witty, so it be eloquent and full of invention: taunt him with the license of ink: if thou thou'st him some thrice, it shall not be amiss; and as many lies as will lie in thy sheet of paper, although the sheet were big enough for the bed of Ware in England, set 'em down: go, about it. Let there be gall enough in thy ink, though thou write with a goose-pen, no matter: about it. Sir And. Where shall I find you?

Sir To. We'll call thee at the cubiculo: go. Exit Sir ANDREW. Fab. This is a dear manakin to you, Sir Toby. Sir To. I have been dear to him, lad; some two thousand strong, or so.


Fab. We shall have a rare letter from him; but you'll not deliver it?

Sir To. Never trust me then; and by all means stir on the youth to an answer. I think oxen and wainropes cannot hale them together. For Andrew, if he were opened, and you find so much blood in his liver as will clog the foot of a flea, I'll eat the rest of the anatomy.

Fab. And his opposite, the youth, bears in his visage no great presage of cruelty.

Enter MARIA.


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Mar. Most villanously; like a pedant that keeps a school i' the church. I have dogged him like his murderer. He does obey every point of the letter that I dropped to betray him he does smile his face into more lines than are in the new map with the augmentation of the Indies. You have not seen such a thing as 'tis; I can hardly forbear hurling things at him. I know my lady will strike him: if she do, he'll smile and take 't for a great favour.


Sir To. Come, bring us, bring us where he is. Exeunt.

SCENE III.-A Street.


Seb. I would not by my will have troubled you; But since you make your pleasure of your pains, I will no further chide you.

Ant. I could not stay behind you my desire, More sharp than filed steel, did spur me forth; And not all love to see you, though so much As might have drawn one to a longer voyage, But jealousy what might befall your travel, Being skilless in these parts; which to a stranger, Unguided and unfriended, often prove Rough and unhospitable: my willing love, The rather by these arguments of fear, Set forth in your pursuit. Seb.


My kind Antonio, I can no other answer make but thanks, And thanks, and ever thanks; and oft good turns Are shuffled off with such uncurrent pay: But, were my worth, as is my conscience, firm,

You should find better dealing. What's to do? | ing; but what of that? if it please the eye of Shall we go see the reliques of this town? one, it is with me as the very true sonnet is. 'Please one, and please all.'

Aut. To-morrow, sir: best first go see your lodging.


Oli. Why, how dost thou, man? what is the matter with thee?

Seb. I am not weary, and 'tis long to night.
I pray you, let us satisfy our eyes
With the memorials and the things of fame
That do renown this city.

Would you'd pardon me;
I do not without danger walk these streets:
Once, in a sea-fight 'gainst the count his galleys,
I did some service; of such note indeed,
That were I ta'en here it would scarce be answer'd.
Seb. Belike you slew great number of his people.
Ant. The offence is not of such a bloody nature,
Albeit the quality of the time and quarrel
Might well have given us bloody argument.
It might have since been answer'd in repaying
What we took from them; which, for traffic's

Most of our city did: only myself stood out;
For which, if I be lapsed in this place,

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Oli. Go call him hither.




Oli. I have sent after him: he says he 'll come; How shall I feast him? what bestow of him? For youth is bought more oft than begg'd or borrow'd.

I am as mad as he,

If sad and merry madness equal be.

I speak too loud.

Where is Malvolio? he is sad, and civil,
And suits well for a servant with my fortunes:
Where is Malvolio?

Mar. He's coming, madam; but in very strange manner. He is sure possessed, madam.

Oli. Why, what's the matter? does he rave? Mar. 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.


Exeunt. 49

Re-enter MARIA, with MALVOLIO.

How now,


Mal. Sweet lady, ho, ho.

Oli. Smilest thou ?



I sent for thee upon a sad occasion.
Mal. Sad, lady! I could be sad: this does make
some obstruction in the blood, this cross-garter-

Mal. 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.


Oli. Wilt thou go to bed, Malvolio?

Mal. To bed! ay, sweetheart, and I'll come to thee.

Oli. God comfort thee! Why dost thou smile so and kiss thy hand so oft?

Mar. How do you, Malvolio?

Mal. At your request! Yes; nightingales answer daws.


Mar. Why appear you with this ridiculous boldness before my lady?

Mal. Be not afraid of greatness :' 'twas well writ.

Oli. What meanest thou by that, Malvolio?
Mal. Some are born great,'-
Oli. Ha!

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Serv. Madam, the young gentleman of the Count Orsino's is returned. I could hardly entreat him back: he attends your ladyship's pleasure.

Oli. 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. Mal. 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, every thing 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. 93

Re-enter MARIA, with Sir TOBY BELCH and FABIAN.

Sir To. 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. Fab. Here he is, here he is. How is 't with you, sir? how is 't with you, man? Mal. Go off; I discard you: let me enjoy my private; go off. 101

Mar. 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.

Mal. Ah, ha! does she so?

Sir To. 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.


Mal. Do you know what you say? Mar. La you! an you speak ill of the devil, how he takes it at heart. Pray God, he be not bewitched!

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Mal. Sir!

Sir To. Ay, Biddy, come with me. What, man! 'tis not for gravity to play at cherry-pit with Satan: hang him, foul collier! 132

Mar. Get him to say his prayers, good Sir Toby, get him to pray.

Mal. My prayers, minx!

Mar. No, I warrant you, he will not hear of godliness.

Mal. Go, hang yourselves all! you are idle shallow things: I am not of your element. You shall know more hereafter. Exit. 140

Sir To. Is 't possible?

Fab. If this were played upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an improbable fiction.

Sir To. His very genius hath taken the infection of the device, man.

Mar. Nay, pursue him now, lest the device take air, and taint.


Fab. Why, we shall make him mad indeed. Mar. The house will be the quieter. Sir To. 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.

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Sir To. Thou killest me like a rogue and a villain. Fab. Still you keep o' the windy side of the law good.

Sir To. 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.

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Sir To. 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 a 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.

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