Read Ebook: Twelfth Night; Or What You Will by Shakespeare William

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AGUECHEEK. A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight. SIR TOBY. A contagious breath. AGUECHEEK. Very sweet and contagious, i' faith. SIR TOBY. To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion. But shall we make the welkin dance indeed? Shall we rouse the night-owl in a catch that will draw three souls out of one weaver? Shall we do that? AGUECHEEK. An you love me, let's do't. I am dog at a catch. CLOWN. By'r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well. AGUECHEEK. Most certain. Let our catch be 'Thou knave.' CLOWN. 'Hold thy peace, thou knave' knight? I shall be constrain'd in't to call thee knave, knight. AGUECHEEK. 'Tis not the first time I have constrained one to call me knave. Begin, fool: it begins 'Hold thy peace.' CLOWN. I shall never begin if I hold my peace. AGUECHEEK. Good, i' faith! Come, begin.

Enter MARIA

MARIA. What a caterwauling do you keep here! If my lady have not call'd up her steward Malvolio, and bid him turn you out of doors, never trust me. SIR TOBY. My lady's a Cataian, we are politicians, Malvolio's a Peg-a-Ramsey, and Three merry men be we. Am not I consanguineous? Am I not of her blood? Tilly-vally, lady. There dwelt a man in Babylon, Lady, lady. CLOWN. Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable fooling. AGUECHEEK. Ay, he does well enough if he be dispos'd, and so do I too; he does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural. SIR TOBY. O' the twelfth day of December- MARIA. For the love o' God, peace!

Enter MALVOLIO

MALVOLIO. My masters, are you mad? Or what are you? Have you no wit, manners, nor honesty, but to gabble like tinkers at this time of night? Do ye make an ale-house of my lady's house, that ye squeak out your coziers' catches without any mitigation or

remorse of voice? Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time, in you? SIR TOBY. We did keep time, sir, in our catches. Sneck up! MALVOLIO. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My lady bade me tell you that, though she harbours you as her kins-man, she's nothing allied to your disorders. If you can separate yourself and your misdemeanours, you are welcome to the house; if not, and it would please you to take leave of her, she is very willing to bid you farewell. SIR TOBY. Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs be gone. MARIA. Nay, good Sir Toby. CLOWN. His eyes do show his days are almost done. MALVOLIO. Is't even so? SIR TOBY. But I will never die. CLOWN. Sir Toby, there you lie. MALVOLIO. This is much credit to you. SIR TOBY. Shall I bid him go? CLOWN. What an if you do? SIR TOBY. Shall I bid him go, and spare not? CLOWN. O, no, no, no, no, you dare not. SIR TOBY. Out o' tune, sir! Ye lie. Art any more than a steward? Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale? CLOWN. Yes, by Saint Anne; and ginger shall be hot i' th' mouth too. SIR TOBY. Th' art i' th' right. Go, sir, rub your chain with crumbs. A stoup of wine, Maria! MALVOLIO. Mistress Mary, if you priz'd my lady's favour at anything more than contempt, you would not give means for this uncivil rule; she shall know of it, by this hand. Exit MARIA. Go shake your ears. AGUECHEEK. 'Twere as good a deed as to drink when a man's ahungry, to challenge him the field, and then to break promise with him and make a fool of him. SIR TOBY. Do't, knight. I'll write thee a challenge; or I'll deliver thy indignation to him by word of mouth. MARIA. Sweet Sir Toby, be patient for to-night; since the youth of the Count's was to-day with my lady, she is much out of quiet. For Monsieur Malvolio, let me alone with him; if I do not gull him into a nayword, and make him a common recreation, do not think I have wit enough to lie straight in my bed. I know I can do it. SIR TOBY. Possess us, possess us; tell us something of him. MARIA. Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Puritan. AGUECHEEK. O, if I thought that, I'd beat him like a dog. SIR TOBY. What, for being a Puritan? Thy exquisite reason, dear knight? AGUECHEEK. I have no exquisite reason for't, but I have reason good enough. MARIA. The devil a Puritan that he is, or anything constantly but a time-pleaser; an affection'd ass that cons state without book and utters it by great swarths; the best persuaded of himself, so cramm'd, as he thinks, with excellencies that it is his grounds of faith that all that look on him love him; and on that vice in him will my revenge find notable cause to work. SIR TOBY. What wilt thou do? MARIA. I will drop in his way some obscure epistles of love; wherein, by the colour of his beard, the shape of his leg, the manner of his gait, the expressure of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he shall find himself most feelingly personated. I can write very like my lady, your niece; on forgotten matter we can hardly make distinction of our hands. SIR TOBY. Excellent! I smell a device. AGUECHEEK. I have't in my nose too. SIR TOBY. He shall think, by the letters that thou wilt drop, that they come from my niece, and that she's in love with him. MARIA. My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour. AGUECHEEK. And your horse now would make him an ass. MARIA. Ass, I doubt not. AGUECHEEK. O, 'twill be admirable! MARIA. Sport royal, I warrant you. I know my physic will work with him. I will plant you two, and let the fool make a third, where he shall find the letter; observe his construction of it. For this night, to bed, and dream on the event. Farewell. Exit SIR TOBY. Good night, Penthesilea. AGUECHEEK. Before me, she's a good wench. SIR TOBY. She's a beagle true-bred, and one that adores me. What o' that? AGUECHEEK. I was ador'd once too. SIR TOBY. Let's to bed, knight. Thou hadst need send for more money. AGUECHEEK. If I cannot recover your niece, I am a foul way out. SIR TOBY. Send for money, knight; if thou hast her not i' th' end, call me Cut. AGUECHEEK. If I do not, never trust me; take it how you will. SIR TOBY. Come, come, I'll go burn some sack; 'tis too late to go to bed now. Come, knight; come, knight. Exeunt

Enter DUKE, VIOLA, CURIO, and OTHERS

DUKE. Give me some music. Now, good morrow, friends. Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song, That old and antique song we heard last night; Methought it did relieve my passion much, More than light airs and recollected terms Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times. Come, but one verse. CURIO. He is not here, so please your lordship, that should sing it. DUKE. Who was it? CURIO. Feste, the jester, my lord; a fool that the Lady Olivia's father took much delight in. He is about the house. DUKE. Seek him out, and play the tune the while. Exit CURIO. Come hither, boy. If ever thou shalt love, In the sweet pangs of it remember me; For such as I am all true lovers are, Unstaid and skittish in all motions else Save in the constant image of the creature That is belov'd. How dost thou like this tune? VIOLA. It gives a very echo to the seat Where Love is thron'd. DUKE. Thou dost speak masterly. My life upon't, young though thou art, thine eye Hath stay'd upon some favour that it loves; Hath it not, boy? VIOLA. A little, by your favour. DUKE. What kind of woman is't? VIOLA. Of your complexion. DUKE. She is not worth thee, then. What years, i' faith? VIOLA. About your years, my lord. DUKE. Too old, by heaven! Let still the woman take An elder than herself; so wears she to him, So sways she level in her husband's heart. For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, More longing, wavering, sooner lost and won, Than women's are. VIOLA. I think it well, my lord. DUKE. Then let thy love be younger than thyself, Or thy affection cannot hold the bent; For women are as roses, whose fair flow'r Being once display'd doth fall that very hour. VIOLA. And so they are; alas, that they are so! To die, even when they to perfection grow!

Re-enter CURIO and CLOWN

DUKE. O, fellow, come, the song we had last night. Mark it, Cesario; it is old and plain; The spinsters and the knitters in the sun, And the free maids that weave their thread with bones, Do use to chant it; it is silly sooth, And dallies with the innocence of love, Like the old age. CLOWN. Are you ready, sir? DUKE. Ay; prithee, sing.

FESTE'S SONG

Come away, come away, death; And in sad cypress let me be laid; Fly away, fly away, breath, I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, O, prepare it! My part of death no one so true Did share it.

Not a flower, not a flower sweet, On my black coffin let there be strown; Not a friend, not a friend greet My poor corpse where my bones shall be thrown; A thousand thousand sighs to save, Lay me, O, where Sad true lover never find my grave, To weep there!

DUKE. There's for thy pains. CLOWN. No pains, sir; I take pleasure in singing, sir. DUKE. I'll pay thy pleasure, then. CLOWN. Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid one time or another. DUKE. Give me now leave to leave thee. CLOWN. Now the melancholy god protect thee; and the tailor make thy doublet of changeable taffeta, for thy mind is a very opal. I would have men of such constancy put to sea, that their business might be everything, and their intent everywhere: for that's it that always makes a good voyage of nothing. Farewell. Exit CLOWN DUKE. Let all the rest give place. Exeunt CURIO and ATTENDANTS Once more, Cesario, Get thee to yond same sovereign cruelty. Tell her my love, more noble than the world, Prizes not quantity of dirty lands; The parts that fortune hath bestow'd upon her, Tell her I hold as giddily as Fortune; But 'tis that miracle and queen of gems That Nature pranks her in attracts my soul. VIOLA. But if she cannot love you, sir? DUKE. I cannot be so answer'd. VIOLA. Sooth, but you must. Say that some lady, as perhaps there is, Hath for your love as great a pang of heart As you have for Olivia. You cannot love her; You tell her so. Must she not then be answer'd? DUKE. There is no woman's sides Can bide the beating of so strong a passion As love doth give my heart; no woman's heart So big to hold so much; they lack retention. Alas, their love may be call'd appetite- No motion of the liver, but the palate- That suffer surfeit, cloyment, and revolt; But mine is all as hungry as the sea, And can digest as much. Make no compare Between that love a woman can bear me And that I owe Olivia. VIOLA. Ay, but I know- DUKE. What dost thou know? VIOLA. Too well what love women to men may owe. In faith, they are as true of heart as we. My father had a daughter lov'd a man, As it might be perhaps, were I a woman, I should your lordship. DUKE. And what's her history? VIOLA. A blank, my lord. She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i' th' bud, Feed on her damask cheek. She pin'd in thought; And with a green and yellow melancholy She sat like Patience on a monument, Smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed? We men may say more, swear more, but indeed Our shows are more than will; for still we prove Much in our vows, but little in our love. DUKE. But died thy sister of her love, my boy? VIOLA. I am all the daughters of my father's house, And all the brothers too- and yet I know not. Sir, shall I to this lady? DUKE. Ay, that's the theme. To her in haste. Give her this jewel; say My love can give no place, bide no denay. Exeunt

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 boil'd to death with melancholy. SIR TOBY. Wouldst thou not be glad to have the niggardly rascally sheep-biter come by some notable shame? 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? AGUECHEEK. And we do not, it is pity of our lives.

Enter MARIA

SIR TOBY. Here comes the little villain. How now, my metal 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 behaviour to his own shadow this half hour. Observe him, for the love of mockery, for I know this letter will make a contemplative idiot of him. Close, in the name of jesting! Lie thou there; for here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling. Exit

Enter MALVOLIO

Jove knows I love, But who? Lips, do not move; No man must know.'

'No man must know.' What follows? The numbers alter'd! 'No man must know.' If this should be thee, Malvolio? SIR TOBY. Marry, hang thee, brock! MALVOLIO.

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-garter'd; 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-garter'd, 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 entertain'st 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. Exit 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. AGUECHEEK. So could I too. SIR TOBY. And ask no other dowry with her but such another jest.

Enter MARIA

AGUECHEEK. Nor I neither. FABIAN. Here comes my noble gull-catcher. SIR TOBY. Wilt thou set thy foot o' my neck? AGUECHEEK. Or o' mine either? SIR TOBY. Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip, and become thy bond-slave? AGUECHEEK. 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. MARIA. Nay, but say true; does it work upon him? SIR TOBY. Like aqua-vita! with a midwife. AIARIA. 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-garter'd, 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 TOBY. To the gates of Tartar, thou most excellent devil of wit! AGUECHEEK. I'll make one too. Exeunt

Enter VIOLA, and CLOWN with a tabor

VIOLA. Save thee, friend, and thy music! Dost thou live by thy tabor? CLOWN. No, sir, I live by the church. VIOLA. Art thou a churchman? CLOWN. No such matter, sir: I do live by the church; for I do live at my house, and my house doth stand by the church. VIOLA. So thou mayst say the king lies by a beggar, if a beggar dwell near him; or the church stands by thy tabor, if thy tabor stand by the church. CLOWN. You have said, sir. To see this age! A sentence is but a chev'ril glove to a good wit. How quickly the wrong side may be turn'd outward! VIOLA. Nay, that's certain; they that dally nicely with words may quickly make them wanton. CLOWN. I would, therefore, my sister had had name, sir. VIOLA. Why, man? CLOWN. Why, sir, her name's a word; and to dally with that word

Enter SIR TOBY and SIR ANDREW

SIR TOBY. Save you, gentleman! VIOLA. And you, sir. AGUECHEEK. Dieu vous garde, monsieur. VIOLA. Et vous aussi; votre serviteur. AGUECHEEK. I hope, sir, you are; and I am yours. SIR TOBY. Will you encounter the house? My niece is desirous you should enter, if your trade be to her. VIOLA. I am bound to your niece, sir; I mean, she is the list of my voyage. SIR TOBY. Taste your legs, sir; put them to motion. VIOLA. My legs do better understand me, sir, than I understand what you mean by bidding me taste my legs. SIR TOBY. I mean, to go, sir, to enter. VIOLA. I will answer you with gait and entrance. But we are prevented.

Enter OLIVIA and MARIA

Enter SIR TOBY, SIR ANDREW and FABIAN

AGUECHEEK. No, faith, I'll not stay a jot longer. SIR TOBY. Thy reason, dear venom, give thy reason. FABIAN. You must needs yield your reason, Sir Andrew. AGUECHEEK. Marry, I saw your niece do more favours to the Count's servingman than ever she bestow'd upon me; I saw't i' th' orchard. SIR TOBY. Did she see thee the while, old boy? Tell me that. AGUECHEEK. As plain as I see you now. FABIAN. This was a great argument of love in her toward you. AGUECHEEK. 'Slight! will you make an ass o' me? FABIAN. I will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the oaths of judgment and reason. SIR TOBY. And they have been grand-jurymen since before Noah was a sailor. FABIAN. 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 bang'd the youth into dumbness. This was look'd for at your hand, and this was baulk'd. The double gilt of this opportunity you let time wash off, and you are now sail'd into the north of my lady's opinion; where you will hang like an icicle on Dutchman's beard, unless you do redeem it by some laudable attempt either of valour or policy. AGUECHEEK. 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 TOBY. 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. FABIAN. There is no way but this, Sir Andrew. AGUECHEEK. Will either of you bear me a challenge to him? SIR TOBY. 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. AGUECHEEK. Where shall I find you? SIR TOBY. We'll call thee at the cubiculo. Go. Exit SIR ANDREW FABIAN. This is a dear manakin to you, Sir Toby. SIR TOBY. I have been dear to him, lad- some two thousand strong, or so. FABIAN. We shall have a rare letter from him; but you'll not deliver't? SIR TOBY. 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 open'd and you find so much blood in his liver as will clog the foot of a flea, I'll eat the rest of th' anatomy. FABIAN. And his opposite, the youth, bears in his visage no great presage of cruelty.

Enter MARIA

SIR TOBY. Look where the youngest wren of nine comes. MARIA. If you desire the spleen, and will laugh yourselves into stitches, follow me. Yond gull Malvolio is turned heathen, a very renegado; for there is no Christian that means to be saved by believing rightly can ever believe such impossible passages of grossness. He's in yellow stockings. SIR TOBY. And cross-garter'd? MARIA. Most villainously; like a pedant that keeps a school i' th' church. I have dogg'd him like his murderer. He does obey every point of the letter that I dropp'd to betray him. He does smile his face into more lines than is 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 TOBY. Come, bring us, bring us where he is. Exeunt

Enter SEBASTIAN and ANTONIO

SEBASTIAN. I would not by my will have troubled you; But since you make your pleasure of your pains, I will no further chide you. ANTONIO. 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. SEBASTIAN. My kind Antonio, I can no other answer make but thanks, And thanks, and ever thanks; and oft good turns Are shuffl'd off with such uncurrent pay; But were my worth as is my conscience firm, You should find better dealing. What's to do? Shall we go see the reliques of this town? ANTONIO. To-morrow, sir; best first go see your lodging. SEBASTIAN. 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. ANTONIO. 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. SEBASTIAN. Belike you slew great number of his people. ANTONIO.Th' 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 sake, Most of our city did. Only myself stood out; For which, if I be lapsed in this place, I shall pay dear. SEBASTIAN. Do not then walk too open. ANTONIO. It doth not fit me. Hold, sir, here's my purse; In the south suburbs, at the Elephant, Is best to lodge. I will bespeak our diet, Whiles you beguile the time and feed your knowledge With viewing of the town; there shall you have me. SEBASTIAN. Why I your purse? ANTONIO. Haply your eye shall light upon some toy You have desire to purchase; and your store, I think, is not for idle markets, sir. SEBASTIAN. I'll be your purse-bearer, and leave you for An hour. ANTONIO. To th' Elephant. SEBASTIAN. I do remember. Exeunt

Enter OLIVIA and MARIA

OLIVIA. 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 speak too loud. Where's Malvolio? He is sad and civil, And suits well for a servant with my fortunes. Where is Malvolio? MARIA. He's coming, madam; but in very strange manner. He is sure possess'd, madam. 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. Exit MARIA I am as mad as he, If sad and merry madness equal be.

Re-enter MARIA with 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? AIALVOLIO. '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 wish'd to see thee cross-garterd.' OLIVIA. 'Cross-garter'd?' MALVOLIO. 'Go to, thou an 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 return'd; I could hardly entreat him back; he attends your ladyship's pleasure. OLIVIA. I'll come to him. Good Maria, let this fellow be look'd 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 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 lim'd her; but it is Jove's doing, and Jove make me thankful! And when she went away now- 'Let this fellow be look'd 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.

Re-enter MARIA, with SIR TOBY and FABIAN

SIR TOBY. Which way is he, in the name of sanctity? If all the devils of hell be drawn in little, and Legion himself possess'd him, yet I'll speak to him. FABIAN. Here he is, here he is. How is't with you, sir? SIR TOBY. 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 to-morrow 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 us'd. 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 cherrypit 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 play'd 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. AGUECHEEK. Here's the challenge; read it. I warrant there's vinegar and pepper in't. FABIAN. Is't so saucy? AGUECHEEK. Ay, is't, I warrant him; do but read. SIR TOBY. Give me. '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 com'st 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 twang'd off, gives manhood more approbation than ever proof itself would have earn'd him. Away. AGUECHEEK. 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 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.

Re-enter OLIVIA. With 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 out; 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 to-morrow. 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 to-morrow. Fare thee well; A fiend like thee might bear my soul to hell. Exit

Re-enter SIR TOBY and SIR FABIAN

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