Twelfth Night by William Shakespeare
Act 2 - Scene 5
OLIVIA’s garden.
Sir Toby Belch : Come thy ways, Signior Fabian.
Fabian : Nay, I'll come: if I lose a scruple of this sport,
[p]let me be boiled
to death with melancholy.
Sir Toby Belch : Wouldst thou not be glad to have the niggardly
[p]rascally sheep-biter
come by some notable shame?
Fabian : I would exult, man: you know, he brought me out o'
[p]favour with my
lady about a bear-baiting here.
Sir Toby Belch : To anger him we'll have the bear again; and we will
[p]fool him black
and blue: shall we not, Sir Andrew?
Sir Andrew Aguecheek : An we do not, it is pity of our lives.
Sir Toby Belch : Here comes the little villain.
[p][Enter MARIA]
[p]How now, my metal
of India!
Maria : Get ye all three into the box-tree: Malvolio's
[p]coming down this
walk: he has been yonder i' the
[p]sun practising behavior to his own
shadow this half
[p]hour: observe him, for the love of mockery; for
I
[p]know this letter will make a contemplative idiot of
[p]him.
Close, in the name of jesting! Lie thou there,
[p][Throws down a
letter]
[p]for here comes the trout that must be caught with
tickling.
Malvolio : 'Tis but fortune; all is fortune. Maria once told
[p]me she did affect
me: and I have heard herself come
[p]thus near, that, should she
fancy, it should be one
[p]of my complexion. Besides, she uses me with
a more
[p]exalted respect than any one else that follows her.
[p]What
should I think on't?
Sir Toby Belch : Here's an overweening rogue!
Fabian : O, peace! Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock
[p]of him: how he
jets under his advanced plumes!
Sir Andrew Aguecheek : 'Slight, I could so beat the rogue!
Sir Toby Belch : Peace, I say.
Malvolio : To be Count Malvolio!
Sir Toby Belch : Ah, rogue!
Sir Andrew Aguecheek : Pistol him, pistol him.
Sir Toby Belch : Peace, peace!
Malvolio : There is example for't; the lady of the Strachy
[p]married the yeoman
of the wardrobe.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek : Fie on him, Jezebel!
Fabian : O, peace! now he's deeply in: look how
[p]imagination blows him.
Malvolio : Having been three months married to her, sitting in
[p]my state,--
Sir Toby Belch : O, for a stone-bow, to hit him in the eye!
Malvolio : Calling my officers about me, in my branched velvet
[p]gown; having
come from a day-bed, where I have left
[p]Olivia sleeping,--
Sir Toby Belch : Fire and brimstone!
Fabian : O, peace, peace!
Malvolio : And then to have the humour of state; and after a
[p]demure travel of
regard, telling them I know my
[p]place as I would they should do
theirs, to for my
[p]kinsman Toby,--
Sir Toby Belch : Bolts and shackles!
Fabian : O peace, peace, peace! now, now.
Malvolio : Seven of my people, with an obedient start, make
[p]out for him: I
frown the while; and perchance wind
[p]up watch, or play with my--some
rich jewel. Toby
[p]approaches; courtesies there to me,--
Sir Toby Belch : Shall this fellow live?
Fabian : Though our silence be drawn from us with cars, yet peace.
Malvolio : I extend my hand to him thus, quenching my familiar
[p]smile with an
austere regard of control,--
Sir Toby Belch : And does not Toby take you a blow o' the lips then?
Malvolio : Saying, 'Cousin Toby, my fortunes having cast me on
[p]your niece give
me this prerogative of speech,'--
Sir Toby Belch : What, what?
Malvolio : 'You must amend your drunkenness.'
Sir Toby Belch : Out, scab!
Fabian : Nay, patience, or we break the sinews of our plot.
Malvolio : 'Besides, you waste the treasure of your time with
[p]a foolish
knight,'--
Sir Andrew Aguecheek : That's me, I warrant you.
Malvolio : 'One Sir Andrew,'--
Sir Andrew Aguecheek : 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 Belch : O, peace! and the spirit of humour intimate reading
[p]aloud to him!
Malvolio : By my life, this is my lady's hand these be her
[p]very C's, her U's
and her T's and thus makes she her
[p]great P's. It is, in contempt of
question, her hand.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek : Her C's, her U's and her T's: why that?
Malvolio : [Reads] 'To the unknown beloved, this, and my good
[p]wishes:'--her
very phrases! By your leave, wax.
[p]Soft! and the impressure her
Lucrece, with which she
[p]uses to seal: 'tis my lady. To whom should
this be?
Fabian : This wins him, liver and all.
Malvolio : [Reads]
[p]Jove knows I love: But who?
[p]Lips, do not move;
[p]No man
must know.
[p]'No man must know.' What follows? the
numbers
[p]altered! 'No man must know:' if this should be
[p]thee,
Malvolio?
Sir Toby Belch : Marry, hang thee, brock!
Malvolio : [Reads]
[p]I may command where I adore;
[p]But silence, like a Lucrece
knife,
[p]With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore:
[p]M, O, A, I,
doth sway my life.
Fabian : A fustian riddle!
Sir Toby Belch : Excellent wench, say I.
Malvolio : 'M, O, A, I, doth sway my life.' Nay, but first, let
[p]me see, let me
see, let me see.
Fabian : What dish o' poison has she dressed him!
Sir Toby Belch : And with what wing the staniel cheques at it!
Malvolio : 'I may command where I adore.' Why, she may command
[p]me: I serve
her; she is my lady. Why, this is
[p]evident to any formal capacity;
there is no
[p]obstruction in this: and the end,--what should
[p]that
alphabetical position portend? If I could make
[p]that resemble
something in me,--Softly! M, O, A,
[p]I,--
Sir Toby Belch : 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
[p]rank as a
fox.
Malvolio : M,--Malvolio; M,--why, that begins my name.
Fabian : Did not I say he would work it out? the cur is
[p]excellent at
faults.
Malvolio : M,--but then there is no consonancy in the sequel;
[p]that suffers
under probation A should follow but O does.
Fabian : And O shall end, I hope.
Sir Toby Belch : 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
[p]more detraction at
your heels than fortunes before
[p]you.
Malvolio : M, O, A, I; this simulation is not as the former: and
[p]yet, to crush
this a little, it would bow to me, for
[p]every one of these letters
are in my name. Soft!
[p]here follows prose.
[p][Reads]
[p]'If this
fall into thy hand, revolve. In my stars I
[p]am above thee; but be
not afraid of greatness: some
[p]are born great, some achieve
greatness, and some
[p]have greatness thrust upon 'em. Thy Fates
open
[p]their hands; let thy blood and spirit embrace them;
[p]and, to
inure thyself to what thou art like to be,
[p]cast thy humble slough
and appear fresh. Be
[p]opposite with a kinsman, surly with servants;
let
[p]thy tongue tang arguments of state; put thyself into
[p]the
trick of singularity: she thus advises thee
[p]that sighs for thee.
Remember who commended thy
[p]yellow stockings, and wished to see thee
ever
[p]cross-gartered: I say, remember. Go to, thou art
[p]made, if
thou desirest to be so; if not, let me see
[p]thee a steward still,
the fellow of servants, and
[p]not worthy to touch Fortune's fingers.
Farewell.
[p]She that would alter services with thee,
[p]THE
FORTUNATE-UNHAPPY.'
[p]Daylight and champaign discovers not more: this
is
[p]open. I will be proud, I will read politic authors,
[p]I will
baffle Sir Toby, I will wash off gross
[p]acquaintance, I will be
point-devise the very man.
[p]I do not now fool myself, to let
imagination jade
[p]me; for every reason excites to this, that my
lady
[p]loves me. She did commend my yellow stockings of
[p]late, she
did praise my leg being cross-gartered;
[p]and in this she manifests
herself to my love, and
[p]with a kind of injunction drives me to
these habits
[p]of her liking. I thank my stars I am happy. I
will
[p]be strange, stout, in yellow stockings, and
[p]cross-gartered,
even with the swiftness of putting
[p]on. Jove and my stars be
praised! Here is yet a
[p]postscript.
[p][Reads]
[p]'Thou canst not
choose but know who I am. If thou
[p]entertainest my love, let it
appear in thy smiling;
[p]thy smiles become thee well; therefore in
my
[p]presence still smile, dear my sweet, I prithee.'
[p]Jove, I
thank thee: I will smile; I will do
[p]everything that thou wilt have
me.
Fabian : I will not give my part of this sport for a pension
[p]of thousands to
be paid from the Sophy.
Sir Toby Belch : I could marry this wench for this device.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek : So could I too.
Sir Toby Belch : And ask no other dowry with her but such another jest.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek : Nor I neither.
Fabian : Here comes my noble gull-catcher.
Sir Toby Belch : Wilt thou set thy foot o' my neck?
Sir Andrew Aguecheek : Or o' mine either?
Sir Toby Belch : Shall I play my freedom at traytrip, and become thy
[p]bond-slave?
Sir Andrew Aguecheek : I' faith, or I either?
Sir Toby Belch : Why, thou hast put him in such a dream, that when
[p]the image of it
leaves him he must run mad.
Maria : Nay, but say true; does it work upon him?
Sir Toby Belch : Like aqua-vitae with a midwife.
Maria : If you will then see the fruits of the sport, mark
[p]his first
approach before my lady: he will come to
[p]her in yellow stockings,
and 'tis a colour she
[p]abhors, and cross-gartered, a fashion she
detests;
[p]and he will smile upon her, which will now be
so
[p]unsuitable to her disposition, being addicted to a
[p]melancholy
as she is, that it cannot but turn him
[p]into a notable contempt. If
you will see it, follow
[p]me.
Sir Toby Belch : To the gates of Tartar, thou most excellent devil of wit!
Sir Andrew Aguecheek : I'll make one too.
Previous: Act 2 - Scene 4
Next: Act 3 - Scene 1
