Act 2, Scene 5: OLIVIA's garden

SCENE V. OLIVIA's garden.

    Enter SIR TOBY BELCH, SIR ANDREW, and FABIAN

SIR TOBY BELCH

    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 BELCH

    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 BELCH

    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.

SIR TOBY BELCH

    Here comes the little villain.

    Enter MARIA
    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 behavior 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,

    Throws down a letter
    for here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling.

    Exit

    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 I think on't?

SIR TOBY BELCH

    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!

SIR TOBY BELCH

    Peace, I say.

MALVOLIO

    To be Count Malvolio!

SIR TOBY BELCH

    Ah, rogue!

SIR ANDREW

    Pistol him, pistol him.

SIR TOBY BELCH

    Peace, peace!

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.

MALVOLIO

    Having been three months married to her, sitting in
    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
    gown; having come from a day-bed, where I have left
    Olivia sleeping,--

SIR TOBY BELCH

    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 as I would they should do theirs, to for my
    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
    out for him: I frown the while; and perchance wind
    up watch, or play with my--some rich jewel. Toby
    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
    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
    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
    a foolish knight,'--

SIR ANDREW

    That's me, I warrant you.

MALVOLIO

    'One Sir Andrew,'--

SIR ANDREW

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

MALVOLIO

    What employment have we here?

    Taking up the letter

FABIAN

    Now is the woodcock near the gin.

SIR TOBY BELCH

    O, peace! and the spirit of humour intimate reading
    aloud to him!

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 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.

MALVOLIO

    [Reads]
    Jove knows I love: But who?
    Lips, do not move;
    No man must know.
    'No man must know.' What follows? the numbers
    altered! 'No man must know:' if this should be
    thee, Malvolio?

SIR TOBY BELCH

    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:
    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
    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
    me: I serve her; she is my lady. Why, this is
    evident to any formal capacity; there is no
    obstruction 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 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
    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
    excellent at faults.

MALVOLIO

    M,--but then there is no consonancy in the sequel;
    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
    more detraction at your heels than fortunes before
    you.

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 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 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 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, 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.

    Reads
    'Thou canst not choose but know who I am. If thou
    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.

    Exit

FABIAN

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

SIR TOBY BELCH

    I could marry this wench for this device.

SIR ANDREW

    So could I too.

SIR TOBY BELCH

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

SIR ANDREW

    Nor I neither.

FABIAN

    Here comes my noble gull-catcher.

    Re-enter MARIA

SIR TOBY BELCH

    Wilt thou set thy foot o' my neck?

SIR ANDREW

    Or o' mine either?

SIR TOBY BELCH

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

SIR ANDREW

    I' faith, or I either?

SIR TOBY BELCH

    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 BELCH

    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 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 TOBY BELCH

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

SIR ANDREW

    I'll make one too.

    Exeunt