(Olivia; Maria; Malvolio; Servant; Toby; Fabian; Sir Andrew; Viola; Antonio; First Officer; Second Officer)
Olivia is all a-flutter over the thought of Cesario’s return, and calls for Malvolio in the hopes that his sober demeanor will calm her down. Maria warns her, however, that Malvolio seems to have gone mad. Malvolio enters, grinning and dress in cross-gartered yellow stockings. Olivia is astounded and a little frightened by his manner and his apparently ludicrous talk. As he quotes the letter to her, she concludes that he is ill, and likely out of his wits. Hearing that “Cesario” has returned, she tells Maria to have Malvolio taken care of by Toby, emphasizing that she does not wish Malvolio harmed. The steward takes this as a sign of favor and believes that she has sent for Toby so that he can be haughty with him, as the letter directed. The three conspirators enter and pretend to believe that he is possessed. Malvolio exits in a cloud of superiority and the trio can hardly believe how well the trick has worked. Toby proposes that they have Malvolio tied up in a dark room, the cure for madmen. At this point Andrew arrives with his ludicrous letter of challenge. Toby takes the letter and promises to deliver it to Cesario, though he has no intention of doing so; the letter is so silly that Toby realizes Cesario will pay it no attention. He decides instead to challenge Cesario on Andrew behalf verbally, and to terrify the lad with reports of Andrew’s proficiency in weapons. They see Olivia and “Cesario” approaching and sneak away to wait for the lad to leave to catch him. Olivia is still wooing “Cesario”, but Viola insists that the only thing she is asking is for Olivia’s love for Orsino. The Countess is disappointed, but still tells “Cesario” to visit again the next day. As Viola prepares to leave, she is confronted by Sir Toby and Fabian, who explain that Sir Andrew is planning to kill “him”. She cannot understand what she has done to merit this, and asks to at least be allowed to know what her fault is. As Sir Toby goes to prepare an answer, Fabian frightens her even more with tales of Sir Andrew’s fierceness. Sir Toby, meanwhile, is doing the same to Sir Andrew, presenting “Cesario” to himself as a murderous opponent. Both Viola and Sir Andrew ask that for a way out of the duel; Sir Toby and Fabian pretend to negotiate between them, but return to say that the other is insistent on fighting. Viola and Sir Andrew unwillingly begin to fight, when Antonio bursts in. Convinced that viola is Sebastian, he takes up the quarrel with Sir Andrew on “his” behalf. Toby tries to intervene and Antonio threatens him, but they are interrupted by the arrival of officers who recognize Antonio and arrest him. Antonio realizes that there is no remedy, and asks Viola for his purse. Viola is completely confused, though since she is grateful for Antonio’s intervention she offers him the little money she has. Antonio is deeply injured that Sebastian, as he thinks, not only refuses to give back his money but even pretends not to know him. Viola suspects from his words that her brother might be alive. She takes off, and Toby pronounces “him” a coward. Sir Andrew, heartened by this, runs after her to start the fight again. Toby and Fabian follow, convinced that it will still produce no results. (226 lines)
Enter Olivia and Maria.
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?
He’s coming, madam, but in very strange manner. He is sure possess’d, madam.
Why, what’s the matter? Does he rave?
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.
Go call him hither.
I am as mad as he,
If sad and merry madness equal be.
How now, Malvolio?
Sweet lady, ho, ho.
Smil’st thou? I sent for thee upon a sad occasion.
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.”
Why, how dost thou, man? What is the matter with thee?
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.
Wilt thou go to bed, Malvolio?
To bed? Ay, sweet heart, and I’ll come to thee.
God comfort thee! Why dost thou smile so, and kiss thy hand so oft?
How do you, Malvolio?
At your request! Yes, nightingales answer daws.
Why appear you with this ridiculous boldness before my lady?
“Be not afraid of greatness”: ’twas well writ.
What mean’st thou by that, Malvolio?
“Some are born great”—
“Some achieve greatness”—
What say’st thou?
“And some have greatness thrust upon them.”
Heaven restore thee!
“Remember who commended thy yellow stockings”—
Thy yellow stockings?
“And wish’d to see thee cross-garter’d.”
“Go to, thou art made, if thou desir’st to be so”—
Am I made?
“If not, let me see thee a servant still.”
Why, this is very midsummer madness.
Madam, the young gentleman of the Count Orsino’s is return’d. I could hardly entreat him back. He attends your ladyship’s pleasure.
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.
Exit with Maria.
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 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, 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 thank’d.
Enter Toby, Fabian, and Maria.
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.
Here he is, here he is. How is’t with you, sir?
How is’t with you, man?
Go off, I discard you. Let me enjoy my private. Go off.
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.
Ah ha, does she so?
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.
Do you know what you say?
La you, and you speak ill of the devil, how he takes it at heart! Pray God he be not bewitch’d!
Carry his water to th’ wise woman.
Marry, and it shall be done tomorrow morning if I live. My lady would not lose him for more than I’ll say.
How now, mistress?
Prithee hold thy peace, this is not the way. Do you not see you move him? Let me alone with him.
No way but gentleness, gently, gently. The fiend is rough, and will not be roughly us’d.
Why, how now, my bawcock? How dost thou, chuck?
Ay, biddy, come with me. What, man, ’tis not for gravity to play at cherry-pit with Satan. Hang him, foul collier!
Get him to say his prayers, good Sir Toby, get him to pray.
My prayers, minx!
No, I warrant you, he will not hear of godliness.
Go hang yourselves all! You are idle shallow things, I am not of your element. You shall know more hereafter.
If this were play’d upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an improbable fiction.
His very genius hath taken the infection of the device, man.
Nay, pursue him now, lest the device take air, and taint.
Why, we shall make him mad indeed.
The house will be the quieter.
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, tir’d 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.
More matter for a May morning.
Here’s the challenge, read it. I warrant there’s vinegar and pepper in’t.
Is’t so saucy?
Ay, is’t! I warrant him. Do but read.
“Youth, whatsoever thou art, thou art but a scurvy fellow.”
Good, and valiant.
“Wonder not, nor admire not in thy mind, why I do call thee so, for I will show thee no reason for’t.”
A good note, that keeps you from the blow of the law.
“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.”
Very brief, and to exceeding good sense—less.
“I will waylay thee going home, where if it be thy chance to kill me”—
“Thou kill’st me like a rogue and a villain.”
Still you keep o’ th’ windy side of the law; good.
“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,
If this letter move him not, his legs cannot. I’ll give’t him.
You may have very fit occasion for’t; he is now in some commerce with my lady, and will by and by depart.
Go, Sir Andrew, scout me for him at the corner of the orchard like a burn-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!
Nay, let me alone for swearing.
Now will not I deliver his letter; for the behavior 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 valor, 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.
Here he comes with your niece. Give them way till he take leave, and presently after him.
I will meditate the while upon some horrid message for a challenge.
Exeunt Sir Toby, Fabian, and Maria.
I have said too much unto a heart of stone,
And laid mine honor 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.
With the same havior that your passion bears
Goes on my master’s griefs.
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 honor, sav’d, may upon asking give?
Nothing but this—your true love for my master.
How with mine honor may I give him that
Which I have given to you?
I will acquit you.
Well, come again tomorrow. Fare thee well.
A fiend like thee might bear my soul to hell.
Enter Toby and Fabian.
Gentleman, God save thee!
And you, sir.
That defense 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, skillful, and deadly.
You mistake, sir, I am sure; no man hath any quarrel to me. My remembrance is very free and clear from any image of offense done to any man.
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.
I pray you, sir, what is he?
He is knight, dubb’d with unhatch’d rapier, and on carpet consideration, but he is a devil in private brawl. Souls and bodies hath he divorc’d 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.
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 valor. Belike this is a man of that quirk.
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.
This is as uncivil as strange. I beseech you do me this courteous office, as to know of the knight what my offense to him is. It is something of my negligence, nothing of my purpose.
I will do so. Signior Fabian, stay you by this gentleman till my return.
Pray you, sir, do you know of this matter?
I know the knight is incens’d against you, even to a mortal arbitrement, but nothing of the circumstance more.
I beseech you, what manner of man is he?
Nothing of that wonderful promise, to read him by his form, as you are like to find him in the proof of his valor. He is indeed, sir, the most skillful, bloody, and fatal opposite that you could possibly have found in any part of Illyria. Will you walk towards him? I will make your peace with him if I can.
I shall be much bound to you for’t. I am one that had rather go with sir priest than sir knight. I care not who knows so much of my mettle.
Enter Toby and Andrew.
Why, man, he’s a very devil, I have not seen such a firago. I had a pass with him, rapier, scabbard, and all; and he gives me the stuck in with such a mortal motion that it is inevitable; and on the answer, he pays you as surely as your feet hits the ground they step on. They say he has been fencer to the Sophy.
Pox on’t, I’ll not meddle with him.
Ay, but he will not now be pacified. Fabian can scarce hold him yonder.
Plague on’t, and I thought he had been valiant, and so cunning in fence, I’d have seen him damn’d ere I’d have challeng’d him. Let him let the matter slip, and I’ll give him my horse, grey Capilet.
I’ll make the motion. Stand here, make a good show on’t; this shall end without the perdition of souls.
Marry, I’ll ride your horse as well as I ride you.
Enter Fabian and Viola.
I have his horse to take up the quarrel. I have persuaded him the youth’s a devil.
He is as horribly conceited of him; and pants and looks pale, as if a bear were at his heels.
There’s no remedy, sir, he will fight with you for ’s oath sake. Marry, he hath better bethought him of his quarrel, and he finds that now scarce to be worth talking of; therefore draw, for the supportance of his vow. He protests he will not hurt you.
Pray God defend me! A little thing would make me tell them how much I lack of a man.
Give ground if you see him furious.
Come, Sir Andrew, there’s no remedy, the gentleman will for his honor’s sake have one bout with you. He cannot by the duello avoid it; but he has promis’d me, as he is a gentleman and a soldier, he will not hurt you. Come on, to’t.
Pray God he keep his oath!
I do assure you, ’tis against my will.
Put up your sword. If this young gentleman
Have done offense, I take the fault on me;
If you offend him, I for him defy you.
You, sir? Why, what are you?
One, sir, that for his love dares yet do more
Than you have heard him brag to you he will.
Nay, if you be an undertaker, I am for you.
O good Sir Toby, hold! Here come the officers.
I’ll be with you anon.
Steps aside to avoid the Officers.
Pray, sir, put your sword up, if you please.
Marry, will I, sir; and for that I promis’d you, I’ll be as good as my word. He will bear you easily, and reins well.
This is the man, do thy office.
Antonio, I arrest thee at the suit of Count Orsino.
You do mistake me, sir.
No, sir, no jot. I know your favor well,
Though now you have no sea-cap on your head.
Take him away, he knows I know him well.
I must obey.
This comes with seeking you;
But there’s no remedy, I shall answer it.
What will you do, now my necessity
Makes me to ask you for my purse? It grieves me
Much more for what I cannot do for you
Than what befalls myself. You stand amaz’d,
But be of comfort.
Come, sir, away.
I must entreat of you some of that money.
What money, sir?
For the fair kindness you have show’d me here,
And part being prompted by your present trouble,
Out of my lean and low ability
I’ll lend you something. My having is not much;
I’ll make division of my present with you.
Hold, there’s half my coffer.
Will you deny me now?
Is’t possible that my deserts to you
Can lack persuasion? Do not tempt my misery,
Lest that it make me so unsound a man
As to upbraid you with those kindnesses
That I have done for you.
I know of none,
Nor know I you by voice or any feature.
I hate ingratitude more in a man
Than lying, vainness, babbling, drunkenness,
Or any taint of vice whose strong corruption
Inhabits our frail blood.
O heavens themselves!
Come, sir, I pray you go.
Let me speak a little. This youth that you see here
I snatch’d one half out of the jaws of death,
Reliev’d him with such sanctity of love,
And to his image, which methought did promise
Most venerable worth, did I devotion.
What’s that to us? The time goes by; away!
But O, how vild an idol proves this god!
Thou hast, Sebastian, done good feature shame.
In nature there’s no blemish but the mind;
None can be call’d deform’d but the unkind.
Virtue is beauty, but the beauteous evil
Are empty trunks o’erflourish’d by the devil.
The man grows mad, away with him! Come, come, sir.
Lead me on.
Exit with Officers.
Methinks his words do from such passion fly
That he believes himself; so do not I.
Prove true, imagination, O, prove true,
That I, dear brother, be now ta’en for you!
Come hither, knight; come hither, Fabian; we’ll whisper o’er a couplet or two of most sage saws.
He nam’d Sebastian. I my brother know
Yet living in my glass; even such and so
In favor was my brother, and he went
Still in this fashion, color, ornament,
For him I imitate. O, if it prove,
Tempests are kind and salt waves fresh in love.
A very dishonest paltry boy, and more a coward than a hare. His dishonesty appears in leaving his friend here in necessity, and denying him; and for his cowardship, ask Fabian.
A coward, a most devout coward, religious in it.
’Slid, I’ll after him again, and beat him.
Do, cuff him soundly, but never draw thy sword.
And I do not—
Come, let’s see the event.
I dare lay any money ’twill be nothing yet.