Act II, Scene 5

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, 1030
  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. 1035

• 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 Aguecheek. An we do not, it is pity of our lives.

• Sir Toby Belch. Here comes the little villain.
  [Enter MARIA] 1040
  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 1045
  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 1055
  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! 1060

• 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. 1065

• Sir Toby Belch. Peace, peace!

• Malvolio. There is example for't; the lady of the Strachy
  married the yeoman of the wardrobe.

• Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Fie on him, Jezebel!

• Fabian. O, peace! now he's deeply in: look how 1070
  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 1075
  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 1080
  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. 1085

• 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? 1090

• 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 1095
  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. 1100

• Malvolio. 'Besides, you waste the treasure of your time with
  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. 1105

• 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! 1110

• 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 Aguecheek. Her C's, her U's and her T's: why that?

• Malvolio. [Reads] 'To the unknown beloved, this, and my good 1115
  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] 1120
  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 1125
  thee, Malvolio?

• Sir Toby Belch. Marry, hang thee, brock!

• Malvolio. [Reads]
  I may command where I adore;
  But silence, like a Lucrece knife, 1130
  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 1135
  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 1140
  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,— 1145

• 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 1150
  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! 1155

• 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 1160
  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 1165
  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, 1170
  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 1175
  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. 1180
  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 1185
  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; 1190
  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 1195
  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; 1200
  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 Aguecheek. So could I too.

• Sir Toby Belch. And ask no other dowry with her but such another jest. 1210

• Sir Andrew Aguecheek. 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 Aguecheek. Or o' mine either? 1215

• Sir Toby Belch. Shall I play my freedom at traytrip, and become thy
  bond-slave?

• Sir Andrew Aguecheek. 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. 1220

• 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 1225
  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 1230
  me.

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

• Sir Andrew Aguecheek. I'll make one too.

[Exeunt]