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Sir To. Hold, sir, or I'll throw your dagger o'er the house.
Clo. This will I tell my lady straight: I would not be in some of your coats for two-pence.
[Erit Clown. Sir To. Come on, sir; hold.
(Holding Sebastian. Sir And. Nay, let him alone, I'll go another way to work with him ; I'll have an action of battery against him, if there be any law in Illyria: though I struck him first, yet it's no matter for that.
Seb. Let go thy hand. Sir To. Come, sir, I will not let you go. Come, my young soldier, put up your iron: you are well feshed ; come on. Seb. I will be free from thee. What would'st thou
now? If thou dar'st tempt me further, draw thy sword.
(Draws. Sir To. What, what? Nay, then I must have an ounce or two of this malapert blood from you.
Oli. Hold, Toby; on thy life, I charge thee, hold. Sir To. Madam?
Oli. Will it be ever thus? Ungracious wretch, Fit for the mountains, and the barbarous caves, Where manners ne'er were preach'd! out of my
sight! Be not offended, dear Cesario : Rudesby*, be gone!— I prythee, gentle friend,
[Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian. Let thy fair wisdom, not thy passion, sway In this uncivil and unjust extentt Against thy peace. Go with me to my house; And hear thou there how many fruitless pranks
This ruffian hath botch'd up*, that thou thereby
Seb. What relish is in this ? how runs the stream?
ruld by me! Seb. Madam, I will. Oli.
O, say so, and so be!
1 room in Olivia's house.
Enter Maria and Clown.
Mar. Nay, I pr’ythee, put on this gown, and this beard; make him believe thou art sir Topas the cu. rate; do it quickly: I'll call sir Toby the whilst.
[Erit Maria. clo. Well, I'll put it on, and I will dissemble myself in't; and I would I were the first that ever dissembled in such a gown. I am not fat enough to become the function well; nor lean enough to be thought a good student; but to be said, an honest man, and a good housekeeper, goes as fairly, as to say, a careful man, and a great scholar. The com. petitorsg enter.
Enter Sir Toby Belch and Maria. Sir To. Jove bless thee, master parson. Clo. Bonos dies, sir Toby: for as the old hermit
of Prague, that never saw pen and ink, very wittily said to a piece of king Gorboduc, That, that is, is: so I, being master parson, 'am master parson ; for what is that, but that ? and is, but is ?
Sir To. To him, sir Topas.
Sir To. The knave counterfeits well; a good knave.
Mal. [in an inner chamber.] Who calls there?
Clo, Sir Topas, the curate, who comes to visit Malvolio the lunatic.
Mal. Sir Topas, sir Topas, good sir Topas, go to my lady.
Clo. Out, hyperbolical fiend! how vexest thou this map ? talkest thou nothing but of ladies ?
Sir To. Well said, master parson.
Mal. Sir Topas, never was man thus wronged !, good sir Topas, do not think I am mad; they have laid me here in hideous darkness.
Clo. Fie, thou dishonest Sathan! I call thee by the most modest terms; for I am one of those gentle ones, that will use the devil himself with courtesy: say'st thou, that house is dark?
Mal. As hell, sir Topas. Clo. Why, it hath bay-windows*, transparent as barricadoes, and the clear stones towards the southnorth are as lustrous as ebony; and yet complainest thou of obstruction ?
Mal. I am not mad, sir Topas; I say to you, this house is dark.
clo. Madman, thou errest: I say, there is no darkness, but ignorance; in which thou art more puzzled, than the Egyptians in their fog.
Mal. I say, this house is as dark as ignorance, though ignorance were as, dark as hell; and I say, there was never man thus abused: I am no more mad than you are ; make the trial of it in any con. stant questiont.
+ Regular conversatiou.
Clo. What is the opinion of Pythagoras, concerning wild-fowl ?
Mal. That the soul of our grandam might haply inhabit a bird.
Clo. What thinkest thou of his opinion?
Mal. I think nobly of the soul, and no way approve his opinion.
Clo. Fare thee well: remain thou still in darkness: thou shalt hold the opinion of Pythagoras, ere I will allow of thy wits; and fear to kill a woodcock, lest thou dispossess the soul of thy grandam. Fare thee well.
Mal. Sir Topas, sir Topas,-
Mal. Thou might'st have done this without thy beard, and gown; he sees thee not.
Sir To. To him in thine own voice, and bring me word how thou findest him: I would we were well rid of this knavery. If he may be conveniently delivered, I would he were ; for I am now so far in offence with my niece, that I cannot pursue with any safety this sport to the upshot. Come by and by to my chamber.
(Exeunt Sir Toby and Maria. Clo. Hey, Robin, jolly Robin,
Tell me how thy lady does. (Singing. Mal. Fool, Clo. My lady is unkind, perdy.' Mal. Fool, Clo. Alas, why is she sol Mal. Fool, I say; Clo. She loves another-Who calls, ha?
Mal. Good fool, as ever thou wilt deserve well at my hand, help me to a candle, and pen, and ink, and paper; as I am a gentleman, I will live to be thankful to thee for't.
Clo, Master Malvolio!
Any other gem as a togaz.
Mal. Ay, good fool.
Mal. Fool, there was never man so notoriously abused : I am as well in my wits, fool, as thou art.
Clo. But as well? then you are mad, indeed, if you be no better in your wits than a fool.
Mal. They have here propertied met; keep me in darkness, send ministers to me, asses, and do all they can to face me out of my wits.
clo. Advise you what you say; the minister is here.-Malvolio, Malvolio, thy wits the heavens restore! endeavour thyself to sleep, and leave thy vain bibble babble.
Mal. Sir Topas,
Clo. Maintain no words with him, good fellow. Who, I, sir? not I, sir. God b'wi'you, good sir Topas.--Marry, amen.--I will, sir, I will.
Mal. Fool, fool, fool, I say,
Clo. Alas, sir, be patient. What say you, sir? I am shent for speaking to you.
Mul. Good fool, help me to some light, and some paper; I tell thee, I am as well in my wils, as any man in Illyria.
Clo. Well-a-day,--that you were, sir!
Mal. By this hand, I am : good fool, some ink, paper, and light, and convey what I will set down to my lady; it shall advantage thee more than ever the bearing of letter did.
Clo. I will help you to't. But tell me true, are you not mad, indeed? or do you but counterfeit?
Mal. Believe me, I am not; I tell thee true.
Clo. Nay, I'll ne'er believe a madman, till I see liis brains. I will fetch you light, and paper, and ink.
Mal. Fool, I'll requite it in the highest degree: I prythee, be gone.
* Senses. + Taken possession of.