Chapter: ACT THE THIRD. SCENE I.


                           OLIVIA'S _Garden_.

              _Enter_ SIR TOBY, SIR ANDREW, _and_ FABIAN.

    _Sir To._ Come thy ways, Signior Fabian.

    _Fab._ Nay, I'll come; if I lose a scruple of this sport, let me be
boiled to death with melancholy.

    _Sir To._ Would'st thou not be glad to have the niggardly rascally
sheep-biter come by some notable shame?

    _Fab._ I would exult, man: you know, he brought me out of favour
with my lady, about a bear-baiting here.

    _Sir To._ To anger him, we'll have the bear again; and we will fool
him black and blue:--Shall we not, Sir Andrew?

    _Sir And._ An we do not, it is pity of our lives.

                    _Enter_ MARIA, _with a Letter_.

    _Sir To._ Here comes the little villain:--How now, my nettle of
India?

    _Mar._ Get ye all three behind yon clump: Malvolio's coming down
this walk; he has been yonder i' the sun, practising behaviour 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! [_The men hide themselves._]--Lie thou there; [_Throws
down a letter._] for here comes the trout that must be caught with
tickling.                                                 [_Exit_ MARIA.

                           _Enter_ MALVOLIO.

    _Mal._ '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 To._ Here's an over-weening rogue!

    _Fab._ Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock of him; how he jets
under his advanced plumes!

    _Sir And._ 'Slight, I could so beat the rogue:--

    _Mal._ To be Count Malvolio;--

    _Sir To._ Ah, rogue!

    _Sir And._ Pistol him, pistol him.

    _Sir To._ Peace, peace!

    _Mal._ There is example for't; the lady of the strachy married the
yeoman of the wardrobe.

    _Sir And._ Fie on him, Jezebel!

    _Fab._ Now he's deeply in; look, how imagination blows him.

    _Mal._ Having been three months married to her, sitting in my
state,--

    _Sir To._ O, for a stone-bow, to hit him in the eye!

    _Mal._ Calling my officers about me, in my branched velvet
gown;--having come from a day-bed, where I left Olivia sleeping;--

    _Sir To._ Fire and brimstone!

    _Fab._ O peace, peace!

    _Mal._ 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 ask for my kinsman Toby:--

    _Sir To._ Bolts and shackles!

    _Fab._ O, peace, peace, peace! now, now.

    _Mal._ Seven of my people, with an obedient start, make out for him:
I frown the while; and, perchance, wind up my watch, or play with some
rich jewel. Toby approaches: courtsies there to me:--

    _Sir To._ Shall this fellow live?

    _Fab._ Though our silence be drawn from us with cars, yet peace.

    _Mal._ I extend my hand to him thus, quenching my familiar smile
with an austere regard of control--

    _Sir To._ And does not Toby take you a blow o' the lips then?

    _Mal._ Saying, _Cousin Toby, my fortunes having cast me on your
niece, give me this prerogative of speech_:--

    _Sir To._ What, what?

    _Mal._ _You must amend your drunkenness._

    _Sir To._ Out, scab!

    _Fab._ Nay, patience, or we break the sinews of our plot.

    _Mal._ _Besides, you waste the treasure of your time with a foolish
knight_;--

    _Sir And._ That's me, I warrant you.

    _Mal._ _One Sir Andrew_:--

    _Sir And._ I knew, 'twas I; for many do call me fool.

    _Mal._ What employment have we here?
                                               [_Taking up the letter._

    _Fab._ Now is the woodcock near the gin.

    _Sir To._ O peace! an the spirit of humours intimate reading aloud
to him,--

    _Mal._ 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 And._ Her _C's_, her _U's_, and her _T's_: Why that?

    _Mal._ [_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? [_Opens the letter._]

    _Fab._ This wins him, liver and all.

    _Mal._ [_Reads._] _Jove knows, I love:
                         But who?
                      Lips do not move,
                      No man must know.
No man must know._--If this should be thee, Malvolio?

    _Sir To._ Marry, hang thee, brock!

    _Mal._ [_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_.

    _Fab._ A fustian riddle!

    _Sir To._ Excellent wench, say I.

    _Mal._ M,O,A,I, _doth sway my life_.--Nay, but first, let me
see,--let me see,--let me see.

    _Fab._ What a dish of poison has she dressed him!

    _Sir To._ And with what wing the stanniel checks at it!

    _Mal._ _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 To._ O, ay! make up that:--he is now at a cold scent.

    _Mal._ _M_,--Malvolio;--_M_,--why, that begins my name.

    _Fab._ I thought he would work it out: the cur is excellent at
faults.

    _Mal._ _M_,--But then there is no consonancy in the sequel; that
suffers under probation: _A_ should follow, but _O_ does.

    _Fab._ And _O_ shall end, I hope.

    _Sir To._ Ay, or I'll cudgel him, and make him cry, _O_.

    _Mal._ And then _I_ comes behind.

    _Fab._ Ay, an you had any eye behind you, you might see more
detraction at your heels, than fortunes before you.

    _Mal._ _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 them. To enure thyself to what thou art like to
be, cast thy humble slough, and appear fresh. Be opposite with a
kinsman, surly with servants. 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._
Day-light and champian discovers not more: this is open. I will be
proud, I will baffle Sir Toby, I will wash off gross acquaintance, I
will be point-de-vice, 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:--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
pr'ythee._ Jove, I thank thee. I will smile; I will do every thing that
thou wilt have me.
                                                     [_Exit_ MALVOLIO.

                [_They advance from behind the Trees._]

    _Omnes._ Ha! ha! ha!

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

    _Sir To._ I could marry this wench for this device.

    _Sir And._ So could I too.

    _Sir To._ And ask no other dowry with her, but such another jest.

    _Sir And._ Nor I neither.

    _Fab._ Here comes my noble gull-catcher.

                            _Enter_ MARIA.

    _Sir To._ Wilt thou set thy foot o' my neck?

    _Sir And._ Or o' mine either?

    _Sir To._ Shall I become thy bond-slave?

    _Sir And._ Or I either?

    _Sir To._ Why, thou hast put him in such a dream, that when the
image of it leaves him, he must run mad.

    _Mar._ Nay, but say true; does it work upon him?

    _Sir To._ Like aqua-vitae with a midwife.

    _Mar._ 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.                                                [_Exit_ MARIA.

    _Sir To._ To the gates of Tartar, thou most excellent devil of wit.

    _Sir And._ I'll make one too.

    _Fab._ And I.

    _Omnes._ Huzza! huzza! huzza!                             [_Exeunt._



SCENE II.


                           _A public Square._

                _Enter_ SEBASTIAN _and_ ANTONIO.

    _Seb._ I would not, by my will, have troubled you;
  But, since you make your pleasure of your pains,
  I will no further chide you.

    _Ant._ I could not stay behind you; my desire,
  More sharp than filed steel, did spur me forth;
  I fear'd besides what might befall your travel,
  Being skilless in these parts; which to a stranger,
  Unguided, and unfriended, often prove
  Rough and unhospitable: My willing love,
  The rather by these arguments of doubt,
  Set forth in your pursuit.

    _Seb._ My kind Antonio,
  I can no other answer make, but thanks,
  And thanks, and ever thanks.--What is to do?
  Shall we go see the reliques of this town?

    _Ant._ To-morrow, sir; best, first, go see your lodging.

    _Seb._ I am not weary, and 'tis long to night;
  I pray you, let us satisfy our eyes
  With the memorials, and the things of fame,
  That do renown this city.

    _Ant._ 'Would, you'd pardon me;
  I do not without danger walk these streets:
  Once, in a sea-fight, 'gainst Orsino's gallies,
  I did some service; of such note indeed,
  That were I ta'en here, it would scarce be answered.

    _Seb._ Do not then walk too open.

    _Ant._ It doth not fit me.--Hold, sir, here's my purse;
  In the south suburbs, at the Elephant,
  Is best to lodge: I will bespeak our diet,
  Whiles you beguile the time, and feed your knowledge,
  With viewing of the town; there shall you have me.

    _Seb._ Why I your purse?

    _Ant._ Haply, your eye shall light upon some toy
  You have desire to purchase; and your store,
  I think, is not for idle markets, sir.

    _Seb._ I'll be your purse-bearer, and leave you for
  an hour.

    _Ant._ To the Elephant.

    _Seb._ I do remember.                                     [_Exeunt._



SCENE III.


                           OLIVIA'S _Garden_.

            _Enter_ CLOWN, _playing on a Tabor, and_ VIOLA.

    _Vio._ Save thee, friend, and thy music: Dost thou live by thy
tabor?

    _Clo._ No, sir, I live by the church.

    _Vio._ Art thou a churchman?

    _Clo._ No such matter, sir: I do live by the church; for I do live
at my house, and my house doth stand by the church.

    _Vio._ Art not thou the Lady Olivia's fool?

    _Clo._ No, indeed, sir; the Lady Olivia has no folly: she will keep
no fool, sir, till she be married; and fools are as like husbands, as
pilchards are to herrings, the husband's the bigger; I am, indeed, not
her fool, but her corrupter of words.

    _Vio._ I saw thee late at the Duke Orsino's.

    _Clo._ Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb, like the sun; it
shines every where. I would be sorry, sir, but the fool should be as oft
with your master, as with my mistress: I think, I saw your wisdom there.

    _Vio._ Nay, an thou pass upon me, I'll no more with thee. Hold,
there's expences for thee.

                                                     [_Gives him money._

    _Clo._ Now, Jove, in his next commodity of hair, send thee a beard!

    _Vio._ By my troth, I'll tell thee; I am almost sick for one.--Is
thy lady within?

    _Clo._ Would not a pair of these have bred, sir?

    _Vio._ Yes, being kept together, and put to use.

    _Clo._ I would play Lord Pandarus of Phrygia, sir, to bring a
Cressida to this Troilus.

    _Vio._ I understand you, sir: [_Gives him more money._] 'tis well
begged.

    _Clo._ My lady is within, sir. I will construe to them whence you
came: who you are, and what you would, are out of my welkin: I might
say, element; but the word is over-worn.                  [_Exit_ CLOWN.

    _Vio._ This fellow's wise enough to play the fool;
  And to do that well, craves a kind of wit:
  He must observe their mood on whom he jests,
  The quality of persons, and the time;
  And, like the haggard, check at every feather
  That comes before his eye. This is a practice,
  As full of labour as a wise man's art.

                  _Enter_ SIR TOBY, _and_ SIR ANDREW.

    _Sir To._ Save you, gentleman.

    _Vio._ And you, sir.

    _Sir To._ My niece is desirous you should enter, if your trade be to
her.

    _Vio._ I am bound to your niece, sir: I mean, she is the list of my
voyage.

    _Sir To._ Taste your legs, sir, put them to motion.

    _Vio._ My legs do better understand me, sir, than I understand what
you mean by bidding me taste my legs.

    _Sir To._ I mean,--to go, sir, to enter.

    _Vio._ I will answer you with gait and entrance: But we are
prevented.

                            _Enter_ OLIVIA.

Most excellent accomplished lady, the heavens rain odours on you!

    _Sir And._ That youth's a rare courtier!--_Rain odours!_--well.

    _Vio._ My matter hath no voice, lady, but to your own most pregnant
and vouchsafed ear.

    _Sir And._ _Odours_, _pregnant_, and _vouchsafed_!--I'll get 'em all
three ready.

    _Oli._ Leave me to my hearing.

    _Sir And._ _Odours--pregnant--vouchsafed._

                                    [_Exeunt_ SIR TOBY _and_ SIR ANDREW.

    _Oli._ Give me your hand, sir.

    _Vio._ My duty, madam, and most humble service.

    _Oli._ What is your name?

    _Vio._ Cesario is your servant's name, fair princess.

    _Oli._ My servant, sir! 'Twas never merry world,
  Since lowly feigning was called compliment:
  You are servant to the Duke Orsino, youth.

    _Vio._ And he is yours, and his must needs be yours;
  Your servant's servant is your servant, madam.

    _Oli._ For him, I think not on him: for his thoughts,
  'Would they were blanks, rather than filled with me!

    _Vio._ Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts on his behalf:--

    _Oli._ O, by your leave, I pray you;
  I bade you never speak again of him:
  But, would you undertake another suit,
  I had rather hear you to solicit that,
  Than music from the spheres.

    _Vio._ Dear lady,----

    _Oli._ Give me leave, I beseech you: I did send,
  After the last enchantment you did here,
  A ring in chase of you; so did I abuse
  Myself, my servant, and, I fear me, you:
  Under your hard construction must I sit,
  To force that on you, in a shameful cunning,
  Which you knew none of yours: What might you think?
  Have you not set mine honour at the stake,
  And baited it with all the unmuzzled thoughts
  That tyrannous heart can think? To one of your receiving
  Enough is shown; a cyprus, not a bosom,
  Hides my poor heart: So let me hear you speak.

    _Vio._ I pity you.

    _Oli._ That's a degree to love.

    _Vio._ No, not a grise; for 'tis a vulgar proof,
  That very oft we pity enemies.

    _Oli._ Why, then, methinks, 'tis time to smile again:
  O world, how apt the poor are to be proud!
                                                       [_Clock strikes._
  The clock upbraids me with the waste of time.--
  Be not afraid, good youth, I will not have you:
  And yet, when wit and youth is come to harvest,
  Your wife is like to reap a proper man:
  There lies your way, due west.

    _Vio._ Then westward-hoe:
  Grace, and good disposition 'tend your ladyship!
  You'll nothing, madam, to my lord by me?

    _Oli._ Stay:
  I pr'ythee, tell me, what thou think'st of me.

    _Vio._ That you do think, you are not what you are.

    _Oli._ If I think so, I think the same of you.

    _Vio._ Then think you right; I am not what I am.

    _Oli._ I would, you were as I would have you be!

    _Vio._ Would it be better, madam, than I am,
  I wish it might; for now I am your fool.

    _Oli._ O, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful
  In the contempt and anger of his lip!
  Cesario, by the roses of the spring,
  By maidhood, honour, truth, and every thing,
  I love thee so, that, maugre all thy pride,
  Nor wit, nor reason, can my passion hide.

    _Vio._ By innocence, I swear, and by my youth.
  I have one heart, one bosom, and one truth,
  And that no woman has; nor never none
  Shall mistress be of it, save I alone.
  And so adieu, good madam; never more
  Will I my master's tears to you deplore.

    _Oli._ Yet come again: for thou, perhaps, may'st move
  That heart, which now abhors, to like his love.

                                                              [_Exeunt._



SCENE IV.


                     _A Room in_ OLIVIA'S _House_.

               _Enter_ SIR ANDREW, FABIAN, _and_ SIR TOBY.

    _Sir And._ No, faith, I'll not stay a jot longer.

    _Sir To._ Thy reason, dear venom, give thy reason.

    _Fab._ You must needs yield your reason, Sir Andrew.

    _Sir And._ Marry, I saw your niece do more favours to the Count's
serving man, than ever she bestowed upon me; I saw't this moment in the
garden.

    _Sir To._ Did she see thee the while, old boy? tell me that.

    _Sir And._ As plain as I see you now.

    _Fab._ This was a great argument of love in her toward you.

    _Sir And._ 'Slight! will you make an ass o' me?

    _Fab._ I will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the oaths of judgment
and reason.

    _Sir To._ And they have been grand jury-men, since before Noah was a
sailor.

    _Fab._ She did show favour to the youth in your sight, only to
exasperate you, to awake your dormouse valour, to put fire in your
heart, and brimstone in your liver: you should then have accosted her;
and with some excellent jests, fire-new from the mint, you should have
bang'd the youth into dumbness. This was look'd for at your hand, and
this was baulk'd: the double gilt of this opportunity you let time wash
off, and you are now sailed into the north of my lady's opinion: where
you will hang like an icicle on a Dutchman's beard, unless you do redeem
it by some laudable attempt, either of valour or policy.

    _Sir And._ An it be any way, it must be with valour; for policy I
hate.

    _Sir To._ Why, then, build me thy fortunes upon the basis of valour.
Challenge me the Count's youth to fight with him; hurt him in eleven
places; my niece shall take note of it: and assure thyself, there is no
love-broker in the world can more prevail in man's commendation with
woman, than report of valour.

    _Fab._ There is no way but this, Sir Andrew.

    _Sir And._ Will either of you bear me a challenge to him?

    _Sir To._ Go write it in a martial hand; be curst and brief; it is
no matter how witty, so it be eloquent, and full of invention: taunt him
with the license of ink: if thou _thou'st_ him some thrice, it shall not
be amiss; and as many _lies_ as will lie in thy sheet of paper; although
the sheet were big enough for the bed of Ware in England, set 'em down;
go, about it. Let there be gall enough in thy ink; though thou write
with a goose-pen, no matter: About it.

    _Sir And._ Where shall I find you?

    _Sir To._ We'll call thee at the _cubiculo:_ Go.

                                                     [_Exit_ SIR ANDREW.

    _Fab._ This is a dear manakin to you, Sir Toby.

    _Sir To._ I have been dear to him, lad; some two thousand strong, or
so.

    _Fab._ We shall have a rare letter from him: but you'll not deliver
it?

    _Sir To._ Never trust me then; and by all means stir on the youth to
an answer. I think, oxen and wainropes cannot hale them together. For
Andrew, if he were opened, and you find so much blood in his liver as
will clog the foot of a flea, I'll eat the rest of the anatomy.

    _Fab._ And his opposite, the youth, bears in his visage no great
presage of cruelty.

    _Sir To._ Look, where the youngest wren of nine comes.

                             _Enter_ MARIA.

    _Mar._ If you desire the spleen, and will laugh yourselves into
stitches, follow me: yon gull Malvolio is turned heathen, a very
renegado; for there is no Christian, that means to be saved by believing
rightly, can ever believe such impossible passages of grossness. He's in
yellow stockings.

    _Sir To._ And cross-gartered?

    _Mar._ Most villainously; like a pedant that keeps a school i' the
church.--I have dogg'd him, like his murderer: He does obey every point
of the letter that I dropped to betray him. He does smile his face into
more lines, than are in a map: you have not seen such a thing as 'tis.

    _Sir To._ Come, bring us, bring us where he is.

                                                             [_Exeunt._

 Viola enters, on her way to see Olivia; she comes across Feste, who is full of wit and foolery as usual. Feste expresses his dislike for Viola, which Viola does not take personally; Viola gives him a few coins for his wordplay, and mentions the wit that it takes to act the fool as well as Feste does. Viola runs across Sir Toby and Sir Andrew on her way to visit Olivia; Olivia then comes to meet Viola, and Viola again attempts to make Orsino's suit to Viola. Olivia apologizes for the confusion she brought upon Viola with sending the ring; then, Olivia confesses her affection for Viola/ Cesario, and begs to know if Viola does indeed feel the same way. Viola says no, then asks again if Olivia will have anything to do with Orsino; Olivia is constant in her lack of response to Orsino, but makes one last attempt to win Cesario over. Viola warns Olivia as best she can, telling Olivia that "I am not what I am," though Olivia does not guess at the statement's real meaning . Of course she is unsuccessful, and Viola leavesbut not without an entreaty to return. Scene 2: Sir Andrew finally comes to his senses, realizing that Olivia favors Cesario far more than she favors him. His friend Fabian tries to convince him that Olivia is only pretending to favor Cesario, in order to make Sir Andrew jealous; his lie is well-intentioned, but does not soothe Sir Andrew's anger. Sir Toby then persuades Sir Andrew that he should challenge Cesario to a duel, and that, if Sir Andrew wins, he will surely gain Olivia's affections. Sir Toby tells him to write a letter of challenge, which Sir Toby will deliver; Toby actually has no intent of sponsoring a duel, but thinks the exercise might cool Sir Andrew off a little. Maria then enters, and begs them all to come see Malvolio, who is acting like a complete idiot in front of Olivia. Scene 3: Antonio is slow to leave Sebastian's side, as he fears some accident may happen to Sebastian since he is completely ignorant of the country. Sebastian wants to go about and see the sights, but Antonio tells him that he cannot; Antonio confesses that he was involved with some piracy against Illyria, and that he is wanted by the Count because of it. Antonio proposes that they meet up at an inn in one hour, and that Sebastian can wander about until then; they part, hopeful of meeting up again without accident. Scene 4: Maria warns Olivia of Malvolio's very strange behavior; yet, Olivia still wishes that Malvolio be brought before her. Malvolio is wearing yellow, cross-gartered stockings, which Olivia abhors; he is careful to point out what he thinks is his fashionable taste. Malvolio continues his absurdity, making remarks of unwarranted familiarity, and completely baffling Olivia with his misguided attempts to be amorous toward her. Olivia dismisses Malvolio's odd behavior as being some kind of passing madness, and orders that Malvolio be looked after while she sees to Cesario, who has supposedly returned. Sir Toby, Maria, and Fabian approach Malvolio; they treat Malvolio's case as an instant of witchcraft or possession, and pretend they know nothing of the real cause of Malvolio's strange behavior. Then, their plan takes a more malicious turn; not satisfied with the havoc they have already caused, they decide to make Malvolio go mad, if they can. Sir Andrew returns, with his "saucy" letter for Cesario, and Viola as Cesario appears, having patched up any bad feelings over their last dramatic scene. Sir Toby conveys Sir Andrew's challenge to Viola, and tries to make Viola shrink from the confrontation by greatly exaggerating Sir Andrew's meanness and anger. Sir Andrew and Viola come close to some sort of reluctant confrontation, when Antonio stumbles on them; Antonio is arrested by officers of the Count, and asks Viola for his purse, mistaking Viola for her brother Sebastian. Antonio is taken aback when Viola will not give him his purse, thinking that she, as Sebastian, is ungrateful for his help; he speaks of rescuing Sebastian from drowning, which lets Viola know that her brother might be alive. Antonio is dragged away, and Viola hopes that what Antonio said is indeed true, and that her brother might have been saved from the wreck.

