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._

 Viola, still in disguise as Cesario, has returned to Lady Olivia's house to bring her another message of love from Orsino. Outside Olivia's house, Cesario meets Feste, the clown. Feste jokes and makes puns with him. Cesario jokes with comparable skill and good-naturedly gives Feste some coins for his trouble. Feste goes inside to announce the arrival of Cesario to Olivia. Sir Toby and Sir Andrew arrive in the garden and, meeting Cesario for the first time, make some rather awkward conversation with him. The situation is made awkward by the fact that Sir Andrew behaves foolishly, as usual, and both men are slightly drunk. Sir Toby invites Cesario into the house, but before they can enter, Olivia comes down to the garden, accompanied by Maria. She sends everyone else away in order to listen to what Cesario has to say. Once alone with Cesario, Olivia suddenly begs him not to give her any more love messages from Orsino. She lets Cesario know how deeply in love with him she is. Cesario tells Olivia as politely as he can that he cannot love her. Olivia seems to accept this rejection, but she realizes privately that she cannot so easily get rid of her love for this beautiful young man, even if he scorns her. Cesario swears to Olivia that no woman shall ever be mistress of his heart and turns to go. But Olivia begs him to come back again, suggesting desperately that maybe Cesario can convince her to love Orsino after all

