SCENE IIIOLIVIA'S house.
Enter SIR TOBY and SIR ANDREW.
Approach, Sir Andrew: not to be
abed after midnight is to be up betimes; and
'diluculo surgere,' thou know'st,—
Nay, by my troth, I know not: but
I know, to be up late is to be up late.
A false conclusion: I hate it as an
unfilled can. To be up after midnight and to
go to bed then, is early: so that to go to bed
after midnight is to go to bed betimes. Does (10)
not our life consist of the four elements?
Faith, so they say; but I think it
rather consists of eating and drinking.
Thou'rt a scholar; let us therefore
eat and drink. Marian, I say! a stoup of wine! Enter CLOWN.
Here comes the fool, i' faith.
How now, my hearts! did you never
see the picture of 'we three'?
Welcome, ass. Now let's have a catch.
By my troth, the fool has an excellent
breast. I had rather than forty shillings
I had such a leg, and so sweet a breath
to sing, as the fool has. In sooth, thou wast in
very gracious fooling last night, when thou
spokest of Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians passing
the equinoctial of Queubus: 'twas very
good, i' faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy
leman: hadst it?
I did impeticos thy gratillity; for
Malvolio's nose is no whipstock: my lady has
a white hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottle-ale
Excellent! why, this is the best (31)
fooling, when all is done. Now, a song.
Come on; there is sixpence for
you: let's have a song.
There's a testril of me too: if one
knight give a—
Would you have a love-song, or a
song of good life?
A love-song, a love-song.
Ay, ay: I care not for good life.
O mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O, stay and hear; your true love's coming,
That can sing both high and low:
Trip no further, pretty sweeting;
Journeys end in lovers meeting,
Every wise man's son doth know.
Excellent good, i' faith.
What is love? 'tis not hereafter;
Present mirth hath present laughter;
What's to come is still unsure:
In delay there lies no plenty;
Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty,
Youth's a stuff will not endure.
A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight.
A contagious breath.
Very sweet and contagious, i'faith.
To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in
contagion. But shall we make the welkin dance
indeed? shall we rouse the night-owl in a
catch that will draw three souls out of one
weaver? shall we do that?
An you love me, let's do it: I am
dog at a catch.
By'r lady, sir, and some dogs will
Most certain. Let our catch be,
'Hold thy peace, thou knave,' knight?
I shall be constrained in't to call thee knave, (70)
'Tis not the first time I have constrained
one to call me knave. Begin, fool: it
begins 'Hold thy peace.'
I shall never begin if I hold my peace.
Good, i' faith. Come, begin. [Catch sung.
What a caterwauling do you keep
here! If my lady have not called up her steward
Malvolio and bid him turn you out of (79)
doors, never trust me.
My lady's a Cataian, we are politicians,
Malvolio's a Peg-a-Ramsey, and 'Three
merry men be we.' Am not I consanguineous?
am I not of her blood? Tillyvally. Lady! [Sings.] 'There dwelt a man in Babylon, lady, lady!'
Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable
Ay, he does well enough if he be
disposed, and so do I too: he does it with a
better grace, but I do 't more natural.
'O, the twelfth day of (91)
For the love o' God, peace! Enter MALVOLIO.
My masters, are you mad? or what
are you? Have you no wit, manners, nor honesty,
but to gabble like tinkers at this time of
night? Do ye make an alehouse of my lady's
house, that ye squeak out your coziers' catches
without any mitigation or remorse of voice?
Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time
We did keep time, sir, in our (101)
catches. Sneck up!
Sir Toby, I must be round with you.
My lady bade me tell you, that, though she
harbors you as her kinsman, she's nothing
allied to your disorders. If you can separate
yourself and your misdemeanors, you are welcome
to the house; if not, an it would please
you to take leave of her, she is very willing to
bid you farewell.
'Farewell, dear heart, since I must (110)
needs be gone.'
Nay, good Sir Toby.
'His eyes do show his days are almost
Is't even so?
'But I will never die.
Sir Toby, there you lie.
This is much credit to you.
'Shall I bid him go?'
'What an if you do?'
'Shall I bid him go, and spare not?' (121)
'O no, no, no, no, you dare not.'
Out o' tune, sir: ye lie. Art any
more than a steward? Dost thou think, because
thou art virtuous, there shall be no more
cakes and ale?
Yes, by Saint Anne, and ginger shall
be hot i' the mouth too.
Thou'rt i' the right. Go, sir, rub
your chain with crums. A stoup of wine,.
Mistress Mary, if you prized my,
lady's favor at any thing more than contempt,
you would not give means for this uncivil
rule: she shall know of it, by this hand. [Exit.
Go shake your ears.
'Twere as good a deed as to drink
when a man's a-hungry, to challenge him the
field, and then to break promise with him and
make a fool of him.
Do't, knight: I'll write thee a challenge:
or I'll deliver thy indignation to him (141)
by word of mouth.
Sweet Sir Toby, be patient for tonight:
since the youth of the count's was today
with my lady, she is much out of quiet.
For Monsieur Malvolio, let me alone with
him: if I do not gull him into a nayword,
and make him a common recreation, do not
think I have wit enough to lie straight in my
bed: I know I can do it.
Posses us, possess us; tell us (150)
something of him.
Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kindof puritan.
O, if I thought that I'ld beat him
like a dog!
What, for being a puritan? thy exquisite
reason, dear knight?
I have no exquisite reason for't,
but I have reason good enough.
The devil a puritan that he is, or any
thing constantly, but a time-pleaser; an affectioned
ass, that cons state without book and
utters it by great swarths: the best persuaded
of himself, so crammed, as he thinks, with excellencies,
that it is his grounds of faith that
all that look on him love him; and on that
vice in him will my revenge find notable cause
What wilt thou do?
I will drop in his way some obscure
epistles of love; wherein, by the colour of his
beard, the shape of his leg, the manner of his
gait, the expressure of his eye, forehead, and
complexion, he shall find himself most feelingly
personated. I can write very like my lady
your niece: on a forgotten matter we can
hardly make distinction of our hands.
Excellent! I smell a device.
I have't in my nose too.
He shall think, by the letters that
thou wilt drop, that they come from my niece, (180)
and that she's in love with him.
My purpose is, indeed, a horse of
And your horse now would make
him an ass.
Ass, I doubt not.
O, 'twill be admirable!
Sport royal, I warrant you: I know
my physic will work with him. I will plant you
two, and let the fool make a third, where he
shall find the letter: observe his construction
of it. For this night, to bed, and dream on
the event. Farewell. [Exit.
Good night, Penthesilea.
Before me, she's a good wench.
She's a beagle, true-bred, and one
that adores me: what o' that?
I was adored once too.
Let's to bed, knight. Thou hadst
need send for more money.
If I cannot recover your niece, I (201)
am a foul way out.
Send for money, knight: if thou
hast her not i' the end, call me cut.
If I do not, never trust me, take
it how you will.
Come, come, I'll go burn some
sack; 'tis too late to go to bed now; come,
knight; come, knight. [Exeunt.