ARKCODEX
Act II, Scene 3
1Olivia’shouse.
2Enter Sir Toby and Sir Andrew.
3Sir TobyApproach, Sir Andrew: not to be a-bed after midnight is to be up betimes; and “diluculo surgere,” thou know’st—
4Sir AndrewNay, by my troth, I know not: but I know, to be up late is to be up late.
5Sir TobyA 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 not our life consist of the four elements?
6Sir AndrewFaith, so they say; but I think it rather consists of eating and drinking.
7Sir TobyThou’rt a scholar; let us therefore eat and drink. Marian, I say! a stoup of wine!
8Enter Clown.
9Sir AndrewHere comes the fool, i’ faith.
10ClownHow now, my hearts! did you never see the picture of “we three”?
11Sir TobyWelcome, ass. Now let’s have a catch.
12Sir AndrewBy 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?
13ClownI did impeticos thy gratillity; for Malvolio’s nose is no whipstock: my lady has a white hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses.
14Sir AndrewExcellent! why, this is the best fooling, when all is done. Now, a song.
15Sir TobyCome on; there is sixpence for you: let’s have a song.
16Sir AndrewThere’s a testril of me too: if one knight give a—
17ClownWould you have a love-song, or a song of good life?
18Sir TobyA love-song, a love-song.
19Sir AndrewAy, ay: I care not for good life.
20ClownSings.
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.
21Sir AndrewExcellent good, i’ faith.
22Sir TobyGood, good.
23ClownSings.
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.
24Sir AndrewA mellifluous voice, as I am true knight.
25Sir TobyA contagious breath.
26Sir AndrewVery sweet and contagious, i’ faith.
27Sir TobyTo 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?
28Sir AndrewAn you love me, let’s do’t: I am dog at a catch.
29ClownBy’r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well.
30Sir AndrewMost certain. Let our catch be, “Thou knave.”
31Clown“Hold thy peace, thou knave,” knight? I shall be constrained in’t to call thee knave, knight.
32Sir Andrew’Tis not the first time I have constrained one to call me knave. Begin, fool: it begins “Hold thy peace.”
33ClownI shall never begin if I hold my peace.
34Sir AndrewGood, i’ faith. Come, begin. Catch sung.
35Enter Maria.
36MariaWhat a caterwauling do you keep here! If my lady have not called up her steward Malvolio and bid him turn you out of doors, never trust me.
37Sir TobyMy 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!”
38ClownBeshrew me, the knight’s in admirable fooling.
39Sir AndrewAy, he does well enough if he be disposed, and so do I too: he does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural.
40Sir TobySings. “O, the twelfth day of December,”—
41MariaFor the love o’ God, peace!
42Enter Malvolio.
43MalvolioMy masters, are you mad? or what are you? Have ye 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 in you?
44Sir TobyWe did keep time, sir, in our catches. Sneck up!
45MalvolioSir Toby, I must be round with you. My lady bade me tell you, that, though she harbours you as her kinsman, she’s nothing allied to your disorders. If you can separate yourself and your misdemeanours, 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.
46Sir Toby“Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs be gone.”
47MariaNay, good Sir Toby.
48Clown“His eyes do show his days are almost done.”
49MalvolioIs’t even so?
50Sir Toby“But I will never die.”
51ClownSir Toby, there you lie.
52MalvolioThis is much credit to you.
53Sir Toby“Shall I bid him go?”
54Clown“What an if you do?”
55Sir Toby“Shall I bid him go, and spare not?”
56Clown“O no, no, no, no, you dare not.”
57Sir TobyOut 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?
58ClownYes, by Saint Anne, and ginger shall be hot i’ the mouth too.
59Sir TobyThou’rt i’ the right. Go, sir, rub your chain with crums. A stoup of wine, Maria!
60MalvolioMistress Mary, if you prized my lady’s favour at any thing more than contempt, you would not give means for this uncivil rule: she shall know of it, by this hand. Exit.
61MariaGo shake your ears.
62Sir Andrew’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.
63Sir TobyDo’t, knight: I’ll write thee a challenge: or I’ll deliver thy indignation to him by word of mouth.
64MariaSweet Sir Toby, be patient for to-night: since the youth of the count’s was to-day with thy 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.
65Sir TobyPossess us, possess us; tell us something of him.
66MariaMarry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of puritan.
67Sir AndrewO, if I thought that I’ld beat him like a dog!
68Sir TobyWhat, for being a puritan? thy exquisite reason, dear knight?
69Sir AndrewI have no exquisite reason for’t, but I have reason good enough.
70MariaThe 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 to work.
71Sir TobyWhat wilt thou do?
72MariaI 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.
73Sir TobyExcellent! I smell a device.
74Sir AndrewI have’t in my nose too.
75Sir TobyHe shall think, by the letters that thou wilt drop, that they come from my niece, and that she’s in love with him.
76MariaMy purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour.
77Sir AndrewAnd your horse now would make him an ass.
78MariaAss, I doubt not.
79Sir AndrewO, ’twill be admirable!
80MariaSport 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.
81Sir TobyGood night, Penthesilea.
82Sir AndrewBefore me, she’s a good wench.
83Sir TobyShe’s a beagle, true-bred, and one that adores me: what o’ that?
84Sir AndrewI was adored once too.
85Sir TobyLet’s to bed, knight. Thou hadst need send for more money.
86Sir AndrewIf I cannot recover your niece, I am a foul way out.
87Sir TobySend for money, knight: if thou hast her not i’ the end, call me cut.
88Sir AndrewIf I do not, never trust me, take it how you will.
89Sir TobyCome, come, I’ll go burn some sack; ’tis too late to go to bed now: come, knight; come, knight. Exeunt.