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I know, thy constellation is right apt
I'll do my best,
SCENE V-A room in Olivia's house. Enter
Mar. Nay, either tell me where thou hast been, or I will not open my lips so wide as a bristle may enter, in way of thy excuse: my lady will hang thee for thy absence.
Clo. Let her hang me: he, that is well hanged in this world, needs to fear no colours. Mar. Make that good.
Clo. He shall see none to fear.
Mar. A good lenten? answer: I can tell thee where that saying was born, of, I fear no colours. Clo. Where, good mistress Mary?
Mar. In the wars; and that may you be bold to say in your foolery.
Clo. Well, God give them wisdom, that have it; and those that are fools, let them use their talents.
Mar. Yet you will be hanged, for being so long absent: or, to be turned away, is not that as good as a hanging to you?
Clo. Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage; and, for turning away, let summer bear it
Mar. You are resolute then?
Clo. Not so neither; but I am resolved on two points.
(1) Full of impediments. (2) Short and spare.
Mar. That, if one break, the other will hold; if both break, your gaskins fall.
Clo. Apt, in good faith; very apt! Well, go thy way; if sir Toby would leave drinking, thou wert as witty a piece of Eve's flesh as any in Illyria:
Mar. Peace, you rogue, no more o' that; here comes my lady: make your excuse wisely, you were best. Exit.
Enter Olivia and Malvolio.
Clo. Wit, an't be thy will, put me into good fooling! Those wits, that think they have thee, do very oft prove fools; and I, that am sure I lack thee, may pass for a wise man: for what says Quinapalus? Better a witty fool, than a foolish wit.- -God bless thee, lady!
Oli. Take the fool away.
Clo. Do you not hear, fellows? take away the lady.
Ŏli. Go to, you are a dry fool; I'll no more of you: besides, you grow dishonest.
Clo. Two faults, madonna,2 that drink and good counsel will amend: for give the dry fool drink, then is the fool not dry; bid the dishonest mend himself; if he mend, he is no longer dishonest; if he cannot, let the botcher mend him: any thing, that's mended, is but patched: virtue, that transgresses, is but patched with sin; and sin, that amends, is but patched with virtue: if that this simple syllogism will serve, so; if it will not, what remedy? As there is no true cuckold but calamity, so beauty's a flower:-the lady bade take away the fool; therefore, I say again, take her away. Oli. Sir, I bade them take away you. Clo. Misprision in the highest degree!—Lady,
(1) Points were hooks which fastened the hose or breeches.
(2) Italian, mistress, dame.
Cucullus non facit monachum; that's as much as
Clo. Dexterously, good madonna.
Clo. I must catechize you for it, madonna; good my mouse of virtue, answer me.
Oli. Well, sir, for want of other idleness, I'll 'bide your proof.
Clo. Good madonna, why mourn'st thou?
Clo. The more fool you, madonna, to mourn for your brother's soul being in heaven.-Take away the fool, gentlemen.
Oli. What think you of this fool, Malvolio? doth he not mend?
Mal. Yes; and shall do, till the pangs of death shake him infirmity, that decays the wise, doth ever make the better fool.
Clo. God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for the better increasing your folly! Sir Toby will be sworn, that I am no fox; but he will not pass his word for two-pence that you are no fool.
Oli. How say you to that, Malvolio?
Mal. I marvel your ladyship takes delight in such a barren rascal: I saw him put down the other day with an ordinary fool, that has no more brain than a stone. Look you now, he's out of his guard already unless you laugh and minister occasion to him, he is gagged. I protest, I take these wise men, that crow so at these set kind of fools, no better than the fools' zanies.1
Oli. O, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and taste with a distempered appetite. To be generous, guiltless, and of free disposition, is to take those
(1) Fools' baubles.
things for bird-bolts, that you deem cannon-bullets: there is no slander in an allowed fool, though he do nothing but rail; nor no railing in a known discreet man, though he do nothing but reprove.
Clo. Now Mercury endue thee with leasing 2 for thou speakest well of fools!
Mar. Madam, there is at the gate a young gentleman, much desires to speak with you.
Oli. From the count Orsino, is it?
Mar. I know not, madam; 'tis a fair young man, and well attended.
Oli. Who of my people hold him in delay? Mar. Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman. Oli. Fetch him off, I pray you; he speaks nothing but madman: fie on him! [Exit Maria.] Go you, Malvolio; if it be a suit from the count, I am sick, or not at home; what you will, to dismiss it. [Exit Malvolio.] Now you see, sir, how your fooling grows old, and people dislike it.
Clo. Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy eldest son should be a fool: whose skull Jove cram with brains, for here he comes, one of thy kin, has a most weak pia mater.3
Enter Sir Toby Belch.
Oli. By mine honour, half drunk.-What is he at the gate, cousin?
Sir To. A gentleman.
Oli. A gentleman? What gentleman ?
Sir To. 'Tis a gentleman here-A plague o' these pickle-herrings!-How now, sot?
Clo. Good sir Toby,
Oli. Cousin, cousin, how have you come so early by this lethargy?
Sir To. Lechery! I defy lechery: there's one at the gate.
Oli. Ay, marry; what is he?
Sir To. Let him be the devil, an he will, I care not give me faith, say 1. Well, it's all one.
Oli. What's a drunken man like, fool?
Clo. Like a drown'd man, a fool, and a madman one draught above heat makes him a fool; the second mads him; and a third drowns him.
Oli. Go thou and seek the coroner, and let him sit o' my coz; for he's in the third degree of drink, he's drown'd go, look after him.
Clo. He is but mad yet, madonna; and the fool shall look to the madman.
Mal. Madam, yond young fellow swears he will speak with you. I told him you were sick; he takes on him to understand so much, and therefore comes to speak with you: I told him you were asleep; he seems to have a fore-knowledge of that too, and therefore comes to speak with you. What is to be said to him, lady? he's fortified against any Oli. Tell him, he shall not speak with me. Mal. He has been told so: and he says, he'll stand at your door like a sheriff's post, and be the supporter of a bench, but he'll speak with you. Oli. What kind of man is he
Mal. Why, of man kind.
Oli. What manner of man?
Mal. Of very ill manner : he'll speak with you,
you, or no.
Oli. Of what personage, and years,
Mal. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy; as a squash is before 'tis a peascod, or a codling when 'tis almost an apple: 'tis with him e'en standing water, between boy and man. He is very well-favoured, and he speaks