Twelfth Night By William Shakespeare Act II: Scene 3

MALVOLIO.
Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My lady bade me tell you
that, though she harbours you as her kins-man, she's nothing
allied to your disorders. If you can separate yourself and your
misdemeanours, you are welcome to the house; if not, and it would
please you to take leave of her, she is very willing to bid you
farewell.

SIR TOBY.
'Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs be gone.'

MARIA.
Nay, good Sir Toby.

CLOWN.
'His eyes do show his days are almost done.'

MALVOLIO.
Is 't even so?

SIR TOBY.
'But I will never die.'

CLOWN.
Sir Toby, there you lie.

MALVOLIO.
This is much credit to you.

SIR TOBY.
'Shall I bid him go?'

CLOWN.
'What and if you do?'

SIR TOBY.
'Shall I bid him go, and spare not?'

CLOWN.
'O, no, no, no, no, you dare not.'

SIR TOBY.
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?

CLOWN.
Yes, by Saint Anne, and ginger shall be hot i' th' mouth too.

SIR TOBY.
Th 'rt i' th' right. Go, sir, rub your chain with crumbs. A
stoup of wine, Maria!

MALVOLIO.
Mistress Mary, if you priz'd 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.]

MARIA.
Go shake your ears.

SIR ANDREW.
'T were 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.

SIR TOBY.
Do't, knight: I'll write thee a challenge; or I'll deliver thy
indignation to him by word of mouth.

MARIA.
Sweet Sir Toby, be patient for to-night; since the youth of the
count's was to-day 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.

SIR TOBY.
Possess us, possess us; tell us something of him.

MARIA.
Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of puritan.

SIR ANDREW.
O, if I thought that, I'd beat him like a dog!

SIR TOBY.
What, for being a puritan? thy exquisite reason, dear knight?

SIR ANDREW.
I have no exquisite reason for 't, but I have reason good enough.

MARIA.
The devil a puritan that he is, or any thing constantly, but a
time-pleaser; an affection'd ass, that cons state without book,
and utters it by great swarths; the best persuaded of himself, so
cramm'd, 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.

SIR TOBY.
What wilt thou do?

MARIA.
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.

SIR TOBY.
Excellent! I smell a device.

SIR ANDREW.
I have 't in my nose too.

SIR TOBY.
He shall think, by the letters that thou wilt drop, that they
come from my niece, and that she's in love with him.

MARIA.
My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour.

SIR ANDREW.
And your horse now would make him an ass.

MARIA.
Ass, I doubt not.

SIR ANDREW.
O, 't will be admirable!

MARIA.
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.]

SIR TOBY.
Good night, Penthesilea.

SIR ANDREW.
Before me, she's a good wench.

SIR TOBY.
She's a beagle, true-bred, and one that adores me. What o' that?

SIR ANDREW.
I was ador'd once too.

SIR TOBY.
Let's to bed, knight. Thou hadst need send for more money.

SIR ANDREW.
If I cannot recover your niece, I am a foul way out.

SIR TOBY.
Send for money, knight; if thou hast her not i' th' end, call me
cut.

SIR ANDREW.
If I do not, never trust me; take it how you will.

SIR TOBY.
Come, come, I'll go burn some sack; 't is too late to go to bed
now. Come, knight; come, knight.

[Exeunt.]

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