SCENE V. OLIVIA's garden. Twelfth Night  Shakespeare homepage  |  Twelfth Night  | Act 2, Scene 5 

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 Enter SIR TOBY BELCH, SIR ANDREW, and FABIAN  SIR TOBY BELCH  Come thy ways, Signior Fabian. 

 FABIAN  Nay, I'll come: if I lose a scruple of this sport, 

 let me be boiled to death with melancholy. 

 SIR TOBY BELCH  Wouldst thou not be glad to have the niggardly 

 rascally sheep-biter come by some notable shame? 

 FABIAN  I would exult, man: you know, he brought me out o' 

 favour with my lady about a bear-baiting here. 

 SIR TOBY BELCH  To anger him we'll have the bear again; and we will 

 fool him black and blue: shall we not, Sir Andrew? 

 SIR ANDREW  An we do not, it is pity of our lives. 

 SIR TOBY BELCH  Here comes the little villain. 



 Enter MARIA  How now, my metal of India! 

 MARIA  Get ye all three into the box-tree: Malvolio's 

 coming down this walk: he has been yonder i' the 

 sun practising behavior 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! Lie thou there, 



 Throws down a letter  for here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling. 



 Exit 

 Enter MALVOLIO  MALVOLIO  '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 TOBY BELCH  Here's an overweening rogue! 

 FABIAN  O, peace! Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock 

 of him: how he jets under his advanced plumes! 

 SIR ANDREW  'Slight, I could so beat the rogue! 

 SIR TOBY BELCH  Peace, I say. 

 MALVOLIO  To be Count Malvolio! 

 SIR TOBY BELCH  Ah, rogue! 

 SIR ANDREW  Pistol him, pistol him. 

 SIR TOBY BELCH  Peace, peace! 

 MALVOLIO  There is example for't; the lady of the Strachy 

 married the yeoman of the wardrobe. 

 SIR ANDREW  Fie on him, Jezebel! 

 FABIAN  O, peace! now he's deeply in: look how 

 imagination blows him. 

 MALVOLIO  Having been three months married to her, sitting in 

 my state,-- 

 SIR TOBY BELCH  O, for a stone-bow, to hit him in the eye! 

 MALVOLIO  Calling my officers about me, in my branched velvet 

 gown; having come from a day-bed, where I have left 

 Olivia sleeping,-- 

 SIR TOBY BELCH  Fire and brimstone! 

 FABIAN  O, peace, peace! 

 MALVOLIO  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 for my 

 kinsman Toby,-- 

 SIR TOBY BELCH  Bolts and shackles! 

 FABIAN  O peace, peace, peace! now, now. 

 MALVOLIO  Seven of my people, with an obedient start, make 

 out for him: I frown the while; and perchance wind 

 up watch, or play with my--some rich jewel. Toby 

 approaches; courtesies there to me,-- 

 SIR TOBY BELCH  Shall this fellow live? 

 FABIAN  Though our silence be drawn from us with cars, yet peace. 

 MALVOLIO  I extend my hand to him thus, quenching my familiar 

 smile with an austere regard of control,-- 

 SIR TOBY BELCH  And does not Toby take you a blow o' the lips then? 

 MALVOLIO  Saying, 'Cousin Toby, my fortunes having cast me on 

 your niece give me this prerogative of speech,'-- 

 SIR TOBY BELCH  What, what? 

 MALVOLIO  'You must amend your drunkenness.' 

 SIR TOBY BELCH  Out, scab! 

 FABIAN  Nay, patience, or we break the sinews of our plot. 

 MALVOLIO  'Besides, you waste the treasure of your time with 

 a foolish knight,'-- 

 SIR ANDREW  That's me, I warrant you. 

 MALVOLIO  'One Sir Andrew,'-- 

 SIR ANDREW  I knew 'twas I; for many do call me fool. 

 MALVOLIO  What employment have we here? 



 Taking up the letter  FABIAN  Now is the woodcock near the gin. 

 SIR TOBY BELCH  O, peace! and the spirit of humour intimate reading 

 aloud to him! 

 MALVOLIO  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 ANDREW  Her C's, her U's and her T's: why that? 

 MALVOLIO  [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? 

 FABIAN  This wins him, liver and all. 

 MALVOLIO  [Reads] 

 Jove knows I love: But who? 

 Lips, do not move; 

 No man must know. 

 'No man must know.' What follows? the numbers 

 altered! 'No man must know:' if this should be 

 thee, Malvolio? 

 SIR TOBY BELCH  Marry, hang thee, brock! 

 MALVOLIO  [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. 

 FABIAN  A fustian riddle! 

 SIR TOBY BELCH  Excellent wench, say I. 

 MALVOLIO  'M, O, A, I, doth sway my life.' Nay, but first, let 

 me see, let me see, let me see. 

 FABIAN  What dish o' poison has she dressed him! 

 SIR TOBY BELCH  And with what wing the staniel cheques at it! 

 MALVOLIO  '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 TOBY BELCH  O, ay, make up that: he is now at a cold scent. 

 FABIAN  Sowter will cry upon't for all this, though it be as 

 rank as a fox. 

 MALVOLIO  M,--Malvolio; M,--why, that begins my name. 

 FABIAN  Did not I say he would work it out? the cur is 

 excellent at faults. 

 MALVOLIO  M,--but then there is no consonancy in the sequel; 

 that suffers under probation A should follow but O does. 

 FABIAN  And O shall end, I hope. 

 SIR TOBY BELCH  Ay, or I'll cudgel him, and make him cry O! 

 MALVOLIO  And then I comes behind. 

 FABIAN  Ay, an you had any eye behind you, you might see 

 more detraction at your heels than fortunes before 

 you. 

 MALVOLIO  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 'em. Thy Fates open 

 their hands; let thy blood and spirit embrace them; 

 and, to inure thyself to what thou art like to be, 

 cast thy humble slough and appear fresh. Be 

 opposite with a kinsman, surly with servants; let 

 thy tongue tang arguments of state; put thyself into 

 the trick of singularity: 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.' 

 Daylight and champaign discovers not more: this is 

 open. I will be proud, I will read politic authors, 

 I will baffle Sir Toby, I will wash off gross 

 acquaintance, I will be point-devise 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; 

 and in this she manifests herself to my love, and 

 with a kind of injunction drives me to these habits 

 of her liking. 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 prithee.' 

 Jove, I thank thee: I will smile; I will do 

 everything that thou wilt have me. 



 Exit  FABIAN  I will not give my part of this sport for a pension 

 of thousands to be paid from the Sophy. 

 SIR TOBY BELCH  I could marry this wench for this device. 

 SIR ANDREW  So could I too. 

 SIR TOBY BELCH  And ask no other dowry with her but such another jest. 

 SIR ANDREW  Nor I neither. 

 FABIAN  Here comes my noble gull-catcher. 



 Re-enter MARIA  SIR TOBY BELCH  Wilt thou set thy foot o' my neck? 

 SIR ANDREW  Or o' mine either? 

 SIR TOBY BELCH  Shall I play my freedom at traytrip, and become thy 

 bond-slave? 

 SIR ANDREW  I' faith, or I either? 

 SIR TOBY BELCH  Why, thou hast put him in such a dream, that when 

 the image of it leaves him he must run mad. 

 MARIA  Nay, but say true; does it work upon him? 

 SIR TOBY BELCH  Like aqua-vitae with a midwife. 

 MARIA  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. 

 SIR TOBY BELCH  To the gates of Tartar, thou most excellent devil of wit! 

 SIR ANDREW  I'll make one too. 



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