Enter Sir Toby Belch, drunk, led by the Clown. Here comes sir Toby halting, you shall hear more: but if he had not been in drink, he would have tickled you othergates than he did. Duke. How now, gentleman? how is't with you? Sir To. That's all one; he has hurt me, and there's the end on't.-Sot, did'st see Dick surgeon, sot? Clo. O he's drunk, sir Toby, an hour agone; his eyes were set at eight i'the morning. Sir To. Then he's a rogue. After a passy-mea sure, or a pavin†, I hate a drunken rogue. Oli. Away with him: Who hath made this havock with them? Sir And. I'll help you, sir Toby, because we'll be dressed together. Sir To. Will you help an ass-head, and a coxcomb, and a knave? a thin-faced knave, a gull ? Oli. Get him to bed, and let his hurt be look'd to. [Exeunt Clown, Sir Toby, and Sir Andrew. Enter Sebastian. Seb. I am sorry, madam, I have hurt your kinsman; But, had it been the brother of my blood, Duke. One face, one voice, one habit, and two persons; A natural perspective, that is, and is not. Seb. Antonio, O my dear Antonio ! How have the hours rack'd and tortur'd me, Ant. Sebastian are you? Seb. Fear'st thou that, Antonio? Ant. How have you made division of yourself? * Otherways. + Serious dances. An apple, cleft in two, is not more twin Than these two creatures. Oli. Most wonderful! Which is Sebastian ? Seb. Do I stand there? I never had a brother: Nor can there be that deity in my nature, Of here and every where. I had a sister, Whom the blind waves and surges have devour'd :— Of charity*, what kin are you to me? [To Viola. Seb. Vio. And died that day when Viola from her birth Had number'd thirteen years. Seb. O, that record is lively in my soul ! That day that made my sister thirteen years. I'll bring you to a captain in this town, Where lie my maiden weeds; by whose gentle help, Hath been between this lady, and this lord. Seb. So comes it, lady, you have been mistoook: [To Olivia. * Out of charity tell me. + Hinders. But nature to her bias drew in that. You would have been contracted to a maid; [To Viola. Duke. Give me thy hand; And let me see thee in thy woman's weeds. Vio. The captain, that did bring me first on shore, Hath my maid's garments: he, upon some action, Is now in durance; at Malvolio's suit. A gentleman, and follower of my lady's. Oli. He shall enlarge him:-Fetch Malvolio hither: And yet, alas, now I remember me, Re-enter Clown, with a letter. A most extracting phrenzy of mine own Clo. Truly, madam, he holds Belzebub at the stave's end, as well as a man in his case may do: he has here writ a letter to you, I should have given it you to-day morning; but as a madman's epistles are no gospels, so it skills not much when they are delivered. Oli. Open it, and read it. Clo. Look then to be well edified, when the fool delivers the madman :-By the Lord, madam,— Oli. How now, art thou mad? Clo. No, madam, I do but read madness: an your ladyship will have it as it ought to be, you must allow vox*. Oli. Pr'ythee, read i'thy right wits. Clo. So I do, madonna; but to read his right wits, is to read thus: therefore perpend†, my princess, and give ear. Oli. Read it you, sirrah. [To Fabian. Fab. [reads. By the Lord, madam, you wrong me, and the world shall know it: though you have put me into darkness, and given your drunken cousin rule over me, yet have I the benefit of my senses as well as your ladyship. I have your own letter that induced me to the semblance I put on; with the which I doubt not but to do myself much right, or you much shame. Think of me as you please. I leave my duty a little unthought of, and speak out of my injury. Oli. Did he write this? Clo. Ay, madam. The madly-used Malvolio. Duke. This savours not much of distraction. [Exit Fabian. My lord, so please you, these things further thought on, To think me as well a sister as a wife, One day shall crown the alliance on't, so please you, Here at my house, and at my proper cost. Duke. Madam, I am most apt to embrace your offer. Your master quits you; [To Viola.] and, for your service done him, So much against the mettle of your sex, Oli. * Voice, + Attend. A sister?-you are she. Frame and constitution. Re-enter Fabian, with Malvolio. Duke. Is this the madman ? Have I, Malvolio? no. Mal. Lady, you have. Pray you, peruse that letter: You must not now deny it is your hand, First told me, thou wast mad; then cam'st in smiling, And in such forms which here were presuppos'd Fab. * Inferior. + Fool. |