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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 ufe their talents.
Mar. Yet you will be hang'd for being fo long abfent, or be turn'd away; is not that as good as a hanging to you?
Clo. Marry, a good hanging prevents a bad marriage; and for turning away, let fummer bear it out.
Mar. You are refolute then?
Clo. Not fo neither, but I am refolv'd on two points.
Mar. That if one break, the other will hold; or, 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 excufe wifely, you were beft.
Enter Olivia, and Malvolio.
Clo. Wit, and't be thy will, put me into good fooling! thofe wits, that think they have thee, do very oft prove fools; and I, that am fure I lack thee, may pafs for a wife man. For what fays 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. Oli. Go to, y'are a dry fool; I'll no more of you; befides, you grow dishonest.
Clo. Two faults, Madona, that Drink and good Counfel will amend; for give the dry fool Drink, then is the fool not dry: Bid the dishoneft man mend himself; if he mend, he is no longer difhoneft; if he cannot, let the botcher mend him. Any thing, that's mended, is but patch'd; virtue, that tranfgreffes, is but patch'd with fin; and fin, that amends, is but patch'd with virtue. If that this fimple fyllogifm will ferve, fo; if Hh 3
it will not, what remedy? as there is no true cuckold but calamity, fo beauty's a flower: the Lady bad take away the fool, therefore, I fay again, take her away. Oli. Sir, I bad them take away you. Clo. Mifprifion in the highest degree. Lady, Cucullus non facit monachum; that's as much as to fay, I wear not motley in my brain: good Madona, give me leave to prove you a fool.
Oli. Can you do it?
Clo. Dexterously, good Madona,
Clo. I must catechize you for it, Madona; good my moufe of virtue, answer me.
Oli. Well, Sir, for want of other idleness, I'll bide your proof.
Clo. Good Madona, why mourn'st thou?
Clo. The more fool you, Madona, to mourn for your brother's foul being in heav'n fool, Gentlemen.
take away the
Oli. What think you of this fool, Malvolio, doth he not mend?
Mal. Yes, and fhall do, 'till the pangs of death fhake him. Infirmity, that decays the wife, doth ever make better the fool.
Clo. God fend you, Sir, a speedy infirmity, for the better increasing your folly! Sir Toby will be fworn, that I am no fox; but he will not pafs his word for two pence, that you are no fool.
Oli. How fay you to that, Malvolio?
Mal. I marvel, your Ladyfhip takes delight in fuch a barren rascal; I faw him put down the other day with an ordinary fool, that has no more brain than a ftone. Look you now, he's out of his guard already; unless you laugh and minifter occafion to him, he is gagg'd. I proteft, I take thefe wife men, that crow fo at these fet kind of fools, no better than the fools Zanies.
Oli. O, you are fick of self-love, Malvolio, and tafte with a distemper'd appetite. To be generous, guiltlefs, and of free difpofition, is to take those things for bird-bolts that you deem cannon-bullets: there is no flander in an allow'd fool, though he do nothing but rail; nor no railing in a known difcreet man, though he do nothing but reprove.
Clo. Now Mercury indue thee with leafing, for thou speak'ft well of fools!
Mar. Madam, there is at the gate a young Gentleman, much defires to fpeak with you.
Oli. From the Count Orfino, 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 Uncle.
Oli. Fetch him off, I pray you, he speaks nothing but Madman: fie on him! Go you, Malvolio; if it be a fuit from the Count, I am fick, or not at home: What you will, to dismiss it. [Exit Malvolio.] Now you fee, Sir, how your fooling grows old, and people diflike it.
Clo. Thou haft fpoke for us, Madona, as if thy eldeft Son should be a fool: whofe fcull Jove cram with brains, for here comes one of thy Kin has a most weak Pia mater!
Enter Sir Toby.
Oli. By mine honour, half drunk. What is he at the gate, Uncle?
Sir To. A Gentleman.
Oli. A Gentleman? what Gentleman?
Sir To. "Tis a Gentleman. Here, [belches.] A plague o' these pickle herring! how now, fot?
Clo. Good Sir Toby,
Oli. Uncle, Uncle, how have you come fo early by this lethargy?
Sir To. Letchery, I defie letchery: there's one at the gate.
Oli. Ay, marry, what is he?
Sir To. Let him be the devil and he will, I care not: give me faith, fay I. 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 feek the Coroner, and let him fit o' my Uncle; for he's in the third degree of drink; he's drown'd; go, look after him.
Clo. He is but mad yet, Madona, and the fool fhall look to the madman. [Ex. Clown.
Mal. Madam, yond young Fellow fwears he will fpeak with you. I told him, you were fick; he takes on him to understand so much, and therefore comes to Ipeak with you. I told him, you were afleep; he feems to have a fore-knowledge of that too, and therefore comes to speak with you. What is to be faid to him, Lady? he's fortified against any denial.
Oli. Tell him, he fhall not speak with me.
Mal. He has been told fo; and he fays, he'll stand at your door like a Sheriff's poft, and be the fupporter to a bench, but he'll fpeak with you.
Oli. What kind o’man is he?
Mal. Why, of mankind.
Oli. What manner of man?
Mal. Of very ill manners; he'll speak with you, will you or no.
Oli. Of what perfonage and years is he?
Mal. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy; as a fquafh is before 'tis a peafcod, or a codling when 'tis almost an apple: 'tis with him in standing water, between boy and man. He is very well-favour'd, and he speaks very fhrewithly; one would think, his mother's milk were fcarce out of him.
Oli. Let him approach: call in my Gentlewoman. Mal. Gentlewoman, my Lady calls.
Oli. Give me my veil: come, throw it o'er my face; We'll once more hear Orfino's embassy.'
Vio. The honourable Lady of the house, which is The ?
Oli. Speak to me, I fhall answer for her: your will? Vio. Moft radiant, exquifite, and unmatchable Beauty- I pray you, tell me, if this be the Lady of the house, for I never faw her. I would be loth to caft away my speech; for, befides that it is excellently well penn'd, I have taken great pains to con it. Good Beauties, let me fuftain no scorn; I am very comptible, even to the least finister ufage.
Oli. Whence came you, Sir?
Vio. I can fay little more than I have ftudied, and that Queftion's out of my Part. Good gentle One, give me modeft affurance, if you be the Lady of the house, that I may proceed in my fpeech.
Oli. Are you a Comedian?
Vio. No, my profound heart; and yet, by the very fangs of malice, I fwear, I am not That I play. Are you the Lady of the house?
Oli. If I do not ufurp my felf, I am.
Vio. Moft certain, if you are the, you do ufurp your felf; for what is yours to beftow, is not yours to referve; but this is from my Commiffion. I will on with my speech in your praise, and then fhew you the heart of my meffage.
Oli. Come to what is important in't I forgive you the praise.
Vio. Alas, I took great pains to ftudy it, and 'tis poetical.
Oli. It is the more like to be feign'd. I pray you, keep it in. I heard, you were fawcy at my gates; and I allow'd your approach, rather to wonder at you than