Twelfth Night; or, What You Will

Oli. He shall enlarge him: – Fetch Malvolio hither: —
And yet, alas, now I remember me,
They say, poor gentleman, he's much distract.

Enter Clown, with a Letter, and Fabian.

How does Malvolio, sirrah?

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 deliver'd.

Oli. Open it, and read it.

Clo. Look then to be well edified, when the fool delivers the madman: [Reads.] By the Lord, madam, —

Oli. How now! art thou mad?

Clo. No, madam, I do but read madness.

Oli. [To Fabian.] Read it you, sirrah.

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.The madly-used Malvolio.

Oli. Did he write this?

Clo. Ay, madam.

Duke. This savours not much of distraction.

Oli. See him deliver'd, Fabian; bring him hither.

[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.

Duke. Madam, I am most apt to embrace your offer. —
Your master quits you; [To Viola.] and, for your service done him,
Here is my hand; you shall from this time be
Your master's mistress.

Enter Malvolio, with a Letter, and Fabian.

Duke. Is this the madman?

Oli. Ay, my lord, this same:
How now, Malvolio?

Mal. Madam, you have done me wrong,
Notorious wrong.

Oli. Have I, Malvolio? no.

Mal. Lady, you have. Pray you peruse that letter:

[Gives Olivia the Letter.

You must not now deny it is your hand; —
(Write from it, if you can, in hand, or phrase;) —
Or, say, 'tis not your seal, nor your invention.
Oli. Alas, Malvolio, this is not my writing;
Though, I confess, much like the character:
But, out of question, 'tis Maria's hand: —
And now I do bethink me, it was she
First told me, thou wast mad: —
Pr'ythee, be content:
This practice hath most shrewdly pass'd upon thee:
But, when we know the grounds and authors of it,
Thou shalt be both the plaintiff and the judge
Of thine own cause.

Fab. Good madam, hear me speak:
I do confess, Sir Toby, and myself,
Set this device against Malvolio here,
Upon some stubborn and uncourteous parts
We had conceived against him: Maria writ
The letter, at Sir Toby's great importance;
In recompense whereof, he hath married her:
How with a sportful malice it was follow'd,
May rather pluck on laughter than revenge;
If that the injuries be justly weigh'd,
That have on both sides pass'd.

Oli. Alas, poor fool! how have they baffled thee!

Fab. Malvolio! —

Clo. Why, —Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them– I was one, sir, in this interlude; one Sir Topas, sir: —By the Lord fool, I am not mad: – But do you remember? Madam, why laugh you at such a barren rascal? an you smile not, he's gagg'd: – And thus the whirligig of time brings in his revenges. – Ha, ha, ha!

Fab. Ha, ha, ha! —

Mal. I'll be revenged on the whole pack of you.

[Exit Malvolio.

Oli. He hath been most notoriously abused.
Pursue him, and entreat him to a peace.

[Exit Fabian.