TWELFTH NIGHT. Уильям Шекспир

and quarrel

       Might well have given us bloody argument.

       It might have since been answer’d in repaying

       What we took from them; which, for traffic’s sake,

       Most of our city did: only myself stood out;

       For which, if I be lapsed in this place,

       I shall pay dear.

       SEBASTIAN.

       Do not then walk too open.

       ANTONIO.

       It doth not fit me. Hold, sir, here’s my purse.

       In the south suburbs, at the Elephant,

       Is best to lodge. I will bespeak our diet,

       Whiles you beguile the time and feed your knowledge

       With viewing of the town; there shall you have me.

       SEBASTIAN.

       Why I your purse?

       ANTONIO.

       Haply your eye shall light upon some toy

       You have desire to purchase; and your store,

       I think, is not for idle markets, sir.

       SEBASTIAN.

       I’ll be your purse-bearer, and leave you

       For an hour.

       ANTONIO.

       To th’ Elephant.

       SEBASTIAN.

       I do remember.

       [Exeunt.]

      SCENE IV. OLIVIA’S garden

       [Enter OLIVIA and MARIA.]

       OLIVIA.

       I have sent after him; he says he’ll come.

       How shall I feast him? what bestow of him?

       For youth is bought more oft than begg’d or borrow’d.

       I speak too loud.

       Where’s Malvolio? He is sad and civil,

       And suits well for a servant with my fortunes.

       Where is Malvolio?

       MARIA.

       He’s coming, madam, but in very strange manner.

       He is, sure, possess’d, madam.

       OLIVIA.

       Why, what’s the matter? does he rave?

       MARIA. No, madam, he does nothing but smile. Your ladyship were best to have some guard about you, if he come; for, sure, the man is tainted in’s wits.

       OLIVIA.

       Go call him hither.

       [Exit MARIA.]

       I am as mad as he,

       If sad and merry madness equal be.

       [Re-enter MARIA, with MALVOLIO.]

       How now Malvolio!

       MALVOLIO.

       Sweet lady, ho, ho.

       OLIVIA.

       Smil’st thou?

       I sent for thee upon a sad occasion.

       MALVOLIO. Sad, lady! I could be sad; this does make some obstruction in the blood, this cross-gartering; but what of that? if it please the eye of one, it is with me as the very true sonnet is, ‘Please one, and please all.’

       OLIVIA.

       Why, how dost thou, man? what is the matter with thee?

       MALVOLIO. Not black in my mind, though yellow in my legs. It did come to his hands, and commands shall be executed; I think we do know the sweet Roman hand.

       OLIVIA.

       Wilt thou go to bed, Malvolio?

       MALVOLIO.

       To bed! ay, sweetheart, and I’ll come to thee.

       OLIVIA. God comfort thee! Why dost thou smile so and kiss thy hand so oft?

       MARIA.

       How do you, Malvolio?

       MALVOLIO.

       At your request! yes; nightingales answer daws.

       MARIA.

       Why appear you with this ridiculous boldness before my lady?

       MALVOLIO.

       ‘Be not afraid of greatness’; ‘twas well writ.

       OLIVIA.

       What mean’st thou by that, Malvolio?

       MALVOLIO.

       ‘Some are born great,’—

       OLIVIA.

       Ha!

       MALVOLIO.

       ‘Some achieve greatness,’—

       OLIVIA.

       What say’st thou?

       MALVOLIO.

       ‘And some have greatness thrust upon them.’

       OLIVIA.

       Heaven restore thee!

       MALVOLIO.

       ‘Remember who commended thy yellow stockings,’—

       OLIVIA.

       Thy yellow stockings!

       MALVOLIO.

       ‘And wish’d to see thee cross-garter’d.’

       OLIVIA.

       Cross-garter’d!

       MALVOLIO.

       ‘Go to, thou art made, if thou desir’st to be so;’—

       OLIVIA.

       Am I made?

       MALVOLIO.

       ‘If not, let me see thee a servant still.’

       OLIVIA.

       Why, this is very midsummer madness.

       [Enter SERVANT.]

       SERVANT. Madam, the young gentleman of the Count Orsino’s is return’d: I could hardly entreat him back: he attends your ladyship’s pleasure.

       OLIVIA. I’ll come to him. [Exit SERVANT] Good Maria, let this fellow be look’d to. Where’s my cousin Toby? Let some of my people have a special care of him; I would not have him miscarry for the half of my dowry.

       [Exeunt OLIVIA and MARIA.]

       MALVOLIO. O, ho! do you come near me now? no worse man than Sir Toby to look to me! This concurs directly with the letter: she sends him on purpose, that I may appear stubborn to him; for she incites me to that in the letter. ‘Cast thy humble slough,’ says she; ‘be opposite with kinsman, surly with servants; let thy tongue tang with arguments of state; put thyself into the trick of singularity’; and, consequently, sets down the manner how; as, a sad face, a reverend carriage, a slow tongue, in the habit of some sir of note, and so forth. I have lim’d her; but it is Jove’s doing, and Jove make me thankful! And when she went away now, ‘Let this fellow be look’d to’; fellow! not Malvolio, nor after my degree, but fellow. Why, every thing adheres together, that no dram of a scruple, no scruple of a scruple, no obstacle, no incredulous or unsafe circumstance,— what can be said? Nothing that can be can come between me and the full prospect of my hopes. Well, Jove, not I, is the doer of this, and he is to be thank’d.

       [Re-enter MARIA, with SIR TOBY and FABIAN.]

       SIR TOBY. Which way is he, in the name of sanctity? If all the devils of hell be drawn in little, and Legion himself possessed him, yet I ‘ll speak to him.

       FABIAN. Here he is, here he is. How is ‘t with you, sir? how is ‘t with you,