Act 2, Scene 3
A room in Olivia’s house.
- Enter Sir Toby and Sir Andrew.
Sir Toby2 - 3
- Approach, Sir Andrew. Not to be a-bed after midnight is to
- be up betimes, and “deliculo surgere,” thou know’st—
Sir Andrew4 - 5
- Nay, by my troth, I know not; but I know, to be up late is
- to be up late.
Sir Toby6 - 9
- A false conclusion. I hate it as an unfill’d can. To be up
- after midnight and to go to bed then, is early; so that to
- go to bed after midnight is to go to bed betimes. Does not
- our lives consist of the four elements?
Sir Andrew10 - 11
- Faith, so they say, but I think it rather consists of eating
- and drinking.
Sir Toby12 - 13
- Th’ art a scholar; let us therefore eat and drink. Marian, I
- say, a stoup of wine!
- Enter Clown.
- Here comes the fool, i’ faith.
Feste16 - 17
- How now, my hearts? Did you never see the picture of “we
- Welcome, ass. Now let’s have a catch.
Sir Andrew19 - 25
- By my troth, the fool has an excellent breast. I had rather
- than forty shillings I had such a leg, and so sweet a breath
- to sing, as the fool has. In sooth, thou wast in very
- gracious fooling last night, when thou spok’st of
- Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians passing the equinoctial of
- Queubus. ’Twas very good, i’ faith. I sent thee sixpence for
- thy leman; hadst it?
Feste26 - 28
- I did impeticos thy gratillity; for Malvolio’s nose is no
- whipstock. My lady has a white hand, and the Mermidons are
- no bottle-ale houses.
Sir Andrew29 - 30
- Excellent! Why, this is the best fooling, when all is done.
- Now a song.
- Come on, there is sixpence for you. Let’s have a song.
- There’s a testril of me too. If one knight give a—
- Would you have a love-song, or a song of good life?
- A love-song, a love-song.
- Ay, ay. I care not for good life.
Feste36 - 42
- O mistress mine, where are you roaming?
- O, stay and hear, your true-love’s coming,
- That can sing both high and low.
- Trip no further, pretty sweeting;
- Journeys end in lovers meeting,
- Every wise man’s son doth know.
- Excellent good, i’ faith.
- Good, good.
Feste45 - 51
- What is love? ’Tis not hereafter;
- Present mirth hath present laughter;
- What’s to come is still unsure.
- In delay there lies no plenty,
- Then come kiss me sweet and twenty;
- Youth’s a stuff will not endure.
- A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight.
- A contagious breath.
- Very sweet and contagious, i’ faith.
Sir Toby55 - 58
- To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion. But shall we
- make the welkin dance indeed? Shall we rouse the night-owl
- in a catch that will draw three souls out of one weaver?
- Shall we do that?
- And you love me, let’s do’t. I am dog at a catch.
- By’r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well.
- Most certain. Let our catch be “Thou knave.”
Feste62 - 63
- “Hold thy peace, thou knave,” knight? I shall be constrain’d
- in’t to call thee knave, knight.
Sir Andrew64 - 65
- ’Tis not the first time I have constrain’d one to call me
- knave. Begin, fool. It begins, “Hold thy peace.”
- I shall never begin if I hold my peace.
- Good, i’ faith. Come, begin.
- Catch sung.
- Enter Maria.
Maria70 - 72
- What a caterwauling do you keep here! If my lady have not
- call’d up her steward Malvolio and bid him turn you out of
- doors, never trust me.
Sir Toby73 - 80
- My lady’s a Cataian, we are politicians, Malvolio’s a
- Peg-a-Ramsey, and
- “Three merry men be we.”
- Am not I consanguineous? Am I not of her blood? Tilly-vally!
- “There dwelt a man in Babylon, lady, lady.”
- Beshrew me, the knight’s in admirable fooling.
Sir Andrew82 - 83
- Ay, he does well enough if he be dispos’d, and so do I too.
- He does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural.
Sir Toby84 - 85
- “O’ the twelfth day of December”—
- For the love o’ God, peace!
- Enter Malvolio.
Malvolio88 - 93
- My masters, are you mad? Or what are you? Have you no wit,
- manners, nor honesty, but to gabble like tinkers at this
- time of night? Do ye make an alehouse of my lady’s house,
- that ye squeak out your coziers’ catches without any
- mitigation or remorse of voice? Is there no respect of
- place, persons, nor time in you?
- We did keep time, sir, in our catches. Sneck up!
Malvolio95 - 100
- Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My lady bade me tell
- you, that though she harbors you as her kinsman, she’s
- nothing allied to your disorders. If you can separate
- yourself and your misdemeanors, you are welcome to the
- house; if not, and it would please you to take leave of her,
- she is very willing to bid you farewell.
Sir Toby101 - 102
- “Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs be gone.”
- Nay, good Sir Toby.
Feste104 - 105
- “His eyes do show his days are almost done.”
- Is’t even so?
Sir Toby107 - 108
- “But I will never die.”
- Sir Toby, there you lie.
- This is much credit to you.
Sir Toby111 - 112
- “Shall I bid him go?”
Feste113 - 114
- “What and if you do?”
Sir Toby115 - 116
- “Shall I bid him go, and spare not?”
Feste117 - 118
- “O no, no, no, no, you dare not.”
Sir Toby119 - 123
- To Clown.
- Out o’ tune, sir! Ye lie.
- To Malvolio.
- Art any more than a steward? Dost thou think because thou
- art virtuous there shall be no more cakes and ale?
Feste124 - 125
- Yes, by Saint Anne, and ginger shall be hot i’ th’ mouth
Sir Toby126 - 127
- Th’ art i’ th’ right. Go, sir, rub your chain with crumbs. A
- stope of wine, Maria!
Malvolio128 - 130
- Mistress Mary, if you priz’d my lady’s favor at any thing
- more than contempt, you would not give means for this
- uncivil rule. She shall know of it, by this hand.
- Go shake your ears.
Sir Andrew133 - 135
- ’Twere as good a deed as to drink when a man’s a-hungry, to
- challenge him the field, and then to break promise with him,
- and make a fool of him.
Sir Toby136 - 137
- Do’t, knight. I’ll write thee a challenge, or I’ll deliver
- thy indignation to him by word of mouth.
Maria138 - 143
- Sweet Sir Toby, be patient for tonight. Since the youth of
- the Count’s was today with my lady, she is much out of
- quiet. For Monsieur Malvolio, let me alone with him. If I do
- not gull him into an ayword, and make him a common
- recreation, do not think I have wit enough to lie straight
- in my bed. I know I can do it.
- Possess us, possess us, tell us something of him.
- Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of puritan.
- O, if I thought that, I’d beat him like a dog!
Sir Toby147 - 148
- What, for being a puritan? Thy exquisite reason, dear
Sir Andrew149 - 150
- I have no exquisite reason for’t, but I have reason good
Maria151 - 157
- The dev’l a puritan that he is, or any thing constantly but
- a time-pleaser, an affection’d ass, that cons state without
- book, and utters it by great swarths; the best persuaded of
- himself, so cramm’d (as he thinks) with excellencies, that
- it is his grounds of faith that all that look on him love
- him; and on that vice in him will my revenge find notable
- cause to work.
- What wilt thou do?
Maria159 - 164
- I will drop in his way some obscure epistles of love,
- wherein by the color of his beard, the shape of his leg, the
- manner of his gait, the expressure of his eye, forehead, and
- complexion, he shall find himself most feelingly personated.
- I can write very like my lady your niece; on a forgotten
- matter we can hardly make distinction of our hands.
- Excellent, I smell a device.
- I have’t in my nose too.
Sir Toby167 - 168
- He shall think by the letters that thou wilt drop that they
- come from my niece, and that she’s in love with him.
- My purpose is indeed a horse of that color.
- And your horse now would make him an ass.
- Ass, I doubt not.
- O, ’twill be admirable!
Maria173 - 177
- Sport royal, I warrant you. I know my physic will work with
- him. I will plant you two, and let the fool make a third,
- where he shall find the letter; observe his construction of
- it. For this night, to bed, and dream on the event.
- Good night, Penthesilea.
- Before me, she’s a good wench.
Sir Toby181 - 182
- She’s a beagle true-bred, and one that adores me. What o’
- I was ador’d once too.
- Let’s to bed, knight. Thou hadst need send for more money.
- If I cannot recover your niece, I am a foul way out.
Sir Toby186 - 187
- Send for money, knight; if thou hast her not i’ th’ end,
- call me cut.
- If I do not, never trust me, take it how you will.
Sir Toby189 - 190
- Come, come, I’ll go burn some sack, ’tis too late to go to
- bed now. Come, knight, come, knight.