Speeches (Lines) for Olivia
in "Twelfth Night"

Total: 118

# Act, Scene, Line
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Speech text



Feste. Wit, an't be thy will, put me into good fooling!
Those wits, that think they have thee, do very oft
prove fools; and I, that am sure I lack thee, may
pass for a wise man: for what says Quinapalus?
'Better a witty fool, than a foolish wit.'
God bless thee, lady!

Olivia. Take the fool away.



Feste. Do you not hear, fellows? Take away the lady.

Olivia. Go to, you're a dry fool; I'll no more of you:
besides, you grow dishonest.



Feste. Two faults, madonna, that drink and good counsel
will amend: for give the dry fool drink, then is
the fool not dry: bid the dishonest man mend
himself; if he mend, he is no longer dishonest; if
he cannot, let the botcher mend him. Any thing
that's mended is but patched: virtue that
transgresses is but patched with sin; and sin that
amends is but patched with virtue. If that this
simple syllogism will serve, so; if it will not,
what remedy? As there is no true cuckold but
calamity, so beauty's a flower. The lady bade take
away the fool; therefore, I say again, take her away.

Olivia. Sir, I bade them take away you.



Feste. Misprision in the highest degree! Lady, cucullus non
facit monachum; that's as much to say as I wear not
motley in my brain. Good madonna, give me leave to
prove you a fool.

Olivia. Can you do it?



Feste. Dexterously, good madonna.

Olivia. Make your proof.



Feste. I must catechise you for it, madonna: good my mouse
of virtue, answer me.

Olivia. Well, sir, for want of other idleness, I'll bide your proof.



Feste. Good madonna, why mournest thou?

Olivia. Good fool, for my brother's death.



Feste. I think his soul is in hell, madonna.

Olivia. I know his soul is in heaven, fool.



Feste. The more fool, madonna, to mourn for your brother's
soul being in heaven. Take away the fool, gentlemen.

Olivia. What think you of this fool, Malvolio? doth he not mend?



Feste. God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for the
better increasing your folly! Sir Toby will be
sworn that I am no fox; but he will not pass his
word for two pence that you are no fool.

Olivia. How say you to that, Malvolio?



Malvolio. I marvel your ladyship takes delight in such a
barren rascal: I saw him put down the other day
with an ordinary fool that has no more brain
than a stone. Look you now, he's out of his guard
already; unless you laugh and minister occasion to
him, he is gagged. I protest, I take these wise men,
that crow so at these set kind of fools, no better
than the fools' zanies.

Olivia. Oh, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and taste
with a distempered appetite. To be generous,
guiltless and of free disposition, is to take those
things for bird-bolts that you deem cannon-bullets:
there is no slander in an allowed fool, though he do
nothing but rail; nor no railing in a known discreet
man, though he do nothing but reprove.



Maria. Madam, there is at the gate a young gentleman much
desires to speak with you.

Olivia. From the Count Orsino, is it?



Maria. I know not, madam: 'tis a fair young man, and well attended.

Olivia. Who of my people hold him in delay?



Maria. Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman.

Olivia. Fetch him off, I pray you; he speaks nothing but
madman: fie on him!
[Exit MARIA]
Go you, Malvolio: if it be a suit from the count, I
am sick, or not at home; what you will, to dismiss it.
Now you see, sir, how your fooling grows old, and
people dislike it.



(stage directions). [Enter SIR TOBY BELCH]

Olivia. By mine honour, half drunk. What is he at the gate, cousin?



Sir Toby Belch. A gentleman.

Olivia. A gentleman! what gentleman?



Feste. Good Sir Toby!

Olivia. Cousin, cousin, how have you come so early by this lethargy?



Sir Toby Belch. Lechery! I defy lechery. There's one at the gate.

Olivia. Ay, marry, what is he?



(stage directions). [Exit]

Olivia. What's a drunken man like, fool?



Feste. Like a drowned man, a fool and a mad man: one
draught above heat makes him a fool; the second mads
him; and a third drowns him.

Olivia. Go thou and seek the crowner, and let him sit o' my
coz; for he's in the third degree of drink, he's
drowned: go, look after him.



Malvolio. Madam, yond young fellow swears he will speak with
you. I told him you were sick; he takes on him to
understand so much, and therefore comes to speak
with you. I told him you were asleep; he seems to
have a foreknowledge of that too, and therefore
comes to speak with you. What is to be said to him,
lady? he's fortified against any denial.

Olivia. Tell him he shall not speak with me.



Malvolio. Has been told so; and he says, he'll stand at your
door like a sheriff's post, and be the supporter to
a bench, but he'll speak with you.

Olivia. What kind o' man is he?



Malvolio. Why, of mankind.

Olivia. What manner of man?



Malvolio. Of very ill manner; he'll speak with you, will you or no.

Olivia. Of what personage and years is he?



Malvolio. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for
a boy; as a squash is before 'tis a peascod, or a
cooling when 'tis almost an apple: 'tis with him
in standing water, between boy and man. He is very
well-favoured and he speaks very shrewishly; one
would think his mother's milk were scarce out of him.

Olivia. Let him approach: call in my gentlewoman.



(stage directions). [Re-enter MARIA]

Olivia. Give me my veil: come, throw it o'er my face.
We'll once more hear Orsino's embassy.



Viola. The honourable lady of the house, which is she?

Olivia. Speak to me; I shall answer for her.
Your will?



Viola. Most radiant, exquisite and unmatchable beauty,—I
pray you, tell me if this be the lady of the house,
for I never saw her: I would be loath to cast away
my speech, for besides that it is excellently well
penned, I have taken great pains to con it. Good
beauties, let me sustain no scorn; I am very
comptible, even to the least sinister usage.

Olivia. Whence came you, sir?



Viola. I can say little more than I have studied, and that
question's out of my part. Good gentle one, give me
modest assurance if you be the lady of the house,
that I may proceed in my speech.

Olivia. Are you a comedian?



Viola. No, my profound heart: and yet, by the very fangs
of malice I swear, I am not that I play. Are you
the lady of the house?

Olivia. If I do not usurp myself, I am.



Viola. Most certain, if you are she, you do usurp
yourself; for what is yours to bestow is not yours
to reserve. But this is from my commission: I will
on with my speech in your praise, and then show you
the heart of my message.

Olivia. Come to what is important in't: I forgive you the praise.



Viola. Alas, I took great pains to study it, and 'tis poetical.

Olivia. It is the more like to be feigned: I pray you,
keep it in. I heard you were saucy at my gates,
and allowed your approach rather to wonder at you
than to hear you. If you be not mad, be gone; if
you have reason, be brief: 'tis not that time of
moon with me to make one in so skipping a dialogue.



Viola. No, good swabber; I am to hull here a little
longer. Some mollification for your giant, sweet
lady. Tell me your mind: I am a messenger.

Olivia. Sure, you have some hideous matter to deliver, when
the courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak your office.



Viola. It alone concerns your ear. I bring no overture of
war, no taxation of homage: I hold the olive in my
hand; my words are as fun of peace as matter.

Olivia. Yet you began rudely. What are you? what would you?



Viola. The rudeness that hath appeared in me have I
learned from my entertainment. What I am, and what I
would, are as secret as maidenhead; to your ears,
divinity, to any other's, profanation.

Olivia. Give us the place alone: we will hear this divinity.
[Exeunt MARIA and Attendants]
Now, sir, what is your text?



Viola. Most sweet lady,—

Olivia. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be said of it.
Where lies your text?



Viola. In Orsino's bosom.

Olivia. In his bosom! In what chapter of his bosom?



Viola. To answer by the method, in the first of his heart.

Olivia. O, I have read it: it is heresy. Have you no more to say?



Viola. Good madam, let me see your face.

Olivia. Have you any commission from your lord to negotiate
with my face? You are now out of your text: but
we will draw the curtain and show you the picture.
Look you, sir, such a one I was this present: is't
not well done?



Viola. Excellently done, if God did all.

Olivia. 'Tis in grain, sir; 'twill endure wind and weather.



Viola. 'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white
Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on:
Lady, you are the cruell'st she alive,
If you will lead these graces to the grave
And leave the world no copy.

Olivia. O, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted; I will give
out divers schedules of my beauty: it shall be
inventoried, and every particle and utensil
labelled to my will: as, item, two lips,
indifferent red; item, two grey eyes, with lids to
them; item, one neck, one chin, and so forth. Were
you sent hither to praise me?



Viola. I see you what you are, you are too proud;
But, if you were the devil, you are fair.
My lord and master loves you: O, such love
Could be but recompensed, though you were crown'd
The nonpareil of beauty!

Olivia. How does he love me?



Viola. With adorations, fertile tears,
With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire.

Olivia. Your lord does know my mind; I cannot love him:
Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble,
Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth;
In voices well divulged, free, learn'd and valiant;
And in dimension and the shape of nature
A gracious person: but yet I cannot love him;
He might have took his answer long ago.



Viola. If I did love you in my master's flame,
With such a suffering, such a deadly life,
In your denial I would find no sense;
I would not understand it.

Olivia. Why, what would you?



Viola. Make me a willow cabin at your gate,
And call upon my soul within the house;
Write loyal cantons of contemned love
And sing them loud even in the dead of night;
Halloo your name to the reverberate hills
And make the babbling gossip of the air
Cry out 'Olivia!' O, You should not rest
Between the elements of air and earth,
But you should pity me!

Olivia. You might do much.
What is your parentage?



Viola. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well:
I am a gentleman.

Olivia. Get you to your lord;
I cannot love him: let him send no more;
Unless, perchance, you come to me again,
To tell me how he takes it. Fare you well:
I thank you for your pains: spend this for me.



(stage directions). [Exit]

Olivia. 'What is your parentage?'
'Above my fortunes, yet my state is well:
I am a gentleman.' I'll be sworn thou art;
Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions and spirit,
Do give thee five-fold blazon: not too fast:
soft, soft!
Unless the master were the man. How now!
Even so quickly may one catch the plague?
Methinks I feel this youth's perfections
With an invisible and subtle stealth
To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be.
What ho, Malvolio!



Malvolio. Here, madam, at your service.

Olivia. Run after that same peevish messenger,
The county's man: he left this ring behind him,
Would I or not: tell him I'll none of it.
Desire him not to flatter with his lord,
Nor hold him up with hopes; I am not for him:
If that the youth will come this way to-morrow,
I'll give him reasons for't: hie thee, Malvolio.



(stage directions). [Exit]

Olivia. I do I know not what, and fear to find
Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind.
Fate, show thy force: ourselves we do not owe;
What is decreed must be, and be this so.



Sir Andrew Aguecheek. 'Odours,' 'pregnant' and 'vouchsafed:' I'll get 'em
all three all ready.

Olivia. Let the garden door be shut, and leave me to my hearing.
Give me your hand, sir.



Viola. My duty, madam, and most humble service.

Olivia. What is your name?



Viola. Cesario is your servant's name, fair princess.

Olivia. My servant, sir! 'Twas never merry world
Since lowly feigning was call'd compliment:
You're servant to the Count Orsino, youth.



Viola. And he is yours, and his must needs be yours:
Your servant's servant is your servant, madam.

Olivia. For him, I think not on him: for his thoughts,
Would they were blanks, rather than fill'd with me!



Viola. Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts
On his behalf.

Olivia. O, by your leave, I pray you,
I bade you never speak again of him:
But, would you undertake another suit,
I had rather hear you to solicit that
Than music from the spheres.



Viola. Dear lady,—

Olivia. Give me leave, beseech you. I did send,
After the last enchantment you did here,
A ring in chase of you: so did I abuse
Myself, my servant and, I fear me, you:
Under your hard construction must I sit,To force that on you, in a shameful cunning,
Which you knew none of yours: what might you think?
Have you not set mine honour at the stake
And baited it with all the unmuzzled thoughts
That tyrannous heart can think? To one of your receiving
Enough is shown: a cypress, not a bosom,
Hideth my heart. So, let me hear you speak.



Viola. I pity you.

Olivia. That's a degree to love.



Viola. No, not a grize; for 'tis a vulgar proof,
That very oft we pity enemies.

Olivia. Why, then, methinks 'tis time to smile again.
O, world, how apt the poor are to be proud!
If one should be a prey, how much the better
To fall before the lion than the wolf!
[Clock strikes]
The clock upbraids me with the waste of time.
Be not afraid, good youth, I will not have you:
And yet, when wit and youth is come to harvest,
Your were is alike to reap a proper man:
There lies your way, due west.



Viola. Then westward-ho! Grace and good disposition
Attend your ladyship!
You'll nothing, madam, to my lord by me?

Olivia. Stay:
I prithee, tell me what thou thinkest of me.



Viola. That you do think you are not what you are.

Olivia. If I think so, I think the same of you.



Viola. Then think you right: I am not what I am.

Olivia. I would you were as I would have you be!



Viola. Would it be better, madam, than I am?
I wish it might, for now I am your fool.

Olivia. O, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful
In the contempt and anger of his lip!
A murderous guilt shows not itself more soon
Than love that would seem hid: love's night is noon.
Cesario, by the roses of the spring,
By maidhood, honour, truth and every thing,
I love thee so, that, maugre all thy pride,
Nor wit nor reason can my passion hide.
Do not extort thy reasons from this clause,
For that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause,
But rather reason thus with reason fetter,
Love sought is good, but given unsought better.



Viola. By innocence I swear, and by my youth
I have one heart, one bosom and one truth,
And that no woman has; nor never none
Shall mistress be of it, save I alone.
And so adieu, good madam: never more
Will I my master's tears to you deplore.

Olivia. Yet come again; for thou perhaps mayst move
That heart, which now abhors, to like his love.



(stage directions). [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 is 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, possessed, 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. Smilest 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, sweet-heart, and I'll come to thee.

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



Malvolio. 'Be not afraid of greatness:' 'twas well writ.

Olivia. What meanest thou by that, Malvolio?



Malvolio. 'Some are born great,'—

Olivia. Ha!



Malvolio. 'Some achieve greatness,'—

Olivia. What sayest 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 wished to see thee cross-gartered.'

Olivia. Cross-gartered!



Malvolio. 'Go to thou art made, if thou desirest to be so;'—

Olivia. Am I made?



Malvolio. 'If not, let me see thee a servant still.'

Olivia. Why, this is very midsummer madness.



Servant. Madam, the young gentleman of the Count Orsino's is
returned: 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 looked 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.



(stage directions). [Exeunt SIR TOBY BELCH, FABIAN, and MARIA]

Olivia. I have said too much unto a heart of stone
And laid mine honour too unchary out:
There's something in me that reproves my fault;
But such a headstrong potent fault it is,
That it but mocks reproof.



Viola. With the same 'havior that your passion bears
Goes on my master's grief.

Olivia. Here, wear this jewel for me, 'tis my picture;
Refuse it not; it hath no tongue to vex you;
And I beseech you come again to-morrow.
What shall you ask of me that I'll deny,
That honour saved may upon asking give?



Viola. Nothing but this; your true love for my master.

Olivia. How with mine honour may I give him that
Which I have given to you?



Viola. I will acquit you.

Olivia. Well, come again to-morrow: fare thee well:
A fiend like thee might bear my soul to hell.



(stage directions). [Enter OLIVIA]

Olivia. Hold, Toby; on thy life I charge thee, hold!



Sir Toby Belch. Madam!

Olivia. Will it be ever thus? Ungracious wretch,
Fit for the mountains and the barbarous caves,
Where manners ne'er were preach'd! out of my sight!
Be not offended, dear Cesario.
Rudesby, be gone!
I prithee, gentle friend,
Let thy fair wisdom, not thy passion, sway
In this uncivil and thou unjust extent
Against thy peace. Go with me to my house,
And hear thou there how many fruitless pranks
This ruffian hath botch'd up, that thou thereby
Mayst smile at this: thou shalt not choose but go:
Do not deny. Beshrew his soul for me,
He started one poor heart of mine in thee.



Sebastian. What relish is in this? how runs the stream?
Or I am mad, or else this is a dream:
Let fancy still my sense in Lethe steep;
If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep!

Olivia. Nay, come, I prithee; would thou'ldst be ruled by me!



Sebastian. Madam, I will.

Olivia. O, say so, and so be!



(stage directions). [Enter OLIVIA and Priest]

Olivia. Blame not this haste of mine. If you mean well,
Now go with me and with this holy man
Into the chantry by: there, before him,
And underneath that consecrated roof,
Plight me the full assurance of your faith;
That my most jealous and too doubtful soul
May live at peace. He shall conceal it
Whiles you are willing it shall come to note,
What time we will our celebration keep
According to my birth. What do you say?



Sebastian. I'll follow this good man, and go with you;
And, having sworn truth, ever will be true.

Olivia. Then lead the way, good father; and heavens so shine,
That they may fairly note this act of mine!



Orsino. Here comes the countess: now heaven walks on earth.
But for thee, fellow; fellow, thy words are madness:
Three months this youth hath tended upon me;
But more of that anon. Take him aside.

Olivia. What would my lord, but that he may not have,
Wherein Olivia may seem serviceable?
Cesario, you do not keep promise with me.



Orsino. Gracious Olivia,—

Olivia. What do you say, Cesario? Good my lord,—



Viola. My lord would speak; my duty hushes me.

Olivia. If it be aught to the old tune, my lord,
It is as fat and fulsome to mine ear
As howling after music.



Orsino. Still so cruel?

Olivia. Still so constant, lord.



Orsino. What, to perverseness? you uncivil lady,
To whose ingrate and unauspicious altars
My soul the faithfull'st offerings hath breathed out
That e'er devotion tender'd! What shall I do?

Olivia. Even what it please my lord, that shall become him.



Viola. And I, most jocund, apt and willingly,
To do you rest, a thousand deaths would die.

Olivia. Where goes Cesario?



Viola. After him I love
More than I love these eyes, more than my life,
More, by all mores, than e'er I shall love wife.
If I do feign, you witnesses above
Punish my life for tainting of my love!

Olivia. Ay me, detested! how am I beguiled!



Viola. Who does beguile you? who does do you wrong?

Olivia. Hast thou forgot thyself? is it so long?
Call forth the holy father.



Orsino. Come, away!

Olivia. Whither, my lord? Cesario, husband, stay.



Orsino. Husband!

Olivia. Ay, husband: can he that deny?



Viola. No, my lord, not I.

Olivia. Alas, it is the baseness of thy fear
That makes thee strangle thy propriety:
Fear not, Cesario; take thy fortunes up;
Be that thou know'st thou art, and then thou art
As great as that thou fear'st.
[Enter Priest]
O, welcome, father!
Father, I charge thee, by thy reverence,
Here to unfold, though lately we intended
To keep in darkness what occasion now
Reveals before 'tis ripe, what thou dost know
Hath newly pass'd between this youth and me.



Viola. My lord, I do protest—

Olivia. O, do not swear!
Hold little faith, though thou hast too much fear.



Sir Andrew Aguecheek. For the love of God, a surgeon! Send one presently
to Sir Toby.

Olivia. What's the matter?



Sir Andrew Aguecheek. He has broke my head across and has given Sir Toby
a bloody coxcomb too: for the love of God, your
help! I had rather than forty pound I were at home.

Olivia. Who has done this, Sir Andrew?



Sir Toby Belch. Then he's a rogue, and a passy measures panyn: I
hate a drunken rogue.

Olivia. Away with him! Who hath made this havoc with them?



Sir Toby Belch. Will you help? an ass-head and a coxcomb and a
knave, a thin-faced knave, a gull!

Olivia. Get him to bed, and let his hurt be look'd to.



Antonio. How have you made division of yourself?
An apple, cleft in two, is not more twin
Than these two creatures. Which is Sebastian?

Olivia. Most wonderful!



Viola. 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.

Olivia. He shall enlarge him: fetch Malvolio hither:
And yet, alas, now I remember me,
They say, poor gentleman, he's much distract.
[Re-enter Clown with a letter, and FABIAN]
A most extracting frenzy of mine own
From my remembrance clearly banish'd his.
How does he, sirrah?



Feste. Truly, madam, he holds Belzebub at the staves's end as
well as a man in his case may do: has here writ a
letter to you; I should have given't you to-day
morning, but as a madman's epistles are no gospels,
so it skills not much when they are delivered.

Olivia. Open't, and read it.



Feste. Look then to be well edified when the fool delivers
the madman.
'By the Lord, madam,'—

Olivia. How now! art thou mad?



Feste. No, madam, I do but read madness: an your ladyship
will have it as it ought to be, you must allow Vox.

Olivia. Prithee, read i' thy right wits.



Feste. So I do, madonna; but to read his right wits is to
read thus: therefore perpend, my princess, and give ear.

Olivia. Read it you, sirrah.



Fabian. [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.

Olivia. Did he write this?



Orsino. This savours not much of distraction.

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



Orsino. Madam, I am most apt to embrace your offer.
Your master quits you; and for your service done him,
So much against the mettle of your sex,
So far beneath your soft and tender breeding,
And since you call'd me master for so long,
Here is my hand: you shall from this time be
Your master's mistress.

Olivia. A sister! you are she.



Orsino. Is this the madman?

Olivia. Ay, my lord, this same.
How now, Malvolio!



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

Olivia. Have I, Malvolio? no.



Malvolio. Lady, you have. Pray you, peruse that 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:
You can say none of this: well, grant it then
And tell me, in the modesty of honour,
Why you have given me such clear lights of favour,
Bade me come smiling and cross-garter'd to you,
To put on yellow stockings and to frown
Upon Sir Toby and the lighter people;
And, acting this in an obedient hope,
Why have you suffer'd me to be imprison'd,
Kept in a dark house, visited by the priest,
And made the most notorious geck and gull
That e'er invention play'd on? tell me why.

Olivia. 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; then camest in smiling,
And in such forms which here were presupposed
Upon thee in the letter. Prithee, be content:
This practise 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.



Fabian. Good madam, hear me speak,
And let no quarrel nor no brawl to come
Taint the condition of this present hour,
Which I have wonder'd at. In hope it shall not,
Most freely I confess, myself and Toby
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.

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



(stage directions). [Exit]

Olivia. He hath been most notoriously abused.

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