Twelfth Night: Act 2, Scene 5

Get you all three into the boxtree. Malvolio’s
coming down this walk.
He has been yonder i’ the sun practicing
behavior to his own shadow this half hour.
Observe him for the love of mockery, I know
this letter will make a contemplative idiot of him.
Close, in the name of jesting!
’Tis but fortune, all is fortune.
Maria once told me she did affect me,
and I have heard herself come thus near,
that should she fancy it should be
one of my complexion.
To be Count Malvolio.
Having been three months married to her,
and I in my state—
in my branched velvet gown,
having come from a day-bed
where I have left Olivia sleeping—
Ah, rogue!
Pistol him, pistol him!
And then to have the humor of state,
after a demure travel of regard—
telling them I know my place, as I would they
should do theirs—to ask for my kinsman Toby.
Seven of my people, with an obedient start,
make out for him.
I frown the while, and perchance
wind my watch,
or play with my—some rich jewel.
Toby approaches, curtsies there to me—
I extend my hand to him thus,
quenching my familiar smile
with an austere regard of control—
Saying “Uncle Toby, my fortunes,
having cast me on your niece,
give me this prerogative of speech—
What, what?
“You must amend your drunkenness.”
Out, scab!
Nay, patience, or we break the sinews
of our plot.
“Besides, you waste the treasure of your
time with that foolish knight—”
That’s me, I warrant you.
One Sir Andrew.
I knew ’twas I, for many do call me fool.
What employment have we here?
By my life, this is my lady’s hand.
These be her very c’s, u’s, and t’s.
Thus she makes her great P’s.
Her c’s, her u’s, and her t’s. Why that?
To the unknown beloved, this, and my
good wishes.
Her very phrases! By your leave, wax.
Soft.