feat_summary_path: finished_summaries/shmoop/Twelfth Night, or What You Will/section_9_part_0.txt
feat_book_id: Twelfth Night, or What You Will.act 2.scene 5
feat_summary_id: act 2, scene 5
feat_summary: {"name": "Act 2, Scene 5", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210415161814/https://www.shmoop.com/study-guides/literature/twelfth-night/summary/act-2-scene-5", "summary": "In Olivia's garden, Toby and Aguecheek hang out with Fabian, who worries that he'll get in trouble again if he helps them trick Malvolio. Seems Malvolio told on Fabian earlier for holding a bear-baiting contest at Olivia's place. Toby Belch says not to worry--they'll make Malvolio pay for being such a drag. Maria enters and tells the men Malvolio has been hanging out alone practicing acting super cool for the past half hour. Now he's headed this way, and she knows the letter she wrote is going to make him act like an even bigger fool. She tells everyone to hide behind a tree and put the letter on the ground for Malvolio to find. Malvolio enters the garden talking to himself. First he says he thinks Maria wants him and then he fantasizes about being married to Olivia, which would make him a Count who could boss around Sir Toby and his raucous little crew. Toby and Aguecheek can hardly contain their laughter and their anger at Malvolio's audacity. The fantasy continues as Malvolio daydreams about fondling some expensive jewels and lecturing Toby for his drunkenness. Malvolio finds the letter and thinks right away that it's written in Olivia's handwriting. He thinks the letter is meant for him because it spells out M-A-O-I, all letters that appear in the name Malvolio. The letter instructs Malvolio to pick fights with Toby and company, wear yellow stockings with cross-garters, and smile at everything, even when Olivia's in a sad mood. Malvolio is all over this and runs off to change his clothes. Toby is psyched - Maria's plot is so clever that he's tempted to marry her. Maria enters and gloats about her evil genius plan. Malvolio is sure to make a fool of himself while annoying Olivia to no end.", "analysis": ""}
text: SCENE V.
  
  OLIVIA'S garden.
  
  [Enter SIR TOBY BELCH, SIR ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK, and FABIAN.]
  
  SIR TOBY.
  Come thy ways, Signior Fabian.
  
  FABIAN.
  Nay, I'll come; if I lose a scruple of this sport let me be
  boiled to death with melancholy.
  
  SIR TOBY.
  Wouldst thou not be glad to have the niggardly rascally
  sheep-biter come by some notable shame?
  
  FABIAN.
  I would exult, man; you know he brought me out o' favour
  with my lady about a bear-baiting here.
  
  SIR TOBY.
  To anger him we'll have the bear again; and we will fool
  him black and blue:--shall we not, Sir Andrew?
  
  SIR ANDREW.
  An we do not, it is pity of our lives.
  
  [Enter MARIA.]
  
  SIR TOBY.
  Here comes the little villain:--How now, my nettle of India?
  
  MARIA.
  Get ye all three into the box-tree: Malvolio's coming down
  this walk; he has been yonder i' the sun practising behaviour to
  his own shadow this half hour: observe him, for the love of
  mockery; for I know this letter will make a contemplative idiot
  of him. Close, in the name of jesting! [The men hide themselves.]
  
  Lie thou there; [Throws down a letter] for here comes the trout
  that must be caught with tickling.
  
  [Exit Maria.]
  
  [Enter MALVOLIO.]
  
  MALVOLIO.
  '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. Besides, she
  uses me with a more exalted respect than any one else that
  follows her. What should I think on't?
  
  SIR TOBY.
  Here's an overweening rogue!
  
  FABIAN.
  O, peace! Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock of him;
  how he jets under his advanced plumes!
  
  SIR ANDREW.
  'Slight, I could so beat the rogue:--
  
  SIR TOBY.
  Peace, I say.
  
  MALVOLIO.
  To be Count Malvolio;--
  
  SIR TOBY.
  Ah, rogue!
  
  SIR ANDREW.
  Pistol him, pistol him.
  
  SIR TOBY.
  Peace, peace.
  
  MALVOLIO.
  There is example for't; the lady of the Strachy married
  the yeoman of the wardrobe.
  
  SIR ANDREW.
  Fie on him, Jezebel!
  
  FABIAN.
  O, peace! now he's deeply in; look how imagination blows him.
  
  MALVOLIO.
  Having been three months married to her, sitting in my state,--
  
  SIR TOBY.
  O for a stone-bow to hit him in the eye!
  
  MALVOLIO.
  Calling my officers about me, in my branched velvet gown;
  having come from a day-bed, where I have left Olivia sleeping.
  
  SIR TOBY.
  Fire and brimstone!
  
  FABIAN.
  O, peace, peace.
  
  MALVOLIO.
  And then to have the humour of state: and 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.
  
  SIR TOBY.
  Bolts and shackles!
  
  FABIAN.
  O, peace, peace, peace! Now, now.
  
  MALVOLIO.
  Seven of my people, with an obedient start, make out for
  him: I frown the while, and perchance, wind up my watch, or play
  with some rich jewel. Toby approaches; court'sies there to me:
  
  SIR TOBY.
  Shall this fellow live?
  
  FABIAN.
  Though our silence be drawn from us with cars, yet peace.
  
  MALVOLIO.
  I extend my hand to him thus, quenching my familiar smile with an
  austere regard of control:
  
  SIR TOBY.
  And does not Toby take you a blow o' the lips then?
  
  MALVOLIO.
  Saying 'Cousin Toby, my fortunes having cast me on your
  niece, give me this prerogative of speech':--
  
  SIR TOBY.
  What, what?
  
  MALVOLIO.
  'You must amend your drunkenness.'
  
  SIR TOBY.
  Out, scab!
  
  FABIAN.
  Nay, patience, or we break the sinews of our plot.
  
  MALVOLIO.
  'Besides, you waste the treasure of your time with a
  foolish knight';
  
  SIR ANDREW.
  That's me, I warrant you.
  
  MALVOLIO.
  'One Sir Andrew':
  
  SIR ANDREW.
  I knew 'twas I; for many do call me fool.
  
  MALVOLIO.
  What employment have we here?
  
  [Taking up the letter.]
  
  FABIAN.
  Now is the woodcock near the gin.
  
  SIR TOBY.
  O, peace! And the spirit of humours intimate reading aloud to
  him!
  
  MALVOLIO.
  By my life, this is my lady's hand: these be her very
  C's, her U's, and her T's; and thus makes she her great P's. It
  is in contempt of question, her hand.
  
  SIR ANDREW.
  Her C's, her U's, and her T's. Why that?
  
  MALVOLIO.
  [Reads] 'To the unknown beloved, this, and my good
  wishes.' Her very phrases!--By your leave, wax.--Soft!--and the
  impressure her Lucrece, with which she uses to seal: 'tis my
  lady. To whom should this be?
  
  FABIAN.
  This wins him, liver and all.
  
  MALVOLIO.
  [Reads]
    'Jove knows I love,
      But who?
    Lips, do not move,
    No man must know.'
  
  'No man must know.'--What follows? the numbers alter'd!--'No man
  must know':--If this should be thee, Malvolio?
  
  SIR TOBY.
  Marry, hang thee, brock!
  
  MALVOLIO.
    'I may command where I adore:
       But silence, like a Lucrece knife,
    With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore;
      M, O, A, I, doth sway my life.'
  
  FABIAN.
  A fustian riddle!
  
  SIR TOBY.
  Excellent wench, say I.
  
  MALVOLIO.
  'M, O, A, I, doth sway my life.'--Nay, but first let me see,--let
  me see,--let me see.
  
  FABIAN.
  What dish of poison has she dressed him!
  
  SIR TOBY.
  And with what wing the stannyel checks at it!
  
  MALVOLIO.
  'I may command where I adore.' Why, she may command me: I
  serve her, she is my lady. Why, this is evident to any formal
  capacity; there is no obstruction in this;--And the end,--What
  should that alphabetical position portend? If I could make that
  resemble something in me.--Softly!--M, O, A, I.--
  
  SIR TOBY.
  O, ay, make up that:--he is now at a cold scent.
  
  FABIAN.
  Sowter will cry upon't for all this, though it be as rank as a
  fox.
  
  MALVOLIO.
  M,--Malvolio; M,--why, that begins my name.
  
  FABIAN.
  Did not I say he would work it out?
  The cur is excellent at faults.
  
  MALVOLIO.
  M,--But then there is no consonancy in the sequel; that
  suffers under probation: A should follow, but O does.
  
  FABIAN.
  And O shall end, I hope.
  
  SIR TOBY.
  Ay, or I'll cudgel him, and make him cry 'O!'
  
  MALVOLIO.
  And then I comes behind.
  
  FABIAN.
  Ay, an you had any eye behind you, you might see more
  detraction at your heels than fortunes before you.
  
  MALVOLIO.
  M, O, A, I;--This simulation is not as the former:--and
  yet, to crush this a little, it would bow to me, for every one of
  these letters are in my name. Soft; here follows prose.--
  'If this fall into thy hand, revolve. In my stars I am above
  thee; but be not afraid of greatness. Some are born great, some
  achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them. Thy
  fates open their hands; let thy blood and spirit embrace them.
  And, to inure thyself to what thou art like to be, cast thy
  humble slough and appear fresh. Be opposite with a kinsman, surly
  with servants: let thy tongue tang arguments of state; put
  thyself into the trick of singularity: She thus advises thee that
  sighs for thee. Remember who commended thy yellow stockings, and
  wished to see thee ever cross-gartered. I say, remember. Go to;
  thou art made, if thou desirest to be so; if not, let me see thee
  a steward still, the fellow of servants, and not worthy to touch
  fortune's fingers. Farewell. She that would alter services with
  thee,
       'The fortunate-unhappy.'
  
  Daylight and champian discovers not more: this is open. I will be
  proud, I will read politic authors, I will baffle Sir Toby, I
  will wash off gross acquaintance, I will be point-device, the
  very man. I do not now fool myself to let imagination jade me;
  for every reason excites to this, that my lady loves me. She did
  commend my yellow stockings of late, she did praise my leg being
  cross-gartered; and in this she manifests herself to my love, and
  with a kind of injunction, drives me to these habits of her
  liking. I thank my stars I am happy. I will be strange, stout, in
  yellow stockings, and cross-gartered, even with the swiftness of
  putting on. Jove and my stars be praised!--Here is yet a
  postscript. 'Thou canst not choose but know who I am. If thou
  entertainest my love, let it appear in thy smiling; thy smiles
  become thee well: therefore in my presence still smile, dear my
  sweet, I pr'ythee.' Jove, I thank thee. I will smile; I will do
  everything that thou wilt have me.
  
  [Exit.]
  
  FABIAN.
  I will not give my part of this sport for a pension of
  thousands to be paid from the Sophy.
  
  SIR TOBY.
  I could marry this wench for this device:
  
  SIR ANDREW.
  So could I too.
  
  SIR TOBY.
  And ask no other dowry with her but such another jest.
  
  [Enter MARIA.]
  
  SIR ANDREW.
  Nor I neither.
  
  FABIAN.
  Here comes my noble gull-catcher.
  
  SIR TOBY.
  Wilt thou set thy foot o' my neck?
  
  SIR ANDREW.
  Or o' mine either?
  
  SIR TOBY.
  Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip, and become thy bond-slave?
  
  SIR ANDREW.
  I' faith, or I either?
  
  SIR TOBY.
  Why, thou hast put him in such a dream, that, when the
  image of it leaves him, he must run mad.
  
  MARIA.
  Nay, but say true; does it work upon him?
  
  SIR TOBY.
  Like aqua-vitae with a midwife.
  
  MARIA.
  If you will then see the fruits of the sport, mark his
  first approach before my lady: he will come to her in yellow
  stockings, and 'tis a colour she abhors, and cross-gartered, a
  fashion she detests; and he will smile upon her, which will now
  be so unsuitable to her disposition, being addicted to a
  melancholy as she is, that it cannot but turn him into a notable
  contempt; if you will see it, follow me.
  
  SIR TOBY.
  To the gates of Tartar, thou most excellent devil of wit!
  
  SIR ANDREW.
  I'll make one too.
  
  [Exeunt.]
  
  
  
  
  
feat_summary_name: Act 2, Scene 5
target: In Olivia's garden, Toby and Aguecheek hang out with Fabian, who worries that he'll get in trouble again if he helps them trick Malvolio. Seems Malvolio told on Fabian earlier for holding a bear-baiting contest at Olivia's place. Toby Belch says not to worry--they'll make Malvolio pay for being such a drag. Maria enters and tells the men Malvolio has been hanging out alone practicing acting super cool for the past half hour. Now he's headed this way, and she knows the letter she wrote is going to make him act like an even bigger fool. She tells everyone to hide behind a tree and put the letter on the ground for Malvolio to find. Malvolio enters the garden talking to himself. First he says he thinks Maria wants him and then he fantasizes about being married to Olivia, which would make him a Count who could boss around Sir Toby and his raucous little crew. Toby and Aguecheek can hardly contain their laughter and their anger at Malvolio's audacity. The fantasy continues as Malvolio daydreams about fondling some expensive jewels and lecturing Toby for his drunkenness. Malvolio finds the letter and thinks right away that it's written in Olivia's handwriting. He thinks the letter is meant for him because it spells out M-A-O-I, all letters that appear in the name Malvolio. The letter instructs Malvolio to pick fights with Toby and company, wear yellow stockings with cross-garters, and smile at everything, even when Olivia's in a sad mood. Malvolio is all over this and runs off to change his clothes. Toby is psyched - Maria's plot is so clever that he's tempted to marry her. Maria enters and gloats about her evil genius plan. Malvolio is sure to make a fool of himself while annoying Olivia to no end.