William Shakespeare: Twelfth Night

ACT III. 4. SCENE IV. OLIVIA'S garden. (continued)

MARIA.
La you, an you speak ill of the devil, how he takes it at
heart! Pray God he be not bewitched.

FABIAN.
Carry his water to the wise woman.

MARIA.
Marry, and it shall be done to-morrow morning, if I live. My
lady would not lose him for more than I'll say.

MALVOLIO.
How now, mistress!

MARIA.
O lord!

SIR TOBY.
Pr'ythee hold thy peace; this is not the way. Do you not
see you move him? let me alone with him.

FABIAN.
No way but gentleness; gently, gently: the fiend is rough,
and will not be roughly used.

SIR TOBY.
Why, how now, my bawcock? how dost thou, chuck.

MALVOLIO.
Sir?

SIR TOBY.
Ay, Biddy, come with me. What, man! 'tis not for gravity
to play at cherry-pit with Satan. Hang him, foul collier!

MARIA.
Get him to say his prayers; good Sir Toby, get him to pray.

MALVOLIO.
My prayers, minx?

MARIA.
No, I warrant you, he will not hear of godliness.

MALVOLIO.
Go, hang yourselves all! you are idle shallow things: I
am not of your element; you shall know more hereafter.

[Exit.]

SIR TOBY.
Is't possible?

FABIAN.
If this were played upon a stage now, I could condemn it as
an improbable fiction.

SIR TOBY.
His very genius hath taken the infection of the device, man.

MARIA.
Nay, pursue him now; lest the device take air and taint.

FABIAN.
Why, we shall make him mad indeed.