CLOWN. The more fool you, 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? MALVOLIO. Yes; and shall do, till the pangs of death shake him. Infirmity, that decays the wise, doth ever make the better fool. CLOWN. 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 twopence 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. O, 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. CLOWN. Now Mercury endue thee with leasing, for thou speak’st well of fools! Enter Maria. 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. [_Exit Malvolio._] Now you see, sir, how your fooling grows old, and people dislike it. CLOWN. Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy eldest son should be a fool: whose skull Jove cram with brains, for here he comes, one of thy kin has a most weak _pia mater_. Enter Sir Toby. OLIVIA. By mine honour, half drunk. What is he at the gate, cousin? SIR TOBY. A gentleman. OLIVIA. A gentleman? What gentleman? SIR TOBY. ’Tis a gentleman here. A plague o’ these pickle-herrings! How now, sot? CLOWN. Good Sir Toby. OLIVIA. Cousin, cousin, how have you come so early by this lethargy? SIR TOBY. Lechery! I defy lechery. There’s one at the gate. OLIVIA. Ay, marry, what is he? SIR TOBY. Let him be the devil an he will, I care not: give me faith, say I. Well, it’s all one. [_Exit._] OLIVIA. What’s a drunken man like, fool? CLOWN. Like a drowned man, a fool, and a madman: one draught above heat makes him a fool, the second mads him, and a third drowns him. OLIVIA. Go thou and seek the coroner, and let him sit o’ my coz; for he’s in the third degree of drink; he’s drowned. Go, look after him.