CLOWN. He is but mad yet, madonna; and the fool shall look to the madman. [_Exit Clown._] Enter Malvolio. 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 of 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 codling, 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. MALVOLIO. Gentlewoman, my lady calls. [_Exit._] Enter Maria. OLIVIA. Give me my veil; come, throw it o’er my face. We’ll once more hear Orsino’s embassy. Enter Viola. 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 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.