Clo. Master Malvolio!
Mal. Ay, good fool.
Clo. Alas, sir, how fell you besides your five wits?
Mal. Fool, there was never man so notoriously abused: I am as well in my wits, fool, as thou art.
Clo. But as well! then you are mad, indeed, if you be no better in your wits than a fool.
Mal. Good fool, some ink, paper, and light, and convey what I will set down to my lady; it shall advantage thee more than ever the bearing of letter did.
Clo. I will help you to't. But tell me true, are you not mad, indeed? or do you but counterfeit?
Mal. Believe me, I am not: I tell thee true.
Clo. Nay, I'll ne'er believe a madman, till I see his brains. I will fetch you light, and paper, and ink.
Mal. Fool, I'll requite it in the highest degree. I pr'ythee, be gone.