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OLIVIA'S garden.

Sir To.
Come thy ways, Signior Fabian.

Nay, I'll come: if I lose a scruple of
this sport, let me be boiled to death with melancholy.

Sir To.
Wouldst thou not be glad to have
the niggardly rascally sheep-biter come by
some notable shame?

I would exult, man: you know, he
brought me out o' favor with my lady about (10)
a bear-baiting here.

Sir To.
To anger him we'll have the bear
again; and we will fool him black and blue:
shall we not, Sir Andrew?

Sir And.
An we do not, it is pity of our

Sir To.
Here comes the little villain. Enter MARIA.
How now, my metal of India!

Get ye all three into the box-tree:
Malvolio's coming down this walk: he has
been yonder i' the sun practising behavior 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! Lie thou there
[throws down a letter], for here comes the
trout that must be caught with tickling. [Exit. Enter 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 To.
Here's an overweening rogue!

O, peace! Contemplation makes a
rare turkey-cock of him: how he jets under
his advanced plumes!

Sir And.
'Slight, I could so beat the rogue!

Sir To.
Peace, I say. (40)

To be Count Malvolio!

Sir To.
Ah, rogue!

Sir And.
Pistol him, pistol him.

Sir To.
Peace, peace!

There is example for't; the lady of
the Strachy married the yeoman of the wardrobe.

Sir And.
Fie on him, Jezebel!

O, peace! now he's deeply in: look
how imagination blows him.

Having been three months married to (50)
her, sitting in my state,—

Sir To.
O, for a stone-bow, to hit him in
the eye!

Calling my officers about me, in
my branched velvet gown; having come from
a day-bed, where I have left Olivia sleeping,—

Sir To.
Fire and brimstone!

O, peace, peace!

And then to have the humor of state;
and after a demure travel of regard, telling
them I know my place as I would they should (61)
do theirs, to ask for my kinsman Toby,—

Sir To.
Bolts and shackles!

O peace, peace, peace! now, now.

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 my—some rich jewel. Toby approaches;
courtesies there to me,—

Sir To.
Shall this fellow live?

Though our silence be drawn from (71)
us with cars, yet peace.

I extend my hand to him thus,
quenching my familiar smile with an austere
regard of control,—

Sir To.
And does not Toby take you a
blow o' the lips then?

Saying, 'Cousin Toby, my fortunes
having cast me on your niece give me this
prerogative of speech,'— (80)

Sir To.
What, what?

'You must amend your drunkenness.'

Sir To.
Out, scab!

Nay, patience, or we break the
sinews of our plot.

'Besides, you waste the treasure of
your time with a foolish knight,'—

Sir And.
That's me, I warrant you.

'One Sir Andrew,'—

Sir And.
I knew 'twas I; for many do call (90)
me fool.

What employment have we here? [Taking up the letter.

Now is the woodcock near the gin.

Sir To.
O, peace! and the spirit of humors
intimate reading aloud to him!

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 And.
Her C's, her U's and her T's: (100)
why that?

'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?

This wins him, liver and all.

Jove knows I love:

But who?

Lips, do not move; (110)

No man must know.

'No man must know.' What follows? the
numbers altered! 'No man must know:' if
this should be thee, Malvolio?

Sir To.
Marry, hang thee, brock!

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.

A fustian riddle! (120)

Sir To.
Excellent wench, say I.

'M, O, A, I, doth sway my life.'Nay,
but first, let me see, let me see, let me see.

What dish o' poison has she dressed

Sir To.
And with what wing the staniel
checks at it!

'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,

Sir To.
O, ay, make up that: he is now
at a cold scent.

Sowter will cry upon't for all this,
though it be as rank as a fox.

M,—Malvolio; M,—why, that begins
my name.

Did not I say he would work it out? (140)
the cur is excellent at faults.

M,—but then there is no consonancy
in the sequel; that suffers under probation:
A should follow, but O does.

And O shall end, I hope.

Sir To.
Ay, or I'll cudgel him, and make
him cry O!

And then I comes behind.

Ay, an you had any eye behind you,
you might see more detraction at your heels (150)
than fortunes before you.

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. [Reads]

'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 greatnes
thrust upon 'em. 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 service with thee.


Daylight and champain 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-devise 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. [Reads]

'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 prithee.'

Jove, I thank thee: I will smile; I will do
everything that thou wilt have me. [Exit.

I will not give my part of this sport
for a pension of thousands to be paid from the

Sir To.
I could marry this wench for this
device. (200)

Sir And.
So could I too.

Sir To.
And ask no other dowry with her
but such another jest.

Sir And.
Nor I neither.

Here comes my noble gull-catcher. Re-enter MARIA.

Sir To.
Wilt thou set thy foot o' my neck?

Sir And.
Or o' mine either?

Sir To.
Shall I play my freedom at tray-
trip, and become thy bond-slave? (209)

Sir And.
I' faith, or I either?

Sir To.
Why, thou hast put him in such a
dream, that when the image of it leaves him
he must run mad.

Nay, but say true; does it work
upon him?

Sir To.
Like aqua-vitae with a midwife.

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 color 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 To.
To the gates of Tartar, thou most
excellent devil of wit!

Sir And.
I'll make one too. [Exeunt.

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