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She sat like patience on a monument,
Duke. But dy'd thy sister of her love, my boy?
Vio. She's all the daughters of my father's house,
Duke. Ay, that's the theme.
S CE N E VII.
Fab. Nay, i'll come; if I lose a scruple of this sport, let me be boild to death with melancholy.
Sir To. Would'st thou not be glad to have the niggardly rascally sheepbiter come by some notable shame?
Fab. I would exult, man ; you know, he brought me out of favour with my lady, about 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, fir Andrew ? Sir And. An we do not, it's pity of our lives.
Enter Maria.. Sir To. Here comes the little villain : how now, my nettle of India?
Mar. Get ye all three into the box-tree: Malvolio's coming down this walk; he has been yonder i'th' sun practising behaviour to his own shadow, this half hour. Observe him, for the love of
mockery; for, I know, this letter will make a contemplative ideot of him. Close, in the name of jefting; — lie thou there; [drops a letter.] for here. comes the trout that must be caught with tickling.
Enter Malvolio. Mal. '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 !
Fab. O, peacel comtemplation makes a rare turkey-cock of him; how he jets under his advanc'd plumes !
Sir And. 'Slife, I could so beat the rogue !
Mal. There is example for’t: the lady of the Strachy. married the yeoman of the wardrobe.
Sir And. Fie on him, Jezebel!
Fab. O, peace! now he's deeply in; look how imagination blows him.
Mal. Having been three months married to her, sitting in my state
Sir To. O for a stone-bow to hit him in the eye !
Mal. Calling my officers about me, in my branch'd velvet gown; having come from a day-bed, where I have left Olivia fleeping
* This is a word mistaken in the copying or printing, but it is not easy to conjeture what the word should be: perhaps, Stratarch, which (as well as Strategue) fignifies a general of an army, a commander in chief. Sir T. H. (See glossary upon the word.]
Sir To. Fire and brimstone!
Mal. And then to have the humour of state; and after a demure travel of regard, telling them, I know my place, as I would they should do theirs to ask for my uncle Toby –
Sir To. Bolts and shackles !
Ma. 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 some rich jewel. Toby approaches, courtsies there to me.
Sir To. Shall this fellow live?
Mal. 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'th' lips then ?
Mal. Saying, uncle Toby, my fortunes having cast me on your niece, give me this prerogative of speech
Sir To. What, what?
Mal. Besides, you waste the treasure of your time with a foolish
Sir To. O, peace ! now the spirit of humours intimate reading
C's, her U's, and her T's, and thus makes the her great P's. It is, in contempt of question, her hand,
Sir And. Her C's, her U's, and her T's: why that?
Mal. To the unknown belov’d, this, and my good wishes : her very phrases! By your leave, wax. Soft! and the impressure her Vol. II.
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Lucrece, with which she uses to seal; 'tis my lady: to whom should this be?
Fab. This wins him, liver and all.
Mal. Jove knows I love; alas! but who?
Sir To. Marry hang thee, brock!
But filence, like a Lucrece knife,
M. O. A. I. doth sway my life.
Mal. M. O. A. I. doth sway my life — nay, but first, let me fee_let me see
Fab. What a dish of poison has she dress’d him!
Mal. 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. I.
Sir To. O, ay! make out that: he is now at a cold scent.
Fab. Sowter will cry upon’t for all this, though it ben't as rank as a fox.
Mal. M. Malvolio --M.-- why, that begins my name.
Fab. Did not I say, he would work it out? the cur is excellent at faults.
Mal. M. But then there is no consonancy in the sequel; that suffers under probation: A should follow, but o does.
Fab. And O shall end, I hope.
Fab. Ay, an you had any eye behind you, you might see more detraction at your heels than fortunes before you.
Mal. M. O. A. I. — this fimulation is not as the former and yet to crush this a little, it would bow to me, for every one of these letters is in my name. Soft! here follows prose — If this fall into thy hand, revolve. In my stars I am above thee; but be not afraid of greatness : fome are born great, fame atchieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them. Thy fates open their bands ; let thy blood and spirit embrace them: and, to inure thyself to what thou art like to be; cast thy humble sough, and appear fresh. Be opposite with a kinsman, surly with
servants: let thy tongue tang with arguments of liate; put thyself into the trick of singularity. She thus advises thee, that sighs for thee. Remember who commended thy yellow stockings, and wish'd to see thee ever cross-garter'd: I say, remember. Go to; thou art made, if thou desirest to be fo :. if not, let me see thee a steward still, the fellow of servants, and not worthy to touch fortune's fingers. Farewel
. She that would alter services with thee the fortunate and happy. Daylight and champian discover no more: this is open. I will be proud, I will read politick authors, I will baffle fir Toby, I will wash off gross acquaintance, I will be point devise, the very man. I do not 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-garter'd; and in this the 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-garter'd, even with the swiftness of putting on. Jove, and my stars, be praised ! Here is yet a postscript. 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 pr’ythee. Hove, I thank thee: I will smile; I will do
every thing that thou wilt have me.
[Exit. Fab. I will not give my part of this sport for a pension of thousands to be pay'd from the sophy:
Sir To. I could marry this wench for this device.
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