come thus near, that should the fancy, it should be one of my complexion. Besides, the uses me with a more exalted respect, than any one elfe that follows her. What should I think on't?

1. Sir To. Here's an over-weaning rogue.

Fab. O, peace: contemplation makes a rare turkeycock of him; how he jets under his advance'd plumes ! Sir And. 'Slife, I could fo beat the rogue.

Sir To. Peace, I fay.

Mal. To be Count Malvolio.

Sir To. Ah, rogue!

Sir And. Pistol him, pistol him.

Sir To. Peace, peace.

Mal. There is example for't: the lady of the Trachy

married the yeoman of the wardrobe.

Sir And. Fie on him, Jezebel !

1.

Fab. O, peace; now he's deeply in; look how ima

gination blows him.

Mal. Having been three months married to her, fitting 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 down from a day-bed, where I have left Olivia fleeping.

1

ま

Sir To. Fire and brimestone !

Fab. O, peace, peace.

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 afk

for my uncle Toby

Sir To. Bolts and shackles!

Fab. Oh, peace, peace, peace; now, now.

Mal. 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 fome rich jewel. Toby approaches, curtfies there to me. Sir To. Shall this fellow live?

Fab. Tho' our filence be drawn from us with cares, yet peace.

1

*that is, Thrace. It was common to use the article the before names of places. And this was no improper inftance, where the scene was in Illyria.

11

Mal. I extend my hand to him thus: quenching my familiar smile with an austere regard of controuk... Sir To. And does not Toby take you a blow o'th' lips then?

Mal. Saying, Uncle Toby, my fortunes having caft me on your niece, give me this prerogative of speechSir To. What, what?

Mal. You must amend your drunkenness.

Sir To. Out, scab!

Fab. Nay, patience, or we break the finews of our plot.

Mal. Besides, you waste the treasure of your time

with a foolish knight

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

Mal. One Sir Andrew,

Sir And. I knew, 'tis I; for many do call me fool. Mal. What employment have we here?

[Taking up the letter.

-Fab. Now is the woodcock near the gin. Sir To. Oh peace! now the spirit of humours intimate reading aloud to him!

Mal By my life, this is my Lady's hand: thefe be her very 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 Lucrece, with which the uses to feal? 'tis my Lady: to whom should this be?

Fab. This wins him, liver and all.

Mal. Jove knows I love, but who, lips do not move, no man must know. No man must know what follows; the number's alter'd-no man must know if this

should be thee, Malvolio?

Sir To. Marry, hang thee, Brock!

Mal I may command where I adore; but filence, like

a Lucrece knife,

With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore, M. O. A. I.

doth fway my life.

Fab. A fuftian riddle.

Sir To. Excellent wench, fay I.
VOL. III.

P

Mal.

Mal. M. O. A. I. doth sway my life-nay, but first, let me feelet me fee

Fab. What a dish of poison has she dress'd him? Sir To. And with what wing the stanyel checks at it? Mal. I may command where I adore. Why, she may command me: I ferve 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 pofition portend? if I could make that resemble fomething in me? foftly, M.O. A. I.

Sir To. O, ay! make up that; he is now at a cold fcent.

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

Mal. M.-Malvolio M. why, that begins my

name.

Fab. Did I not fay, he would work it out: the cur is excellent at faults.

Mal. M. But then there is no confonancy in the fequal; that fuffers under probation: A should follow,

but O does.

**Fab. And O shall end I hope.

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

Mal. And then I comes behind.

Fab. Ay, an you had an eye behind you, you might fee 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 profe 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 atchieve greatnefs, and some have greatness thrust upon them. Thy fates open their hands, let thy blood and spirit embrace them; and to inure thyself to what thou art like to be, caft thy humble flough, and appear fresh. Be opposite with a kinfman, furly with fervants: let thy tongue tang arguments of state; put thyself into the trick of fingularity. She thus

advises thee, that fighs for thee. Remember whocommended thy yellow stockings, and wish'd to see thee ever crossgarter'd. I say, remember: go to, thou art made, if thou defireft to be fo; if not, let me see thee a steward still, the fellow of fervants, and not worthy to touch Fortune's fingers. Farewel. She that would alter fervices with thee, the fortunate and happy. Day-light and champian discover no more; this is open. I will be proud, I will read politic authors, I will baffle Sir Toby, I will wash off grofs 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-garter'd, 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-garter'd, even with the swiftness of putting on. Jove and my stars be praifed! Here is yet a postscript. Thou canst not chufe 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. --Jove, 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 pen fion of thousands to be paid from the Sophy.

Sir To, I could marry this wench for this device. Sir And. So could I too.

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

SCENE IX. Enter Maria.

Sir And. Nor I neither.

Fab. Here comes my noble gull-catcher.

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-flave?

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.

Mar. Nay, but say true, does it work upon him?... Sir. To. Like aqua vite with a midwife.

Mar. 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 colour she abhors; and cross-garter'd, a fashion she detests; and he will smile upon her, which will now be so unfuitable to her disposition, being addicted to a melancholy, as the is, that it cannot but turn him into a notable contempt. If you will fee it, follow me.

Sir To. To the gates of Tartar; thou most excellent devil of wit !

Sir And. I'll make one too.

[Exeunt.

AVE thee, friend, and thy mufic. Dost thou

Vio.

SA

live by thy tabor?

Clo. No, Sir, I live by the church.

Vio. Art thou a churchman ?

Clo. No such matter, Sir; I do live by the church'; for I do live at my house, and my house doth stand by the church.

Vio. So thou may'st say, the King lies by a beggar, if a beggar dwell near him; or the church stands by thy tabor, if thy tabor stand by the church.

Clo. You have faid, Sir; to fee this age!-A fentence is but a chev'ril glove * to a good wit; how quickly the wrong fide may be turned outward!

Vio. Nay, that's certain; they that dally nicely with words, may quickly make them wanton.

Clo. I would therefore my fister had had no name, Sir.

Vio. Why, man?

Clo. Why, Sir, her name's a word; and to dally with that word, might make my fister wanton; but

A glove made of a kid's skin,