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My father had a daughter loved a man,
Vio. A blank, my lord: She never told her love,
Vio. I am all the daughters of my father's house,
Duke. Ay, that's the theme.
SCENE V.-Olivia's Garden.
Fab. 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?
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, Sir Andrew? Sir And. An we do not, it is 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’ the 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 idiot of him. Close, in the name of jesting ! [The men hide themselves.] Lie thou there (throws down a letter]; for here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling:
[Exit MARIA. 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,t it should be one of my complexion. * Denial.
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 over-weening rogue ! Fab. 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. 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 strachy married the yeoman of the wardrobe.
Sir And. Fie on him, Jezebel ! Fab. O, peace! now he's deeply in; look, how imagination blowst him.
Mal. Having been three months married to her, sitting in my state, I—
Sir To. O, for a stone-bow, to hit him in the eye!
Mal. Calling my officers about me, in my branched velvet gown; having come from a day-bed, where I left Olivia sleeping:
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 kinsman Toby:
Sir To. Bolts and shackles !
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 some rich jewel. Toby approaches; court'sies there to me:
Sir To. Shall this fellow live ?
Fab. Though our silence be drawn from us with ears, yet peace.
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’the lips then ? Mal. Saying, Cousin Toby, my fortunes having cast me on your niece, give me this prerogative of speech:
Sir To. What, what?
Sir And. That's me, I warrant you.
TM Puffs him up.
Fab. Now is the woodcock near the gin.
Sir To: 0, peace ! and the spirit of humours intimate reading aloud to him !
Mal. By my life, this is my lady's hand: these be her very C's, her U's, and her Ts; and thus makes she her great P's. It is, in contempt of question, her hand.
Sir And. Her cos, her U's, and her T's: Why that? Mal. (Reads] 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 ?
Fab. This wins him, liver and all.
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 !*
But silence, like a Lucrece knife,
M, O, A, I, doth sway my life.
Mal. M, 0, A, T, doth sway my life.-Nay, but first, let me see, let me see, -let me see. Fab. What a dish of poison has she dressed him!
Sir To. And with what wing the stannyelt checksI at it! 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, 0, 4, 1.
Sir To. O, ay! make up that :-he is now at a cold scent.
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, 0, 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 is in my name. Soit; here follows prose. If * Badger.
+ Hawk. #Flies at it.
Name of a hound.
as a fox.
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 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, 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 services with thee.
The fortunate-unhappy. Daylight and champiant, 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-device, I 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. 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 prythee. Jove, I thank thee. I will smile, I will do everything that thou wilt have me.
[Exit. Fab. I will not give my part of this sport for a pension of thousands to be paid from the Sophy.
Sir To. I could marry this wench for this device.
Sir To. And ask no other dowry with her, but such another jest.
Sir To. Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip, and become thy bond-slave ?
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?
* Skin of a snake.
† Open country.
approach before my lady: he will come to her in yellow stockings, and 'tis a colour 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.
Enter VIOLA, and Clown with a tabor. Vio. Save thee, friend, and thy music: Dost thou live by thy tabor ?
Clo. No, Sir, I live by the church.
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 mayst 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 said, Sir.-To see this age ! -A sentence is but a cheverilt glove to a good wit; How quickly the wrong side may be turned outward !
Vio. Nay, that's certain; they that dally nicely with words, may quickly make them wanton.
Člo. I would, therefore, my sister had had no name, Sir.
Clo. Why, Sir, her name's a word; and to dally with that word, might make my sister wanton: But, indeed, words are very rascals, since bonds disgraced them.
Vio. Thy reason, man?
Clo. Troth, Sir, I can yield you none without words; and words are grown so false, I am loath to prove reason with them.
Vio. I warrant, thou art a merry fellow, and carest for nothing.
Clo. Not so, Sir, I do care for something: but in my conscience, Sir, I do not care for you; if that be to care for nothing, Sir, I would it would make you invisible.
Vio. Art not thou the lady Olivia's fool?
Clo. No, indeed, Sir; the lady Olivia has no folly: she will keep no fool, Sir, till she be married; and fools are as like husbands as pilchards are to herrings, the husbands the bigger; I am, indeed, not her fool, but her corrupter of words.
Vio. I saw thee late at the count Orsino's.
Clo. Foolery, Sir, does walk about the orb, like the sun; it shines everywhere. I would be sorry, Sir, but the fool should