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To her in haste; give her this jewel; say,

My love can give no place, bide no denay. [Exeunt.

SCENE V.

Olivia's Garden.

Enter Sir TOBY BELCH, Sir ANDREW AGUECHEEK, and FABIAN.

Sir To. Come thy ways, signior Fabian.

Fab. Nay, I'll come; if I lose a scruple of this sport, let me be boil'd to death with melancholy.

Sir To. Would'st 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 33 ?

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 ideot 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.

Enter MALVOLIO.

Mal. "Tis but fortune; all is fortune.

[Exit Maria.

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 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.

34

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 sleeping:

Sir To. Fire and brimstone !

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 ask kinsman Toby :

for my

Sir To. Bolts and shackles !

Fab. O, 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 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 cars 35, 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?

Mal. You must amend your drunkenness.

Sir To. Out, scab !

Fab. Nay, patience, or we break the sinews 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, 'twas 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. O, 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 T's; and thus makes she her great P's 36. It is, in contempt of question, her hand.

Sir And. Her C's, 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.
Mal. [reads.] Jove knows, I love:

But who?

Lips do not move,

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!

Mal. 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.

Fub. A fustian riddle !

Sir To. Excellent wench, say I.

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

Fab. What a dish of poison has she dress'd him! Sir To. And with what wing the stannyel " checks 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, A, I.—

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

scent.

Fab. Sowter will cry upon't, for all this, though it be as rank as a fox 93.

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.

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