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FABIAN
What dish o' poison has she dressed him!
SIR TOBY BELCH
And with what wing the staniel cheques at it!
MALVOLIO
'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 TOBY BELCH
O, ay, make up that: he is now at a cold scent.
FABIAN
Sowter will cry upon't for all this, though it be as
rank as a fox.
MALVOLIO
M,--Malvolio; M,--why, that begins my name.
FABIAN
Did not I say he would work it out? the cur is
excellent at faults.
MALVOLIO
M,--but then there is no consonancy in the sequel;
that suffers under probation A should follow but O does.
FABIAN
And O shall end, I hope.
SIR TOBY BELCH
Ay, or I'll cudgel him, and make him cry O!
MALVOLIO
And then I comes behind.
FABIAN
Ay, an you had any eye behind you, you might see
more detraction at your heels than fortunes before
you.
MALVOLIO
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 greatness 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 services with thee,
THE FORTUNATE-UNHAPPY.'
Daylight and champaign 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
FABIAN
I will not give my part of this sport for a pension
of thousands to be paid from the Sophy.
SIR TOBY BELCH
I could marry this wench for this device.
SIR ANDREW
So could I too.
SIR TOBY BELCH
And ask no other dowry with her but such another jest.
SIR ANDREW
Nor I neither.
FABIAN
Here comes my noble gull-catcher.
Re-enter MARIA
SIR TOBY BELCH
Wilt thou set thy foot o' my neck?
SIR ANDREW
Or o' mine either?
SIR TOBY BELCH
Shall I play my freedom at traytrip, and become thy
bond-slave?
SIR ANDREW
I' faith, or I either?
SIR TOBY BELCH
Why, thou hast put him in such a dream, that when
the image of it leaves him he must run mad.
MARIA
Nay, but say true; does it work upon him?
SIR TOBY BELCH
Like aqua-vitae with a midwife.
MARIA
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-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 TOBY BELCH
To the gates of Tartar, thou most excellent devil of wit!
SIR ANDREW
I'll make one too.
Exeunt
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