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SCENE V.-Olivia's Garden. Enter Sır Toby Belch, Sir Andrew AGUE-CHEEK,

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 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 o' 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 metal of India qa

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 halfhour : 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. 'T is but fortune ; all is fortune. Maria once told me she did affect me: and I have heard herself

å My metal of India. So the original folio-mettle. In the second folio we have nettle. My metal of India is, obviously enough, my heart of gold, my precious girl.

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, peace! Contemplation makes a rare turkeycock 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 a married the yeoman of the wardrobe.

Sir And. Fie on him, Jezebel !

Fab. O, peace! now he is deeply in ; look, how imagination blows him.

Mal. Having been three months married to her, sitting in my state, 6–

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 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 for my kinsman Toby :

Sir To. Bolts and shackles ! Fab. O, peace, peace, peace! a The lady of the Strachy. This has been called a desperate passage; and many wild guesses have accordingly beer made to explain it. The context seems to point to some corruption of the name of a place.

b My state--my canopied chair, my throne.



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Mal. Seven of my people, with an obedient start, make out for him : 1 frown the while: and, perchance, wind up my watch, or play with my some rich jewel. Toby approaches ; courtesies b 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?
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 't was 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 !

Mał. 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. It is, in contempt of question, her hand,

Sir And. Her C's, her U's, and her T's : Why that?

å My some rich jewel-some rich jewel of my own.
b Courtesies-makes his courtesy.

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: 't is 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 number's altered ! a_“No man must know :"-If this should be thee, Malvolio ?

Sir To. Marry, hang thee, brock ! b
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.”
Fab. A fustian riddle!
Sir To. Excellent wench, say I.

Mal. “M, 0, 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 dressed him!
Sir To. And with what wing the stannyelc 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, 1.

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

a The number's altered—the number of the metrical feet is altered. 6 Brock-badger.

Stannyel the common hawk. d Formal--reasonable. A formal man is a man in his senses.

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

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


Fab. Did not I say that 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.
Sir To. Ay, or I 'll cudgel him, and make him

cry, 0.

Mal. And then I comes behind.

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 are 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: 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 thon art like to be, cast thy humble slough, and appear fresh. Be opposite with a 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 champian discovers not more: this is open. I will be proud, I will read politic authors, I

a Be opposite with—be of a different opinion—do not hold with him.

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