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Mal. M,—Malvolio :—M,—why, that begins my name.

Fab. Did not I say, he would work it out 1 the our 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 O/

Mal. And then / comes behind.—

Fab. Ay, an you had an eye behind you, you might see more detraction at your heels than fortunes before you.

Mal. 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 I here follows prose.—[Beads.] If this fall into thy hand, revolve. In my stars 1 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 inute 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 stale; 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 crossgartered: I say, remember. Go to, thou art made, if thou desvrest 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 champain discover 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-de-vise the very man. I do not now fool myself, to let imagination jade uie; 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. [fieads.] 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.

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 And. So could I too.

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

Sir And. Nor I neither.

Fab. Here comes my noble gull-catcher.

Re-enter Maria.

Sir To. Wilt thou set thy foot o' my neck?

Sir And. Or o' mine either 1

Sir To. Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip, and become thy bond-slave?

Sir And T 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-vitse 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 't is 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. [Exeunt.

ACT III. Scene I.—Olivia's Garden. Enter Viola, and Clown with a tabor Vio. Save thee, friend, and thy music I dost thou live by thy tabor 1

Clo. No, sir, I live by the church. Vio. Art thou a churchman 1 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 said, sir.—To see this age !—A sentence is but a cheveril glove to a good wit: now quickly the wrong side 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 sister 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 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 loth 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

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