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. Sir To. Ay, or I'll cudgel him, and make him cry O! Mal. And then I 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! here follows prose.-[Reads.] 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 inure thyself to what thou art like to be, cast thy humble slough, and annear fresh Re 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 crossgartered: 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 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 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. 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 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? Sir To. Like aqua-vitæ with a midwife. 90 TWELFTH-NIGHT. 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! dost thou live by thy tabor? Clo. No, sir, I live by the church. Vio. Art thou a churchman? Clo. No such matter, sir: I do live by the church for I do live at my house, and my house 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 |