come thus near, that fhould the fancy, it fhould be one of my complexion. Befides, the ufes me with a more exalted refpect, than any one else that follows her What should I think on't?

... Sir To. Here's an over-weaning rogue..

Fab. O, peace: contemplation makes a rare turkeycock of him; how he jets under his advance'd plumes! Sir And. 'Slife, I could fo beat the rogue.

Sir To. Peace, I fay.

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 Trachy® married the yeoman of the wardrobe.

Sir And. Fie on him, Jezebel !

Fab. O, peace; now he's deeply in; look how ima❤ gination blows him.

Mal. Having been three months married to her, fitting in my ftate

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 down from a day-bed, where I have left Olivia fleeping.

Sir To. Fire and brimestone !

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 thould do theirs

for my uncle Toby

Sir To. Bolts and fhackles !

Fab. Oh, peace, peace, peace; now, now.

to ask

- 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 fome rich jewel. Toby approaches, curtfiés there to me.

Sir To. Shall this fellow live?

Fab. Tho' our filence be drawn from us with cares, yet, peace.

that is, Thrace. It was common to use the article the before names of places. And this was no improper inftance, where the fcene was in Illyria.

Mal. I extend my hand to him thus: quenching my familiar fmile with an auftere regard of controul.

Sir To. And does not Toby take you a blow o' th' lips then?

Mal. Saying, Uncle Toby, my fortunes having caft me on your niece, give me this prerogative of fpeechSir To. What, what?

Mal. You must amend your drunkenness.

Sir To. Out, fcab!

Fab. Nay, patience, or we break the finews of our plot.

Mal. Befides, 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, 'tis 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. Oh peace! now the spirit of humours inti mate reading aloud to him!

Mal By my life, this is my Lady's hand: thefe be her very C's, her U's, and her T's: and thus makes the 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? Mal. To the unknown belov'd, this, and my good wishes; her very phrases. By your leave, wax. Soft! and the impreffure her Lucrece, with which the uses to feal? 'tis my Lady: to whom should this be?

Fab. This wins him, liver and all.

Mal. Jove knows I love, but who, lips do not move, no man must know. No man must know what follows; the number's alter'd-no man must know

fhould be thee, Malvolio?

Sir To. Marry, hang thee, Brock!

if this

Mal I may command where I adore; but filence, like

a Lucrece knife,

"

With bloodless Stroke my heart doth gore, M. O. A. I. doth faway my life.

Fab. A fuftian riddle.

Sir To. Excellent wench, fay I.

VOL. III.

wench,

P

Mal.

Mal. M. O. A. I. doth fway my life hay, but first, let me fee-let me fee.

Fab. What a dish of poison has fhe drefs'd him?

Sir To. And with what wing the ftanyel checks at it? Mal. I may command where I adore. Why, the may command me: I ferve her, she is my lady. Why, this is evident to any formal * capacity. There is no obftruction in this and the end what fhould that alphabetical pofition portend? if I could make that refemble fomething in me? foftly, M.O. A. I. Sir To. O, ay! make up that; he is now at a cold fcent.

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

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

name.

Fab. Did I not fay, he would work it out: the cur is excellent at faults.

Mal. M. But then there is no confonancy in the fequal; that fuffers under probation: A fhould follow, but does.

Fab. And 0 fhall 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 an eye behind you, you might fee more detraction at your heels than fortunes before you.

Mal. M. O. A. I.-This fimulation + is not as the former and yet to crufh this a little, it would bow to me, for every one of these letters is in my name. Soft, here follows profeIf this fall into thy hand, revolve. In my ftars I am above thee, but be not afraid of greatness; fome are born great, fome atchieve greatnefs, and fome 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, caft thy humble flough, and appear fresh. Be oppofite with a kinfman, furly with fervants: let thy tongue tang arguments of ftate; put thyself into the trick of fingularity. She thus

*Formal, for common.

Simulation, for refemblance:

advifes

:

advifes thee, that fighs for thee. Remember who commended thy yellow ftockings, and wish'd to fee thee ever crossgarter'd. I fay, remember go to, thou art made, if thou defireft to be fo; if not, let me fee thee a feward ftill, the fellow of fervants, and not worthy to touch Fortune's fingers, Farewel. She that would alter fervices with thee, the fortunate and happy. Day-light and champian discover no more; this is open. I will be proud, Į will read politic authors, I will baffle Sir Toby, I will wafh off grofs acquaintance, I will be point devife, 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, fhe did praife my leg, being cross-garter'd, and in this fhe manifefts 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 ftrange, ftout, in yellow stockings, and cross-garter'd, even with the fwiftnefs of putting on. Jove and my stars be praifed! Here is yet a poftfcript. Thou canst not chufe but know who I am; if thou entertaineft my love, let it appear in thy fmiling; thy files become thee well. Therefore in my prefence ftill fmile, dear my sweet, I pr'ythee.

Jove, I thank thee! I will fmile, I will do every thing that thou wilt have me.

[Exit. Fab, I will not give my part of this fport for a penfion 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 fuch another jest.

SCENE IX,

Sir And. Nor I neither.

Enter Maria.

Fab. Here comes my noble gull-catcher.

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

Sir And. Or o' mine either?

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

Sir And. I'faith, or I either?

Sir To. Why thou haft put him in fuch a dream, that when the image of it leaves him, he must run mad.

Mar. Nay, but fay true, does it work upon him? Sir. To. Like aqua vite with a midwife.

Mar. If you will then fee the fruits of the sport, mark his first approach before my Lady; he will come to her in yellow ftockings, and 'tis a colour the abhors; and cross-garter'd, a fafhion fhe detefts; and he will fmile upon her, which will now be fo unfuitable to her difpofition, being addicted to a melancholy, as the is, that it cannot but turn him into a notable contempt. If you will fee 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.

Vio.

SAV

Olivia's garden.

Enter Viola, and Clown.

AVE thee, friend, and thy mufic. Doft thou live by thy tabor?

Clo. No, Sir, I live by the church.

Vio. Art thou a churchman?

།

Clo. No fuch 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'ft fay, the King lies by a beggar, if a beggar dwell near him; or the church ftands by thy tabor, if thy tabor ftand by the church.

Clo. You have faid, Sir; to see this age !—A sentence is but a chev'ril glove * to a good wit; how quickly the wrong fide may be turned outward!

Vio. Nay, that's certain; they that dally nicely with words, may quickly make them wanton.

Glo. I would therefore my fifter 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 fifter wanton; but

A glove made of a kid's skin,