Twelfth Night; or, What You Will

Sir To. Peace, peace!

Mal. There is example for't; the lady of the strachy married the yeoman of the wardrobe.

Sir And. Fie on him, Jezebel!

Fab. Now he's deeply in; look, how imagination blows him.

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

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 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! now, now.

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 some rich jewel. Toby approaches: courtsies there to me: —

Sir To. Shall this fellow live?

Fab. Though our silence be drawn from us with cars, 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, 'twas 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! an the spirit of humours intimate reading aloud to him, —

Mal. 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?

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: 'tis my lady: To whom should this be? [Opens the letter.]

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.– If this should be thee, Malvolio?

Sir To. Marry, hang thee, brock!

Mal. [Reads.] 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,O,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 stanniel 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,O,A,I.

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

Mal.M, – Malvolio; —M, – why, that begins my name.

Fab. I thought 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.