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I did some service, of such note, indeed,
Seb. Belike, you slew great number of his people,
Ant. Th' offence is not of such a bloody nature,
Seb. Do not then walk too open,
Ant. It doth not fit me : hold, Sir, here's my purse.
Ant. Haply, your eye shall light upon some toy
Seb. I'll be your purse-bearer, and leave you for
Ant. To th' Elephant.---
Enter Olivia, and Maria.
How shall I feast him? what bestow on him ?
row'd. * he fays he'll come;] i. e. I suppose now, or admit now, he says he'll come; which Mr. Theobald, not understanding, alters unnecessarily to, say he will come; in wliich the Oxford Editor has followed him.
I speak too loud.
fortunes. Where is Malvolio?
Mar. He's coming, Madam; but in very strange
He is sure posseft, Madam.
Oli. Why, what's the matter, does he rave ?
Mar. No, Madam, he does nothing but smile; your ladyship were best to have some guard about you, if he come ; for, sure, the man is tainted in his wits.
Oli. Go call him hither.
upon a fad
Mal. Sweet lady, ha, ha. [Smiles fantastically.
Oli. Smil't thou? I sent for thee fion.
Mal. Sad, lady? I could be sad ; this does make fome obstruction in the blood ; this cross-gartering; but what of it? if it please the eye of Onc, it is with me as the very true sonnet is : Pleaje one, and please all.
Oli. Why? how dost thou, man? what is the mat. ter with thee? Mal. Not black in my mind, tho' yellow in
my legs: it did come to his hands, and commands shall be executed. I think, we do know that sweet Roman hand.
Oli. Wilt thou go to bed, Malvolio?
Mal. To bed? ay, sweet heart; and I'll come to thee.
Oli. God comfort thee! why dost thou smile fo, and kiss thy hand so oft?
Mar. How do you, Malvolio ?
Mal. At your request?
Mar. Why appear you with this ridiculous boldness before my lady ?
Mal. Be not afraid of Greatness ;-'twas well writ.
Mal. Remember, who commended thy yellow stockings.
Oli. Thy yellow stockings ?
Mal. Go to, thou art made, if thou desirest to be fo
Oli. Am I made?
Oli. I'll come to him. Good Maria, let this fellow be look'd to. Where's my uncle Toby? let some of my people have a special care of him; I would not have him miscarry for half of
[Exit. S CE N E VIII. Mal. H, oh! do you come near me now? no worse
curs directly with the letter; she sends him on purpose that I may appear stubborn to him ; for she incites me to that in the letter. Caft thy humble flough, says the, --be opposite with a kinsman, furly with fervants;- let thy tongue tang with arguments of state, Vol. III.
put thyself into the trick of singularity ;-and consequently sets down the manner how; as a fad face, à reverend carriage, a slow tongue, in the habit of some Sir of note, and so forth. I have lim'd her, but it is Jove's doing, and Jove make me thankful! and when she went away now, let this fellow be look'd to: Fellow! not Malvolio, nor after my degree, but fellow. Why, every thing adheres together, that no dram of a scruple, no scruple of a scruple, no obftacle, no incredulous or unsafe circumitancewhat can be said? Nothing, that can be, can come between me and the full prospect of my hopes. Well, Jove, not I, is the doer of this, and he is to be thanked.
SC EN E IX.
Enter Sir Toby, Fabian, and Maria.
is he, in the name of fan&tity ? if all the devils in hell be drawn in little, and Legion himself pofseft him, yet I'll speak to him.
Fab. Here he is, here he is ; how is't with you, Sir? how is’t with you, man?
Mal. Go off, I discard you; let me enjoy my pri
vacy: go off.
Mar. Lo, how hollow the fiend speaks within him! did not I tell you? Sir, Toby, my lady prays you to have a care of him.
Mal. Ah, ha! does she so ?
Sir To. Go to, go to; peace, peace, we must deal gently with him; let me alone. How do
Malvolio? how is’t with you? what! man, defy the devil; consider, he's an enemy to mankind.
Mal. Do you know what you say?
Mar, La, you! if you speak ill of the devil, how he takes it at heart. ---Pray God, he be not bewitch'd.
Fab. Carry his water to th' wise woman.
ing if I live. My lady would not lose him for more than I'll say.
Mal. How now, mistress ?
you not see, you move him ? let me alone with him.
Fab. No way but gentleness, gently, gently; the fiend is rough, and will not be roughly us'd.
Sir To. Why, how now, my bawcock? how doft thou, chuck?
Sir To. Ay, biddy, come with me. ’tis not for gravity to play at cherry-pit with satan. Hang him, foul collier.
Mar. Get him to say his prayers, good Sir Toby; get him to pray. Mal. My prayers, minx !
[ness. Mar. No, I warrant you, he will not hear of godli
Mal. Go hang yourselves all: you are idle shallow things; I am not of your element, you shall know more hereafter.
[Exita Sir To. Is't possible?
Fab. If this were play'd upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an improbable fiction.
Sir To. His very genius hath taken the infection of the device, man.
Mar. Nay, pursue him now, left the device take air, and taint:
Fab. Why, we shall make him mad, indeed.
Sir To. Come, we'll have him in a dark room and bound. My Niece is already in the belief that he's mad; we may carry it thus for our pleasure and his penance, 'till our very paftime, tired out of breath, prompt us to have mercy on him; at which time we will bring the device to the bar, and crown thee for a finder of madmen; but fee, but fee.