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MALVOLIO.
'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.'
FABIAN.
A fustian riddle!
SIR TOBY.
Excellent wench, say I.
MALVOLIO.
'M, O, A, I, doth sway my life.'--Nay, but first let me see,--let
me see,--let me see.
FABIAN.
What dish of poison has she dressed him!
SIR TOBY.
And with what wing the stannyel checks at it!
MALVOLIO.
'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 TOBY.
O, ay, make up that:--he is now at a cold scent.
FABIAN.
Sowter will cry upon't for all this, though it be as rank as a
fox.
MALVOLIO.
M,--Malvolio; M,--why, that begins my name.
FABIAN.
Did not I say he would work it out?
The cur is excellent at faults.
MALVOLIO.
M,--But then there is no consonancy in the sequel; that
suffers under probation: A should follow, but O does.
FABIAN.
And O shall end, I hope.
SIR TOBY.
Ay, or I'll cudgel him, and make him cry 'O!'
MALVOLIO.
And then I comes behind.
FABIAN.
Ay, an you had any eye behind you, you might see more
detraction at your heels than fortunes before you.
MALVOLIO.
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.--
'If this fall into thy hand, revolve. In my stars I 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 appear fresh. Be opposite with a kinsman, surly
with servants: let 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 cross-gartered. 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 champian discovers 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-device, 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. '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 pr'ythee.' Jove, I thank thee. I will smile; I will do
everything that thou wilt have me.
[Exit.]