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O, peace! And the spirit of humours intimate reading aloud to him!

MALVOLIO.

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.

AGUECHEEK.

Her C's, her U's, and her T's. Why that?

MALVOLIO.

[Reads] 'To the unknown belov'd, 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?

FABIAN.

This wins him, liver and all.

MALVOLIO.

[Reads]

Jove knows I love,

But who?

Lips, do not move;

No man must know.'

'No man must know.' What follows? The numbers alter'd!

'No man must know.' If this should be thee, Malvolio?

SIR TOBY.

Marry, hang thee, brock!

MALVOLIO.

[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.'

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 o' poison has she dress'd him!

SIR TOBY.

And with what wing the staniel 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.

[Reads]

'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 'em.

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

wish'd to see thee ever cross-garter'd. I say, remember, Go to,

thou art made, if thou desir'st 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 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-devise 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-garter'd; 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-garter'd, 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

entertain'st my love, let it