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—

Fab.

What a dish of poison has the she dress'd him!

Sir To.

And with what wing the stanyel† ^note 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 out that; he is now at a cold scent.

Fab.

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

Mal.

M.—Malvolio.—M.—why, that begins my name.

Fab.

Did not I say he would work it out? the cur is excellent at a fault.

Mal.

M. But then there is no consonancy in the sequel; that suffers under probation; A should follow, but O does.

Fab.

And O should end, I hope.

Sir To.

Ay, or I'll cudgel him, and make him cry O.

Mal.

And then I comes behind.

Fab.

Ay, an you had an eye behind you, you might see more detraction at your heels, than fortunes before you.

Mal.

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 is 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 atchieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them. Thy fates open their hands, let thy blood and spirits 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 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. Farewel. She that would alter services with thee, the fortunate and happy. Day-light and* ^note champian discover no 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 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. Thou canst not chuse 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 pry'thee smile. Jove, I thank thee; I will smile, I will do every thing that thou wilt have me.

Omnes.

Ha! ha! ha!

Fab

I will not give my part of this sport, for a pension of thousands, to be paid from the Sophy.

Sir To.

I could marry this wench, for this device.

Sir And.

And so could I too.

Sir To.

And ask no other dowry with her, but such another jest.