Fab.

This is a dear manikin to you, Sir Toby.

Sir To.

I have been dear to him, lad, some two thousand strong, or so.

Fab.

We shall have a rare letter from him; but you'll not deliver't.

Sir To.

Never trust me then; and by all means stir on the youth to an answer. I think oxen and wain-ropes cannot hale them together. For Andrew, if he were open'd, and you find so much blood in his liver, as will clog the foot of a flea, I'll eat the rest of the anatomy.

Fab.

And his opposite, the youth, bears in his visage no great presage of cruelty.

Sir To.

Look where the youngest wren* ^note of nine, comes.

Mar.

If you desire the spleen, and will laugh yourselves into stitches, follow me; yon gull, Malvolio, is turned heathen, a very renegado; for there is no christian, that means to be sav'd by believing rightly, can ever believe such impossible passages of grossness. He's in yellow stockings.

Sir To.

And cross-garter'd?

Mar.

Most villainously; like a pedant that keeps a school i'th' church: I have dogg'd him like his murtherer. He does obey every point of the letter that I dropt to betray him; he does smile his face into more lines, than is in the new map, with the augmentation of the Indies; you have not seen such a thing as 'tis; I can hardly forbear hurling things

at him. I know my lady will strike him; if she do, he'll smile, and take't for a great favour.

Sir To.

Come, bring us, bring us where he is.